Sunday, May 27, 2012


I do not remember the beginning of this story so well as I remember the middle and end of it.

Grant and I had come home from a day out, probably exploring the woods somewhere to the south of our fair city, and we showered and ate and wandered up to my room. We have made a habit of watching old episodes of Star Trek—from season 1, episode 1, on through the end, in sequential order, thank you SO much for that, Netflix—at night before bed. This night was no exception. We stripped to our skivvies and spooned while listening to the dulcet tones of a young William Shatner’s voice.

It isn’t so much that I really go for a young Captain Kirk (though I must admit he was a beautiful man) as the fact that I melt when Grant’s hand wanders across my bare breast. This is the familiar touch from a partner who simultaneously wants to show his affection and who is also aware that the right kind of caress will make my back arch and press my hips to his groin.

Grant’s left arm holds up his head while his right snakes over my waist to hold my breast and play with my nipple. This calculated touch has its desired effect as I squirm against him and lose my ability to focus on the computer screen. Grant’s breath against my ears and neck makes my nipples harden further, and I am not even attempting to pay attention to our TV show. I reach over and close the laptop and roll over to face him. Grant does not waste time, and after he returns my kiss he pushes me onto my back.

Grant is on top of me, using his weight to pin me in place. My hips press into his belly as he slides down my body, stopping at my neck and shoulders to suck and bite, and again at my nipples. He kneads one breast while kissing the other. I am incapable of silence. He moves further down my belly and lands between my thighs. He peels my panties down from my hips.

“Margot,” he says. “Is that a wet spot on your panties?”

I laugh and wink. “I’m ovulating.”

Grant lands between my thighs again. He approximates his face against the skin between my legs; he inhales deeply, and flicks his tongue over the fold of flesh to either side of my labia, between my leg and my mons. I sigh. I am quivering and aching. Grant is taking his time, and turning his attentions into agony. His eyes are closed in focus.

When he finally parts my cleft, it is with his tongue. He is light at first, and then firmer, but always slow. By now I am so sensitive that a touch even half so pressing as this would overwhelm me. Grants hands alternate between gripping my ass and seeming to pull me into his mouth, like he wants to devour me whole from my pelvis outwards, to crawling up my torso to twist and flick my nipples. He occasionally slaps my breast, which after I gasp makes my skin so sensitive to his advances that I feel like I might orgasm from a flick of his fingers on my tits alone.

When I orgasm I pull his hair. I use it to steer his face into me, while my back arches and my legs flex. My hips crack in response to all my opposing forces. Grant sucks on my clit and concurrently flicks his tongue across it, and I dissolve into his mouth.

He pulls away from me and returns my panties to me. I reach for his body and am surprised when he rebuffs me:

“Margot,” he says, “I’m really tired.”

“Oh,” I am surprised. “Ok. Nothing, then?”

“That wasn’t nothing for me.” His boxers have a tiny, tiny wet spot over the fly that betrays a certain amount of fluid, but nothing even approaching an orgasm.

“Ok. I would love to fuck you. Let me know if you change your mind.” I say, pulling my panties up over my hips. I’m satisfied with his explanation: Grant occasionally goes through periods where all he wants to do is eat pussy, nothing else. This is one of the reasons why he’s delightful.

It’s cool in my bedroom. We embrace under the covers, spooning again: this time with one of his arms under my neck and the other around my waist, with his beard tickling my neck when he breathes. He runs his hands across my belly and thighs as I press back into his torso. Eventually we are still.

I am about to sleep when I feel his hands moving again, running up to my breast and down to my legs, pressing and pulling my flesh as he explores. His hand finds its way to the elastic of my panties, while the hand under my neck grips my tit and flicks my nipple. I am immediately cognizant of the fact that Grants cock is pressing against my ass and is growing more and more insistent. His fingers slide down to my still-damp pussy and begin to massage my clit.

The sensation of his breath on my earlobe, his beard on my neck, and his hands exploring me combine into a tension that seems to pull everything towards the center of my back and down to the middle of body.

Grant’s hand pulls away from my pussy and reaches to the back of my panties. He pulls them halfway down my thighs before freeing his cock from his boxers. He grabs my hipbone and pulls it back, and tilts his pelvis just so he can slide inside me. He grunts. The hand that was under my neck to fondle my breast is now pressing against my shoulder and holding my torso in place while Grant fucks me.

He is rough with me. He is urgent. He pulls my panties further down my legs, and I can slip one foot out of them.

Without words or preamble, Grant pulls his arms out from around me, and pushes my hips and shoulders so I am face down on the bed.  Without exiting my body, he has positioned himself on top of me, his knees between my thighs and his weight pressing down on me. He continues to fuck me as he repositions me into a shallow doggystyle pose. I am moaning into a pillow as his breathing grows more labored. His hands are now free to spank my ass as hard as he wants.

When he hikes my hips a little further up, he repositions me just enough that his dick presses against my cervix and g-spot with every thrust. I don’t suppress the orgasm that this forces me to have, and I feel myself drenching the bed as my pussy tightens around Grant’s cock.

Grant is about 30 seconds behind me. When he comes I can feel his ejaculate leaking out of my pussy around his dick.  His hands are gripping my hips, and he gasps my name. These are the only words spoken between the two of us for the last 20 minutes.

When he is done, he slides forward and lies on top of me and his hands cover mine. I turn my face to kiss his lips and he runs a hand through my hair. After a minute or two, he rolls off of me and I press my body to his, with my head in the space where his arm joins his chest. I will sleep here, my naked body pressed to his, with his arms wrapped around me.

“That was definitely not nothing for you,” I say. I am, at best, a quarter awake.

“Definitely not,” Grant replies. 

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