I get headaches sometimes in the morning and on Monday Peter turned towards me as we woke and started to masturbate me gently. Perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad one. I decided to just relax and see how it went. I curled my fingers around Zebedee and returned the favour languidly.
It always gives me a thrill to feel his expansion when I hold him, sensing it growing in my grasp and feeling the shape as I move my hand to and fro in ultra-slow motions. Hearing his man-whimpers from the joy of the experience.
His fingers were toying with my inner lips, so tenderly running fingertips up my one protruding labia and then back down the inside, parting them and finding my well of lubrication. So gentle and relaxing. His toying with me was one of those occasions when there was obviously no hurry, just a careful and detailed exploration of my most intimate fiddly bits. As the lubrication spreads, he used it to make longer strokes along my cleft and soon my clit was receiving pressure at the end of each pass.
My headache was actually easing. It does sometimes and I was glad I was allowing this delicate touching which I found so arousing. I was so glad I hadn’t had to stop him.
He whispered his words of love and the very words were so beautiful and comforting. My love for him was so intense. I thought back to our weekend as teenage lovers and the violent consummation of our love when he arrived at my door over forty years later to demonstrate his desire and regret for all of those years apart.
My clit was aching now and my head was back to normal. How I loved the ache which spread all of the way along my inner and outer labia and deep into my body. All this from his words and delicate stroking.
That wonderful desire to have something inside me was growing. How intense it became. A need. A compulsion. An overwhelming hunger for my vagina to be filled and stroked by Zebedee. I fantasised the feeling of its lumpy yet smooth, rigid yet spongy texture as it pushed inwards, along to that compression point where his body was crushing my vulva before the long slow withdrawal.
He climbed aboard. I was still not quite myself and just relaxed as the entry took place and the inner warmth of his movements filled me like a balloon of sensation, becoming replete with the feeling like warm water, spreading out into my hips, my thighs, my internal organs.
Warm, push, stroke, squeeze, withdraw, the head almost exiting and beginning its journey anew, deep inside me, opening and occupying me. How lovely to have the man of your dreams taking you. Taking me. Ravishing me in slow motion. Once each two seconds, unvarying, stimulating every sensory receptor in my body, enchanting and electrifying me at one and the same time.
The balloon of orgasmic warmth grew, expanded and gave me that miraculous sensation of knowing something unstoppable was approaching.
I gave the tiniest whisper as I kissed him, ‘I’m coming.’ The paralysis of my lungs, the thumping of my heart, the heat in my chest and cheeks and finally that uncontrollable rhythm of contractions which so incapacitated me. Ten, fifteen, perhaps twenty. By the third spasm he’d stopped his motion, pressing deeply into me, feeling my orgasm welcoming his sex and inviting it to perform in symbiosis, but there was no echo of my orgasm within his penis. It lay still, firm, strong, hot in my body, sensing every last involuntary squeeze my vagina could provide.
‘I love you,’ he whispered.
‘Oh yes,’ I was breathing again.
I lifted my legs and hooked my ankles behind his back. His motions recommenced. Slower than before, more deliberate than before, more sensuous than before. This wasn’t for me. This was for him. A single-minded exploitation of my body for his desires and, God, I so loved it. I did nothing but feel the strokes. I closed my eyes and concentrated on what was happening within me and the rhythmic pressure on my clit. He slowed still further. I knew he was close. He was trying to eke out the very last drop of pleasure. I squeezed my muscles to hold him tight then felt the giveaway growth in his girth, the deeper thrust into me and I let my entire body go slack. His orgasms were always so much more violent if my vagina relaxed at the point of ejaculation. I tried to count. Four, five, maybe six then several more forced as he tried to ensure nothing was left in the bottom of his secret reservoir. Today I felt his love inside me. It isn’t always easy to feel, but today the pool of semen seemed to be heavy and warm. It had been his but now it was all mine for as long as I could retain it.
Exhausted, my poor darling lay heavily on me. Most of his weight on his elbows, but much on my tummy, my chest and breasts. I encircled him with my arms and pulled him even tighter to me, wanting to sense his presence forever. Hands digging into his back, thighs squeezing his hips, our lips sucking on each others.
‘Wow, Ang,’ he said.
‘Wow, Peter, wow!’ I replied.
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