I cant keep up writing about it..The Husband.

I don't know whether writing about it is driving the sex or the other way around, and frankly I don't care. We haven't done it with such rabbit-like intensity since probably the first year of marriage. It is really great to be actually sated at times. For me that is saying something.

Last night after some sort of session she was on her laptop and I on mine. She could see I was in the midst of one of my epic posts on my medium vanilla blog and said, "I can tell you are sated." I asked how was that? She said that she could tell because the toddler was asleep (and miraculously in her own bed!) and I showed no signs of initiating anything.

I allowed that I was a bit satisfied but wouldn't go so far as to categorize my level of bliss to completely sated. I finished my entry, (which, ironically, was about starting yet another blog on a completely unrelated subject) and rolled her way. I distracted her from her laptop with ease and in short order a frenzy of motion translated once again into the administration of some ass-slapping. At one point it was barely a little more pain than she was wanting, but two pats later on her now red ass she settled into the burn and actually asked for more. She was braced with her hands forward against the wall and I was slamming into her. It felt great,and from her ever increasing volume, I sense it was good for her too. I had to direct her to bury her face in the pillow lest she wake the neighbors.

After that, its kind of a blur to me, I am not sure what all we did. After I came, I remember through my sex-induced sleepy haze getting a back rub and more, that involved some tongue and a finger in ways and positions that were far less than dominant. It wasn't that she switched, more that I was pliable, as usual post coitus a little ticklish but not overly so. It was nice to have the contrast. Kind of like galloping the last hundred yards, drenched in sweat like a race horse and gently jogging another lap with endomorphisms flowing like a breeze on my overheated skin.

Already today, we have had a couple of sessions in what really should have been not at all enough time. IN a sleepy/horny fugue state this morning I remember reaching over and finding her still wearing a nightie and no panties. I teased and probed until she presented like a bitch in heat and used that position again that I described earlier as a lazy one where I lie crossway on the bed and ease into her. I did ease into her but there was nothing lazy about the effort.

I had a weird grasp on her from my hand that had been fondling her. My thumb faced up and was hooked deeply in the hood over her clit, my other fingers gathered flesh from above and the whole arrangement made a handle of sorts that both pinched her clit hard in the middle of this handle but gave me absolute control of her squirming as I pounded into her. She had to leave after I had forced several orgasms from her throbbingly abused cunt.

She came home for a brief break from work to get some breakfast, and I bent her forward to grab the counter, stripped her lower half and tried to finish what I had started earlier. Despite the fact that the toddler was occupied sort of in her high chair and couldn't see mom from her angle, I found that her quizzical look at me made me feel guilty so I abandoned that project.

I think that catches me up on my maniacal need to disclose every detail of each fuck-fest in a timely manner. I really need to devise a form that I can just check off boxes and record duration intensity and the like. Or just accept the fact that I can fuck better than I can type.