Quickie (I)

From my sick bed, I bring you something short, about making the most of an awkward situation.

We had to give up, to press pause for a moment or two. Maybe even a day or two for a full recovery. The pain was bearable but the wince that clouded my face, and that he could differentiate between squeals of pleasure and squeals of pain, meant he only stroked my face as he bore down on me, his cock rubbing at the wet, welcoming flesh that separated my clit from my cunt.
“It’s ok. We have all the time. It’s ok.” He murmured, kissing my forehead, biting my ears; my arms wrapped tightly about his neck, so full of grateful adoration.
Still the head of his bare cock rubbed. I reached down, the sensation of his solid member lying in my palm forever exciting and inviting.
I jerked my hand back and forth gently and watched him close his eyes and swallow. I angled the head upwards, up the inviting path to my clitoris. My hips jerked. I rubbed harder, and began to use him to touch myself, looking into his eyes as I began to buck, only this once placing my pleasure before his own, as so often we gave ourselves over to each other as a matter of course and relished making the other writhe and moan that we did our own thrashings.
Well, almost.
I had never thought that using his cock in this way would be such an efficient way to masturbate, but of course it would be – the stimulus was only a part of the whole – of being held like I was so precious to him; of the granite-like erection in my grip; and my own comfort in his presence. Nothing had ever felt so right as this.
Before I really knew what was happening, I felt my cunt clench, my body go limp and the smile of satisfaction wash over my face.
He tightened the grip of his arms around me as my hand renewed its pattern of strokes around his cock.
“Here’s to next time.”

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