sunday, late

Come to bed, sweet, come now.

I should have fallen asleep now hours ago, or before now, anyway. The night has grown late, and I wait for you, want you, cannot sleep.

I have found the turquoise nightgown, the old one, vintage, some fantasy from long ago. It charms you, I know, with its ruffles, the polyester lining beneath chiffon, my hair up, now down as you unfasten it, let my dark strands fall onto my shoulders, and you, the kiss of red wine.. I drink from your glass, and yes, it is wonderful. For this I stay up late, just to watch you walk into the room, then turn, aroused by my nightly reading, your hand on the hem of the skirt.

You are quick, my love, your clothing tossed to the ground so quickly, so hurriedly, as I barely have the chance to enjoy the slow exposure of your fine flesh, your trousers bulging in front, your spray-starched shirt laid carefully upon my stack of skirts and sweaters that I might choose to wear this week. Why not put them in the closet, you say, until you open the closet, and see the dilemma, no room, too much, you are not surprised, as you lower your head beneath my legs, nearly immediately, yes, I wore panties, was wearing panties, and you have rolled them down my legs so deftly, now off, and your head is where I dreamed it might be, soon, now, your tongue circling my clit as you kneel in your navy briefs and lick me.

I should sleep, but now am wet, my sweat unavoidable in this room, this gown that, while elegant, does not breathe, meant obviously to please only momentarily before eventual removal, and you have pulled it now over my shoulders, my neck, your cock pressing against the briefs, which I nearly as quickly roll down your ass, and off. I could stop, revel in the luxury of skin, your honey hair at the base of your ready cock, my skin now supple, first, inviting, hot, ripe, as I see your prick bounce as I lick you there, me now kneeling as you stand, run your hands through my hair, then grasp my head, thrust into my mouth first hard, then though you thought you might hurt me, toss yourself onto the bed, pulling me atop.

I should sleep, the hours all the shorter as I look at the alarm, set, must awaken by six o’clock, and it is midnight now, past, now Monday, early, and I want to sleep, want more to fuck you, want more for you to flip me over and send me into sweet oblivion, sweet dreams, your come dripping from my throbbing cunt, my ass, and the dreams between. No, I cannot sleep, not with you in my bed, not yet.

2 thoughts on “sunday, late

  1. diirrty says:

    delicious ending… so glad you made “the list” so that i might find you….

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s