Prediction and expectation

Life’s predictable.

Being awake way too early with a twitching erection was entirely predictable.

When She got out of bed and went to the bathroom an hour before She needed to get up for work, it wasn’t hard to predict She intended to have sex.

Admittedly the careless way She fell back into bed wasn’t quite what I expected, not the way

Her elbow and thigh collided with me. But it confirmed the fact She wanted me to be awake.

The fact the we both lay the for another 15min, silent and motionless, wasn’t exactly a surprise either.

I turned my back to Her though I obviously wasn’t going to get some more sleep.

She spooned up to me. Just thighs in contact and an arm I’ve mine.

Her next movement would be reaching for my cock. And after a couple of minutes the translocation of Her hand was entirely foreseeable.

I let Her stoke my dick. That’s sounds arrogant, but considering it’s not so long that I resigned myself to never having sex with Her again, it was more that I didn’t stop Her. That in itself was, perhaps, a little less predictable.

As I reached round behind me and dug my fingers into Her arse cheek, She gripped my shaft harder and tugged on it vigorously. That was good. I’ve always liked my cock to be dealt with forcefully; now that She seems to want fucking to be forceful, I wondered whether this is how sex might now be for Us.

By this stage, despite not a single word having been spoken, it seemed there was not going to be any fucking. She was just going to toss me off. A pity, but I might as well enjoy it. I turned into face Her and She continued to stroke me hard. I took Her other hand and pushed it between my legs. I wanted Her to play with my hole, but with the angles involved Her fingers were not going to reach that far. But She played with my balls and taint, and I played with Her tit.

And my cum erupted over Her, and over me.

Minutes passed.

She turned Her back to me and we spooned once more.

I wrapped my arms around Her, not knowing what Her expectations were.

Did She want to be wanked? It seemed unlikely. Unless my memory is failing me, the occasions She has wanted to be masturbated, especially when it hasn’t been a case of releasing Her post coital orgasm after She’s drained my junk of both jizz and vigour, can be counted on barely more fingers than I have thrust into Her cunt. But the movement of Her hand suggested I was expected to stroke Her tits, and then that I was expected to reach for Her pussy. I certainly wouldn’t have predicted this.

Still wary of what Her expectations were, my fingers pressed into Her boobs and my palm pressed onto Her mons.

It would have been easy to predict this all going wrong. For me to unknowingly press the wrong button. Perish the thought that I should ever press Her button! From Her tiny movements, I had to guess that She did not want to be fingered. Unlike the joy I had had at dipping my fingers into Her slick snatch a couple of weeks ago, fingers were not the order of the day. Nor even stroking. Nor even any attention to Her pussy lips. Just undulating pressure on Her mound. Which seemed to do the trick quite quickly. Pleasure seemed to be had, though when She grabbed my wrist and pulled my hand away from Her quim, it was clear escalating pleasure to ecstasy was not welcome.

We cuddled.

The alarm went off.

She went for a shower.

On returning to the bedroom, at last we spoke.

Me: Morning.
Her: Morning.
Me: How are you doing?
Her: Ok.
Ok is not really the response anyone wants to hear when they’re just masturbated their partner. Damned by faint praise. But it was not entirely unexpected.
Me: Just Ok? dissatisfied?
Her: No. Just not properly awake yet.

And that was pretty much that.
Not a morning I could have predicted.
And what expectations has it left me with?
Absolutely none. I have no idea what to expect. I’m certainly not going to predict sex again any time soon.

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