Pillow talk and dirty sex

We were in the bed upstairs, eating cereal. It seemed logical at the time.

After two insane rounds of sex, I was hungry. Seriously. I wanted to be in the bed, because it was soft and if I passed out from post-coital delirium, I’m be in bed, yay!

Plus, he was in the bed, naked, and that was made of awesome.

I was thinking it would be convenient to be in bed in case spontaneous sex broke out again. So I broke the cardinal room of my bed: don’t eat food in it.

OK, that wasn’t the cardinal rule. The cardinal rule was filled with numbers of tequila shots and stranger-danger.

We were sitting cross-legged on the still-made bed, wonderfully nude, with bowls of cereal in our hands.

“This is a new one,” he  said. “I still trying to figure out why I’m surprised that I’m eating Coco Puffs in your bed. I shouldn’t be batting an eye over this.”

“Hey, I have this onus of being perpetually interesting,” I said around a mouthful of cereal. “Plus I have adult ADHD, so things just spontaneously seem like fun. Hey, can you open that champagne before it gets warm?”

He had a spoonful of cereal halfway to his mouth and it paused and hung there, like a cartoon.

“With chocolate cereal?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard,” he said.

“We really haven’t talked enough, have we?” I replied. “We should talk more and fuck less, because I know I can come up with more disgusting things.”

He got off the bed and went to my dresser, which had a hodgepodge spread on it. Gallon of milk. Box of cereal. Strawberries. Champagne. Beef jerky.

“This is guaranteed to make me barf,” he said, unwrapping the wire holder over the cork. The bottle was sweating, and it slipped in his hands a little.

“I live to make you barf, my darling,” said, standing on my knees and gesturing grandly with the spoon.

He started to put the bottle between his legs to pop the cork, and thought better of putting a chilled bottle by the boys.  He dissappeared into the bathroom and came back with a towel. He expertly pulled the cork with a soft pop, and set the bottle on the night stand to air.

I was still on my knees, eating cereal in that half-standing way. He leaned over and with no warning, licked across my stomach in one long, hot lave.

“Why don’t you shave off the rest?” he asked, taking the bowl I was about to drop.

“Uh?”

Don’t judge me. There’s something primal about having someone just walk up and lick your stomach.

“Use your words, baby,” he said, pulling me in and kissing the tip of my nose.

“Recalcitrant, retroperitoneal ultrasound, redux,” I said, kissing his chin.

“Got stuck in R, huh?” he said.

“Yeah, you know, when you forget how to speak, you start back with the letter R. Right? Everyone knows that. Hand me that bottle,” I said.

“You’re going to barf,” he warned.

“Bah! I reject your reality!” I said.

I took a long draught right from the bottle, and looked back at him, arching an eyebrow.

“See? It’s fine. Cereal and booze... fine... hruh... hruh...” I leaned over, clenching my belly, heaving over the bed... he took two quick steps back. I couldn’t help it, I giggled.

“There is something really fucked up about you,” he said. “That’s my favorite part, I think.”

I took another sip and handed him the bottle.

“And here I thought you were using me for my pussy,” I said. I flopped back against the head, dramatically covering my forehead with my hand.  

“That too,” he  said. He took a drink. “So why don’t you shave the rest of it?” He dropped down on top of me.

“Well, for one, the shit itches like hell when it grows back. For two, I neeeed that stuff and I’m not risking a cut. And before you ask, for three, waxing fucking hurts a lot and you get ingrown hairs and strangers put hot wax on your junk. Would a dude ever ask strangers to spread hot fucking wax on his junk, and then rip off all the hair? No. Because that’s fucking stupid.”

I sat up on my elbow, and he moved half off me, so that I could reach the bottle.

“It’s not that I don’t like your little racing stripe, I just wondered why,” he said.

He took the bottle from me, and bit my neck and whispered in my ear, “I’d shave you.”

“There is something as beautifully fucked up about you as me,” I said. “I’ll think about it. Think about handing you a razor to use on my pussy. Think.”

“What else will you think about saying yes to?” he asked.

“Maybe we can try, you know,” I said. I dropped back and pulled a pillow over my face.

“I didn’t hear you,” he said.

“That thing that I said no to downstairs,” I said.

“Which thing?”

“That thing,” I said.

“I can’t heeaaaarr you,” he said, pulling the pillow off my face. His cock had bounced back to life and was pressed against my side.

“Nevermind,” I said, embarrassed as hell because he didn’t know what I was talked about.

Even more embarrassed that I was going to let him, I mean, that was not a two-date act. That’s like a six-months in and we’re experimenting act.

“You’re so hot when you get shy, and pull back,” he said, pulling me in for a deep kiss that left me breathless. “It’s bizarre that you get shy.”

“Less talk, more making out,” I said.

He got up, got off the bed and in a smooth motion he flipped me over, and pulled my ankles together. One hand holding my ankles, he grabbed the ribbon I’d tied him to the chair with earlier, and wrapped it around my ankles, tying it off on the footboard of the bed.

I was up on my elbows, looking over my shoulder, watching him secure my legs, with me belly-down on the bed.

“That is a fucking pastoral image,” he said.

He grabbed the bottle of champagne and dragged it across my calf. My breath hissed out at the sensation of the wet chill against my hot skin.

My body shuddered as he dragged the bottom of the bottle all the way up my leg, over my ass, and up the line of my spine, ending at the base. I was covered in chills when he offered it to me for a drink. My fingertips were cool and I was so turned on I was actually lightheaded from the sudden rush of blood to, um, other places.

“Stay still,” he said.

I cried out in surprise when I felt the champagne slowly pour into the small depression at the base of my spine, and came almost instantly when he straddled me, leaning over my ass, pinning my bound legs down, and drank the bubbly from my back.

Motherfuck.

The sensation was surreal, and I hoped he didn’t need a response other than ‘yes! oh... oh fuck yes!’

My face hit the pillow as he drizzled the effervescent wine over my ass, repeating the process, until I was ripping the sheets off the bed and arching back against him, while rubbing my swollen pussy against the bed, like a fucking cat in heat, desperate for... for whatever.  

Whatever he did.

He pulled my hips up, repositioning himself and me.

My legs were tied at the ankles, so when he pulled me up and pushed my ass in the air, he spread my knees apart as far as they could go, leaving me like a low, wide, A frame.

He poured a stream of champagne right down the crack of my ass, a heavy stream.

I moaned into the pillow.

He started from my pussy, pulling my hips back and licking up my slit from behind.

“What were you going to say yes to,” he asked, probing my wet hole with his tongue.

I shook my head. I wasn’t going to say it. I wasn’t.

He pulled back, and bit the top of my shoulder, which made me almost come off the bed in sensory overload, and whispered in my ear, “Do you want me to fuck your ass?”

I froze. Breathless with the carnal reality.

“Is that what you want?”

I nodded softly.

“Are you scared?” he asked pushing my hair off my face, which I turned from him.

I nodded again, almost in tears with the bizarre conflicts of want and shame.

“Do you want me to untie you for this?”

I nodded a third time. Damn, I was really an impressive bedfellow, right? Soooo verbose.

He untied my ankles, and wrapped the ribbon instead around my waist twice, and wrapped his hands through the excess ribbon, pulling it taut, and pulling me close, like he had reins on me.

“Is this OK?” he asked. I nodded, this I could do. “Lube?”

Fucking let me die, this entire conversation, non-conversation, was killing me, and I didn’t know why.

“Night stand, bottom drawer,” I said, muffled by the pillow.

I felt like I was sitting at the bottom of a roller coaster, and we just took off. I could hear the tick-tick-tick-tick of the car going to the top, and part of me was ready for the ride, excited about what was next, and part of me was thinking ‘Let. Me. Off! I want to get off!’

He was behind me, slowly pushing into my pussy. I sobbed in absolute pleasure, and he hit me with everything he had, shoving his hard cock deep in me, while pouring the last of the champagne on my back, and then working a well-oiled finger into my ass while licking the champagne off.

The triple hit had me weak.

He picked up his pace a little, working me well, until I was hot, loose and frenzied, head thrown back as the mother of all orgasms hit.

And then his cock was pressing slowly against my ass. Just the head entered, and I tensed up and shook my head. He stilled immediately, touching me, murmuring to me until I relaxed and he could work in another inch.

And then another.

And another.

“Are you OK,” he asked hoarsely. The way he was working me slowly had to have been torture for him.

I nodded.

And he pushed all the way in with one harsh move.

“No, no, no, stop,” I said, legs giving out. It was too much, too fast, and fuck it was like, a delicious anguish, a white hot need, and I felt rent apart on the inside. But it fucking hurt in that last shove.

He froze. He let himself settle in me. He reached around and worked my clit while I dragged out ragged breaths. Long moments passed and I moved back against him.

The fucking torment, the feel of his thickness deep in me in this violating way, hurt in the most decadent way. When I pushed back, he nearly growled in his chest as he started to move in shallow strokes, and I quickly loosened against him, and we both cried out when he pushed in, hard, all the way in, balls slapping my pussy.

I arched forward, away from him, and he grabbed my hips, slamming deep into my ass, and it was so... damn... good. I couldn’t scream or moan, I just made these guttural cries as he fucked my ass, my face buried in the bed.

He was also struck silent by the sheer effort it took to get us here, and to make it last.

My head hit the headboard, and he grabbed the forgotten ribbon, the bed thumped against the wall in time with his thrusts, and he fucked me.

I think I blacked out a little I came so hard. Everything in me was hot and dirty and loose and tense and I screamed and went limp.

He pounded in me and quickly followed suit, yelling, and then shooting his load deep in me, then collapsing on me.

We didn’t speak.

“Are you breathing baby?” he asked, pulling out, and pushing my hair back.

“I’m not sure,” I said. “Holy. Fuck.”

“We need a shower,” he said. “Really.”

“I can’t walk.”

He laughed.

“That is the response I want every time we fuck,” he said.

“Deal. But you’re not shaving my pussy,” I said.

He laughed, picked me up and carried me into the bathroom.