How does he do it?

I was sitting at the table, commenting on someone's blog, and he came over to see what I was doing.

"Can I help you?" I asked.

"Just checking on you," he responded, kissing my cheek, threading his hand through my hair at the back of my head, and pulling firmly, just once, just enough. Right there in the room with my mom! Such a thrill.

---

Later, there was sex.


Here we go.

We'd just gone to bed and he ended one topic of conversation with "I think you should kiss me."

I did, long, slow, hungry kisses that were just right, hot, steamy. I felt his cock growing against me as our lips and tongues danced.

"It'd be nice if you'd suck my cock for me," he told me softly. "Will you?" he prompted, after I kept kissing him for a while. It's hard to pull myself away from those lips, especially when they seem to want mine just as much.

I moved down his body to suck. He pulled my hair, he grabbed my one free hand and held it, bent at the elbow, against my back, while he thrust into my cock-hungry mouth.

He pulled me up to kiss him some more. "I like making you wet. It gives me more things to do with you," he told me as he let his fingers glide over my aroused flesh.

"If you'll turn over I'll give you something nice," he promised me. He kept kissing me, his lips impossibly soft, his mouth claiming mine over and over. "Don't you want something nice from me?" he asked when I didn't move.

"You keep kissing me." So he stopped, and I turned over.

"I think you may have some idea what I have for you...or was it just wishful thinking?" He prodded at my ass with his cock.

"Mmhmm."

"What were you wishfully thinking about then, baby?" He pushed against my folds to spread them and thrust back-and-forth, sliding the head against my slippery arousal.

"Cock."

"Oh, this cock? Here?" He pressed it into my opening and waited for me to respond.

"Mmhmm." I wriggled my hips, pressed back against him. He filled me.

"How does that cock feel in your hot little pussy?"

"Big... good." I can't manage words with enough syllables for proper description at a time like that.

"Glad to hear it." He fucked me long and slow, taking his time.

He grabbed my wrist and pulled it back against the small of my back, wrapping his other hand around my throat. His hold on these two points allowed him to move me however he wanted, and I found my body undulating to his command, a litany of "ohgodohgod" spilling from me from the intensity of the restraint.

"Yeah, you're my fuck toy, I can fuck you however I want and there's nothing you can do about it, is there?" To prove his point, his grip on my throat and my wrist tightened as he spoke.

"N...no," I whispered, barely able to speak between my animalistic cries.

He let go of my wrist for a moment to play with my nipples, but my hand was effectively trapped between our bodies anyway. I remember opening and closing my hand reflexively with our movements. He squeezed my breast firmly and then grabbed my wrist again. His other hand alternately squeezed my throat and pulled my hair. He moved me on him, truly like a toy, and it was delicious.

His orgasm overtook both of us, and he pulled me close to him, holding my wrist in front of me so we could be closer as he shuddered and continued to move within me for several minutes. He squeezed me tightly, told me what a good girl I was. "What shall I do with you now?" he mused. I remained silent but for my little gasps, still in the throes of passion myself, overwhelmed a bit by everything so far. "I think your ass needs some attention," he continued. I was a bit concerned, not really up for a beating at that moment, but that wasn't what he meant. "A girl like you needs her ass fucked once in a while, isn't that right?"

So he got the plug, the lube. "This'll be a little cold," he told me softly, "but you'll take it for me, won't you?" He pushed me over onto my stomach and pressed a finger gently inside my ass, stretching me slowly, before replacing it with the tip of the plug. I grunted as he pressed it slowly into me. "Take it, baby. I want you to take it for me."

I was whimpering and I began to complain. "Too much, too much," I cried softly as he pressed it deeper and deeper.

"Ah, it's not too much. You like being full," he assured me as he pressed it all the way in.

He gently worked two fingers into my pussy and I cried out again. "Too much!" It felt like I would burst.

"You like it, don't you? Of course you do, you're my slut, I know what you like," he spoke roughly as he kept stroking his fingers inside me.

"Too much!" I cried out again.

"Oh, it's not too much, slut. You know what might be too much? Give me your hand," he ordered me as he placed his other hand on the small of my back, palm up, fingers beckoning.

I briefly considered resisting, (too much!) but didn't. I gave him my hand and he gripped it firmly as he started stroking the delicate membranes stretched around the base of the plug. I cried out, awash in so many emotions and sensations that I could barely process. I went crazy with motion, not sure if I was trying to prolong it or make it stop. He stroked my clit with the fingers on the other side of his hand and I lost it.  He let go of my hand, admonishing "Now be a good girl and keep that hand right there," as his hand wandered up, tightly gathered a handful of my hair and pulled my head up off the pillow. I froze, my mouth open in a soundless scream, my ass in the air, my muscles completely still as his hands worked their magic on my senses. I broke, a loud groan of "OH GOD" escaping from me as every tension drained away and I collapsed. Thankfully he let go of my hair.

He gently continued stroking me for a bit, bringing me back to a less intensely aroused state, as I just whispered "Oh, God" into the mattress over and over and over.

"I'm going to take this plug out now," he told me firmly as he gripped the base, and I grunted fearfully. Such a huge production, taking it out, but then it was over and he wrapped me in his arms and I kept whispering "Oh God, husband" against his chest, dropping little kisses there in between.

I'm floating on a cloud still.

I read about it getting boring for people, needing more and more to achieve the same levels of excitement like a drug, but somehow he has managed to excite me for many many years now and it doesn't ever get boring to me... I dunno how he does it. Perhaps our increments of "more" are just so small that it doesn't seem like it is more.