Does He Know

I remember when he used to throw me around like a rag doll; don’t get me wrong, he is still powerful, but we aren’t as durable as we used to be. He would come home after his pool route, all tan, ripped, and yummy. I would just wait for it. I didn’t have to change anything about myself to get him going; some things never change. Though I never believe him, it seems like he always finds me most desirable when I think I am at my worst. Back then, I would always run around with my hair in a lazy ponytail, no makeup, and in some cut-off jean shorts and a tank top. It was and is hard not to believe how much he wants me when he looks at me the way he does, the same way he does today. That look like he is about to pounce, it always makes my heart beat faster. He knows me, even when I play hard to get, even when I don’t know what I want, he shows me.

The magic in the kiss, I’m sure, whenever two people who are mad for each other kiss, they know what I’m talking about. It isn’t just the kiss, it is how he looks at me, how purposefully he approaches me, how he takes me, and yeah, it is like he is taking something that belongs to him, because when you are “mad”, you want to feel possessed. He makes no qualms about it either; he lets me know that I am his and that he is taking me. I so love that. He is so deliberate in his approach that I can’t help but get butterflies deep in my gut. I even tense up, like I need to protect myself, but my body is saying Come and get me. But once his strong, powerful hands close softly on my face and his full lips close on mine, I melt between my legs. His kiss is possessive and yet soft and loving, his moans of pleasure, and that sweet little smile that breaks when he is kissing me to show how happy he is. How his hands move over my body like they have a mind of their own, knowing exactly where I need to be touched, before I ever do. I know, boy, do I know what it feels like to be loved, and he is the one who showed me.

You know how I described his kiss, and how it makes me wet, well, that is what it is like whenever he takes me. I get aroused, with the butterflies in my tummy, and the dry mouth; my heart beats faster, and my nipples get hard just in anticipation. He knows how to love my whole body, and it is so effortless and natural for him, like animal instinct. Of course, I don’t ever want him to know how much I am putty in his hands; so I put up a fight, if you can call it that, because there is nothing I can do, or want to do, to stop him. The “good fight,” he calls it, hilarious, I know. I’ll push him back, swat his hands from my erogenous zones, wherever he puts them, and I even try to persuade him to wait, trying to buy time. If I put up a fight for too long, he simply grabs my hand and puts it on his raging cock, and that is always the proverbial straw that breaks this camel’s back. Then my mouth really goes dry, and I feel myself get silky wet, and my whole body betrays and outs my true desires in cries for him. He pulls me in for a hungry kiss, his tongue promising me of things to come, sucking in my bottom lip before letting it drag out between his teeth. I’ll never tell him, but the Fucker had me at hello.

He has my shirt off before I even realize it, some fight, I know. My only saving grace is that he is challenged to this day when it comes to getting the clasp of my bras; he is so cute when he does, like a little boy finally getting that very special present open after someone has wrapped it with way too much tape. I have to give him credit, though, while struggling with my bra, he usually has managed to get my shorts and panties off, unbeknownst to me. With all his playful frustration, he then effortlessly takes me off my feet into his arms, and off to bed. I forget that I’m trying to play hard to get, and when I protest, he simply laughs and tosses me into the middle of the bed. Then, just as easily, he grabs my ankle and pulls me to the side of the bed with what I like to describe as that dinnertime look in his eyes. I often try to fight back and even kick at him to get away, but he will then just lift me and put me exactly where we both want me to be. With his muscles rippling and that intense look in his eyes, I so easily lose any will to fight. He puts me on the side of the bed, pushes my legs apart, and kisses me with the same determination. We kiss passionately, almost greedily and I get lost in it until I feel his cock swelling between us. He pulls my leg up and rests my foot on the bed, and he drops to his knees, parts me with his nose, and I watch his tongue strum me like a skilled musician. He knows just where to go and how long to stay. Just watching his tongue dance around my clit before running down the inside of my sensitive folds and into my sweet honeypot causing my legs to shake involuntarily in orgasm, I don’t know who enjoys it more. He gently spreads my lips to expose my swollen bud, and I cum again watching his tongue flutter across before his mouth closes over it, his tongue bringing me to that point and keeping me there like I’m some engine he knows so intimately. He wants to drive me mad; as if he wants me to beg him to fuck me. As like reading my mind, he stands and slowly slides his cock inside of me. I can cum again and now just watching and recalling it spread me and slowly filling me inch after glorious fucking inch. And just when I think it has filled me, he kisses me, our tongues setting the pace, as I feel his cock swell even more inside of me and as he attempts to unsheath it to do it again, I lock down on it with all my kegel might to keep him in.

I watch his beautiful full cock continue to fill me over and over this way again and again, the thick vein on it glistening in my juices until I can’t watch anymore and I fall back on the bed finding myself having to concentrate to make it last because I don’t want it to end. When I open my eyes and see the sheer ecstasy in his face, the muscles tight in his jaw, head thrown back, eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed, as if he too has to concentrate to keep from exploding, that is so too much for me, and pushes me past the point of no return. I exclaim, “don’t stop,” and he knows what that means, and he fucks me harder and unimaginably faster, with his is strong hands holding me down in place, hard enough to leave bruises. I try to watch him, all his lean muscles rippling in sweat, and the veins in his neck and arms growing with his approaching climax, his heavy breathing becoming audible and bringing me there faster. I stop holding mine off and release loudly in orgasm, knowing that is what he is waiting for. My orgasm continues as he fills me with all his love, and my heart overflows as my eyes fill with tears. I wish he could feel the long effects he has on me, even after we make love, my body continues to throb and pulse in mini orgasms as we lie there and catch our breaths. He then kisses me softly, and I find it so cute that he often thanks me for the “lovin”. I sometimes question myself, is it too good to be true, not always believing that I’m worthy, but I can’t, because I know that he does love me, without question, without limit, without doubt, and the only thing silly is my questioning it. I wish he knew and could accept that he, too, is every bit worthy of all the love that I know how to give, and more.

Happy Hump Day!