I wake, naked, stirring slowly, comfortable and cool, feet sliding against the blanket, making soft, wondering little sounds: ah, I feel so good, but there’s something that can make me feel better, and I turn to reach out in the dark for my lovely lover, fine, tall, deep-voiced, generous and extravagantly passionate creature that he is; my touch on his thigh wakens him in exactly the same agreeable state that I enjoy. I slide my finger-tips lightly up and along and find him already hard - rigid and silky, responsive to my touch. He murmurs to me, low in the dark, but I do not hear. I am listening with my body. I draw my hand smoothly away and tease a line with my fingertips to the inner hollow of his thigh…his skin is very smooth everywhere but most especially there…his balls are always taut and drawn together in a neat, finely furred pouch, and I cup them with a light hand. He rolls on his back, arches slightly, silent and breathing shallow. I dip my head and dart my tongue against the firm flesh all around my fingers, which stroke sometimes a little harder, more knowingly, and then drift back to stroking almost as lightly as the puffs of cool air I blow on the moisture my tongue has left behind. But I’m not going to suck him, this time. I want him hard and urgent as he takes his time pleasing me. Hah. Pleasing *us*. ..[continue reading]..
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