Inklings. Just inklings. Within the shrouded mists of slumber. Inklings of cosiness. Sexy warmth. Euphoric touches. Fluttering and elusive. Suddenly fleeing my mind as I awake. But even as these cherished impressions dash from view, my soul is somehow still anchored deep within their melded evaporating aura of sympathetic arousal. Opening my eyes to meet the clean, fine summer morning light filtering through the net curtain, I momentarily watch the curtain lifting ever so slightly with the faintest of breezes.
Yes, I was dreaming of being intimate with someone. Yes, I’m not sure who with. Yes, doesn’t feel like my boyfriend. More like a close friend, or perhaps someone I used to know. But not my boyfriend. Adore him though I do.
Our little one bedroom flat, nestled on the top floor under the eaves of this old, five-storey Victorian terrace house, is our little sanctuary. A world of textures, of books filled with stories and poetry and knowledge, of films and games, of tenderness and vulnerability, of sensuality and kinkiness. Private and sacrosanct, away from all the terrors and horrors and tedium of the world outside.
My nerves are thrumming lushly with the narcotic kiss of last night’s wine. Stroking a sleepy hand over my breasts beneath the sheet, my fingers discover my nipples are stiff. My other hand touches my snatch. Damp and sticky. I slide the tips of my fingers inside myself. If only I could recall the dream. It felt like it was very, very sweet.
Drowsily searching my thoughts, I try to pry open the tiniest, fading little hints from the dream. But… no. All gone.
Never mind, I console myself, my fingertips playfully idling over my labia, because it’s Saturday. And Saturdays are the best. The soul-destroying grind of Monday to Friday is over and our time is ours again. Sundays are nice too, but we catch up with family on Sundays and our timetable is never so free and easy. But today is Saturday, our day. We deliberately organise jobs like shopping and laundry during the week so that on Saturdays we literally have nowhere we need to go, and nothing we have to do.
Abandoning any hope of recovering the dream, I stretch to rouse myself to wakefulness, my flesh luxuriating in the sensual, soporific quietude of soul induced by the prospect of a whole day ahead filled with nothing but leisure and pleasure. A day without obligation. Ours to indulge. For only us.
It’s going to be a warm sunny day. The aromas of my boyfriend’s body fill my nostrils as I turn to look at him, laying asleep on his side, facing away from me, naked, with half the bedsheet twisted round his legs. My lover, my soulmate, my gorgeous kinky-ass boyfriend.
I place a hand ever so lightly on his back between his shoulder blades. I love the look of my very dark brown skin against his milky white skin. It excites me. He stirs slightly as I feel his soft flesh alive and warm to my touch. My hand smooths down his back, luxuriating in his supple, slender physique, coming to a rest on his hip.
I shift closer and begin kissing his back, moving my lips down from his shoulders, following the line of his spine, then around his taut waist, over the fine upward hip and back down to his silky smooth buttocks. His butt cheeks flutter as I plant thick kisses all over them.
Oh I could just so bite into that sweet juicy ass!
So I do exactly that.
Hard.
“Ow!” he yelps and jumps, turning his head round to scowl at me with a sleepy frown furrowing his brow. “That really hurt!”
“Good,” I tell him. “It was meant to.” I give the plump little buttock a really sharp smack that I know will sting.
“Ow!” he yells again. “Why are you being so mean?”
“Because you deserve it,” I tell him, and grab the sheet and pull it out from around his legs.
“Why? What have I done?”
“I don’t know yet,” I say, perusing his lily white body up and down. I need to make that sweetness suffer. I twist our sheet into a rope. “Now stop whining and put your arms above your head.”
He does what I tell him and I tie his wrists firmly together with the twisted bedsheet, securing them to the bedpost. He gives me a coy, almost helpless glance over his shoulder. I smack his bottom hard, repeatedly, so his white buttocks are glowing a rosy red around the deeper red of the teeth marks I left in the cheek I bit. Scrumptious. He thrusts his bottom out lasciviously at me. He knows what’s coming.
“You’re a dirty little slut,” I tell him. I turn to reach behind me into the middle drawer of the bedside cabinet. I pull out a tube of gel and my prized long, smooth, gold vibrator. He watches me intently over his shoulder as I spread gel along the sleek gold shaft. He can’t hide the glee in his eyes.
I snuggle back up closely behind him and smack his backside again so he jumps like the little slut he is. Then I smear some gel on his bum hole before beginning to push the sleek golden tip gently into his bottom. He squirms and moans as I penetrate him with the vibrator. I fuck him with it deeper and deeper, millimetre by millimetre. He loves it. He groans and pushes his bottom out to me and rocks his hips back and forth in rhythm with my probing. Oh just look at him writhing, offering his slinky White ass to be buggered by his horny Black lover. I keep attentively shafting that naughty bottom without turning on the vibrator for a good few minutes. The simple, sweet, delicate obscenity of doing my man like this is hypnotising. I love it. I love it!
I decide to escalate matters, and holding it still firmly up his arse, I twist the base of the shiny gold vibrator to switch it on. His eyes light up and I watch his face contort in sublime pleasure. Sliding my other arm beneath his neck, I clamp a hand over his mouth as I steadily push the vibrating gold rocket deeper into his bum. I feel his body tense then relax again as he surrenders to the pleasure. He groans wildly.
“That’s it,” I say into his ear, “moan for me, you little bitch!”
He’s gasping for air but I don’t release my grip over his mouth, making him pant excitedly through his nose. I peek over his waist to see his cock absolutely rock hard.
“Are you going to come?” I tease. “Are you going to come with my big golden cock up your slutty bottom? Bet you wish you could jerk yourself off while I fuck you. Look at you, hard as fuck for it, you filthy little slut!”
I’m giving him a deliciously tender, dirty shafting now. Rhythmically pushing in and out, nice and slow, deeper and deeper. He whimpers and wrestles weakly against my hold, his greedy bottom pushing appreciatively, hungrily, against my thrusts. For five minutes, maybe longer, I keep him dangling there in the thrall of unbearable pleasure, in a crazed kind of heaven. He’s writhing, panting, whining, taking it, giving himself up to my power. I mutter dirty-sweet everythings into his ear.
Then he grunts really loudly, and his whole body shudders and jolts vigorously, as if someone just flicked a switch.
“Is that it?” I ask in playful derision. “Right there? Is it that your sweet spot, my darling little cherub? Is it? Right there?” I’m pumping him with the golden shaft more quickly now, pressing it more firmly into that secret little trigger point I’ve found. I twist the base of the vibrator to change-up the speed and I keep driving into that sweet spot. I feel him break.
He’s trembling, shuddering, moaning, trance-like. Not quite with me anymore but at the same time thoroughly, essentially connected with every nuance of my touch. I’ve got him. He’s mine forever now. He melts in my arms, grunts and groans and then orgasms. Not the muscle-tensing, angst-packed desperation of a cock-pumping climax, but an altogether different, ethereal release, as if he’s swooping serenely through clouds of rapture, like I connected him with something cosmic, his whole being pulsating to the slow beat of a hidden transcendent song, an irresistible, soothing balm to the soul, lifting him up to be free of all his mortal constraints. In rippling spasms of ecstasy he gives everything up to me and his semen gushes freely like a waterfall from his hard, quivering cock.
“Oh fuck!” I yell excitedly. “Look at all that jizz!”
He’s trembling, drifting in my arms. I delicately withdraw
the golden rocket from his bottom and switch it off and place it onto a pile of
tissues. I kiss my lover’s forehead as I reach up to release his wrists. I lean
over him and dip my fingers into the cum on the bed. There’s so much of it.
“Oh my goodness!” I exclaim. “Get something hard up your boy twat and you just start spunking up all over the place don’t you? What a mucky slut!”
He smiles blissfully. I lick my fingers. His semen is sweet. He always shoots a sweet load. All the fresh fruit he eats.
I smack his arse. “Something to say?” I ask
“Thank you,” he murmurs. “Thank you so much. That was just incredible.”
I roll him over to face me and we cuddle with him lying dozing in my arm. I feel my snatch. Dripping wet. I can’t resist slipping a finger in. Mmmm, uh-huh, too damn nice. I softly pleasure myself, exulting in the invigorating aura of my sensual power over my good little slut, my dirty little pervert, my nasty, kinky little fucker. Waves of pleasure intensify throughout my body. I ruffle his thick brown hair. “Whose little slut are you?” I ask him.
“Yours,” he replies through his cosiness. “I’m your little slut, babe.”
“That’s right,” I tell him. “And don’t you ever forget it!” And with that I hear myself sigh as I cum in a hot, sweet little climax, trembling and gripping his neck in the crook of my arm so hard he cries out.
My grip on him eases as every fibre, every molecule, every nuance of my being relaxes into a cloud of tranquil hypnotic bliss. I keep drifting deeper and deeper and deeper until I awaken again a little later to find we both fell asleep again together. The sunlight pouring into the room is brighter now, thicker, warmer.
A second awakening to Saturday. How joyous is that? I shake him awake and tell him to fix me breakfast and I push him playfully out of bed with my feet until he falls off the edge. He loves me pushing him around, and it sure works for me. I think today I’ll make my good little slut wear out his tongue pleasuring my pussy for me. Oh I do so love Saturdays. Yeah, Saturdays are definitely the best.
