We Both Like It When I Orgasm

A weekend away, spent in the company of family, meant there was no sex, no kinky fuckery, and rarely even the waggle of eyebrows or wiggle of ass. We spent Sunday night reconnecting through conversation. Going over our impressions of the weekend before moving into deeper terrain.

As the conversation died away, I knew we should go to bed, but I also knew that’s not what I wanted.

“Ya know…we didn’t get to have sex all weekend.” I arched an eyebrow at him. “We’ve got lube if you’re feeling up for it.”

Later I’d marvel at how easily I’d used my words. Then I mostly wanted to be told, “Good idea, babygirl” and see him reach toward the nightstand.

As always, he had different (better) ideas in mind.

“Actually there’s something else I want.”

He fisted my hair, sending a thrill of excitement down my spine and up my cunt. I thought he might be moving me into position for a quickie fuck. Nope.

My nose touched his still flaccid cock before I realized what he wanted.

I dragged my tongue from top to bottom. He twitched, his cock not unlike a lazy teenager who really doesn’t want to wake up. Still soft I pulled him down my throat, my tongue on his balls. A big swell sent me choking and gasping for air.

“I’m ready to fuck!” I whined. “But you’re not.”

“That’s because something else gets me harder faster.”

He dragged my leg over his stomach as I lay back against the pillow. My cunt was warm and slowly filling with a damp heat, as I  pressed against his hip. He trailed a finger up and down my slit. Normally too rough, I braced for the intense sensations. Instead this was a slower, gentler tease. I relaxed into the bed.

He didn’t lie, though. The more I squeaked and hissed in pleasure as his fingertips focused on my clit, the faster his cock twitched, becoming more insistent, pushing against my leg. It was a slow burn orgasm, taking its sweet time but intensifying with each stroke of his hand.

“Please…pleeeeeeease…DaddycanIcome?”

I contorted inward as the orgasm slammed into my body, bringing my knees to my chest. As I caught my breath, I felt the familiar push from him. A silent “Get into position, girl” if ever there was one.

For once, he wasn’t the only one reaching for the nightstand. I pulled out my Pink B.O.B., knowing it would be strong enough but not too overwhelming. I’d decided at some point in the past few weeks that I needed more orgasms than I was having. That he felt the vibrations, too, was an added bonus.

I shoved the head of the vibrator against my clit as he sunk his lubed up cock deep inside my body. The force of the orgasms pushed him out a few times. It was only later that I learned that he enjoyed being kicked out of my vagina simply because the contractions were so fierce. Each time, he gamely pulled my hips toward him and thrust deep again.

By the end we were sweaty, gasping for breath, and wishing we could sleep without cleaning up (we can’t). It was a good reconnection, I think — with each other and with myself.

But the lesson learned, I think, is that sometimes it’s better for both of us when I get off.