Our Mornings PART 1

I met Steven in the spring of my sophomore year of undergrad.  Actually, that’s not true.  We technically knew of each other since freshman year.  We went to the same school.  At the time, he was a composition major at the music school, and I started out my undergrad career as a piano performance major (double majoring in biology).  We shared many classes those first two years.  We had mutual friends, but never actually spoke to each other until the spring semester of my sophomore year.  We both were academically obsessive, which led to us being extremely competitive.  Steven Blake was a thorn in my side.  He seemed to make it his daily mission to contradict every point I argued in class.  Even when we agreed on something, he would find ways to somehow make it seem like his agreement was better.

Steven and I finally “formally” introduced ourselves to each other in the spring semester of sophomore year. Only a year and a half of shared classes… We were sitting outside of the classroom before a tonal theory class, because yes, we were the kind of students who showed up to morning classes early.  That particular morning, the door was locked, so instead of being able to enter the room and part ways, we were stuck sitting outside the door glaring at each other.

After about ten minutes of mutual scowling, he broke the silence.  He held out his hand, “I’m Steven.”

I looked at his outstretched hand without shaking it, “I know who you are.”

He smirked, “Do you?”

“You’re Steven Blake, who likes to make my day hell.  Called me “princess” on our first day of Music Theory. A nickname you can’t seem to drop.”

The fucker smirked again, “You’re free to pick one for me.”

I scoffed back at him, “Oh, I have plenty of names I use to refer to you.”

“Is that right?  Such as?”

“Asshole is the one I use most often.”

He laughed out loud at that one.  “Come on, you can do better than that.”

“Sorry to disappoint.  I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about you,”  (Lie)  “And, I don’t know you well enough to come up with a suitable nickname.”

“You’re free to change that.”

“Thinking about you?”

He rolled his eyes, “No. Well, sure, that.”  He smirked, “But you can get to know me better.”

“I could say the same to you.”

After a few more moments of silence, he held his hand out again. “Hi, I’m Steven. It’s nice to meet you.”

I took his hand that time and gave it a firm shake, “I’m Rose.”

Our theory professor chose that moment to make us aware of his existence.  After he unlocked the door, we followed him into the classroom.  As we made our way in, he addressed us both.  “Rose, Steven, I’m glad to see you two getting along. I’ve paired you up for the Stravinsky Analysis.  You guys will present on The Rite of Spring in 4 weeks.  We’ll be going over the project requirements today.”

We both interjected in unison, “No, no, that’s not a good idea-”

“Oh, I think it’s a great idea.  My two best scholars joining forces to analyze my favorite Stravinsky work?  I couldn’t have planned it better myself.  Wait! I did plan it.”  He could see both of us ready to challenge him again.  “Don’t bother trying to get out of it.  I’ve had you two in mind for this exact project since last semester.”

 

From that moment we were inseparable, our thing was honesty and honesty took us far enough to confess our love for each other and more imortatly our interest in S&M. He was a Dom at heart and I liked playing perfect girl to be latter fucked shameless while tied up. Our sessions started about a year after that first encounter and now, five years later we are still mad for each other. I would like to brag about our bondage sessions, about the paradogical estate of having a crushing orgasm that fucking hurts but that’s us and I love it. Those are our nights, but today I would like to talk about our mornings.

______________________

I wake up, it’s still dark, so I check the clock, and it’s only 5AM. I’m sprawled across Steven’s chest, and the skin-to-skin contact is making my cheek sweat where it lays on his chest. That’s something they don’t show in the movies – feeling all sticky and sweaty during post-coital cuddling…  I don’t recall this being a problem when we fell asleep spooning.

I sit up, and the rustling of the sheets must have woken him up. He strokes his fingers up and down my back and I turn my head around to look at him over my shoulder before I stretch my arms and shoulders above me. I roll my eyes at the smug grin on his face but return it with one of my own. 

I lay back down, this time facing away from him. He gives a huff, and I can sense his anxiety when he thinks I’m trying to physically shut him out. To soothe his concern, I reach behind me and make a grabbing motion with my hand.

He chuckles, “What’s that you’re doing there?”

“Your hand… Give it to me.” He starts trying to extricate his and from between us. “No, your other hand.” He meets my fingers with his and I pull it over myself so that he can be the big spoon.

He laugh softly again, “You could have just told me you wanted to spoon, Rose.”

I huff, “But ‘spooning’ sounds stupid.” He adjusts his position to one more comfortable for both of us, one of his legs between mine, his other arm no longer awkwardly stuck underneath him. I can feel his erection against my back, but he’s making no moves to do anything about it. Regardless, I’m getting all wet anyway… He nuzzles my neck, in a totally lame and cliché way and it makes me laugh.

He scoffs, “What?”

“You…”

“Me?”

I roll my eyes, “Yeah, you. You’re kind of perfect and it makes me a little bit sick.”

He laughs and nuzzles me again. “You’re one to talk. You’re perfect.”

“See? Lame.”

I turn my head around and kiss him, thankful that our breath isn’t all morning-breath-ish. He’s got this ridiculous smile on his face that make it all the way to his eyes, and it’s fucking beautiful. I mean, yes, he’s aesthetically gorgeous – tan skin, chiseled jawline, hot-as-fuck adam’s apple, chiseled everything else… But it’s his soul… It shines through his eyes, and he’s breathtaking. He kisses me again, cupping my cheek his large hand, brushing his thumb along my skin.

When he breaks the kiss, I scrunch my nose, “Yeah, still lame…” I turn in his arms to face him. I shriek with laughter when he pulls me onto his chest and drags me up so my face is above his. I cradle his face with my hands and kiss him deeply. I can feel his erection grazing my entrance, and if I was to just sink down, he’d be in me easily. I glance at the alarm, which reads 5:15 AM. I whisper in his ear, “We have 45 minutes until the kid’s alarm goes off. Think you can fuck my brains out by then?”

He furrows his brows, “Was that a serious question?”

“Um, kind of. I mean, we don’t have to—“

He cuts me off by pulling my face down to his and capturing my mouth in an intense kiss. He sneaks a hand between us and parts my folds with his fingers. “Holy fuck, Rose. It’s only five in the morning and you’re already so fucking wet.”

“Well, I’ve got you, getting me that way, by just existing.” I move into position to straddle him and he thrusts his hips up while I sink down on his cock with a groan.

“Fuck, Ste…… You’re a lot to get used to first thing in the morning.” He has a smug look on his face, as he is fully aware of how well-endowed he is. He waits patiently while I adjust to him, using his thumb to play with my clit to distract me from the discomfort of being impaled by his sizable girth. I usually have a ton of foreplay to loosen me up before he’s actually fucking me. “Goddamnit, Steven you’re fucking huge.” While I’m wet as hell, I’m not exactly limber yet… I nod my head, then grind down on him, making him groan. Before long, the discomfort dissipates, overcome by the bliss of being stretched and filled in the most glorious way.

Suddenly, he sits straight up so that our chests are pressed together. He wraps one arm around my lower back while using his other arm for leverage, bracing it behind him as he begins thrusting up into me in a steady rhythm.   I throw one arm around his neck and use the other to explore his body. I don’t often have my hands free to roam around. I rotate my hips experimentally until I reach an angle that is driving both of us off the edge. “Oh god, Steven, right there, oh fuck, that’s it…”