This post is based on events earlier this week. While it's not erotica per se (I don't think it's very titillating) it does feature pretty frank descriptions of oral and anal sex.
I haven't been sleeping well. He actually tries to encourage me to stay home and snooze, but I manage to convince him I need him more than I need to lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, and begging whoever the current deity in charge of sleep dispensing is to send some my way.
I arrive at his house and walk in without knocking. He greets me with a kiss and proceeds to lead me into the bathroom and starts filling up the tub. "Get undressed," he says nonchalantly over his shoulder before going back to adjusting faucets to get the temperature right. When I am naked he takes my hand and helps me in. The water is perfect. Since he prefers water much hotter than I do I am quite impressed at how well he knows me.
"Just lie back; I'll get you cleaned up." He uses soap and rubs me everywhere. I can’t remember the last time I went out of my way to wash the back of my knees so thoroughly. He bathes me in silence, and I close my eyes. I open them when he stands up and walks over to the sink. He fills a cup of water and walks back to me, tilts my head back and pours it over my hair to get it wet. He washes it with the shampoo I keep at his place with a meticulousness that would impress a cosmetology instructor. He gently tilts my head back again and holds one hand over my forehead to protect my eyes before beginning the process of rinsing my hair with the cup of water. He refills the cup from the sink every time because he says the bath water is too soapy.
He declares me clean. "So I'm no longer a dirty girl?" I ask flirtatiously.
"Give me some time. I plan on making you a very dirty girl as soon as I get you dried off."
As he rubs the towel over me I asked him if this was like the thing in that movie where they heal the guy before they torture him - if he had to get me super clean before he could properly defile me.
"Something like that," he says. He leans forward and gently kisses me. He works his way down to my neck and bites in. Hard.
I'm on my knees now. I don't know how I got here. All I know is my mouth is full of him and he's pushing in more. I'm not gagging. I'm not really doing anything except taking it. I try to remember to breathe. I hope he likes this.
I'm bent over the bathtub. It's still damp - or maybe my hand that's grabbing it is. Either way I worry about falling as he pushes inside me. I'm close to climax and trying to stop thinking about what the faucet would do to my face if I pitch forward. I come. I stay on my feet. Don't come close to falling so I stop worrying about it.
He grabs some lube he'd put above the sink before my arrival. I feel one finger then two push into me. It's tight. I usually like to start anal with me on top, but tonight he wants it like this. He asks me if I'm ready. I mumble the word "gentle" a few times, and he is. He enters me slowly. He tells me how good I am. Pleased at pleasing him, I push back. I beg him to fuck me hard. I use the dirtiest words I can think of.
My left wrist is starting to feel numb. Everything else feels too good for me to really care.
He pushes in harder. The angle is wrong. Or maybe his piercing catches something. It hurts. I say "Ow!" in my "no seriously, this fucking hurts" tone and jerk away from him, dislodging him completely. I apologize and so does he. I ask if we can move to the bed and he acquiesces. We lay down and kiss gently for a few minutes before he flips me over and re-enters me. At my request he tells me what a slut I am. That only dirty girls like getting fucked in the ass. For the second time in my life I have multiple orgasms from anal sex. The last one is while he's growling and coming deep inside me.
"It feels better without the condom," I tell him. I’d often wondered if I'd be able to tell during anal, and I am oddly proud that I could.
"Now we’re really fluid bonded" he says solemnly. This cracks us up.
We head back to the bathroom to clean up. I have a patch of lube on my hip that takes a surprising amount of time to wash off.
We dress and head over to his computer. There are videos he wants to show me. He sits in his computer chair, and I sit at his feet. He strokes my hair which is still wet while we bounce around on youtube. He tells me he'll be right back and leaves the room, returning with two brushes. One of them is the kind I use on my thick hair the other one is all bristles and makes my hair crazy frizzy.
He uses the second one.
I know it's not on purpose, and I know if I ask he'll switch to the other one, but I'm so moved by having someone else brush my hair that I don't want to ruin the mood. We listen to Nine Inch Nails while he deconstructs the lyrics. I learn more about his angst-ridden college years, and we discuss depression as only two veterans can. He brushes my hair until it's completely dry. I wrap my arm around his calf and lean against his knee. I feel taken care of - loved.
I sleep for eight hours.