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#320 - wild monkey sex
04.04.03 @ 11:37 am

I had hot monkey sex Wednesday night.

Laurell K. Hamilton knows how to push all my buttons. Just a few words from her can leave my throat dry, my belly fluttering, my clit burning.

She pushes other buttons as well. Emotional ones. Sometimes, Anita just gets so emotionally bogged down and drained, I feel it in my soul. It's really fucked with my head in the past. Wednesday night I just put the book down and decided to let it go. But I still felt like being held, comforted.

Husband does not like to cuddle much at bedtime. He likes to try to sleep right away, and he can't sleep with me touching him. I accept that. But it bugs me that he can't even have the patience to relax a little and try to just drift and be at peace for a few moments in my arms.

Wednesday he let me into his arms, and I was happy. But not really content with things. He smelled good. He felt good. And sex had been on my mind for 48 hours straight. I began with some small kisses around his armpit. I trailed them down to his nipple. When I heard that first sigh, and didn't feel him bat me away, I knew I had him. I began to suck, lick, use my teeth. Just hearing him breathing heavier in the dark, my mouth on his skin, and that was enough to make my clit burn.

I think I moved to kiss him at some point. There was so much hunger in us both. When I had started this, I had wanted comfort, maybe some slow love making. But I was suddenly more excited than I had been in months. I was feverish. I wanted him inside me that instant. When he finally reached down to touch me the way I was now touching him, I must have gasped. I've heard that men complain that being aroused and not touched can be painful. I believe them, because it's painful for me. That first touch when I'm that stimulated is almost painful. Like a sharp knife where fingers meet flesh, then spreading out in a million pin pricks to the rest of my skin. In a flash, it's over, and I'm better, and it's magnificent, and all I can think about is shoving him inside of me.

So I tore at his underware, he helped me with that, and then I was rolling on top of him and struggling to get him inside me. I can't remember how long it had been since I was on top. I'm usually embarrassed by my body. It was pitch black in that room, and all I could think about was fucking him to death, so I didn't care about my body.

There was something especially exciting about not being able to see him in the dark. Oddly enough, I wasn't fantasizing about anything for once, so I opened my eyes to try and see him. And I couldn't. I kissed him hard as I rode him, and he almost tasted like a stranger. Almost. I think maybe he was overly excited as well. His kiss seemed stronger than usual.

This did not last long. He finally convinced me to stop so he could get a condom. I rolled over and he kissed me and slipped inside again. I was in such a frenzied place, not caring about anything but his touch and his cock, it was almost an act of physical will to get my mind to convince my body to let him go. Once he was off of me, I could breath and think like a rational person.

And once I was in that rational place, I never quite got back to the irrational need again. We had hot monkey sex. He was on top, then I was on top. I sat up and he squeezed my breasts as I leaned back to cup his balls, then try to snake my fingers lower to play with his anus. I grinnned in the dark at the sounds he made when I did that.

But it wasn't the same. It wasn't frenzied need anymore. I was rational. I let him roll me over, position me how he wanted so many times. He kept going and going. I kept almost coming. It was so wonderfully mind-blowing. He touched a part of me that seemed to be beyond pleasure, beyond orgasm.

So that in the end, when he finally finished, I realized I never had. It hadn't seemed important at the time. It felt so right for him to just fuck me, make me hold my breath, my mouth open in a silent "o" for most of the night. I felt like I should have been seeing visions. And I did, in a way. Emotional visions. Most of the time, all I could think about was how with each thrust, I wanted to scream that I loved him.

This happens to me more and more lately.

But I can't remember the last time I had an orgasm.

He has asked me if he can finish me off, and his asking makes me embarrassed in front of him. The thought of him trying to get me off while he's not being stimulated and brought himself just doesn't feel right in my head. I can only think of one time I took him up on the offer, and it was years ago. It was nice, and it worked, but I've never felt comfortable accepting again. Maybe if he just did it instead of asking. I don't know. I really don't.

Because all I could think about yesterday was him. I couldn't do my job. My clit was on fire for most of the day. I could barely read my book, because it just made it worse, even in the scenes where Anita didn't have sex, because sex just seems to surround her, even if she's not actually fucking.

So I went home and shyly plucked up the courage to ask my man to have sex with me. I wanted an orgasm so badly. I knew it had been at least a month. Husband admitted with some embarrassment and not so many words that he was physically unable. He had played with himself that day. Fucking brilliant. I was so frustrated. So angry. I went into the bedroom and decided to finish myself off.

And I couldn't. Nothing I tried worked. I finally gave up, near tears.

All this time, all these weeks, not masturbating when I wanted to, to save myself for him. Because if I have an orgasm, it takes me quite awhile to come back to a state of even thinking about sex again. Like days. Sometimes weeks. It was never a big deal that I didn't finish when we did have sex. That meant I could have more sex sooner. But suddenly, after so long, I needed the release. I thought if I really needed to, I could always finish myself off in an "emergency". It was horribly shocking to find out I couldn't.

I was devestated last night. But in the cold light of a brisk April Seattle day, for some reason I've found hope. Or determination. Something. We're going out of town with his family tonight.

And we're not leaving Seattle until I have an orgasm. Dammit.

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