God bless grandmas — especially the ones who offer your children an occasional "sleepover." Only one of our two kids was out of the house Saturday night ... but that didn't stop Amy and me from tacitly agreeing that it would be a night of raunch.
One problem: The kid taken off our hands was not the one lately having trouble sleeping. It was past 10:30 before Amy and I were the only conscious humans in the house. The bedtime process exhausted us. I assumed Amy was beyond "recovery" for sex, but she surprised me by asking to be woken up with an episode of The Black Donnellys. ("It is St. Patrick's day, after all," she explained.)
"I'm sorry this evening isn't turning out the way we'd hoped," Amy said after the show. She was stroking my head in her lap.
"What were you hoping for, exactly?" I inquired.
"Oh ... I was thinking we'd watch a porno...."
We stared at a muted television playing some South By Southwest band I had lost interest in. I debated internally whether to reveal my fun secret.
"Well ..." I started, "I do have something on my computer that I've been saving to show you. It's the greatest blowjob I've ever seen filmed."
I always feel weird about revealing to Amy that I've been looking at porn, even though she's totally cool with it. She knows I masturbate a lot, and that I use "educational materials" accordingly. Still, it feels a little ... seedy.
"Okay," she said, sounding genuinely interested. "But ... You shouldn't have that stuff on your computer."
"I know. This is the only thing. I just put it on there for you to see, and then its gone."
"'Cause you don't want someone finding that by accident and being forced to fire you."
"No, you're right. It's gone after tonight. So ... You want to see it?"
"Oh yeah, sure," she said. She went to get a snack while I opened the laptop.
The video is a semi-amateur thing — meaning that the women in it are probably in the industry, either as dancers or as low-level porn actresses, but this is an improvised, small-time, Internet-only cheapie, shot with a single handheld consumer camera in a nondescript bedroom. The cameraman talks way too much, making inane smalltalk and frat-boy comments. Most of the videos I've seen by this guy is ruined by his bullshit logorrhea.
But this one video transcends his blathering.
The stars are two (naturally) large-breasted women. ("So it's a real departure for me!" I explained to Amy.) They spend the first one-third of the video playing with each other's breasts, adeptly incorporating baby oil, hands and mouths. I skipped this part for Amy's viewing and cued it to the point where the male is introduced. The women give his (large and very nice) cock a tandem blowjob. Both women are then fucked in numerous positions while they continue to kiss or play with each other's tits or go down on each other. It concludes with a money shot on their tits.
Pretty basic, vanilla stuff. Except ... Except for that blowjob. You see, these two women have sizzling chemistry. I'm not a huge fan of girl-girl, but what these women essentially do, as the guy is reclined on his back, is have an incendiary makeout session ... and the guy's dick just happens to be perched between their mouths. Their kissing is wet, wild, slow ... almost longing. They savor each other. And ... yeah, there's this huge cock that, almost as a side-effect, gets sucked.
The moment this video becomes worth every penny (even if I did download it for free) is when both men — the one in front of the camera and the one behind — unconsciously cease their nonstop chatter. Suddenly, there is silence, except for the moist sound of lips sucking on lips ... lips sucking on cock ... under-the-breath alto moans. In the span of fifteen seconds, these two lovers instantly own the room, the camera, the cock.
Two minutes later, they break with a nervous giggle; they sense the sea-change. "How's that?" One of them asks. The cameraman/director, clearly caught off guard, is almost speechless, outside of a couple of "Holy fucks." He says that he has filmed probably 1,000 scenes, and this is easily the hottest blowjob he has ever witnessed. I've probably watched that many scenes, and I don't doubt for a minute that he's right.
Amy, watching, clearly agreed. The video is broken up into four files, and this amazing head (later continued with the two women on their knees and shot from the suckee's point of view) happens in the part two. When it ended, I asked Amy: "You wanna keep going?"
"Yes!" she said, enthusiastically.
"You know," I added as I get part three open and running, "if you ever want to set something like this up for me...." She laughed.
We continued watching the whole thing, through all the fucking (both of these women have larger-than-your-usual-pornstar asses — it makes it that much better when they get fucked from behind), right up to the payoff. Just for good measure, the women have one last passionate soulkiss as their cum-covered tits rub together.
(For those interested, I've provided a link to the teaser page for this video in the comments section of this entry.)
The video over, Amy wordlessly popped off the couch and walked around the living room, dining room and kitchen, turning off lights. "After that, you probably want the lights on, though," she considered.
"There's plenty of light," I said, knowing outside ambient light would cast the room in a nice, cool blue wash.
Amy sat down on my lap, straddling me, and began a passionate kiss. Shortly, her top came off. "You get to enjoy my new bra," she said. Few things are hotter than a really well-fitted bra. I played with her covered tits until she popped the front closure and pushed a nipple into my mouth. I'm not sure if it was the focus the video put on my predilection for tit-play or if she was just that turned on, but the she was making tonight about her breasts. She and I shared one of her nipples for awhile, semi-recreating the makeout blowjob we'd seen, with a nipple in place of a cock.
She slid down off my lap, pulled off my pants. So typical of Amy: She never takes my pants off and then my underwear — they always come off together, getting her to the "prize "faster. She rubbed one tit, then the other, up and down my shaft. Finally, her mouth enveloped me, and she primed me with wetness and warmth. She wrapped her breasts around my cock and absorbed my hip thrusts. She seemed to want me to fuck her tits, but she kept coming back to sucking on my dick. At one point, she slowed down and tried her best to re-create a solo version of what the young ladies earlier had accomplished. "I'm imagining you teaming up with someone else as you do that," I suggested.
She stood up, pulled off her pants, straddled me again, pressing her wet cunt against my dick, and sliding up and down. "Am I catching your clit?" I asked her. She moaned in the affirmative. "Use my cock," I encouraged. "Use me to get yourself off." She tried, but what Amy really wanted became obvious when she stood up on the couch and pushed her pussy in my face.
I went to town. So did she, rubbing her cunt all over my mouth, and finally collapsing sideways onto her back — but taking care to keep my mouth in full contact with her clit through the fall. From this position, I brought her to an intense, bucking orgasm.
After a short rest, I asked, "More?" hoping to get to eat her out again.
"More with something else," she said.
I got up on my knees and pushed into her, starting slow and building a rhythm.
"Tell me what else you liked about that video," she ordered.
"I loved their asses," I said. "Nice, big asses, made for fucking."
Amy giggled and kissed me. "How come you never see a video where women are lusting after a man with a big ass?" I had no good answer to that. I was laughing too hard anyway.
I continued: "I have to think it was a good thing that guy didn't fuck 'em in the ass."
"He was huge," Amy said, stating the obvious.
"And I know they're passé, but I loved the one woman's back tattoo," I said. "It's so ... slutty."
Amy laughed. "Don't put too fine a point on it!"
"I'm serious!" I said. Our hips were starting to pick up speed. "You know, you can get temporary tattoos like that," I said, remembering the image of Penelope on her and Odysseus' blog. "You should try one sometime. Then you can be my whore." We both laughed, and things ratcheted up into another gear. I reiterated: "I would fuck my whore." She moaned and pushed back against me harder.
I pulled away and said, "Let's try reverse cowgirl, so I can watch your gorgeous ass."
"I love the way you call it by it's 'official name,'" Amy said with a roll of her eyes.
"What? That's what it's called!"
"I know," she said, straddling my legs, lowering herself onto my cock. "But .... Mmmmmmmmm."
This was a very good position for Amy. She really started getting vocal now. But her thighs weren't holding up; she had to beg off long before either of us wanted her to. Instead, she took up on her hands and knees, on the couch. I took a moment to admire the view before sinking into her once again.
At some point, I found the right spot. "Oh yeah," she panted. "Right there."
I really wanted some talk tonight. "This the way you like to be fucked?" I said.
"Yes!"
"I can tell. Come on, fuck me back." Her rocking became more punctuated. Then I held her ass still while I pulled out, just the tip still in her folds ... and I slammed home.
"Oh God, yes!"
Well, that worked. I tried it again.
"Uhhh. Yes!"
I gathered my strength and fucked her hard with those same long strokes, but faster. And harder. I wanted to hear how loud I could make the hollow clap of my hips hitting her ass. The sound competed with her rhythmic screams. I could tell she was on the verge of new territory. I upped the ante, measuring my palm against her ass, and I came down hard with a slap.
"You know where I'm gonna come?" I hissed.
"Where?"
I slapped her ass again. "I'm gonna come all over your tits."
"Yes, please come on my tits! I love your come on my tits!"
That was the last thing she was able to say. This was just about my highest gear. The only reason I hadn't already come was because I had become momentarily preoccupied with the thought of how incredibly sore my already-wobbly legs were going to be on Monday. Amy brought me back to the moment with sounds I'd never heard before — simultaneously guttural and high-pitched. Was this it? The closest she'd ever been?
Her seeming transcendant state put me over the top. I laughed as I shot my load deep into her: There was no way I was going to pull out of her for the promised breast cumshot. My cock needed to be buried right where it was.
And after we'd come down, our panting the only sound in the room, I realized: I would have been hard-pressed to pull out at all. My hard-on was in a vice grip.
"Jesus, Amy ... You're pussy is holding onto my cock."
This never happens. I mean, she doesn't work to keep those muscles toned. But something had happened.
"I can't relax," she said. Funny, because at that moment, she was probably more relaxed than she'd been in ages. Just ... not her cunt muscles.
We finally were able to disengage, and she fell back into my arms, her eyes closed, her hands searching for my face, her lips devouring mine.
I asked: "Did you actually come?"
"I think so," she said. "If not, it was the closest. For the first time ever, I was able to lose myself and let a door open that I never let open before."
"Damn," I whispered. "Let's work on keeping that door ajar."
"It's funny that, after 16 years together, we're still searching for the ever elusive orgasm-while-fucking," she observed.
"I think it's pretty great," I said, "that we still have a goal like that after 16 years. Most couples have played it all out by then."
We hobbled to the bedroom, leaving all our clothes and the couch pillows all over the living room floor. If we'd tried bending down to pick that stuff up, I doubt we would have been able to get back up again.
Showing posts with label dirty talk. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dirty talk. Show all posts
19 March 2007
22 February 2007
V-Day, Night Two: Movie, Dinner, Dessert.
A date.
A date!
Unbelievable. Date clothes! A gift from Amy last Christmas, but not worn until I had good reason. That reason came last Saturday night.
A babysitter! We sprung for one! An extravagance, when you figure in the cost of movie and dinner. Reserved for truly special times ... like, say, Valentine's Day.
A movie! One that isn't animated!
Dinner! In a restaurant with nary a pizza or grilled cheese sandwich on the menu! A wine list! Valet parking! Waiters who don't write down your order! Lookatme, Mom — I'm a grown-up!
I had hoped that Amy would be wearing her new Valentine's Day present tonight, but as it turned out, the bra was running a little small. So she'll return it for something that we both like, and in the meantime, she put on an incredibly hot sheer black bra front-closure bra she picked up yesterday ... So delicious that there oughta be a law. I'm talking, of course, about the law that would state she's not allowed to put anything over it when she wears it. Amy wasn't particularly dolled up, going casual (at my recommendation), but she still looked ravishing. Which worked out well, seeing as a ravishing was on tap for that night.
***
The movie was Pedro Almodovar's Volver. It was a little piece of joy. (Thank God! When you rarely go out to movies, seeing a film worth the money feels like a matter of life and death.) Like most of Almodovar's films, it had a strong erotic undercurrent -- though this time there isn't a hint of sex, or even a romance. Almodovar accomplishes the sexual charge through his camera lens' infatuation with Penélope Cruz. Or at least her body. He costumes and films her as if she's a modern-day Sophia Loren, complete with the most delectable cleavage I've seen on screen in ages. (At one point, a character asks Cruz, "Where did you get that chest?... Are they real?" Indeed, it was a question I asked myself throughout, distracting myself into trying to remember what she'd looked like in the other films I'd seen her in.)
On a couple of occasions, Almodovar indulges the audience in extended aerial shots, angles that shoot straight down into a most inspiring open blouse as Cruz does seemingly mundane things like washing dishes or walking up a stairway. And there is a moment in this film when she walks up a cobble street pulling a small shopping cart, her hair perfectly up-yet-tousled, that feels like something straight out of the 1940s. Cruz is so glorious, so delicious that I told Amy afterwards I just might have to drop someone off my laminated list to make room for her.
***
I had kept the dinner location a secret, but Amy asked for one hint and easily figured it out. It's an old, romantic haunt of ours from our pre-children days. A storefront type that opens into a lush, cozy space that looks bigger than you'd think from the outside. The decor is eclectic but tasteful. They've added live music since we were last there too, adding a new element to the ambiance. I dropped Amy off and drove away to find a restaurant with valet parking (It's the only way to park in this neighborhood), and by the time I got back, Amy was already seated, raving about the singer/pianist, who had just laid down a pretty damn good version of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah." Throughout the night, he brought out renditions of Billy Joel and Elton John songs, sung in a lower register than usual, which brought a new facet to songs that otherwise would have been pretty tired.
Fingers were crossed that the food was as good as we remembered. We weren't disappointed. I enjoyed a salmon filet with a light saffron wine sauce on a bed of spinach and some terrific gourmet mashed potatoes. Amy's dish blew us away: a sauteed tilapia with a sauce that included raisins, tomato marinara, and white wine. The waiter gave us a tremendous recommendation on a red wine; if I hadn't been driving, we would have easily finished off two bottles.
We talked a lot about Volver during the dinner, remembering the moments that resonated. We also did a good amount of people-watching (though we didn't scan the room for a fantasy fuck-buddy). Eventually, I couldn't resist bringing the conversation around to ... well, you know.
"I'm trying to decide if I'm going to cash in one of my coupons tonight," I started.
Amy laughed. "You know," she said, "I can't really remember what I wrote. Well, I can remember one of them."
"Would you like me to recite them, verbatim?" I asked.
We ran through them. (It was the anal sex coupon she remembered.) I reiterated the effect that they had had on me. She asked my thoughts on the "wildcard" coupon, and I just said that my I was too overwhelmed by the options to think clearly about it right now.
Amy changed the subject: "I completely forgot to tell you something about your Valentine's Day present: I didn't tell you how amazingly fun it was to try those on."
This was a nice surprise. When I imagined what that shopping experience must have been like for Amy, "fun" was not the word that sprung to mind. Based on my previous shopping excursions with her, the harsh lighting and mirrors in most dressing rooms only seemed to dampen her spirits. Not this time, apparently.
"I was actually getting turned on while I tried them," she admitted.
"That's so cool," I said. "You were there for over an hour, it seems like you tried on a ton of stuff."
"Oh yeah," she said. "The lady helping me really got into it, too, helping me find stuff. I tried on a lot, but the cool thing was that even the items I didn't take, it wasn't because they looked bad on me; they just didn't look as good as the outfits I came home with."
This is an amazing development, on two fronts: First, that she was so comfortable with her body that she had no problem trying on sexy clothes; secondly, that she was actually turned on while doing it.
"In fact," she revealed, "on Valentine's Day, at work, I got to thinking about what we were going to do that night, and I actually got really aroused. For the first time ever at this job, I was trying to figure out where I could go to ... take care of things."
"Did you?" I had to ask.
She laughed. "No, no. But it felt really good to feel ... eroticized again. Like, I'm coming back in touch with that part of me again."
Um ... I'm sorry, give me a moment. I need to wipe a tear from my eye.
Okay. I'm back.
Maybe a corner has been turned. Maybe things are shaping up. But what changed? Was it just her? Or was it something that I did, something I'm projecting, that's changing the equation? There's a part of me that says, Don't overanalyze it. But it'd be nice to know what slight tweak turned up the volume on the sexual dynamic ... if only to understand how to sustain that change well off into the future.
***
On the drive home, out of the blue, Amy brought up a porn movie we'd watched together some time ago. She described a scene she had been thinking about a lot, where porn starlet Chloe gets fucked in her office by her boss, right in front of a vindictive (female) co-worker doing her best to ignore the action going on only a few feet from her. (The movie was Antonio Passolini's Unreal.)
"So, what is it about the scene that turns you on?" I asked. "Is it the office setting?"
"Maybe," she said. "I don't know, really. It just works." Getting Amy to pin down why something turns her on is always a challenge, just like it's difficult to get her to clearly identify any kinks.
At home, when I returned from walking the babysitter to her car, Amy stood in the kitchen. We embraced, kissing passionately.
"You want me to find that movie?" I asked, and she nodded a mm-hmm. We got more comfortable — there would be no tearing off clothes tonight, probably because mine were new! I donned a robe, while Amy put on the second of the two Valentine's Day outfits she'd decided to keep. I was not able to find the video anywhere (which worried me greatly: Had I left it out somewhere where my kids or babysitter might have found it?), so we oped for a movie I had on my computer. Down to the basement we went, with Amy settling in between my legs, her back against me, the laptop on her lap.
It turned out that the movie wasn't our cup of tea. It's what the industry commonly calls a "couples film," which means that it's shot with all beautiful models. It would have been considered "hard-core" (penetration, money shots, etc.), but instead of really getting to hear people in true throes of ecstasy, you get lots of Enigma-like music playing over their slow-motion machinations. It's staged, dressed up, and extremely slow-moving. It's the kind of movie that men just introducing their wives to watching porn together would try ... but we're way past that. We found ourselves fast-forwarding through all the seductive posing and lip-licking to get to some action.
Finally, there was one scene that started to work for Amy — a beautiful woman being lavished with attention by two men. I finally saw a hand disappear into her thong when that scene got going.
"Who would you be doing that with if that were you?" I asked. "Who is joining us?"
She moaned. "Graham, a new guy in our office," she whispered. How very interesting!
"Oh yeah? Is that Graham's cock you're sucking while I get ready to fuck you from behind?" I was playing with her tits through the camisole, and she was starting to writhe. "Or maybe," I continued, "Graham is here, between your legs. He's licking that wet, hot cunt of yours while you and I both watch. He can look up and watch me squeezing your tits while he eats you. Would you like that?"
She groaned. We murmured for awhile about her new young workplace stud. I wondered if she'd ever really fantasized about him. I'll have to ask her another time.
The movie, which was already pretty much a dud, was becoming less and less interesting to us.
"Once you fuck Graham and me, are you going to return the favor?" I asked into her ear. "Will you share my cock with another woman?"
"Yes," she breathed.
"Who gets to suck my cock with you?" I asked.
"Who would you like?" she asked.
I have to admit: I was stymied. I spend all this energy fantasizing about Amy that when she asks me what other woman I'd like to do, I'm at a loss. "You can say it," she urged, as if I had someone in my head but was withholding. But there was no one!
Finally, I came up with a couple. "I'd love to watch you and Cynthia go at it," I suggested, indicating a high-ranking co-worker in my department. "Or maybe you and Shelley," the woman who, along with her husband, Amy had suggested (though not seriously) as foursome partners in a sex coupon. "Between her tits and yours, I could be a very happy boy."
The laptop suffered no damage, but it was pretty much kicked away. Amy threw open my robe and got to enthusiastically sucking my cock. Later, I requested a 69: Few things excite me more than her trying to suffocate me with her pussy while she blows me. I was so worked up with all the talk that it didn't take long, once we were in that position, to spray a helping of cum all over her tits and my stomach.
Amy gave a victory giggle as I came, enjoying the fruits of her labors. She crawled into a position where my head was in her lap, as I slowly came down. She hadn't come on this night, but she was fine with that. I vowed to even that score as soon as I could.
We talked for quite awhile, about the night, about the rest of our weekend, about previous Valentine's Days. This one — or perhaps should I say, the two-part celebration — was definitely the most fun in recent memory. It wasn't anything extravagant or original, but when so rarely and get to be a couple out in public, extremes of romantic ingenuity aren't necessary to re-capture that lightning.
A date!
Unbelievable. Date clothes! A gift from Amy last Christmas, but not worn until I had good reason. That reason came last Saturday night.
A babysitter! We sprung for one! An extravagance, when you figure in the cost of movie and dinner. Reserved for truly special times ... like, say, Valentine's Day.
A movie! One that isn't animated!
Dinner! In a restaurant with nary a pizza or grilled cheese sandwich on the menu! A wine list! Valet parking! Waiters who don't write down your order! Lookatme, Mom — I'm a grown-up!
I had hoped that Amy would be wearing her new Valentine's Day present tonight, but as it turned out, the bra was running a little small. So she'll return it for something that we both like, and in the meantime, she put on an incredibly hot sheer black bra front-closure bra she picked up yesterday ... So delicious that there oughta be a law. I'm talking, of course, about the law that would state she's not allowed to put anything over it when she wears it. Amy wasn't particularly dolled up, going casual (at my recommendation), but she still looked ravishing. Which worked out well, seeing as a ravishing was on tap for that night.
The movie was Pedro Almodovar's Volver. It was a little piece of joy. (Thank God! When you rarely go out to movies, seeing a film worth the money feels like a matter of life and death.) Like most of Almodovar's films, it had a strong erotic undercurrent -- though this time there isn't a hint of sex, or even a romance. Almodovar accomplishes the sexual charge through his camera lens' infatuation with Penélope Cruz. Or at least her body. He costumes and films her as if she's a modern-day Sophia Loren, complete with the most delectable cleavage I've seen on screen in ages. (At one point, a character asks Cruz, "Where did you get that chest?... Are they real?" Indeed, it was a question I asked myself throughout, distracting myself into trying to remember what she'd looked like in the other films I'd seen her in.)On a couple of occasions, Almodovar indulges the audience in extended aerial shots, angles that shoot straight down into a most inspiring open blouse as Cruz does seemingly mundane things like washing dishes or walking up a stairway. And there is a moment in this film when she walks up a cobble street pulling a small shopping cart, her hair perfectly up-yet-tousled, that feels like something straight out of the 1940s. Cruz is so glorious, so delicious that I told Amy afterwards I just might have to drop someone off my laminated list to make room for her.
I had kept the dinner location a secret, but Amy asked for one hint and easily figured it out. It's an old, romantic haunt of ours from our pre-children days. A storefront type that opens into a lush, cozy space that looks bigger than you'd think from the outside. The decor is eclectic but tasteful. They've added live music since we were last there too, adding a new element to the ambiance. I dropped Amy off and drove away to find a restaurant with valet parking (It's the only way to park in this neighborhood), and by the time I got back, Amy was already seated, raving about the singer/pianist, who had just laid down a pretty damn good version of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah." Throughout the night, he brought out renditions of Billy Joel and Elton John songs, sung in a lower register than usual, which brought a new facet to songs that otherwise would have been pretty tired.
Fingers were crossed that the food was as good as we remembered. We weren't disappointed. I enjoyed a salmon filet with a light saffron wine sauce on a bed of spinach and some terrific gourmet mashed potatoes. Amy's dish blew us away: a sauteed tilapia with a sauce that included raisins, tomato marinara, and white wine. The waiter gave us a tremendous recommendation on a red wine; if I hadn't been driving, we would have easily finished off two bottles.
We talked a lot about Volver during the dinner, remembering the moments that resonated. We also did a good amount of people-watching (though we didn't scan the room for a fantasy fuck-buddy). Eventually, I couldn't resist bringing the conversation around to ... well, you know.
"I'm trying to decide if I'm going to cash in one of my coupons tonight," I started.
Amy laughed. "You know," she said, "I can't really remember what I wrote. Well, I can remember one of them."
"Would you like me to recite them, verbatim?" I asked.
We ran through them. (It was the anal sex coupon she remembered.) I reiterated the effect that they had had on me. She asked my thoughts on the "wildcard" coupon, and I just said that my I was too overwhelmed by the options to think clearly about it right now.
Amy changed the subject: "I completely forgot to tell you something about your Valentine's Day present: I didn't tell you how amazingly fun it was to try those on."
This was a nice surprise. When I imagined what that shopping experience must have been like for Amy, "fun" was not the word that sprung to mind. Based on my previous shopping excursions with her, the harsh lighting and mirrors in most dressing rooms only seemed to dampen her spirits. Not this time, apparently.
"I was actually getting turned on while I tried them," she admitted.
"That's so cool," I said. "You were there for over an hour, it seems like you tried on a ton of stuff."
"Oh yeah," she said. "The lady helping me really got into it, too, helping me find stuff. I tried on a lot, but the cool thing was that even the items I didn't take, it wasn't because they looked bad on me; they just didn't look as good as the outfits I came home with."
This is an amazing development, on two fronts: First, that she was so comfortable with her body that she had no problem trying on sexy clothes; secondly, that she was actually turned on while doing it.
"In fact," she revealed, "on Valentine's Day, at work, I got to thinking about what we were going to do that night, and I actually got really aroused. For the first time ever at this job, I was trying to figure out where I could go to ... take care of things."
"Did you?" I had to ask.
She laughed. "No, no. But it felt really good to feel ... eroticized again. Like, I'm coming back in touch with that part of me again."
Um ... I'm sorry, give me a moment. I need to wipe a tear from my eye.
Okay. I'm back.
Maybe a corner has been turned. Maybe things are shaping up. But what changed? Was it just her? Or was it something that I did, something I'm projecting, that's changing the equation? There's a part of me that says, Don't overanalyze it. But it'd be nice to know what slight tweak turned up the volume on the sexual dynamic ... if only to understand how to sustain that change well off into the future.
On the drive home, out of the blue, Amy brought up a porn movie we'd watched together some time ago. She described a scene she had been thinking about a lot, where porn starlet Chloe gets fucked in her office by her boss, right in front of a vindictive (female) co-worker doing her best to ignore the action going on only a few feet from her. (The movie was Antonio Passolini's Unreal.)
"So, what is it about the scene that turns you on?" I asked. "Is it the office setting?"
"Maybe," she said. "I don't know, really. It just works." Getting Amy to pin down why something turns her on is always a challenge, just like it's difficult to get her to clearly identify any kinks.
At home, when I returned from walking the babysitter to her car, Amy stood in the kitchen. We embraced, kissing passionately.
"You want me to find that movie?" I asked, and she nodded a mm-hmm. We got more comfortable — there would be no tearing off clothes tonight, probably because mine were new! I donned a robe, while Amy put on the second of the two Valentine's Day outfits she'd decided to keep. I was not able to find the video anywhere (which worried me greatly: Had I left it out somewhere where my kids or babysitter might have found it?), so we oped for a movie I had on my computer. Down to the basement we went, with Amy settling in between my legs, her back against me, the laptop on her lap.
It turned out that the movie wasn't our cup of tea. It's what the industry commonly calls a "couples film," which means that it's shot with all beautiful models. It would have been considered "hard-core" (penetration, money shots, etc.), but instead of really getting to hear people in true throes of ecstasy, you get lots of Enigma-like music playing over their slow-motion machinations. It's staged, dressed up, and extremely slow-moving. It's the kind of movie that men just introducing their wives to watching porn together would try ... but we're way past that. We found ourselves fast-forwarding through all the seductive posing and lip-licking to get to some action.
Finally, there was one scene that started to work for Amy — a beautiful woman being lavished with attention by two men. I finally saw a hand disappear into her thong when that scene got going.
"Who would you be doing that with if that were you?" I asked. "Who is joining us?"
She moaned. "Graham, a new guy in our office," she whispered. How very interesting!
"Oh yeah? Is that Graham's cock you're sucking while I get ready to fuck you from behind?" I was playing with her tits through the camisole, and she was starting to writhe. "Or maybe," I continued, "Graham is here, between your legs. He's licking that wet, hot cunt of yours while you and I both watch. He can look up and watch me squeezing your tits while he eats you. Would you like that?"
She groaned. We murmured for awhile about her new young workplace stud. I wondered if she'd ever really fantasized about him. I'll have to ask her another time.
The movie, which was already pretty much a dud, was becoming less and less interesting to us.
"Once you fuck Graham and me, are you going to return the favor?" I asked into her ear. "Will you share my cock with another woman?"
"Yes," she breathed.
"Who gets to suck my cock with you?" I asked.
"Who would you like?" she asked.
I have to admit: I was stymied. I spend all this energy fantasizing about Amy that when she asks me what other woman I'd like to do, I'm at a loss. "You can say it," she urged, as if I had someone in my head but was withholding. But there was no one!
Finally, I came up with a couple. "I'd love to watch you and Cynthia go at it," I suggested, indicating a high-ranking co-worker in my department. "Or maybe you and Shelley," the woman who, along with her husband, Amy had suggested (though not seriously) as foursome partners in a sex coupon. "Between her tits and yours, I could be a very happy boy."
The laptop suffered no damage, but it was pretty much kicked away. Amy threw open my robe and got to enthusiastically sucking my cock. Later, I requested a 69: Few things excite me more than her trying to suffocate me with her pussy while she blows me. I was so worked up with all the talk that it didn't take long, once we were in that position, to spray a helping of cum all over her tits and my stomach.
Amy gave a victory giggle as I came, enjoying the fruits of her labors. She crawled into a position where my head was in her lap, as I slowly came down. She hadn't come on this night, but she was fine with that. I vowed to even that score as soon as I could.
We talked for quite awhile, about the night, about the rest of our weekend, about previous Valentine's Days. This one — or perhaps should I say, the two-part celebration — was definitely the most fun in recent memory. It wasn't anything extravagant or original, but when so rarely and get to be a couple out in public, extremes of romantic ingenuity aren't necessary to re-capture that lightning.
07 February 2007
Black Tie Optional; Cleavage Required.
"How are the contacts?" I asked Amy as we drove to the birthday party last Saturday night. She doesn't wear them very often -- they're often more bother to her eyes than they're worth.
"Fine. Of course, I can't see very well at night...."
"Then, you're not driving tonight," I ordered. "Which means you get to drink all you want tonight. Go for it."
Though she was looking out her window, I could tell she was smiling when she commented, "You just want me to get loose."
"The thought hadn't even crossed my mind," I insisted in mock shock.
Many impure thoughts had been crossing my mind for much of that afternoon. We had gone dress shopping for this event. Specifically, it was a friend's fortieth birthday, and the invitation said, very prominently: "Black Tie Optional." While it's rare that we go to grown-ups-only parties at all at this point in our lives, it's unheard of that we find ourselves at a party this formal. So Amy and I had spent a few hours at an upscale department store. We had narrowed it down to two dresses, both of which showed off her cleavage beautifully. It had been so long since she'd worn something like this, I had to keep checking in and making sure she was really comfortable with appearing in public looking this ... well, sexy.
"Well," I said, talking to Amy but raising my eyebrows at the saleswoman who had been helping us all afternoon, "you can bet I have no problem with it." The sales associate laughed, only slightly embarrassed. I'm sure she'd heard worse.
She decided on a flashy teal-and-brown number, with some sharkskin-like shimmery material highlighting in places, and some colorful beading. Her final touch, added just before we left for the party, was a necklace I had given her a couple of Christmases ago: a silver chain, with a second silver strand attached, and a black pearl dangling from the end. It worked beautifully, though Amy pointed out that the necklace essentially pointed to "the obvious" below. I noted that it wasn't likely that people were going to miss that cleavage, necklace or not. She didn't dispute me. I'm sure she also knew that I was going to enjoy the view all night. She had even assigned me the responsibility of letting me know if the dress had shifted, showing the strapless bra during the night.
"We should have a code phrase," I suggested.
"Just tell me, if it's alright, that you just checked in and 'the girls are fine.'" Perfect!
I dropped Amy off at the party and went to park the car. The first person to greet her was the birthday boy's wife, who instantly said: "Wow, you've got great cleavage. I'm so envious. I could never pull that off." When Amy told me this upon my arrival, I mentioned: "You have to figure, if the women are commenting on it...." She just smiled, but with an underlying boldness. She was gonna be fine.
As it turned out, cleavage was in no short supply at the party. One woman had been so daring as to wear a very nice navy pant suit with the coat buttoned up to only partially hide a red push-up bra. It sounds more slutty than it actually was ... she pulled it off nicely. Another woman, most definitely falling under the category of BBW, was working her benefits to the best of her advantage as well. But -- and this is a completely unbiased opinion here -- no one had pulled off the "revelation of the bosom" with as much class and flair as my wife.
The party was a low-key affair, held in a space inspired by 1920s France, with wall-to-wall red velvet, period fixtures, and Folies Bergere posters galore. It felt opulent, decadent. Though we knew hardly anyone there, Amy's outgoing personality attracted a couple, Adam and Maria, to our table, and we spent most of the night getting to know each other. They were about four years our junior, and really quite the gorgeous couple.
An astrologer had been hired as part of the entertainment, and Amy and I signed up for readings, as did our new friends. Amy got her reading first while I looked on. She was accurate on all the insanely general things ("You're feeling some stress in your life right now") and pretty wrong every time she tried to narrow in on more specific information. But at least she had a lovely British accent.
She asked Amy if she had any specific questions, which caught us by surprise. ("I didn't know we had to study for this test," I commented.) That gave me time to figure out my questions, and when it was my turn, I was prepared. My question about the health of a family member flustered the astrologer a little bit. (She wisely disclaimed everything she said by saying, "Of course, I'm not a medical doctor.") But then I really did a number on her when I looked over at Amy and said, "What I really want to know about is how my sex life is going to be in the future." Everyone at the table laughed, the astrologer most nervously.
"I want to know that too!" exclaimed Amy.
This emboldened me. "Okay! That's what I want to know!"
The astrologer, with a silly grin, couldn't stop giggling. All she could do was shake her head. She wasn't gonna go there. What a wuss! I asked some vague question about my job, and of course I was assured that everything was going swimmingly but that "there would be some change" coming. (Ya think?) We wrapped things up.
Later, as songs from the celebrated gentleman's birth year played over the P.A., we compared notes with Adam and Maria about our silly astrology readings. Conversation moved on to culture, work life, parenting. It was hard for my mind (helped along by two glasses of wine, a Tom Collins, and probably too little food) not to wander away to thoughts of us with this couple. Maria had these girl-next-door good looks, a natural beauty that looked slightly uncomfortable in this more formal setting. (I surmised she would have been happy to get out of her dress, and I was betting that Adam and I would be only too happy to oblige.) Adam had those chiseled features that reminded me of someone, and at some point during the night, I figured it out, bent to Amy's ear and whispered: "Sting!" She nodded agreement without breaking her conversation. I wondered if Adam's thoughts had wandered at all, courtesy Amy's, um, necklace.
In the car on the way home, Amy was feeling hungry. "Cheese fries sound decadent and amazing," she suggested. "Don't they?"
I slowed down -- we were just about to pass the exit we would need to take to get the best cheese fries in town. "That's a possibility," I said. "Another option would be a big bowl of buttered pasta after I'm done having my way with you tonight."
Amy half-smirked; she knew that overture was coming sometime in the evening. "That sounds good too. I can't decide. It all sounds good. Fries, pasta ... Either is fine. Regardless of your having your way with me." My zooming past the exit made the decision for us: Pasta it would be.
We arrived home after midnight, and I ran the babysitter back to her place. By the time I returned, I passed through the kitchen and saw a pot of water already heating on the stove. Amy was on the couch, still wearing her dress. "I thought we shouldn't delay getting the water going." I turned the burner down to simmer and proceeded to the living room, kneeling next to her. "I left my dress on. I figured you wanted to remove it."
"How astute."
She stood up and I turned her hips so that she faced away from me. Zipper down. Straps off shoulders. Dress sliding past the waist. Legs stepping out. I pressed my cheek against the small of her back as I reached up and cupped her tits, still clad in her strapless. I felt this internal release. Almost as if it was a relief to be here again. A hunger about to be sated ... finally. How long had it been? Days? Weeks? Years?
And what the hell was that bra doing still on? Away it went.
Amy was feeling tired from the long day and asked to lie back down on the couch. We continued kissing as I rubbed her nylon-clad legs. Her neck was deliciously warm, and tucking my face in there, I felt like it was a favorite secret place. I noticed that as we kissed, Amy was doing something she doesn't normally do at this stage in the evening.
"You're really playing with your tits a lot tonight," I whispered. She was kneading them with both hands, rubbing them with flat palms. "What are you thinking about?"
"I'm thinking about these tits rubbing against you...." she moaned. "Your chest ... Your cock...."
"Show me."
She sat up. "Lie down."
Once I was on my back, my wife kissed quickly down my chest while undoing my belt. Soon the pants were history, and she rubbed her face against my cock and balls. Somewhere in there, as if by magic, my cock was deep in her mouth -- and then, just as suddenly, feeling the air again. And then quickly enveloped by her tits. It wasn't a tit-fuck so much as it was a breast attack ... rubbing all over, with intermittent cock-sucking to keep things lubricated. When she didn't have her mouth full of cock, it was full of words.
"I'm thinking about another man fucking me," she hissed, "while I suck this cock."
"God, yes," I encouraged. "I'd love to see him drilling you back there."
"He's filling me with his hard dick," she moaned.
I had to hand it to her, she was giving it her all. Maybe too much for her, in fact: She seemed almost restless, rushed. She stopped after only a short while, insisting: "I need to really get fucked." She stood up long enough to inside-out the pantyhose, and then she was straddling me. Without further "ado," she shoved my cock into her cunt. No lube, no other prep.
I'm losing count of how many times recently she has become the aggressor. And for the first time -- just for a moment -- I was a little bothered by it. In my version of how things would go tonight, I had imagined that I would be the one in control. Yet, here we were again, with her fucking me. Not that it was difficult to adjust my expectations! But just for a moment, I wondered if she was using the control as a way of keeping something else from happening, something she didn't want. For the life of me, I can't imagine what that would be.
Was this a case of getting what I had asked for? I had wanted her to be a little more aggressive in bed, to tell me what she wanted, to take it rather than always waiting for it to be handed to her. On the grand scheme of things, this is an extremely minor issue, not even rising to the level of "complaint." More an observation, something to be aware of.
Meanwhile, the fucking continued, hard and fast, but again, not for long: She popped off of my dick and moved up the couch until her pussy was pressing against my face. I caught her oh-so-subtle hint and went to town on her with my tongue and teeth. Her pussy was delightfully soft, tenderized by the frantic fucking. She ground hard against my mouth as I worked her pussy to an orgasm that temporarily tensed every muscle in her body. The tension was followed by a sigh, a balloon slowly, soundlessly releasing all of its air.
Aware that I hadn't gotten mine yet, Amy laid down in the opposite direction on the couch, sort of curling herself around my dick and beginning some serious oral with intent. I encouraged her: "That's right ... nice and sloppy. Let me hear you sucking my cock. Suck your husband's cock 'til he shoots his come all over." I tried playing with her pussy a bit as she blew me, but she nudged my hand away.
When I got close, I told her I wanted to come on her tits, and her approval came in the form of a moan that moved me quickly to the goal. Soon she was pushing my cock between her breasts as I squeezed out a few shudder-accompanied spurts. "Sorry the angle wasn't better for getting it all over my tits," she said.
"No need to apologize." I pressed her against me, feeling my cum on her chest, now on mine as well. "It's not like I was going to take the time to reposition us just for a money shot." At least not this time.
She snuggled up against me. "So how about that pasta?" she asked.
"I'm on it," I said. But I didn't move, and shortly we had both fallen into a light slumber.
Some time later, we roused, and Amy asked, "Do you still want the pasta?"
"Not really," I said. "I'm feeling pretty fulfilled at the moment." She still wanted something, so we settled on a grilled cheese sandwich, which I prepared in the nude. It's not the safest thing in the world, but if I'm not, say, cooking bacon, I love cooking in the nude. And it's not something I get to do too often anymore.
Amy was sore the next day -- not using lube turned out to be a slight mistake. But it did lead to her making a comment as we drove to work Monday morning: "I'm sorry we're not having sex more often ... But you have to admit that it's pretty amazing when we do."
Yes, I guess I do have to admit that. And hardly begrudgingly.
"Fine. Of course, I can't see very well at night...."
"Then, you're not driving tonight," I ordered. "Which means you get to drink all you want tonight. Go for it."
Though she was looking out her window, I could tell she was smiling when she commented, "You just want me to get loose."
"The thought hadn't even crossed my mind," I insisted in mock shock.
Many impure thoughts had been crossing my mind for much of that afternoon. We had gone dress shopping for this event. Specifically, it was a friend's fortieth birthday, and the invitation said, very prominently: "Black Tie Optional." While it's rare that we go to grown-ups-only parties at all at this point in our lives, it's unheard of that we find ourselves at a party this formal. So Amy and I had spent a few hours at an upscale department store. We had narrowed it down to two dresses, both of which showed off her cleavage beautifully. It had been so long since she'd worn something like this, I had to keep checking in and making sure she was really comfortable with appearing in public looking this ... well, sexy.
"Well," I said, talking to Amy but raising my eyebrows at the saleswoman who had been helping us all afternoon, "you can bet I have no problem with it." The sales associate laughed, only slightly embarrassed. I'm sure she'd heard worse.
She decided on a flashy teal-and-brown number, with some sharkskin-like shimmery material highlighting in places, and some colorful beading. Her final touch, added just before we left for the party, was a necklace I had given her a couple of Christmases ago: a silver chain, with a second silver strand attached, and a black pearl dangling from the end. It worked beautifully, though Amy pointed out that the necklace essentially pointed to "the obvious" below. I noted that it wasn't likely that people were going to miss that cleavage, necklace or not. She didn't dispute me. I'm sure she also knew that I was going to enjoy the view all night. She had even assigned me the responsibility of letting me know if the dress had shifted, showing the strapless bra during the night.
"We should have a code phrase," I suggested.
"Just tell me, if it's alright, that you just checked in and 'the girls are fine.'" Perfect!
I dropped Amy off at the party and went to park the car. The first person to greet her was the birthday boy's wife, who instantly said: "Wow, you've got great cleavage. I'm so envious. I could never pull that off." When Amy told me this upon my arrival, I mentioned: "You have to figure, if the women are commenting on it...." She just smiled, but with an underlying boldness. She was gonna be fine.
As it turned out, cleavage was in no short supply at the party. One woman had been so daring as to wear a very nice navy pant suit with the coat buttoned up to only partially hide a red push-up bra. It sounds more slutty than it actually was ... she pulled it off nicely. Another woman, most definitely falling under the category of BBW, was working her benefits to the best of her advantage as well. But -- and this is a completely unbiased opinion here -- no one had pulled off the "revelation of the bosom" with as much class and flair as my wife.
The party was a low-key affair, held in a space inspired by 1920s France, with wall-to-wall red velvet, period fixtures, and Folies Bergere posters galore. It felt opulent, decadent. Though we knew hardly anyone there, Amy's outgoing personality attracted a couple, Adam and Maria, to our table, and we spent most of the night getting to know each other. They were about four years our junior, and really quite the gorgeous couple.
An astrologer had been hired as part of the entertainment, and Amy and I signed up for readings, as did our new friends. Amy got her reading first while I looked on. She was accurate on all the insanely general things ("You're feeling some stress in your life right now") and pretty wrong every time she tried to narrow in on more specific information. But at least she had a lovely British accent.
She asked Amy if she had any specific questions, which caught us by surprise. ("I didn't know we had to study for this test," I commented.) That gave me time to figure out my questions, and when it was my turn, I was prepared. My question about the health of a family member flustered the astrologer a little bit. (She wisely disclaimed everything she said by saying, "Of course, I'm not a medical doctor.") But then I really did a number on her when I looked over at Amy and said, "What I really want to know about is how my sex life is going to be in the future." Everyone at the table laughed, the astrologer most nervously.
"I want to know that too!" exclaimed Amy.
This emboldened me. "Okay! That's what I want to know!"
The astrologer, with a silly grin, couldn't stop giggling. All she could do was shake her head. She wasn't gonna go there. What a wuss! I asked some vague question about my job, and of course I was assured that everything was going swimmingly but that "there would be some change" coming. (Ya think?) We wrapped things up.
Later, as songs from the celebrated gentleman's birth year played over the P.A., we compared notes with Adam and Maria about our silly astrology readings. Conversation moved on to culture, work life, parenting. It was hard for my mind (helped along by two glasses of wine, a Tom Collins, and probably too little food) not to wander away to thoughts of us with this couple. Maria had these girl-next-door good looks, a natural beauty that looked slightly uncomfortable in this more formal setting. (I surmised she would have been happy to get out of her dress, and I was betting that Adam and I would be only too happy to oblige.) Adam had those chiseled features that reminded me of someone, and at some point during the night, I figured it out, bent to Amy's ear and whispered: "Sting!" She nodded agreement without breaking her conversation. I wondered if Adam's thoughts had wandered at all, courtesy Amy's, um, necklace.
In the car on the way home, Amy was feeling hungry. "Cheese fries sound decadent and amazing," she suggested. "Don't they?"
I slowed down -- we were just about to pass the exit we would need to take to get the best cheese fries in town. "That's a possibility," I said. "Another option would be a big bowl of buttered pasta after I'm done having my way with you tonight."
Amy half-smirked; she knew that overture was coming sometime in the evening. "That sounds good too. I can't decide. It all sounds good. Fries, pasta ... Either is fine. Regardless of your having your way with me." My zooming past the exit made the decision for us: Pasta it would be.
We arrived home after midnight, and I ran the babysitter back to her place. By the time I returned, I passed through the kitchen and saw a pot of water already heating on the stove. Amy was on the couch, still wearing her dress. "I thought we shouldn't delay getting the water going." I turned the burner down to simmer and proceeded to the living room, kneeling next to her. "I left my dress on. I figured you wanted to remove it."
"How astute."
She stood up and I turned her hips so that she faced away from me. Zipper down. Straps off shoulders. Dress sliding past the waist. Legs stepping out. I pressed my cheek against the small of her back as I reached up and cupped her tits, still clad in her strapless. I felt this internal release. Almost as if it was a relief to be here again. A hunger about to be sated ... finally. How long had it been? Days? Weeks? Years?
And what the hell was that bra doing still on? Away it went.
Amy was feeling tired from the long day and asked to lie back down on the couch. We continued kissing as I rubbed her nylon-clad legs. Her neck was deliciously warm, and tucking my face in there, I felt like it was a favorite secret place. I noticed that as we kissed, Amy was doing something she doesn't normally do at this stage in the evening.
"You're really playing with your tits a lot tonight," I whispered. She was kneading them with both hands, rubbing them with flat palms. "What are you thinking about?"
"I'm thinking about these tits rubbing against you...." she moaned. "Your chest ... Your cock...."
"Show me."
She sat up. "Lie down."
Once I was on my back, my wife kissed quickly down my chest while undoing my belt. Soon the pants were history, and she rubbed her face against my cock and balls. Somewhere in there, as if by magic, my cock was deep in her mouth -- and then, just as suddenly, feeling the air again. And then quickly enveloped by her tits. It wasn't a tit-fuck so much as it was a breast attack ... rubbing all over, with intermittent cock-sucking to keep things lubricated. When she didn't have her mouth full of cock, it was full of words.
"I'm thinking about another man fucking me," she hissed, "while I suck this cock."
"God, yes," I encouraged. "I'd love to see him drilling you back there."
"He's filling me with his hard dick," she moaned.
I had to hand it to her, she was giving it her all. Maybe too much for her, in fact: She seemed almost restless, rushed. She stopped after only a short while, insisting: "I need to really get fucked." She stood up long enough to inside-out the pantyhose, and then she was straddling me. Without further "ado," she shoved my cock into her cunt. No lube, no other prep.
I'm losing count of how many times recently she has become the aggressor. And for the first time -- just for a moment -- I was a little bothered by it. In my version of how things would go tonight, I had imagined that I would be the one in control. Yet, here we were again, with her fucking me. Not that it was difficult to adjust my expectations! But just for a moment, I wondered if she was using the control as a way of keeping something else from happening, something she didn't want. For the life of me, I can't imagine what that would be.
Was this a case of getting what I had asked for? I had wanted her to be a little more aggressive in bed, to tell me what she wanted, to take it rather than always waiting for it to be handed to her. On the grand scheme of things, this is an extremely minor issue, not even rising to the level of "complaint." More an observation, something to be aware of.
Meanwhile, the fucking continued, hard and fast, but again, not for long: She popped off of my dick and moved up the couch until her pussy was pressing against my face. I caught her oh-so-subtle hint and went to town on her with my tongue and teeth. Her pussy was delightfully soft, tenderized by the frantic fucking. She ground hard against my mouth as I worked her pussy to an orgasm that temporarily tensed every muscle in her body. The tension was followed by a sigh, a balloon slowly, soundlessly releasing all of its air.
Aware that I hadn't gotten mine yet, Amy laid down in the opposite direction on the couch, sort of curling herself around my dick and beginning some serious oral with intent. I encouraged her: "That's right ... nice and sloppy. Let me hear you sucking my cock. Suck your husband's cock 'til he shoots his come all over." I tried playing with her pussy a bit as she blew me, but she nudged my hand away.
When I got close, I told her I wanted to come on her tits, and her approval came in the form of a moan that moved me quickly to the goal. Soon she was pushing my cock between her breasts as I squeezed out a few shudder-accompanied spurts. "Sorry the angle wasn't better for getting it all over my tits," she said.
"No need to apologize." I pressed her against me, feeling my cum on her chest, now on mine as well. "It's not like I was going to take the time to reposition us just for a money shot." At least not this time.
She snuggled up against me. "So how about that pasta?" she asked.
"I'm on it," I said. But I didn't move, and shortly we had both fallen into a light slumber.
Some time later, we roused, and Amy asked, "Do you still want the pasta?"
"Not really," I said. "I'm feeling pretty fulfilled at the moment." She still wanted something, so we settled on a grilled cheese sandwich, which I prepared in the nude. It's not the safest thing in the world, but if I'm not, say, cooking bacon, I love cooking in the nude. And it's not something I get to do too often anymore.
Amy was sore the next day -- not using lube turned out to be a slight mistake. But it did lead to her making a comment as we drove to work Monday morning: "I'm sorry we're not having sex more often ... But you have to admit that it's pretty amazing when we do."
Yes, I guess I do have to admit that. And hardly begrudgingly.
27 January 2007
15 January 2007
Saturday Night's Theme: "NOW."
"I'm so glad you have a penis," she said as we were turning off the lights and going to bed.
I chuckled, quietly, so as not to wake any little ones up. It was 2 a.m., and after the night we had just had, the last thing we needed was to have to get anyone back asleep. I groped in my head for the meaning of Amy's words: Did she mean she's glad I wasn't a woman? That it's nice to have a man around who can do the "man" things?
So, without another option, I responded with a vague, "Oh, you do, huh?"
"Yeah," she said, starting down the hall to our bedroom. "I really needed a penis tonight."
Technically true, but not really the way she felt emotionally. Tonight, what my wife needed was a cock.
I chuckled, quietly, so as not to wake any little ones up. It was 2 a.m., and after the night we had just had, the last thing we needed was to have to get anyone back asleep. I groped in my head for the meaning of Amy's words: Did she mean she's glad I wasn't a woman? That it's nice to have a man around who can do the "man" things?
So, without another option, I responded with a vague, "Oh, you do, huh?"
"Yeah," she said, starting down the hall to our bedroom. "I really needed a penis tonight."
Technically true, but not really the way she felt emotionally. Tonight, what my wife needed was a cock.
+++
The evening hadn't started out looking particularly promising, sexually speaking. During dinner, in a quick moment alone in the kitchen, I had asked Amy if she had some fun in mind for later. Asking this sort of question has become more typical in the last year or so. There have been many nights where signals were crossed and a misunderstanding has ruined the evening. (More on that in a later post.) It's probably less romantic to essentially ask, So ... We gonna fuck or what? But in the long run, we've found that a little clarification makes everyone happier.
Amy indicated that she was, in fact, thinking about that, but everything would depend on how she felt after getting kids to bed. This activity often does her in. The kids are young enough that the bedtime routines are deliberate and exhausting. Often, by the time the last parent (usually Amy) emerges from the last bedroom, even a big cup of tea won't save her.
It looked like this was going to be the case on this night as I read books in bed to our oldest while Amy lay on the other side, eyes closed, seemingly slipping away. When we got back out to the living room, I made a last-ditch offer: Maybe we could get directly into bed, or maybe we could watch some porn in the living room and see if any interest developed. She surprised me with a third option: "Let's watch Last Tango in Paris and see how I feel in awhile. Maybe I'll wake up."
Last Tango is a film we've had "in waiting" for awhile -- waiting for a night we were both in the mood to watch it. I wasn't convinced that this was the night.
"Are you sure that's the one you want to watch?" I asked.
"Yeah, sure," she said. "it's sexy, right?"
"Yeah, but ..." I trailed off.
I wasn't sure "sexy" was the word I'd have chosen. I hadn't seen Last Tango, but I knew it had a lot of sex ... some very famous scenes that I knew a little about, including the infamous "butter scene." Yes, there was sex ... but this was a pretty dark film. It's not like it was pornography.
But we watched it while I gave Amy a foot massage. Watching a 1970s art film requires adjustment when you've grown accustomed to the pace of current TV shows and movies. Even the first sex scene in this one feels laborious. Marlon Brando and Maria Schneider have met after both arriving to look at an apartment for rent at the same time. By the end of that visit, they've had some spontaneous sex on the apartment floor. There's a natural awkwardness to the scene -- this is cinema verité after all. Honestly, I didn't find it particularly arousing. Which probably speaks volumes about how my viewing likes/dislikes have been molded by watching so much traditional porn.
Amy must have felt differently. Not long after that scene, she abruptly announced from the other end of the couch: "Okay, I think I'm a little tired. Turn it off and come here."
I settled in on top of her, on top of The World's Softest Pajamas™ (a Christmas present from a long-distance relative, though chosen by me), and began some gentle kissing and nibbling on her lips, neck, earlobes. It was "kissing with out motive." A sort of warm-up. But very quickly, Amy began quietly moaning. The kissing became more intense faster than I would have expected. Her mouth became more aggressive, her tongue probing my teeth and tongue with strength and urgency. Her hips began to grind. After a few minutes, as "kiss" moved closer to "devour," I felt her hands move slowly underneath me, down the front of her World's Softest Pajamas™ top, unbuttoning. Her arms were back around me, she pulled me in even closer and sighed into my mouth.
I worked my way down to between her breasts, sucking and biting the flesh. Again, the response was more vocal than I usually get. Enveloping the nipple with my mouth stepped it up another notch. Amy's into this tonight.
I absolutely love her tits, can never lavish them with enough praise, lips, tongue, tweaks. I worked them for awhile as her hip-grinding got more intense, and the moans had turned to words: "Yes ... God, that feels good ... Bite my nipples ... Bite harder ... Now the other one...."
I live for these kinds of demands from Amy. She knows this. She probably also knows I'd love her to do it more. I'm usually the aggressor, the dirty-talker. She enjoys hearing it but doesn't always feel comfortable talking herself. That wasn't a problem on this night.
"I need you to fuck me now," she said, and my lips smiled even as they continued to tease her tits. This was going to be nice, I thought. But even taking the time for that thought pissed off my newly impatient lover. She said it again, this time with a tone to make sure I understood she wasn't messing around: "I need you to fuck me now." And she pushed me away so she could get her World's Softest Pajamas™ bottoms the fuck off her body.
This is when it occurred to me that the Brando-Schneider quick-and-dirty scene had flipped a switch for her. She wanted a hard fuck with minimum foreplay. Usually she wants a good bout of pussy-eating, suck on my cock a bit, a liberal amount of lube added to her natural wetness. But it was clear this night that I had better get my jeans off only as far as I needed to get my cock out.
Pants yanked barely below my ass, I was back over her again. I started to guide my cock in, but she pulled my hand away and took it herself. Clearly I was taking too long. She spread her lips with one hand and stuffed me in with the other, wrapping her legs around me and using her calves to push me in as deep as possible.
"Yesssssssss," she sighed. Funny, I was thinking the same thing.
She was steaming hot inside, unbelievably wet and ready for this. I started pumping into her pretty hard, but not hard enough. "Come on," she said, still sounding impatient. "Harder." Harder is what she got. She clawed at my t-shirt, and quickly it was gone. I continued to fuck her as hard as I could, and she continued to talk. "Yes ... I love it when you fuck me this way ... Fuck my pussy hard ... God, your cock feels so good in my cunt...."
For once, I was struck dumb. After all those times where I was the one saying the filthy things to get her going, here she was the total aggressor ... and I didn't know what to say! We laughed about this the next day, how the roles had flipped, and I felt out of my league. But even as I dealt with an unusual awkwardness, I loved having that "burden" lifted from me for one fun fuck session. It was clear that I had one responsibility: To give Amy the cock that she craved. No lover, no husband, no person. Just a dick to be stuck in her as hard and as often as she wanted.
She pushed me off.
"Now you're going to fuck me from behind."
Damn.
I slapped her ass more than usual as I pummeled her cunt, and she screamed out each time with an abandon that I remembered from many years ago. I finally found some words as I watched my cock disappearing in and out of her.
"You like getting fucked like this?" I hissed.
"I love it," she said when she turned her head from the couch pillow.
"Then come on ... Fuck me back. Fuck back into my cock." My words were almost drowned out by the hammering sound of her ass slamming against my crotch. I reached up and grabbed her hair -- something I don't normally do -- and she hissed a "Yes!" and leaned her head back to let me grab. I reached under and grabbed her tits. "I love your tits swaying as I fuck you so hard." She screamed a little louder.
This was all too much. I was on the verge.
"Holy shit," I said, "I'm going to come real soo-- Oh, fuck!" And boom, like that, I was there, filling her cunt with several spurts of cum. She let out a long moan as she felt it.
"I want to finish you," I said as I slowly pulled my still-hard dick out of her sopping pussy.
"Of course," she said. Oh, that's right, I thought. This is the new Aggressive Amy. "But you need to get a towel."
Another difference: Normally at this point, she would have retired to the bathroom to "clean up." Tonight, she wanted hers and she wasn't going anywhere 'til she got it. An opportunity for me to indulge in something I love to do but don't get enough chance to do: Eat out her cum-filled pussy.
I was torn as I went down on her ... I wanted to keep up the "aggression" theme of the night with an enthusiastic, fast gobble, but I also wanted to savor it. I think I struck a balance, enjoying a nice creamy meal while bringing her off with shivers and screams.
Amy's pussy lips feel so different when I go down on her after a hard fuck. They feel .... unhinged. They move in ways they don't normally move. That sensation, along with the taste of my semen, actually had me hard again. Another rarity, to bounce back so quick at my age. I was tempted to "press my luck" and try fucking her again, but all her body language indicated that she was sated. And this was, after all, all about Amy tonight.
"Okay," she sighed. "Now I'm awake. Let's watch some more of the movie."
We watched another half-hour. Didn't make it to the "butter scene." Damn, if we had before our fuck, there might have been some ass action on top of everything else! Of course, that part of the movie is still coming up whenever we do get around to finishing it....
Amy indicated that she was, in fact, thinking about that, but everything would depend on how she felt after getting kids to bed. This activity often does her in. The kids are young enough that the bedtime routines are deliberate and exhausting. Often, by the time the last parent (usually Amy) emerges from the last bedroom, even a big cup of tea won't save her.
It looked like this was going to be the case on this night as I read books in bed to our oldest while Amy lay on the other side, eyes closed, seemingly slipping away. When we got back out to the living room, I made a last-ditch offer: Maybe we could get directly into bed, or maybe we could watch some porn in the living room and see if any interest developed. She surprised me with a third option: "Let's watch Last Tango in Paris and see how I feel in awhile. Maybe I'll wake up."
Last Tango is a film we've had "in waiting" for awhile -- waiting for a night we were both in the mood to watch it. I wasn't convinced that this was the night.
"Are you sure that's the one you want to watch?" I asked.
"Yeah, sure," she said. "it's sexy, right?"
"Yeah, but ..." I trailed off.
I wasn't sure "sexy" was the word I'd have chosen. I hadn't seen Last Tango, but I knew it had a lot of sex ... some very famous scenes that I knew a little about, including the infamous "butter scene." Yes, there was sex ... but this was a pretty dark film. It's not like it was pornography.
But we watched it while I gave Amy a foot massage. Watching a 1970s art film requires adjustment when you've grown accustomed to the pace of current TV shows and movies. Even the first sex scene in this one feels laborious. Marlon Brando and Maria Schneider have met after both arriving to look at an apartment for rent at the same time. By the end of that visit, they've had some spontaneous sex on the apartment floor. There's a natural awkwardness to the scene -- this is cinema verité after all. Honestly, I didn't find it particularly arousing. Which probably speaks volumes about how my viewing likes/dislikes have been molded by watching so much traditional porn.
Amy must have felt differently. Not long after that scene, she abruptly announced from the other end of the couch: "Okay, I think I'm a little tired. Turn it off and come here."
I settled in on top of her, on top of The World's Softest Pajamas™ (a Christmas present from a long-distance relative, though chosen by me), and began some gentle kissing and nibbling on her lips, neck, earlobes. It was "kissing with out motive." A sort of warm-up. But very quickly, Amy began quietly moaning. The kissing became more intense faster than I would have expected. Her mouth became more aggressive, her tongue probing my teeth and tongue with strength and urgency. Her hips began to grind. After a few minutes, as "kiss" moved closer to "devour," I felt her hands move slowly underneath me, down the front of her World's Softest Pajamas™ top, unbuttoning. Her arms were back around me, she pulled me in even closer and sighed into my mouth.
I worked my way down to between her breasts, sucking and biting the flesh. Again, the response was more vocal than I usually get. Enveloping the nipple with my mouth stepped it up another notch. Amy's into this tonight.
I absolutely love her tits, can never lavish them with enough praise, lips, tongue, tweaks. I worked them for awhile as her hip-grinding got more intense, and the moans had turned to words: "Yes ... God, that feels good ... Bite my nipples ... Bite harder ... Now the other one...."
I live for these kinds of demands from Amy. She knows this. She probably also knows I'd love her to do it more. I'm usually the aggressor, the dirty-talker. She enjoys hearing it but doesn't always feel comfortable talking herself. That wasn't a problem on this night.
"I need you to fuck me now," she said, and my lips smiled even as they continued to tease her tits. This was going to be nice, I thought. But even taking the time for that thought pissed off my newly impatient lover. She said it again, this time with a tone to make sure I understood she wasn't messing around: "I need you to fuck me now." And she pushed me away so she could get her World's Softest Pajamas™ bottoms the fuck off her body.
This is when it occurred to me that the Brando-Schneider quick-and-dirty scene had flipped a switch for her. She wanted a hard fuck with minimum foreplay. Usually she wants a good bout of pussy-eating, suck on my cock a bit, a liberal amount of lube added to her natural wetness. But it was clear this night that I had better get my jeans off only as far as I needed to get my cock out.
Pants yanked barely below my ass, I was back over her again. I started to guide my cock in, but she pulled my hand away and took it herself. Clearly I was taking too long. She spread her lips with one hand and stuffed me in with the other, wrapping her legs around me and using her calves to push me in as deep as possible.
"Yesssssssss," she sighed. Funny, I was thinking the same thing.
She was steaming hot inside, unbelievably wet and ready for this. I started pumping into her pretty hard, but not hard enough. "Come on," she said, still sounding impatient. "Harder." Harder is what she got. She clawed at my t-shirt, and quickly it was gone. I continued to fuck her as hard as I could, and she continued to talk. "Yes ... I love it when you fuck me this way ... Fuck my pussy hard ... God, your cock feels so good in my cunt...."
For once, I was struck dumb. After all those times where I was the one saying the filthy things to get her going, here she was the total aggressor ... and I didn't know what to say! We laughed about this the next day, how the roles had flipped, and I felt out of my league. But even as I dealt with an unusual awkwardness, I loved having that "burden" lifted from me for one fun fuck session. It was clear that I had one responsibility: To give Amy the cock that she craved. No lover, no husband, no person. Just a dick to be stuck in her as hard and as often as she wanted.
She pushed me off.
"Now you're going to fuck me from behind."
Damn.
I slapped her ass more than usual as I pummeled her cunt, and she screamed out each time with an abandon that I remembered from many years ago. I finally found some words as I watched my cock disappearing in and out of her.
"You like getting fucked like this?" I hissed.
"I love it," she said when she turned her head from the couch pillow.
"Then come on ... Fuck me back. Fuck back into my cock." My words were almost drowned out by the hammering sound of her ass slamming against my crotch. I reached up and grabbed her hair -- something I don't normally do -- and she hissed a "Yes!" and leaned her head back to let me grab. I reached under and grabbed her tits. "I love your tits swaying as I fuck you so hard." She screamed a little louder.
This was all too much. I was on the verge.
"Holy shit," I said, "I'm going to come real soo-- Oh, fuck!" And boom, like that, I was there, filling her cunt with several spurts of cum. She let out a long moan as she felt it.
"I want to finish you," I said as I slowly pulled my still-hard dick out of her sopping pussy.
"Of course," she said. Oh, that's right, I thought. This is the new Aggressive Amy. "But you need to get a towel."
Another difference: Normally at this point, she would have retired to the bathroom to "clean up." Tonight, she wanted hers and she wasn't going anywhere 'til she got it. An opportunity for me to indulge in something I love to do but don't get enough chance to do: Eat out her cum-filled pussy.
I was torn as I went down on her ... I wanted to keep up the "aggression" theme of the night with an enthusiastic, fast gobble, but I also wanted to savor it. I think I struck a balance, enjoying a nice creamy meal while bringing her off with shivers and screams.
Amy's pussy lips feel so different when I go down on her after a hard fuck. They feel .... unhinged. They move in ways they don't normally move. That sensation, along with the taste of my semen, actually had me hard again. Another rarity, to bounce back so quick at my age. I was tempted to "press my luck" and try fucking her again, but all her body language indicated that she was sated. And this was, after all, all about Amy tonight.
"Okay," she sighed. "Now I'm awake. Let's watch some more of the movie."
We watched another half-hour. Didn't make it to the "butter scene." Damn, if we had before our fuck, there might have been some ass action on top of everything else! Of course, that part of the movie is still coming up whenever we do get around to finishing it....
+++
Nights like Saturday night fill me with hope. Amy and I have come a long way in regards to communicating about sex. She continues to be open to trying new things to please me ... and when she does, she seems to get into it. It is still a challenge for her to vocalize any kinks that would really get her off, but when she "takes charge" like she did on Saturday, I feel like we're a step closer. This night, combined with the (relatively recent) night of anal we had, tells me that even after all these years together, we can still find new things to try.
I love the fact that my lover for the last 15 years can still get me so fucking horny, just at the thought of her. I am truly a lucky man.
Nights like Saturday night fill me with hope. Amy and I have come a long way in regards to communicating about sex. She continues to be open to trying new things to please me ... and when she does, she seems to get into it. It is still a challenge for her to vocalize any kinks that would really get her off, but when she "takes charge" like she did on Saturday, I feel like we're a step closer. This night, combined with the (relatively recent) night of anal we had, tells me that even after all these years together, we can still find new things to try.
I love the fact that my lover for the last 15 years can still get me so fucking horny, just at the thought of her. I am truly a lucky man.
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