I loved Ryan’s cock, I know I’ve said it before, but not all cocks are made equal. I had no need for sweet Xmas treats as I licked, suckled and savoured that candy cane before me. I held Ryan’s majesty in one hand while my tongue wetly stroked the length of him, pausing briefly to push his knees apart and explore his inner thighs and dangling balls with my other hand. Strumming the sensitive flesh below the glans with little flicks of my pointed muscular tip, I cupped and tugged his balls, loving the sighs and moans that greeted my determined caresses.
Sighing happily at the memory of it I squatted in the darker shadows under the pine tree which marked the southern boundary of the block of land, appreciating the pre-dawn stirrings of bird life as piss poured out in a hot, fast odiferous stream. It was light enough to see the darker patch on the ground as I stood up awkwardly wiping myself with my hand; but not so light that we should be preparing for another day of lust or labour just yet. If I was quiet I might just be able to squeeze back into the hatchback and sleep for another hour before I needed to make a definitive move. I poured a small amount of water from the plastic jerry can onto my cupped hand a couple of times, using it to bathe away the traces of fluid from my cunt.
Drying myself with a handtowel, I slipped off the gumboots and clambered cautiously back into our car. Ryan was still asleep and I snuggled in behind him while trying to avoid touching him with my cool hands and feet. He stirred slightly as my chilled face nuzzled into his back but I lay still, nose and forehead resting against him, inhaling the smell of him and loving his heat. After a while, satisfied that I was warm enough, I cautious draped my arm over his side, bringing my hand to rest on his lightly furred lower belly, bending my knees in behind his, allowing my springy mound to rest against his buttocks. Satisfied, lids closed, I tried to match my breathing with his, tried to will my active mind to settle back into the rhythms of sleep.
It had been a perfect Xmas so far, although “break” is not a word that could be applied. We’d managed to get quite a lot of work done, but we’d taken time to stop and enjoy the beauty which surrounded us. Yesterday we’d walked for a couple of kilometers downstream, observing the riparian environment which unfolded before us, before striking out across thistle and briar studded paddocks seeking an alternative route back. The weather had been kind, not raining or windy and not so hot that it made walking exhausting and dangerous – we were after all in the realm of the tiger snake. Sheep scattered before us as we crested the hill looking down on the rutted track on which we had ventured earlier.
We’d exchanged presents over an alfresco lunch of smoked chicken, potato salad and tomatoes scrounged from our small but flourishing garden: A painted leather chess board I had laboured over when he was studying. A beautifully etched polished metal mirror he had copied from a text on Middle Eastern metalwork, teaching himself the process as he worked. They were beautiful gifts made with love and awareness of each others tastes and interests. As we sat on the wooden stumps which formed our makeshift dining area kisses of appreciation rapidly turned to touching, fondling and various states of undress. It was a natural progression to kneel in the grass before Ryan, t-shirt on the ground behind me, unfettered breasts caressing his cock as we rubbed against each other. Dessert, in the form of the last remnants of the Xmas cake was forgotten.
Ryan’s hands strained across my jaw, my neck, my shoulders, eventually tweaking, rubbing and milking my aroused nipples, cupping and kneading the fat swell of my free swinging tits in his long fingers. With each sweep of my tongue, my breasts pulled against his touch and soon I too was vocalizing pleasure. But this was a familiar game and determined not to be distracted, I began to slide my mouth wetly over his shaft, gripping his scrotum firmly, feeling him harden even further at the pressure, feeling him begin to gather himself.
He began to push against me, his fingers tangling in my hair, cock plunging into my mouth.
Abruptly I pulled back, refusing to let him take the lead, making him follow my rhythm.
Making him wait.
He felt the ripple of my amusement, laughter humming through my mouth into his shaft.
“You fucking tease!”
My mouth hummed again, and I licked and suckled firmly, working my tongue, jaw and cheeks, sucking on his eager candy cane.
His hands sought my hair again, and abruptly he was straining my head back, pulling me free as he spurted across my neck and breasts, roaring triumphantly.
Lying beside Ryan in the slowly emerging daylight I shuddered with a tremor of arousal at the memory. Cautiously, I slid my hand sideways across his belly until my fingers encountered his sleeping cock.
To see who else is getting cake, or candy click on the link below:
“I have been hit by a wave of nostalgia”. I stared at the opening sentence on Innocent Loverboys’ December 5 post. It summed up perfectly how I’ve been feeling the last fortnight or so. Nostalgia – literally ‘ache for home’ has been my constant companion as I’ve thought and written about Xmas with Ryan. So much so that I drove out to the block of land I used to own with him, walked it’s length and then came home and wrote about it for Wicked Wednesday last week.
Before I went out there I knew how I wanted to end the series of posts; on Boxing Day with the last crumbs of the Xmas cake and the prize they netted, but by Saturday I wasn’t sure if I should or could even keep writing. While my memories of the amazing sex Ryan and I shared continue to arouse me as I write, sometime between those two days I began to doubt my capacity to produce truly hot erotica for others, despite the steadily trickle of positive feedback and a slow increase in followers. As I read the highly charged, well crafted work of the winners of Chaturbate Top 100, I had to keep reminding myself that I’ve only been blogging since July., and the original purpose of writing was to reflect on my life and my losses, in a bid to clear the decks.
Thanks in no small part to the blog, aspects of my life are shifting. Largely, I think, for the better. It’s been 9 months since Mum died, and I’ve done a series of small but significant things in the last few days, which seem to part of the healing process. Getting in the mood for Xmas is trickier, and I know I’m not alone in this, several others that I know of in our blogging community will be finding it tough. (Hugs if permitted…)
Somehow thinking and writing about Ryan and I is a necessary aspect of this process. I know I didn’t have long to reflect on our relationship from the time we separated until the moment when I commenced what eventually turned out to be ten years of art school training, at the same time I embarked on a long, consuming but ultimately very problematic, rebound relationship. And in the years that followed I somehow downgraded the importance of our four year relationship.
And now I’m writing from memory, not only about Ryan and my relationship, but of sex in general. Memories which can readily be described as a tatty patchwork. I write about things that I remember happening, but the details are often threadbare, and I could not always swear that two events really did occur at the same time.
What was it really like to take Ryan’s beautiful cock in my mouth, suckling it dreamily, furiously, teasingly? For that matter what is it really like to perform fellatio. Its in my storehouse of tacit knowledge, but without much in the way of recent practice I spend ages worrying about logical positions, optimal gestures, plausible interactions.
Did I really initiate sex on Boxing Day morning? Were we sexually active on Xmas day or were we so exhausted from the manual labour that we were too tired to bother? I don’t remember and I probably never will. What’s more, in the grand scheme of things it probably doesn’t matter. Somehow I managed to write this post for Masturbation Monday, and we’re only laying in the dawn light on the cusp of Boxing Day, so I still have one more post to write before that Xmas Cake gets eaten.