A Dozen Red Roses

We hadn’t seen each other for a month.

And I was skittish and excitable with all the stresses of setting up my new business. It was hard to relax, especially when I was so excited about seeing him again.

But not in a sexual way. Sure, I wanted him naked. And in my bed with his arms around me. My security blanket. My sanctuary. Making me feel warm and safe and calm.

When I arrived home, he was waiting. I had had a long day and I kept him at arm’s length to start with. And he knew it, respecting my space and allowing me time to relax. To stop repressing Joanna and make the transition from the every-day me to the siren that is Ruf’s lover.

Helping myself to a cup of pau d’arco and a square of chocolate, we retired to the bedroom, kicked off our shoes and just relaxed fully-clothed on the bed. He to recover from his long train journey and me to wait for the stresses of the day to evaporate in the steam of my brew.

This time, this transition took the longest it ever has. I had not realised just how much my rushing around and frantic typing over the last few weeks had affected my ability to relax. I seem to have been working on hyperdrive for so long that it took forever for the adrenalin to dissipate.

So, we just chatted about the events of the intervening weeks, I remember I got very enthusiastic about a new yoga posture to which I had been introduced and which was extremely beneficial for those of us who get ‘computer back’. You know that stiffness between the shoulder blades caused by sitting at the computer or hunched over the laptop for too long? But I digress…

Although, I’m not really. Because that was when Ruf just scooped me up and started kissing me. He just loves my enthusiasm for some of life’s simpler pleasures. And I just love his kisses. Slow, deliberate, gentle explorations of my oral cavity until I have to suck on his tongue just to gain a bit of respite and regain a modicum of control.

But, of course, by that time it was too late. I had already lost the majority of my clothes and his hands just took over from his pinioned tongue. Before he tore himself away and did what he had always intended – buried his head between my legs.

Except that it was not the same. Instead of going with the grain along the length of my exposed clit, he positioned himself at an angle and proceeded to stroke his tongue across it, fluttering and feathery alternating with firm and precise. Delighting in my squeals of pleasure and the accompanying liquidity of my nether regions, he watched my cunt go from palest pink petals to the crimson redness of a Valentine’s rose as it came at his behest.

Laughing, he came up for air and kisses, I love licking myself off his face and, today, it was especially sweet. He commented on it being the best he’d ever tasted. I suddenly realised that my current penchant for home-baked flapjacks made with vanilla and sesame seeds could well be responsible for more than one delicious moment on the tongue.

And then it was back to the business in hand as he dragged me over to the edge of the bed and stood between my legs. His hands assumed my favourite position, two fingers deep insde me, gently stroking the spongy area of my G Spot, the rhythm growing ever faster until his palm heel was hitting my clit and pressing down. Keeping his whole hand in contact he began to rub. Hard and fast, back and forth, maintaining the pressure upon both my clit and my G Spot until my hands gripped his shoulders convulsively. Half-upright, half reclined, I could hear the juices squelching and trickling as a torrent ran down his wrist and forearm, soaking the duvet beneath.

Not satisfied, he did it again. And again. Until I was damp and wretched and rung out like a rag. Wiping my effluvia over my face and into my hair, he had no mercy, only more tricks up his sleeve as he pushed himself inside me. The mere act of entering resulted in another paroxysm of pleasure before I realised that something unusual was occurring.

He had withdrawn and, holding his cock about half-way down its length, carefully pulled back the foreskin before lowering his grasp and gripping the little man firmly so that it increased the bulk above his fist, pushed it all back inside me. The effect of his grasp and the change of penile shape and dimension seemed to push the top of his cock onto the most sensitive of spots inside me. The results were staggering as I gasped and shrieked from one orgasm to the next counting out loud.

Looking down he could see my pussy laid out before him, with my legs spread to achieve the optimum position for orgasm facilitation. When my tally reached six, the whole area resembled a big blowsy red rose at that moment just before the petals start to fall, its structure loose and open with each swollen petal expanded almost to that point beyond which it cannot maintain its form.

But he was still not finished and I wanted him close to me. He picked me up bodily and shunted me further onto the bed before my arms reached out and pulled him in. Naked and sweaty, his skin cleaving to mine as he drove into me once more, teasing out the final two before his own climax gripped him vocally and, exiting sharply, a week’s worth of semen spurted out over my belly with such force that it sprayed my face and deposited globules in my already sticky hair.

He flopped down across the bed beside me with a very satisfied grin on his face.

‘Twelve, huh?’

And that’s when I knew what I would be writing about for Valentine’s Day!

Let’s just hope that, by the time you read this, he will have repeated the experience for our first Valentine’s Day together as a proper couple.

Hope you all have a good day! x