It always starts in either one of two ways. Either we’re lying in bed, having a laugh, when things take a turn for the salacious. Or we’re somewhere else, winding each other up, before storming to the bedroom with the full intention of shagging each other’s brains out.
In this case, it was the former.
Maybe combined with a bit of the latter.
We were definitely naked-with-intent. He had a week off from work, we both needed heaps of carnal relief, so our intention was to do exactly that: relieve each other carnally.
And he did that so well. His fingers found their way to my waiting cleft, taking in the expanse of my labia, my clit and my hole.
It felt good. So damn good.
So I wanted it to feel even better. I guided his fingers into the position that never fails to get me off during a solo wank (just above my clit – it’s freaking great, I tells ya). As he frigged me off, my own fingers rubbed against my perineum, making me gasp. Because Jesus, I’ve only just discovered that gently rubbing your perineum (when sufficiently turned on and playing) actually feels like the sexual equivalent of eating chocolate lava cake.
Yes. That good.
I came to a shuddering orgasm, most of which I was still riding out when he decided he wanted to ride me out.
As far as intentions go, I think the universe manifested our intent to have a bloody good fuck into reality.
And all thanks to being naked with intent.
(*or just two really horny and frustrated people who wanted each other. Yeah, probably the latter.)