holiday

“One day to come together
To release the pressure.
We need a holiday.”

“Honey, do you know where my g-spot it?”

“Hmm….”

A g-spot is not a clitoris. It is not the perineum, nor is it labia. It is certainly not a nipple, and it is not that area just inside–oh my–the entrance to my pussy, although, I do admit that once you are there I am nearly gone, gushing, grinding into your hand in some vain effort to show you just exactly where that sacred spot is.

Oh mercy.. you found it. Oh sweet heaven in my bed, you found it, and I can barely stand it, pushed over the edge as you show me that despite your own drained state after the blow job I just gave you, despite your prior feigned ignorance about such matters, you know exactly where I want you to touch me now, exactly what will happen if you press on it just… like… that. Oh yes.

It makes me think a little of the evening before, when we were not alone here just the two of us, when I had my fingers curved back inside a nice warm cunt, my tongue on her accommodating clit. Ah yes, I had always wanted to do that–friends must be for this sort of thing. But you know. You were there, kneading nipples, fingering with admirable dexterity, exploring and satiating your female audience: both of us.

Amazing. Simply amazing.

I am exhausted now, nearly a day after sharing so much. Moments come back to me, in kaleidoscope-like glimpses as I catch variations on the movements: one moment you, one moment me, one moment her, at all moments all three, joined in an intimate space. So warm, so hot.

And still, in the night, more. Much more.

To be continued…

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