Screwed In Socks

Warmth is just warmth – right?

Wrong.

The warmth of a bed in the morning is like no other type of warmth, especially on a cold autumn morning. I could feel her against me, her legs naked her body covered in a short sleeved cotton shirt, one of my old shirts that she loved to wear and I loved to see her in. Something about women wearing your clothes …

I braved the cold and made us both a coffee. It was early, the sky outside still the inky black of night but we were both awake. I sat up in bed with my arm around her, both of us sipping at the steaming hot mugs.

Her hand slid into my lap, fingers curling around my cock. She held it, caressing its plump softness, the remnants of my waking erection. We didn’t speak, enjoying the silence of the early morning and the closeness of each others flesh. I could feel her woollen bed socks on my ankles, she always had such cold feet in the morning.

In her hand I began to stir, the soft flesh in her hand hardening and her fingers moving involuntarily along its increasing length. There was a transitional moment where she went from absently and unconsciously stroking my erection to a deliberate effort to stimulate me. The site and texture of my cock in her hand awakening desire within her, lagging somewhat behind that in me.

Her hand was still for a few minutes, only her index finger rubbing my frenulum, lubricated by silky smooth precum. She leant towards her bedside table to deposit her coffee mug on it then slide out of my arm and onto her front. Her head was turned on one side facing me, she smiled and invited me to join her, to join with her.

I slid under the covers, pushing my leg over her, coming to rest between her now splayed legs. My cock rested against the valley between her round butt cheeks. I felt the urge to gently hump the cleft in her buttocks. The copious supply of precum aided me in my indulgence, the memory of doing this and cumming over her back at her insistence a few weeks earlier filled my head. That wasn’t what she wanted now.

I drew my hips back until my cock was resting against her anus. I pushed forward a little, pressing against the tight ring of muscles. She yelped. “It’s OK.” I Chuckled, just kidding. “Maybe later …” she said.

Her hot, moist opening was only a couple of centimetres away, my cock found it with certainty and accuracy gained from innate familiarity with her body. She was flat on the mattress not wanting to rise up and let any more cold air into our warm linen refuge than was absolutely necessary. It made the entry awkward, the angle little too acute, and yet more arousing for the restriction and unusual sensations.

With more grind than bump I pushed into her pussy. She sighed and groaned with appreciation, clenching her muscles around my cock , at on point almost holding me immobile inside her. She giggled then released me to continue this strange and sensual fuck.

Her pussy was an ever-flowing river of feminine-scented juices. The heat our lovemaking generated between the sheets intensified the aroma so each movement of our bodies wafted a rich, hot wave of scent out into the cool air of the bedroom.

Her tone changed, he moans changing to gasps. The wetness in her became greater than before and the reason was obvious. She let out a long, slow, low moan, turning her face into the pillow and shouting out words that could have been “Yes, oh Yes!” but were too distorted by her orgasmic paroxysm to make out.

The excitement of the moment grabbed me and threw me hurtling into an orgasm myself. I wanted to thrust over and over but the odd angle and moisture of our union threatened to cause me to slip out of her so I pushed myself as deep inside her as I could and relished the deep contractions in my groin pumping cum deep inside her.