No Special Occasion

There are mornings when we wake, dragged from our downy sleep by the insistent nagging of our seven alarm clocks, lying quietly side by side each in our own time-honoured territory in the bed with the duvet nicely tucked up under our chins and spread out over our recumbent forms to drape neatly down each side.

And then there are mornings like yesterday morning. She was lying face down, diagonally across the bed and I was sprawled across her. The duvet was a shapeless heap that covered some parts of our naked bodies too well and others not at all. The tissue that she had handed me the night before to wipe myself clean of my spent fluids, and hers, was an unused little ball crushed into the crumpled sheet under my thigh. We never did find the wet patch, although it must have been huge judging by the sheer quantity of wetness we managed to produce between us.

I pulled the duvet up over my shoulders and closed my arms tighter around hers.

”Mmmm That was a wonderful sleep” She murmered. Dreamily.

”And an amazing fuck” I added.

She snuggled in closer to me by way of agreement.

There was no special occasion, no particular reason why the previous night should have been any different from any of the other ten thousand nights we have spent together, but somehow the chemistry was just right, the right buttons got pressed at the right time. If I knew just what it was I’d write a book about it and retire off the proceeds.

I suppose it helps if you are both in the mood right from the start. I like to think that I always am but there are occasions when I am just as happy to snuggle up close and fall asleep with her in my arms. On this occasion, however, I was amusing myself while Heather made herself ready for bed by watching a video of German origin where a girl in a latex cat suit with a pink fluffy collar and tail was being pleasured orally by a curly-haired chap in a transparent plastic tunic and a pair of welders goggles. All very bizarre, and not really my thing at all. I had no idea why, or even when, I had acquired this video. I started to think about how I was going to pleasure my own lady when she was finished in the bathroom, whether I should retrieve the Rabbit, or one of Rabbits’ friends and relations, from our overnight bag.

Then in came Heather and peeled off her outer clothes to reveal her crimson underwired bra and simple black thong. Her breasts high and plump, the roundness of her buttocks somehow accentuated by that little triangle of material disappearing down between them. She sat down demurely on the bed and let me admire her, first with eyes, then with fingertips, then with hands and lips and tongue. Exploring and re-exploring her glorious roundnesses and fullnesses and plumpnesses. Brushing the back of one hand lightly over her cleavage, so smooth and soft. Running my other hand down her stomach, but stopping short of her pubis. For now at least.

She lay back and spread her legs. Wide. Wantonly wide. But if she had wanted me to just push that cheesewire of a thong to one side and enter her there and then she was to be disappointed for just a little longer. I slid a hand around the curve of her bum and teased her labia free, massaging them to plumpness on either side of that thin strip of fabric so that it rode deep into her cleft, soaking up her moisture.

And then I could wait no more. I half-rolled her until she was curled up in the foetal position on the bare sheet, peeled the thong gently from her and eased into her from behind with slow steady strokes that brought forth little sighs of pleasure from her. Somewhere along the way the bra got discarded and I reached a hand around to try and gather both breasts, to feel both nipples beneath my fingertips. The other hand snaked around her middle to try and find her clitoris under that gorgeous mat of hair and I felt her stiffen as I located it and caught it between two fingers. But the closeness that this required precluded the long thrusts I wanted to give her. I pushed away from her a little, pulled out until I ws just poised at her very rim, before stroking long and deep into her again and again so that my thighs slapped against her and then, as a counterpoint to that slapping, I smacked her hard; on the bum, on the upper leg, as far up between her legs as I could reach. Each slap came from a different angle, with a varying intenstity and as her contented sighs turned to more urgent cries I pincered the back of her neck between finger and thumb while she tensed and arched her back.

In an instant I was out of her and bearing down on her, the one arm holding her legs high and apart while the other dived for her soaking cunt, hooking fingers urgently inside it, rubbing her clit. As she came closer and closer to orgasm her legs started to close. Heather finds it impossible to orgasm unless her legs are tightly closed and I pushed them apart, gently at first, then more forcibly as the intensity increased. Her cries became a continuous wail, punctuated by sobbing gasps for breath. I carried on, rubbing her and forcing her legs apart, waiting for that final despairing cry that would signify the ultimate fulfillment, the peak of pleasure, but it never came. She was on a plateau. A plateau of deeper joy than than she normally experiences during orgasm, and a plateau that she showed no sign of coming down from, but a plateau none the less. I wondered how long she could carry on. Her vocalisations had now given way to a prolonged silent scream. She didn’t know what to do with her hands; she crossed and uncrossed them over her breasts, reached up behind her head as if desperately seeking something to hang on to before bringing them down to her breasts again and frantically snatching at her nipples while her head thrashed from side to side.

She was still on that plateau, still mouthing that silent scream, when I gathered her legs up on my shoulders and slammed into her urgently, wanting to keep her there while I took my pleasure deep inside her. Now she was able to close her legs together a little more and her state of ecstasy rolled on and on, gathering momentum as the whole of my abdomen crashed again and again against the backs of her legs. It was the sight and sound and smell of her that excited me, as much as the feeling of sliding deep into that slick wet cunt. The way she bit her bottom lip, rolled her head and mashed her breasts together in her hands, tugging desperately at her nipples between finger and thumb.

I came with a shout, punctuated by two or three bone-jarring final thrusts and then I was out of her again, crushing her head to my chest with one hand, the other hand back down there in the combined mess of our juices working, teasing, pushing, pulling until at last she voiced one final despairing cry and clung to me as if drowning, her body wracked with sobs.

And there we lay. Me half-sitting with her head nestling on my chest. I remember thinking that there had to be a huge wet patch somewhere, probably over on my side, and not caring. I remember Heather waking briefly, handing me a tissue and padding out to the bathroom to clean up. Way, way too late.

And then it was 7 o’clock in the morning and we were still in a tangled heap together, both deeply at peace after the best night’s sleep we’ve had in a long while. For the rest of the day we were walking around in a kind of euphoric haze, catching each other’s gaze fom time to time and grinning conspiratorially at each other when the staff weren't looking. Whispering things like ”That was a bloody good fuck” when they were out of earshot.



Happy Valentines’ Day to you, H., Min elskede – My beloved. My greatest joy has always been to feel the thrill of your body under my touch.