Sometimes fucking is animalistic, all about the urges, the giving and taking of pleasure, the raw satisfaction of it all. And sometimes, sex is sensory. (Frankly, it can be — and often is — both.)
I don’t remember how we ended up at the end of the bed, skin to skin, his face buried in my breasts. Nothing makes me feel physically softer than when his mouth latches on, when he nuzzles in. Of course, nothing makes me feel wilder or untamed than the moment the rhythmic flick of his tongue matches a growing pulse in my clit.
One hand wrapped around my breast. The other traveled further down, skimming my torso, hip, thigh, before gently stroking my vulva. My legs parted, craving the warmth of his hand.
Like the master musician of my body he is, his tongue and fingers tapped out a rhythm of pleasure. As I opened my cunt up to him, I pulled his head closer, silently begging for more.
I shuddered in his arms, crying out in pleasure, belatedly remembering I didn’t have to hold back. One orgasm crested after another, gently, in time with his movements.
A moment later, we’d flipped. I arched my back, pushed out my hips, and waited for his cock to sink in deep. These are moves we’ve practiced a hundred, maybe a thousand times. The music had turned into a familiar dance. Ever in control, he switched up the dance steps, and I followed.
His hands stroked my back and hips, sensuously, as if committing my skin to memory. He pulled my torso up, changing the angle of our fuck, to crush my breast in his hand, only to squeeze gently, before removing his hand to smack my cheek. I followed this waltz of his, closing my eyes in pleasure, allowing him to lead where he would. The sensory explosion of crush, squeeze, smack became our new dance, one I melted into.
He came with a crescendo that left us both gasping for breath, reveling in the aftermath.
“Good morning, babygirl.”
“Morning, Daddy,” I mumbled into the covers. “You can wake me up like that anytime.”
Welcome to Masturbation Monday! We had sex…AGAIN! As a sex blogger, I probably shouldn’t be so surprised about it, but after a dry spell, it’s a nice change of pace. We’re enjoying our temporary child-free life (just a few more days left as of publication) and getting out of routines and ruts. It’s been a pleasant change of pace.
For more smut, you know where to go.