“To the shops.”
“But you’ve been gone over two weeks.”
“There was a queue.”
“Well you’re here now. Get your kit off and assume the position. We have an eager audience of readers awaiting the next interactive bit of hot love lava action.”
“Right you are.”
He was so understanding. Other men might get miffed if you left them toweling off after a steamy shower sex session, claiming you were just popping out for a packet of Hobnobs and another bucket of lube, and then didn’t come back for a fortnight.
“Did you re-grout these tiles while I was away?”
“I was full of pent up erotic energy. It all had to be channeled somewhere. I even took an industrial sander to the chip fat on the lino – it was a death slide before, you know. And then I fixed the leaky shower head.”
“I am impressed. You know how I love a man who can handle his tool. And my that’s a big one,” I said, idly fingering the contents of his overall pocket.
“If you think that adjustable spanner’s big you should have seen the laser screed when I did the driveway. That got the neighbours’ curtains twitching.”
“Mmmm….you’ve got my curtains twitching.” I slid my hands over his manly chest and gave him a saucy look. His nipples responded to my fingers and I felt his manhood pressing firmly against my thigh. Now I had somewhere to hang my hat, coat and scarf.
“I missed you,” he murmured hotly against my neck. “You are a bad, bad girl to leave me alone for so long.”
“I’m sorry,” I breathed as I kissed him better. “It could have been worse. At least this time you weren’t duck taped to the headboard with only a feather boa around your knob to keep you warm.”
He shuddered at the thought. I made it all up to him. I tickled and trickled kisses down his body, I tasted and teased, lapped and licked, my lips slick with pleasure and pre-cum, my chin as shiny and my satisfaction as complete as if I had devoured a plateful of hot, buttery crumpets. I took him to the brink, I could feel him holding back with every ounce of strength he had, his face contorted in an ecstatic grimace as if he were in the grip of an exquisite toothache.
“Not yet,” I said, pausing in my ministrations. “Wait.” I had to have him inside me. Besides, much as I adore pleasing him with my mouth I was beginning to get jaw sprain and spunk is one of those acquired tastes, like marmite. It’s delicious in tiny quantities but you wouldn’t want to swallow a mouthful of the stuff.
I rummaged in his bathroom cabinet, searching for the extra-large glow-in-the-dark condoms we’d been saving for a special occasion. “Where are the johnnies?” I asked as I routed through the toothpaste, diarrhea medicine and flatulence remedies.
“Behind the bog rolls,” he shouted back, sexily.
“Ah yes.” I returned, triumphant. I straddled him womanfully and swiftly sheathed him. His rampant cock pulsated and glowed like a radioactive salami. I’d never wanted him more. My flaps were all acquiver with excitement and awash with ladyjuice.
Inch by aching inch I lowered myself onto his novelty condomed cock and lost myself in glorious sensation, the rich red scent of lust, the smooth caress of the cries of pleasure, the purple pulse of passion, a wonderful blurring of the self in sensual synesthesia.
We both climaxed noisily and colourfully in perfect unison, because we are so much better at sex than most people.
“That was amazing,” I gasped when I recovered the power of speech.
“Yup. I’m famished. What did you bring back from the shops?”
“Fruit cake. A stottie. Muffins. Assorted foodie items the like of which you may have seen on certain sex and baking sites or Masterchef.”
“I’ll pop back out and get some.”