“What, exactly, are your intentions?” Belle asked as I laid next to her, naked, running my hand up and down her inner thighs, careful to avoid touching the area in between them as I had not been given permission to do so.
It was late (for Belle), around 10:45 or so. She had just finished up some work after entertaining a girlfriend at our house for 3 or 4 hours. She and her friend sat in the living room (after having been driven inside by desperate late-Summer mosquitoes) sipping their wine and talking about people they used to work with while I cleaned up the kitchen, set up her coffee for the morning, attended to the dog, etc. It felt nice being a service to her, letting her focus all her energy on her friend, removing any stress she might have with regard to the messy kitchen. I felt…in my place. Happy. In a routine.
“I have no intentions,” I replied, “I’m just doing this because it feels good for you and makes me happy. I expect nothing.”
“Well, aren’t you being the good sub tonight,” she purred, “I just wanted to know if you had an objective.”
“I always have an objective,” I admitted, “But I also know my place. If you want an orgasm, I’d be very happy to give you one. But it’s your call, not mine.”
“Hmmm,” she said in her lazy, getting ready to sleep voice, “Someone must have slipped you some truth serum or something, because you’re speaking the truth.”
*Ache.* I love it when she talks like that. I felt the cock start to respond in it’s expected manner. I felt warm inside and kept stroking her legs.
“OK,” she said with some finality.
“Time for bed?” I asked, “Want me off?”
“No, I want an orgasm.” Hooray! “But nothing dramatic. Just a nice little ten minute deal because I’m tired and need to go to sleep.”
“OK, I’ll send the circus monkeys home.”
She exposed her breasts to me and I clamped on while rubbing her mound under its thin fabric, feeling her heat already starting to build.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Being in this position – servicing her desire while mine is left to grow unattended – feels so right and good now. It is as things should be. This is how we make love. Her orgasm is our orgasm. I crave hers more than my own.
After about five minutes of action, she was wet and moaning in encouraging ways. We were headed in the right direction and I knew I’d be bringing her to orgasm well within her ten minute requirement.
“How’s my cock?” she asked.
“Hmrph?” I asked, mouth full of nipple.
“How’s my cock?” she asked more insistently.
“Um, kinda hard,” I replied. Truth is, I was thinking more about getting her home than the condition of the penis.
“Hard enough for me to ride?” I reached down and felt the erection. Not stone-hard, kinda squishy on the outside but with a nice solid core.
“Yes,” I replied.
“I’m going to ride it,” she declared.
I rolled over on my back and she climbed on top of me, took the cock in her hand and guided it smoothly into her. I took advantage of my ready access to both nipples and continued to lick, suck, and tease them with my tongue and fingers. I flexed my hips to create a counter rhythm to hers until I felt our skin was sliding freely and she used her legs to adjust the position of mine, pushing them further apart. After she had established her rhythm, moving up and down at whatever speed and depth worked best for her, I stopped moving in an attempt to extend my resistance.
As usual, my mind went to baseball. No idea what I’m going to do when the season’s over, but thoughts of player slumps and team standings were enough to distract me from her increasing speed and rising passion.
After a respectable period of time, she came. Really, really came. Her biocock never twitched. She was able to ride me as long and as passionately as she wanted with no distracting orgasm of my own. She collapsed on top of me, panting and glowing, basking like crazy while I wrapped my arms around her and held her tight.
“Good job, Thumper,” she exhaled.
“Thank you, Belle Fille. Thank you for everything.”