Carpet crawlers

I saw F on Wednesday and Thursday, and then D in a mirror room at the Kew Motor Inn on Friday. D and F are the only women I fuck regularly these days other than my wife. The attempts I make to find new recruits never go anywhere, and I am rather lazy about it, but I do make them. I am not sure why I find two an unsatisfactory number of extra-marital regulars, but I continually think that I should either add to the number or else make up my mind and scale back to just one. Were I to do that, I would certainly choose D. F is wonderful, and extremely convenient. But D, even after a year and two-thirds, continues to surprise me, and when I am with her, I continue to surprise myself.

Friday afternoon at the Kew with D, though it has ritualistic and hence repetitive elements, is always fresh, unpredictable, startling. D spends the days in between our meetings in anticipation, and she likes to make plans, if only to fuel her fantasies. This time, her plan was for musical blowjobs - something that we have done before, but not for a while. So I brought along a Y-splitter for her iPod, and my iPod also.

First, though, we got significantly stoned, and I took off all my clothes except my boxer-briefs (boring, white ones, if you care to visualize). Somehow we fell into roleplay in which D kept her clothes on and continually delayed touching my cock while I told her how much I wanted to feel her mouth on me, and how I could not stand to wait any longer. Having a little more discipline than me, and being mildly better at delaying gratification, she made me wait a while, but eventually she began sucking my cock. Stoned blowjobs are always great, and this was wonderful. But not the musical blowjob she had planned. That came later. D took off her jeans and panties and sat on my cock - this was after I pointed out that if we went straight to the musical blowjob she would have to delay orgasm for herself. Surely it was better for her to sit on my cock and ride it until she came, and then to turn to the musical blowjob in a more contented state? She proceeded to have three orgasms, of increasing intensity. I encouraged her to go for one more, and when she began coming for the fourth time I came precisely alongside her, releasing what felt like huge gouts of seed inside her. We have come together while fucking a few times by now, but this was the most self-conscious simultaneous orgasm we have ever had - deliberate and reflective, even though also ecstatic and blinding.

D lifted herself off my cock and lay down on me, her head on my stomach (her right breast, still in her red cotton top, rested on my crotch, so she acquired a large stain from the come and cunt-juice coating my cock). After a little while, she sat in the chair and smoked a cigarette, while I set up the iPod. But once I had done that, while she was still smoking, it seemed silly not to sit on the floor between her legs and smell and taste her cunt, and then eat it, gently at first, and then more aggressively, until she came.

After that, the musical blowjob - actually three in a row, as after the first song we decided to explore a couple of different kinds of song. So D worked my cock with her lips and tongue and fingers first to 'Carpet Crawlers', then 'Born to Run', and then - my choice this time, and from my iPod - Massive Attack's 'Teardrop'. The Springsteen was perhaps least successful, but still amazingly good; I am not a huge fan, but it did seem a good idea to associate it for evermore with D and her considerable cock-sucking skills. In each case, though there were times when I could attend to the music only at the cost of not attending to my cock, or vice versa, there were also long intervals when I could focus on both, as if I could sense the music through my cock, or through D's lips and tongue on my cock as she sensed it too. It is hard to describe this blending, and I think it happens partly just because of sensory overload. Getting stoned turns up the volume with all senses, and with the music playing very loud, with that headphone-induced feeling that the music is inside my head, my eyes closed, my body perfectly relaxed, I became only my ears and my cock, and the consciousness of sound and sensation. I would urge everyone to try it. It works well the other way too, as we proved when I went down on D to Annie Lennox's 'Why'. That was interesting because the lyrics introduced elements of conflict, wistfulness, complaint, sadness, disappointment. These are emotions that are not often present in sex (or not good sex, anyway) and yet they seemed to belong there just as much as the emotions of connection, joy, delight, happiness, contentment. The ideal sexual relationship is the one in which every emotion gets expressed during sex, and music functions well to enable that, at least if it is loud enough and I am stoned enough.

Because D and I had four hours to spend, there was still lots more to come, including another simultaneous orgasm when I was on top of D and fucking her relentlessly. I came a third time in her ass, almost at the end of our time together (only almost at the end, because D insisted on another bout of cunt-eating as I was about to head for the shower). There was, as always, a lot of face-sitting; I had D's panties and jeans on at another point; we also looked at ourselves in the ceiling mirrors while I played with D's nipples and she played with her clit.

D's women friends are, she says, typically incredulous when she tells them that we have sex for four hours straight with hardly any breaks, that I will not even let her smoke a cigarette without eating her cunt while she smokes, that she demands, and gets, another orgasm or two even when time is almost up. Stranger still, many of her friends do not even find the idea of sex like that appealing. It is hard to want what you have never yet had, especially if you do not believe it can ever he had. But it can be had, for D and I have had it. Once you have had it, it is hard not to want a lot more of it.