not reading

We're both sick. His cold is on its way out, while mine is just beginning. Last night we were lying in bed, and he was reading to me. I caressed his body as he read. (We're reading Dorothy Sayers' first mystery, by the way.) I touched his chest, his belly. His arms, his belly. My hand slipped into his pants and his underwear. I caressed his thighs and ran my fingers through his pubic hair. I cupped his balls and touched his dick. He stopped reading and looked at me, the book still in his hands. Are we not reading anymore? he asked.

He pulled down his pants so I could have better access. I held his cock and felt it grow. It seemed vulnerable and sleepy. Slowly it grew to full size, and I was rubbing it and jacking him off with spit on my hand.

Give me some lubricant, I said. It's rare that I use lubricant on his cock because it means we're not soon going to fuck, and I'm not soon going down on him. It means hands only, and he likes this.

I put plenty of lubricant on his cock and did my best with it. I jacked him off fast and slow. I tried holding him in my hand loosely, holding his tight. I used both hands, and I used just a finger and thumb. I stroked just the underside. I did different combinations of fast and slow, such as two fast and one slow, then four fast and two slow.

He lay there with his eyes closed, holding onto my left breast, sometimes opening his eyes half way to look at my breast and my face, sometimes muttering, That feels so good, to keep my spirits up.

I was aroused by his arousal. I was also having a simple kind of fun. His cock is sometimes like a toy, to me. What can I do to him, what can I make him feel, what can I make him say and do? I like it in this purely physical way, like a child playing.

As time passed, and his arousal grew more intense, mine did too, and the experience became more emotional. I started to get off on imagining what he was imagining. I imagined him imagining me fucking him, my wet cunt giving him just the love he needed at the moment he needed it. I imagined him imagining me fucking him without a condom, caring nothing for consequences, wanting nothing but that pure and wholly intimate fuck without barrier.

My cunt ached with lust as he said, I might come, and then, I'm going to come, and he did, the hot semen spurting on his lower abdomen, so white it was almost blue, copious and very real.

We cleaned him up, I washed my hands, and then it was my turn. I masturbated as he touched my tits and told me what I had done to him. I was at the point of coming within seconds but made myself hold off. Then I asked him if he wanted to make me come. He said yes and touched me fast, taking over.

I felt the rising feelings, the first part of coming, then the catastrophic sensationing of falling, pleasure pumping through me with the fast contractions of my sweet little cunt.