It happened years ago now, but the memory remains crystal clear in my mind.
The haze was caused as much by the 4 a.m. sodium light that glowed through cream calico curtain, as by the joy that fogged my brain. Joy at the supremely marvelous all-over fucking that had just happened. Or, more correctly, that was still happening, but having a short break for breath, air, water and silent, smiling reflection on both our parts.
We’d been together almost constantly since the previous morning, wrapped up, in and around each other. We’d walked together, hands tightly clasped as if magnetized, shoulders bumping whenever possible. As if we had to reassure ourselves that we were both actually there, together. We’d sat over Italian food, discussing Pink Floyd and other sundry matters. Grinning like maniacs, eyes locked, focused only on each other.
The rest of the universe had faded into muted submission. I’d felt as though I could never be any happier. And in truth, for the longest time, i wasn’t.
We’d been making wild, passionate and utterly perverted love since early that morning. We’d had a brief break while I stepped out for a business meeting for a couple of hours, and he regrouped. (Read: napped peacefully.)
He’d fucked my face, my cunt and my ass, over and over. He’d tasted, licked and sucked nearly every inch of me, alternately caressing my breasts, and pinching my nipples, with the ocassional playful slap for good measure. I’d ridden him cowgirl, and achieved an earth-shaking splashing orgasm of the intensity that happens so rarely, but is remembered eternally.
Now we lay, in an orange-bathed haze, panting quietly and lying contentedly side by side. I closed my eyes for a moment and awoke half an hour later to see his head propped up on his elbowed hand, regarding me intently.
“Can’t you sleep?” i croak, amazed that it is I, and not he, who succumbed.
“I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to miss a moment of being with you.”
I smile wickedly, ever the evil minx, even at 4.30 am.
“Well, if you plan to remain awake, don’t you think that you should, at the very least, be occupied?”
He looks at me, and a slow smile of understanding spreads across his face.
“You want me to clean you, don’t you?”
I blush, the last remaining vestiges of my good-girl exterior getting the better of me. I incline my head to indicate yes, but he won’t let me off that easily.
“You want it? You’ll have to ask for it. Go on.” And he laughs that gorgeous throaty chuckle that captivates me every time.
“Clean me,” I whisper softly.
His voice takes on a sing-song tone, and his eyes mock me gently. “What was that? I didn’t quite catch it…?”
Fully awake now, I rise to the challenge.
“Lick me clean, please. Lick my cunt clean. The cunt you just filled. Clean me.”
And I lie back and surrender myself to the orange glow, that resonates inside the room, and inside my mind, as he does just that.