saturday

He lay beside me, warm, breathing softly, almost asleep but not quite. His arm beneath my neck, I enjoyed the sound, the warmth, the gentle protection implied by his presence. The hair on his legs tickled my thighs but I lay still. I could feel the mess we’d made together, the mix of lotion and seed and dampness inside me and on me. It was dark, the only light a remote glow from some modern convenience but not in this room. We’d banished such from the place we made love.

I could still smell him, the soap he’d used, perspiration from his labors over me, the lotion he’d caressed me with, rubbed into my legs and bottom, the musk that came from our excitement mingled with desire and love. His eyes still closed, his hand found my arm, stroked softly, then fingertips extended to find the swell of my breast. I sighed, remembering his fingertips on my nipple. He’d done that thing where he torments one breast, kneading and holding and pinching, oral care as well, suckling and nibbling and licking and biting, but carefully leaving the other to ache for his touch. I’d told him it was a delicious cruelty and thanked him for not doing it every time.

He’d taken his time with me, exciting me fully, grinning cruelly as I begged him for release but not relenting for several cycles of pushing me up the peak and then gently letting me fall back down the hill, only to find him bringing me back yet again. When he’d entered me, finally, I sobbed with pleasure, loving him despite his teasing, wanting more and more, his caresses, his movements increasing, faster, harder, and when I came I screamed and I hardly ever do that. His hand on my neck then, not choking, just a gentle pressure of command, of possession, that to which I submitted willingly, with joy, giving myself to him in this way.

He tugged and I lifted my neck so he could slip his arm from beneath me. I whimpered softly so he’d know I’d miss it and he smiled, his eyes closed, his lips pursed for a sleepy kiss. If I wanted him again I could go down on him now, he’d respond and he’d be mine to command, he’d lie back, his cock straight to the ceiling, or at least high on the wall behind the bed, and I could ride my stallion to another peak. It would take both of us some time. He would be mine, I would be his and this time I’d collapse over him and his arms would hold me to his chest, his kisses on the top of my head sleepy but loving. I’d wake in the morning to an empty bed and maybe he’d return with rolls and coffee, or he’d stare at me sternly and fuss until I got up so he could take me to breakfast. ‘Sleepy eyes’ he’d call me and he’d kiss me awake.

I could wear that pretty sundress, bright panties and bra beneath, the color showing beneath the light colored fabric. He’d imagine the delights inside, knowing all but imagining the pleasure of finding them again and he’d smile that mischievous little-boy thing and I’d be charmed and he’d buy me a gift or pick me a flower and I’d blush and he’d know that I wanted him, too.

Snores now, I’d almost waited too long, and I positioned myself carefully and kissed his nose, just once, lightly, then backed away and watched and there it was, the tiny grin. I’d found this quite by accident, loving him already but we weren’t quite committed and certainly hadn’t found the ways to satisfy one another completely, not yet, but I’d kissed his nose and saw the tiny smile of pleasure for the first time. It was the littlest thing but one I kept carefully and hoped would be the last thing I’d remember, at the end, light slipping away, one final thought before…

I wake. The bed’s empty, a fully dressed gentleman staring down at me. That pink shirt I bought him, one he’d never buy but that he wore because it came from me, nice slacks I got on sale, he’s pretending to frown but trying hard not to laugh at the silly look of my mussed hair and crusty eyes when I wake, a look he finds sexy for some reason. I can always tell when he’s looking at my boobs or at my pretty puss but he’s checking out my nose for some reason. Perhaps to kiss? I peek out of slitted eyes and –

“I’m hungry,” he says.