tagRomanceMy Sunday With You Part 2

My Sunday With You Part 2


Our Sunday has begun with you awakening me, not with love’s first kiss, but by hungrily sucking on my cock. This leads us into the perfect way to begin any day, a playful romp that culminates with a thunderous climax for us both. Now, while you relax, I go in search of the next two components of a perfect Sunday: coffee and the Sunday paper.

* * * * *

I walk naked into the kitchen, grumbling about being demoted from stud to houseboy. The day outside is dark with the temperature somewhere in the teens. The forecast is for snow later. More shoveling and scraping in store for me, no doubt. Oh, joy. But not today, I muse as the coffee maker gurgles happily and the first few drops of coffee splash into the pot. Today is for other things.

While the aroma of Irish Crème fills the room, I head towards the front door. The blast of arctic air that greets me when I open it threatens to suck my ball sac into my lower intestines. Even more depressing, the paperboy has missed the porch by a good ten feet. Again. I shrug my shoulders and slip into my boots.

Yes, real men get the paper naked.

I silently curse the paperboy as I step into the yard, hoping that one morning he’ll bump into Hannibal Lecter on his route. The bushes are high, so I’m not worried about prying neighbors. I grab the paper (at least he remembered to put it in a bag this time!) and discover one of the odd realities about cold air. My nipples are now larger and harder than my penis.

Back in the house, I flavor two mugs of steaming coffee and carry them into the bedroom, the paper tucked neatly under my arm. I walk to the edge of the bed and face you. When you don’t stir, I lift my arm and let the paper drop onto the bed. You open your eyes, staring directly at my now miniscule penis.

“Oh, my God!” Your eyes widen. “Did I kill it?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I had a little accident with the paper.”

“The paper did that?”

“Yeah. But look!” I point the mugs at my nipples. “Now you can fuck these instead.”

“Oh, Madonna!” You giggle. “I love it!” You look back down at my cock and purse your lips. “This simply won’t do. I have plans for you, little man!” You lean forward and flick your tongue back and forth. Like a groundhog seeking its shadow, my cock head pops forward, bright and glistening. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.” This time you open your mouth and press your lips flat against my pubic hair. Your tongue swirls around me rapidly and it’s all I can do to keep from spilling the coffee.

My cock swells in your mouth, and as you pull your head back, revealing more and more turgid, gleaming flesh, the effect is that of a master magician. Once again, my mind recalls an association from long ago (“Hey, Rocky! Watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat!”). By the time your lips are clear, my erection bobs in front of your face like a diving board. You smile at your handiwork.

“If you keep that up, you’ll be wearing this coffee instead of drinking it.”

You look up and notice the mugs for the first time. “Well, it’s about time!” You shake your head. “The nerve of you, to keep me waiting like that.” I hand you a mug and you inhale the aroma. “Oooh, Kahlua! What, are you trying to get me drunk so you can have your way with me?”

“No,” I say, lifting my knee onto the bed. “I figure at some point you’ll fall asleep and I’ll get some rest. Scoot over.”

The next hour or so is spent in pleasant comfort, reading the paper and sipping our java, as the day gradually takes shape around us. There is no strain in our relationship, even in silence. The warmth of your body pressing against mine, the way that you laugh at the funnies or frown at the editorials, the touch of your hand as it playfully tugs at the small tufts of hair around my navel; all of these things form part of an unspoken and continual dialog between us.

My stomach rumbles loud enough for us both to hear it.

“Another country heard from,” you murmur when our laughter subsides. “So, what are you going to make us?”

“Me? And just why is it my job to make breakfast?” I glance at the alarm clock. “Well, brunch now, technically, but still – “

You lean over to me and squeeze my balls. “Because,” you whisper wetly in my ear, “if you do, I’ll suck your cock again.” You milk my cock gently with your hand. “I might even let you come in my mouth.”

“So, what do you want?” I ask, barking my shin on the nightstand as I hustle out of bed.

“I don’t know. Surprise me.” You yawn and stretch contentedly, your muscles bunching under smooth, milky skin. Winter, I reflect, looks good on you. Combined with your wild, dark mane of hair, the effect is that of a lioness relaxing after a fresh kill. Like the untamed Queen of Beasts, you are beautiful, dangerous, arousing and never, ever to be taken for granted.

“One surprise coming up.” I hesitate a moment. “Of course, this means dinner is your responsibility.”

“Oh, really.” You finish stretching and roll onto your back, lying sideways across the bed. Your head slips just past the edge and dangles there, facing me upside down. “And just what do I get for agreeing to that mundane little chore?”

I crouch down next to you, sliding my hand under your neck and lifting your head to mine. “Tongue lashings,” I breathe softly. A drop of saliva rolls to the tip of my tongue and I massage it into your lips. “Multiple tongue lashings.”

You clap your hands and giggle. “Oh, goody!”

The truth is that breakfast – or, in this case, brunch – is one of my favorite meals and one I don’t mind fixing at all. In no time, I am rummaging through the fridge for ingredients and banging pans on the stove. The cheddar has been grated, the Canadian bacon is just starting to sizzle and I’m cubing some of the melon when I sense your presence behind me. Seconds later, I feel your fingers lightly brush my buttocks.

“You know,” I say without looking at you, “you really should be careful how you approach a person with a sharp object in his hands.” Your touch becomes bolder and I can feel the warmth of your breast against my arm.

“Well,” you chuckle, “I was just wondering if your ass felt as good as it looks.”

“And does it?”

“Oh, yeah.” You squeeze my cheek and then give it a slap. “That’s some nice ass you got there, Felix.”

“Thank you. The boys in the cell block will be pleased.”

You laugh and say, “Now that you mention it, that’s something I’ve always wondered about.” You slip behind me and now your breasts are like soft pillows with diamond points as they press against my back. Your bristly pubes squirm between my ass cheeks and your hands target my nipples with grasping fingers. “Is this what it feels like to get fucked?” Your hips thrust forward, grinding me against the counter.

I carefully set the knife down and press backwards, wiggling my ass. “Not exactly. I think something’s missing.”

One hand reaches down and strokes my now fully erect cock. Your fingers discover the pre-come oozing from my cock head and slather me with it. “Oooooh! Hey, Mikey! I think he likes it!” You give my nipple a hard pinch, making me wince. “Should I go get my strap-on?”

Your dueling fingers make it hard for me to concentrate. “At this rate,” I manage, “the brunch will be ruined.” After a moment, your fingers ease up.

“Oh, you’re no fun.” I feel another slap, harder this time. “Cute butt, though.” The pressure on my backside eases and I start to relax. As I reach for the knife, the pressure returns, even harder than before. This time your hand slips between my legs to cup my balls. “Wait a minute.” Your breath is hot in my ear. “How do you know what it feels like to get fucked? Is there something you haven’t told me?”

I surprise myself by blushing. “Well, I was in the Army.” Your fingers tickle my ball sac, squeezing just hard enough not to hurt. “Once or twice, that is. I mean…oh, all right. It was dark, he was cute and he smelled good. Okay? But it wasn’t serious. He never even gave me his phone number.” You tighten your grip and then let go. Your fingers scrape lightly over the sensitive flesh between my balls and my anus.

“You liar,” you say. “If some guy tried to split these cheeks with a loaded dick, you’d shit cupcakes, wouldn’t you?”

I sigh. “You know me too well.”

“Now me, on the other hand.” Your voice drops to a whisper. “Well, I might just like it.” I close my eyes as your fingers continue to play with the hairs between my ass cheeks. Finally, your hand pulls away and, giving me a last swat, you say, “Hey, Popeye. You’re burning the bacon.”

With the warmth of your body heat gone, the cool air rushes over me, raising goose flesh. I open my eyes and I find myself staring at my cock, leaking pre-come on the edge of the counter. I grab an apron, muttering to myself, “It’s her own damn fault if it stains”, before tackling the spitting bacon. Shortly after, I resume cubing the fruit.

A quarter of an hour later, mugs refilled, I walk into the bedroom laden with full trays. To my chagrin, the television is on and you are catching up on your soaps. You hardly glance at me when I set the tray down; instead you pick up the fork and begin shoveling food into your mouth, your eyes never leaving the screen. I debate about making a comment before deciding against it. Long ago, we reached a truce regarding our TV viewing habits. I agreed not to question your emotional maturity for watching the daily soaps and you agreed not to doubt my intellect for liking Xena.

Of course, having watched Dark Shadows as a teen, I know just how addictive soaps can be and I’ve admitted as much to you. In fact, I told you once, if they’d only allow those gorgeous women to get naked once in awhile and throw in some hardcore sex, I’d watch them with you. You just smirked and replied that I didn’t get it at all. When I pressed you about it, you just pointed to your heart and said that if it didn’t touch you there, all the swinging dicks in the world wouldn’t make you watch it.

For now, I content myself with finishing the sports section of the paper and satisfying my empty stomach. The food disappears from my tray in rapid order. Laying aside the tray, I settle myself more comfortably under the covers. Before long, the sounds of the TV recede and I fall asleep.

When I awake, the room is silent. I’m not sure how much time has passed but from the amount of light in the room, I can’t have been out for long. Half an hour, maybe. The trays have been removed and the covers pulled back. And for the second time today, my cock is taking a bath in the succulent depths of your mouth.

You realize that I’m awake and you lift your head to look up at me. “Just having some dessert.” You smile, a mixture of saliva and pre-come dotting your chin. “Go back to sleep if you want.” I shake my head. Your tongue snakes out, rimming my mushroom shaped helmet. I groan and lean my head back as your mouth engulfs me once again.

Twice in one day, I think, to wake up to this. What an idea for an alarm clock! My mind whirls in a kind of delirium and I can hear the salesperson say, “Would you like the ‘spit’ or the ‘swallow’ model? And for just five dollars more, we have the deluxe, deep throat model. Guaranteed not to gag, or your money back!”. Your finger massages the flesh just under my ball sac and I groan again, louder this time. Almost without thought, I begin thrusting up into your mouth and your answer is to increase suction.

Once, not long after we’d become intimate, you’d confided to me that there were times when sucking a cock satisfied you almost as much as a good fucking. And during those times, the circumstances and the inherent power in the act would combine to bring you to orgasm without a single touch.

I remember you following this confession by looking at me with a lopsided grin and asking if this qualified you as a slut. I replied with sincerity that it didn’t, but admitted that if word of it ever got out, you’d never lack for a date on a Saturday night. We both laughed and I wondered aloud if you’d ever find the satisfaction you needed with just one person. You stared at me for a moment before resting your head on my chest and I barely heard you whisper, “Yes.”

I’m thrusting harder now, in part because I can’t help myself and also because I know it’s what you want. It won’t be long now before the cock you teased so unmercifully in the kitchen explodes in your mouth in a torrent of come. I raise my head; this is one finale I don’t want to miss. Your face gleams with a sheen of light perspiration. My legs start to spasm and my movements grow more frantic and clumsy. In contrast, your actions remain sure and skillful.

Your hand grasps the base of my cock with light and steady fingers. Your mouth absorbs the erratic rhythm of my strokes with a shallow suction that hollows your cheeks. And under my ball sac, your knuckles ride my tender ridge like a rolling pin, flushing the boiling jets of semen from their hiding place. At the last second your eyes lift to mine, savoring the giddy expression of joy on my face.

And then the first thick, syrupy missile erupts onto your tongue.

At the moment of orgasm, each sensation is one of exquisite torture. Le Petit Mort, the French call it. The Little Death. My cock begins to squirt like a runaway fire hose and your movements slow down and elongate, isolating the convulsive spasms into intimate explosions of infinite duration. Long, ropey spurts fill your mouth as your suction eases me deeper into your throat. Each blast thunders in time with my heartbeat.

All too quickly my tempest subsides and I am brought back to reality. I start to soften and you lay your head on my stomach, holding me encased in your liquid warmth. My chest continues to thump erratically and I wonder if this is what a heart attack feels like. You groan as I lift your head from my loins and pull you up to lie alongside me. My knee slides between your legs, pressing against your engorged sheath. I kiss you tenderly, relishing the spice of my seed mixed with your tongue.

We shift positions; now you are on your back with my head resting between your breasts. It surprises me that your heart pounds very much like my own and I remember your words from before. And I realize now what I should have known all along; that your climax has nothing to do with the act itself. It has to do with your depth of feeling. Your words had been meant to tell me, in the safest way you knew, just how much you had come to care for me and how vulnerable it made you.

And being a typical male, I’d missed it completely.

I plant a kiss on the soft layer of skin that protects your loving heart. I follow it with another kiss just below your rib cage. Slowly, my mouth paints a trail down your stomach. My tongue jabs at your belly button and you giggle. Your fragrance is getting strong now, an intoxicating aroma that lures me into the wiry tangle of your matted bush. I lift my head and pause for a moment, allowing you to unravel your legs from mine and shift your hips into a more comfortable position. I grab a pillow and slide it under the small of your back.

I slip now between your legs, my hands supporting your buttocks. I stare at your hidden treasure, now moist and open, awaiting my kiss. Your lips are full and pouting and your clitoris seems to throb in anticipation. I inhale deeply and sigh before covering your swollen hood with my mouth. My tongue lashes out, light as a feather, and your moan delights me.

“Ooooh!” Your hips buck at my touch. I flatten my tongue and slide it down the length of your slit. “Oh yes! Mmmm!” With deliberate and careful swipes, my tongue anoints your holy altar. Hard, it probes your depths like a miniature cock; soft and curved, it laps at your folds like a silken brush. Your fingers clutch at the strands of my hair, grinding my face against your pubis.

Your breathing is getting ragged and each time my tongue nears your clit it causes your hips to spasm. Not yet, I think. By controlling the pace and following your cues, I’m able to back off each time you start to go over the edge. Your moans become more insistent and interspersed with mewls of pleasure you plead with me to let you come.

“Yes! That’s it! Right the- Oh, Please, don’t stop!” I lift my head, my mouth and chin glazed with your juices. Your eyes glare at me, desperate and pleading. My sudden smile must seem wicked to you.

“Roll over.”

You stare at me, lost in your need for release and for a few moments I’m not sure if you’ll do it. Gradually, however, a smile dances at the corner of your lips and you shift your body weight. Then your pearly, rounded ass cheeks are swaying lazily before me. I run my hands over them, squeezing the soft flesh. I give one a playful slap and you wiggle your hips, moaning into the pillow. I kiss first one cheek and then the other, letting my hand slide lightly between them. You tense at this first caress of your asshole. I remember your words from the kitchen.

Now me, on the other hand…well, I might just like it.

My head dips forward and at the same moment my mouth fastens on your puckered anus, I shove three fingers into your sopping pussy.

The pillow muffles your scream as you come in a gush, washing over my fingers and trailing down your legs. Your legs quiver and your chest heaves as the pent up force of your orgasm hits like a sledgehammer. I continue working my fingers in and out of your wet cunt while my tongue rims your little brown button. I raise my mouth quickly and my thumb slips inside your asshole, using your come to massage the tight inner ring.

I pull my fingers from your dripping pussy as my thumb wedges into your asshole past the first knuckle. Moving behind you, I slide my cock into your open pussy in one smooth thrust. Your head comes off the pillow. “Yes! Oh, God! Fuck me hard!” I start pounding you, long, rhythmic strokes that ram deep inside you. My thumb is all the way into your anus now.

You brace your arms and shoulders on the bed and slam your ass back against me, matching me stroke for stroke. “Yes, dammit! Give it to me!” My hand strikes your ass cheek; a stinging slap that leaves my palm print outlined in pink. “Yes!” I slap your cheek a second time and again you cry out, wriggling your ass for more.

Dimly, I become aware that we have crossed some threshold of desire and intensity; that our groans of passion are now sounding more like grunts of animal lust. And even as the realization sinks in that we have entered into the realm of Caveman Sex, I know that there is only one thought on both of our minds.

More. Give me more.

I wrench my cock from your pussy and, coating it with as much of your slick juice as I can, I place it against your asshole and shove. Despite the efforts of my thumb earlier, the puckered ring widens grudgingly. My bulbous head disappears and your cry is louder than before – so loud that I pause, fearing that I’ve hurt you.

“Wait!” you cry. The cords on your neck are standing out. “Oh, Jesus, I think you’re gonna split me in half!”

I start to pull out. “Do you want me to-“

“Stop! Don’t pull out! Just wait! Let me get used to it.” You take a couple of deep breaths and then push back against me and I slip in a little further. “Okay.” Your voice is calmer now, less shrill. “Now, just take it easy for a minute.” Slowly, my cock inches forward. “Wait!” I pause until I feel your pressure once more and then I gingerly continue feeding my cock into your asshole.

The sensation is different than fucking your lush pussy; tighter and yet less clingy somehow. My cock is flushed a deep, crimson red and it looks enormous as it hides between your milky cheeks. Finally, the shaft disappears and I’m buried to the hilt. After a moment, I let my cock slide back, leaving only the thick head inside. Forward again, until my balls gently slap the juicy folds of your cunt. “Oh, fuck!” you moan. “I thought I was full before!”

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