Sunday Sex

Sunday Sex is sacred to us, a tradition of sorts. It’s always slow. Always tender.

Which is much different than our usual session. Our usual session involves biting and growling and several loud orgasms. And ropes. Or a belt. Sometimes both. And if I’ve been a good girl, a flogger.

But Sunday Sex is sleepy and dreamy and one quiet, moaning orgasm. It’s simple. Satisfying. And reinforces our love.

So when he shoves my arms above my head, grips my wrists and presses them into the bed, I’m surprised. And at once, every nerve in my body tingles.

He knows I like it hard, rough. Not that I don’t like Sunday Sex, but when he fucks me, pounds me, I feel truly wanted. Truly owned.

I wiggle beneath him as he kisses my neck, rubs his morning bristles against my cheek. I open my thighs to him, my hips reach up. I moan when he shifts away from me.

“Not yet, baby girl. Let me do this.”

“But, Daddy…”

He looks down at me. “Let me do this,” he repeats. “Keep your hands where I put them. I am trusting you to behave as if they were tied.”

It seems impossible, but my pussy throbs more. “Yes, Daddy.” It is barely a whisper.

“Good girl.” He kisses my mouth, nips my bottom lip. “Legs together.”

Understanding slams through me then. Oh fuck, is all I can think. A session, but not a session. Tied, but not tied. Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck!

I draw my legs together. And just to be safe, clasp my hands together above my head.

“I saw that,” he says. I can’t tell if he’s angry and I am immediately contrite.

“I’m sorry, Daddy. But I’m used to holding onto the ropes. My hands need to hold onto something. So I’ll hold onto myself instead.”

“You’re such a clever girl.” He kisses me hard. “I accept your compromise, but don’t bring your hands down.”

“No, Daddy.”

“Remember the Rule,” he warns.

My heart pounds. Oh fuck! We don’t follow the Rule on Sundays.

“Yes, Daddy.”

As he travels down my body, my hands clench and unclench, my hips buck. But my hands stay above my head and my legs stay together. Because the rule is: “Only Daddy spreads your thighs”.

And since I’m a bit of a slut, this isn’t an easy thing for me to do.

His mouth trails down my belly, kisses my hips. He pushes his tongue between my thighs and tongues my clit. I grip my hands together and thrust my hips into his face.

“I like when my girl is greedy, needing Daddy’s tongue, desperate to fuck Daddy’s mouth.”

I love it when he talks like this. It makes me want him more and my hips pump faster.

And this is when the session truly begins. Which one of us will give in first? Will he shove my thighs apart first? Or will I beg him to eat me first? And it will involve begging, because I know the moment I ask, it will invoke the Begging Rule. Which translates to me begging and Daddy teasing me until I’m coming apart. And as much as I like invoking the Begging Rule…because I’m a bit of masochist and love to edge…I don’t have time for that shit. Not today. I don’t want to be teased. I just want to fucking cum! Now. Hard and fast.

“You make my pussy feel so good, Daddy.”

“Do I?”

“Yes, Daddy. My pussy is leaking down my ass.”

“Do you want Daddy to lick your sweet ass?”

I moan. “Yes, Daddy.”

He digs his fingers into my hips and growls, his tongue still pressed against my clit. The vibration shoots right through me and I pump faster.

And I say what I know will send him over the edge. I know that he allows it to send him over the edge. But we both know I won’t ask if I don’t want it. And he won’t even try if I don’t want it. I love that about him.

“I want Daddy to fuck my ass.”

Without ceremony, he shoves my thighs apart and back, buries his face into my pussy.

His open mouth sucks hard as he spreads my pussy with his thumbs.

“Daddy, you’re going to make me cum!” And if this a Sunday Sex session, it means only one orgasm. Another Rule. And I don’t want to cum this fast. Not right now. Not when it feels this good.

He looks up at me and grins. “We’re not done yet, sweetheart. Not even close. Sunday has just begun.”