Perhaps because of the length of time our bodies had been locked together, I finally began to run dry.
“More lube,” I begged breathlessly between thrusts, back over my shoulder, “get more lube.”
That’s what I thought I said, but he was lost in his own private world and didn’t understand. His fingers sank deeper into my rounded hips as he slowed his movements. “What?”
“Lube! I need lube!” I panted.
In lieu of lube, he slid gently out of me and dipped his head down to my bottom. I felt his tongue, broad and flat, at the top of my ass then slowly stroking downwards. For all my big talk, a tongue near my ass makes me squirm shyly, but I tried to hold still for him. I held very still when his tongue trailed along my lips and clit. Very still.
He pulled away and dug into the jumbled sheets for the tiny bottle of lube. I put my head down on the bed and groaned as I heard the lube squelch out onto his fingers. My back arched up to meet his slippery fingers; I was unreasonably pleased to find that not only did he put the lube on me but that he also rubbed it into me.
In me, on me, all over me. He slipped two fingers into my upturned cunt and circled his slippery thumb on my popped-out, exposed clit. There must be some explanation for why coming with your head to the earth and your fanny skyward feels so intensely wonderfully screamingly different. If there is a reason, I hope someday to find it. In the meantime, I plan to study the matter with extreme devotion, daily if possible.
I asked for more lube and got more orgasms. This is the generosity of my partner. This is how it should be.
I’ve got a lot to learn.