Tears Before Bedtime

Tears Before Bedtime

I cried and cried until my face grew more than tear stained; red and blotchy, puffy eyed and streaked with my day worn mascara.

Tears Before BedtimeHe held me close and tightly, letting me soak his clothes with my grief and racking sobs. Sniffling and leaking sadness all over him until he was drenched with my unhappiness.

We moved from the lounge to the bedroom, with him guiding me by his hands on my waist, then holding my hand to lead me up.

I soothed my weary head, washing make-up and the day’s exertions from my face with steaming hot water, letting my tears and mascara streaks run down the drain with swirls of foundation, like my worries swirling down and out, wishing they would leave me as easily as my maquillage.

Padding softly back to the bedroom where he waited for me, stretched out upon the bed and tired but offering up warmth and comfort. I wander around to my side, pulling off my clothes until I am standing naked before him. He smiles, pleased, and beckons me into bed.

He folds me into his arms and I dissolve into tears again, fresh tears on fresh cheeks. My worries linger on and send shooting pains like streaks of lightning through my head and across my heart.

His cuddles turn to that which I respond to in true disturbed fashion. Fingers wander over my body to seek out my breasts and lower down, until my soft sobs turn to sighs and sniffles turn to deeper breaths of need.

He pulls me across to straddle him and I do so, my hair falling about me as I’m moved like a ragdoll into position on his already straining cock. This is the last time he will be able to come in me like this for a while. It makes this all the more intense.

He slips into my shamefully wet pussy with ease, instinctively knowing where to find me, and experience telling both of us how best to move. I clench around him and luxuriate in his moans of blissful satisfaction at filling me once more.

He fucks me like this for a while and I dissolve and melt over him, clinging on as best I can with thighs and my arms about his neck, my mouth against his neck, licking, kissing, biting softly… in between gasps of pleasure and need for ever more, as he thrusts against those special parts inside me that he knows how to reach and stimulate better than anyone ever has. No-one else ever will or could, anyway.

Smoothly moving to the side, he takes me by the shoulder and thigh and turns me round so I am on my back and he is still inside me. Between my legs now he kneels up and once completely in position, moves my legs to be not only crossed behind him for a while (as he loves), but then moved up and hooked over his shoulders. This perfect position lets him enter me completely to the hilt, I can feel his full balls against me and his full generous length thrusting and pounding into me, slamming violently into my greedy, hungry, wanting pussy.

Seeing him through still tear-blurred eyes, my audible moans crack into half sobs as he fucks me like this, our favourite of the moment.

Something is different this time, it feels more dramatic, more climactic, closer, more intense, urgent, a desperate need to have him fuck me, yes a need for it, as necessary right in that moment as food, water and air ever is.

It feels like if he doesn’t fuck me deeply and violently right now, I’ll die from bursting with the need of it, the anticipation, the excitement, the sexual frisson of explosive energy.

Just as he tips over that waterfall of pleasure into his waiting tide of orgasmic waves, I fall over with him, finally, carrying me over with him into a thunderous, rapturous ocean of froth and sparks and crashing sensation… so different to making that blissful journey alone.

We seem to journey forever, in those few moments.

As the ear-splitting, deafening, echoing thunder of pleasure subsides in all its wondrous silence, we fall to be laying side by side. Breaths ragged and short, slowing in time to deep catches of air that was in deficit from the exertions.

Once again I find I cannot speak. Not only this but i cannot peel myself away from him, I need my flesh to be in as much contact with his as possible. Remnants of tangible need. My lips are forming words against his neck as the rest of my body curls about his. I do not know what the words are, they are trying to coherently describe the emotions, sensations, feelings. Such a vibrant and rich tapestry of emotion bolting through my soul right now that it would be impossible even for the greatest writers to describe it. The adjectives simply have not been created or discovered yet.

My hands will ache later, from my fingers so tightly curled around his. A vice like grip of the truly satisfied yet stunned. Left breathless, pounded, winded. Ravished and violated in one beautiful sweeping, raging yet romantic scene.

Any attempts at movement leave me falling dizzyingly from the jagged cliff edge of frayed nerve endings. My flesh quivers and I can only let out mere whimpers of bliss to let him know my positive state of wonder.

It is like this that we finally fall to a dreamless sleep, the sleep of the truly in love, those that know what the other needs, wants… and does not hold back from giving it. There is no worry as we lay there, that the other doesn’t care. I love him entirely and give my everything to him, and he holds me, cherishes me, as certainly in his heart as he does his arms.




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