He snored next to me. I tossed and turned, emailing myself ideas and checking Twitter. When he woke up to use the bathroom, I felt guilty. Had I woken him up? Was I the reason he was restless, too?
If he’d come back to bed, rolled over, and gone to sleep, I never would have done it. I still would have tossed and turned, but I would have left him alone.
When he picked up his own phone, I knew we were about to doom ourselves to a night of little to no sleep. What relaxes him and helps him settle down?
An orgasm, of course.
I wrapped my body around his, my hand reaching for his balls. I love the weight of them in my palm, the delicate skin that crinkles or smoothes out depending on the moment. Sometimes they’re pink and soft. Other times, they’re almost purple and drawn tight against his body.
He moaned. I stroked his cock. He continued scrolling through his phone. I pouted.
When my hand grew tired, I stopped.
“No, don’t. It feels good. Don’t stop.”
I went back to firm strokes and cupped testicles for a few minutes longer.
“Daddy, my hand is getting tired.” What I really wanted was for him to fuck the daylights out of me. Somewhere along the way, I wanted what I was trying to give him.
In response, he grabbed my hair and pulled my head down to his cock. No words were needed. What he wanted was as obvious as the bobbing and twitching going on under my nose.
I swallowed him whole, choking and gagging slightly. He let go of my hair and groaned in pleasure. He finally set the phone down too.
Licking and lapping at his shaft, I palmed his balls again. I felt his body arch. Swirling my tongue around the tip, I let go with an audible POP! He pushed my head back down.
Drooling down his cock, I sucked and slurped before making the POP again. He shoved me back in place. Twice more we repeated the game. I worshipped his cock, ending with a suck and release that turned him into toe-curling, moan-inducing, head-thrashing maniac. He forced me to keep going.
The last time, I sat up and asked, “When are you going to fuck the hell out of me?!”
Apparently, “now” was the answer. He grabbed my arm and twisted me over to my side. He rubbed his cock against my slit. My spit acted as a lube, not that much was needed. I was dripping from the attention I’d given him as well as his control and force.
As he thrust home, we both let out a contented sigh. This was what we both needed. Wanted.
His hands multiplied, impossible but true. They were in my hair, pulling until my scalp burned. They were on my nipples, pinching and tweaking. They were around my throat and smacking my cheek. Each touch caused me to clench around his cock, pulling more moans from him even as I squeaked and whimpered, desperate for more, unsure I wanted it.
Our bodies melded together, no beginning or end. He pressed cruel fingers against my clit and I gripped his cock tighter. We were wild. We were ferocious. By the end, we were both well fucked.
Welcome to Masturbation Monday! That after-midnight fuck was better than any ice cream or cereal you’ll get in the middle of the night when you can’t sleep. And it did the trick. I fell right to sleep after we finished. Note to self: fuck before bed more often. Okay, enough about me. Go forth and enjoy the rest of this week’s smutty goodness!
Image via Tumblr