I’m out of practice at being on the receiving end of pleasure. I’m so deeply conditioned to not orgasming unless I do it myself that I don’t even know how to let my body go.
The first time Alpha went down on me, I was slow to come. But then he slid his fingers inside me with that oft-mentioned “come hither” motion, sucked my clit into his mouth and tongued me hard and didn’t stop until I exploded screaming and gasping and pulling his head tight against me.
Later he said to me with only a hint of accusation, “You didn’t tell me you squirt.” I do? I had no idea! I can’t even remember the last time I came that hard. Ever? My husband has never remarked about ejaculation on my part, so I think Alpha’s discovered a new trick.
He gave me his cock shortly after that. I’d forgotten what it’s like to be with a man with stamina. He was optimistic that I’d come again from being fucked, but as much as I loved the hard pounding thrust of his cock inside me, I rarely even feel close to orgasm during sex. I told him so and he was happy. Apparently his wife comes easily and quickly upon penetration, and is not appreciative of his ability and inclination to keep going, playing and feeling and watching and fucking.
I’m appreciative. Deeply. ☺
I let him push me all around. Wanted him to. Want me on my back, legs spread wide? Pull my ankles up to your shoulder – together over one shoulder or spread apart, one slender ankle on each side of your neck? Push me over on my side? Take me from behind when you’re crouched on your knees so that I’m more kneeling than I am on all fours, my hips held tight in your hands? Yes. I accept. Yes, please, more… yes.
He had me on my back again, my legs around him, driving into me with that wonderful twist of his hips that made his cock rotate inside me, touching places that I didn’t know could feel such rich pleasure. He had hold of my hands when he pulled the move I’m still longing to feel again – he held my hands tight and pulled me with him back until we’d completed a nice vertical 180 degree reversal so that I was astride him – all without a moment’s disengagement.
I was so startled that I giggled. I’m not used to being so easily pushed and pulled around. My legs are flexible, sure, and if you want to roll me over from my back to my belly, you’ll find me bonelessly accommodating. But this – not the same. Oh, so much better. It was when I found my own rhythm astride him, driving him deep into me on my backstrokes, that I came for the second time.
It took me by surprise. I was astounded. It seemed like only moments before that I’d been throbbing and pulsing against his tongue and fingers, but there I was milking his cock with my spasming cunt in my second orgasm in an hour. He came shortly after that. After I’d recovered my breath from #2, I found that I wanted more, wanted to keep riding the thick, hard cock inside me… so I did… and he liked it.
We laid around for a while after that, getting to know each other’s habits and bodies a bit more. How much can I cuddle? Can I tangle my legs with yours and slide my calf up and down against yours, feeling that wonderful contrast of hard muscles and springy hair against my own smooth, slender legs? Wrap my arms around your torso and squeeze a bit, just to familiarize myself with the feel of your body against me? Let’s chat and laugh for a bit, tell silly stories about our youthful escapades. Let me fill my hands with your body.
It was when he went down on me again that I came for the third time. I definitely didn’t think it would work that time… but it did. Weak, limp, and boneless, I collapsed on his full, muscled chest shortly after. I giggled for a while, as is often my post-orgasmic wont. He laughed at me for my giggles, told me how much he enjoyed feeling me come against his mouth.
Thoroughly pleased and appreciative, I slid down his solid body and explored his powerful hockey-playing thighs, reveling in their massive strength. I slid my face into those musky warm corners of groin and turned my head to suck and tongue his balls. Only after that did I take his cock in my mouth.
Perhaps it was just his heightened arousal in response to our play, or his excitement at drinking in my third orgasm, or maybe it was merely his delight at actually having his cock sucked after ages of married dry spell. Perhaps he responded to my own deep enjoyment of the act, or the visual thrill of watching me slide the head of his cock against my lips, just feeling his taut contours against my mouth. Whatever cause, in short order I found myself with a mouth full of hot, salty, liquid pleasure… and I drank it down.
We had to leave shortly after. I’d brought a wonderful picnic of double cream camembert, crusty baguette, perfect avocado, and spicy sopressata, and he’d picked up a bottle of good red to complement the feast. The food made it from its bags to the table, but the knife I’d brought never did slice open the avocado or shave off slices of sausage. Instead, we tore off great hunks of bread and scooped up pungent, creamy dollops of soft cheese and devoured them as we dressed, feeding each other and ourselves and wallowing in the hedonism of continued consumption and sensation.