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Our hands locked onto each other’s body, fingers connected to the fierce pulse of our sexual energy. I longed for our passionate Saturday mornings together.

“Here?” He inched closer, positioning his hand where he knew I wanted it, snuggling closer. He smelled like sleep and sunshine.

“Yes.”

There’s a bitter sweetness to remembering.

He nuzzled his nose to my ear, “You like it when my fingers touch you like this.” I do, I did. I wish I’d told you.

“You want me to do you first?”

“No, let’s keep going together.”

I lied. I wanted him focused on my orgasm. His fingerprints felt as if they were enlarged, supersized. Each ridge stroked my clit as he moved along his pleasuring path.

 “You are sopping wet.” His lips formed a smile on my skin at my jaw.

“I know. You remind me when your wet fingers strum my clit.”

“What about when they do this?” He dipped two of them inside me, pushing up, pressing into me with his rhythm. The bed creaked, and wet slurping sounds emanated from me as his fingers retreated and then surged inside me again. Those talented digits beckoned my body to him, only him. I think back now and believe he reached up to touch my heart.

“I want you,” I said.

“You have me. Our hands are full; we connect here.”

Under my fingers, the velvet softness of his flaccid cock invited me in. That simple tactile sensation attracted me to see what would happen. When his cock grew hard in my hand from my touches, it was sheer magic. I stroked up and down and circled the head to see what more it did. That’s a moment I’ll remember. I thought how ingenious to design male hardness covered in velvet.

Had I known it was our last time together, I would have savored every second. I moved my fingers up under his crown to his favorite spot. He smacked them away.

“No. I’m getting you off.”

I giggled. No argument from me. I spread my legs wide delighting in his large body beside me. The internal stroke continued, full and deep, while his thumb rotated on my clit. He alternated between whispering soft words of love and dirty words of lust. I pinched and twisted my nipple, and he leaned in for a nip and sucked. My body ached from the magnetic pull to him.

“Fuck, you are mine. No one knows how to play you like me.”

“Yeah, baby. Play me.”

My pelvis rose up to meet his hand as his lips trailed kiss after kiss on my neck. I turned my head to look in his eyes. Warm caramel orbs gazed at me. When they reflected back what I felt for him, the orgasm roared through me, and I threw my head back. Bells and whistles rang out as I splintered into full body sensations, spasms, and contractions. Intense pleasure surged through my body and I floated.

“That’s the fire signal. Babe, I gotta go.”

“But, you didn’t get yours.”

“Doing you always gives me mine.”

He kissed me and left.

I relive the experience on Saturday mornings when my hand is between my legs, and I need fierce and intense like only he gave.  


Writing for MASTURBATION MONDAY Week 98. To check out to other stories, click HERE.


 


Comments

07/18/2016 4:34pm

I like how those bells and whistles coincided, lol.

07/18/2016 6:13pm

There are many kinds. lol

07/18/2016 5:15pm

Wow, that is smoking hot. I feel her loss. Beautifully written.

07/18/2016 6:14pm

Thank you, Mischa for reading and sharing. I appreciate it.


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