Chapter 63

When Paul and I caught our breaths after our passionate make-up sex on the floor, we ate a light dinner. Tuna sandwiches with potato chips. There was nothing else ready since I had been despairing in the bedroom all afternoon, sitting on the floor when I should have been preparing dinner. That actually worked out well because it didn’t take long to eat and clean up. We were soon back in the bedroom making love again, this time slow and lovingly, and on the bed.

After Paul climaxed again—I lost count of how many times I had—he got out of bed to take a shower. I watched him walk away.

“Paul, your backside is all red,” I said.

Paul twisted around to look. “I guess that was from before.”

“Before what?”

“Before dinner. On the floor. You were really moving on top of me. I guess it’s rug burn.”

I was about to apologize when I burst out laughing.

“Yeah,” I said when I was able to speak again, “I guess I was. I was so hot.”

Paul disappeared into the bathroom. I again wished our shower was larger. I would have joined him. I was ready for another orgasm. I was always ready for another orgasm. Instead, I lay on the bed smiling as I felt Paul’s semen seep out of me. I would be sleeping in the wet spot, but I didn’t care. It was worth it. Paul loved me. We simply had a stupid misunderstanding. Everything was back to normal.

When Paul returned to bed after his shower, he looked at me. “Aren’t you going to shower?” he asked.

“Too tired. I’ll shower in the morning.”

That wasn’t exactly true. I wanted to sleep with Paul’s semen inside me. I wanted to feel our lovemaking as I dozed off, and again when I awoke in the morning. So that’s what I did. As I lay under the blanket, my hand wandered between my legs. While Paul snored next to me, I fondled my groin, the wet pubic hairs and my wet inner thighs. I luxuriated in the feel. I dipped a finger inside me. Not to seek an orgasm, but to feel Paul’s love still inside me. Using two fingers, I spread the mixture of his and my fluids all over my vulva and clitoris. Touching myself like that sent tingles throughout my body, but I didn’t want to bring myself off. I just lay there stroking myself, listening to the patter of raindrops hitting the windows as I fell asleep.

When the alarm clock buzzed, I was lying face down, draped across Paul’s upper body. My cheek was on his chest near his far shoulder. One of my hands was next to my ear and my other one was resting on Paul’s far hip. His morning woody was underneath my forearm. I loved his dick. I loved touching it. Sucking it. Fucking it. I was grateful to have Paul. Someone who loved me. Someone who made love to me.

I laid my palm on his dick. When Paul rolled onto his side to turn off the buzzing alarm clock, I curled my fingers around his dick and rolled with him.

“I need to go to work,” Paul said.

“I know.”

I squeezed his dick and held it tight when Paul started to get out of bed.

“I mean it,” Paul said, “I have to get ready for work.”

“Aw, can’t you be a little late,” I said in a little girl’s voice. I squeezed his hard cock like one would grip a baton. “We can’t let this go to waste.”

“It’s like that because I have to pee. We’ll have sex when I come home.”

Paul wrenched my hand off his dick and got out of bed. I lay there while he washed up and then dressed. Paul leaned over the bed and pecked my lips with his. Then he was gone.

That night, we didn’t make love. No matter how much I teased him, and begged—yes, I begged—Paul said he was too tired. I went to sleep with nothing inside my pussy and a wide gap between our bodies.

The next morning, Paul jumped out of bed as soon as the alarm went off. Before I could fully awaken to coax him into having sex. I spent the day grocery shopping, cleaning the apartment, and waiting for Paul to come home. I bought two nice steaks in the grocery. I knew how much Paul liked steak.

After longing for Paul all day, I greeted him at the door when he came home from work and flung my arms around his neck. We kissed for a minute or so, standing next to the closed door before Paul went to the bedroom to change out of his suit. We had a nice dinner and, after I cleaned the kitchen up, I dragged Paul into the bedroom. We started undressing each other, but soon realized that was taking too long. So we undressed ourselves and hurried into bed.

Paul kissed me the way I had hoped he would. Passionately, with a lot of tongue. His hands weren’t idle either. He teased my breasts and pussy. After thrusting a finger in and out of my now wet pussy, Paul climbed between my legs and entered me. I wasn’t done with the foreplay, but Paul’s pounding into me left me no choice. Who needed foreplay anyway? His cock inside me was all I needed.

I climaxed. It never took much for me to climax and I liked getting it out of the way to appreciate my second one more. For some reason, the second was more rewarding. But it wasn’t to be. Paul grunted and came inside me.

When he pulled out and rolled onto his back, I flung my body across his and lovingly brushed my fingers on the side of his face and hair. I kissed his jaw and neck and sucked his earlobe. Paul was capable of another hard-on and I was looking forward to our second fuck. But Paul shoved me away and grabbed my forearm, putting an end to my caresses. He rolled out of bed.

Stunned, I stared at him. “Where are you going?”

“To shower.”

“Come back to bed. Let’s make love.”

“We already did.”

“We can do it again.”

“Not tonight. I had a hard day at work. I’m drained.”

Paul disappeared into the bathroom and I soon heard the shower running. I lay in bed, not luxuriating in our lovemaking, but feeling neglected. And deprived.

When Paul returned to bed, I took a shower. Having his semen inside me that night wasn’t quite the same. I returned to the bedroom to find Paul snoring.

We didn’t make love again until Saturday. Every morning Paul said he needed to get to work. At night, he was tired. I was tempted to use the curling brush during the day but fought the urge. I was married. I had a man to have sex with me. I didn’t need to masturbate. But where was my husband when I wanted sex?

On Saturday, however, I was waiting for Paul when he woke up, lying on my side with my head propped up in my hand, watching him sleep. Waiting for him to open his eyes. When he did, I kissed him. And then I slid down his body and stuffed his cock into my mouth. I wasn’t going to wait for him. I needed sex and nothing was going to stop me from having it.

I knew that a good wife was supposed to let her husband take charge, but I had no intention of doing that. I was the aggressor. I didn’t ask for Paul to eat me. I swung my leg over his body as I turned so that I lay on top of him in the opposite direction. I lowered my pussy onto Paul’s mouth. If he would have rejected me, I think I would have stormed out of the apartment naked, but Paul’s tongue was soon pleasuring me.

I took my time on his cock. I didn’t want him to climax in my mouth or too soon in my pussy. I wanted two orgasms, three if I was lucky. I simply teased Paul’s cock with my tongue and teeth while he licked my pussy and clitoris. When I was ready, I scrambled off him, spun around, and sat on his cock. I bounced on it until my first orgasm swept over me. It was a stronger first orgasm because Paul’s tongue had brought me to the brink. Now I was ready for my second one. I jumped off Paul, lay on my back, and spread my legs wide.

“Fuck me,” I said. “I want you on top.”