Sunday Morning Paper

Every day a surprise, every day more to know and yet every day a growing desperation that I will never understand anything about you. It wasn’t always smooth sailing; we had a couple of huge fights, normally about nothing that always ended in wild savage fucking. Sometimes I think you would pick a fight with me just to give get me fired up and have the excuse to fuck like animals. Not that I ever needed an excuse, or even to ask, I’d come home some days and my cock would be in your mouth before the front door was closed, but what I liked the most was the quiet Sunday morning fuck. The paper would be spread all over the bed; you’d mess up the business section before I got to read it; I never took the bait, I am wise to your plan. I will not be distracted. Then you’d distract me. I’ll be deep in contemplation of the latest board room bust-up or weighing up the results of the latest round of footy games, trying to remember what my tips had been for the week when I’ll feel your hand suddenly grab my penis. “I want to play” in that stupid girlish voice that really, really grates on my nerves. “I just want to finish the paper” is my usual ignored response. You slide up to me and lay your head on my chest “I said I want to play”.
“I said I’m reading the paper”.
“Don’t you love me anymore?”
“Not until page 59 and then maybe not until I’ve read the TV guide and movie reviews”.
A moment pause, it’s going to go one of two ways here, either way I’m not going to finish reading the fucking paper again! You sit up and disappear behind the paper, I don’t move but prepare as best I can for the shoe to be thrown at my head. No shoe, just the sheets being slowly dragged down to expose my bare legs.
“It won’t work”, I say, not convincing anyone.
I feel your mouth around my penis, instantly inflating and standing to attention. Why can’t I have some level of control over that damned thing?
That tongue! Separated by a wall of paper I can hear you sucking, I can feel you running your tongue from the base of my cock to the tip before you guide it into your mouth, all the way down your throat, sucking, your tongue teasing and licking. Then you repeat the process. I refuse to react, my body remains unmoved. My eyes are closed and I am trying to hold my ground, I will not let you win! I feel the come building, you start to pump my cock with your hand. Oh God, don’t do that. Then you stop. My blood pressure drops momentarily, my paper shield is still in place and I feel you moving around on the bed. I try to peer over the top of the broadsheet to see what is going on when I feel you straddle my legs just before two feet poke through underneath the paper. You are facing the same direction as me, sitting high over my waste and leaning forward. I feel you hold my cock and guide it up into your pussy. You ease yourself down, the feel of my penis gliding against your soft walls almost makes me come there and then. You just sit there and arch backwards, I see the back of your head above the paper. I lower my arms and lay the paper flat against your back. “Thanks, my arms were getting tired”. It drives you wild, you start rocking your hips forward and back, my shaft driving in and out of your smooth moist pussy. I’m not reading, but I will not surrender. OK, go ahead and treat me like a human dildo, I do not move; your hand reaches down and simultaneously strokes my balls, shaft and your clitoris in single slow passes. The pace is picking up, just when I think I can’t hold on any longer, you slow. Hands on your thighs, you slowly grind and sway. Neither of us speaks a word. This torture continues for about twenty minutes, just as I feel like I’m going to come, you pull me back from the brink. I want to throw you down and fuck you hard but I will not weaken, I haven’t turned a page in fifteen minutes, I’m not fooling anyone. And then, without warning, I have an explosive orgasm, the paper is crumpled and thrown to the side. My hands grasp your hips and I thrust deep inside you. You gasp and arch back, I come in wave after wave. Moments after the last drop of come has been squeezed from me, you dismount, turn look me straight in the eyes and simply say “I win”. I guess I don’t care.