My Sunday with You Part 3

Following brunch, you have opted for a special dessert by once again sucking on my cock, this time bringing me to a sweet explosion in your loving mouth. Instead of dampening my lustful urges for you, this only serves as a springboard for a first time, rough and tumble bout of anal sex. Now, as the afternoon sun starts to set, you are probably thinking that our relationship can’t get any better (or hotter) than it already is. But about that, you couldn’t be more wrong.

* * * * *

It’s later now; from the amount of darkness in the room it must be late afternoon. My mind lurches with a mental vertigo that is common for me when I awake from a hard nap. The warmth of your body snuggled against mine brings me back to here and now. The earlier events of the day begin to roll through my mind; a highlight reel of lust and love that quickens my pulse as I relive it.

You moan softly in your sleep. Your head thrashes on the pillow and your legs tense, your bottom urgent against my loins. A moment later you relax, burrowing deeper into the blankets. My hand is trapped neatly between your cushy breasts and your heart beats a quiet tom-tom on the tips of my fingers. I raise my head up to gaze at you in the waning light.

The waning sunlight is harsh as it bathes your face. Casting you in its cold relief, there’s no hiding the lines and marks of care that living has chiseled on you. But through it all, your face retains softness and a child-like quality that I find most endearing. In repose, you look now much as you must have looked as a child. Sweet, gentle and very, very lovely.

I love to watch you sleep. I don’t think I could explain to you the comfortable feeling I get when I see you at rest like this, your body spooned with mine, the warmth of your skin radiating through me like the summer sun. It’s only at times like this that I can truly relax, knowing that you’re safe and we’re together, and that, for this moment at least, all is right with the world.

I lower my head and kiss you on the cheek. I linger there, breathing in your natural perfume. Your scent reminds me of a gardenia, subtle yet powerful, and laced with promise. Your eyelids flicker and you stir. For a few seconds, you struggle with the same sense of disorientation as I had. Then, your arm tightens around mine and your body lengthens in a contented stretch.

“Mmmm,” you hum softly. This is followed almost immediately by a groan. “Ohhh my God!” You wince as the muscles in the back of your thighs and buttocks clench. You turn your head enough to look at me, your eyes a question. “My memory seems to be failing me. Was I hit by a truck earlier today?”

I chuckle, sliding my hand down to caress your soft flank. “No,” I reply, “but I guess you could say you took a couple of heavy loads.”

“Ooooh,” you groan again. “Wide loads are more like it.” You roll onto your stomach, your ass cheeks quivering under my hand. “God, I’m not sure I can walk and I don’t even want to think about sitting right now.”

“Awww,” I can’t help the grin that splits my face. “What’s the matter? Did horsey play a little too rough for you?”

Your answering chuckle has a serrated edge to it. “Look, Pocahontas. I’ve got a friend named Leroy who’d be glad to bend you over a sofa and play tonsil-hockey from the

back

side, so be nice.”

I manage a bad lisp. “Oh, you are such a tease!” You groan once more, lowering your face into the pillow. I stare at you for a few seconds and when I speak again, my voice is quiet and serious. “You know, for a moment there, I thought I’d really hurt you.”

You lift your head and the darkness prevents me from reading your expression. Finally, you say, “For a moment, you did. But once you were inside me and I was able to relax a little, it felt good. Really good. And then when you pulled my hair…I don’t know that I’ve ever had an orgasm like that. It was like a series of fireworks, exploding one after the other, draining all the energy from me. It felt wonderful. But now…”

“Maybe,” I lean down and run my tongue around your earlobe, “you just need a little more practice and then you won’t be so sore afterwards.”

“Hmmm.” I take that as a yes and continue bussing your ear, alternately sucking and licking the tender lobe. Your stomach issues a low rumble and I stop.

“Oh, shit,” you say.

“Not likely,” I answer and we both laugh. When we’re both under control again, I continue, “Last time it was my stomach announcing meal time and now it’s yours. Fitting, no?”

“No! Not when I have to make it.” Your voice turns pleading. “You’re not going to hold me to that, are you?”

“Yes, I am. But I do think a quick shower is in order first. Deal?”

“Deal. Now, if you’ll just pick me up and carry me to the shower…”

“Not on your tin-type, young lady.” I throw the covers back and give your ass a quick kiss before rolling off the bed. “Last one there loses out on the hot water!” With that, I pad quickly into the bathroom.

The deliciously hot water is coursing over me when I feel the rush of cool air as you open the door. “Hey, slowpoke!” I growl. “Don’t let all the warm air out!” You say nothing but the door shuts, trapping the steam inside with us. As I begin lathering my hair, the curtain parts and you step into the shower. I feel something cold and hard press against my butt cheeks.

“Bend over.”

“No way, baby.” My eyes are closed and I’m not sure what you’ve got aimed at my bottom. “We had this conversation before. My asshole is a dick-free zone, remember?”

“Yeah, but I want you to know what it feels like.” Your fingers spread my cheeks and there is a sudden, sharp stab at my anus.

“Oww!” I turn quickly, opening my eyes. You step back, laughing. In your hand is a plastic bottle. I stare at you, wincing as the shampoo runs unheeded into my eyes. “You’re going to fuck me with a bottle of shower gel?”

“Oh, you big baby.” You open the bottle and squirt gel onto your hand. “This bottle top isn’t half as big as what you shoved into my ass. C’mere, you big wuss.” You start soaping my cock and balls with the gel. I lean my head back and rinse the remaining shampoo from my hair and face.

“Maybe not,” I say as you work your way up my stomach. “But with my luck, you’d get the damn thing stuck in my ass and I’d end up in the emergency room.”

You step next to me, rubbing your breasts over my soapy skin. “Yeah.” Your lips brush against my chin. “But think of how clean you’d be.” I kiss you, first lightly and then harder as your arms slide around my waist. I spin you around and then the water is cascading over us like a waterfall. My cock hardens between us and you playfully rub it with your belly, teasing me. In all the time I’ve known you, your kiss has never failed to produce an instant, raging hard-on.

I lift your leg and my cock slips into your silky crevice. Suddenly, you stiffen and push me hard; my purple head popping free like an angry jack in the box.

“Ouch!” Your cry breaks our kiss. Your face is pinched, your lips drawn tight to your teeth. “I guess I’m in worse shape than I thought.” Your hand pats my dick gently.

“Down, Simba,” you sigh, “I think mommy’s had enough for one day.” You kiss me again, your eyes searching mine for signs of disappointment. Finally, you smile and turn to face the stinging spray. “But as long as you’re here,” your hand squishies your hair down the front of your shoulder, “could you do my back?”

I rub the gel onto my hands and start lathering your back. My cock is poking you in the ass cheek so I step back and my fingers accidentally dig into the soft muscle above your shoulder blade. You moan loudly and I stop, asking if you’re all right.

“Yes.” Your voice competes with the roar of the shower. “Just sore all over, I guess.”

I resume washing your back, keeping my fingers light and gentle. An idea begins to form in the back of my mind. I’m soaping the small of your back, just edging into the swell of your buttocks, when you stop me.

“Okay, big fella,” you say, turning around, “I’ll take it from here.” I rub my soapy hands under your milky globes and tweak your nipples with my thumbs. You lash at me with your wet hair. “Behave!”

I hold my hands up in defeat, letting the shower spray rinse the remaining soap from them. I blow you a kiss and step out of the shower. Though the air in the bathroom is thick with steam, it’s still several degrees cooler than the water. I towel myself briskly; thinking of June, open windows and soft, summer breezes. I’m working on my hair when the curtain rattles behind me.

“Hey?” Your disembodied head sticks through the small opening. “You’re not upset, are you?” You glance down at my cock, still semi-hard and shiny with precum. “I mean, it’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that I’m so – “ I stop you, pressing my fingers gently to your lips.

“No, I’m not upset.” Your eyes narrow with suspicion. “Really, I’m not.” And besides, now I’ve got other plans. I grin. “Right now I’m more interested in food.” Your head disappears behind the curtain. “So, don’t dawdle in there.”

I dodge the spray of water that jets at me over the curtain and make my way out of the bathroom. Throwing on a terry robe, I stretch out on the bed, letting my mind play with this new idea it’s found. As I visualize, letting the scenario in my head expand and unfold, my erection once again grows thick and hard, pulsing in time with my heart.

I hear the shower spray stop and a few minutes later you emerge, wearing a robe that matches my own. Your hair has been wrapped in a towel and is piled high atop your head. You lean over the bed to kiss me lightly on the lips.

“Okay. So what do you want for dinner?” You stop and notice my expression. “And just what are you grinning about?”

“Surprise me, “ I say, sticking my tongue out.

You stare at me. “Are you up to something?”

“What? Besides dying from hunger?”

“Oh, you!” You grab a pillow and throw it at me. “Lucky for you we don’t have any dog food!”

“Woof!” I say to your retreating back.

After waiting ten minutes, I quietly enter the kitchen. Engrossed in your preparations, you don’t notice me. I stare at you for a few moments, admiring how even the terry robe can’t hide your lush, womanly figure. I wait until I’m sure you won’t drop a dish or cut yourself and I sneak up behind you, planting a wet kiss on the back of your neck. Before you can react, I slip away and open a cupboard.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Just setting the table.”

“Are you sure? I thought maybe you’d want to eat in bed and watch some TV. Isn’t

Xena

on tonight?” I try not to rise to your bait.

“Just because I have a thing for a certain tall, dark-haired Kiwi doesn’t mean I need to watch her while I eat.” I walk by you, juggling plates, silverware and glasses. “Of course, I’d love to eat her while you watched.” I’m too slow to dodge the spatula that whacks my behind. Even through the thick robe, you pack a wallop. “Hey, if I break anything, you get to clean it up!

“We’re eating at the dining table, “ I continue, “so dress appropriately.”

“And just what the hell does that mean?”

“Dress naked.” Your bray of laughter follows me out of the kitchen.

Forty-five minutes later, we’re seated at our dining table. The setting is deliberately romantic and I can tell you’re both pleased and a little puzzled. You smile as you survey the scene: The room is dark except for two tall candles standing at attention in the center of the glass table. The muted light penetrates our setting with quiet perception. The glint of the silverware contrasts with the bubbling glow of the wine glasses and our shadowy reflections make it seem as though we’re entertaining company. The CD player adds a background of soft jazz.

It turns out that I’m not the only one who’s hungry and we both attack our meals with gusto. I can’t help but notice the gentle sway of your breasts when you reach for your food or wine. My cock, which has remained willfully sullen since leaving the shower, lolls twitching against my thigh like a fat, drunken worm. Every so often I catch you glancing at it and I’m rewarded with the sight of your nipples pebbling in response.

When you are about finished, I excuse myself and leave the room. As I head down the hall to the bedroom, I’m not sure which pleases me more; your baffled expression as I stood up or the lustful peek you stole at my restless cock. My preparations take no more than ten minutes and when I return I find you sipping the last bit of your wine. I help you to stand and, grabbing your robe, escort you down the hall and into the bedroom.

“What’s this?” You gasp when we reach the master bath.

“I believe it’s called a bath.” Your elbow is swift and hard in my ribs. “Hey! Now is that called for?” I do my best to sound aggrieved. “You said you were sore and there’s nothing better for sore muscles than a nice, hot bath.”

You remain silent, staring at the tub with its mountainous bubbles and steamy water. The tub is ringed with candles and their flickering light dances in your eyes. You turn to me, your eyes suddenly moist, and you start to object. “But-“

“No buts.” I hang your robe behind the door. “In you go. Believe me, you’ll thank me for it in the morning.” Not to mention sooner, I chuckle to myself. I hold your hand as you step into the piping hot water. You wince when it touches your bottom and then you’re in all the way. I position a towel to support your neck and you close your eyes, a Cheshire cat grin settling across your face.

“Hmmm, this feels heavenly!”

“So will this.” I wave a snifter of Grand Marnier under your nose. You open your eyes, squealing with delight. I kiss you on the nose and ask if there is anything else I can get for you. You shake your head but before I can stand up you cup your bubbly hand around my chin.

“Have I ever told you that you’re much too good for me?” You run your fingers over my moustache.

“No,” I say, laughing. “But I knew you’d figure it out sooner or later.” I stand up, leg joints popping in protest. “I’ll check in on you from time to time to make sure you don’t fall asleep and drown. Otherwise, call me when you’re pruned enough.”

Cleaning up our mess in the dining room and doing the dishes takes no more time than it should and when I return to the bath I find you relaxing with your eyes closed. Your glass is half empty. I brush your cheek with my fingertips.

“I’m awake,” you say, without opening your eyes. I notice with amusement that the bubbles in the middle of the tub have receded to the point where the outline of your breasts can be seen clearly, bobbing like buoys. Your nipples and areole lie above the water line, harbingers of the milky bergs lurking below. I bend over the tub and blow softly on your exposed skin. I grin as your nipples bead obediently. Then I’m backing hastily away from your answering splash.

“Okay, okay!” I wipe my face with a towel. “I’m leaving.” You wave me imperiously out of the bathroom.

In the bedroom, I make my final preparations and then lie on the bed, staring at the muted television. I’m always amazed at how much less annoying Mike Wallace is with the sound off. Just when I start to nod off, I hear the water start to drain in the tub. I switch off the TV and moments later you emerge, your skin flushed and still moist from the heat.

Once again, you pause and take in the scene that I’ve staged for you. Pillared candles perch on the nightstands and the dresser. The bed linens are crisp and fresh and the heavy blankets have been folded back to the foot of the bed. The CD changer is on and I’ve loaded it with a mix of our favorites.

You walk slowly to the bed, more bewilderment on your face. But before you can say anything, I rise and cover your mouth with my hand. I loosen the tie on your robe and gently tug it from your shoulders. Taking your hand, I lead you to the bed and instruct you to lie across it, face down. Once you’re comfortable, I remove my robe and climb on top of you, straddling your back with my weight balanced on my knees, my buttocks resting just atop your own and my balls gently nudging the small of your back.

I sweep your hair to the side, leaving the back of your neck and your shoulders bare. Leaning forward, I place my hands lightly on the back of your head and I begin your massage.

“Ohhh!” you moan as my fingers slide over your scalp. I start with the area just above and behind the ears, my grip pressure light but steady. I whisper for you to relax your neck muscles and let your head roll with my hands. With slow, practiced movements, I work my fingers in behind your ears, rolling my thumbs over those tension-filled muscles at the base of your skull. As the music flows around us, time disappears and we are lost in sensation. Elton croons to us:

Oh, how it feels so real Lying here, with no one near Only you And you can hear me When I say softly, slowly…

On to your neck, fingering, probing, finding and releasing the knots of soreness under your skin. Your moans are low and constant now, a continual sigh of ecstasy. I take my time rubbing you. Squeezing. My cock is like a Roman candle pressing against the middle of your back. This is not a race, I remind myself. There is no finish line. I could do this forever.

Moving on to the heavy muscles above your shoulder blades. Your moans get louder. My mouth replaces my fingers on your neck, planting featherlike kisses wherever my hands have been. My tongue burns as it lashes your heated skin. Hands sliding now, my thumbs working the beads of sweat into your skin like oil. Yes, that’s it. Your sigh is like honey on my cock. Now it’s Sting’s voice:

I could be lost inside their lies without a trace But every time I close my eyes I see your face…

Your shoulders and upper arms beg for my attention and my hands are unrelenting in applying their sweet torture. As I shift my weight, my cock spreads a trail of pre-cum on your back. On further, to your forearms, wrists and hands. Sucking on your long, slender fingers. Laving the spidery mons between thumb and index finger. Not one inch of your velvet skin goes untouched.

Concentrating on your back now, rubbing my pre-cum in with your sweat. Changing positions, my thigh muscles starting to burn. One knee between your legs, the moist heat flowing from your pussy warming my skin. Following my hands down your spine with my tongue. The small of your back tightens under my fingers. My touch is soft but insistent, working the muscles up and down over your buttocks. Gradually, your tension starts to ease.

Digging in to your meaty ass cheeks. Such soft, luscious, perfectly rounded skin. I can’t help myself. I plant a gentle kiss on the puckered brown halo I so recently ravaged. My tongue rims you, a gentle suitor to sooth your need. I lap at the bottom folds of your cunt and you cry out, raising your ass from the bed and holding it firm to my lips.

Your hamstrings are like taut piano wire, defying the pressure of my thumbs. I continue with my oral assault, my tongue whisper-soft as it roams your tender valley. You cry out again and a shudder rolls through your body, crashing against my face like a giant wave pounding the shore. I cup my hand under your pussy, catching the sweet cream as it spills out and rubbing it over your clit. You jerk and twitch under my touch, a marionette without strings, helpless to control your actions.

Your convulsions slowly subside and you relax once more. I slide back, my hands inching past your hamstrings, down through the hollow behind your knees. Finally I reach your calves. My thumbs glide over the supple tendon that stretches to your heel. Your relaxation is almost complete. Perfect. I stand up, giving your bottom a swift pat.

“Roll over.”

Now the fun really begins.

I stare at you for a moment, caught up in how lovely you are. A woman aroused is a beautiful and humbling sight. At this moment, you are beauty personified, the goddess made flesh. The swollen luxury of your pussy draws my jutting cock the way true north tugs at a compass needle. How can I not worship you? Donald Fagen gives voice to my thoughts: