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A private forest nearby has made for far more enthusiastic participation. I enjoy chasing her and Paisley enjoys being caught. Sometimes we pretend the word no doesn’t have any meaning no matter the setting. She delights in restraining me far more than she enjoys being restrained, a difference in mindset that I’m slowly adjusting to. She keeps threatening to drag me to a Shibari rope bondage class, fascinated by the idea of becoming a rigger, and my protests are weakening.
Mostly, we just enjoy each other as we are.
I hug her against me, keeping one hand between her legs, the other underneath her, cupping her shoulder to hold her in place.
There’s the rigid end of a plug poking from her derriere and I grow harder when my fingers stumble upon it.
I remember last night quite clearly. Certainly, well enough to know it wasn’t there when she fell asleep.
Perhaps she imagined me finding it now as vividly as I imagine her, waking in the night and slipping into the bathroom to insert it. An early morning temptation that I have no intention of resisting.
My finger grows more adventurous the wetter she becomes, exploring every inch of her tender flesh before slipping inside her entrance, losing myself in the pull and release of the muscles working in her tight cunt.
As I draw her towards orgasm, always so much easier to achieve with her mind detached, my cock grows hard against her sculpted arse, throbbing as I push it against her, grinding it slowly against her butt cheeks, as turned on by fingering her as her sleeping body is, enjoying the journey so much even as it strains for release.
Her thighs grip together as she gets closer to the precipice. I add another finger, stretching them apart so she feels the strain, my free hand sliding from the ball of her shoulder to encircle her throat.
My breath grows quicker, and I lean in to nuzzle against her ear, rubbing hard against her in one long sustained press as she gets close, closer, closest, finally tipping over the edge.
While her muscles are still fluttering, I withdraw my hand and throw my arm across her thighs, pulling her back onto my throbbing cock. She’s so wet, I glide in easily, thrusting upwards until I’m fully buried in her, then resting that way for a second, enjoying the lingering twitch of her orgasm, the sensations of her tight muscles pulling at me, bringing me sailing close to my own.
My hand roams the juicy curve of her buttocks, reaching between to touch where we’re connected, spreading my fingers on either side to experience the enjoyment as I pump in and out of her cunt, then spreading the wetness up to soften the sensation as I ease the plug from her before pouring a generous helping of anal lube all over her tasty arse.
She groans as I withdraw, ready her with my finger, then moans again as I enter her rear.
I fumble behind me for the rose toy stashed under my pillow, setting it to a low pulse and resting it against her clit as I turn her, my thrusts growing more frenetic. Grinding deep inside her, feeling her meet my thrusts and push back against me.
The orgasm builds and ebbs, my pace surging and receding to make the experience last for as long as possible, turning into a gentle rhythm that slowly, slowly, washes me towards shore.
Paisley wakes in there somewhere but continues to lie, dipping in and out of sleep, letting me take what I need with the agreement that I bring her along for the ride. That I never let her go without.
I can’t hold back any longer and muffle a groan against her neck, my fingers teasing her with the clit-sucker until she joins me. Her second orgasm lasts longer, goes deeper, making her back and thighs jerk as the spasms overtake her, the toy shoved away when her nerves tip from pleasurable to painful, different sides to the same coin.
“And a very good morning to you, too,” she mutters with a small giggle, reaching behind her for my arms and wrapping them around her like a warm scarf. “You’re far too hot,” she instantly complains, not doing a thing to move away.
“Should I throw you into a cold shower?”
“You’re the one in need of a cold shower, mister.” Her voice fades halfway through the observation as she falls into a short doze.
I close my eyes and kiss her between her shoulder blades. She has meetings scheduled for later in the day, her career as a freelance travel writer is taking off, the witty anecdotes of her voyages growing more of a following with each passing day.
Soon we’ll be undertaking journeys as much for her joy in content creation as for our excitement to see new places and enjoy new things. A tiny adjustment that I’m sure won’t detract from the experiences.
“Shouldn’t Andre be knocking on the door, nagging us about breakfasts going cold?” she murmurs, stirring into wakefulness again.
“It’s cereal,” I remind her. “It’s meant to be cold.”
“And coffee.”
“Which you can rewarm through the miracle of microwaves.”
“Heathen.”
I roll over, scooping her up and carrying her through to the bathroom, dunking her in the shower. She squeals, wriggling like a worm on a hook until the water heats, then turns to give me a kiss until I’m pressing her against the tiled wall, blood surging into my cock with renewed inspiration.
“Not until you’ve thoroughly washed that, mister,” she says with mock severity. “I know exactly where that’s been.”
Ever conscientious, I let her wash me to her heart’s content, an activity that’s almost as exciting as her legs wrapping around me, her back flat against the wall, water streaming over us as I prove to her for day three hundred and fifty-seven that I haven’t grown sick of her yet, with the renewed promise that I never will, every hole my heart ever sustained now fully healed.
