I don’t know what I’m doing writing this. I’ve been co-writing a novel (or my share of a novel) for NaNoWriMo, so I’ve been a little busy. It’s fun, but it’s a lot of work, and I guess I need a break, and the words for this post are rattling in my head and want out.
I come to bed. “Hi you.” When River says that it’s kind of a come-on, but when I say it it’s sort of a joke. I’m always coming on to her. “Oh yeah?” That sounded less defensive and more agreeable than I was anticipating. Flirty, even. She’s been taking some supplements that are supposed to help with her libido and I think they’re working. I’ve been thinking of a nice Saturday evening fuck all day, even though we just had a vigorous time Friday afternoon with some Klingon thrown in. She claims Klingons eat the hearts of their lovers if they’re not satisfied. I am still alive.
“This butter is actually ok.” She’s got the Brigit’s Shea Butter, with the “Sensual” scent, like the oil which now produces a Pavlovian response in me. “The one I didn’t like?” “Yeah. It warms up and melts ok though.” Buttering her with the Burt’s Bees Body Butter was one of my favorite things, nearly always leading up to a bit more than just buttering, but they stopped making it. We like Brigit’s stuff, but their Shea Butter seems too stiff. I grab the jar and check it out. It’s even stiffer than I remember.
River rolls over and slides the covers off her back, her skin glowing golden in the light from the reading lamp. Is she giving me a hint? She knows what’s going to happen if she does, right? “Scrape some onto the back of your finger and let it melt in your hands.” That’s a hint. The butter melts to a nice consistency in my hands. Like real butter, but not as greasy. My hands spread it over half of her back, nice and easy, down the sides, along her spine, through the knots on her shoulder blade, up her neck. I straddle her, my cock falling onto her back, and butter her other side, nice and slow, taking my time, working the butter into her skin until it feels just right. I could get used to this stuff. I like going slow. I’ve always taken my time buttering her, but I like the way this stuff insists on going slow.
I sit behind her legs. Butter the first ass check, nice and slow, both hands working together, down the side, in the crack. The other ass cheek. When my hands spread her toned cheeks I can feel the response in my cock. There’s the dark pucker. The edges of her lips just visible below in the dark shadow of her pussy. “I like slow.” “So do I.” A question before I finish. “Any requests?” Sometimes something needs more attention. Sacrum, shoulder blades, rhomboid muscles. “No.” “I have a request.” “What?” “Fuck you.” “Ok.”
The look and feel of her ass and back is inspiring. It doesn’t take long to get my cock completely hard. My left thumb slips down her crack, pressing into the fuzz, making circles just below the muscle of her cute butthole, feeling her lips yield into her pussy, then parting and letting me feel her wetness. I replace my thumb with my cock and push in. A few inches. A little more. I like slow. Like the feel of her vagina slowly waking up and accomodating me. I don’t back up until I’ve pressed all the way in, up against her ass, my cock deep inside. Then I back up. And we fuck.
That’s where I tend to like to end posts lately, because for me the lead-up is important. But I’ll add a postscript. I didn’t “finish” last night. That’s not what I was in it for. I was in it because it’s something I like to do with her, and I like that part of me (exactly which part I’m talking about I’ll leave up to you) being accepted, just like she accepts me rubbing her back. We just rolled over and spooned off to sleep, River falling asleep in a few minutes as usual, me taking longer while feeling my cock slowly soften and slip out of her. I like slow.
I told River this morning how nice it was to have a little bit of sex with her last night. She thought that was a funny way to put it. That made me happy.