I had fallen asleep while watching JAWS on TV for the bazillionth time, but when he came through the door, I woke immediately, smiling when I saw his face. He flashed the grin I love, the one with his full lips open in surprise and his eyes wide, when he realized I was naked under the covers. I knew he was tired, though. I saw it on his face and in his blue eyes, but still, he moved my hand to his cock after he’d undressed and climbed into bed.
“I want you to ride me,” he said.
One of the things I love about Mr. K is his willingness to please me. He takes nearly as much satisfaction from my pleasure as he does from his own. It’s a selflessness I’ve never experienced before and it’s a part of him I find incredibly arousing.
When he’d said to ride him, I knew what he wanted was for me to climb on top of him and use him to orgasm as I’d done so many times before. I intended to, but not in the way he’d anticipated.
He didn’t expect me to crawl up the length of his body and straddle his face, which was exactly the reason I did it, but his moans of delight sounded more like gasps for air. And he didn’t bathe his face in the flood of my juices as he licked me either. As a matter of fact, when I looked down at him, I realized he’d shifted me where his attention was focused solely on my clit. THAT was very unusual.
It struck me that something was wrong, and because I’m me, I freaked out. My mind raced wildly, wondering if he’d grown tired of me during our longer than usual visit. Was he bored with the sex we had? My pussy? Was it no longer the scent and taste he loved after having been filled with SO MUCH CUM? WHAT WAS WRONG WITH ME?
I blew out a quick breath and wiped my sweaty palms on the pillow near his head, thinking maybe the problem was that he only wanted to fuck. He did, after all, say for me to ride him. But Mr. K isn’t one to beat around the bush. Heh. Bush. He would have said if he wasn’t in the mood to eat me, or if my pussy had reached its cum intake capacity.
He wants to fuck, I thought. OR maybe he wants my ass. We hadn’t done a whole lot of anal stuff, so maybe he wants me to pin his arms to his side and shove my ass on his face. He LOVES when I do that. And I’ll suck his cock and balls at the same time. Maybe even slap it a bit. Oh yeah, that’ll get him into it.
Stop laughing. It’s the way my mind works. My plan, however, was a total failure.
When I turned around giving him unfettered access to his gateway to heaven, I expected to hear his moans of pleasure as I spread my ass open for him to enjoy. Those moans didn’t come, though. He didn’t get all up in it either, literally and figuratively speaking. That’s when I knew for certain– something was wrong.
“Ride me, baby,” he said. “Use my cock to make yourself come.”
Again, I knew what he wanted.
He smiled as I slid on to him and worked myself into the orgasm he loved to watch. The one that stimulated my clit like a continuous edge. The one so extraordinary it left me shaking. But when he pulled me to his side and tucked me into the crook of his arm, I carefully pried open the lid to the giant can of obvious.
“I knew something was wrong when you didn’t want my ass.”
“It’s not that I didn’t want your ass. There is never a time when I don’t want your ass,” he said. “I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t sleep well last night either, and it was a long day. I’m just exhausted.”
The thing is, with the 140-something miles in between us, we try to make the most out of our visits which are usually no more than two or three nights. We sleep little and fuck a lot. He doesn’t even take his sleep-aid when we’re together because he says he doesn’t need it. I am his Ambien. But as much as I love hearing those words, I know there are nights when he needs it, and I feel for him as he tosses and turns beside me. On the flipside, the only time I actually do sleep well is when I’m with Mr. K.
This trip was unusual for us– five nights –which is the most time we’ve ever had together in one visit. It was also a working trip for him, and that meant there were nights he didn’t come through door until after ten. Even though he hadn’t been feeling great and was super tired, he felt guilty that I had been alone all day. Still, he was deep in the pattern of making every moment count.
“You didn’t have to fuck me,” I said.
“But I felt like I did.”
And there it was. Regardless of how exhausted or how ill he was, he felt pressured to fuck me to make up for the time we’d been apart; to keep me happy.
For the first time in our relationship, I felt like an obligation– a sex one.
I could have easily recoiled from the sting of his words, but his intention wasn’t to hurt me. I knew that in my heart. What bothered me the most was that he’d pushed his own limits too far without feeling safe enough to ask for mercy. In my mind, I’d failed him.
Mr. K and I have phenomenal sex, but it’s just the icing on an amazing relationship cake. And we love our cake, a lot. The last thing either of us wanted was to damage our relationship, so we talked through his feelings. I assured him that I loved him– all of him –not just his cock, and I wasn’t dependent on sex, that just being with him made me happy. Sure, I had been naked in bed when he’d come home, but not because I waited for a thorough fucking. The bed we share is a place for closeness without expectations, not for pajamas. I also told him it’s alright to take Ambien when we’re together, that his sleep is important, especially when he’s working. Don’t get me wrong, I love when he wakes me in the early morning hours for sex, but it’s not something I require of him.
“Oh, but I always want to wake you for sex,” he chuckled.
And as I lay sleeping soundly beside him hours later, he nudged me awake the way he always does. He kissed me softly, wrapped my legs around him, and filled his need and mine.