19 February 2011

Make up sex

She was slightly annoyed at him for being late, and had been led on the bed dressed in only her underwear and a vest top reading when he came home. 

She heard the key turn in the front door and listened as he took his shoes off and hung his jacket over the bannister.

She heard him climb the stairs and was determined not to speak to him.

She wanted him to be quite clear that she was annoyed at him being late and that she was fed up that his work was taking more priority than things which really should have been the top of his priority list.

He knows that he would have a lot of making up to do. He watches her from the doorway, the lines of her naked legs, the way her tousled hair was falling around her shoulders.  The small of her back uncovered and inviting.  

He stands there watching her, waiting for her to speak to him.  She ignores him.

He longs to take her deep and from behind, fucking her deep and hard, anything to get her attention which hasn't moved from the open book before her. 

But he knows he daren't.

He knows that this would anger her further right now.  But he so loves to fuck her in that way, and more so because he knows that she loves him to take her in that way, pure animalistic fucking.  But he knows, that this is not the time.

He undresses before approaching her where she is led on her front on the bed.  She continues to read, not looking up, not acknowledging his presence or even speaking to him.

He slowly crawls onto the bed, moving gently towards her and still there is no recognition from her that he was even there.  He starts to gently kiss her legs, tracing the outline of her ankles with his tongue before moving slowly up over her legs to the hollow behind her knees.  His beard gently tickling the skin as he teases her.

He feels her shudder and a gentle moan escapes from her mouth and continues to tease behind her knees, she makes no noise apart from her laboured breathing and an occasional moan escaping her lips indicating her arousal to him without words.

Still she continues to ignore him, continuing to read the book which is propped up on the pillows in front of her.  He feels humiliated that his administrations are receiving no acknowledgement even though the reactions of her body betray her arousal clearly to him.

He knows that she will be wet right now, her wonderful sweet juices which he longs to bury his face within, to taste on his tongue while he teases and worships her.  He wants to feel her wetness all over his face, in his beard, over his tongue.

His own arousal is clear and she can feel him pressed against her legs, his cock twitching as he breathes in her scent deeply.  And with each moan or noise that she makes, his cock grows harder, his hunger for her deepens, and he moves his hand slowly up to move her underwear to one side.

His mouth traces the curve of her cheeks, his eyes drawn to the wetness glistening between her legs.  He begins to nibble her skin, and he can feel the goosebumps slowly growing over her body.

He pushes his face into her cheeks, taking in her smell, her dampness and the longing he has to be deep within her.  His hands gripping her hips pulling her into him.  Still she does not speak to him, but he knows that she is aroused at his touch, his kisses, his tongue.

His tongue moving between her cheeks, finding its way to the tight bud of her, but she clasps her muscles tight, preventing him from gaining the access that he is longing for.  It is the first acknowledgement that she has made to his actions, to what he is doing, to even the fact he is there.

He looks up towards her, his eyes pleading for the permission to enter into her body with his tongue, her head, resting in her hands turns to the side.  He can see the arousal in her face, in her eyes, and as she looks at him.  He pulls her to his mouth . . .she pushes herself back onto his tongue as he buries it deep inside her. 

The make up sex has begun.

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