The man who shouldn’t get married – Part II

The best thing about fucking someone you have fucked many times before is that they know what turns you on. They know how to make you come with no mucking around. And while I am a big fan of fucking new people, trying new positions, exploring the unexplored, sometimes it’s just good, comforting even, to fuck someone who knows how to give you multiple orgasms in quick succession.

So it had become with K. It was only our second session since his girlfriend, now wife, found out but it was like riding a bike. His cock was familiar, his kisses, his body, the sounds he made. And sometimes on a rainy Sunday morning, that’s all you need. You don’t need double-ended dildos and glass strap-ons and porn and hours of talk.

He’d just run a triathlon, that’s why he was in town. We talked while he showered in my ensuite, me sitting on the bed. He had married X the weekend prior. It was “OK”, he told me. It was hardly surprising given the circumstances but probably not how X was describing the big day to her friends. He told me how he’d sat her down, after the wedding, and told her she needed to accept him for who he is, someone who likes to fuck and fuck other people sometimes. I would have thought that was a conversation for before you exchange wedding vows but who am I to judge?

He towelled off, sat down next to me on the bed and leaned back on his elbows. His cock had been hard while he showered. This time I knew we were going to fuck so I didn’t make any protests suggesting we wouldn’t. But I also ignored some of his signals, the cues I knew I was meant to be picking up to initiate the sexing. I don’t like forcing sex, never have. I find it stupid and awkward and weird. I could have lay down next to him, but it would have been arbitrary. When he pulled out his phone and started scrolling through an album of pics from his wedding, it seemed far more natural to me to lay down next to him as he passed me the phone.

I lay on my back, my arms stretched out above me, holding his phone in my left hand and scrolling through photos with my right index finger. When I put the phone down, we were at eye-level, equal, and the fucking could begin.

He was still naked from the shower while I was wearing a black playsuit, not great sex attire, but it was humid outside and very comfortable to wear. We started kissing, my left arm folded awkwardly above my head and my right holding him to me. He left hand was stroking my leg, my thigh, up under the shorts of my playsuit and over my underwear. I was interested but not aroused yet, even thinking that maybe I had masturbated for too long the night before with my vibrator because I felt a little desensitised.

The position we were embraced in was awkward all round, so I sat up and stood up off the bed. I slipped my playsuit off but left my hot pink bra and pink undies on. I kneeled on the side of the bed, between his legs, and started sucking his cock. He drew in a sharp breath as I took his cock with my mouth, flicking it with my tongue ring and taking the head deep into my throat. He was making appreciative noises and I knew he was enjoying it. I sucked slowly but rhythmically before I thrust his cock deep into my throat and swallowed over and over, suppressing my gag reflex.

He was groaning. I lifted my head and shimmied up the bed and straddled his hips. I leaned forward until my breasts were in his face and he sucked gently on my nipples, first one then the other. He cupped my breasts with his hands and buried his face between them.

I was rubbing myself against his cock, still wearing my undies. As I rolled off him and onto my back to pull my undies down my legs, he asked me how I wanted to come.

“Multiple times,” I replied. My undies off, he knelt between my legs, stretched them apart and began to lick me. He was gentle at first, lubricating me with his tongue before he tentatively pushed one finger inside me. My cunt tightened around it and my back arched involuntarily.

He pushed another finger inside me and curled them back towards himself, hitting my g-spot on every thrust. It felt exquisite. With his fingers alone, he would have made me come, but he kept on licking my clit, varying the speed and pressure, tickling it while his fingers pushed at my g like an impatient person calling for an elevator.

My arms were stretched above my bed and behind me, holding onto the edge of the bed frame. I could feel myself building to a big vaginal orgasm and it felt amazing. He responded to my moans, my hips thrusting to meet his fingers and I could feel tremors across my stomach.

As I came hard, I groaned loudly, calling out to a God I didn’t believe in. I hadn’t come like that for a while and it felt amazing to feel that release. But he wasn’t finished with my pussy. He kept licking and fingering me, rubbing my spot until I started to come again, this time I grabbed the back of his head with my left hand and pulled his face down hard against my clit. The other hand still gripped the bed behind me.

I was sopping wet. I have no idea how many fingers he had in me, but it felt like at least three, maybe four. I felt full and glorious.

I slid my hand between my legs to coat my palm and fingers in my juices and grasped his cock. I stroked it, up and down, focusing on the head while he pounded my pussy with his fingers, rubbing my clit with his thumb, watching my face to see my reaction.

I think I came once more before he was done with me.

“Condom?” I asked.


“There in the box. Just reach in, there’s a pile of them.”

The white box was on my bedside table, a recent Kmart purchase that held lube, condoms, hand-cuffs and my we-vibe.

I rolled onto my stomach while he tore the packet open and rolled it down over his cock. He crawled on top of me and with my legs together, arse in the air, he pushed his cock into me.

“Ahhh,” he sighed as he thrust, slowly at first but quickly increasing the pace.

My thighs were squeezed tightly together by his own legs straddling me. He fucked me from behind, my face turned to the side. One of his hands closed around my throat.

Choking is relative new for me. However, every one of the guys I had fucked in the last two months had been into it, without any prompting or suggestion from me. It’s like a new sex trend came out sometime during my marriage and I wasn’t cool enough to know about it.

His choking wasn’t hard, the gentlest of all I had experienced to date. When his hand wasn’t around my neck he tugged gently at my hair.

“Do you want a turn on top?”

“Yes,” greedy me, never says no to being on top. Besides, I remembered, he had just run a triathlon.

He lay back, his head on the pillows, and I slid down onto his hard, wrapped shaft. In my heightened state of arousal from having already come, I knew it wouldn’t take much for me to orgasm again.

I began to ride him, the headboard of my bed banging in time. It was annoying and I reached out and pressed my hands flat on the wood to stop it. We began to rock faster together, he exaggerating my thrusts to meet his own. My hair was falling across my face. We were both sweaty and hot. It was still raining outside.

I was building to a huge orgasm and dropping f-bombs and moaning like a whore. This was my sex, the way I liked to fuck. I was in control. I knew I would come. In that moment, it was all about me.

My eyes were closed as I concentrated only on the sensations coursing throughout my body, thinking only about how his cock felt inside me, spasming as I prepared to come.

When I did come, it was long, tight, exquisitely good. The kind that tingles and makes every reciprocal movement another wave of pleasure. The kind where I could stop for 10 seconds and then start to rock again and come over and over and over. Once I was in that spot, in that zone, it was like a drug. My strength was sapped, my eyes closed, my mouth open and I just wanted more and more and more.

I don’t know how many times I came like that, lost track of what I was saying and doing. It wasn’t until K, watching my face beneath me, starting saying “Fuck that’s hot,” that I came back to myself. I apologised for being greedy.

“No, don’t be sorry. That was so hot to watch.”

He was staring up at me, his face almost buried between two pillows.

“It is hot,” I said. “I need to swap positions otherwise I will keep doing this all afternoon.”

Rolling onto my back, he repositioned himself between my spread legs and leaned into me, pushing inside me.

I watched as his cock thrust in and out and started rubbing my clit with my fingers. He made no sound as he fucked me, leaning his weight on his arms pushed into the mattress either side of my shoulders. He was breathing through his nose, long breaths, which is a good technique that I never ever remember to practice.

I was watching his cock with only occasional glances at his face. I felt him building and I looked up.

“You want to come in me? Come, come in me. Fill me up. I want to feel you come,” I maintained eye contact as I said this and it was like I released something inside him. He let out a groan and thrust hard, coming inside me. He never was one for dramatic orgasms but nonetheless I knew he enjoyed it.

He leaned down and kissed me, eyes closed.

“Mmm, that was great.”

“Yeah, it was OK,” I said, teasing him.

“Oh, I passed, did I?”

“Yeah, you did alright.”

Familiar sex definitely has its perks.

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