France to a Brazillian

The bedroom is dark with the early morning light barely seeping through the dark clouds of the dawning sky. The heavy, dark curtains are pulled and the dark sheets seem to prevent any ambient light from settling. The covers are thrown back, exposing his back as he lay between my thighs. I look down across my naked body; large round breasts and soft curves to see his dark hair, in contrast to my pale skin. I feel him suckling my smooth, hairless labia, parting my folds with his tongue. I feel his fingers press against me and then softly probing me, so he has better access to lave my splayed sex.

It crosses my mind that he is making sounds like a trained French pig, searching for truffles in the dark and damp forests of Burgundy. I think this is amusing and chuckle at my female scent and heavy musk being comparative of a wild and expensive delicacy to be tenderly discovered by searching hands of a gourmet chef, after an extensive and laborious search by a ponderous animal. Then my mind shift to the comparison of him as a large and prickly, coarse haired, small eyed, boar and I snort out loud.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine”

He returns to truffeling.

I wonder if he cares that I am bored? I have no idea when he started what he assumes is a wondrous sexual experience for me, as I woke up with him down there. I can’t see the clock and its too dark to see the face of my watch. Is it inconsiderate that I want to check the time? Then again isn’t it inconsiderate to be awoken by someone slathering you between your thighs? I hold back a sigh of resigned discontent, wishing he would hurry up and be done with it already.

Then again, a man would love this. I’ve done this many times to a man and never once had one complain about being awoken by having their cock sucked. The thing is, he is doing this, performing oral on my female flesh, to excite himself and not me. He is not touching where I need touched; he is not pressing where I need pressed. He has done this many times and its just enough to get him aroused so he can finish off.  I am his version of watching porn, as it’s certainly not interactive; am I laying there like a dead starfish. I am simply a means to his end so I no longer care to perform to enhance his solo experience.

Finally, he lifts his head and says, “I have to go to work” as he is shifting to stand at the edge of the bed. Saying nothing, I turn, rise to my knees and present my ass, doggie style for him. After grabbing my hips, in 6-7 quick, shallow thrusts he is done. His withdraw is faster than his penetration, such as it is, and he turns to walk out of the bedroom to his morning shower. Not a word is spoken between us; just the noise of the morning radio giving the driving conditions along the major highways.

I lay back in my bed and I think to myself that quite assuredly, he is the absolute worst lover I have ever had in my life. I wonder at the years of no sexual contact from him at all. I remember every time he rebuffed me, every time he chose anything else instead of intimacy. I wonder when I decided that I didn’t care if he used me; as it was a fair exchange for the peace it brought to the house.

This is the sex he wants with me; nothing more. I bought peace by giving him access. It wasn’t worth the effort of rebuffing him; it would have taken longer. Women have done far worse for far less. He fights with me when I want intimacy or extended sexual encounters. It’s a distasteful task he would rather not do and he will bicker and whine; finding anything to start an argument over so he has an excuse to say “no”. I laid there thinking how completely different he is from other men in my life who would have given anything for the chance to pleasure me orally; or have access to my lush female body that is so incredibly responsive and sensitive to male touch.

The male touch of a skilled lover, with a glorious cock. A cock that is magnificent with complete control. One that has the ability to stay hard after cumming multiple times. From a man who gets his pleasure from pleasing me. Who gets excited by making my body his personal playground. From a man who when he is between my thighs there is no choice to lay still and unresponsive as he devours me with a passion akin to a starving animal falling onto a fresh kill. His every touch and kiss is crafted to make me jump and send gooseflesh across my body and he does not stop until I am spent multiple times.

He has to pin me, restrain me, hold me and make me keep taking what he is doing to me. It makes me feel like the most feminine creature God invented, being ministered to by a male whose sole focus is to send me to heaven as often as he can. When he finally listens to my plea’s, begging him for more, to stop, to enter me, it’s with a feral growl of dominance and my entire body responds in short lived relief until he starts his assault again, this time with his cock instead of tongue.

I am not a good girl…I do naughty things once the bedroom door is closed. My version of the perfect wife is being everything he wants sexually. And if he doesn’t want that raw passion, that creamy tightness, then I will give myself to someone who does. And I shall give it again and again and again; because I am a sexual woman, a sensual woman who has been repressed and restrained, in the wrong way, for far too long. I want the hunter as my partner and not the truffle searching boar. If I am to die a thousand deaths, then I want it at the end of a wide and wielding sword that impales me as opposed to absolute and utter boredom.