The Dance Club Ch. 03

He needed no encouragement. His manhood slid easily into full penetration of my receptive vagina.

But no sooner had he raised himself on his arms than I heard him whisper...

"Oh no, not yet, oh...oh...oh"

As his shaft surged and throbbed, and his seed blasted against my cervix, the whisper became a much louder...

"AAAAHhhhhhhh...ooooohhhhhh...oooouuuuuuuuu."

He collapsed down on me, his face into the pillow as he continued to moan, his climax continuing through a series of what were clearly pleasurable shudders.

As he recovered, his first whispered words were...

"Sorry, I'm sorry."

Well, what can you say? I can't say I wasn't hoping for more. A good banging maybe; something to make up for a week of frustrated deprivation. But then, I got a good climax before he came and I wasn't anything but hair trigger myself. While I can hardly complain, I've always thought fingering a second rate form of sex, even if it does guarantee results. There's no substitute sexually for a good, hard, lover's shaft inside you.

But then, he showed last week he's got a fast refractory process. We can just go another round. Of course I was magnanimous...

"That's OK, we can just wait until you're ready and go again. Anyhow I came pretty fast myself. But what set you off?"

"A week of build-up to the thought I'd be making love to the sexiest woman on earth. Just thinking about the prospect, let alone admiring your naked body, is enough to set me off. I was just overwhelmed."

Well, he knows how to flatter. He was still hard inside me as he lifted his head and started nuzzling my neck before bending his head down to take a nipple into his mouth. Again, he quickly had my extended nipple and puffy areola deep inside his mouth, pushed to the top of it as his tongue vigorously raked its sensitive length.

His hand snuck over my breast and tweaked the other one.

I pondered whether just to lie back and submit to being submissively climaxed by him like this or roll him over and play a more active role.

One part of me wanted to engage in wildly passionate pashing, rolling and thrashing about on the bed with our bodies intertwined and our tongues fighting each other deeply inside our mouths. But his manhood was still plugging me as our pubis's pushed against each other. I was squeezing and releasing my pelvic floor muscles around it; something that was mildly pleasurable for me and I hoped would contribute to its early full recovery. It was still hard enough, even if I sensed it wasn't as big or hard as it had been before his climax.

But I knew if it came out and we just pashed about, it would go limp pretty quickly. Whether that would let it refract more or less quickly I didn't know.

My growing arousal answered the question before I even had time to properly ponder it. Left doing little more than stroking my hand through his hair, I simply relaxed and let Adam keep stimulating my nipples; aware of my heavier breathing and eventually gentle moaning as my climax built.

By the time Adam had gone flaccid enough that he slipped from my body's grasp, I had zoned out, head back, cooing and moaning as Adam, shifting his mouth from nipple to nipple from time to time, walked me down the path to a beautiful nipple orgasm; one that eventually came with a sharp intake of breath and a lifting of my body against Adam's lightly pressed weight upon me.

But Adam was still limp and I was still denied the feeling of his manhood doing its manly thing inside me.

I know. I know. That's not how it's meant to be. Us women are meant to saviour and praise receiving orgasm after orgasm by whatever means men do it after they come to properly understand that true vaginal orgasms are rare to non-existent.

And yet here I am lamenting Adam hasn't yet got it back up to give me the very sort of penetrative pounding that feminists dismiss as toxic masculinity. But deep down, sex is about more than contorting yourself into a hundred different positions to see if you can't trigger some erogenous zone you didn't even know you had.

In the end, biologically, it's about a man releasing his seed inside you. Whatever pleasures come from the big O, and I don't deny they are many, that basic biological fact generates, in me at least, a deep desire to experience a man - well specifically the man who is my chosen lover - building up to do just that. In fact it's more than a desire. It's a fundamental need; almost the primary directive of sexual intercourse.

I decided to take a more proactive approach to encouraging Adam's manhood to stand proud again.

As I dragged Adam's face up to meet mine to smother him in kisses for his efforts, I rolled us over bringing me on top. Then I sat on him cowgirl style, resting my hands on his strong chest muscles.

Locating his flaccid cock in my wet crease, I moved back and forwards on him, dragging it through my crease and in the process across my clit. I could feel it flip, first facing upwards and then down between his legs with every movement. Indeed, after the first couple of times, I could manoeuvre the flip process to maximise my own pleasure.

A pleasure only intensified after Adam decided my nipples had enough of a spell and were good to play with again.

I looked down on him. Adam had a broad grin on his face. At first looking - staring really - at my breasts and down along my stomach into my mound, Adam didn't notice my gaze being upon him. But when he glance up, our eyes locked.

I grinned back at him, bending down to kiss him...

"Is it working for you?"

"It feels nice, but not yet. What about for you?"

"Yea well, that the problem. It feels rather nice. Too nice really. I might come again before I get you up."

"Come all you'd like. I love watching you come."

I wasn't kidding about it being too nice. I was using Adam flaccid cock to stimulate my clit. The whole thing was wet and slippery with my juices and his cum and the harder I worked to stimulate Adam, the more I aroused myself.

Ironically, it was as my first moan of arousal caused Adam to focus on the fact I was now more stimulating myself than him, that I felt the first stiffening of his manhood. Initially it simply resisted being flopped back and forwards as I slid my crease along it; remaining instead drawn up along his stomach.

Then within moments, it had filled, stiffened and straightened out to a full erection.

But for me it was in a sense, too late. I was already moaning up a storm on the brink of my orgasm. The harder, stiffer erection merely increased the stimulation each movement gave me. I set aside what little temptation there was to bring it into my body and instead went for the finish.

A moment later I was shaking and shuddering with my face into the pillow alongside Adam's head, my hand down between my legs desperately trying to position Adam's manhood to penetrate me to enjoy the pleasure of having the last of my orgasmic contractions bear down on it.

As my climax finished, I signalled for Adam to roll over to put himself on top.

He wasn't lacking any willingness to do so.

He lifted himself up on out stretched arms with his legs outside mine. In no hurry for him to finish, I gripped him lightly as he started thrusting. I deliberately didn't make direct eye contact with him, knowing he'd enjoy himself more if he was left to stare down at my breasts and the rest of the body he was making love to without feeling guilty about it.

Instead I found my own pleasure in letting my gaze wander from his firm pecs, to his taut stomach and even down to where our bodies met and I'd get an occasional glimpse of the base of his shaft as it slid out of me; priming itself for another thrust.

I had my man doing what a man does. In polite society we might say he was making love to me. But 'making love' is such a woozy, undescriptive word. It means nothing and invokes no sexualised passion.

Somehow the act of a man passionately, excitedly thrusting himself to an orgasm lacks a proper descriptive word in the English language. Banging away? Pounding? Both it seems, are associated with toxic masculinity, maybe even violence, although are far more descriptive.

'Thrusting?' Really? Is that the best our language can do? No, it's too adjectival even if it is a verb. It just lacks, well, any real sense of excitement.

I'm going to use pounding but bring to it a positive evocation. It is what, more than anything else I'd been missing and yearning for the last two years. To have a man, a man to whom I felt a powerful sense of physical and intellectual attraction, passionately, excitedly and even lovingly pounding me. His engorged hardness inside me doing the job it was designed for; to stimulate itself to a release. All while my body does its job; my vagina providing the necessary stimulation and a receptacle for that release while my external physicality makes a statement to the man of my feminine, nubile fecundity declaring my worthiness to be impregnated by him; precautions of course in this modern day and age ensuring that no actual impregnation occurs. Well, not yet anyway.

The hand I had on his cute butt encouraged him without making any demands as to pace or firmness. I wanted him to be in uninhibited control. I wanted to see what he liked and how he did it.

I could sense him trying to stimulate me at the point of maxim penetration; grinding his pubis momentarily into my mound looking for contact with my clit.

It was not without effect and my own arousal was building. But that was just as much due to the sense of fulfilment and vicarious excitement as I watched Adam build to his own climax.

His initial hums of pleasure had transmogrified into grunts of effort tinged with a touch of arousal.

As his voice told me his excitement was building, he drew his knees up under his haunches to take the weight of his lower body while his arms supported his upper body, leaving him gliding effortlessly over me as he kept up the pounding.

I could feel him using his new position to drop his hips between my now further apart legs, bring the thrusts into a slightly upward direction, gently raking my already sensitised g spot each time. Then at maximum penetration, his pubis would now ride up over my mound providing a more prolonged stimulation of my clit; more so as he then screwed and circled himself around momentarily at full penetration before withdrawing for the next one.

'Oh god', I thought, he was doing it again. If he kept it up I was going to come; unless he came first.

The die was cast when he lowered himself to just off my chest so that his chest rubbed and circled my nipples with each movement; nuzzling my neck and cheek as he did it.

He'd been thrusting - sorry pounding - away for maybe five minutes. Clearly enjoying himself, but not yet showing signs he was about to come. Barely two minutes after he started doing what he now was doing, I was moaning and quivering up a storm.

I gripped him more tightly, almost embarrassed how easy it was for him to trigger me to an orgasm and thinking it better if we finished closer to each other.

I could tell it had an immediate effect on him as the tone of his grunts changed to more a prolonged moan.

In the final moments of my excitement, I couldn't hold back. Lifting my hips slightly, I was all but throwing my crotch at him; rapidly plunging his manhood deeper and harder into me in almost a frenzy of excitement, while the hand on his butt encouraged him to almost manic efforts.

If my orgasm didn't exactly catch him by surprise, my body's reaction to it certainly did. As it exploded, my hips involuntarily threw themselves up, almost lifting him off the bed as my vagina clamped tightly against him.

It was too much for him. With a bellowing groan, I sensed him come; the pulsing and throbbing of his manhood lost in the frantic throes of my own orgasmic contractions, but the desperate final thrusts and prolonged loud moans unmistakable indications of his own pleasurable release.

We writhed, thrust and shuddered against each other's bodies in what was almost a fight for orgasmic dominance, the best fight of all, until we lay spent and exhausted side by side, our bodies intertwined and his still hard manhood buried as deeply inside me as Adam could push it.

We lay there, both panting with our exertions. I played with Adam's hair with one hand while my other arm embraced him. On a hormonal high after such a performance and multiple orgasms, I was almost overwhelmed by his manly presence over my body. It's warmth. It's strength. It's still firm manly appendage that pleasurably continued to loiter inside my body.

We nuzzled and pashed some more. Not the frantic, tongue swallowing pashing we started with. Now a more gentle, romantic interaction.

Somewhere in that, Adam rolled us both over, leaving me on top, encouraging me to let my full weight bear down on him. His hands now free, he explored the length of my body with them; caressing me, stroking me, sometimes sexually teasing me as he brushed across or within erogenous zones.

It was bliss. I wished we could somehow fall asleep like that. That I could just spend a night of erotic dreams so intimately intertwined with his body.

But reality crept in. Before we slept, a multipurpose visit to the bathroom was required.

As we settled back in bed, I encouraged him to spoon against me; setting us up for a night of big spoon, little spoon reversing positions; interspersed with times of romantic face to face cuddles.

I'm a late sleeper; more so after a big night. It was obvious from last weekend that Adam was not. Nor for that matter had Trent been.

In the early days of our relationship when he was a weekend visitor - when such things seem to matter more and I felt guilty about falling back into a sleep and leaving him pacing my house by himself for another hour - when the half-awake me sensed Trent awake alongside me, inevitably with a rampant morning glory, I'd cuddle up to him, slip his manhood into my body, sometimes lie on top of him, and quickly surrender myself back to whatever sleep I could persuade to overtake me.

My posture and countenance was usually enough to suggest to him that I wasn't seeking some sort of high energy sex; or indeed, in its fullest sense, any sex at all.

It worked in the sense. It was enough of an incentive for Trent to usually just continue to lay there with me. Sometimes I'd awake properly to find Trent gone, but on enquiry discovered he'd loitered with me for a considerable and not unpleasant time before a dead arm or other need had taken him from my bed. Sometimes - but much less often - I'd be awoken as the prolonged penetration had stimulated Trent to the point he was about to cum and had started micro thrusting me to provoke the final release.

And then sometimes I'd awake to find him still there inside me; and while I didn't need to do that, I'd wrap him up in my arms, grip him tightly inside me and slide him in and out of my body until I'd relieved him of his morning erection and drained his balls yet again.

There were benefits for me in such an arrangement.

The first were the highly erotic dreams and sensations I'd experienced if I did manage to fall back into a full ream sleep like that; over and on top of the extra guilt free sleep.

The second was more subtle.

Evidently prolonged non thrusting penetration generates a whole lot of interesting vaginal secretions. One sort of glues the top of the men's penis in place. Not like araldite; it's a bit more of a breakable binding than that. But it is one that I've felt occur.

But that is just a first step to a more interesting one in the form of copulins that are attracted to seminal fluid such as pre-cum. It seems they can travel down a man's shaft, into his gonads and from there into his blood stream and up to his hypothalamus in his brain. Lodging there, they persuade a man to think, how to put this, more in the way the woman would like him to think without him even knowing he's doing it.

Now I'm not evil, but are more than happy to use whatever tools nature put in a woman's armoury to attract the man I want to attract.

Apparently it's nearly half a cup of the stuff a woman can pour down the guy's shaft over fifteen minutes. And it works better if the woman is on top. Who would have though a morning cuddle could achieve such ends?

So when the following morning I sensed Adam once again start to stir into wakefulness and plan his exit from the bed at an hour that was way too early for me, I turned towards him, wrapped him up in a cuddle, rolled on top of him, slipped him fully into my body, let out a little hum as I gently kissed his cheek and let my head settle into the pillow alongside his and pretended to fall asleep again. Well, pretended for as long as it took for me to actually fall asleep again - which wasn't long.

What Adam thought of that is hard to say. After all I was asleep for most of the time. All I know is that I was awoken by a groan in my ear and the feeling of an erection pulsing and throbbing deep inside my body as it sprayed cum against my cervix. And when I groggily looked at the clock it was some fifty minutes since I'd put it there.

Well, of that and the highly erotic dreams I'd had in that fifty minutes, including that I'd dreamt of climaxing.

What I did find over breakfast was that Adam had heard me moan something in my sleep quickly followed by the feeling of contractions pummelling his buried shaft. It had sort of triggered him, although, having the process set off and create an undeniable need for him to drop a load, he admitted to mini thrusting to complete his orgasm.

But that simply was the start of a weekend I got to share with Adam. Knowing we'd be together, both of us had cleared our work schedules.

The challenge was always to be able to plan what to do with him. It was tempting to let it simply slide into a fuck feast. Very tempting for me.

But we also needed to get to know each other better and I didn't want to come away from the weekend slut shaming myself again.

It was peak summer and I lived five blocks from Manly Beach; so a day at the beach seemed like a good start.