Prompt 3 – (full disclosure – didn’t start thinking about the storyline from the prompts – but 3 fits best)
There’s a sentence I’ve been carrying around for — I don’t know. Years? A long time. One of those things you think during sex but never say because saying it would make it real and real is terrifying when you’ve spent your whole marriage letting someone else decide what happens to your body.
He was doing everything right. That’s the thing. It was a good night — we’d been connected all week, he’d been attentive, the kind of week where his hand finds the small of my back every time we pass each other and by Friday I’m so warmed up that he barely has to touch me before I’m ready.
He had me face down. Pillow under my hips. His mouth on my shoulders, kissing down my spine, taking his time the way he does when he’s in charge and wants me to know it. His hands on my hips. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he said against my skin, and I believed him because his voice does this thing when he means it — it drops, gets rougher, like the words cost him something.
He was inside me. Slow, deep, his weight on me, his mouth at my ear. It was good. Really good. I could have come just from this and it would have been enough and we would have fallen asleep and I would have swallowed that sentence for the ten thousandth time.
But his hands kept moving to my ass. They always do — he gravitates there like it’s magnetic, squeezing, spreading, his thumbs tracing lines that get closer and closer to the center every time. And every time he did it, the sentence got louder in my throat.
He pulled out to shift his angle and his mouth followed where his hands had been. Kissing my lower back. My tailbone. Moving down. He was going there on his own — he always does eventually, if I let him. But this time I didn’t want to let him. I wanted to tell him.
“I want your mouth there.”
He stopped. I felt his breath against my skin and the absence of his lips and I thought — shit, I actually said it. Out loud. After seventeen years of angling my hips and hoping he’d take the hint, I used actual words.
“Say it again.”
“I want you to rim me.” My face was burning. “Please.”
He didn’t answer with words. He spread me open with both hands and pressed his mouth flat against my asshole and I stopped being embarrassed because you can’t be embarrassed when your brain leaves your body.
I pushed up onto all fours because I needed — I don’t know, more of everything. More of his tongue, which was doing something slow and deliberate that made my thighs shake. I reached between my legs with one hand because I couldn’t not touch myself. My clit was swollen and slick and the moment my fingers found it while his tongue was still working my ass I understood that I’d been missing this. Not the act — I’d had the act. I’d been missing the asking. The asking was what made it feel like this.
He was thorough. God, he was thorough. His tongue flat and wide, then pointed and pressing, circling my rim while I rubbed my clit in tight circles and felt my own wetness everywhere — slick on my fingers, coating my inner thighs, dripping down toward where his mouth was working so that everything between my legs was connected by one warm, wet mess. I was making sounds I’d normally be mortified by — whimpering, grinding back against his face, my back arched so deep my chest nearly touched the mattress while my ass pressed into his mouth. He spread me open wider with both hands and I could feel cool air and warm tongue alternating and I wasn’t letting him do this to me anymore. I was taking it.
“I need you inside me,” I said. I didn’t recognize my own voice. “Now.”
He pushed into me from behind and I was so wet and so open that he slid in completely in one stroke and the sound that came out of both of us was — yeah. I felt him everywhere. His hands gripped my hips and he fucked me hard enough that my hand braced against the headboard while my other hand stayed between my legs because I was not giving up my clit, not now, not when everything was building toward something I could feel in my spine.
“You asked for it,” he said behind me. Not teasing. Almost amazed. “You actually asked.”
“I’m asking for something else.” I barely got the words out. “Your thumb. Where your mouth was.”
He didn’t hesitate. I felt his thumb press against my asshole — slick from his mouth and my arousal — and slide in slowly and the noise I made was new. Not pain. Something past language. Full. Both places filled and my own fingers on my clit and I couldn’t tell where one sensation ended and another began because it was all connected, everything was connected, and I was shaking and I said his name and I said don’t stop and I said something else that I can’t remember because that’s when I came.
It was different from every other orgasm I’ve had. Deeper. Not centered in one place but radiating — from my clit where my fingers were still pressed, from deep inside where his cock was pulsing, from my ass where his thumb was buried. My whole body locked and released and locked again and I was loud enough that in the back of my mind I was grateful the kids were at my parents’ house.
He came right after. I felt the heat of it inside me while his thumb was still in my ass and the fullness of both was so overwhelming I dropped flat onto the mattress and just — shook. He stayed on top of me. His mouth on my shoulder. Both of us breathing like we’d run somewhere and arrived at the same place.
“You asked,” he said eventually. Quietly. Like he was still processing it.
“I know.”
Silence. His hand stroking my hair.
“I’m going to ask again.”
He laughed against the back of my neck. I wasn’t laughing. Seventeen years I let him guess what I wanted. Seventeen years of hoping my body language was loud enough. It wasn’t. Words are louder. I’m never going back to quiet.
submitted by /u/AM196
[link] [comments]
Leave a Reply