Made You Loo

We are both competitive. I hate to lose and so does he. Our first date in college was a race around the track. He won. I didn't speak to him for a month.

Because I hate to lose.

Yet, somehow after that first date I let him take me out again and we never stopped going out. Maybe it's because he completes me, like in some sappy romantic novel kind of way, or because I just like the high I get from beating him at something. I'd like to think it was the romantic stuff but I wouldn't bet on it.

So somehow our sex life devolved into a somewhat healthy competition. First off, our 'normal' sex life is actually quite sweet and romantic - the soft kissing, warm embracing, back rubbing, blah blah blah that leads to the dick grabbing and pussy licking that migrates to two (or more) happy orgasms.

The competition aspect is a different animal altogether.

He blames me for starting it on a warm spring morning. He's a morning person and I'm a night owl. Whenever we are amorous before noon it's a treat - I'm a lady, so I get to decide when & where. But every now & again I get the urge to give a little thrill at sunrise.

One morning I woke up from a deep sleep and could feel that he was still naked from the waist down under the covers. The night before was all about my crotch in his face, so I figured I'd simply reciprocate his thoughtfulness. Half-conscious I slid below the covers and placed his limp dick sweetly between my lips.

By the third suck his dick was clearly paying attention to my advances, but the rest of his body wasn't cooperating with our positioning.

Without breaking stride, I continued to stroke and suck while I lifted the sheets slightly (too much sunshine and my mood would have been thrown) to find his phone was in has hand and his earpiece was in. I'd forgotten about his conference call with Switzerland.

But he didn't stop me, so I was determined to drain his seed. It was taking longer than usual without his full attention, but I kept at it until, finally, my face was drenched with my well-earned prize.

However, the victory didn't appear to be mine. While I lay soaked in his cum, he discussed engineering plans and government calendars for another 20 minutes. It was as if he could handle my best effort and still get his work done.

He was the winner. Not me.

The next battle was about a week later. My sister called after he'd gone to sleep and my talking kept him stirring. I offered to take the call into the living room, but he gestured that it was fine and put his head under a pillow.

But after 10 minutes of rustling, he decided the best way to finish my conversation with my sister was to start a conversation in my panties.

Knowing we could easily talk for another hour, he took his sweet time - caressing my back and kissing my neck, before working his way down my stomach onto my thighs. But I never slipped in my conversation with my sister - even when she was complaining about her afternoon commute and he was tongue twisting my nipples.

There were several moments that had me on the edge of telling my sister that the house was on fire and I'd need to call her back tomorrow, but I held strong knowing that the real test was not too far away.

Whenever one of us was taking too long during an oral activity, we'd discovered that a lot lube and a little pinky would expedite the interview. It seemed kinky at first, but once we tried it a couple of times it became pretty routine. So somewhere between my nephew's new tattoo and my brother-in-law's old tuxedo came the tip of a juicy pinky in my asshole.

"Let-me-call-you-back-the-oven-is-on-love-you-bye," I exhaled in one breath and hung up the phone just before squeezing out the type of orgasm that comes after you've tried to hold one back for too long. My sister may have been confused about my cooking at 11:30 at night, but my husband was pretty certain he was victorious that evening - even if my thighs nearly squeezed his head off.

But those battles were too much to continue because whenever one of us were on the phone, the other would be there trying to 'score' a victory. I think he blew two deals - or I 'blew' two deals (sorry, too easy) - over the next month. The game, however, didn't disappear. It just evolved into a more creative endeavor.

It was a Thursday and he was in the middle of a call after dinner. Leaning against the island in our kitchen, he was also trying to watch sports highlights on the television in the living room. I walked up behind him and undid his belt, dropping his pants below his waist. From behind I began to caress his dick through his briefs, when he held the screen of his phone above his shoulder so I could see the call was from Sean, his newest client in New Zealand.

I took this as a hint that we couldn't 'blow' another deal, so I slowly released my gentle grip and left him standing in the kitchen with his dick out.

Frustrated with the game being over, I decided to simply change the rules. I walked to the other side of the island and drop my jeans, keeping my eyes locked on his eyes - which are still checking out the scores on the television.

Then I pull down my thong, place it on the island, neatly fold it and push it to the center between us. For a split second he gave them a glance, then me, then back to the television as he rattled off some potential sales numbers.

We were both still fully dressed from the waist up, so all he could see was my sweater covering my blouse. But when I closed my eyes and started touching myself, I heard him stumble over those potential sales numbers. I knew he was no longer interested in the television. It was now a battle between Sean's sales and my pussy.

As I began to search for my own orgasm, I lost track of how many times I heard his throat clear. I was clearly taking the lead.

And just as I was about to come he said "Talk to you tomorrow." Within 2 seconds his dick was inside me and we declared the event a tie.

Now, when I'm doing my hair in the bathroom before heading to the office, he'll ask me a question from the shower. As soon as I begin to answer I can sense he's got his hands on his dick, stroking it to the sound of my voice. I have to keep talking as though nothing out-of-the-ordinary is happening. Or he wins.

That's our game now.

Admittedly, we don't mind losing the occasional battle, like when I pull back the shower curtain enough to watch him stroke his dick until his cum sprays ropes against the slate tile. Or when he kisses my earlobe just as I'm about to tremble on the coffee table. I'm okay not winning every battle now.

Just as long as he knows that I'm ahead 82-69. That takes focus. I'm definitely winning.