It’s Sunday and we got high and fooled around Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights. I have to say, there is a kid out there whose schedule is now really complicating matters. This one is coming up from downstairs around midnight, which is more or less when we’ll be ramping up to the nastiest activities, and taking forever to then get into bed. Like an hour. Doing whatever is done in the bathroom (right outside our room), maybe watching TV in the den, walking around between bathroom and kitchen and den, and otherwise being clear that if we were to make any noise we’d be heard. This one would know what’s going on, and I really can’t play with her hot little body without making some noise, whether from the violent motion or the dirty talk or the involuntary moans and gasps. So waiting there we tend to fall asleep, or at least get tired and shut down a little, and it’s hard to come back from that.
We finished up some “Kind Tree” brand sour apple flavored tincture. It doesn’t taste good but I think sour apple flavor kind of destructively interacts with weed’s flavor profile, shutting down some of the more repulsive parts of it, so it works or at least helps as a flavor. The Thursday the nearby-kid-related pause in the middle wasn’t too long and when it was wrapping up she said “I kind of want to get really fucked up tonight, give me some gummies.” OK! These were mainly the Insa troches that I’ve been mentioning, but I was recently in New Jersey (where recreational weed is now legal) and I bought some actual gummy-gummies, all sweet and candy flavored, and now I realize that one reason all the PA weed products taste so bad is we don’t allow sugar in ours. That explains a lot. These were tangelo and blueberry flavored and came in a very attractive triangular prism of a box, surrounding a thin, tall plastic cylinder with a little pop-top into which ten 10mg THC gummies sit. I can’t remember what I paid, but I remember thinking it was a very high price in terms of $/mg THC.
Between the troches and the candies, 45 minutes later she was ridiculously high. She had a vibe on her clit, I had one hand on her neck and one on my cock, and she was squealing and gasping and twisting and struggling and coming over and over. My god, she has this hot little gymnast body now–a literal eight-pack of abs, her tiny little protruding mound, her sweet little shaved pussy perfect little perky tits. To feel that power over her, and to see her consumed by that power, to see her be so vulnerable, I don’t know if I’ve ever gotten hotter than that makes me. And she has really been enjoying the mock-choking (remember, I don’t actually squeeze enough to restrict her breathing at all). It reminded me that she can get used to things she thought she didn’t like when it comes to sex, which is not what she’s usually like. E.g., when it comes to music, almost nothing grows on her; she just knows immediately whether she likes it or not and very very rarely ever changes her mind later. I mention this because her pretty mouth was looking very much like it needed to be filled up and fucked, and like I’ve mentioned before she doesn’t like when I slam the back of her throat, but she took me in her mouth, opened it wide and looked me straight in the eye, beckoning me. I started pumping, slowly but purposefully, pressing into her throat. I could see her body starting to lurch, succumbing to the desire to submit and give herself to me with every suppressed gag reflex. She pushed me away and ecstasy jolted through her body; she came, hard, her head thrust forward, her pelvis thrust upward, her abs hardening, her pussy electric. What a fucking orgasm.
So you get the overall idea–these were great nights. But with the interruptions, I had not finished myself most nights before we’d fallen asleep and woken back up, and a couple of the nights she didn’t really wake back up at all. When I’m also sleepy, I can’t really get her to snap back into total horniness. It occurs to me that I want her to take some responsibility for my orgasm, you know, maybe at the end of the night she can just set her mind to making me come. She’ll let me take care of myself, but I can tell you that after you’ve had sex like the paragraph above, it’s not as exciting to make yourself come fucking a limp little perfect gymnast-bodied wife. I want my little nymph. Historically, it’s been a little bit of a joke between us about how my satisfaction is of relatively very little importance compared to hers. Which is true, for sure, and usually funny, but here was the sequence this last week:
- Wednesday I didn’t finish
- Thursday I just picked a time, like 2:45am, when she was clearly just about done but I could still get her gasping and squirming before I pulled out and came over her belly
- Friday she could barely wake up and she just let me finish up with a quick pounding that she enjoyed a little
- Saturday was great, kids were out of the house, until one returned earlier than expected (11:45pm) and we had to shut down for an hour. She had clearly lost interest by the time we could restart, pretended that she would get me off but her heart was clearly not in it. I got out a computer, watched some porn, then came while looking at the curve of her hips and ass under the sheet.
So, not totally great, although I should clearly state that the moments before the interruptions were all incredible. I’m going to see what we can do about this. If I can get her to enjoy a throat pummeling, maybe I can get her to enjoy play-acting that she desperately needs me to come before the night is over.
I said something one of these nights. Our fucking has been really amazing; we’re just taking each other to all kinds of new Perel places. This time, though, I said “we’re inventing new states of being” and she said “yeah.” Not that I know what it means but I know what it feels like and from her reply, I could tell she does, too.
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