I know I said I wouldn’t but … Pt. 7

Day 5242
More non-marital stress, primarily for me.
I hinted at going to bed relatively early.
Her: Are you starting to fall asleep?
Me: No.
Was that a hint on my part? I certainly wanted sex.
In bed, She snuggled up. Fingers stroked arms, but they weren’t venturing much further, despite their apparent intent.
Her: You wouldn’t think that after so long married this would feel awkward.
Me: As I’ve said before, we’ve not spent much of that time married.
Her: I don’t see it that way, but I know what you mean.
There was more. About Her wanting to feel a connection. About needing to engage Her mind (something I have often commented that doesn’t happen for me when we have sex). Was it better to have a routine (fir sex), or not? And there was more, still. But today, talking broke the spell for me, and whilst Her stroking started to progress, mine faltered.
Unusually, She asked to put the light on. For me that’s usually a plus, so I can see Her body. Today it was so She could see my face and feel more connected. For me, today, it was a huge weight of pressure and as the darkness disappeared, so did my libidinous interest.
Her: Is there anything I can do?
Me: I don’t know. The flesh is willing but the spirit has buggered off. Sorry.
Her: Does it help to think about the good bits of the other night?
I assumed She meant how I was granted manual access to Her lovely, hot, wet cunt. It didn’t really help a great deal.
Me: I don’t know.
Her: Do you want to know what I want?
Her: I don’t know.
There was a pause. As if She was steeling Herself for the effort, or having second thoughts.
Her: I want your hands everywhere …
I highly doubted it, but at least the thought was there, and to say so would have been snide and counterproductive.
Her: … and I want you inside me, and I want to feel you enjoying me.
I don’t think it was Her words, or Her intent, or Her effort, or Her hands, but I started to stroke. I would have liked to have gone straight for tits and pussy, tongues and fingers, but I’m not that much of a fool, so took things at Her pace. She moved so I could get slightly better access to Her snatch, but I think She still doesn’t realise how difficult it is to reach over Her thigh. [Note to self: I need to have this conversation with Her. She’s ticklish too often, and only allowing me finger-tip access to Her quim is not going to help on that front. She’s most likely to cum when I put slow, sustained pressure on Her mound, and that makes me think that if She would let me put my palm against it, and my fingers along Her slit, not to penetrate Her, but to massage with an open hand, not tickle and probe with fingers, that should be less intense for Her, more graduation of pleasure. But for that I need Her to allow space between Her pelvis and mine. I need Her to spread Her legs. I need Her to let me do what I’m good at.] Finger tips were too much and She squirmed just a little. I backed off.
She asked for a condom. In the dark I reached into the bedside drawer. (Months ago, as they were redundant without us having sex, I had moved the jiffy bag of jonnies to a drawer on the other side of the room. After our last fuck, I had moved them back, within reach of the bed.) Lucky dip – what sheath would it be? From the crinkle of the wrapper, the diminutive diameter of the rolled prophylactic, I assumed it was a Crown Skinless Skin. I reached back to my dick, but I was loosing wood. I started to wank, but stopped, and moved Her hand to my member. She took the hint and almost immediately my fortitude returned. Rolling on the rubber, it barely accommodated my very average length of shaft. On the upside, that pretty much confirmed the brand, and of the 4 brands available, this was the thinnest, and the only one I have cum in so far.
There was a little more foreplay. Maybe She had gone off the boil a little too? She moved to I could reach Her cunt again, but still only with my finger tips, and that was not productive. But the rest of Her body responded and I slid my cock into Her.
It was an OK fuck. Ostensibly about Her. And whilst She didn’t scream the house down, with the aid of some nipple rubbing and slow thrusts, She seemed to make it to at least the foothills of an orgasm.
I withdrew from Her, pulled off the condom, and we went to sleep.
Come the morning, I was awake, unstated, horny and hard. It was also really early. I reached for Her, and unusually She accepted my hand. Not in a way that invited further action, but it wasn’t rejection, which is what I have come to expect so early. I was pleasantly surprised that She had not put Her nightshirt back on after we’d fucked. She was still naked. I liked that. Somehow it acknowledged the sex. Validated it. Yet She was not really awake, and obviously wanted to sleep. As She curled up with my right arm, I slowly stroked my tool with my left. If She was awake enough to notice, She was not going to take the hint. I got out of bed, went downstairs, and made a cup of tea.




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