A short story/tribute to my man's package-
Nothing like a little morning glory to get the day started right.
My left leg is out straight, flat on the bed in between his legs. My right leg is up and across his chest with my right foot on his left shoulder. His hips are thrusting at maximum overdrive. My right hand is firmly grabbing the wrought iron headframe of the bed to keep from getting driven into it and my left hand has let go out his balls which they had been steadily massaging until he sped up his pumping and is now rubbing my clit. I'm close but not quit to O-town yet when he gives me that one big last thrust and stays buried in my pussy and I feel the warmth of his climax as he releases inside me. I love that feeling, but I am a bit let down that I know I was close but didn't get full release myself.
After a moment or two of ragged breaths, he withdraws, and surprises me by instantly diving down and sliding his tongue inside my freshly fucked pussy with fervor and enthusiasm. The sensations overwhelm me, his beard against my thighs, the relative coolness of his tongue in comparison to the heat of my recently pounded pussy, the sound of his grunting and the sucking of my clit, and the smell of our sex filling the air. He reaches up and applies steady but not aggressive pressure to my nipples with each hand and *bing!!!* I am coming. I am blessed to have a man that even in his post coital state sees that his partner did not reach the same heights of pleasure and takes it on himself to see that I do, not just relegating me to a dildo or a vibe.
He slows his munching, licks up the crease between my thigh and pelvis, all the way to the left nipple he was just pinching, gives it a quick kiss and a suck before kissing me quickly and getting off the bed.
"I gotta move or else I'll be late for work!" Jack exclaims as his naked ass moves towards the shower.
I can hear the shower turn on as I lie there, catching my breath and enjoying my post-O come down. As I regain my wits I slide around and move towards the foot of the bed with my feet towards our pillows and look towards the shower/main bath area. I can see the silhouette of Jack in the shower through the shower curtain by looking at the mirror on wall directly across from the shower. I see the shadow of him soaping up and I picture the image in my mind. His strong hands sliding around his chest, the soap running down in streaks as he washes my pleasure off of him. I picture him soaping up his flaccid cock, his sizable scrotum, and his muscular legs and I am wet and ready for another round, even though I know neither of us have the time this Wednesday morning.
I am brought out of the images of his soapy package in my head by the sound of the water shutting off the shower curtain rings sliding on the rod. I look back in the mirror and can see him grab the towel off the hook and begin his methodical drying off process. I've noticed over our 20-year marriage that he is almost obsessive compulsive in the ritualistic way he dries himself off. We all have our rituals and habits, but he is so methodical it makes me smirk. He takes the towel in his hands and lets the length of it drop in front of him, covering himself for the most part and I love the way his thick thighs peak from behind the waving towel as he dries his face and shaved head off first, taking time to pat his beard dry when the fullness and length of it get to where they retain more moisture.