The End of a Rut #MasturbationMonday

We’d fallen into sad, basic, not-so-intimate ruts.

Perfunctory kisses at night. Assuming our best position to sleep, me clinging to his back, one arm around his waist, the other bent with my cheek on my hand. Almost but not quite sleeping on my stomach.

Any sex was before we went to sleep or right as we woke up. A gentle nudge. Maybe a swipe of a clit or a nipple. Sometimes my hand brushed his thigh or the tingly sensitive skin just above his cock. Several minutes of gentle thrusting, hands roaming at will, an orgasm or two, and sleep – or the start of a new day.

No blame or shame. Life happens, and this was a hard summer. Loss, stress, and the typical rush from one day to the next to keep all the plates spinning in the air.

But it had been a while. Seduction was almost a lost art. We knew the other was a sure thing. Kinky dominance was felt in spurts and moments. Special trips to the club were our only real outlet.

Until…

He shaved with a special oil that made him smell so good I wanted to consume every inch of him. Between making dinner and watching movies, I nibbled his neck, licking the sensitive skin by his ear. He grabbed me in darkened rooms, away from innocent eyes, pulling me close. Pinched nipples, smacks on the ass, pulling and kneading flesh. We quivered at each touch, each dark glance.

Later, when the kids were in bed and fast asleep, when the loud action movie was over and the television turned off, we giggled and scampered into our bedroom. The anticipation was palpable. Must get naked. Must touch. Must feel. Must connect.

Standing before him, naked and waiting, always waiting, the sudden yank on my hair shocked me into instant, fiery submission. He wrenched my head down and to the side, exposing my neck. My breath caught in my throat. Gone were the gentle, erotic teasings. His hunger was evident in each movement.

Crushing me to his chest, his mouth, tongue, and teeth devoured the sensitive skin from ear to collarbone. My knees gave out. I melted with one swipe of tongue and teeth.

Hands touched. Fingers poked and prodded. Thighs spread.

I found myself on my toes, bent over, holding the corner of our dresser for dear life. A constant thwap-thwap-thwap of skin against skin filled the room. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a blurry reflection of my pale skin against his own darker flesh. Could he see me, too?

A few pounding thrusts and I forgot the mirror. He was savage in his taking of my body. I was stretched and pulled in ten different directions. The bruising grip on my waist. The sway of my breasts, back and forth, hypnotizing even me. The arch of my back. The strain in my legs. Swollen pussy, swollen lips, swollen nipples. I was pure sensation.

Until my knees gave out. I fell to the floor in front of him, almost sobbing in desperation. Please don’t let this moment be over. I need more.

My unspoken prayers were heard. He kneeled behind me. When I would raise my head, he forced me down. In one smooth glide, his cock filled me once more. My cries became something different.

“Oh God! Yes! Oh Daddy, fuck me, fuck me, fuckmefuckmefuckme!”

The pounding, thrusting, never-ending in and out – I wanted more. Harder. Faster. Make it hurt. Make it burn. Make it last.

“You little fucking slut!”

I climaxed a little from his words alone.

The carpet tormented my swaying nipples as they brushed against the rough surface. My thighs ached and burned. When he spread the globes of my ass to sink deeper, squelching noises became louder and more obvious. Those sensations only spurred me on. I began to push back against his pelvis, fucking him even as he fucked me.

With an audible ‘POP‘ he was out. I fell forward, panting, breasts heaving, pussy gaping.

I cried out when he grabbed my hair and pulled me to my feet. He forced me to the bed, throwing me on the mattress onto my back, pulling my legs up and back. Oh yes, fuck me like this. Yessssssssssss.

On the bed, we became somehow more animalistic, more primal. We fucked and sucked. His cock bruised and burned. My nails raked. My thighs gripped his body, pulling him closer.

We slurped and drank from the other. I lay on top of him, my face pressed in his groin, panting and crying out as I orgasmed onto his tongue, down his forehead, dripping in the blankets beneath. My juices flowed and he caught them as he could.

He released my clit and innermost folds while I sucked and nibbled his cock, grazing my teeth down the length, gentle suction pulling his balls deep into my mouth.

Countless orgasms. Countless thrusts. The smell of sex permeated every molecule in the room. Sweaty, sticky bodies lay on damp, musky sheets. Our memories were filled with the dirty talk we’d panted, growled, and mewled, egging each other on.

Every ounce of energy was spent. Eyelids fluttered. Voice mumbled endearments. I managed to ask, “What about you? You didn’t come.”

“Oh, I will, Babygirl. Later, probably in the morning. Don’t worry, you’ll know when I’m ready.”

He was right. I would be very clear on that point. But that was later, after a few hours rest. Now, we needed to recover…together. For the moment, a brief moment, we were sated…or simply so exhausted, our bodies had refused to take one more step. The rut of days, weeks, and months were over…at least for now.

Welcome to Masturbation Monday! Yes, this is a true story…although in all the fucking, sucking, and multiple orgasms, I could have forgotten a few details. No special occasion needed. Just a random Saturday night. Okay, smutty readers, make sure to check out the rest of hot and yummy offerings on this, the best of all days.