Strawberry Pie

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We still have sex a fair amount, sometimes more often than others. Saturday, for instance, was pretty cool.

We woke up a little later than usual, then had to scramble to get ready. There was a carnival in a town a few miles away that we wanted to go to, plus a few errands to run, all of which added up to kind of a busy day.

(As an aside, we’ve had a lot of long, long weekend days lately, meaning not a whole lot of ‘action.’ Our weekday work schedules make it so we can’t really squeeze any in there either, so sometimes it can be a good while between couplings. I thought this one would turn out to be the same but as you’ll see it didn’t, not by a long shot…)

Soon enough I was ready: quickly up, showered, dressed, excited about the carnival, and resigned to the errands and chores that would follow. The carnival was pretty cool, lots of rides that the little guy just loved. He’s a daredevil, not afraid of anything (except thunder, but that’s another story), and his face was pure joy as we took in the giant swing, tilt-a-whirl, little cars rolling merrily along…

Afterwards, we walked by the Blockbuster store, which was having a DVD sale, as we headed back to our vehicle. They had some great deals and we picked up a few movies, ending up with six for less than thirty bucks. Then came the errands, running around to this place and that, picking up widget one and gadget two, piece of clothing three, then finally heading back to the house (after grabbing a bit to eat along the way).

Surprisingly, we got all of this done and were headed back home by 6 pm, which is wwaaayyyyy earlier than usual. Our errands were actually more lined up for Sunday, when we had a few big-ticket items we needed to pick up.

After getting home, our little guy needed a nap (of course he did, he was up from 9 am to 6 pm, 45 minutes to an hour was needed to restore his–and our–sanity) and I jokingly said to her, “Ok, this is the time, go canl─▒ bahis ┼čirketleri get in the bed and get nekkid as soon as he lays down.”

She laughed, shook her head and said “You’re crazy.”

Now, sometimes that statement would mean, ‘You’re crazy but I love you and I’ll humor you this time,’ or it might mean, ‘You’re crazy but I’m even crazier, if you don’t get him in there fast enough I’m gonna throw you down on the stairs and rape the shit out of you,’ or it could also mean, ‘You’re fucking crazy and I have absolutely no interest in you hunching up that sweaty ass of yours on me today.’ I was kind of leaning to the last one, where she thinks I’m crazy and cuts me off, because of the look she gave me when she said it; so, I resigned myself to some idle surfing while the little fella and the spousal unit both took a nap.

Kid safely tucked in, alarm set for one hour of nap time, she crawled into the bed and covered herself up, with the lights off. I should point out that, up here in the tundra, there’s still enough light to see what’s going on. It’s twilight really, where you can sort of see everything, but if you get more then ten feet away, it gets a bit indistinct. Anyways, I took my seat at this very computer, powered up my monitor and checked the usual sites I start my PC session with: CNN, email, etc.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m surfingÔÇöwe’re gonna watch that movie after you guys finish napping, right?”

“Slow bitch,” she said, a sad undertone to her voice which said, ‘You don’t have a clue do you?’

Turning around in my chair, I caught her eyes, saw her start to smile. Now I’m chuckling softly.

“Ok, ok, here I come.” Snapping the monitor off I stood and walked to the bed, shucking my clothes along the way. Wearing only my socks–I’ll get into that another time, the weird sort of thrill wearing only a pair of socks can bring–I crawled under the covers on my side of the bed, nosing my canl─▒ ka├žak iddaa way over to her side.

She’s pleasantly plump, curvy, with a scintillatingly proportioned figure. She lay on her back, big D cups listing to each side, arms raised over her head. She knows what this does to me–I can’t resist, get snugly up beside her while laying on my side and move in, tentatively kissing, nose grazing hers. I feel it, the beginning, a little stirring down below.

Now we’re making small talk, hands touching, caressing. This can be the best part–sometimes this is all I remember after we’re done, the pre-sex, when everything is a little funnier, a little more tender, a little more (and less) important, a little…

So now I’ve got her where I need her to be. She’s on her back, with one leg down flat and the other up in my left hand, which is wrapped around the ankle. I’ve got my knees on either side of the leg on the bed, straddling it, while holding the other leg up and slightly back so that I can lean in, burying myself all the way inside that still-tight little honeyhole. I’m working it all the way in and all the way out, but slow, not slamming, getting her used to it, making sure everything is nicely lubricated.

She likes it when I go fast, but not moving all the way in or all the way out, at least not until she’s just about ready to come–so that’s where I’m headed, gradually changing the depth and the tempo of my stroke so that I’m giving her about two-thirds of my length, gradually speeding up until I can feel her start to squeeze in response, like she’s fighting the penetration, urging her Kegel’s to attempt the futile task of keeping me out.

If I do this long enough, she’ll eventually have one–I do, and she does. It takes just about ten minutes, once we start the actual sex. Foreplay (as I’ve often been reminded, and as I can definitely attest to) starts wwaaayyyyy before you even get into the bedroom, so if you canl─▒ ka├žak bahis count that, this orgasm was probably six hours in the making.

When she’s coming, she likes it at a much slower place so I comply, slowing dramatically, just easing it all the way up in and out, the whole length now. It’s almost as if this prolongs the arrival, stretches the orgasm out for her analysis, allowing her to savor and enjoy every second of it. Who am I to resist such a thing?

Finally spent, she’s smiling, eyes closed.

I climb down, laying behind her (she has rolled to her side by now). I like to spoon right after, reaching around, touching, stroking. The feel of her breasts in my fingers, the nipples, rolling them around, it all keeps me excited while we lay there, allowing her to recover, get ready for my turn.

And sure enough, a few minutes later it is my turn–we start with missionary, then she gets up on top, which is her way of saying, ‘Let’s finish this.’ It always goes faster when she’s on top.

I’ve got her breasts firmly in hand, arms locked out, supporting the weight of her upper body. I lift weights a bit at the gym, so it’s easy for me to hold her up where I want her, controlling the depth of my insertion as my hips are flexing. The balls of my feet are planted squarely on the bed so I can get good leverage (as Capt. Jack says, it’s all about the proper leverage) and work it, work that cock in and out, in and out, all the while savoring the look of her big nipples staring back at me, taunting me…

Now I’m done, and I lay flat on my back, giving her my left leg. She likes to play after we’re done, no matter how many times she has come already. Sometimes, she has two or three orgasms, and still she likes to play after we’re finished. This is part of the ritual, her thing. She props her right leg over my left and gets started, the bed shaking slightly with her ministrations.

Today, I fall asleep before she finishes, as I often do, and that’s perfectly ok. This is her thing, she doesn’t need me for it, doesn’t want my help actually. It’s like desert, she says, an extra bit of strawberry for her belly alone–

–at least she split the pie with me.

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