Sex In The Afternoon

Much to my shame I’ve never read Ernest Hemingway’s “Death in the Afternoon”. Nor have I ever seen a bullfight. I have no wish to see the ritualised torture of animals. However, for reasons which I may go into at some other juncture I have always been fascinated by certain aspects of Spanish culture, including bullfighting and flamenco.

It is of course the sexuality woven into both which make me feel I ought to know more. Or rather I ought to feel more, be immersed in the visceral energy surrounding the dance of death and the dance of life and death. Experiences for another day perhaps.

And what brings you this little insight into the missing parts of my sensory and literary education? Well, we were taking a break on Sunday afternoon, so naturally we ended up in bed. Sex in the afternoon, always a decadent pleasure. While the rest of the world washes its cars and puts up shelves, we immersed ourselves in carnal gratification.

What would normally have happened is a damn good fuck; First course foreplay, second hard and passionate banging, post-coital cuddles for dessert. It is always a dance. The two (or more 🙂 ) protagonists circle and cavort, the steps of the dance always different, ever changing. Action and reaction, the lunge and parry, the fall and recover, the challenge and the repost.

Maybe it was Suzanne’s current phallus fixation, or just the alignment of the planets, but either way she ended up giving me one of her legendary blowjobs. She has a technique that is beyond anyone else’s I have ever encountered.

I was already erect when her hand found its way to my groin and discovered my rigid cock. She grasped it with an eagerness that told me her soft lips would soon be embracing it. She threw back the covers and pounced on my unsuspecting member. OK so it wasn’t unsuspecting, but a little surprised at the suddenness and intensity of the oral assault.

You know it’s going to feel good when a woman makes you gasp with her ministrations. This afternoon I felt my head spinning almost immediately with the intensity of the sensations she provided. One hand grasped my balls while her mouth and the other hand took turns to engulf my cock.

The firmness of her dexterous fingers, counterpointed by the soft, warm, comforting, almost womb-like quality of her mouth. Yet no womb has an athletic, insistent tongue, or mischievous teeth, raking at the skin of my penis.

The slight straining of the hand incarcerating my balls kept reminding me of the guilty pleasure which I am now deriving from this acute discomfort. Over the last few weeks I have come to realise that this subtle but powerful form of bondage is intensely arousing for me.

My hands roamed her body, one settling quickly on her pussy. Her slit was moist, the clitoris must have been glittering with her juices. I could not see this, having been manoeuvred into a kneeling position to allow Suze, laying on her side, to grasp my scrotum and attend to my now throbbing cock.

As I approached the inevitable sweet conclusion I felt her body convulse. The orgasm gripped her, back arching, pussy dripping. Only then was her attention distracted, her mouth’s grip on my cock broken for her to emit a sensuous, intensely arousing “Aaaaah!”.

This was too much for me. The warm wetness surrounding my hand as her thighs clamped around it and the look of ecstasy on her face as her eyes rolled into the back of her head began my swift progress to an unstoppable climax.

I came with her hand clasped around my cock, milking me dry. My head bent forward as I let out a low growl through gritted teeth. Blue-white sparks shot up my spine combining into a orgasmic halo around my head and I had to stifle the urge to howl. Bloody neighbours.