Painful reminiscing

The following day, starting an hour commute, I consider that I will spend more time travelling to and from my meetings than we spent having sex the previous evening. I have had years of sex that you could (and I did) fit into television advert breaks.

I ache everywhere. My back is tense. Initially from throwing my head and shoulders back with my arms clasped round your inner thighs as I sat astride you and then later from lying on my front and arching my arse up towards you so you could enter me more deeply. My hips feel pulled apart from you holding the top of my thighs and ramming yourself into me from above, forcing my legs over your shoulders as you leant down to kiss me. My calves, which will receive further battering from walking around all day in heals, are throbbing from where later still I sat astride you supporting my weight so you could lift your head and watch your cock slide in and out of me. Whilst I watched your expression of pleasure. I am covered in scratches all up my body from where I curled my nails into myself, in pleasure, so as to avoid scaring you.

Later, sitting on the hard seat in my afternoon meeting, the discomfort I feel reminds me how you alternated between gently making love to me and fucking me hard. How after two hours you took me, animalistically, from behind with one hand pulling me into you and the other gaining leverage against the headboard. I smile, inappropriately, as I think how in that time I came four times and you only the once.

As I start my journey back to you and another, more gentle night of passion, I stand on the underground train. I hold the filthy metal pole and consider how much I’d like to handcuff you to the metal posts of the spare bed and fuck for hours.

Photo credit: Fabian de Kloe