Is he taking the P? - Part 4

Sunday morning. Ex is late to collect the kids as usual but I'm too happy to care. No hangover despite sleeping only having four hours sleep to work off a months worth of alcohol units and I'm going to P's for the whole day, life is just too good to let a bitter, passive-aggressive scorpio ruin the buzz.

The plan is to shamelessly watch the repeat of last nights X-factor while we both do something we're good at and the other isn't in between shagging like monkeys on E, obviously. Specifically, that I rid his pc of the spyware and virii it's riddled with then install some nifties that enable him to surf porn and not get re-infected (cos he's a net-prat) and he cooks a roast dinner from scratch (cos when he asked how I did my roast potatoes I said 'Don't you mean who does them? Aunt Bessie, of course')

He was up and about when I got there cos of the ex being late so the whole 'stay in bed and I'll join you' thing didn't happen but there was a rather lovely hello snog against the kitchen worktops again while the kettle boiled. It was all rather 'morning after' in that we were both knackered but in that lovely, satisfied way you only get after a mutual late night with a like-minded sexy bastard. We stood in the chilly October sunshine, holding each other and playing footsie with the jealous cat, smoking (outside like we're supposed to, for a change) and standing on a chair to peek over the fence at the other gardens with him trying to be discrete that he was laughing at the fact that, even with the help of B&Q's finest, I had to go on tip-toes just to look like Chad.

Tea drunk and mood drowsily dirty, we go to bed. Slowly, almost like last night was the foreplay for this foreplay, we relish in the naked touch and feel of each other, the thrill of a new body mixed with the familiarity of having enjoyed it before. There's no rush, this is erotic rather than full-on-horny but it's just as good, if not better. There is no competition with Stella today, he's rock hard with no intervention from me and then, at last, oh my god, yes! He's slipped effortlessly inside me and my hands drop to his lower back to pull him slowly, lazily, deeper as he kisses me and uses his tongue to reiterate the entry of his body into mine.

We enjoy the slowness and let the feelings grow, his thrusting and my reactions very gradually becoming harder and faster in the glorious, unspoken agreement that comes from giving and receiving pleasure. The rest of the world goes about it's business outside the window but we're totally oblivious, lost in the sight, sound, taste and feel of each other and never wanting it to stop. He does stop though, to turn me over so he can take me from behind. With anticipation burning my brain I flip onto my front but instead of feeling him fill me from yet another delicious angle I hear him say 'shit, you've come on' and feel like a bucket of icy water has been tipped over us.

A penny drops along with the ice, that's where his age shows. I recall him looking a bit sneery when he told me that the couple upstairs never miss a 3 minutes at 9pm so 'must do it when she's on' and my feeling that he's not a red carpet man is confirmed when he passes me some tissues and crosses to the sink. I nip to the loo and, to make my frustration worse, find it's only spotting that's cleared up already. As I'm not even due for a week I doubted I'd actually discover the niagra falls that his tone of voice implied but deal with the offending drip anyway and return to find him in bed.

We snuggle together and talk about how my being sterilised recently seems to have messed with my previously predictable, non-spotting cycle. My hands are wandering over his body as we chat and kiss till one meets his own hand on his still hard cock. He looks apologetic and says 'I really need to finish this, is that ok?'. I reply with a laugh, 'of course it's ok' and enjoy feeling him pleasure himself against me for, oh, at least thirty seconds before asking if he'd like a hand...

The second I touch his rigidness I want to feel it in my mouth so I kiss and lick my way down his chest and stomach, pushing the duvet off as I go to make sure he gets the full view of my long, blonde hair following the journey of my lips towards his cock. When I get there he tastes of pre-cum and I lick gently around the tip of him, teasing us both as I hold his base firmly with one hand and the other strokes and gently squeezes his beautiful, shaved balls.

The constant cries of 'oh wow, that's so lovely' from this, normally quiet, man serve to encourage me even more and I take him deep and rhythmically into my mouth whilst still using my hands on the parts of him that I can't lick and suck. He twitches and thrusts against me but I'm enjoying this so I change tack, slowing down for a while before speeding up again to take him right to the edge and bring him back a couple of times, loving the effect and knowing when I do let him release it will be all the more intense for the teasing. I soon sense more urgency in his low moans so instead of tormenting this time I continue my warm, wet pace, look up and meet his eyes across his chest, feel him explode in my throat then watch him fall back into the pillows as I swallow and smile to myself.

He pulls me back up for a kiss and cuddles into me again, saying 'babe, you didn't have to swallow you know'. I tell him I don't do anything I don't want to and that he tasted nice enough for me to want to, adding with a giggle 'anyway, I wasn't sure how much more mess the sheets could deal with'. After more snuggling, talking, stroking and laughing as he tells me that there actually is such a thing as a bad blow job, we get up for tea and a smoke.

The day continues as per the plan, him bringing me tea and toast, preparing the meal and calling out from the kitchen to ask if I'm ok as I work my way through the mess that is his infected hard drive. I sing along to the X-factor and we periodically meet on the sofa to cuddle up with the newspaper and the jealous cat in between our tasks. The meal is fantastic and I eat it all, showering him with compliments and thanks. He returns the sentiments as he notes that his monitor sits there idly rather than displaying pop-ups every five seconds. Bloated from the carbs I refuse the offer of ice cream and we stay on the sofa, entwined in each other and half watching Goodnight Mr Tom as darkness falls outside.

My phone rings, it's babygirl letting me know that they're home and she needs me to return to reality and find her school uniform. I get my stuff together between kisses goodbye and he shows me how the key he had cut doesn't work properly. I tell him there's no rush, kiss him just once more on the doorstep and drive home singing loudly and smiling inside.