Thawing Out

It's fucking cold here. Again. Being all horned up yet again, I needed Peter to warm me a bit with a snuggle before we got down to business.

How can it feel so fresh every time after 20 years of scrogging, I ask you? I mean, really.

Peter sat with his back against the headboard and I leant up against him with that glorious pocket rocket in my right hand. The coconut oil is still my favourite for glide factor, and the buzzing is just so damn good. Lying there in Peter's arms, against his warm chest, I really began to thaw out. I could feel twin points of heat blooming on my cheeks, and my clit was swelling pretty seriously in response to the vibe. Michael Buble was crooning in the background, followed by a hot song from The Thomas Crown Affair - some of my favourite sex music.

It felt like I had 3 or four mini orgasms before the big one hit, which was, of course, followed by several others once that hair trigger was activated. Yumm. Just fucking yummmm.

I slid down off of Peter, turning over to take him into my mouth, already hot and stiff. Unable to resist, I straddled him and rode him, moving my hips to get him on just the right spot inside of me. I was plenty hot now, and peeled off my tank top so he could stroke and grab my breasts and rub my nipples. I couldn't help the juices that started flowing then, but I didn't want to anyway. I don't know how many times I came. I can never keep track when there are so many. I switched back and forth between teasing little bobs that brushed my G-spot against his ridge, and hard, downward slams that drove him deep up into me. Fuck.

When I had finally spent myself (if that's the right term for a chick) he flipped me over. It's good that I'm flexible, because he lifted my legs, and folded me in half so that my knees were at my ears and my ankles up over my head. What an angle. As he drove into me, I came again. And again.

It never gets old. It's always fucking wonderful.