Throttling

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 volunteered so that I could ensure that the kids were kept busy, while he sat up in bed and gave me the biggest Cheshire smile, and bed danced while removing his briefs and telling me to hurry.

When I came back, he was patting the bed like a kid waiting for his parents’ coffee to finish brewing before they could open their presents on Christmas morning. So I took my time and kept my nightie on while I climbed into bed and snuggled up like we were just going to continue watching our shows. Unfazed, he just repositioned his body and dared me to keep playing like I didn't know what time it was as he spread my flanks and ran his tongue from bow to stern. I jumped as his tongue dilly-dallied around my rim before parting my labia on his way up to my sleepy clit. I initially thought that it would take extra effort to get my motor humming, but all it really took was a peek. I think he knew this because he reached around my thighs and pulled my lips taut so that I could watch as his gifted tongue was molesting my growing nub. I had to divert my view from watching him back to pretending to watch the television just to sustain. He knew he had me, too, because my clit nearly poked his eye out as he latched onto it like a dog on a bone. He hummed, sucked, and popped my clit while slowly working his fingers inside me in order to save the city from my torrential floodwaters. The wetter I got, the more verbosely excited he got. Finally, I couldn’t pretend to be able to sustain any longer, and I had to roll away from him before I blew my load. I was able to stay off that orgasm with a lot of concentration, and I mistakenly confessed to him my situation just to watch his smile go from Cheshire to something more devious as he stood up at the edge of the bed and pulled me across to him by my ankles. I was helpless as I said to myself, “Oh shit, here we go,” knowing that he was going to fuck with me while he fucked me.

He was definitely in brat mode, and before he impaled me, he dropped down to mop up. He fluttered his tongue at my holes until they puckered involuntarily before he continued to lap up the mess he made. I resorted to thinking about f'n baseball, because that is what he’d do, just so I could keep some respectable stamina while he purposely tried to fucking break me. When he stood and slapped my clit with his fat cock, it made me feel like smacking those smug dimples right off his face, but he also gave me the perfect attitude adjustment by plowing deep and hard. Mother fucker! Baseball wasn’t going to be able to hold me off, but he knew that. This son of a bitch knew exactly what he was doing and somehow was able to tell every time I was getting close, and would slow down or pause just long enough. It was the best form of torture possible, and honestly, the help I needed to endure. He fucking played me like a violin with long, smooth strokes of his bow and the gentle plucking of his fingers at my clit. He kept me on the threshold skillfully, and it was like he knew exactly where my limits were better than I did, and he was able to throttle up or down to keep me in the red. I knew there was only one hope for me, and like a mouse playing dead, I waited for the opening to once again kick him off as I tried to claw and crawl my way back to the middle of the bed. I looked back over my shoulder to see him chuckling while clutching his fat, glistening cock just before he pounced onto my back and said, “Where do you think you’re going”?

Again, I made the mistake of telling him that I needed a break. He laughed as he pushed my legs together, and straddled me like a crotch rocket before spreading my backside and free-falling into me and crashing into my parking garage. As he crashed down repeatedly onto my G-spot, I finally conceded defeat and stopped trying to sustain and cried that I was going to cum. And in his bratty fashion, he put his weight down on my back and whispered into my ear, “No, you’re not,” as he slowed to a stop. I felt like I was at the point of no return, and my body seemed to possess me; I found myself rocking back and forth while bucking desperately trying to finish myself, but I didn’t have the stamina or leverage as he just whispered into my ear and taunted me to cum. I finally looked back over my shoulder, and all I could muster was a pleading look of desperation to which he answered by sitting back on his haunches, licking his thumb, and slowly working it into my safe space, and like Kryptonite, I was entirely at his mercy. His taunts got more demanding as he ordered me to cum on his cock, and feeling him fill me so completely forced me to comply. This was one of those orgasms that should have expelled him, but he wasn’t done yet, and as he hammered away like only he could. I rode the biggest wave until he, too, apparently decided to join me. We both crashed onto that beach like the ocean was done with us; we were both dumbfounded and broken, our bodies twisted but pleasantly numb, and it seemed to me that the world was a wonderful fucking place.

Happy Hump Day!!