|Blogs > rm_tn_warmhoney > Letters to a Welshman|
One hot Sunday....
One hot Sunday....
Hello darlin’, its been a long time but I’ve been thinking about you. A LOT! Remember how we used to fantasize about sex, how, when and who with! Lol!! You ruined me you know, with all the fantasies and stories we used to share. From the first one you shared, my mind started looking at sexual experiences differently. I can still remember how you talked about watching me with another man. The openness, the freedom, the complete trust that it takes to share an intimate partner with another was learned from you.
As you know, for the last few years, I’ve had a friend that has helped me to realize most of those fantasies that we discussed. Yes, even the sharing one. But you also know how I’ve struggled to maintain that relationship. Which is worse, being jealous? Or admitting it and unable to change. My jealousy over his wife is going to kill our relationship. I know this, yet I obsess about it. I don’t know how to love someone and not be able to have them.
Yet, every time we’re together, EVERY time, the passion seems stronger than the last. After being with him, feeling his body against mine taking me to heights I’ve never known, I want more and more. Of course, if we were together always, normal life would reduce that passion down to 15 minutes of sex just before going to sleep.
During my visit yesterday, I had planned to tell him I wanted to take a break from the relationship to get my head straight. As always, he was a step ahead of me. Before I could begin the conversation, he brings out the big “L” word. He asked if he could make love to me. Slow, sweet, passionate love consumed the next two hours. It began with a long, deliberate wet kiss that left me shaking in my shoes and dripping down my thighs. He took my hand and led me to his bed where we soaked the sheets with our bodily fluids.
After a short break, he places soft cuffs around my wrists, telling me I belong to him. Looking up, I see the black silk scarf draping from the stairwell. Even after 3 years of sexually submitting to this man, my heart still skips when I see the silk scarves. Yesterday was no different. The cuffs are mostly symbolic as we talk. He just likes seeing them there, knowing….. knowing. Soon he whispers, “its time to play” and he ties the scarf to the connecting cuffs.
The play begins with his hand between my legs and his lips on my breast. Nibbling, biting, sucking his way down until he is on his knees with his lips replacing his hand. With my body still quivering from the orgasms his mouth has given me, he dribbles my beer over my left breast and lick it off. Continuing to the right breasts, the licking becomes more intense until I realize my nipple is between his teeth and am consumed with the orgasm filling my body. As he dribbles the beer between them, my eyes close watching him return to his knees. Only after I beg him to enter me, my arms are released from their restraints and I’m led back to his bed. Willingly, I climb on the bed onto my knees and put my head down, giving him full access to all I offer. As he slides into me, I beg for more “harder, HARDER” . Each thrust stronger, more intense than the last, I slip into a place that only he can take me. Orgasm after orgasm, each leading to another until I am spent. He takes me in his arms, in an embrace that can only be realized through complete sexual satisfaction. And I know I belong to him, whether I want to or not.
6/19/2007 7:23 am
That's an amazing story, warmhoney. Thanks for sharing this encounter...sounds like we have some sexual tendencies in common!|
2/7/2009 5:02 pm
Well written, Warm.|
Makes my mouth water and my heart go thump ty-thump.
Passion and Imagination are alive in East Tennessee!
Your hero's thorough conquest, albeit fleeting, his delivery of full if not permanent satisfaction-- this is what I had in mind when I chose the nickname "freaktamer."