<lj-cut text="Just the sex...">I joined him in the bedroom, and he pushed me against the wall and we started to kiss properly. Until I leant back and said "You've put on a bit, haven't you? I like..."
Which I did. And I do. As I found once he'd got all his clothes off, which didn't take more than a few more seconds, he's got chunkier. More solid. More imposing. Oh, but I do love a man with a belly! There's something about it that makes me just look at all that solid, strong flesh, and... oh, I just want to pull it on top of me. And feel all small and squished. And then sit back and look at it, and stroke it, and kiss it, and rub my face in it, and... you get the idea.
Hah. I'm remembering a pic that <lj user="not2shy"/> put up, oh, ages and ages ago, well over 2 years, a pic sort of three-quarters view of his torso, a pic that crops up in my mind every so often, just because... well, it looked just the way I like my men. Absolutely perfectly yummy. (Waves at said man with perfect torso.)
At one point later in the evening, I was kneeling between his thighs as he lay on my bed, looking down at him, and I thought- "Man, he's just massive now. The chest is wider, the shoulders look broader, there's this imposing well-fed-male stomach, his ass is big and round and firm, his thighs look more muscled, and O gods, I just want to..." and then followed it up by doing exactly what I wanted, namely lie down on top of him and rub myself all over him, purring.
Sorry. I'm getting a little bit carried away thinking about it again.
We stripped each other, and stood there kissing some more until I pushed him around and towards the bed. He lay down on his back, and lay grinning at me. I climbed over him, straddled, lowered myself down, and started to work myself onto him. Look Ma, no hands!
I got down on him, slowly, taking my time, feeling him stick at points and lifting up a bit before moving down further, and then started a slow swirl on top of him- when, to my surprise, he told me to "Bring your mouth"- I got off, and put my mouth on his cock, but he rolled me onto my back, straddled me, and, for the first time, started to fuck my mouth. Also for the first time, he pulled out just as he came, and spurted my wide-open mouth, before pushing back into it and letting me swallow the rest.
I liked that. It was a change...
He then smiled down at me, moved over between my legs, and lowered himself down on me, sliding back up me as I spread wide.
Interesting. Now, I don't know whether it's his weight gain or my weight gain, as it's more likely to be both, but I had to spread my legs wider than before, angling them up around his hips, for him to get into me properly. And I'm also not quite sure what was going on, but instead of the usual kissing during the fucking, I had my face buried against his chest, as he suddenly seemed so much bigger than me!
I strongly suspect it was this whole, unexpected physical overwhelming that did it, but as he fucked me, I started to feel little swirls of baby-orgasm working their way up my stomach, rippling up. I wondered whether I could get a hand between us to play with my clit, but decided that there was no way that he was going to lift up enough to let me do that. Resigning myself to not coming, I went on thinking about how much of him there seemed to be, about how small I felt... and, to my surprise, feeling him move inside me like a spoon scraping the sides of a bowl, then feeling him thrust hard up into me, I came hard, a big, fat, juicy orgasm splitting like a peach in me, slurping into my flesh, my mouth pressed hard against his shoulder trying not to bite him, my hands running up and down his back and grabbing at his ass, whilst also trying not to claw into him...
Umm.
Yeah. That was a surprise. Reminds me of the way I used to come with 45, oddly. In fact, it felt almost identical.
I assume that he came again at about the same time, but I was slightly distracted. He stayed in me for a while, but then moved and it slid out. He lay down next to me, and we chatted for a while, catching up on stuff, before starting up again, me on top this time, riding him hard. When he came, he laughed, saying that he must have just lost a pound!
Other bits of the evening- me on top again, taking my time, slowing down whenever he gets too close, until he finally grabs me and pulls my hips down tight against his, shoving up into me...
After a few more rounds, us in the kitchen, having gone for a drink. Me sitting at his feet, as it was the most comfortable place. He kicked my arms out from under me a couple of times, making me almost fall over- and finally did it again, and fell on me, fucking me on the kitchen floor, folding me up under him, my spine against the hard floor... He doesn't come, and rolls onto his back, taking me with him, making me work again. I keep on having to change position on him, crouching over him, my knees against my shoulders, bouncing; my feet up near his shoulders and almost doing the crab; my hands holding his shoulders and grinding along his body; him sitting up and the two of us straining against each other, my legs behind me, my legs behind him, my knees under his armpits, bracing us, our arms wrapped around each other's shoulders, both leaning back, staring at each other and I know that my face is changing, I'm snarling at him, biting my lips, showing my teeth, growling...
We wrap around each other. I've never known him take so long to come, but after earlier, he seems to have got the idea that I'm not averse to a long fuck.
He is a lot gentler tonight, though. At one point, in the kitchen, when we're talking, he says that he's never going to let me go, he's going to take me home to the bled. I laugh, and ask if my daughter is coming too. Although we wrestle a few times, mainly because I won't let him bite my stomach (and you can see how that ended up!), and he does slap me very gently a few more times when I tease him, I'm hardly marked at all. My hips are sore, as he's clung onto them hard, but other than a few faint red dots, there's nothing to see. I'm saddened by that, I wanted hurt more than that... Although it was funny to note that he'd try and pinch me the way he used to, and although he could, there's not enough of me left for him to twist that flesh any more!
Back in the bed... He is, finally, not that I'm complaining, it's just a side note, paying attention to my body. I'm on top, and he starts to squeeze my tits. Earlier, he'd squeezed and said there was no milk coming out any more. I told him that the other day, it took me a while, but I'd managed to get a few drops out. Even though I quit breastfeeding the Spawn about 10 months ago! Now he starts to suck on one of my nipples, gently. So gently that I'm not even sure if he is or just has his mouth there... but in my head, he's suckling on me, sucking milk out of me, and it gets me almost far enough along to come again...
At one point we're talking, and he complains about how "volatile" I am. I say that it's just the way I am... and mention that I've been wondering recently about where it was that I took the step that led me down this path. Where did I make the decision, or do whatever it was, that meant that I can do this sort of thing, and not have my heart involved in the slightest? He thinks that it was because I've been raped- I don't think so, I think I was going that way a long time before. He hates that I'm unfaithful, though, which is amusing, considering that he certainly takes advantage of it. He said that I was going to need to grow up- I have a child, I have other responsibilities, I shouldn't be doing this now.
Talk about preaching to the fucking Pope. I tried to explain to him that this was all I have left, that every other bit of my life has gone over to others, that I spend all my time looking after other people now, for gossake, this is all I have left for me! but he just didn't get it. Or didn't want to get it.
So I turned it into a joke, asking him if he would have preferred if I were the falling-in-love type, because then I'd be calling him and texting him all the time, wanting attention, wanting to know what he's doing... instead of letting him get on with his life, without making ripples. He laughed, and said I'm not the type for that.
Damn right.
He's worried about me moving on though, and he does have a point. We were talking at another moment about how he doesn't understand how one can fuck somebody just for the fucking, without there being any sort of "spark"- I mentioned the traditional female "sympathy fuck", and he said he just couldn't do it.
I will mention, however, that one of his "ex" flings sent him a message during the evening.. and that the secretary at his dentist's has been contacting him to see if he wants to go for a drink (I know because I asked how that was going)... But he maintains that he isn't fucking anybody but me. Like I care who he fucks.
He plays with my pussy, fingering the outside, until I shove on his hand and the finger goes up me. A moment later, he has two more fingers working around the outside, and I have to do the same thing again until he gets them up me. I want more fingers, I want him to stretch me open, and I'm writhing and grinding on his hand, but he doesn't get the message. He pulls out, gets on top of me, does me again, my legs spread wide, my hands around my ankles, pulling my hips up off the bed so he can get deeper into me.
We went on fucking, but we were both getting tired. He said I looked stoned, and he wasn't far off. I could have put my head down on his shoulder and fallen asleep at any time after 10 p.m.... And he didn't leave until about quarter past 11. But somehow we just couldn't seem to stop doing it. I kept on looking at him, and grabbing at his stomach and chest again, stroking him and licking him and rubbing myself against him, then going down and blowing him hard again, at which point he'd pull me on top of him again and I'd ride, watching him (I'm actually a bit sore this morning) until he'd finally get there, clinging onto my hips and shoving up against me...
Until it's finally time for him to go. I ask him to lie on top of me one more time before going, and he does, smothering me, pressing me down into the mattress. Every bit of me is covered, my face buried under his chest, I have to turn my face to the side just to breathe. I love it.
After which he goes and showers, and gets dressed, laughing at me for cringing when he turns the bathroom light on (my eyes! damn you!), and slapping at me again. He starts to get on my nerves, and next time he does it, I scrape my nails along his arm. He's surprised- and shocked. Normally I'm very careful not to leave a mark on him, knowing that his little daughter sees everything, not wanting to make waves. But he's fucked me off, and I'm not amused. "You've scratched me!" he says. "Yes, I say. I did it on purpose, this time."
He can deal with it- I think he realises he went too far. I don't mind being thrown around, I don't mind being fucked without particular attention as to what I want, but I object strenuously to being laughed at. Especially with a really fucking bright light in my eyes.
He dressed, kissed me, hugged me, and left. </lj-cut>
I'm 40, horny as hell, and a voracious slut. I should probably mention, as 'slut' usually makes most think a certain thing, that I'm male.
horny