Sunday of Sex, part two

As I was saying, Kid #1 was absent Sunday morning and Kid #2 was soon to be. I’m not sure either one of us contemplated the ramifications of this beforehand, but we suddenly found ourselves with five hours of pure alone time. We had discussed going to the gym or something else productive. Instead, we spent most of the time naked.

Once Kid #2 walked out the door, we looked at each other and one of us asked the other, “Well, what are we going to do?”

“We could go have sex,” I helpfully pointed out.

“Yeah, we could do that.” Color me happily surprised. Belle had already had her orgasm for the day and since she’s the kind of girl who usually only wants them one at a time I had no idea what this sex party was going to entail, but I wasn’t about to ask any questions until we were both naked and wrapped up in one another.

It was crazy. Naked fun time in the middle of the day with the bedroom door open and the curtains up. This is how I imagine porn stars live, not 40-something married couples with kids still in school. Did I mention it was broad daylight outside?

I was on her quickly. Still feeling revved up from earlier in the day, it didn’t take much to find me pushing my way inside her. She felt more normal. The lingering effects of Maverick’s earlier intrusions had worked themselves out.

“You want to go again?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m game,” she said (or something very much like it).

“How you want to do it? You want Blue?” I was already fucking her, but that was just me being presumptuous.

“No, let’s do your fingers this time.”

Fine by me. I assumed the position and, while pressing the wet and hard penis between us, I sucked eagerly on her tits and fingered her pussy.

“I feel like you’re having to work too hard,” she remarked at one point.

“God no,” I replied, “I just fucking love your pussy.”

Of course, I’ve always loved pussy, but I’m totally fixated by it now since her’s is the only way I get to feel any pleasure from the penis anymore. Masturbation is forbidden, even touching is frowned upon. Regardless, it’s locked up essentially all the time. So I do enjoy my pussytime, even when it’s only to play with it and not penetrate it.

Eventually, she came for the second time that day (knocking off ninety-one and ninety, respectively). She came loudly. No reason to keep it in. Her exclamations caused me to make my own sympathetic moans as her body convulsed under my fingers and through my arms. It was a great orgasm. For both of us.

After allowing for a few moments of basking, I climbed back on top of her and placed the head of the penis where it needed to be for easy access. I was definitely being pushier than usual which, looking back, might have been some kind of clue. She never said I could enter her but I took her lack of complaint and how she shifted herself beneath me as wordless acquiescence. I shoved the penis home.

I never got close to coming in the morning, but this was different. It didn’t take any time at all until I found myself right there. And not just physically. Emotionally. Mentally. Spiritually, I wanted to come in her. I held the back of her neck in my right hand and gripped her thigh with my left hand in a way that asserted a sexual dominance I by rights didn’t have, but the lizard part of me was in charge. After having to slow myself and disrupt my rhythm once again to avoid coming, I actually found myself toying with the idea of having an “accident.” How could she know for sure that it wasn’t?

Yeah, right, the bunny said from the sidelines while rolling his eyes. And he was right. There’s no way I have an accidental orgasm when I’m the one driving. No way.

So then I thought about begging. But I didn’t want to screw with Belle. I didn’t want to make it sound like I was trying to guilt her out or anything. The lizard, though. He’s crafty.

“What if I begged?” I asked. “What would you do if I begged for an orgasm?”

“I’d say no,” replied Belle. Fuck.

Please,” I begged anyway. “Please, can I come?” I wanted it. Truly. I did. Holding her like that and fucking her, feeling our bodies moving against each other. I was so close. 

And I’ll say right now, either answer would have been good. But I would have regretted hearing no more than yes.

“Spill it,” she said. YES.

No hesitance. No delay. No stopping to consider. Just THRUST, THRUST, THR—

And it happened. I was over the falls and past the point of no return. I wasn’t thinking. Couldn’t think. I just came.

At first, it felt like every muscle in my body tensed and flexed with the mission to squeeze itself out through the penis. I couldn’t breath. Everything stopped. I think my heart even stopped beating. Nothing existed except that feeling. The feeling of a fucking supernova detonating in my balls. Then I felt a rushing wave of pin-pricks hit the back of my skull, cresting from the bottom and heading up over my scalp. And pressure. Like a clamp on my head. I felt my brain release the orgasmic cocktail it hadn’t tasted in seven and a half months. I think I made a lot of noise and I don’t think I could have done a thing about it even if I wanted to. I went from pure orgasmic bliss to a moment of laughter to wanting to cry all in about 360 milliseconds. And there was a tiny flicker of regret. But only a tiny one and it was over as soon as it started.

Quite simply, the greatest orgasm of my entire life.

The volume was enormous. Besides not having had one since July 1 of last year, I was all worked up from the multiple sex sessions. I couldn’t count the number of times I shot into her but it had to be six or eight. Even after I was empty, the penis kept flexing and trying to milk every little bit of it out of me.

Then, I was exhausted. And I realized my arms were hurting from holding me up. And I felt a pain in my side. All the masking of those things that the pre-orgasmic cocktail does to fool you into thinking you’re Superman were emptied out with the ejaculate. Then I did something I can’t even remember doing, it was so long ago last time I did it. I fell asleep in that hazy, post-orgasmic fog. I realized Belle was talking so I woke back up. So sleepy. So spent.

Belle said afterward that the only reason she let me come was because she found my begging for it so hot. That one time, she heard how desperate I was and the idea of having put me there turned her on sufficiently to allow me to come.

After, we spent an hour or so in the bathtub together. We haven’t done that in a really long time. When our relationship first started, Belle lived in an old house with a giant claw-footed tub and we’d lounge around in it after sex with candles burning and k. d. lang playing in the other room. And now we were doing the same thing except the tub was a big whirlpool type and the CD was replaced by iPhone Spotify and a Bluetooth speaker. But otherwise, it felt the same. I thought about the book I’m reading and its premise that we have stages of neurochemical response to our partners and how that changes over time and that I felt, even though we had just had sex after 16 years or so of marriage, exactly like after the first time we had sex. We discussed a remodeling project. I was nesting with her.

It was very hard dragging myself to the gym. All I wanted to do was lay around in my sweats and sloth in front of the TV. Earlier, I had been very keen on getting in there and running. Now the inertia almost scuttled the operation. But I did manage to drag my ass over there and I ran four miles with nothing but the PA ring to keep the penis company.

Belle was concerned for my well-being. She asked me several times (and again the next morning) how I felt. Post-orgasmic aftercare for the chronically denied. In fact, I felt and still feel great. Everything seemed like it was wrapped in a few inches of cotton batting for a while but I woke up this morning (back in the Steelheart, ‘natch) and the feeling was still there. Changed a bit from having come. A little more urgent, perhaps. But not like how it feels after two orgasms. Not that kind of total wipeout.

In fact, right now, I’d very much like to get into her pants.

7 thoughts on “Sunday of Sex, part two

  1. Heya there, I have not been following your blog for very long (but think it is very addictive) can you tell me what you mean with “knocking off ninety-one and ninety”? Is that how many orgasm she had after you have been locked up? Or this year?

    1. That’s in reference to our 2014 goals. Among them, my goal for her was 100 orgasms. We’ve got 90 to go. Her goal for me was zero orgasms. That goal’s gone all to hell now.

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