Estrogensensual

I rolled over after having an amazingly hot dream to find him on his back and his fat cock lying across his abs. He must be back in my dream, like he is always saying he will see me in before we fall asleep. I contemplate for a stupid second, going back to sleep to catch up where we left off, but reality is looking too good to pass up, so I just sit there watching him sleep and thinking if he’d mind if I started without him. The sight of his delicious morning wood stretching halfway up his stomach reminds me of a fallen great redwood, and it gets me daydreaming about where my wet dream left off. I’m all kinds of horny and torn between waking him purposely and feigning some form of sleep molestation. I decide to assume a convenient position that still allows me a view while being able to abuse myself comfortably. His cock is still glazed from our other-worldly session last night, which had us both too exhausted to get up after, so we literally just passed out. I reach down between m...

I started with such control and ended up having one of those orgasms that give you Tourette’s of both the mouth and face. It was all because I watched her beautiful face as I drove her, and nothing like Miss Daisy. I know that there is no possible way my “OH face” could have been nearly as beautiful as hers, but like Tourette’s, it was out of my control. I had one of those raging alcohol induced hardons, and I wanted to exact some sweet revenge for her teasing me all night while we were out for one of our only once-in-a-blue moon weekends. We were kid and fancy-free and decided to make it a weekend of drinking, dancing, and bar hopping at the Hard Rock Casino. No drive, no fuss with a suite in the Hotel, room service, and plenty of options at our disposal, plus whoever gets kicked out of a Casino more than once? I’d love to be able to fill you in on all the boring details of that first night, but I have to admit that I lost all those details in the drunken haze and blacked out the...

We’re over the hump in the relationship where we understand that it isn’t quantity but the quality of the sex. Don’t get me wrong; whether we were doing it two or three times a night, or four to five times a week, the sex has always been phenomenal, but we have come to appreciate the hope that there is always tomorrow. So when it comes to keeping a schedule for our lovemaking, we have learned to be less stringent. Sometimes we get complacent or just plain lazy, and only when we start feeling the effects do we realize that we are backed up or in desperate need of that special release. So, of course, after a day off, the need came a-calling. We were lounging in bed after our showers, watching “our shows,” because the kids had commandeered the living room television, when my nightie somehow started riding high over my hips, exposing just enough to spark some interest. His hands started to roam, and I started to purr, and it wasn’t long before he asked, “Can I lock the door?” I coyly volun...

What the hell, I’m like a crack head leper and I’m tweaking hard, and desperate for his affection. It isn’t his fault, outside of coming out of the bedroom after his shower in only his night pants and smelling like the Irish and Italian stallion he is. I can’t even articulate the craving, but I want to carve this walking bar of Irish Spring with my fucking teeth. It’s ridiculous, really; the simplest details about him are making me squishy, and if I could, I’d be sporting the biggest boner. With whatever you call those muscles between his shoulders and his hunky neck, to those god damn dimples which are framed by a very short beard that I wish I could soak as well, all the way to those deep baby blues that turn any place into a bedroom, holy shit, I really need to kick this cold and get over this curse of womanhood that would have been cock blocking me even if I weren’t sick. Thank you for letting me vent my craving and pent-up frustrations, and hopefully for your well wishes for a...