The wonderfully dark cave I had created the night before had been transformed into a glowing incubator. The warm light was shining fiercely through our yellow sheets. It felt good and even better because it was Saturday. I laid completely still for several moments drifting in and out of consciousness, soaking up the muted morning sun from under the covers. Slowing unearthing myself from my blankets, I pulled up my mismatched knee socks, which had slinked down to my ankles during the night.
I reached over to my night stand for the J I had left in the ashtray the previous evening and sparked it. Breathing deeply, I adjusted my eyes. I sat up and felt quite content in my nest of wrinkled blankets. I could smell bacon. John was always in the kitchen early on Saturdays and just as the odor hit my radar, he called to me.
“Babe! You up yet?”
I waited a few seconds to respond. There was always such a strangely handsome tone to his voice when he wasn’t sure if I was awake or if his words were falling on deaf ears.
“Yup. I’ll be out in a minute.” I called.
I took another quick drag, snuffed it out, and headed to the kitchen. I spotted my ratty, but oh-so-comfy, slippers under the kitchen table and jumped down on all fours to get them. I stretched to reach them, arching my back, even grunting a little, as if they were just a little too far away. They weren’t of course, but a girl has to flaunt her tail feathers when such an obvious opportunity arises! The way my ass cheeks hung out of these boy shorts, I knew it would get his attention.
I loved when he called me “A”. It seemed so much more personal than my full name, Athena. I mean, it’s cool in my book to be named after a Greek Goddess. Pretty badass actually, but the name itself could seem so old fashion at times.
I got up off the floor and turned around to see his shit-eating grin and obviously hard dick.
Still got it, I thought to myself, which in turn gave me a shit-eating grin of my own. We were approaching our five year anniversary.
I went over to the stove and starting flipping the bacon. John immediately came up behind me, more interested in my tits than food at this point. He cupped them in his hands and squeezed. Hard. He had learned over the years that this was the most effective way into my panties. With such a sheer tank top on, his hand felt so warm. He slowly pulled my shirt up to get to my bare skin and pushed his cock against my rear. My nipples were so hard. It felt great. He removed my shirt entirely, and I pretended to still care about the bacon.
I felt him go to his knees and start to pull my panties down. He was quick, yet so effective. You would think that after being together for so long, sex would be so routine by now, but it so wasn’t. He spread my ass to get to what he really wanted. I could feel his breathe between my legs. Instant goose bumps. He licked his fingers and stuck two deep inside of me. He very slowly worked them in and out. In and out. The grease from the pan started to spit. A few drops hit my stomach and burned, which only added to my excitement at this point. Yeah, I like a little pain.
After a few minutes I was dripping. I wanted to move things along, but I was a sucker for being made to wait. Foreplay and bacon. It doesn’t get better than this. And what a fantasy for a man I would assume. He stood up and this time it was his bare cock that I felt touching me. He got close, with his chest flush against my back and his fingers moved around to the front of my pussy. He put pressure on my clit with his wet fingers, but didn’t move his fingers at all. They seemed firmly glued in between my lips. Talk about being stuck between a rock and a place. This was driving me nuts and the heat from the stove was starting to make me sweat. He squatted down for a second and lowered himself beneath me to steal some of my wetness.
I took a step back and bent over, griping the oven handle. I felt the tip of his dick slip inside my asshole. It had taken John a hell of a long time to get that backstage pass. I would usually resist playfully and run my usual “No, Stop, Don’t” routine-which he enjoyed-but this morning I was digging the silence. I hadn’t spoken a word since leaving the bedroom and the only sound I wanted to hear at this point was his balls smacking my under carriage.
He went inside me completely. I felt so full and satisfied. He always said he liked anal because of how it made me feel and react, more than how it made his dick feel. He loved to see me cum and it seemed this was, surprisingly, the easiest way to get that accomplished. Surprising only to me I suppose. I never would have guessed that at age 30 I would like a dick in my ass. There were thousands of things I had learned about myself since meeting John. But we’ll talk more about all that later, I’m kind of in the middle of something here…
It usually didn’t take long once he was back there. I reached between my own legs and took over where he left off. I could feel my excitement mounting. It’s hard to describe what an “analgasm” feels like. It comes from a place so deep; it almost seems religious, which I am definitely not. So that’s saying something.
“I’m going to cum.”: The first words spoken in almost 40 minutes.
I always said it. Doing so always made it so much better. John would always put on his best show in my final moments.
He started to thrust harder and reached around with both hands to grab the shit out of my tits once again. I felt the orgasm take over. For the next twenty seconds or so I was wriggling with ecstasy; throwing my ass back at John as hard as he could take it and held my breath until it was over. John of course, came as well.
We held our position for a moment and he kissed the back of my neck. He grabbed the snowman dish towel that had fallen onto floor and handed it to me when he was done. It was odd. Our kitchen towels and potholders always seemed to have a winter theme regardless of the time of year. It was June.
We both grabbed a piece of bacon, now on the burnt side, which made us both giggle and headed back to the bedroom. We climbed in bed with it and started looking for horrible movie on Netflix. I say horrible, because they were all pretty bad, thus providing us with quite the selection.
We watched “Ninja Vengeance” (1988); a hilarious film about an American Ninja, fearsomely named Chris. Chris for some reason insisted on doing a forward roll whenever he started again on his travels, which had us both in stitches – every time.
Hours had passed and we still hadn’t put on a single bit of clothing, except for my knee socks which had never made it off. It looked as though it was going to be yet another “Naked Saturday” and I couldn’t be happier.