Your Weekly Dose

I didn't want to let you in, not again. But I did, and there you are, and goddamn, you smell good. My body itches and twitches and you can feel my fingers rumble. I'm sure you can the way you look at me. Can taste the blood of a bit lip kissed too hard over the tears that have encrusted your tongue in salt.

There's more yelling, there always is, bitter strings of it in the air as we get closer and closer. I'm not sure who lunges first, but we're such a mess I never could tell and then we're on the bed, on the floor, you've got me bent over the dresser, and we finish with finger-fucking in the corner behind the door just before I tell you to get out.

+++

Hello dirty friends -

Here we are, at what I think is probably the end of Your Weekly Dose. 145 posts spread over 4 years. I feel like I've done what I wanted to do, and had a pretty damn good run of it. This may be the end of the end, or I may be back, hard to say. Till then, keep your hands in your pants.

xo

I pushed you down and pushed your cock into my cunt, grabbed the top ropes of the chest harness like a fun-ride handle and rode you like that till my g-spot was hot and swollen, near bursting. You could feel it too. You loved it when I sprayed your belly with my cum and you heaved under me like a wave to make it happen. I hauled you up instead, held you close so the rope was marking us both, held your jaw and mashed my mouth down onto yours.

We strip off our clothes outside then burrow into the tent, under the layers of blankets I insisted on, into the centre of the sleeping bag. You wrap your damp limbs around me, I wrap my cold limbs around you. We shiver. Giggle, wriggle to warm other parts. Playful till the low note that lives in your throat catches my heart and my hand burrows further to the centre of us, pets the pelt between your thighs slowly and slowly then quick quick.

You breathe warm air into our hollows.

Your fingers guide mine down through pubic hair and fat skin folds to find your clit. I pet it gently too, and your teeth come out, you beat. You hold the skin and meat of my shoulder between your teeth. I press and tap, press and tap some more, trying to make your breath come hot, to move the blood to your curled toes.

Hello dirty friends,

I am going to take August off. I will wear as little clothing in this damp heat as possible, and touch myself as much as I can. May I suggest you do the same?

It'll be a nice month.

Kisses,
Megan

Every time you slam into me, I lose my grip on the back of the chair.

I lay the length of my body against yours. My hip bones meet yours, our toes entangle. My nipples brush yours when I arch back.

Your eyes glaze. I can feel my pupils dilate.

You swirl your fingers in the long hairs at the nape of my neck, then smile dreamily as you run them down my back to catch my ass and squeeze it.

I feel strong like this. My lines feel clean and my torso long. Strong like I could pull you up inside me if I chose. I don’t, not yet. The tension builds electric snaps along my thighs and across my hips. All the muscles inside gather. I am spinning and spinning and stretching. Open, opened, away.

Spreadeagled. We are sweating. Still limbs, closed eyes. No blankets, though the humid air feels like one. Slow moving as it is in the wake of the fan.

I can feel you turn your head, feel you looking at me. I shake my head. Feel another bead collect between my breasts.

You place both hands on my sternum, one on top of the other. Gently, your full palm, the weight of your other hand. The bulk of your body the promise or threat behind them. I squirm. Breath shallow. Chest tight. I clench and unclench my hands, curl and uncurl my toes.

You're talking. You're nothing over the ebb and flow of my blood. You lift one hand, slap me sharp, pulling back hard at the last second. My eyes sting. I might be crying.

I try to rock my hips until you pin them with your knees. Still me.

Before you blindfolded me, you made me hold my ears open while you gently inserted the plugs. I watched the planes of your face harden as the sound of my blood grew loud. Then only air and the press of your palms as you moved me.

Now I can only go with what my skin tells me. Sparks and whispers.

I am kneeling in the middle of the room. You are close, the dense air against my chest tells that story. Nothing for seconds, just the room's slow spin with me at its centre.

Then a nudge at my lips, a gentle pushing open. Too thick for your fingers. The rubbery head of your cock. I open wide, my teeth slide over the smooth wet ridge.