Breakfast In Bed

It’s 2 o’clock on a Sunday afternoon and we have both just got out of bed. If you could have seen us an hour ago you would have laughed: Like a scene from some second rate sitcom we were the very epitome of suburban normality; sitting up in bed, sipping tea and trying not to get toast crumbs in the sheets, Heather doing the crossword in her women’s magazine and me helping her sporadically.

If you’d have seen us two hours ago however, I’m not sure what you would have done: Laughed maybe, blushed perhaps, covered your eyes or cheered from the sidelines…

When she woke, Heather was still partly dressed. She had fallen asleep in my arms last night as I was slowly trying to undress her. We had both had a bit to drink and it was very late. We spent a long, lazy time waking up; holding each other close, running our hands all over each other, kissing and nuzzling. Slowly the tempo picked up. I pressed my lips more determinedly to hers, she gripped my leg more firmly around mine and started to rub up against my thigh.

Clasping each other still, we rolled until I was on my back and suddenly she was on all fours above me, legs splayed and with her lovely breasts swinging in my face like a pair of giant pacifiers. With one hand I tried to gather them together and guide them to my mouth while the other stretched down to her slit now wide open and invitingly wet. I hooked a couple of fingers inside her and was immediately rewarded by a long, satisfied ‘aaahhh!’ from her. She lowered her hips over my hand to maximise her pleasure as my thumb sought out her clit.

With a little shift in position I was able to push a well-wetted middle finger up against her rosebud and then, with just the slightest pressure, in. Deeply in. There was no sharp intake of breath, no urgent warning to be careful, just more little moans of pleasure, more writhing of her body on top of mine.

I pulled her face closer to mine:

“You know I’m going to have to fuck you in there, don’t you?”

She nodded.

I rolled her over onto her back and she spread her legs willingly. I plunged deep inside her, cupped her face in my hands again and whispered my need for her, my need to be inside of her. I wanted to enjoy all that her sweet warm cunt had to offer, but ultimately I needed the thrill of being inside her tight little arse.

We shifted to the spoons position and I fucked her long and slow while she jiggled about to make sure that I brushed just the right spot with every thrust. With one hand I gripped her neck. Hard. With the other I wiggled a finger into her arse again, preparing her. I rolled away and scooped up a dollop of lube from the pot on the bedside table. She was still lying on her side and she drew the topmost leg up, laying bare her most secret and intimate places. I lubricated us both generously and, kneeling astride her outstretched leg, penetrated her. Her pent-up breath was released in a long vocal sigh of relief as I slid easily into her, pulled out until the head of my cock was tickled and teased by that tight ring of muscle guarding her entrance and then slowly slid into her again, as deep as I could go. Heather rolled over onto her front with me still locked inside her and clamped her legs together so that my whole body was stretched out on top of hers with my legs straddling her, ankles resting on her calves. I took a firm grip on her neck with both hands and felt her shudder as I did so. Using her shoulders as my leverage I slid back and forth on top of her.

Then she needed a pillow, two pillows, under her stomach. I had to pull out to reach them. Supported like this her bum was now jutting high in the air and I could simply part her cheeks, place the tip of my cock on her accommodating little arsehole and pitch forward, momentarily losing my balance as I almost fell into her.

I don’t know what it is that makes Heather (and for all I know, every other woman) sensitive to the man’s impending orgasm. I didn’t change the slow steady rhythm of stroking in and out of her, my breathing stayed the same, I thought I managed to bottle up my building climax pretty well, the more to enjoy it when it finally erupted. But she could sense it and she responded to it with a growing excitement, little whimpers, contractions, shudders, that fed my climax which in turn fed her in a growing spiral of ecstasy. I knew she wouldn’t be able to come just from what I was giving her but she certainly was getting very close. I let go for all I was worth deep into her rectum and slumped back on my heels, mopping the sweat from my fringe of hair on the small of her back. She remained motionless in her preferred position, on knees and elbows with her forearms pointing forward and palms flat on the bed, like a sphinx or a sleek, lithe leopard. She didn’t need to tell me how she wanted to come.

I knelt beside her, pushed a thumb into her dripping cunt until it found that special velvety patch on her front vaginal wall and slid the rest of that hand along her slippery slit until my fingertips caressed her clitoris. Then I gently began to work that hand back and forth in a sparse motion of barely a few millimetres, with a minute rolling from side to side while keeping up the pressure inside her. To seal her fate I slid the index finger of my other hand down into theat recently-vacated other hole, now delightfully dilated. The response was so fast that I wasn’t absolutely sure she had come, or whether she was just enjoying a plateau of joy on the way. In the end I had to ask her. Yes, she was fine, thank you.

I must admit to dozing off a little while Heather cleaned up and went to make the tea. I must admit to saying “Yes please” to the proffered slice of hot buttered toast when she came back upstairs with breakfast. And, sitting up in bed, that butter wouldn’t have melted in our mouths as we sipped our tea and did the crossword, in our cosy suburban normality.