A Revelation

I think I may have actually ejaculated (squirted, gushed, whatever) last week.

It dawned on me while reading something regarding female ejaculation today. After a particularly amazing lovemaking session, there was a huge puddle in the (dark red, so it was clearly visible) sheets. Two, actually - one puddle inside another. The larger puddle was clear; the smaller puddle was white-tinged - obviously Hubby's come. It seemed kind of strange at the time, but I didn't really think anything of it.

And all the "medical" reports I've read say that female ejaculation is clear, while we all know that come is usually a milky-white color.

The thing is, I didn't think I could ejaculate. I'd heard of it, of course, but I didn't think it was something that every woman was capable of. Kind of like how only 30% (or something like that) of women can orgasm from penetration only. The vast majority of us need clitoral stimulation to get to the point of coming. I thought ejaculation was similar - something some women could do, but not all. I figured I was in the latter category, since it never happened before (at least not to my knowledge, anyway).

Huh. I ejaculated. COOL! *grin*

A Lesson Learned

If I get dressed up

+

I feel sexy

+

I have a good time with my best friend

+

I get good and drunk

....

Hubby and I have amazing sex.

(And that's about all I can say right now, because I'm exhausted and a little hung over, but OMG so fucking happy I can't even tell you!)

A Day of Firsts, Part III

Jim started to sit up but abruptly stopped. "Wait. I've got an idea."

Anya lay on the bed, legs askew, still gasping for breath. "What?"

"Just wait here for a moment. I'll be right back."

He got up, threw his robe on, and left the room. Anya could hear his footsteps pounding down the stairs, and it wasn't long before she heard him running back up again. A huge grin on his face, he all but bounced back into the room.

Holding something in his hand, he lifted it up and said "this." It took a moment for her brain to click into gear, but Anya finally realized that he was holding up his electric shaver. "What's that for?"

"You, my dear," he said over-dramatically, "are in dire need of a trim."

She blushed. She didn't usually let her pubic hair get this long, but she kept forgetting to buy razors when she went into town. No razor, no shave. Growing more embarrassed by the second, she clamped her legs shut. "Yeah. I... uh... keep forgetting to buy razors."

"I noticed that," he said, a wry grin on his face. "That's why I got this. It won't be perfect, but it'll be better!"

"Um... I think I might be a little too... messy... for you to do that right now."

"No problem!" Jim said. "I'll go get a warm washcloth." With a shit-eating grin, he disappeared out the door, and she could hear him in the bathroom, water running from the tap. In no time at all, he reappeared, washcloth in hand.

"Open up," he said, his voice low. She did, slowly spreading her legs until her pussy was revealed. Gently, he washed her - warm, and wet, the washcloth ran over first her outer lips, then the inner, softly removing the evidence of her orgasms. Once he was done, he spread it out on the bed under her bottom. "So we don't have pubic hair all over the bed," he explained.

Grabbing his shaver, he popped the trimmer into position. Turning it on, he bent down and placed it gently on her mons. "Just try to hold still," he said. "It won't cut you, I don't think, but it might pull if you move too much."

Anya, breathless, just stared at him. The intimacy required in order to let him do this for her was turning her on more than anything.

Slowly and carefully, he trimmed her pubic hair, starting at her mons and proceeding down to her swollen, pink lips. The gentle vibrations from the device, in combination to the gentle touches of his fingers, were turning her on more than she could have imagined. She never believed that something as simple as shaving could be so erotic an event.

Finished, he turned off the shaver, and carefully folded the washcloth so that the hair that had fallen was trapped inside. Giving her pussy one last wipe with the (now much cooler) washcloth to catch any stray hairs, he folded it up even smaller and placed it on her bedside table. Reclining back on the bed, he reached out to touch his masterpiece. Running his fingers gently along her outer lips, he softly said "there. That's much better."

The only sound in the room was Anya's quickened breathing. Wide-eyed, she simply stared at him. Too befuddled to speak, she didn't even try.

The touch of his fingers was exquisite torture. Like butterfly kisses, he gently stroked her, fingers periodically delving between to touch the moist head. Looking into her eyes, he pushed a finger inside. "Oh my," he said. "That really turned you on, didn't it?"

"Yes," she breathed.

"Good," he grinned, and bent his head, touching his tongue to her clit. Half gasp, half scream, she cried out and clutched at the sheets under her hands. He teased her mercilessly, flicking his tongue against her swollen bud until she was almost ready to come... and then stopping, running his tongue down the inside of her lips, shoving it into her hole. And then doing it again... and again... and again. Oblivious to anything but what he was doing to her, breathing became moaning; moaning became screaming.

Finally granting her mercy, he hooked two fingers into her, massaging her g-spot, and attacking her clit with his tongue.

"Oh God... oh God... Jim... oh my God, I'm going to come!"

The orgasm that washed over her was stronger than she could ever remember feeling before. Her pussy spasmed, clenching the fingers that were still inside her.

As she struggled to return her breathing to normal, he crawled up alongside her, kissing his way up her body. The curves of her stomach, the globes of her breasts... he blazed a trail of hot kisses that made it all but impossible for her to come all the way down. He held her up in that haze of orgasmic pleasure and didn't seem willing to let her come down.

And she wasn't really sure she wanted to.

Coming to her neck, he continued to kiss and lick his way up, finally locking lips with hers, shoving his hot tongue in her mouth. Breaking free, he kissed his way along her cheek to her ear, where he whispered "suck me."

"Stand up," she said, turning her head to look him in the eyes.

He stood; she sat up, scooting to the edge of the bed. She just sat there for a moment, taking in the sight of him. God, how she loved his cock! She'd never told him, because she didn't want to inflate his ego too much, but he had the best cock she'd ever seen or felt. It was big - but not too big. Long, but not too long. A healthy pink color, the blue veins now straining under the skin. Uncircumcised, the head gleamed with the pre-cum that had gotten smeared when he'd moved.

Gently she took him in her hands; one wrapped around his beautiful cock, one cupping his balls. Bringing her head forward, she reached out with her tongue, tasting the bitter-salt flavor of his pre-cum. Gasping, he reached out and tangled his hand in her curly blond hair. Smiling to herself, she closed her lips around the head, squeezing the shaft with one hand and his balls with the other.

Teasing him with her tongue, she alternated rubbing the underside of the head and teasing his hole. Creating a buildup of her own spit, she started to take more and more of him in her mouth. She never could deep-throat him (though God knows she'd tried!), but she always tried to take him as far as possible.

Hands moving in time with her mouth and tongue, she began to bob her head up and down his shaft, eliciting groans and grunts of appreciation from him. His hands twisted in her hair, making her smile to herself. It's always nice to be appreciated.

He was close to climax; she could tell. She just kept at it, slurping at his gorgeous cock like it was the most delicious thing in the world. So it came as quite a shock when he suddenly pushed her off of him and back on the bed. She looked at him in surprise and concern, worried that she'd done something wrong.

Jim looked intensely into Anya's eyes. "I need to come inside you," he said. Relieved, she scooted back farther, to make sure he had enough room to climb on the bed with her.

He climbed on the bed, kneeling. Grabbing a leg in each of his hands, he pulled her towards him with her ass up in the air. Driving his cock into her, a sigh escaped her lips. He filled and stretched her completely, perfectly. As if he were made for her and her alone.

Wasting no time, he began to pump in and out of her with feverish abandon. Cock sliding in and out, her clit hitting his pelvic bone with each thrust, she quickly approached yet another orgasm.

Just as she felt the waves hit, just as her pussy muscles started clamping down on him, he came. She could feel his cock pumping cream into her, could see it on his face.

Collapsing on top of her, he couldn't stop his hips from twitching, still wanting to thrust. Panting, trying to catch his breath, he pushed himself up on his elbows and looked at her. Kissing her, he told her how much he loved her.

"Wow," he said a moment later. "That's a first."

A Baby Step

He "made" me play with myself last night.

As I've said before on this here space o'mine, I have a hard time putting into action those parts of my sexuality that I keep hidden in my head. Playing with myself in his presence happens to be one of those (hence the "masturbation on show" story - if he ever managed to get me to do that in front of him, it would probably start out very similar). Last night was not the first time he'd tried to get me to play with myself, but it was the first time I managed to push my embarrassment and fears to the back of my mind and just go with it.

I remember the first time. I was on my back with my head on the pillows, he was on his knees between my legs, holding me up by my hips while his cock thrust in and out of me. Letting go of one leg, he reached over and took me by the wrist, placing my hand on my pussy.

I about died.

Humiliation washed over me in waves, tears came to my eyes and I couldn't even look at him. I knew what he wanted; only a moron would have had trouble working that out. And while I knew in the back of my head there was nothing wrong or "deviant" about him wanting to see me pleasure myself, the humiliation was just too strong. I just couldn't. And I couldn't explain why. I just knew I couldn't.

Periodically over the years he's tried again and again, and while I had gotten comfortable enough to have my hand there, I never actually got into it. It was that fear again. That fear that somehow, letting him see me pleasure myself would make me a bad person. (I realize that makes no sense. It doesn't really make any sense to me, either. But it is what it is, and I'm just trying to be honest with myself here.)

But last night was different. I don't know if it's because I've finally gotten to the point where I'm sick and tired of being so afraid of my own sexuality or what. But last night was definitely different.

We were on our sides again. He had shifted so that he could enter me easier, while I alternated between clutching at whatever part of him I could reach, and clutching at the bedclothes. Suddenly his arm reaches around and grabs my wrist, putting it between my legs. I froze for a second, that old fear of mine starting to bubble up again. But this time, somehow, I managed to ignore my fear. Finding myself very well lubricated already, I tentatively started rubbing myself. After a few moments, he stopped his thrusting for a second - I honestly think he was checking on me, to see if I was actually doing it or not (we were under the covers [it's friggin' COLD in our bedroom!!], so I don't think he could have been able to tell otherwise). And I was. I basically told that fear-ridden part of my brain to fuck off and just enjoyed the moment.

Unfortunately I wasn't quite able to bring myself to orgasm, but that's mainly because I dried up after a while and was too frightened to say anything.

But I have to admit, I'm proud of myself for doing it. It might not seem like a big deal to some people, but for me, it really and truly is. It's only a baby step, but it's a step nonetheless. How could I not be proud of that?

Wet

It amazes and offends me - in equal measures - when people talk about marriage being the death of sex. Not just the marriage, but the wife. As if putting a ring on a woman's finger is enough to completely kill her sex drive and her desire for the man that put it there.

I call bullshit.

Oh, don't get me wrong - I'm sure there are some women out there like that. And to those women, I say: you shouldn't have gotten married in the first place. While no, sex is not the most important thing in a marriage, it is pretty goddamned important! I could not imagine spending the rest of my life with someone I don't even want to have sex with. For one thing, it would be cruel to both me and him. Like some form of psychological torture. For another, I don't think that a marriage could survive intact without the intimacy that sex brings.

I am, of course, only expressing my own opinion, here (it's my sandbox, I'm gonna say whatever the fuck I want). I know some of you out there have relationships which work differently, and that's absolutely fine. I'm specifically talking about traditional marriages, like I have.

I actually get angry when I hear somebody say something like "Oh, don't mind him. He's married. You know, as in he gets sex once a year." Or something to that effect. To paint every traditional marriage with the same sexless brush just pisses me off to no end. Just because one person is like that doesn't mean every person in that particular group is. Generalizations. I hates them.

Why did this come up?

I realized something today. This year with be our 10th wedding anniversary. Ten years, and I still get wet from nothing more than a kiss.

Wet.

From a kiss.

Is it any wonder those broad, sweeping, moronic generalizations piss me off??

Tease Me

I'd just finished eating dinner. He had finished first, but then, he always finishes first. I came into the computer room, and he was sitting in the chair.

"I'll be out of here in just a minute. I just wanted to check something."

That's kind of what I figured. I pretty much expected him to go back to bed once he was done eating.

Finished with whatever he was doing, he spun the chair around and faced me, pulling me in for a kiss. I lean down to kiss him and then stand up again, and he's pulling on my shirt, tugging me down for another kiss. Then another. And another.

"What?!" I all but scream. This is beginning to get annoying.

"I just wanted a kiss," he says, putting on his pretend pouting-like-a-puppy-dog face.

"I just gave you four!" I remind him.

"Yeah, well, I want another one." He kisses me for a moment, but then begins to kiss and nibble at my neck, my weak spot. I call him a tease, and tell him that he's evil. He responds by putting his hands inside my shirt.

Ack! Cold hands! Really cold hands. In fact, they're not hands at all. They're icicles, masquerading as hands.

He rubs them together, trying to warm them up. Marginally better, I can at least have his hands inside my shirt without wanting to scream.

He begins tweaking my nipples through my bra, at the same time devouring me with his mouth. I'm panting; I can't help it. The man knows very well how to get me panting for him.

Just when I think he's going to leave me hanging, he slides his hand inside my trousers. I wonder if it surprised him at all when he realized I wasn't wearing any panties today.

Finding my clit, he begins frigging it like mad. I'm moaning into his mouth as he's kissing me, and hanging on to him as if my life depended on it. I can hear the children running after each other and laughing right outside the door; I don't care what they do as long as they don't come in here.

Just when I'm about to hit the peak, he pushes me away and gives me a peck on the lips.

Damn tease.

(Yes, I love it. I admit it.)

Happy Birthday, Honey!

It's my husband's birthday today! :) In just a minute, I'm going to go upstairs and give him his birthday present.

A bottle of the massage oil/lube pictured here, and me in a pair of pink, frilly, lacy, crotchless french knickers.

If we had more money, I have SO many ideas for things I would have loved to have gotten for him, but alas. We're poor.

Oh well. Better than nothin', right? :D

What a way to wake up! Twice!

I should have known something was up when, as I snuggled down into the bed to go to sleep, he surreptitiously (or so he thought) slipped his hand up under the tank top I was wearing as sleep gear, and took hold of a nipple.

He did nothing to it, just lay there, holding my nipple as we both drifted off to sleep. I smiled to myself, finding it endearingly silly, but not really thinking anything of it.

But why then, should it be a surprise that he wakes me up for sex not once, but twice?

Just a couple of hours after drifting off to sleep, I jolt awake as I realize he's slipped back into bed (obviously he'd gotten up at some point). He curls his body against mine, his warm hands rubbing my arm, my leg, my stomach. His hand - oh so blissfully warm! - slips up under my tank top again, tweaking a nipple, while his lips trail kisses along the back of my neck. I smile to myself, knowing that this is what I've been wanting for days. That's when it occurs to me that the nipple-holding should have given me a hint.

I lose myself in his touch. Warm hands that know how to arouse me are doing a wonderful job of it. I can't help myself; I start gasping and moaning. I try not to make too much noise - don't want to wake the children! - but I can't keep myself completely silent. (I'm a reformed screamer. I've had to reform myself now that my older 2 are old enough to know what we're doing, and my younger 2 are in the next room. We got caught a couple of months ago; I really didn't want that to happen again!)

That was all the encouragement he needed; he pulled my hip down, spreading my legs. His hand abandoned my nipple to slip inside my panties. He finds my clit and starts rubbing it feverishly. Too much, too fast. I cry out and he realizes his mistake; apologizing, he slows down a bit.

My ass is pressed up against his groin. I can feel his cock pressing against me. Partly on purpose, partly unable to control myself, I start grinding my ass against him. I can't just lay there!

I can hear him gasp and moan every time my ass makes contact with his cock. It doesn't take long before he's desperate to get inside of me, and he yanks my panties down one leg, lifting it so that he can get access from behind.

He shifts around a bit so that he's almost perpendicular to me, holding on to me for leverage, and starts pumping his cock in and out of me. I'm almost desperate to touch him, but he's behind me, so I settle for grasping the hand that's holding on to my hip.

Gradually his strokes become faster, and he switches from holding my hip to holding my shoulders, intermittently rubbing the uncovered skin on my back and reaching around to squeeze my nipple.

Still feeling the need to touch him, I reach back and grab his ass, digging my nails into the flesh. He sucks in a breath and begins to pump faster, harder.

Soon we're both close to coming; he while holding onto my shoulders as if his life depended on it, and me holding on to the mattress like it's going to fly away. It doesn't take long before he's coming; I can feel it fill my cunt.

I didn't orgasm, unfortunately... I was almost there, when he came first. But I don't care. It's not just the orgasm I wanted, it was the closeness. I wanted to touch and be touched.

I look at the clock, and I see that it's 4:34 a.m. So once my breathing went back to normal and my thighs stopped feeling like jelly (and cleaning up, of course), I went back to sleep.

Apparently he'd gotten up again, because I was again woken up by him crawling under the covers. He cuddled up to me, spooning me. After already having had sex once, I figured all he'd want was a cuddle. So it was quite a surprise when his hand reached up under my tank top and started tweaking my still-sensitive nipples again.

Turning my head toward his, I expressed my surprise. "Again?" I asked. His "excuse" was that he had a migraine and needed a distraction. Heh. Whatever works! :)

This time was a little different. It was a more... emotional. Lots of kissing and gazing into each other's eyes and shit like that. Which was good for me, but I'm not too sure anybody else is interested in my sappy, romantic leanings. :-P

I did get my orgasm in the end, though. ;)

Just some random thoughts.

I'm sitting here thinking about my sudden increase in sex drive, so I figured I'd Google myself some information.

I liked this article. I have to admit, I like the guy's writing style.

But then I find this article, wherein it says that the "sexual peak" thing is just a myth. That it's just the woman becoming more comfortable with herself and her sexuality that moves things along.

The thing is, regardless of which one is true, it applies to me.

Pro-Sexual-Peak (for lack of a better term) articles will tell you that, on average, a woman hits her sexual peak anywhere between 30-40 years old. (I was thinking it was 35 - 40, not so much a broader age range). I'm 33. So yeah, that theory fits.

But as I said above, the Anti-Sexual-Peak information says that it's all about a woman being more comfortable with herself and throwing off the "sex = bad" or "sex = dirty" dichotomies we're brainwashed into believing when we're young.

But there's where I'm just a little... ehh. It partly fits. In the last 16 months or so, I have become a lot more accepting of and comfortable in my body. It has taken a lot of effort and some education on my part, but it has been such a wonderful change. And it had knock-on effects - good ones - that I just wasn't expecting.

But I have to admit that I'm still having issues with my sexuality. That's the whole point of this blog. I can't afford to go to a therapist (though, honestly? I would if I could), so this is kind of like one-sided talk therapy for me. Though it can morph into two-sided if anybody has any thoughts they'd like to share. :)

I'd love it if one day I could feel totally comfortable initiating and participating more fully in sex with my husband. Right now? It's only a dream.

That's one of the reasons I admire Curvaceous Dee. She is so comfortable with her lovers - or at least it seems that way - and knows exactly what she wants and how to get it.

I'd have to smoke or drink some really good shit before I could even come close to the level of assuredness that she has. At this point, anyway.

But I want to get there - without the use of chemical aids. I want to be able to actually do and say the kind of things that go through my head. I want to be free of the constraints that my own mind puts on me.

I've always wanted that, to be honest. This has been an issue in my marriage - and, truthfully, in every relationship I've had - for a long, long time. Because it's my issue, but it has a trickle-down effect on whomever I happen to be with.

(As an aside, I don't want it to sound like I'm all "poor me, I'm such a frigid bitch, this happened to me, that happened to me, I've had such a horrible life, oh noes." No. No, it's more this is how I am. I'm not happy with how I am. I know that X, Y, and Z have contributed to how I am, but I'm not sure I can pinpoint the hows. That's how I'd like to be (using Dee as an example). I'd like to go from this to that, and I'm trying to figure out how to do that. I just wanted to get that out of the way, because I don't always articulate myself as well as I think I do. [I write something, it looks good to me, but then somebody else reads it and doesn't get the point I'm trying to make - or worse, takes it completely the wrong way.])
Anyway... where was I? Oh yeah.

There have been times when the husband and I have been in the right place in our relationship to be able to talk about it. Unfortunately, sometimes due to external pressures (you know, like life), our relationship has its ups and downs and I don't always feel like I can talk to him about serious issues like that. Right now we're in one of those situations. Outside life isn't that great right about now (that's an understatement), and I don't feel like I could go to him wanting to talk about my sexuality and how its affected our sex life and have it result in anything more than him ignoring me or, worse, a fight.

(I mean, what do you do when you only have one person in your life that you could possibly talk to about these things and that person isn't emotionally available to you? You think up an anonymous name for yourself, start a blog, and start blathering on to anybody who'll take the time to read what you write. Maybe not the best solution, but a damn sight better than holding it all in until it explodes in some unhealthy manner, right?)

But it doesn't change the fact that I'm consumed by sexual thoughts. I've been masturbating every day. This morning, because I hadn't slept well last night, I went back to bed after dropping my two youngest children off at school. But I was so wet, and so horny, that I just had to masturbate first.

And yeah, I'm a one-woman slut; even my fantasies are only about him. So I lay there, fuelling my masturbation with fantasies of my husband... who was only 2 stories below me, sitting right here where I'm sitting now. If I was as comfortable with my sexuality as I'd LIKE to be, I might have been able to get him to come upstairs and give me the fucking I so desperately wanted. But because I'm not, I had to take matters into my own hands. Literally.

And I hate that. I feel like it shouldn't be happening; like it's wrong, somehow. But until I figure out exactly why I feel like this, what it is inside me that's holding me back, nothing's going to change.

Yeah, I guess I'm horny AND thinky today.

A Day of Firsts, Part II

"Jim!" she squeaked, snatching at the quilt and covering her face. Oh my God, oh my god ohmygod! No. Yes. No. I'm going to die of embarrassment.

Jim stood by the door - which he'd closed and locked behind him - absolutely entranced. He could still see her fingers glistening with pussy juices. But when he watched her cover her face, he laughed. She, it seemed, was sobbing. Or at least shaking really hard.

Taking a step, forward, he breathed her name. "Anya." She made no move to look at him nor even acknowledge that he'd said anything. Her body shook under the quilt, though she made no sound. Coming round to her side of the bed, he sat down on the edge and put his hand on what he thought was her thigh. "Anya. Babe," he said softly. "Come on now. You can't honestly think that covering your face is going to magically make me un-see what I just saw, do you?"

She answered with a shake of her head.

He just sat there looking at her for a few moments, still reeling from the shock of what he'd seen. He knew that she masturbated, but he also knew that she went to great lengths to hide it from him. He never quite understood why, but he always figured that if it bothered her that much, he'd respect that and not bring it up. But how could he not bring it up now?

Trying to ignore the hard-on he'd sprung when he walked in on his wife pleasuring herself, he made an effort to be gentle with her. After nearly 10 years of marriage, he sensed she needed sensitivity and encouragement right now, not mockery. I can always tease her later, when it's not such a big deal anymore. Heehee.

"Babe," he said softly, "take the quilt off your face. You can't be comfortable under there, for one thing. For another, it's pointless. I'm here now, you can't pretend that I'm not."

Slowly she brought the quilt down to breast level, keeping her eyes closed. Sure enough, there was the telltale shine of tear tracks down her cheeks. "Come on, stop being silly," he told her. "Open your eyes."

She turned her face away from him first, then opened her eyes, keeping them fixed on a point on the wall opposite.

Man, she really is embarrassed, isn't she?

"What's the matter?" he asked. "Why can't you look at me?"

"It's too humiliating," she said, her voice cracking.

Taken aback, he blurted out "why?"

"Because you saw me... you saw me... "

"Masturbating," he said. "Playing with yourself."

"Yeah. That," she said on a sigh.

"And why is that humiliating?"

She simply shook her head.

"Come on. Answer me. Give me one good reason why it would be humiliating for a woman to be caught playing with herself by her own husband?"

She was silent for a moment... until she realized he wasn't going to give up without an answer. He'd sit there and torture her all night until she gave him one. Angrily, her eyes flashed at him as she lifted her head off the pillow just long enough to hiss "I don't know, okay?!"

Jim smiled to himself. Hmm... maybe if he played this right, he might actually be able to help her to get over some of the 'issues' she had with her sexuality. This could turn out to be a good thing.

"So... you don't actually have a reason why it's humiliating. It just is, is that it?"

"Yeah. Pretty much," she said.

"Well, you know what?" he said, leaning over her and turning her face so that she had no choice but to look at him. "You shouldn't be. Embarrassed, I mean." He started nuzzling her face. "You're beautiful," a soft kiss on the lips. "You're sexy," trailing kisses down her neck. "And it looked amazing," he found the weak spot on her neck and started kissing and nibbling it. "I never realized that watching you from across the room could be hotter than watching you come under or on top of me. But it was. I just wish I'd been here to see it all, without the quilt."

Anya's breath was coming out in short bursts - even after all this time together, he could turn her on in an instant and knew just which buttons to push. She could already feel the fire beginning to blaze between her legs again. The humiliating burning in her cheeks started to fade, but only a tiny bit...

"Hell, Anya, watching you come gave me an instant hard-on. Here, feel." He took her hand and placed it on the bulge in his jeans. She sucked in a breath when she realized he wasn't just semi-hard... he was rock hard. Wow, she thought.

His kisses on her neck and the feel of his cock in her hand were both working to form a haze over her thoughts of embarrassment. As was the case every time they had sex, nothing mattered but what they did to and for each other. The world could be on fire and she wouldn't give a damn. Absently, she began to stroke him through the layer of denim.

One of Jim's hands reached up and pulled the quilt down as he kissed and sucked on her neck. She arched against him, completely lost in how he was making her feel. Taking hold of the tank top she was wearing he broke away from her neck to tell her "take this off. I want to see you. All of you."

In one quick motion the tank was off and lying in a heap on the other side of the room. Jim bent his head and resumed kissing and sucking on his wife's neck, leaving love bites along the way. His free hand reached up and cupped her breast, eliciting yet another audible gasp from her.

She could feel him smile against her skin. "You like that?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

"God, yes," she breathed.

"Then say it."

"It feels..."

"No," he said, a little more forcefully. "Tell me what you want me to do to you."

Anya froze. "What... what do you mean?"

"I mean I want you to talk to me like you do when I'm fucking you and you're about to come. When all those naughty things build up inside of you and you can't help but let them out. I know you think like that more often than just when you're coming. I want to hear it."

Something snapped in Anya. Something for which she had no name, but to which she had been clinging as if her life depended on it. It really is okay.

Not quite brave enough to look him in the eye while she said it, she closer her eyes. "I... I want you to touch me," she gasped. "I want you to touch..." she wasn't sure what word to use. Breasts? Was that too clinical? Was 'boobs' too common? "I want you to touch my tits."

"How?"

"I want you to rub them.."

"Like this?" he asked, covering both mounds with his warm hands, firmly but gently massaging them in circular motions. Arching her back, she let out a soft moan. "Oh yes..."

"What else? Is there nothing else you want me to do to you?"

"My nipples," she gasped. "Play with my nipples."

He took each nipple between a thumb and a forefinger and started rolling, pinching, and pulling on them. Each new touch elicited more gasps, sighs, and groans from her. He'd never noticed just how beautiful her voice sounded when she was crying out in pleasure.

It was as if walking in on her pleasuring herself lifted a veil from his eyes and he was seeing her again for the first time.

And he loved what he was seeing.

He leaned down and kissed the skin between her breasts, letting his tongue dart out to tickle the skin. Anya shivered and wrapped her arms around his head, hands absently stroking his back. He kissed his way up to one of her nipples; sucking on it, gently biting it, she began to arch her back even more, trying to give it all to him.

After paying just as much attention to the second breast as he did the first, he started to kiss his way down the curves of her stomach. He smiled at the aroused giggle that bubbled out of her when he stuck his tongue in her navel.

Kissing his way back up her body, he made as if he was going to kiss her, but stopped. He just stared into her eyes for an intense moment before taking possession of her mouth.

It was a kiss to eclipse all of the other kisses that had ever happened between them. It was a kiss full of love, of lust, and of passion. They were both gasping for breath when the kiss broke.

"I want you to do something for me," he said, locking eyes with her.

"What?"

"I want you to play with yourself again. For me. So I can watch."

Anya's cheeks began to burn. The thought of doing it right there in front of him, with the intention of him watching her... it excited and frightened her at the same time. She wanted to do it... but could she? "Honey, I don't know if I could..."

"I'll make it easier for you," he said. Wrapping one arm around her upper body and letting his other hand take one of hers, he brought them both to her sopping wet pussy. "I'll help you at first, get you started. And then when you're really hot, I'll let you take over." Both hands dipped between her pussy lips and felt the evidence of her earlier orgasm. "My, but you are wet," he said. "You must have been really fucking wet to begin with to be this wet now."

Judging by the intensity with which he looked at her, she supposed he wanted an answer. "Yes," she said, half moaning. "Yes, I was wet before."

"Hmm... and what made you so wet, may I ask?"

"I... I don't know," she said, finding it hard to actually form a coherent thought, as there were two hands going to work on her clit. "I don't know why, but I've been wet for days. All I can think about is having sex with you, but you've not been feeling well, so I know it's out of the question."

He left her to work her clit on her own and instead pushed two fingers up her pussy, hard. Soft, soft, hard. Soft, soft, hard. He definitely knew what she liked. "What made you think sex was out of the question?" he asked.

"You... always say... that it... it doesn't... work... when you're not well."

"Hmm... you're right, I do remember saying that. I suppose it's my own fault then, huh? Although it's not like you usually get the courage to say anything anyway."

"True, but even if I... *gasp*... jumped you on a regular basis... *gasp*... I probably wouldn't have said anything, knowing that you're not feeling well."

Abruptly pulling his fingers out of her pussy, he stood up. "You just keep going. Anyway, I seem to be feeling a lot better all of a sudden," and for proof, he whipped his jeans down to his calves, letting his cock spring free. "See? So you know what? I'd like to revise that statement." He crawled on the bed next to her, kissing her and stroking his own cock lazily. "From now on, you can ask for sex anytime you want, whether I'm feeling good or not. If it doesn't work, then it doesn't work... but I can't believe I would have missed out on this because of one stupid comment."

He kissed her again, deeply, prompting her to work more feverishly on her clit. "That's right. Rub it. Doesn't it feel good?"

"Yes," she breathed.

He shifted his weight around so that he was at the edge of the bed, lying on his side with one hand holding his head up and the other moving slowly up and down on his cock. He had a wonderful view, from her feet all the way up to her shining face. And a perfect view of her gorgeous pussy.

Her clit was swollen, a lovely shade of pink. He watched her fingers move up and down between her pussy lips and a slight frown creased his brow. "Use both hands," he said. "Hold your lips open so that I can see it."

Anya did, trying to concentrate on what her body was feeling, at the same time trying to ignore the voice in her head that was screaming "What are you doing?"

It didn't take long for her orgasm to build, he could tell. He could see her tensing up, teetering on the edge of release. "What's your favorite thing," he asked, "to have done with your pussy? Is it doing it yourself, having me do it, the vibrator... what?"

"Having... your... cock... inside... me..." she all but screamed as her orgasm washed over her in wave after wave after wave of pleasure.

Jim half-sat up and grinned at her. "Well then..."