Beyond Erotica

Is the title of a horrible movie that we wound up skipping through last night. Bad movie, great post title.

It's been brought to my attention by a dear friend that I need to write. It's true, I do. It keeps me happy, it chronicles my life, and it leads to a deeper connection in my marriage. It's hard sometimes, when you're so busy living, to carve out a few moments to write about it.

For some reason I can't remember, last night we were browsing the movies on offer in Amazon Prime's free streaming, via my Kindle Fire. After I finally put it away, it was approaching midnight. Already tired, I sank down onto my pillow. "Goodnight, husband," I sighed softly.

He turned the light off, and on again. "I think I'll leave that on," he said.

"Why?"

"So I can see you, silly girl."


"Why do you need to see me for us to sleep?"

"I told you I was going to do things to you."

"No you're not," I said.

"I am."

Unexpectedly, he began flogging me. I hadn't even noticed him retrieving floggers. On and on, the knots of our blue flogger thudding into my ass, the gentle velvet of the white one soothing, and perhaps a third? I can't recall. He stopped periodically, stroking my reddened skin gently with his fingertips, talking to me about how red it was, whispering naughty things to me while I shivered, his slightest touch sending me into a tingly shudder. It burned, it hurt, I cried out and he did not stop. It was amazing and I hope he will do it exactly like that again very, very soon.

"Turn over and kiss me," he said when he was finished. Our lips met as I continued shaking with tremors that wouldn't leave me from the unexpected force of the assault on my backside. His tongue teased me as his fingers found their way between my legs, slipping against my clit. My breath caught and I let it out in a moan, his simple stroke across my sensitive bit feeling better than I could remember it ever feeling. Isn't that amazing about sex, how you keep managing to forget exactly how amazing it is? Fascinating. Maybe it's to keep everyone from fucking or fooling around 24/7, because I so would.

"You have a red ass now," he murmured against my lips.

"It stings," I whispered, as his fingertips trailed across my skin there, making me sigh and tremble, pressing deeper into him.

"I bet it does," he said, his fingers returning to my sex, gliding against it like he owns it. He does.

"Oh, please," I begged against his lips as his fingers plundered my body. He slipped some inside me, his thumb gently pressing my clitoris back and forth.

"Please what, my girl?" he asked teasingly.

"Oh, please, please fuck me," I panted, my body undulating to the inaudible melody his hand was playing on me, inside me.

"Oh, is that what you want?"

I opened my legs and he was on top of me - missionary, but it's rare enough for us it's almost kinky by itself. Face to face, total intimacy. Yeah, like that. As he slid inside, I groaned, a deep, heartfelt groan of extreme pleasure. His manual attentions had spread my pussy open just so, so that the joining of our bodies went beyond miraculous pleasure to absolute divinity, perfect union, his body stimulating mine in all the right places.

"Oh, fuck," I whispered, not believing the perfection, the absolute pure pleasure of the moment when not an iota of space was left between our bodies.

Our eyes met as he pressed into me fully, grinding, his pubic bone hitting my clit just so, sending my eyes rolling back into my head before they rolled up to meet his again. "Do you like watching me fuck you?" he asked roughly.

"Yes sir," I moaned out, my body rolling up into his repeatedly as he maintained his downward pressure, our eyes meeting anew each time mine returned from their journey back into my head. "So, so good," I panted, rocking again as he moved with me.

He moved slowly, I think savoring my reactions, which were intense due to the perfection of the position, the continual stimulation of my clit driving me insane. His hand was pressing against my face, pressing it into the pillow, covering it up. The side of his hand was in my mouth, making my grunts animalistic. "Take it, fuckhole," he rasped, driving into me harder, grinding slower. Pounding.

I screamed, muffled, into his hand, actually orgasming from sex in the missionary position. Yes, I did. I clutched his hips, pulling him into me harder as I ground upward against him, lifting my legs up, running my fingers over his back. Glorious, glorious orgasm with his cock buried inside me, with his hand pressing my face down like I was nothing, like I was there for him to fuck. Oh, I do love that so. I bit into the side of his hand gently as I recovered from the orgasm, breathing hard, but feeling very, very good. We moved together again, my hands everywhere, my eyes on his except when they rolled away from the sheer pleasure.

It's true what they say - watching the eyes during orgasm is fucking hot. I saw it approach in his gaze, and then it was his eyes rolling away from the sheer pleasure of the moment, his head thrown back as he emptied himself into me. He stayed atop me for a long time, both of us breathing hard, sweaty despite the fan blowing at our backs. My hands wandered over his back and sides, loving him, wanting to completely absorb him through the skin of my palms. Oh, how I do love him.

He rolled off and gathered me into his arms. Perhaps we spoke; soft words of love and fulfillment and thanks. Perhaps we didn't; I can't recall. The aftermath of our lovemaking was swallowed up by the deep, dreamless sleep that followed it.