The King-Sized Bed: Chapter 9

Every single day, for months, we have had sex. Now that we’ve begun the habit, it ‘s hard to break. Even if I’m sick and can’t handle the taste of pleasure for myself, I make sure to give him some. After a while, even the most exquisite pleasures become ordinary, and it’s time to revisit old favorites with a new eye.

I could tell the first time I got this handjob thing right. His right hand started flapping in the air, exactly the way a dog kicks his leg in the air if you scratch the right spot. The mood dissolved in laughter, but I was on the right track.

Most of the time, our marital devotions complete with his penis sunk in my cunt, with lots of convulsing, groaning, and shouting, followed by tiny little muscle spasms. But as I’ve practiced the humble handjob more and more, I’ve discovered new layers of enjoyment.

As we age, our knees and backs start to act up during fucking. Therefore it is beautifully relaxing to lay him on his back. I sit cross-legged beside him, or between his legs so I can change the angle of my wrist as I pleasure him. There is no need to start with that familiar hand grip, either. In fact, I often begin with a piece of rabbit fur. I rub it up and down his chest, over his nipples, then down one side and over his thighs. Massaging his balls through the fur, I let them slide back and forth.

Nor is he a silent participant. He moans and moves, arching his back so he can get more friction from the fur. They I lay the fur aside and begin using my hand. Every part of his penis has a unique feel to my fingers. The head is velvety soft, then slick with tiny drops of fluid.

I pause to look at his face. His expression is one of rapture, eyes shot and lips parted, his breath rasping over his teeth as he breathes more deeply. I explore the uneven texture of the shaft and the prickly hairs that cover the base. Perhaps I cup his balls in my other hand, giving them a gentle squeeze. He arches again, moans and breathes. I trail my long hair over his loins, up his chest and back, while his hard cock twitches upwards, towards me.

I pour some lubricant into the palm of my hand. Even if I pause a moment to let it warm up, it’s still cold. Though he shudders, he has assured me that he likes the stimulation.

After watching him stroke himself off many times, I’ve found a grip that is close enough to what he’s used to, but easy enough for me to maintain for a long time. I wrap my hand around the shaft so that my thumb points up. That thumb is important. As every cock connoisseur knows, there is a spot just below the head that is as close to an “on” switch as it gets. Thus I want my thumb to rub the on switch at every stroke. Funny how now when I add more lube his heat is so great that he doesn’t feel the cold.

Then it’s a matter of patience and consistency. He thrusts his hips upwards, to fuck my hand. His face turns bright red. I may add to the stimulation, either pressing a thumb behind his balls, or talking dirty, but the conclusion is forgone, and pleasantly messy.

“I’m so lucky,” he says when he’s caught his breath.

I say, “so am I.”

Read the rest.