Thursday, 7 February 2008

Exhaustion

Your face as you open the door is a picture. I'm sure I told you I was coming this evening rather than tomorrow but your confusion is apparent... and then the smile of pleasure at my presence.

Our lust meets and joins again and again through the night and the following day until our body parts are no longer physically capable of function even though our minds still desire the satisfaction.

Big Ben finds us trying once more to capture the moment. To bang on the bongs. Attempting to attain yet again the elusive ephemeral bliss that the union of our bodies seems to generate... and failing. But it doesn't matter. We kiss our way into the New Year instead.

A few hours rest and then we awake on that last morning, sleepy and sad and yet unable to resist the thrill of repeated conjoinings until, finally spent, we just snuggle together whispering sweet nothings.

You tell me not to be sad, that my departure is all part of the deal, the trade off for the wonderful thing that we have. How when we are making love, wrapped up around and in each other, it feels like there is only us in the whole world. And I understand completely. That incredible sensation where I don't know where I end and you begin, the knowledge that I am completed by you and we are both made whole.

My hand stroking the soft curly hair of your chest, reaching around and down to the little pod of your belly and then back to the roundness of your buttock, cupping the curve of your hip before filling my palm with your shoulder. All the strong hard circles that make up the body of the man I love. Kissing your neck and pressing my breasts into the hollow where your back tapers down towards your waist and feeling your bottom slip into the concave space between my ribs and my thighs.

Reaching around for your balls, holding both, tickling them and feeling the member above trying to come alive yet again. Lubing up my palm I take hold of my handle and start to caress him as I pretend that you are my Reader and I am telling you a story.

Like Scheherazade voicing her fantasies to save her life, I fight just as hard for yet another erection by recounting the tale of a woman so enamoured of a man that she will drive hundreds of miles just to be with him, purely to be able to be naked with him in his bed. How he excites her with his strong, hard body and delights her with his gentle, imaginative mind.

Whispering about the way he gets hard as soon as she walks into his world and the wetness that ensues when he takes her into his arms. The slick warm slit between her legs moistening at the magic words he uses to explain what he intends to do with her. 'Finger Fuck.' That's all it takes to send her into paroxysms of desire. Shivering and trembling, goosebumps erupting all over her, pointing her nipples skywards as he finds her mouth and kisses her. All reticence is forgotten. There is only him and what they will do to each other.

All the while, my fingers stroke your manhood feeling it lengthen and harden, preparing itself for one last foray before it is denied him for almost a month. Your eyes are closed, listening intently to the story of their desire. To not be aroused would be impossible.

For this is the tale of a woman who was not supposed to stick around, certainly was never supposed to become a permanent fixture. It was meant to be purely about sex. A stop gap. A momentary interlude. A pleasant diversion whilst he searched for the woman who would become Mrs. Ruf.

And yet the man loves her, despite himself and his reservations. For, with her, his life became something more because she quite clearly loved him for everything that he was. It didn't matter that his friends told him he needed a proper girlfriend. Why would he swap this precious intimacy for an intangible permanence that would swallow up their lust in the mundanity of normality. For she was so much more than those friends could imagine and the days without her were like an eternity of loneliness. But when she was there... in his flat, in his bed, in his arms... he didn't want to even think about the prospect of losing that.

Progressing the story to the day they had made love in her car, the force of his passion banging her head on the windscreen and the sound of her climax ricocheting around them. How she had loved it when, having been admired by other men all night, once home, he had taken her and made her totally his possession, his fuckthing. Remembering the numerous other occasions when her uncontrollable screams of abandon had threatened to wake the entire neighbourhood.

Contrasting so keenly with the times when he would gently remove her boots and socks as she pleaded exhaustion from the journey, carefully strip off the rest of her clothing and take her, naked, to his bed. Kissing her tenderly as he felt her reluctantly relax and then joyously writhe beneath the touch of his lips and his fingers. Wonder at the way her legs opened, her whole body parted to admit the hot, hard flesh protruding from his groin. Making love to her and hear her gasping as each centimetre penetrated the tight wetness. Experiencing the sensation of her body trembling around him as it constricted and melted...


'Do you want me, Ruf...? Do you want me like that?'

And with a moan, you roll over, almost scrambling on top of me in your urgency to satisfy the need. Holding my arms outstretched, gripping the palms beneath yours. My legs open and the calves lock themselves around your thighs as you push into the proffered entrance... just as it was in the story. Pressing deeper into the tightness, propelled forward by the liquid of my desire. Pushing me gently to extract one last climax, not as loud or expansive as earlier explosions, but no less sweet.

For as my orgasm rises and falls, leaving me biting at your shoulder, it triggers and overlaps your own. Shuddering into me as you whisper those words in my ear and leaving you spent. Enfolded in my relinquished arms, the fingers of one hand lightly stroking the soft velvet of the back of your head as the tremors of your exertion gradually lessen and you lie quiet in my embrace.

Happy Birthday darling man x

16 comments:

Fat Controller said...

I couldn't think of a better birthday present. What a wonderful way you have with words!

Walker said...

Fantastic writing!!!!!

Words like this can only be found in one place.

nitebyrd said...

That is a priceless birthday gift, Cake. Your writing is exquisite.

BenefitScroungingScum said...

What an amazing birthday present! x

Vi said...

I'm sure Ruf adored his pressy!

Effortlessly Average said...

Do you have any idea what I'd give to have someone I love write this kind of thing for me? That's really wonderful girl.

Gypsy said...

WOW!! Happy Birthday Ruf.

Phil said...

You are a wonderful writer and your man is one lucky gent.

Anonymous Boxer said...

I hope he's able to read this.

Redhead Editor said...

Happy Birthday, Ruf! What a gift you have in Cake! Now just put your lips together and blow.

Ro said...

Wow ... and happy birthday Ruf!

What a beautiful recounting of what is clearly a beautiful relationship, despite the necessary limitations.

If my smile is a little rueful, it's because I understand your man's position all too well ... and if he feels half as lucky as I do, well, he's a lucky man indeed :)

Isabella Snow said...

Woot! Happy birthday to the Ruf man!

2 Dollar Productions said...

Happy Birthday indeed. It might be some time between encounters, but if you can find any amount of ephemeral bliss then you're doing well.

Brainiac Chick said...

Scrumptious. Encore! :)

Southern Sage said...

happy birthday indeed.

Larkin said...

exhaustion?

I am exhausted reading...

also rather energized...

The flesh is willing, and doesn't care if the spirit is weak.

delicious, lovely girl