Having sex makes me write. We had sex this morning, and here I am writing.
I say “we” had sex, and of course “we” did, since it was his hands, his fingers and his cock, but really? It was me sexing him. Using him for my sexual gratification.
He may have gotten a little bit of gratification out of it himself, but that was beside the point. (Sort of, of course. Because really, it’s all about him. Even my own pleasure.)
It all started because I woke up at 4:30 and couldn’t go back to sleep. I putzed around on Facebook and Twitter for awhile, played a couple games of my newest phone game addiction, and then decided to catch up on some reading from my email notifications. I read about Rory’s annual Top 100 list, Naughty Corners Top Blogs of 2014, and Rebel’s Notes’ Top 20 in 2014. I am honored to be on those lists, but as I have said in the past, the true value to these yearly lists is in giving you (and I) the opportunity to learn about blogs you may not be aware of. That was how I found Exhibit A some time ago. Which led, not coincidentally, to me sexing up W this morning.
See, after I got done reading the Top Blogger lists, I wandered over to Exhibit A’s post, Unwrapped. It had popped up in my email a few days ago, but I hadn’t had time to read it yet. Four-thirty in the morning at the Dog House (my on-going dog sit gig), laying next to a sleeping W, bored but unable to sleep, seemed a perfect time to partake of a little bloggie smuttiness.
About five minutes into my reading I started to squirm. W was so warm next to me. I was so warm.
This post was freakin’ hot.
I shifted; bumped W with my hip. He shifted; sighed in his sleep. I pressed against him. He slid his hand around my waist. I grabbed his hand and pulled it up to my breast.
W’s hand closed around my breast, kneading; squeezing. Fingers closed around my nipple, squeezing; pinching.
I moaned. My hand snaked down between my legs. I stroked myself through my panties. It had been so long since I touched myself that way.
I moaned some more; kept reading. Kept rubbing, stroking, feeling my rings through my panties; feeling the heat between my legs. W kept mauling my tits, pulling at them, pinching them.
As Exhibit A reached his (oh-so-hot) climax in his (oh-so-hot) post, I reached mine, gasping against W’s neck, my phone dropped to my side and Exhibit A forgotten in that moment.
As the waves of my orgasm subsided, I reached down, grasping W’s cock. He was hard and thick in my hand.
I wanted him hard and thick in my cunt.
I pushed him back, shucked my panties and climbed on top of him. Pushed his cock between my rings. Ground myself down on him; ground my rings into him; ground my clit against the root of his cock. W’s hands stayed on me; pinching as I yelped, pulling as I moaned, twisting as I came again. We were both sweating, panting, moaning.
Behind us in the room, I heard a dog whine.
He grabbed a handful of my hair. “The dogs want you,” he growled. I shuddered, ground myself harder against him; felt him shudder. He reached between our bodies and grabbed my clit; rolled it between his fingertips, pinched it, pulled it.
Fuck, fuck, fuck…
And came again.
So wet, so wet.
I lifted myself off him, feeling his cock slide from my body. I grasped it, pumped my hand up and down, feeling my slickness, then stroked the head of his cock across my rings, loving the feel of it sliding against the metal.
So long. It’d been so long.
“I want Baldy,” I said. “I want a Baldy orgasm.”
He waited as I fumbled with the extension cord in the dark, then sighed as I returned to him, Baldy in hand. I slid back down on his cock, expecting to take back control, ride him into another Baldy-assisted orgasm.
He grabbed Baldy’s wide head and held it against my clit.
I jerked as the deep vibrations pummeled my already-sensitive clit. Came almost immediately. Expected to be allowed to roll off him, because, you know, I was in control, right? This was my game, right?
He ground Baldy against my clit, held it against me, as I squirmed, trying to evade it.
I came. And came again, jerking and spasming helplessly on his cock.
I think I broke a record: 6 orgasms, one on top of another, inside of about 2 minutes.
At the end of which I whimpered and pulled away, gasping, “please, please…no more…”
He let me go. Or I let him go.
Because, you know, I was done with him.