Prelude to a Sunday Morning

“It’s raining again,” she said, rubbing her face against his chest before burrowing deeper under the covers. “Cold out there, too.”

More asleep than awake, Jack grunted, tightening his arms around her. She lay there for a time listening to the rain on the roof and his gentle snoring, feeling comfortable, content and secure. It was good she thought, to be back in his arms after several days separation.

No matter how comfortable, listening to rain always had a predictable effect on her bladder. Careful not to wake him she untangled herself from his embrace and slipped out of the bed. The room was chilly, making her shiver. She found his flannel shirt worn yesterday and slipped it on as she quietly made her way to the bathroom.

She was reaching for the tissue when she realized she had an audience. “I thought you were asleep!”

“The bed got cold. Then I heard you in here.” He was standing in the doorway splendidly naked, looking at her questioningly.

“What is it?”

“Would you let me do that?”

“Do what?”

He took the tissue from her hand and said, “Wipe you.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Searching his face she saw the want and need in his eyes and knew she could never deny him. “Yes.” She held her breath for what was about to happen.

Dropping to his knees in front of her, he spread her legs wide, opening her to his gaze and ministrations. She felt as though she was sitting on a throne and he was worshiping her.

She tipped her pelvis forward to give him better access as he gently wiped the tissue against her, his paper covered fingers stroking between her outer lips. He repeated the motion once more, before dropping the tissue into the bowl below.

Jack ran his hands along her legs from knee to hip and back down again as he looked up at her from his position of supplication. She smiled slightly, thinking that the image displayed before him did not rate the look of adoration on his face. Sleep tousled hair surrounding a flushed face; his flannel shirt hanging open to frame her breasts, their nipples tight from the cool air and excitement; her thighs splayed, showed off a triangle of brown curls that fringed her gaping sex lips.

Before she knew what he was about, he buried his face against her sucking her flesh, persuading down her moist arousal. His tongue licked her clitoris as he brought her to climax, drinking in the wetness that drenched his face while her groans and cries echoed and reverberated off the walls of the bathroom.

He was still kneeling, head bowed when she came back to herself. She kissed him on the forehead, offering him absolution. Jack gave a shuddering sigh and sat back on his haunches. His penis was standing out stiff away from his belly.

“Stand up.” she quietly ordered.

As he staggered to his feet, she took his rampant cock in one hand while the other weighed and massaged his testicles, her fingers playing with the fine soft hairs that covered them. He cradled her head between his hands, his fingers tangling in her hair as he watched her swirl her tongue around the tip of his cockhead, cleaning away the drops already leaking. Then she took him deep into her mouth and began to suck.

His stomach muscles contracted and his hips thrust forward. She heard his sharp intake of breath and knew he was close to coming. Then he flooded her mouth with his tithe of thick salty-sweet semen. When she had drained him, and his moans and gasps ceased to resound in the room, she released his cock. Circling her arms around his waist, she rested her face against his stomach, hugging him close. He smoothed her hair back from from her face and settled his hands on the top of her head in a final act of benediction.

PRELUDE TO SUNDAY MORNING Copyright © 1999 by Leigh Stirling. All Rights Reserved. This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. No part of this work may be reproduced by any means or used in any form without expressed written permission from the author.

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