… so She let me jerk off over Her tits

Just before we go any further, I’d like to be clear that this post is neither historical nor relating a dream. It is probably quite a surprising title for one of my posts, considering Our well documented dysfunction, yet the title is … well … I’ll get to the title shortly, but let’s wind the clock back an hour or two first.

It was around 7am when She woke on Sunday. Maybe an hour after my cock had heralded the morning. She rolled over and put an arm across me. On other occasions I would have taken that as fore-fore-play, but with sex marked down as for that night it seemed unlikely. Perversely I regretted not escaping from bed when I had had the opportunity.
And then She stroked my chest.
That wasn’t  fore-fore-play. That was fore-play.

I wouldn’t say the sex was rough, but based on Her reaction to a decidedly firmer hand earlier in the week, I stroked and squeezed far more forcefully than I would have previously considered. For the most part She responded entirely positively, judging by Her breathing and muted grunts and moans.

As I my hand strayed tentatively around Her arse and towards Her quim, access was silently granted.
I ran three fingers over Her snatch. Still no objection.
I rippled my palm, wave-like, along her sex. Still just muted encouragement.
With my index and ring fingers bracketing Her pussy lips, I dipped the tip of my middle finger into Her wet warmth. It curled, dipped and circled for a few moments before She declared it too much. I carefully withdrew my hand.

I can’t quite remember the conversation, but amongst other things I explained that it was an awkward angle for my wrist, making the task taxing, though far from unwillingly undertaken. Although I did not elaborate, I was confident She could scream down the house (in a good way) if She’d just spread Her legs and let me strum a tune of my own choosing.

Either way, there was no doubt She was in the mood, and I asked if sex this morning precluded Date Night. It turned out we were scheduled to fuck on Wednesday evenings and Sunday mornings, not Sunday evenings as I had thought. Though She said there was no reason not to engage later that day as well. [Ed: Was it not Aristotle who postulated that there’s a righteously insatiable vixen deep down in even the most repressed of nuns.]

I fucked as hard as I could. And by hard I mean forcefully. Not frantically pistoning away like Flying Scotsman, but slow, deep, hard, deliberate thrusts into Her cunt, pulling myself down on Her body, crushing Her boobs, one hand gripping the back of Her neck, the fingers of the other digging into Her thigh. Pinning Her to the bed and driving Her into the mattress. And again She seemed meet with approval.

The condom She had selected was one of the least sensitive of the selection I bought over 2 years ago. There was no way I was going to cum, and despite my best efforts, She didn’t seem likely to either. As both our energy levels ebbed we both relaxed, my dick still snug in Her pussy. We discussed the possibilities.
Her: Do you want me to finish you by hand?
[Ed: Sometimes AM is not as aware as He might be. Surely He should have asked if She wanted Him to finnish Her by hand?]
Me: That depends whether we’re going to have sex tonight and whether we’ve got any of the thin condoms left.
Her: It’s up to you.
She reached for the foil packets on Her bedside table, but they were not my prefered Crown Skinless Skin. My erection still proudly saluting the morning, I went to the drawer where the prophylactic have gathered dust for too long. Only one last Crown sheath. I resolved to save it for later, but having got back into bed, temptation was too great, I knelt across Her and drew Her hand to my cock.
She obliged.
As She did, I raised myself onto one knee and the other foot, making it easier for Her to reach my taint and, hopefully, my arse. Although She toyed with the former, and despite involuntary thrust of pleasure when Her fingers ventured further back, She did not explore the possibility of fingering my hole.
After She had been tugging on my shaft for a while …
Me: You’re grimacing. You getting tired?
Her: Sorry.
Me: Let me.
I lifted Her hand away from my junk, grasped it firmly, and vigorously rubbed myself off.
Her: It seems remiss of me to make you do it yourself.
Me: It’s ok.
I wasn’t sure whether She was making an effort to move Her head to the side – knowing my propensity for cumming some distance, it was reasonable to assume She was trying to avoid me shooting my load in Her face. As much as I’d like to cum in Her mouth, covering someone’s face with spunk isn’t really my thing … not that I would have objected … as long as She wasn’t obviously reviled. But being a considerate pervert, I resolved to aim slightly lower. Slightly. This time. Still with my knees either side of Her and one hand braced on the bedstead, I closed my eyes, and wanked for all I was worth.

Which brings us back to the title of this thread.
Whilst my intention was to cum over her tits, I regret to say I failed. Although I ejaculated copiously, it was without my usual velocity, and I only succeeded in liberally covering Her stomach with jizz. On the up side, in the moments my eyes were open, She seemed to be attentively watching my masturbation. And considering how I’d wanted Her to keep tugging on me just a little longer a couple of days previously, I made a point to keep stroking long after I had drained the last few spurts from my balls.

It did occur to me to lick Her body clean, but I don’t think we’re ready for that yet. Instead I reached for the tissues, wiped my cum from Her abdomen, then wiped my cock with only nominally more theatre than strictly necessary.

As I lay back, and She snuggled up to me, I couldn’t help wonder how my mistake about our schedule would pan out later that day …

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