Happy Anniversary

At this time on this day twenty – four years ago, I was on my way to my wedding reception with Mr Jones, my Matron of Honour and his Best Man. Our wedding was relatively simple. Especially compared with the productions that I have witnessed amongst, co-workers, friends and children of friends. I think the total cost of our event was less than $5000. That included everything, dress, suits, cars, reception, bar tab, hairdresser, the whole box and dice.

The simplicity and low budget of the event has been a hallmark of our life together. A wedding is just a bunch of frivolities. A way of demonstrating social standing to a group of people who don’t really matter. Of all of the people who actually attended my wedding a very small number are in my life today. I could count the number of them who I would invite to a replay on my fingers. Many girls fantasise about their wedding their whole life but don’t think to plan their marriage. I have to admit that I didn’t think about how my marriage would look a whole lot but I have learned that a wedding is a tiny fragment of the rich tapestry of a marriage.

And how has my marriage played out? There have been times when I wondered if it was the right thing. Times when the only way to describe it has been hard work. But without all that hard work, I would not be here now. Financially stable, even successful, two children who have grown into functioning adults and, most importantly, the confidence to life my own best life. This is one of my biggest achievements. Being able to be adult enough to call people in my life out for their failings and make strong, objective choices about what I will tolerate and what I won’t. I haven’t gotten it right all of the time. But these days I am getting it right most of the time and that is an achievement.

And so, as we eat sushi for our anniversary lunch lets look forwards to another year of living our best lives.

Thirty Dirty Questions – Question 27

What is your favourite sexual position and why?

There was once a TMI Tuesday question that asked “if you could only have sex in one position for the rest of your life what would it be?” Or something like that. Being a practical person I responded with missionary because it is an easy go to. I guess I was cheating because there are variants on missionary that make it more exciting but it is still two people facing each other one with his penis inside the other. 

Often this is a go to for me. Legs on his shoulders, his hands on my body, maybe even my boobs, and dick penetrating just the right amount. I used to love deep penetration positions like doggie and similar but these days for some reason if a man has any kind of length and he goes in really deep I feel as if he is moving my uterus around my belly and not in a fun kind of way. As we get older our bodies change and adjustments are necessary.

When I am playing I like to have sex in multiple positions. I have a relatively short attention span I guess and so If I stay in the one position for too long I get bored and then my interest / arousal wanes. Don’t get me wrong. I love fucking. It is one of my favourite things to do but there needs to be variety. This I guess is why I am struggling with the idea of having to choose ONE position. 

I guess, as I said in the opening paragraph missionary is a catch all that can describe a number of variations. I like to watch a man fucking me. If I can almost see his cock going inside me all the better. I also find it easier to position myself to ensure maximum stimulation when I am in a missionary variant. Plus there is this thing that happens when his cock slides out and he taps me on the clit……

Yep. As cliche as it sounds nothing beats being able to look someone in the eye as they cum inside your pussy. 

mmmMondays
Every Damn Day in June

Friday Flashback – Four in the Bed

Four naked bodies twist together on the bed while lips explore other lips. Hands roam freely over breasts and buttocks, caressing and stroking. I watch you as you suck my husband’s cock. The look of pleasure on his face is one of the most erotic things I have ever seen. My hand travels down to caress your lover’s member. He stiffens in my grasp and his breath sighs in my ear. I squirm as his fingers pinch my nipples before he bends down and sucks one nipple and then the other gently between his lips. 

Your lover’s hand travels downwards over my belly to the top of my slit. His fingers stroke me gently before he places his tongue on my pussy. Liquid fire flares through me, and my body responds the way it always does. Liquid trickles down my thighs and coats your lover’s face. He buries his head further into me as if he craves the taste of my juice. The feeling is intense. Sometimes so intense it is painful. I ride it like a wave, hoping it will never end. 

He lifts his face away from me. My juice runs down his chin as he looks at both of us sprawled beside each other on the bed. My body feels as if it will melt into the bed. You lover looks over at you before he pulls you towards him. He presses your knees apart beside you and your feet rest on his shoulders. He strokes your slick wet opening with his cock and you spasm in pleasure. You are so open for him and so aching for him to fill you.  

Slowly he feeds himself into you. You sigh in pleasure as his cock fills you. He spreads your legs so that I can watch him fucking you slowly. His cock draws all the way out and then presses deeply into you as you moan in pleasure. Your pussy looks like a flower as it grips his cock. You giggle a little but it isn’t laughter it is your happy, pleasure sound. Your lover pushes harder and you moan even more. 

He turns you over so that you are kneeling on the bed. My husband and I press our bodies against yours, stroking your soft skin and sucking your nipples. As you spasm in pleasure your juice squirts out wetting your lover’s thighs and the bed. I touch your pussy seeking the node of your pleasure and pressing my fingers inside you beside your lover’s cock. It is intense. I curl my finger around seeking out your g-spot so that I can tease and tantalise you. I feel your body spasm with pleasure pushing your lover’s cock and my finger out of you but we both press against you keeping ourselves inside you.

After a while we change partners. My husband puts his arms around you from behind. His cock is rubbing against you pressing against the entrance to your pussy. I lean down and lick you, your pussy is soaked with your juice and tastes so sweet. I press my tongue into you, exploring your folds and crevices. My husband holds you as you squirm in pleasure. 

When it is over the four of us lie together in a pile, happy and satisfied. For the moment.

Every Damn Day in June

Consent Revisited

Photo by Philipp Wüthrich on Unsplash

Uncle and I are considering starting a project documenting our experiences and advice.  So I have started ploughing through the substantial body of work I had written for Erotic Adventures and Corrupting Mrs Jones. I came across an article I wrote in 2013. Almost ten years ago! I am so old. In it I I wax lyrical about the art of saying “NO”. At the time I felt that the “No means no” fundamental of the swinging world was very firmly in place. I considered that most women who had an issue with enforcing their NO were not being clear with their intent. 

Fast forward to now. I still think a lot of women have issues with saying no. There are a multitude of reasons for this and I could wax lyrical about social conditioning and the like but a quick Google search and you can find much better researched and written articles about this. What this story is about is men who don’t listen. Two sides of the same coin in many ways. 

In my early slut career (I coined this term for last weeks TMI Tuesday don’t you love it). I don’t think I said no very often. We were playing predominantly in the couple space. I interacted with the people I was interested in and if there was a NO it was from the more discerning Mr Jones. Interestingly a woman saying NO on behalf of her husband does not have a lot of repercussions. It did not seem to create a lot of arguments. It is accepted. There were some occasions when it did cause problems. Mostly when the man of the rejected couple decided he HAD to have me and went about trying to pressure his wife into pleasing Mr Jones to achieve this end. But that was their issue. I went about my business secure in my bubble of “no means no”.

These days I interact with single men. In some circles I could be viewed as an individual seeking fun because I do go on solo dates. I have never sought out a couple. For the most part my interest in women is limited and so couples don’t seek me. Married men do. I am happy to play with them one on one if their wife / girlfriend is on board. Over the weekend we invited a couple to come sailing with us. We met at a party. I was intrigued by his mind. Perhaps a little flattered by his statement that he doesn’t interact with women much because he doesn’t find many women worth his while. 

On closer inspection his mind turned out to be very much like other men’s mind. Focussed on his own personal gratification. His discernment wasn’t as refined as he led me to believe. In short he was a man looking for as many holes to poke his dick in as possible. He likes rough play. The kind that explores the boundary between pain and pleasure. He likes boobs. What he likes to do with them is squeeze them quite firmly and pinch nipples. I am not averse to this practice. Sometimes it elicits quite a strong response but for the most part I am a “go easy there” kind of girl. My body is an instrument that needs to be played skilfully to get the most out of it. Bashing on me like a drum will have some effect but it is limited. Plus it will piss me off after a while and get you on the “no thanks” list. 

So I spent the weekend dancing this line. Controlling the amount of rough handling I could tolerate while he pressured me to take as much as his partner seemed to enjoy. In addition he has erection problems. Not uncommon amongst older me. Sad for them. Hard to deal with but you know what. When I want to fuck I want to fuck. If I have tolerated and accommodated your rough handling and tried to be the person to please you I am not entirely pleased when you can’t perform. On top of that I am unhappy if you make me feel like I am being unfair to express my displeasure. That my friend, is gaslighting. 

So with that awkwardness sitting in the background as I helped him straighten his bed in the cabin he shared with his partner, he proposes that I visit him and his partner solo while Mr Jones is away delivering a yacht….

My response…

“Well we don’t do that. See couples when the other one is not present.” 

He seemed OK with that. I exited as speedily as possible and related the events to Mr Jones. He was understanding and agreed with my position as the safest option. That, I thought, was that. But no. The next morning I received a text.

“Come hop in bed with us” the invitation was for me. Not Mr Jones. The cabin is big enough for three but definitely not suitable for four. 

Less than twelve hours ago I told him that we don’t do that. And now he is ignoring my no? 

I didn’t bother to respond. He queried me later. It annoyed me to have to point out that I didn’t feel comfortable leaving my husband alone to go play. Rude much? 

I was irritated about the whole situation. When I met these people I was excited. Happy to have found a couple that we both seemed to get along with. Happy to maybe have another couple friend in the lifestyle. They are hard to come by. But on reflection it just isn’t working for me. He is domineering, opinionated and the most irritating thing, he just doesn’t listen to other people’s ideas or opinions. I really like her but he is not able to let her have a relationship without him being around wanking. Not my thing. 

As we unpacked at home I reflected about a lot of things. One of them being that men often simply don’t listen when a woman as a solo person says no. They don’t hear what she means which is 

“I am not interested, this isn’t working for me, I don’t want to.”

What they hear is;

“I need you to convince me that what you are proposing is attractive.” And worse, “Tell me the reasons why my feelings about my body are not correct.”

These men pressure a woman to explain her refusal and then rebut her reasons. They badger her and make her feel bad for saying no. And then they wonder why dating apps are flooded with men  without a counterbalance of a similar number of women. It isn’t as simple as women learning to say no more clearly. Men need to learn to hear it. 

Wicked Wednesday
Every Damn Day in June

TMI Tuesday – The Good The Bad and The Ugly

1. What made the best sex partner you’ve ever had so good?

At this point in my slut career (I just invented that term but I kind of like it) I am not able to identify the BEST sex partner I have ever had. A few spring to mind, The Traveller, Johnny, Pet, Mr Jones. There have been other events that have been stand outs but at 5.30am on Wednesday morning I can’t think of them.

2. What made the worst sex partner you’ve ever had so bad?

Again, at this point in my life, some things like this are a bit of a blur. One that sticks out at this moment is a man I met a couple of times. The first time we got hot and heavy in the back seat of my car. It was fast paced and sexy as fuck. Then we met, I thought, for a more leisurely exploration of each other.

It was very short lived and he didn’t apologise for being a fast finisher or even offer to make up for his shortcomings. Just kind of said “I told my wife I would be home soon” and left.

He didn’t get asked back.

3. Who was the most physically attractive person you ever had sex with?

Again, blurry stuff. One that did happen to pop in my head was not penetrative sex but sexual you can read about it here. Of late I have been reminiscing about Johnny. He was one sexy mother fucker.

4. How was it?

Well if you clicked the link you would know the Random Blow Job was like my own personal power trip. A very I told you so moment.

Sex with Johnny? Well it was fucking amazing. You can read about one encounter here, There were others. Too many to list.

5. Who was the least physically attractive person you ever had sex with?

I can’t really answer this one. There just isn’t a stand out. When I looked up my answers to these questions the first time they were posted I found this answer;

Before I met Jake I had a fuck buddy relationship with a guy who was quite over weight and very unattractive.

6. Why did you do it?

Continuing with the above thread this was my previous answer.

I am not really sure why I did it. I had just come out of a long term relationship. I think I was just cutting loose and experimenting a bit. This guy was brave enough to ask so I thought why not?

7. How was it?

My previous answer to this one was that at the time I thought it was pretty good but compared to these days it was very vanilla.

Bonus: Describe a bad sexual experience that you believe was your fault.

There is never an experience that is entirely the fault of one person. In my life most bad experiences have happened to me because I have not given clear direction or avoided saying no.

Hanging with Vanillas

Photo by Dovile Ramoskaite on Unsplash

Last night I went to the pub for a meal with a friend. As we dressed and prepared to leave I commented to Mr Jones that we should really do this kind of thing more often. We almost never go out for a meal just because it seems like fun. While we do go to our local swinger’s club for drinks and socialising reasonably regularly we never go to a pub to catch up with friends or to see a band.

When I was younger I didn’t have the social circle or the budget to be at the pub or partying on every weekend. So I was never really in the habit of going clubbing with friends. Heading out to see a band was a big deal for me. When Mr Jones and I started swinging our night life changed a lot. But all of the partying and socialising we did had particular focus that usually saw us naked and fucking by the end of the evening. Going to a bar to pay the crazy prices they charge for drinks just for shits and giggles has never been part of our regular schedule.

So we arrived and had a great meal with our friend. It was good to catch up and hang out. After our meal we ventured into the main bar where karaoke was cranking up. It was interesting seeing how the other half party. The drinking was similar. The weird behaviour and conversations over loud music were the same as I remembered and the same as most parties.

The thing that struck me was feeling at odds with how flirting worked. A woman came up to me and full on ran her hands over my body. I was taken aback. I thought she was with a man. I was with my husband. Later in the bar another man was giving off flirty vibes but he seemed a little reluctant. Obviously the presence of husband was an issue. I kept to myself. Unsure of where lines were and what was acceptable and what was not.

In the wash-up I am unconvinced it is something I would like to do every week. Maybe every now and then. I would rather hang out around a camp fire with some like minded souls. Or even at a pinch head out for dinner and drinks with similar like minded souls. At the end of the day the only thing in this world that should be vanilla is ice cream.

Shadows of the Past

Photo by Foad Roshan on Unsplash

In my last two Thirty Dirty Questions Posts I have talked a little about my repressed upbringing and the long term effects that had on how I felt about my sexuality, my body and myself in general. What I hadn’t realised until a few days ago was that something else that has been bothering me is also linked to this ingrained guilt.

For the last little while I have been extremely self conscious about my “number”. When I think about the number of people I have fucked it makes me feel a number of negative things. Things like shame and guilt. Whenever people ask me how long I have been in the lifestyle this shame surfaces and I am reluctant to share an accurate figure or divulge exactly how active I have been. Which many people in my world think is a little odd. Most other women like myself have a similar number. Those I meet who are just starting out are often admiring of the way I have embraced my sexuality and feel so comfortable talking about what I do and don’t want.

A few days ago I was chatting at a gathering with a woman who has a similar longevity in the swing scene as myself. I didn’t ask about her number. I doubt that she really counted and she is definitely not concerned about it. What I realised during the course of the conversation is that this weirdness about my number was linked to the whole Catholic guilt thing. Strange how things from your past that you thought you had left behind can reach their long fingers into your present and push your buttons all over again.

Now that I have had that realisation I am better equipped to deal with it I guess. Although like all things in your head dealing with it is not just a case of telling it to go away. At least it is a step in the right direction.

The Traveller – Part 2

You can read part 1 of this story here.

Over the next two days The Traveller and I fucked. Many times. I was amazed. He never seemed tired or unable to respond to me. My own response to him was also surprising to me. I never failed to respond to his touch. One moment we would be enjoying some sunshine and the nest my dress was pushed up and his fingers were exploring me. Drawing out my juice and making me almost beg for his cock. 

We weren’t completely nude. But clothing was minimal. The days were warm and I enjoyed the sunshine. I was keen to enhance my tan as the last warm days of summer faded. Whenever I could find a warm sunny spot out of the wind I stripped down and lay around like a siren luring men to me. For the most part Mr Jones was amused. He watched us dancing around each other and me teasing a response from this man. He watched us fuck and then reclaimed his wife as much as he wanted. 

I was never tired of looking at him. I loved the hair on his body. I loved to run my fingers through the rug on his chest. The silvery hairs seemed to make him more attractive. Like a silverback. Strong, virile and experienced. When he was fully naked I peeked at him around corners. Taking in the strong lines of his body and his round arse. Whenever I looked at his arse I wanted to grab it. I was reminded of how it felt to wrap my legs around it as he fucked me. 

I am unsure of how I managed to walk on the last morning we were together. Or sex that morning was more leisurely. I was reflective knowing that I had to go back to reality and that this was probably the last time he would fuck me. We dragged ourselves out of bed and prepared for the day. I took the opportunity to be a lady of leisure as The Traveller took on my regular duties as a crew member. We sailed back towards the city line, leaving behind the quiet bay where we had spent the night. 

As we sailed back to our home port I began to tidy our cabin and pack up clothing and washing from our trip. As I was pottering I became aware of him in the cabin that Mr Jones and I shared. Of all the places we had fucked Mr Jones’ and my bed was off limits. It wasn’t something spoken but something we agreed to. Over our time together Mr Jones and I have invited others into our own bed at home but for the most part we play somewhere else. A hotel a club, the play room or the guest cabin on the yacht. 

The Traveller’s attention was unexpected. Our time was coming to an end. We had fucked so many times I was sure he had his fill. But then he was there, putting his hands on my waist, pulling me against his body as he nibbled on my neck. I sighed in pleasure as his hands reached inside my dress and cupped my breasts. My nipples hardened between his fingers and I reached back to slip my hands inside his pants. His cock as always was ready. He was a freak like that. Always ready. Always horny. 

“How do you want me, Mrs Jones?” His voice was husky against my neck. 

I smiled remembering being teased the night before about how greedy I had been. The Traveller insisted that I had initiated every one of our encounters. As much as I didn’t want to admit it he was right. But I told him that today was about him. He was the initiator. 

“You are in charge today,” I replied. Attempting to fold clothing. 

He moved me towards the stairs. “Here looks good,” He positioned me so that I was leaning over the staircase. I had never thought about using the stairs this way but any stray thoughts of dust and practicalities were banished as he entered me. Even after the last two days I still felt that thrill as he slid inside me. I was still transported by the sound of his breathing and the slap of his belly against my arse.

As always my body responded to him. Excitement rose as his pace increased. 

“You are so fucking sexy,” his voice was strained with excitement. “Are you ready for one last load?” 

“Yes,” My voice came out as a whisper. 

“Here it comes,” I could feel the intensity and my own body responded. 

With the now familiar grunt he climaxed. I could feel him pulsing inside me. I was never tired of that feeling. For a few moments we leaned against the stairs and he rested against me. I was really aware of the feeling that I never wanted this moment to end. I wanted to live like this forever. Reality was too hard. 

We made our way back to our home berth, everything was tidy and packed away. As we said our goodbyes there we all expressed a hope that there would be a repeat in our future. As much as I want it to be that way I am not sure. He is a nomadic person. His wanderings don’t bring him to my little corner of the world much. But maybe, one day, the planets will align. In the meantime travel well sexy man. Enjoy life and be happy. 

Wicked Wednesday

Thirty Dirty Questions – Question 26

In my last post, masturbation, I spoke about my asexual upbringing. I lived on a farm. Everything was about reproduction but sex was not allowed. Rather, enjoying sex was not allowed. At least for the teenagers. The adults. I have no idea. At the time when I made choices about my education and earlier jobs I felt I was following the expected path. Get a university degree, get a good job. My mother is a control freak. For all of my life, including my life as an adult she did her best to be in charge of the decisions I made and to keep me in the mould she had determined made a ‘good daughter’. I could probably write a book about the ways she tried to manipulate me.

The education and the job led me to a place a six hour drive away. In hindsight it probably wasn’t far enough. Despite the distance she still tried to influence all of my choices and so the stupid Catholic, abstinence based ideas about sex continued to haunt me. My true sexual nature and my upbringing continued to wrestle with each other for a very long time. In some ways they still do. My current feelings about my ‘number’ are testimony to that.  

But I lucked out. I met Mr Jones. Sex was a feature of our relationship very early on and the way that he encouraged me to express my sexuality was exactly what I needed. I had found a person who encouraged me to dress and act sexy instead of shaming me for it. He encouraged me to be nude and be proud of my body. Cheeky nude photos in the outdoors were a feature of our relationship from the beginning. When children came along our sex life struggled. Actually our marriage struggled. There was a man I almost had an affair with and then a long dark time of guilt. 

But we made it through. And then we opened our marriage. The journey through the opening up has not been without its problems but together we have worked through it because we both knew that it was right for us. Our journey has always come back to a simple touch stone. What the other person needs and how we can make that work for us.

When I started writing this piece I was thinking that the thing I was most grateful for was my open marriage. But as I wrote I realised it went deeper than that. The thing I am most grateful for is Mr Jones. 

The Traveller

Last week’s Wicked Wednesday Prompt was “Hitchhiking” I started writing this post about a friend we had encountered but life got in the way a little.

In yachting circles it is called “taking on crew”. Sometimes the crew are looking for experience aboard a yacht because they want to own their own boat. Sometimes the crew have the finance and life situation to make this happen. For these people crewing is a step on the journey they have already begun. A way to get experience and some free training. Some people don’t have finances and the idea of owning a boat is more of a dream. For them being part of a crew is like touching the dream and somehow keeping it alive. For some people they want to travel from point A to point B but they have time and they are taking the opportunity to have an adventure along the way. 

From the outside life on a yacht can seem romantic and luxurious. The reality can be quite different. Broken toilets, close living quarters, seasickness, bad weather and nowhere to escape when someone is getting on your nerves. Most yachties are men. This can make it hard for solo women who want to join the adventure. Being aboard a small space with no escape and being effectively trapped with a man can be hazardous. Especially if he is interested in more than someone to help him operate his yacht and share the cooking duties. Yachting forums and social media groups are awash with cautionary tales about women getting caught in these situations. To make it worse some of the posts from single men looking for “female only crew” are a bit ambiguous but a bit of a closer inspection makes things seem doubtful that once they have trapped their prey they are going to respect her wishes. As always it seems men take every opportunity to be a dick and try to force their desires on any woman they choose. 

For myself and Mr Jones extra crew members can have a dual purpose if they wish. We advertised on a swingers site. We were pretty transparent and we only chose people who were up for the task. But once on board the choice was theirs. We have enjoyed some very sexy times with multiple people since we purchased our yacht. The one that springs to mind first is The Second Mate. Our time with him was intense and for me satisfying. He pushed my sexual boundaries and opened my eyes to the idea that I can be more picky and in fact should be. As a sailor he was OK. Willing but not a natural. He was one of the ones that planned to own his own boat but finances did not quite meet with desire. 

Recently we met The Traveller. Whilst we are no longer travelling long distances ourselves he wanted to get experience on a yacht because, like The Second Mate, he planned to purchase his own yacht and travel. He was keen to learn about sailing and combine the experience with another activity, passion. We met at a swinger’s weekend. On our first encounter he bent me over a chair and fucked me in front of my husband and any other people who cared to watch. It was a cracking start. A promise of things to come. When we packed up and went back to reality after the weekend we exchanged numbers with plans to meet in the future. 

A few weeks later the second meeting happened. We spent a couple of nights on the water. As with our first encounter things worked. Everyone walked away satisfied. Over the course of a couple of days and memorable evenings we explored each other, learned about fantasies and pleasure spots. Words that spring to mind are lusty, willing, capable and very, very sexy. We parted, unsure of when or if we would meet again. He has a nomadic existence and does not frequent my part of the country much. 

But the planets aligned. He came on board at a jetty on an island in Moreton Bay. It was a sunny morning and Mr Jones and I were enjoying a few days remembering boat life. From the first hello there was the connection. Caressing each other as we walked past, little comments and innuendoes, quick glances that relayed promises of what was to come. We moved away from the jetty and found somewhere a little more private. It was school holiday time so there were quite a few people around. After we anchored The Traveller and myself took the opportunity to sun ourselves on the front deck. Despite the other boats in the vicinity I took off my top and sunned myself allowing the sun to kiss my bare skin. Before long our hands were on each other’s bodies and I was encouraging him to free his growing cock. Fishermen anchored close by were treated to a show of me gorging myself on his cock. All of our flirting and suggestion had taken its toll. 

“I need to fuck you.” He told me urgently. “I can’t hold back my load any longer.”

The fishermen were about to be disappointed. We retired to the cabin to be joined by Mr Jones. In line with an earlier request Mr Jones wanted to watch me be fucked closely. His request was to lie underneath while I was being fucked from behind. I kneeled with my pussy close to his face and The Traveller rested his cock against my opening, teasing us both. I was unprepared for the feeling of him sliding into me. In the weeks since we had last been together I had forgotten but he reminded me but sliding in slowly as if he wanted to remember every part of it. His hands gripped my hips and he fucked me slowly, sliding his cock almost all the way out as Mr Jones licked me. The connection we had was re-established. He fucked until he could no longer hold back sliding out to blow his load over the outside of my pussy. I listened intently, taking in his breathing, the slight groan of pleasure as my husband licked his cum from me. 

I flipped myself around so that I could impale myself on my husband. His cock was rock hard. As I leaned down to kiss him I could taste The Traveller’s cum on his lips. I smiled knowing how much he had waited for this moment. This was almost his ultimate fantasy. I could tell as I rode him that he was close to adding his own load of cum to me. The thrill of being part of this much excitement was like a drug. I could never get enough of this. His climax came quickly. A little too fast for me but it didn’t matter. I knew that this was just the entree. I had two more days with both of them. There would be many more times. 

I wasn’t disappointed. 

Wicked Wednesday