Proud

If you were watching from the doorway you’d have seen a woman perched at the edge of the bed with head down and ass thrust saucily up.  You’d have seen a man move in from behind and impale her on the glistening flesh which only moments before had been shoved down her throat.

For a while you would have noticed nothing unusual, just two middle-aged lovers wholeheartedly enjoying themselves in the early morning sunlight.  You might have thought they seemed into each other (and the act itself) rather more than expected what with all the dirty talk, hair pulling and ass-slapping.  Were they new partners, you might have wondered, but beside that you would have noted nothing particularly remarkable about the performance.

But eventually, you’d watch as the man placed a naked foot on the bed next to the woman’s arm.  You would have seen him tilt his body across hers with one hand braced against her shoulder, the other against the bed.  Their movements would all but stop, at least to anyone watching from the doorway.

Whatever were they doing, you’d wonder.  Did they need a rest?  Was there a problem?  Could the performance be over so soon?

If you looked more closely you’d see on the man’s face a look that belied the idea that they’d stopped or even paused.  The sounds coming up from someplace deep within his chest?  They’d have struck you as almost orgasmic.  “Keep rocking your hips like that,” you would have heard him moan, and with that hint finally you’d have seen the reason for his joy:  almost imperceptibly tiny movements of the woman’s pelvis back and forth, with not a hint of participation on his part other than holding fast to her hips.  However small the motion, its effect on the man was undeniable.  He clenched, he shuddered, he came, yelling with pleasure as his body stayed all but immobile and her hips continued their minuscule oscillations.

And if you could have seen the woman’s thoughts, encased perhaps in a bubble floating above her head, what would she have been feeling about the encounter, their actions, his sounds?  Inarticulate as her thoughts might have seemed (as she at that moment felt nearly as much pleasure as he did), you would have picked up clear hints of triumph and abundant pride.

Pride, over fucking?

“I made him come,” she was thinking.  “I did it.  I know how to move.  I know how to fuck.  I can do it.” Because after years and years of feeling like the most inept and doltish partner in the world, she’s now starting to believe that this one amazing man finds her competent.

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Thanks to everyone who has already entered our Tuesday Super-Swag contest. You have until Sunday July 5th at 12:01 am to get additional entries in.  I’m so pleased at the number (and quality) sent in so far.  I guess this means we require bribery?