Triple S

He was awake, but only in the most technical sense of the word. His eyes were open. He was sitting up in bed, leaning against a pillow. Yet, all he wanted to do was close his eyes and fall into the deep, silent, tranquil, perfect darkness.

It was an enormous effort to turn his head even 90 degrees to look at her next to him. "Was I under?" he asked. His voice sounded like he had just woken up.

"What do you think?" she responded. She didn't even look up from her knitting. If she hadn't been wearing a negligee (the navy one, with lace -- his favorite), she would have looked very prim.

"I think..." His voice trailed off. That was the problem, wasn't it? Thinking was very difficult. Thoughts drifted through his brain slowly, like tumbleweed rolling through the streets of a town in a Western movie. However, he couldn't catch them, no matter how slowly they moved. He just didn't have the energy. Instead, he let them roll past.

"Is it hard for you to think?" she asked, without raising her eyes from her knitting.

"Yeah," he drawled. That was exactly it. It was hard for him to think. In his boxers, something else was beginning to get hard. Normally, he would shift his weight to get more comfortable. Right now, he couldn't. He was just too tired.

His head lolled on his shoulders. Why was it so difficult to stay awake? It should have bothered him more, being so tired. It was... what time was it? The clock said 7:30 PM. It was kind of weird being so tired. He couldn't get worked up about it, though. It was just one those things, one of those things you passively accepted without questioning or thinking too much. Thinking was too hard for him now.

He felt her hand stroking his thigh. When had she put her knitting down? He wondered idly. It was another thing that didn't bother him too much.

"You're really tired, huh?" She leaned closer and breathed the question in his ear. The heat of her breath sent more blood in the direction of his boxer briefs.

"Uh huh," he grunted.

"Why do you think you're so tired?" she asked. Her hand was now playing with his chest hair. He enjoyed it when she did that. If only he weren't so tired...

"Dunno," he answered after a moment. He had no idea why all he wanted to do was to go to sleep.

"Well, who are you?" she asked. Who was he, indeed? He was a man. That was a good start. He had a dim recollection of spending his days in front of the computer -- did it have something to do with web design? Maybe. Did that explain who he was, though?

He sat in bed pondering the question, though not hard. He couldn't really concentrate. The tumbleweed in his head continued to roll past without him doing much about it.

"I'll give you a hint," she said, running her finger up and down his bare arm. It felt good -- a little ticklish, but good. The sensation distracted him from thinking too hard, though he really wasn't doing that anyway.

"There are three words to describe you," she said. "Do you know what they are?"

Three words... he tried to focus, but the patterns she was tracing on his arm caught too much of his attention. "No," he admitted.

"I'll give you another hint," she said, kissing him on his shoulder. "Each word starts with the same letter."

His eyebrows furrowed. There were three words to describe him, and they all started with the same letter. Now she was straddling him and kissing his chest. She was no longer wearing her negligee -- when had that happened? He didn't remember, nor did he much care. He had enough energy to lift his arms to embrace her. Her warm, soft, bare flesh on top of him meant he couldn't concentrate on anything else.

"Um." The sound came out of his mouth as a moan.

"Okay, last hint," she said between kisses. "The letter is S. Each word starts with the letter S."

The letter S, he mused. What words started with the letter S? "S," he murmured. "S." He tried very hard to think of words beginning with the letter S. The problem was that something else was very hard. Every time he tried to conjure up a word starting with S, it was as though the word transformed into a bubble and popped. His continued murmurs devolved into a hissing noise.

"It's okay, I'll just tell you," she said, sliding his boxers down below his hips. That was a bit tricky -- he was too tired and spaced-out to help her. Maybe one of the words was "spaced-out?" That would describe him at the moment.

"The three words are silly, sleepy, slut," she said, kissing down his chest to his stomach. Upon hearing those words, comprehension dawned. That's what he was, a silly, sleepy slut.

When she had slid off his boxers, his erection sprang up in his lap. She quickly positioned herself atop it and was now slowly bouncing up and down. As she spoke, she panted. "You're silly because you can't think -- all that blood has gone down south. You're sleepy because you're just too tired to stay awake. And you're a slut because all you want to do is fuck."

A silly, sleepy slut. That sounded exactly right to him. She was right, he couldn't think. His brain had turned to mush. He was pretty sleepy. At the same time, all he wanted to do was fuck. Specifically, he wanted to fuck her. His hands rose to play with her nipples.

"Ooh, yes, that's good," she moaned. "When I come... you can... come."

He absorbed her words. When she came, he could come. Her silky warmth was bringing him closer to orgasm (and the breasts bobbing in front of his face didn't hurt, either). He leaned closer and began sucking on a nipple.

The sucking brought forth another moan from her. "Oh, you're... really trying... hard," she panted. He switched breasts -- he knew one nipple was more sensitive than the other, and that would help bring her closer. The closer she got, the closer he got.

She threw her head back as he sucked, letting out another, louder moan. "Oh, keep... doing that!"

Silly, sleepy sluts did as they were told, he reasoned, continuing to suck on her nipple. His hands roamed her body. She continued to piston on top of him. He wished this could go on forever, yet at the same time, he wanted to come so badly.

Her breath was coming in shorter and shorter pants. Even in his sleepy, silly state, he knew that meant she was going to come soon. He alternated his sucking with lapping his tongue around the nipple.

"Ahhh!" Her moan was almost a scream. He was glad they lived in a house -- no neighbors to get annoyed or concerned. That scream could have been easily misinterpreted. He didn't have too much time to be grateful for their living situation, though. The pressure in his groin grew until he could no longer contain it. He let out a loud moan of his own.

"Fuck," she panted as her bouncing slowed. "That was so good. You're such a good, silly, sleepy slut."

A warm glow filled him. He was a good silly, sleepy slut. He brought her pleasure, and he experienced pleasure in return. That's what silly, sleepy sluts did.

He leaned back onto the pillow, still fighting the urge to close his eyes. She seemed to understand how he felt. She stroked his cheek. "You must be so tired," she murmured.

He had just enough energy to nod. "I'll clean you up," she said, running a finger down his chest. A smile spread across his face. "All you have to do is sleep." With that, his eyes closed, and he fell into the perfect, deep darkness he craved.