Blind Carnival

Best So Far

They're on his carpet, in the missionary position, partially starkers.

The 'partial starkerness' has been caused by the following series of actions. She was straddling him and jerked off her jumper. He cocked his Roger Moore eyebrow and pulled off his. She threw her tee behind her. He took off his. She got momentarily distracted from this 'strip poker without poker,' and snogged all sense out of him, purring, and clawing at his chest. His fingers lay on the button of her denim; she popped open his. He cupped her backside, she bit into his bottom lip. He moved, she clung to him - and the two of them fell on the floor.

Two pairs of denim disappeared in an unknown direction. His socks were gone with them, which she would've appreciated if she cared. Hers are still on, and he grabs her left foot, hiking up her leg.

"Goodnes, such sexy little feet..." he purrs into her neck, and she remembers his fetish.

But there's so much happening at the moment, that she doubts either of them will need any kink added into the mix. Still, it's good to have some mass destruction weaponry in her arsenal!

Her comfortable sports bra is gone, and his long nose is rubbing to her unimpressive tits. Normally, it does nothing for her, but she's so giddy and heated up right now that any contact is sending electrical jolts down her spine, right into her pelvis, making some funny muscles clench under her navel.

And then their ridiculous game continues. That's the thing, isn't it? There's sometimes this moment when two people just click and catch each other's mood, and nothing has to be said. She hooks her fingers on the waist of her knickers and wiggles her eyebrows. He lifts his torso above her, giving her room. The knickers follow the trajectory of the previous items. He follows her example. Both laugh.

She's laughing even more when he rolls on the floor, to grab his trousers, since a Durex is in the pocket.

"Prepared, Dowling?" she supplies a sardonic line.

"Always," he gleefully announces, and she snorts.

His jolly scout's salute somehow seems utterly inappropriate.

And then the condom is on, and Bob's your uncle!

The hackneyed all thoughts vacated her head gets a new, hundred times more delightful meaning.

She feels, she arches, she moans. He's long, thick, familiar, exciting. No words, no thoughts. She wouldn't remember her name right now. Just sensations. Just John.

And then she has her first ever crisis in missionary. And it's really, really good. Her mental eloquence fails her. She's mewling, her hands are roaming his shoulders, she's breathing loudly. She doesn't care.

She just came like never before, and the bloke loves her!

He's rolling his hips into her lazily, kissing her cheek, and ear, and she opens her eyes. There are purple dots dancing in front of them.

"I wish I could tell you how ace that was..." she murmurs and giggles.

That's a new kind of a giggle. It just sort of bubbles up in her. Maybe, she has crisis induced giggles. She's just never come this much before!

"Technically, of all people you can do it best. Just write it into your next novel."

Oh, how she adores the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes!

"That was too... wow. I'm not sharing it with anybody," she proclaims, and he chuckles.

He's inside her, still properly hard, and his chest hair is pleasantly rubbing against her breasts. His chuckle added a lot to her overall giddy state.

She meets his eyes. "Do you want to be in my next book?"

"I don't care. I want to be in you."

She's floppy and tingly and happy that she just didn't expect a daft pun! And she's probably laughing at it too hard, but she's just feeling so brill!

He smiles widely at her and starts moving again. She wraps her legs around him and closes her eyes. So good...

After a few minutes, hardly conscious, she manages to herd a few brain cells, and to notice a thing. The thing is John suddenly being very good at missionary position. The first morning after their first date comes to mind, and the contrast is stark. No repetitive movements, no mechanical feeling to it. Her first thought is, of course, that she just fancies the bloke now, and thus the difference on her end. But then she pays just a bit more attention to the details. Most of her mind and body are preoccupied loudly cheering for how amazing it feels, but the professional curiosity lets her notice a certain cadence to his movement. Using simple metaphors, before John was a hammer. At the moment, John is playing all her strings with his bow - and does it masterfully. Goodness, his puns are contagious!

He's moving into her, purposefully, but clearly also savouring the process. As she's mentioned before, he's hiked up her leg, and his thumb caresses her thigh. He kisses her - not too long, no awkwardness, a small smile on his lips - and then his lips slide on her jaw, and to her ear. He changes the angle, rolling into her, making her lift your pelvis slightly, and he hits some new exciting spot. She makes a loud happy sound.

His nape under her hands is warm, and her nose is full of the lovely fresh smell of his skin, and as shocking as it is, she might be climbing up towards a second crisis! That is inconceivable - and it does mean what you think it means. Not only has she never been able to climax like that - up until ten minutes ago - but she's never in her life had two orgasms during one act.

He changes the angle again, and this time she just wails. It's an encouraging wail, by the way. His cock has a curve, which she sort of forgot about, and now it's rubbing some special place inside her. Definitely, inconceivable!

"How are you doing it?"

Here comes Olivia's bane: uncontrollable blabbering when excited, surprised, or, as it turns out, aroused.

He was nibbling on her earlobe, which as it has just been discovered, is one of her erogenous zones, and then he looks into her eyes and smiles widely.

"How am I doing what?"

"How are you so good? I mean, you were good when we shagged before, but you're now like the Stradivari of the missionary!"

He laughs and quickly kisses her lips.

"I did my research," he whispers into the kiss, and she gawks at him.

"What?!"

"I Googled it. And read a couple of your books."

She's so shocked that she sinks her nails into his waist, halting him.

"What?!"

There's laughter dancing in his eyes.

"Why are you surprised? Remember what I said when we met? I know I'm boring in bed–"

"Are you mental?" she hollers. "How are you boring in bed?! Have you met you?"

He snorts.

"Liv, even you know how rich in innuendoes this question was, but can we go back to sex? I'm sort of impatient here."

And then he wiggles his cock. Inside her. Intentionally.

Her jaw would hit the floor, were they vertical. All she can do is to invite him to proceed, and then enjoy the ride. She comes again pretty soon, he doesn't stop this time, and she doesn't want him too. He follows suit, with a glorious low growl, and some indistinct muttering. She thinks she might have conked out there for a second.

Not to squish her, he falls on one side and pulls her closer. Their legs are tangled, and his left arm is under her. That'll become uncomfortable pretty soon, but at the moment she's one hundred percent happy with the arrangement.

He's smiling, she's studying his nose right in front of her. She strokes the silver on his temple with the tip of her finger. You're a lucky woman, aren't you, Olivia? She strokes his bottom lip now, and he kisses her finger.

Her eyes are closing, it's been a long day. He shifts, pulls out, and offers to help her up to move to bed. She sleepily nods. Before he's back after his clean up, she's already in deep slumber in his wonderfully comfortable bed.