I Make Him Drip

I make him drip, little love drops, glistening in the Saturday morning light, sun shining through our window telling us we should be up, but we are not. We have taken to our bed in our child free house, after a very late night, we need sleep, but we need each other more.

“I love the way you smell, I love the way you look” – he takes my pussy into his mouth and tugs at my lips.

And all the while the drip. Shiny threads drip down. Clear and bright.

There are fingers and tongue and the loving stretch of a fist twisting and turning making me moan and fly. The slippery drip makes him glide over my flesh, lubricating his thumb in its placation of my clit.

There is this way and that, bending, kneeling, straddling, spreadeagle – his arms spread my legs impossibly high and wide – it’s too much, too deep, too wide, too hard, too perfect.

And the drips find their way in wet, silky threads – with a fingertip I lead one from him to me - joining cock to cunt. I make him drip.