A Good Old-Fashioned Kinky Fingering

“Are we ever going to fuck again?”

That was Saturday night, after a week of serious shoulder pain that left me restless at night and exhausted during the day. I knew he’d been afraid to get too close or fuck me rough. This was the easiest way for me to let him know that, no really, it’s time to fuck.

Sunday morning, he was out of the bed too early. I snuggled down into the blankets, determined to wait for the alarm.

When it beeped at me, I turned it off, and snuggled down deeper. He found me burrowed in bedding, scrolling through Twitter not long after.

“You’re tweeting so you must be awake.”

As he climbed into bed with me, we each made squeaky noises. Me, because he was cold against my warmth. Him, because I was snuggly warm.

I could have stayed that way for hours. He, as usual, had other plans.

When he pulled my leg over his, spreading my body wide, I relaxed into him. We’re old hands at this, I knew what was coming, and I desperately wanted it.

“I’m furry down there! I need a wax!” Two weeks overdue, and I’m not loving the pubic growth.

“I don’t care how hairy you are!” I beamed with pleasure. “Who’s pussy is this, girl?”

By now, he was stroking my slit, skimming my clitoris. I forgot that answering isn’t optional.

His thumb pressed down, abrasive against my sensitive spots.

“Yours, Daddy. All yours!”

My reward was his fingers strumming against my clit again. I sighed with pleasure. When he ran his fingertip up and down my slit, I realized what I really wanted.

I spread my thighs further apart and tilted my hips up. He chuckled and continued his back and forth torture between clitoris and labia. For the first time…ever…I pushed his hand down until his fingers pushed against my folds. As he sank a single digit in, I sighed with pleasure.

“Ahhh, this is what you want, huh?”

I couldn’t answer. It didn’t seem necessary. My body reacted and told him everything. Back arched. Head thrown back. Fingers digging into his arm. Yes, fucking hell, a fingering is exactly what I want!

His thick, rough fingers spread my body wide, stretching my flesh, finding molten lava. I sighed with pleasure with each dip in and out. Ah fuck yes, fuck me with your fucking fingers! Except I said nothing.

Fingers in, fingers out, and then….Hssssssss!! A graze against my now engorged and extremely sensitive clit.

I nearly came up off the bed. He chuckled…again.

Back in he went, pushing more roughly into my cunt. I whimpered and sighed, pushing my hips against his hand.

Another light graze against my now swollen and throbbing clitoris.

“Pl-pl-pl…” Before I could get the words out, he was gone again.

Fuck, he’s gonna edge me. He’s gonna fucking edge me!

Back and forth he went between the rough finger-fucking I love to the sadistic sweet touch in the one spot capable of setting me on fire. I knew I’d have to get permission for this orgasm. But each time I started to plead, he backed off. And every time I whimpered in frustration, he chuckled again. An evil sound. Sadistic even.

Pushing his hand for a fingering is one thing. “Making” him get me off never entered my mind. Okay, maybe it did for a second. But I knew I’d have to hang on, let him play with this teasing. The edged orgasm that I knew would result in fireworks. If only…I could…just…hang…

“Please, Daddy, please, please, please!”

“Please, what, babygirl?” How does he manage to sound so goddamned innocent? Especially while still moving between a delicious fingering to sweet clitoral torture?

Eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched, and I finally managed to screech out a “Please can I come Daddeeeeeeeee?”

This time his thumb stayed pressed against my swollen flesh as he leaned close and whispered, “Yessssss!”

Welcome to Masturbation Monday and a new topic for Kink of the Week – edging. Yes, we fucked, and it was good, but being fingered and edged reminded me of the early days in our relationship. Hence it was an “old-fashioned fingering.” Ha! I say we need to do that more often!