Some nights missing you becomes too much. I have to pleasure myself with my own touch. Unbuttoning my silk shirt, I let it fall to the ground as I slip off my thong. Then, I push the bed clothes off to the side, leaving a pillow with which my head can collide, and I lie back with eyes closed to rest my mind.

Adjusting my knees and hips for easy access, I place my finger in my mouth to help it slide inside. But just as I begin to envision you  and my imagination starts blooming, you walk through my door to take over, throwing your clothes to the floor.

We kiss our tongues tied deep in a missionary mount, massaging each other, while we roll over on the bed. My breasts in your hands, you squeeze them tight, and at the same time I clench my muscles and slap down upon your hips.

Nipples pinched, I exclaim, “Hey, let’s do something different. Instead of the bed here, let’s try that ottoman over there.” And I dismount with a bounce, pulling the cushy seat out.

As you sit on the edge of the bed, I entice you with a dance. Swinging my hips and splitting my legs to the rhythm of the music, I bend over. With my head between my knees, I put up a finger to wave you near.

I command, “Lie down and let’s see what I can come up with…” And with one leg up on the cushion while in the splits, I take you in. Though the exercise makes me pant, I tire quicker than I thought…

So, I sit like a frog upon your cock and pound down, ready to get myself off, but the force of our passion slides us from the center over the side of the ottoman. Despite the fact that I was riding you onto your head, we don’t slow but increase momentum instead.

My eyes on yours, with your neck cocked, I see you’re ready to release your energy into me, so thinking quick, not ready for the end yet, I giggle and say, “Here, let’s get you back on top, and we can go at until I scream real loud.”

Whisking me in a back-bend over the ottoman, you move yourself in and around, and together we sweat, moving our hips to hit again and again and again until my insides burn and my fingers curl, and I belt out, “Oh…oh…my…oh my…God…”

And you moan out an “OH YEAH!” And together we allow our wetness to explode, finally collapsing…satisfied.

 

Art by Samarel