Wake-up Calls

He keeps waking me with his tongue in my pussy. Sometimes I'm already stirring. Or his movement under the sheets to get into position wakes me just a little. But sometimes I don't know what's happening until he's already barely traced the outline of my slit with the tip of his nose, already parted my lips with the tip of his tongue.

Disoriented, it takes me a moment to register what I'm feeling, realize that it's not a dream. Sometimes I'm shocked a little bit—I can't exactly place what's happening to my body and I resist a little bit. But when those moments pass and my brain and body connect, I relax and give into the pleasure fully. In my vulnerable state he could have anything he wants, but he doesn't want it if I'm not into it.

I don't come easily in the morning. It's a slow process. Delicious, but slow. I try not to ruin it by wanting it too much, by rushing my body, or trying to will myself to come. That's not the point of these interludes. Not in the morning, anyway. The point is intimacy. Pleasure takes a close second.

The point is that we share a bed and a life together, and we share our bodies openly and freely. And we give and we take in equal measure because we want to, and because we can. So when his head appears between my thighs in the early morning light, it's with the knowledge that I want him there, even if I haven't expressly said so.

And he licks me and fingers me and loves me so well. He smiles up at my sleepy eyes and half-hooded they return the look. Soon they are closed again, as I lose myself in the feeling centered between my legs.

Sometimes sex follows this lazy, wonderful wake-up call. But sometimes just this is enough.

Republished with permission from Always Each Other. Want to see your true tale of lust on Fleshbot? Contact us. Photo courtesy of X-Art.