Saturday, March 5, 2011

meet louis

My current lover's name is Louis. He and I have an agreement—in writing, no less—that we are very interested in each other's well-being, but that exclusivity and seriousness are not on the table. It's perfect for both of us, as our professional lives have a terrible tendency to impinge on time set aside for a sex life. We see each other once every week or two, and in between there's a steady supply of dirty texts and emails. Some of those communications are what inspired me to write a sex blog in the first place.

Last week Louis came to visit me for the first time in a little while, when I was at my zenith. The combination of infrequent fucking and ovulating set me on edge, and when he and I solidified plans I spent the hours waiting for him with a wet pussy. I went to dinner with a friend and could not keep up my end of the conversation as well as I normally would due to periodically receiving filthy text messages about cunnilingus. He has excellent word choice.

When he arrived at my apartment, I shut the door behind him, he wrapped his arms around my waist, and pulled me in for a long, forceful kiss. I lead him by the hand back to my bedroom, where he kissed me again, then spun me around, roughly fondled my nipples, and pulled off my shirt over my head and removed my bra. He ordered me to bend over and put my forearms on the bed. I complied and heard him undress behind me.

Louis makes it abundantly clear that my body is his ideal. He ran his hands over my back and back up again to my waist, and pulled my clothed hips to his naked groin before he stepped back and slapped my ass hard through my jeans. There was a resounding clap. I writhed. He did it again. I became wetter.

He reached around and undid my belt, opened my fly, pulled my jeans straight down my legs to the floor, and told me to step out of them. I wear panties I know he likes partially as a courtesy, and partially because I love it when he asks what kind of slut I must be to wear such a tiny red g-string. He parted my thighs with his broad right hand, pushed aside the fabric, ran his fingers over my labia and complimented himself on getting me so wet. I moaned and ground over his hand, while his left hand's fingers pinched and rolled my nipple and his cock pressed into my hip. He pulled his hand out of me, spanked the fullest part of my ass, and told me to get on my back. I obeyed as he pulled off my thong.

Louis is a good Catholic boy. He grew up with a more than healthy fear of God, of women, and of sex, and as a result he may be the better part of a decade older than I am but he has fewer years of sexual activity under his belt than I do. He was a particularly late bloomer when it came to vaginal intercourse, as he mostly dated good Catholic girls who were saving it for marriage. Their cunts, though, were apparently out of the virginity equation when it came to oral sex and so he cut his teeth—so to speak—with cunnilingus. He is extraordinarily talented and I describe him to my girlfriends as a pussy-eating hobbyist. I'm reasonably sure he'll never say it, he is also very fond of being degraded and roughed up while he drinks me in. I digress.

Louis pushed me back on the bed, held my thighs apart, and licked me from perineum to clitoris. I shivered, moaned, and pinched my nipples as he looked at me with widening eyes from between my legs. He sighed into my pussy as I pressed back into his face. He put two fingers inside me while he begged me to pull him into my body by pulling his dark hair in fistfulls and wrapping my thighs around his neck. My hips rocked back and forth while I rattled off a stream of vulgarities about how amazing he felt and about how I make myself come to the thought of sixty-nine. He ground his hips into my bed and and growled his approval into me. He shortly reduced me from words to cries, to panting, and to full-throated moaning. He gave me permission to come before I arched my back and my hips snapped back and forth, gripping his hand inside me while I shouted gracelessly.

When I was calm, he laid on top of me and kissed me deeply. I tasted myself on his tongue while I felt his penis press against me. It required immense willpower not to push my hips into him and take him into my body, but because of the nature of our agreement condoms are a necessity. We were wet with sweat and tense with anticipation as we kissed and rubbed against each other, and to my surprise this made me come again, this time with a gush of liquid from my body that coated both our thighs. Louis moaned and bit my earlobe; I raked his back with my fingernails. He rolled me over on top of him, grabbed a condom from the bedside drawer and rolled it on.

“Margot,” he said. “I want you to ride me.” I lifted myself onto him and wrapped my arms around his neck. His cock is of average length but above-average thickness: as I slid him into me I moaned to feel him stretch me out. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as my tightened, post-orgasm vagina accommodated him. I slowly start to fuck him as he plays with my ass.

I am historically not a fan of lady-on-top sex and apparently neither was my lover, but I have discovered with Louis that there is something about our geometry that makes it amazing. I sat up and started riding him faster as he grabbed my hips to guide me. I leaned back while I thrusted on top of him, running my hands through my hair and smiling broadly as he grabbed my bouncing tits at my request. I moved faster, until I felt that I was about to come again, and I backed off a bit. Louis begged me to be greedy; to use him for my own pleasure. I told him I didn't want to come quite yet and that I wanted to draw it out. I pressed my breasts into his face, he inhaled deeply and moaned while he squeezed them and I gripped his hair. I asked him if being between my tits felt nice, he told me it felt like heaven. I fucked him faster, and came with his face pressed into my chest. My come ran over his thighs as he groaned between my breasts. I refused to stop.

After slowing for a moment, I picked up speed again and sat up straight. He sank his fingers into my thighs and informed me that my pussy was so tight and wet around him that he thought he might come with me on top. Shortly thereafter, he bucked his hips under me and slapped my thighs. I rode him hard and fast through his orgasm as he moaned deeply with a surprised look. When he asked me to stop, I got off of him, he beatifically stared at the ceiling while I rested my body against his with my head in the hollow where his arm meets his chest.

“Margot,” he sighed. “I've never come with a woman on top before.”

3 comments:

  1. Margot, your word choice is excellent. Your writing makes we want to get River on top and let her fuck me, fast or slow, until I come, like she did our first time together. And our second time. Ironically, it's with River that I learned to really enjoy being on top. To the point that I probably enjoy it too much now.

    And I appreciate your sense of humor.

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  2. I just read your position encyclopedia, and I feel like I have some homework to do. Thanks for the kind words, and I'm delighted to hear that you like my writing!

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  3. Thank you for sharing these stories & fantasies; I get wonderfully turned on by them!

    I'm really intrigued by your non-seriousness agreement with Louis. What does it say, and is this your first agreement like this? How has it worked?
    Thanks, -tj

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