Alarm Clocs

As the clamor of the morning alarm sounds, I first become aware of the soft sounds of sleep. My dazed mind tries to grasp something solid with movement behind me distracts me. A second later the noise halts in mid-cry. I sigh softly and relax, wondering idling about getting up for the day. Again my thoughts are interrupted. Feather light touch. It sears through me. A kiss on my shoulder trails its way up to neck and ear as his large, firm hands roll me purposefully to my back, my side pressed against him. I moan brokenly as he runs his hands done my nude body, pushing the thick comforter away from me. My senses snap into sharp reality as the first of the chill air caresses my skin. I feel my nipples harden.

"Ooh, look at those breasts. Perfect nipples," his deep voice rumbles near my cheek. I shudder, as once again he knew my thoughts. Gently he plays with them, pulling, tweaking, and massaging, until they are almost the center of my world.

A soft breath from him and I can picture the soft smirk on his face through my sleep heavy lids. His fingers trail down my stomach, and trace over the soft tuff of hair at my belly button. I moan and reflexively part my knees slightly. His voice comes again, "Open my beautiful flower." I toss my head back as I feel his dry fingers run over the warm outer skin of my sex. Ripples of friction course through me and he continues to nipple sweetly at my shoulder. It seems to last an eternity. "Good girl," his rumble intones as my legs part further and my soft ripple of folds open, allowing him to dip in and moisten his fingers for the first time. He rubs at me gently, expertly, "That's my good girl." I can't stop writhing. With practiced ease, he pushed into my sleep-tightened tunnel with one digit. I gasp, and reach my hand down, only to find it held fast with his other hand. I wiggle on his finger as he wiggles within me.

He shakes sharply as I gasp, and lift my chest. "Come here. I want that sweet cunt." 'Move,' I think to myself, but my muscles refuse to obey. His strong arms pull me up and with his help I push myself on him, impaling myself on his rigid manhood. I toss my head back as my muscles scream into overdrive. I move on him. Moving and moving, and through my silted eyes I see his face, fused with the pleasure of my pleasure. This is heaven.

"Do you want to fly," sounds the breathy inquiry. I can only collapse on his chest and moan a broken reply incoherently. "Turn," he whispers in a tone so full of authority. I stand, turn, and sit, all in one fluid motion. Impaled again, I lean back, to be caught in his engulfing arms. Balanced by only the organ within me, and his arms, it is his turn to move. Move and moving. I soar to a new height, until my wax-made wings melt under the blaze, and I begin to fall.

I feel a soft pad as I touch down. The scent of my pillows holds me securely. I feel him move behind me again, and lift my hips. I hear his deep moan, like a tiger's growl, as he presses into me. I can't hide the full-bodied shudder as he fills me again. And again. And again.

Gasping, he pulls back, and pushes my hips down, and I hear his last few strokes. Hot rain, it fuses with my languor, spreads it through my body, until the warm of it all rests heavy about and on top of me. He nuzzles softly at me shoulder and whispers dreamily, "It's wakie time."