“I just want to have plain, vanilla sex,” said Belle Fille.
“Vanilla as opposed to…?” I asked.
“You said you wanted me to hurt you, but I don’t feel like that right now. I just want sweet, vanilla sex,” she replied.
“OK, I can do that.” And I did. Plain, missionary, sweet, wonderful fucking. However, vanilla or no, she still needed to come before me. Always. Cardinal rule. I felt myself getting closer and closer and sensed she was getting there, too. It was going to be a photo finish.
I came, but again, fought it to give her more time. Turns out, she came, too, at the same time. We seem to be doing that quite a bit (well, maybe not “quite a bit” because I’m certainly not coming “quite a bit”, but when we do both come, it seems like we’re doing it at the same time more often than not).
“You can come now,” she purred into my ear after I stopped thrusting.
“I did,” said I, only slightly miffed she failed to notice. “We came at the same time.”
“You didn’t have permission! Who said you could?”
“What do you mean? You said we were having ‘vanilla sex’. That means I get to come.”
“Cheeky. You only come when I say you come.”
“But you did say I could come!”
“Yeah, but not until after you already did.”
OK, note to self: “Vanilla” no longer means “vanilla”. In truth, we don’t have “vanilla” sex any more. Under no circumstances will I have an orgasm without prior, explicit permission.