I guess there are times when you pay the price Thursday for what you were doing late Wednesday night, and today is one of those days. Hard to even form a coherent thought, let alone put a few complete sentences down, yet the memory of what we did to each other several hours ago is so vivid that I feel a need to try.
After a busy evening of supervising the youth group party, horsing around a little under the mistletoe, and playing a board game with the teenage sons, my dear Chris and I were faced at midnight with the daunting task of wrapping presents to put under the tree, enough presents for our eight kids and two of their fiancees. Ugh.
So I did what any normal conscientious mother would do, and decided to seduce my husband instead. My doodah had been feeling a little neglected for most of the day, and I came to the conclusion that I needed his body in a bad way, a lot more than the spoiled brats needed to see wrapped gifts under the brightly decorated concolor spruce tree. Chris did not seem to catch the little signals I was trying to send his way as the Settlers game came to a conclusion (I even tried really hard to make our son win the game quickly so we could go hit the sheets), which failure to communicate is very unusual for my oversexed hubby.
Then I remembered having helped him to a quick-handed orgasm as I’d left our bed that morning. Sheesh, my forty-something red-hot lover may experience some difficulty. What to do make his manhood sing and dance and reach for the heavens?
How about a little shift of my attention during foreplay? Yeah, that’s the ticket.
I finally slid my nude body next to his own at 2:00 a.m., turned out the light for pitch blackness, and slowly, gently probed the darkness for my man’s face. Having found him, I planted tiny little kisses all over his cheeks and lips, pressed my bosoms against his chest, and trailed my left hand downward toward his crotch. He sighed and held his breath in anticipation of what he thought would be coming next.
But I only brushed against his penis just long enough to confirm that it was tired and limp, in no condition to service my yearning vagina. But not to worry, Angela Mistress of the Night had a plan.
Having decided to allow him to play with my clitoris and vulva, which he gleefully did without my having to ask, I nevertheless strictly avoided touching and stroking his penis. Oh, it wasn’t easy, let me tell you, I just love the feel of his love tool against my palms and fingertips even when he’s soft. But tonight was going to be all about testicles. Night of the Nuts, if you will.
My lips and tongue kept up with their deep kissing, and my fingertips began ministering to his balls. First there were little tugs on the short curlies, then ringlets traced around each growing gonad, and now tiny scratches from the sharp nails of the seductress onto the ripply tender skin of his scrotum. Each new motion produced a cheerful groan from his gullet as I continued to vary my love play.
I proceeded to pet his testes in every new and differing way I could think of while lying there in a lip-lock in total darkness. And still not so much as single caress to his huge erection, which after fifteen minutes of this activity was pressing firmly against my belly. Circling, stroking, scraping, letting them roll around gently between my fingers, tapping them with my fingertips as if playing a flute, cupping them in my palm just to feel their heat. Trailing my fingers to the sensitive little spot where his scrotum borders his bottom and tickling…
That did it! The sensation of my fingernails against his horny little perineum must have been enough to push him over the edge, ’cause next thing I knew I was on the receiving end of a throw-down. In one prolonged exquisite motion of animal sexuality he had pitched me on my back with legs splayed apart, knelt before me with his hands tangled in my hair pinning my head to the sheets, and thrust deeply into my being. Aaahhhh!!! Wonderful. Yesss!!!
My right hand now felt around for his scrotum as his balls slapped against my rear. They twitched between my fingers, and I felt the prostate muscles start to quiver. After a few minutes of mutually wild thrusting the pre-orgasmic tingling I’ve come to expect from making love to this beautiful man started to wash over me.
I’m getting on top now, Chris, and I did, flipping him over sliding my swollen wet pussy down over his mammoth erection without touching the beast itself with my hands, wiggling my butt against him at just the right angle for him to penetrate me completely, I even felt the head of his manhood hit the deep end of my vagina so I curled my toes around his ankles and bit his nipples and ground my pelvis into his and pushed my body off his chest so his erection was rubbing the front wall of my vagina where the G-spot lives and it felt so good but it felt even better to sit up all the way and put his hands on my breasts so he could knead them and pinch my aching nipples while I reached around my rear end to feel his pulsating nuts to massage them and tweak them and scratch and tickle the sensitive skin between his balls till he cried out in delight and drove into me like jackhammer and then I realized I was yelling and groaning even loader than he as my whole being convulsed in orgasm so I moved my body downward and his penis caught me in a new angle and another climax jolted through me and then I let go his testicles and threw my arms around my lover’s neck as he bucked upward into me and I sank my teeth into his shoulder to stifle the scream of my third orgasm and listened to both our hearts pound right out of our chests and enjoyed the white flashing lights that were going off inside my head like my own personal pyrotechnic display.
I allowed him to take control now as he turned me gently on my back and did a perfectly-executed finger massage on my G-spot, and felt perfectly relaxed as the next two climaxes coursed their way from my womb up to my brain, and back down to the toes. No, he wasn’t done yet, not having had an ejaculation of his own. He climbed back on me missionary style and once again penetrated me from above, we both groaned and sang out and thrust and I felt my insides contract in climax all over again and then he was bucking and spurting and erupting and squirting…
Angela, I love you, but I have to leave before I die of pleasure and so he slipped out of my very happy vagina and lay back. He was panting like a marathon runner, and in the dim light seemed to look much more blissfully content than any runner I’ve ever seen.
I peeked at the digital clock flashing 3:05 before snuggling my head against his shoulder, massaging his chest and nipples, feeling his semen drip lazily from my satisfied womanhood and onto his thigh. And then I couldn’t help myself, but started tracing gentle graceful grateful circles around each of Chris’s nuts as they rolled about in their sensitive little sac, listening as his breath gradually slowed down and he drifted into a post-coital coma.
Thanks, little guys. We’ll have to do this again sometime.
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