The weather here is lovely in February — it’s in the mid 70’s during the day and it’s nearly always sunny. It’s perfect weather for one of my favorite weekend rituals — a lazy morning in bed, followed by a late breakfast on the water and a trip to the farmers’ market to pick up fresh fruits and vegetables for the rest of our weekend meals.
The farmers’ market is about a mile from the beach where the breeze is stronger and the sun shines brighter. Tables are piled high with brightly colored fruits and vegetables and people sell fresh produce, homemade pies, cookies, and jars of pesto and tomato sauce. Everyone moves slowly and smiles easily. Everything about it reminds me why I love this place.
J doesn’t love the people, the sun, or the vegetables as much as I do, but he’s happy to tag along and I’m happy to have him with me.
I like watching the way he watches me when we’re out. I like the way he moves in my orbit, perpetually adjusting his position in relation to mine. I like seeing his curiosity and amusement when I get excited about particularly fat, juicy strawberries. I like moving slowly through the day, unrushed, enjoying the anticipation of what comes later, after a lazy afternoon and a good meal, after I’ve been hungry for him all day, after I can’t handle wanting him any more and give up any guise of self-control. I like walking past the tables and discussing what to make for dinner, all the while thinking of the delicious ways I’ll use J later in the evening.
After buying two jars of homemade marinara sauce from an old woman on the corner, I stopped to browse some lovely zucchini piled in crates on the ground.
As I leaned down to get a better look, my wind-blown hair fell forward into my face. I stood up and pulled a hair clip from my purse.
Under the curious watch of the dusty, sun-browned man hawking his squash, I held the clip out for J. Without a word, J opened his mouth and I clamped the hair clip on his tongue.
It’s what I do when we’re in bed. When I’m on top and lean down to kiss him, I hate when my hair falls into my face… and his face. When it gets in my way, I lean over and get a hair clip from the nightstand drawer. Since I need both hands to tie my hair back, I have to put the clip somewhere. One day, I decided J’s tongue was available, and it felt cute and playful to demand it. Now it’s become a habit — as soon as I get the clip, he offers me his tongue.
At the market, I gathered my hair and wound it into a messy twist, removed the clip from J’s tongue, and secured my hair back out of my face.
The farmer looked amused.
“That’s a good man you have there.”
“I know,” I nodded and smiled.
The farmer playfully wagged his finger at J.
“You’d better watch, son. Pretty soon, she’ll make you hold her purse… who knows where!”
J chuckled and I responded.
“Of course not! I’d never make him hold my purse — he’d look ridiculous.”
I resumed my examination of the vegetables, decided on a few zucchini, and paid the man.
J took my hand in his and we walked on to the next table, piled high with bright red and orange tomatoes. We talked about what to make for dinner, but I was distracted — I was too busy thinking of all the ways I’ll use him later tonight.
I wanted to shove my cock down his throat as far as it would go. My head spun with the want to make him take it, to fuck his face, to fuck his head into the wall until it hurt… [read more]
He writhed as I worked the plug in and pumped his cock with my other hand. After a few moments, he arched his back and tried to fuck himself against my hand… [read more]
|against the metal
Leaning over, she whispers, “ready to fuck?” and grinds her pussy hard against his hip. With her thigh, she pushes him over gently and he shifts onto his back under her… [read more]