Cinnamon Love

Prologue

"Does it feel good?" Tate uttered under his breath behind me as he slowed his thrust, trying to emphasize that non-existing sweet spot. I am so happy that he is thrusting from behind, and he can't see my confused face. For the moment, I have run out of tolerable responses. I already made all sorts of moans. Begging moan, close to crying moan, straggled moan, long humming moan, high pitched, low pitched. I sound like those Japanese adult film stars whom I've never particularly enjoyed.

"Mmhm," I moaned, sort of agreeing. I just don't want to make it so obvious. The thing is that after 3 rounds in 30 minutes of fucking. I can't still feel myself being close to that thing all erotic novel heroines are fawning about. The big O.

Maybe it was me; perhaps it wasn't the fact that Tate doesn't like foreplay and shoots after 10-15 thrusts. Maybe I am hyposexual and belong to that 1% of the female population whose vaginal g-spots are numb as fuck. Hey, I wouldn't be surprised if it was true after the bad luck that the deities above poured into my basket. Not being possible to have a vaginal orgasm is the least heartbreaking. After all, my clit still works.

I don't want to do this because I think I might hurt his ego if I touch myself while he believes he's pleasuring me enough, but I am; it's so frustrating. I needed a release, and I need it now. I reach down for my slit and massage that corner under the hood of my pussy lips. I started to circularly trace that area with my middle finger while applying pressure. And like a switch, it turned all the charges in my body. Electric sensation fired through every nerve of my system. The muscle around my pelvis twitches with every flick of my finger. This feels good but not mind-blowing.

I used to believe that sex is the one thing there's no wrong way of doing. This right here is not fucking right; it doesn't feel right. I love Tate, we've been stable for more than a year now, and I am happy with him; he's the first serious relationship I have had. Well, I don't have a lot of guys under my belt; theres only 2 guys before him. First was Enrico, my prom date, who took my virginity in his car. It was also his first time, so we didn't have much fun. The second was Dave, the guy across my dorm room. We sort of like hitting it off every now and then, but it's nothing serious. And maybe 2-3 one-night stands. Never had an orgasm, perhaps because for those times, I was hammered. Alcohol is a sedative.

Since I didn't enjoy sex that much I didn't sleep around a lot. They will only add up to my frustrations. Though I had a fair fun with orals.

Then there was Tate. We met through my last living relative who knows me, my cousin Po. They were acquaintances. I agreed to be Po's date for this birthday party, and there, Tate and I met. After that event, he asked me on a date, and then we went out for the second time, and then the third time before he asked me if I could be his girlfriend. I said yes because I am actually attracted to him. He's easy to be with. He knows what he wants, and he sticks to it. After a month of dating, we sealed the deal with a 5 minute fuck on my kitchen counter. It was underwhelming, but he said he's always stressed at work. Tate is a police captain in CIDG, so I tried my best to be okay with it. It's just sex. Plus, I genuinely like him. He's sweet and intelligent.

Sometimes though, I can't help to feel that the sex with him feels more like a chore than a trip to Disneyland.

I hate myself for feeling that way, especially since I am unsure if he was the problem and not my dysfunctional vagina.

The muscle in my stomach twitched as the sensation from my finger started to fuel some spasm inside my core. I might be closing to orgasm.

"Shit, baby, I am close," Tate hissed behind me; no shit! He leaned forward, closing the space between his chest and my back. I felt his nose land on my nape, inhaling me. He increased his speed, making the slapping sound of my ass and his crotch more and louder. I should feel like losing my shit right now, and I am, not because of how he tortures my birth canal with his cock but rather because of that "baby" in his sentence.

Maybe it's just me, but I never like that pet name "baby,", especially during sex. Who wants to have sex with a baby? Secondly, I am losing my shit because just when I am finally feeling this good, he's close? Great fucking timing!

"Fuck! I am so close. Come with me, baby," He whispered behind my ears. Again with that "baby,." I don't want to do this, but I can't let him know I am not even close to my orgasm after pushing him to a third round. It's not fair, and I don't want him to figure out that there's a problem until I know how to fix it. So I resorted to good old acting. I will fake my orgasm like Sally in that restaurant. I will nail it, well, it wasn't my first time faking it, plus he bought the previous hundred times, so I know I always did a great job.

Here I go.

I always know when Tate's cumming, his tempo becomes fast and steady like he just hit the turbo, and that's the time I'll arch my back, curl my toes and pant heavily with gibberish moans. That's exactly what I did. After one long and hard thrust, Tate hugged my waist closer to him, squeezing me as he spilled all his fluids inside. He keeps jerking slowly, riding down his orgasm until he stops, and all we hear are heavy breaths coming from both of us. Him from post cumming, me from being the best fucking actress. I should have an Oscar.

After a few moments of letting him rest, he pulled himself out, and we collapsed on my bed. I sat up right away and wore my robe. I am going to the bathroom, but I didn't leave without easing my guilt of having to fake my orgasm by kissing him on the cheek and reassuring him.

"That was amazing; I have to go to the bathroom" I pecked him on the lips, and he smiled while his eyes were still closed. I went to my bathroom and closed the door behind me, locking it. I turned the shower on, but I didn't go inside the stall; instead. I closed the toilet and sat on the cover. I spread my legs and continue what I've been doing earlier. Touching myself.

I am still hot from before, and I need to finish. Massaging the upper part of my slit, my feet soon became limp. My body burned because of the sensation from the frictions I was inflicting. I bit my lips to prevent myself from moaning, this time from legitimate pleasure. My flicking turned up a notch as I felt that familiar coil in my lower gut. I am close.

My legs started to shake after a few more circles, and my back arched unintentionally. I am cumming. My abdominal muscles became boardlike as it spasms. After I came, I removed my robe and took a shower.

Under the water, I tried to soak every inch of my skin. I hate this feeling of guilt after every time I finish myself. Why can't I enjoy sex with my boyfriend as much as yanking myself? I feel stupid and useless. I should talk to Tate about it, but I don't want him to think I am shallow and greedy, that sex is that important to me. I should be happy and contented with what we could have because I love him.

After taking a quick bath, I went outside, changed into my nightdress, and lay beside him. He immediately hugged my waist and inhaled my scent. I closed my eyes and let my train of thoughts halt. I felt a different kind of guilt. The guilt that I didn't feel anything when he did that.