Silent Signals: A Night of Need

I stirred as he reached for me in his sleep, the scent of sandalwood clinging to his skin. Wrapped in his arms, my back pressed against his chest, it was impossible for me to drift back into oblivion. Just the subtle brush of our naked flesh ignited an immediate, deep ache within me, a primal yearning that resonated through my entire being. The Alaskan spring air was crisp, carrying the promise of wildflowers and damp earth, but the warmth radiating from his body was a far more potent force.

I knew how desperately he needed his rest, a much-anticipated vasectomy looming large on the calendar for Monday. Eight and a half years had passed since he’d last felt the familiar sting of my pussy, a chasm of longing that had grown ever deeper with each passing day. So, when a playful, rhythmic butt-wiggling and low grunts failed to elicit a response, I stilled my body, forcing my muscles to relax, to surrender to the anticipation. Yeah, right.

As his breathing deepened, settling into a steady, rhythmic snore, I gently eased myself out of his embrace, seeking a moment of solitude before returning. By the time I found my way back, he had rolled over again, burying his face in the pillow. I settled back down, letting the exhaustion of the day wash over me, a temporary respite from the constant yearning.

Not an hour passed before his fingers, calloused and strong, tangled in my hair, drawing my face towards his. Eyes closed, he caressed me clumsily, a comforting roughness that belied the passionate fire beneath. I leaned into his touch, murmuring a soft groan, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure. "If you're going to keep doing this, you're going to have to take what you want."

He gave a languid stretch, a low rumble escaping his lips. "I was just waiting to see if anything interesting existed in this world..." he mumbled, a hint of mischief in his voice.

I chuckled, the sound a little breathless. "You're so asleep!" But the thought persisted, a desperate need to feel his touch, his heat, his dominance. I had to have him.

With a decisive movement, I threw the covers back, exposing him to the cool Alaskan spring night air. His member, firm and erect, emerged from his trousers, a beacon of desire in the darkness. I enveloped it in my hands, drawing him closer, and began to suck with a fierce, possessive delight. He groaned, shuddered, and drifted toward consciousness as I worked over him, each stroke a step closer to the brink. Every four or five strokes, I buried my nose and chin in his abdomen, shaking my head back and forth, rubbing the head of his penis against the back of my throat. The sensation was both stimulating and deeply intimate, a connection that bypassed reason and went straight to the core of my being.

As his erection grew, he grasped the back of my head, pulling me further into his embrace, and helped me thrust my face deeper into my throat. My soft gagging, a small act of submission, seemed to delight him. I heard him moan, a guttural sound of pure pleasure, “Fuck, Felicia.”

I sat up, eager, ready to fulfill my needs. “Yes, please!” I agreed, my voice thick with anticipation. “Fuck Felicia!”

I pulled him back into our earlier spooned position, feeling the familiar comfort of his warmth against my skin. I guided him to my entrance, my body trembling with a potent mix of anticipation and excitement. He surged into me, pounding me with a force that sent shivers through my entire being. And I pushed back, matching his intensity, voicing my pleasure with guttural cries that echoed in the room.

There was no hesitation, no pause. The pump was primed, and I let out a burst of white noise, a primal release that was both exhilarating and slightly terrifying. Five minutes later, we were both drenched in sweat and squirt, clinging to each other in a sweaty, breathless embrace.

We paused, catching our breath, before he flopped onto his back, his body heavy with exhaustion and pleasure. As I moved toward him again, he directed my head back toward his crotch, a silent invitation to continue.

I gave him a few slurps, savoring the taste of his arousal, the salty tang of my own pleasure. "Mmm, I do taste good!" I whispered, a self-satisfied smirk playing on my lips. But then I pulled off, straddling him, impaling myself on his shaft.

“I love to suck you, you know that. But I’ll get to do that a lot next week. In only two days, you aren’t going to want this,” I bounced up and down once, a playful challenge in my voice, “for a while.”

Then I rode him like a wild stallion, clinging to his legs, feeling the raw power of his body beneath me. When my knees started complaining, I tried something new. I leaned back, bracing my hands on his thighs, my feet firmly planted on the bed. My hips lifted off him, creating a space between us, a thrilling sense of dominance.

“Buck,” I encouraged, a low growl in my voice, as he complied with my desire, piercing my hot slit. The sensation was both intense and overwhelming, a surge of pleasure that left me gasping for air.

The head of his cock was aimed right at my g-spot, and he hammered it, a relentless assault that brought me to the edge of oblivion. His belly was flooded with each stroke, a testament to his dedication. When his energy lagged, I dropped to my knees and took over again, asserting my dominance.

But I was tiring, too. Soon, I was just balanced atop him, hugging him with my vagina walls, feeling the heat of his body radiating through my clothes. I humped to rub his glans against my clit, seeking a final release, hoping he had recovered enough to relieve me of duty.

“I really want you to fuck the piss out of me, but I don’t want to make a bigger wet spot,” I said, a playful demand in my voice.

“Well, get your love blanket.”

I grabbed the purple throw, fuzzy side up, and tucked it under us, creating a soft, inviting barrier between us. Then I knelt on all fours, pushing my ass up towards him, my hands gripping the edge of the mattress.

He rose up behind me, entering me with a force that made me gasp. Grunting, he thrust at full speed and maximum draw, an unrelenting assault on my senses. As the head of his corona passed over my saturated ‘female prostate’ with each stroke, he pushed me closer and closer to another climax.

Then, suddenly, he stopped. Just stopped.

I was floored. “No,” I whimpered, tears welling up in my eyes. My body tried its best to re-engage, but he wasn’t having it. The abrupt halt left me feeling vulnerable, exposed, desperate.

Gripping my hips, he held me firmly against him, refusing to let go. “Please,” I whispered, pleading with him, “I need to fuck you. Let me fuck you.” I tried again to bump against him, but he held me fast, his grip unyielding.

“Please!” Louder this time, my voice laced with desperation. “Please, I’ve got to fuck you.” If he didn’t let me move soon, I was sure I’d cry.

YES! Praise God!

Now he returned to action, and I gave as good as I got. White-knuckling the piping on the mattress, I rammed my cunt onto his cock with everything in me. My cries crescendoed as he pulled out, a triumphant roar echoing in the room. I came and I came and I came, everywhere, a torrent of pleasure that left me breathless and spent.

He collapsed on my sweat-covered back, panting, his body shaking with exhaustion and satisfaction. “Ugh! You squirted. Right on my cock head. Just as I came. That was so – Hot!”

“That was torture! When you held me still like that!” I griped at him, a hint of playful accusation in my voice. But then I smiled, a slow, knowing curve of my lips. Of course, he wouldn't leave me hanging. And that was an amazing orgasm.

I hope he does it again….

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