Category Archives: sex

Morning Wonder

When I started this blog, I intended it to be a no-holds-barred account of my life, past and present. It has quickly become something largely dedicated to my mental health, and as I get more involved with the Time to Change campaign I think this is likely to remain the case. So posting about sex here doesn’t quite seem right. But actually, sex and my mental health have become somewhat inextricably intertwined over this weekend so perhaps it is right. Either way, this is where I have decide to put my forays into sex blogging for now. The (Slightly) Erotic Musings of Elenya Lewis will remain dedicated to my fiction and writer craft interests and in the next few months I will definitely work on having my own website to bring everything together. But for now, here is something that I wrote today which puts my stamp firmly on my non-fiction erotic career. It began as an account of my Friday morning, but may have gotten a bit mixed up with how I generally love my mornings waking up with him.

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Waking up with him on Friday was marvellous. My alarm went off and he snuggled up and I could feel his cock, hard against me. I love to lie in bed and doze quietly while I feel his breath quicken and catch as he touches himself and presses his cock against the curve of my ass. I get wet thinking about how much I’d love him to just drive that hard cock right into me without asking, quickly and without warning. I catch myself moaning as I think about how much I want him to penetrate me roughly. It’s almost like a sign of ownership, I think. I want him to show me that he doesn’t need to ask my permission to fuck me, that he can do what he likes, when he likes and how he likes it and I don’t get a say. But he doesn’t. He drags it out and I lie and get progressively more and more damp as I anticipate those words that I want to hear. “I want to fuck you.” And even then he will wait and it will be agonising and all I can do is lie and wait some more and hope that perhaps, just perhaps, today he will be quicker and I can have him inside me now.

Then he turns me over and my bare ass is exposed and my legs are slightly parted and I can feel the cool air against my damp cunt and I ache thinking about how much I need to be filled. I can hear him putting a condom on and I think about him touching himself as he slides the rubber over, applying lube and smearing it around the tip as he looks at me like I am something to eat. I daren’t breathe because I know that any moment now he will pull my legs apart and press his fingers into my ass and slide, inch by inch, that marvellous hard cock inside my soaking slit. I moan and whimper and clutch the sheets as I think about how much I need him to do it, how I can’t wait any longer or I might go mad. Then he’s actually doing it, and his touch feels even more electric than I remember. I know that his cock is generous but it always feels even bigger than I remember as it pushes inside me, sliding in one glorious motion as my cunt gives and stretches to accommodate him. And then he’s all the way in and I think that I could die in this moment because nothing that exists feels as good as that sharp sting of being completely filled up with him. He pulls out, gripping my hips, and drives in again and my arms are driven into the bed as I try and remain upright so that I’m at just the right angle to take him in. I can’t adequately describe the pleasure and the pain of that final moment where he’s all the way in, and it hurts and I want it to stop but as soon as it’s gone I want it again because it’s so amazing.

There’s never a real rhythm to it either. We do have a rhythm for a few strokes and just as I think I am getting used to it he will change it, driving in hard and fast and then pulling out and just pushing the tip in and out until my mind starts to fuzz over and I think I might come if he just carries on doing that one little thing again and again. Then he pulls out completely and I want to cry because I want him back in me again. And then he’s back in, thrusting in slow and deep and I can hardly breathe because it’s so incredible. Every time we have sex I think it can’t possibly get any better and yet somehow every time it is better, or perhaps my memory simply isn’t capable of holding in just how wonderful it is and I forget something.

The feeling just builds and builds until I don’t know if I can cope with any more and this tight feeling starts up low in my stomach and I can feel that he is getting close. Then he says “oh fuck, I’m going to come,” and the words inside my head fight against each other. “Oh fuck, please come, I fucking love it when you come,” and “oh god, not yet, please don’t come yet, I don’t want this to be over.” And for the sheer hell of it, I clamp tightly around his cock and his moans change pitch and I know that if I carry on like this then he will come whether we want it or not and I get a big thrill out of that. And he says “I’m going to come,” but it’s a question. Always a question. And I breathe “yes, please come,” and there’s a daft exchange of “yeah?” “yeah,” “yeah?” and then with a few hard strokes it is complete, and he’s panting and drawing out and laying down beside me so that I can cling to him and feel the cold sweat of his body against me as we both catch our breath.

Then I feel tears prick at my eyes and I try not to let them but I can’t help it. Tears stream down my face and a sob catches in my throat and then I sob and cry as he clings to me and says “it’s okay,” and I know that it’s okay but I can’t stop crying. Sometimes I cry because it’s so wonderful that I don’t know how else to express it. Sometimes I cry because I’ve missed it so, so much that the pleasure of having done it again is too much for me to hold inside. Other times I cry because I think that I would rather die than know this might be the last time we ever do it. Sometimes it’s because I don’t know when we will be able to do it again. But mostly, I think I cry because I hate that it is over. I love our union so much that I cannot bear that it ends. I hope that I never, ever get over how much I desperately want there to be a next time, and as soon as possible.