Sod The Roses - Sex Stories

Sod The Roses

... couldn’t see him, but I did hear his familiar, “fucking hell,” comments.

“I really don’t think I can,” I whined, trying to straighten my voice and my alphabet. And even though G.T.’s “Yes, you can, kitten,” took my head on another stratospheric orbit, the reality was that I was fucking ripping.

“No, you need some lube!” My wise, problem-solver brain finally managed to put the solution into words.

According to my husband, much later, I ‘completely went off my head’ at this point when they couldn’t find the bottle. Well, yes, I probably have. Imagine stopping a scene THERE and being faced with the fact that the nice fruit-flavoured, flower-scented £15 bottle of lube that I bought less than a week ago just poof been swallowed by this damn Bermuda Triangle of a house. I can absolutely imagine myself going into a teeth-rattling rabid rage over something like that. But honestly, I don’t remember because all I can remember is that I was whole torso in, waist down behind the bed, which is the disgusting dumping ground of the kid. Among his sticky dinosaurs and broken toy soldiers, I did find the old, almost but just almost empty bottle of plain watery lube. Who’s the little star champ again who saves the day?

As it turned out, my little hissy fit was unnecessary because we jumped right back where we were as if nothing had happened. And all I heard was G.T.’s moans of, “Mmm, yeah, this is much better”.

And the next thing I know is this strange but very welcome feeling, ...

... like being a bottle in the sea, floating with a now illegible message inside, riding the waves – except the waves were also inside me. His constant murmuring voice added another soft ripple to my happy little bottled-up tropical paradise.

The last time I was fisted like this was some twenty years ago, and that was my then-girlfriend with her tiny feminine hand. I just couldn’t believe it was happening and how amazing it felt.

It seemed to go on forever, but even forever wouldn’t have been enough. I wanted to put some cushion into this little cosy corner and live there. A tiny, really insignificant part of me came up with the idea that maybe, just maybe, I needed to cum. But again, when you’re having this much fun, you don’t want it to end. Sometimes that doesn’t matter. And this was undoubtedly one of those occasions. Luckily, I wasn’t the ringmaster; otherwise, we would have been stuck there till the end of times...

My dear husband bore down upon me, pressing my head sideways into the bedding as he told me, “You need to take his cock now.”

His palm was covering my ear, and I couldn’t hear the discussion between them, only the deep murmuring sounds, but I asked him later, and according to him, the conversation went something along the lines of ‘the little slut took that well’. Happy to be the test subject for such games. Any time.

When G.T. grabbed me by my hair and shoved his fist into my mouth to ‘taste myself ‘, I turned into my filthy cock-tease self again ...