Wake and Bake and Bone

Warning: NSFW content (but isn't it always?). If you're not into gratuitous porn in written form, this may not be the post for you.😏

The first time is with his mouth and fingers.

This pleasant diversion —  what my friends jokingly knicknamed a Wake-Bake-and-Bone day, or WBB — wasn’t planned. Then again, the best things in life rarely are.

Well, technically, we didn’t have the whole day — it’s been a while since we had one of those. But really. Who needs the whole day anyway? We’re not horny college students who can’t seem to make it to class for all the humping that’s going on, although sometimes it feels like we are.

At least, that’s what I’m led to believe college-life is like. Truth be told, I was already working full-time by the time I was 19 and married before my 21st birthday. Our conservative religious environment seemed to expect us both to live like a middle-aged couple before we were even 25. But more on that another time.

I’ve found over the last two years that amazing things happen when I allow myself to be swept away. When I let go of my plans and let myself be seduced at any given time — to see a chance for a passionate moment in time with my spouse and to then give myself permission  to put on hold the things that need doing, to suspend the reality of home and family responsibilities for a even just an hour. To press pause on the never-ending rounds of meals and shuttling kids to and fro and on the thoughts of this or that about the last few days or about the future. To embrace the chance to be the wild and untamed creature I still am, although she’s usually hidden, subsumed by my role as caregiver and mother.

It takes practice — the letting go — but I’ve found it gets easier the more you do it. And I’ve found that, surprisingly, I’m still wired to be spontaneous and free, like I felt in my twenties, when throwing out plans and going with the flow came so much easier. It’s taken conscious work, mindful shushing of the voice in my head that nags about getting this or that done.

Really, it’s not unlike the practice of self-care. Taking time to focus on oneself can feel difficult, even impossible sometimes. When there is so much that needs my attention, how can I spare the time to show myself some love? It can even feel selfish. But when I’m not taking care of myself, when I’m pushing myself to go that extra mile on an empty tank, I’m not the caregiver or partner that I want to be. Yes, maybe all the laundry is done and put away, the car might be devoid of garbage and crushed crackers, and the floors of my kitchen might be rice-free. But if I’m snapping at my kids for stupid reasons and I’m so exhausted in the evenings that I can’t find the energy to reconnect with my partner, is all that other stuff really worth it?

Which is where cannabis comes in for me. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not sitting around stoned all day. But once in a while, when I’m kid-free and need some me-time, weed can help me let go. A little reefer and for an hour or two I couldn’t give two fucks about the enormous pile of clean clothes that needs sorting or the soap grime on the tub that needs scrubbing. I feel free to go where the wind blows me. To seek pleasure and not feel guilty about it. (On the topic of cannabis and sex, see my essay “Weed over wine, Part 2.”)

Today the older kids are off at school, with the youngest having an adventure with Nana. PM had come home for lunch, and with some surprise, we realized that neither of us had anything pressing to do for the next couple of hours.

Don’t misunderstand me. In a household of five there’s always something that needs attention. But on this particular afternoon, there was nothing that wouldn’t keep.

PM and I eat our lunches together at the kitchen island and have a cup of coffee. And as we sit in companionable silence, I find myself wondering whether he’s in the mood to get frisky. Is that why he came home in the middle of the day?

When we had gotten down and dirty last night on the couch after the kids had gone to sleep, for one reason or another I hadn’t been able to climax, although not for a lack of effort on PM’s part. The man puts the work in. And it usually pays off.

Just not last night. *frowns and shrugs*

As I start to clear the dishes, I’m thinking I could really use an orgasm. It would be just the stress-relief I could use right now. I don’t want to assume anything, with his popping home midday, but very often when I’ve had an off-night or two and haven’t been able to come, PM makes a special effort to put some extra time in for me, making sure I get there. Regular orgasms have become an essential part of my self-care regimen — a sure-fire way to de-stress. And while stress can make coming more difficult, ironically it’s often exactly what I need to blow off some steam.

“Do you wanna get high and have sex?” I ask as I cup my breast suggestively. No reason to beat around the bush. Sometimes I’m distracted, and he needs to seduce me — to pull me in with a look, a caressing hand on my ass, a brush of lips on the back of my neck. But no need for that today. I’m rewarded with a sharp inhale from PM. “You read my mind,” he replies with a smirk.

We decide to smoke a bowl together rather than go the edible route. The effects hit you more quickly when you smoke and they don’t last as long, making it an ideal precursor to an afternoon delight.

PM packs the bowl, and I run upstairs, slip off my panties, and quickly apply some CBD arousal oil. It’ll take about 15 minutes for the oil to kick in, so if I time this right, by the time we’re done smoking, the pussy will already be purring and ready to be pet. (If you haven’t already read my review on CBD arousal oil, be sure to check it out. I now consider it an essential tool to enhance my pleasure.)

Out on our porch we light it up and pass it back and forth a few times while we chat about our mornings. I’ve got a sundress on, but now I’m commando and feeling the slick oil caress me intimately every time I move. When we head back inside, my clit’s humming.

As we head upstairs to the bedroom, he’s already right behind me stroking and caressing my hips and ass. When we get into the room he kisses me, a sensual press of lips that quickly deepens as his tongue slides against mine. I’m walked backwards toward the bed, and he only allows me a few seconds to scoot up and back before he’s on me again. He settles his weight on me as he begins to kiss, lick, and nip his way down my jaw, neck, and collarbone.

He slides the straps of my sundress down and begins to move further down, tasting and rasping his beard on my breasts. After worshiping each breast in turn, he slides farther down my body until he’s resting with his face between my thighs. He rucks my dress up over my hips and goes to work devouring me.

While I’m still coming down from the first climax, he flips me over on my stomach, pulls up my hips and presses his cock inside. I’m drenched from a combination of his mouth, my orgasm, and the arousal oil, which has me hot and ready. He starts a slow pace, with a delicious rolling of his hips. Deep with a slow drag out. I’m panting and moaning. It’s so fucking good, and I’m wondering if maybe I can have a second peak.

But then all of a sudden, to my surprise, he pulls out, only to slide down my body to the foot of the bed. With one hand he spreads my ass and with the other he begins to finger fuck me. His mouth goes to my asshole, and I can feel his scratchy beard sliding against my asscheek as his tongue gently begins flicking across my hole. I let out a slow exhale that ends in a low moan as my body relaxes into the sensation.

It’s really only been in the last year or two that I’ve let him rim me. When combined with clitoral stimulation, I love ass play generally -- fingers and toys -- but it’s taken some time for me to get past my nervousness over his mouth there. It’s not unlike the self-consciousness I felt when he first started eating me out, that reflex to say, “You don’t have to do that.” And he doesn’t. And he knows that. And so I let myself relax and enjoy the different pleasure it elicits.

And it’s now that I know his intention — he’s going for orgasm number two. Gentleman’s Choice, although I’m not sure I’ll get there today, the half-formed thought flitters across my pleasure-addled brain. (Gentleman’s Choice is a little game I instituted a few years ago. If he can make me come more than once in a session, the next time we get freaky, he can choose what he wants to do. It adds a bit of fun as well as an incentive for him to prolong my pleasure.)

I can feel my body responding quickly, but the tension doesn’t seem to focus enough to peak. I’m not sure that I’ll be able to let go again. But PM clearly has a goal in mind, so I empty my mind of these thoughts — the worry that I’m wasting his time and effort, the frustration with myself that I’m meandering along pleasurable routes instead of climbing the mountain. I focus on the feeling of sliding tongue and stroking fingers.

After a little while, PM has found a rhythm that’s speaking to me. My body bows to the instruction of his skilled hands and mouth. It’s not long before I’m mewling and whimpering and rolling my hips against his face. This one is slow building, but it’s going to be intense, I can tell. But I try not to give that delicious thought any further attention. God knows that when I start to anticipate a climax, to think about it too much, it more often than not fizzles out.

I slip my hand beneath my hips to find my clit. His fingers are already there, working large circles as he finger-fucks me. “Don’t stop. Keep going,” I pant, as I slide my finger alongside his and begin smaller circles in tandem with his own movements. Thank god he takes me literally and doesn’t miss a beat or remove any of his digits but simply allows me to join his ministrations.

The hand that’s gripping my ass kneads and squeezes, and I’m so very close now, I can practically taste it. “Harder,” I whisper, “Your fingers on my ass — harder.” I’m hoping he understands what I want, because honestly, I’m just about past the ability to speak. I lift my hips and press my ass into his hand and face and hope he intuits what I need.

He knows from experience and from past conversations that at the very end, I often like it rough. When I’m in the throes of pleasure, where primal instinct and sensation take over, I want to feel possessed. The time for the slow, sensual build is over. I’m coming undone, and I want to feel like the madness that has overwhelmed me has overtaken him as well.

And apparently he takes my meaning. He digs his fingers into my ass and my hips as he continues to finger fuck me and work my clit. I’m sure I’m going bruise, but it’s exactly what I need. I shriek and wail as my body flies over the cliff.

I’m still delirious, whole body trembling, when he flips me onto my back. I huff out a weak sort of protest. The least he can do is give me a moment to come down before he starts to take his pleasure. Still floating somewhere in space, I vaguely feel him push between my thighs. But I realize with surprise that it’s his shoulders instead of his hips, and a split second later I let out a squeal when his mouth descends on my center once again.

“What…” I can’t even string a sentence together. He sucks my clit gently, and although I’m hyper sensitive, I find myself letting out a low moan as my body begins to heed his summons once more. He slides his fingers in and curls them, pressing and rubbing my front wall with determination.

I have a few false starts where I start to feel the tension build, but it fizzles out. I’m feeling desperate. Sure, I didn’t need a third orgasm, but now that’s it’s being waved in front of me like a treat in front of a dog, it’s all I can think about. I need this now.

“Another finger,” I manage to choke out, and I feel the added stretch and pressure as he presses in what I can only assume is a third digit. And it’s that extra girth pushing and thrusting and curling that does it for me. His tongue is lathing my clit over and over, and I can feel my whole body begin to tense again as my back arches and my thighs shake.

This orgasm feels like it’s been literally ripped out of me, as I hear myself scream. The waves of pleasure go on and on, and at some point PM begins to slide his fingers out, but No, not yet! and I instinctively clamp my thighs on his hand. He understands my unspoken command and continues to slowly finger fuck me through it.

When I finally come down, I look up to see him sitting back on his heels, stroking himself, with the look on his face of a cat that’s got the cream. He leans down and urges me to sit up as he pulls at my dress, slipping it over my head and tossing it over his shoulder. He settles his weight on top of me and let’s me taste myself on his lips. We both groan as I lift my legs and he presses into me.

He starts slow, which is good because I feel like my whole body is made of jelly. He rolls his hips, and his pelvis grinds into my clit. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, close my eyes, and just hang on.

After a little while I open my eyes and look at his face, and realization dawns. He wants to get me off again. I can see it in the set of his jaw. I can sense it in the tension of his body. He’s holding himself in strict check. And for a few minutes I’m thinking, Yes! — I’m so sensitive and it feels fabulous. But I’m also running a bit sore now, and I’m pretty sure the weed must be wearing off, because as he’s slowly stroking, I’m suddenly aware of the fact that it’s the middle of the afternoon and we’ve been fucking for a while now.

And I’m also now thinking about PM and his needs. He’s got to be getting tired… And so my internal monologue comes back in full force and I know that I’ve abruptly emerged from my sexy, cannabis haze. The bubble we had built has burst, at least for me.

“It’s okay. You can let go,” I murmur. He opens his eyes and looks at me. “Are you sure?” he grinds out. “You don’t want to try for another one?” I consider his offer for a brief second. “Yes, I’m sure. Take me. Use me, baby,” I purr. He gives me a crooked grin and a slow nod before he picks up the pace. His hips are snapping and the room is filled with the obscene sound of skin slapping skin.

Mercifully, he doesn’t keep it up for too long. My body is tired, and I’m coming down hard. He slides out and straddles me, shimmying up until he’s over my torso. I watch as he strokes himself above me, and I pluck at my nipples with a lazy smile. I reach up to cup and roll his balls and with a finger I rhythmically massage his taint in time with his own strokes. It’s only a minute or two before his body tenses, and I close my eyes and feel warm splashes over my tits and face.

When he’s finished, he lets out a long exhale and rolls off me. He grabs some tissues and cleans me up as I grin at him like a fool. He returns my grin and chuckles. “Back to the real world, I suppose,” I say. He glances at his phone, and I ask him how long we’d been at it. The weed messes with one’s perception of time, and I really have no idea how long we’ve been up here. He huffs out a laugh. “Two hours,” he tells me. Damn. That was unbelievable.

As I get up and we begin to dress, I tell him so. He laughs and agrees. “I’ve gotta run,” he says, as he kisses the top of my head and disappears out the door. No time to leisurely enjoy the post-coital glow. But I’m feeling sated as fuck, and my body is all loosey-goosey and tension-free. Letting go and getting swept away never felt so good.

Until next time, stay kinky 😉