Chapter 66 Oxytocin and Orgasms
oxytocin and orgasms
Liam
Torture. The woman is torture in the best and worst kind of ways.
First there was the ten minutes of adjusting, readjusting, ooh-ing and ah-ing. What followed was another ten minutes of learning the dials, the radio, and her pushing buttons.
Then, she pulled out onto the street and jammed the brakes so hard, I could hear it from inside the SUV, over AC/DC no less.
She rolled down the window and screamed. “I got it. I’ve got it. Don’t worry.”
I worried.
I followed her all the way home, from crawling like a granny to speeding through streets because she didn’t “have a feel for it yet.”
Then there was the parking. She did an eighty-three-point turn into her garage, by which point, I had parked and aged four years. It reminded me of the scene in Austin Powers, I don’t remember which one, with a one inch forward, one inch reverse.
She makes me hard in the bedroom. But watching her concentrate and seeing her brain spin to work it all out, I realize how much I enjoy her.
The last six weeks have been… different. No sex. Shit tons of banter and getting to know each other. And here’s my wife, attempting with all her focus, to park a car that’s not three inches longer than her former Accord. She just hasn’t figured that out yet.
Me: Need me to guide you or do you have it?
She brakes and stares at the screen, her face luminescent in the blue light. She presses the button then looks around, finds another button, and slides down the window. “I’ve got it.”
I don’t know what she sees from her vantage point, but I can only guess it’s me, hands on hips, head tipped to the sky, laughing my ass off.
She has a fucking PhD, and talk to text is too complicated.
I love my wife. This shit is an adventure, and I’m so glad I get to do it with her.
If you’d told me fifteen years ago, or even fifteen months ago, that the right partner for me was a Madonna-loving, brainiac biochemist who’s a terrible baker and inexperienced in bed, I’d have laughed you out of my life. Yet here we are. I’ve met my match.
Now, about the bed part…
Me: My cock is weeping to be inside that greedy pussy. Park the car, Wifey. Time for me to feast.
The SUV stops on a squeak of brakes, and she exits the car, right in the middle of the alley, and walks my way. She extends the key fob and silently heads into the house.
Alrighty then. Seems she’s ready for the bed part too.
Car parked, I step into my back door, to find a trail of clothing, starting with shoes and ending with panties at the mouth of our bedroom.
As far as invitations go, it’s a good one and I accept.
I drop to my knees, tug her ass to the edge of the mattress, and throw her thighs over my shoulders. I do not start slowly. I do not pass go. I do not collect two hundred dollars.
I dive in, burying my face in her pussy, growling and licking, sucking and feasting, unable to get any closer until I struggle to breathe. It’s not gentle. Or teasing. It’s not light or easy or playful. I’m starving, and she’s a five-course meal.
Her first orgasm tears through her like a freight train. She squeezes my head between her legs like she’s trying to get a high score on a thigh machine at the gym as she screams and bows off the bed, writhing and moaning.
Her second has to be coaxed out of her with a little more finesse. More sucking, more fingers… everywhere. She releases on a quiet moan that deflates her whole body, pancaking her to the bed, wrung out, sated and overwhelmed.
Only then do I kiss the inside of one thigh, then the other, and peer up from the best view in the world.
Chest heaving, she wipes away a stray tear that runs toward her temple.
“Lorien?”
“Yeah?”
I crawl over her body, face to face. “What is it?”
“Oxytocin and orgasms. It’s a known thing.”
I fight the smile that tugs at my lips until I can’t. “Okay, baby, so long as it’s chemical shit and not sadness…”
“Not sadness. Relief, happiness, exhaustion, and beauty.”
“Exhaustion?” She can be exhausted later. She can be exhausted in another orgasm or four. “We’re not done, and I want you to be an active participant.”
She reaches between us to the front of my trousers and palms my dick, her face registers surprise. “You came?”
“Wifey, watching you come was a sight for sore eyes. Hearing you come was a symphony. Smelling you and feeling you? As if I could stop my cock from erupting. Do you have any idea how sexy you are?”
She offers one shake of her head, but I don’t know if it’s a true no or confusion. I have a lifetime to figure out her movements.
“Well, you do it for me. That’s for sure. And if you’re good with it, I’d like to come again, but deep inside you, fill you up with my cum.”
She gives a quick nod and moves her hands to my belt. “Off with these.”
The smile that breaks across my face might as well be ear to ear. “Yes, ma’am. Happy to oblige.” I lift off her, remove my clothes, and stalk back to the bed. “We can be adventurous later, but right now”—I sit with my back to the headboard—“come here.”
She crawls my way and I add that to the list of adventurous later we’ll get to.
She straddles my hips, her tits at eye level.
I suck one into my mouth as she positions my dick at her entrance.
With a discipline I didn’t know either of us possessed, she slides inch my inch down my rigid length, bottoming out with a moan.
Her head falls backward, exposing her in all her glory to all of my senses.
She begins to lift, but I hold her hips in place. “Wait. Give me a minute.”
Delicate fingers slide through my beard. “You okay?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
I nod, my eyes squeezed shut, dragging in a huge lungful of air.
I wiggle my hips to a more comfortable spot.
“Yeah, Wifey. I’m okay.” I open my eyes and hold hers locked in my gaze.
“Your pussy is perfection. I needed a minute to simply feel you enveloping me—hot, tight, wet—fisting me, at the end of you.”
The woman clenches her inner muscles until a growl rolls from my throat.
“Six to five,” she says with fake innocence, as she undulates on my cock. “Though, I’d bet we could do away with those rules.”
“Especially the no sex one,” I add. “We suck at that one. And, baby, I plan to break it over and over and over again.”
With every over I pulse up into her, bouncing her against my cock as she ripples and rolls around me.
She tilts her head like she’s thinking. “I guess, but does that mean I don’t get my spankings?”
I reach for her ass, my palms cupping her and lifting her, only to drop her on my length, so I can hit the end of her.
“We can play any way you want. You want vanilla, you’ve got it, but I think”—I look away before returning my gaze to hers with a smirk—“no, I know my wife prefers the Baskin Robbins buffet of sexual positions. We haven’t scratched the surface of what I want to do to you.
” I slide both of my middle fingers into her ass and massage her as she moans.
Her face is sheer pleasure. She’s taking her own, rocking and gliding.
I spear up into her as she does.
“Touch your tits,” I order.
She lightly flicks her nipples but gets distracted and stops.
“Pinch them, Lorien. Tight. Let me see those perfect nipples tighten into buds.”
She does, losing her rhythm for a moment, but regaining it. Her eyes are clamped shut. She is a sight to behold. Her face is the picture of bliss.
She’s flushed red from as far down as I can see, over her chest, up to her hairline.
Her lips are parted and she’s breathing heavy.
I lift and drop her, thrust up as she falls, until her breath stutters and I know she’s on the verge.
I twist during the next drop and hit that spot so deep inside her that her eyes fly open and she explodes, calling out my name on a moan as the world’s deepest orgasm brings me along for the ride. “Liam.”
Ripples and waves of outstanding pressure milk me. “Lorien.” I hold her gaze, spill inside, feeling the heat melt us together.
I’ll never be able to be close enough.
I’ll never be able to let her go.
And I’ll never want to.