Thursday, April 27, 2006

For the love of fucking

The word marathon is often used in the context of a race -- an event or activity that requires prolonged effort or endurance. It is hardly used in the context of fucking.

Don't get me wrong, I love to fuck. I love everything about it: the first kiss, frantic stripping of clothes, naked ass cheek in my hand, falling on the bed and that sweet feeling of penetration. I love the smells, sounds and orgasms. I love the sweat and heavy breathing, and the inevitable climax.

Before today, I would have pined for the chance to have a marathon fuck session. Before today, my marthon fuck sessions were having multiple encounters in the same day. Until today...

Today my sexy new doctor fucked me for an hour and a half -- straight.

He had me in every position, at least once. He tasted me and I tasted him. I eventually lost track of my orgasms. At one point, I climaxed so hard and so many times, I cried from the sheer pleasure of it all.

He is the zen master of controlling his orgasm. Throughout this entire time, he did not cum. He did not stop because he was going to cum, he did not pause in one stroke for fear of cumming too soon. He simply fucked me until I was satisfied.

And when I was sucking him off, he decided to fuck me again and finally came after I begged him to.

My pussy is still singing from the attention. And when he called later, all I wanted was for him to come over and fuck me again.

He may be my new addiction.

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