Passion, an easy word to say, a difficult spark to keep alive. Yet somehow we manage it. Soft words, gentle touches, surprises, wordless takings on the kitchen floor. There's nothing quite like it. Waking to the touch of his hands moving over my breasts, lips nibbling over my shoulder, suckling gently against my throat. Those soft, whispered words of need that half the time don't even make any sense as I'm too asleep to really understand them.
I don't even want to imagine living in a relationship without that constant drive to touch and be touched.
Yesterday he brought out the rabbit fur, telling me to lay with my eyes closed, unmoving. Wicked man. Soft tendrils of fur brushed over my skin, teasing taut nipples, playing a slow, lingering path down over my stomach, urging my thighs apart to rub over sensitive skin. How I kept still without being bound I don't know. We've done that too on occasions, experimented in bondage, it can be fun, deliciously so when you know the man you're doing it with can be trusted.
Rabbit fur. Where does he get those ideas from? Not that I'm complaining. I can still feel it tingling down over my form. Fur brushing between my thighs, over my clit, just a moment recalling that has me squirming again. Don't knock it - until you've had one breast covered by rabbit fur, your nipple pinched, caressed only to be pinched again as you feel the throbbing cock of the man you love slide into your cunt - you can never know the sensory overload that can create.
Squirming in my chair just from the memory of it all.
A few nights ago he turned me into a living buffet. Laid out on the dining room table. Cream decorating my breasts, chocolate drops on my nipples, slivers of tinned pineapple over my belly. Ever tried keeping still when someone is slowly nibbling their way over your body? It's not easy. Not by a long shot. When he licked one piece from my clit that was it, I nearly came there and then.
As for the one he pushed into my cunt, then sucked free... well, I'll leave that to your imagination.
Tonight it's my turn. My turn to see if I can bring the soft moans of delight to his lips as he did with me. I've outdone myself this time. For the past few weeks I've been taking dance lessons from a stripper. Can't wait to see the look on his face when I set the chair up and start to dance for him, thinking about getting him to sit in the chair for part of it, the no touching rule should drive him mad.
Can you imagine it? Someone you love, you desire, dancing for you, slowly stripping off, sliding into your lap and dancing for you, her body brushing over yours, nipples hard, the scent of sex rising into the air. Every inch of you and her then dripping with sensuality and you can't touch her because if you do the dance is over?
Torture.
I'm going to enjoy every last evil minute of it until he can stand no more and pushes me to the floor right there in the middle of the living room.
So why do we do this? Go out of our way to find new sparks to add? It's simple.
We made a promise, he and I, many years ago to make only one New Years resolution. It's a simple one, an oath to keep the passion alive, no matter what. Each year finding fresh ways to delight each other. Doesn't matter where we find the information, whether in books, internet, television programs, movies...just as long as we keep on trying to keep that passion for each other alive...
Originally published January 2006 - "Spanked!"