Sinful Sunday - an itch that can't be scratched
Posted at 23:56 on 11 Oct 2015 by Pandora / Blake
Sitting up with friends late into the night, D and I can't keep our hands off each other. I reach down and touch the soft bulge in his pants with my fingertips, feeling the promise of firmness there. He strokes my flanks and my back, feather-soft.
When we can't stand it any longer we make our excuses and leave. In the bedroom we start out slowly, lying close and kissing. It's dizzying how fast the heat rises. I don't realise how wet I am until his hand finds my molten centre and two fingers press deep inside, leaving me gasping and wanting more.
We fuck for hours. It's fast and filthy and furious, until both of us are slippery with sweat, until I've lost count of the number of orgasms. I want everything, anything he can give. His tongue on my clit, his fingers in my mouth and round my throat, his perfect buttocks straddling my face, his hands slapping my face and my breasts, and his cock, his beautiful hard cock, filling me and hitting my sweet spot again and again. It's frenzied and eager and insatiable. My skin can't get enough of his skin. My clit is swollen and sensitive, and I can feel this sweet itch aching deep inside of me, that seems to throb harder every time it's scratched.
After an hour I am a ragdoll, flushed and spent, collapsed in a helpless heap, my muscles refusing to hold me up any more. But desire still burns like glowing coals within my exhausted body, and I'm more than happy for him to carry on using me for as long as he can muster the energy, although a breathless whimper is all the encouragement I can manage.
When we finally try to settle down to sleep, even the gentlest of touch will stoke that fire, and we'll lose control all over again. It takes three attempts before we finally drift off, sleepily whispering filthy nonsense and fantasies that we won't remember in the morning. Love radiates from our skin, and settles over us both like a blanket.
Comments
Add your comment: