~ Sex Games ~

 

Chapter One

Paul was inside as well as on top of her. Ellen moaned and tossed her head from side to side on the pillow. She knew her stylish mane of blonde hair would look sexy as hell to him as it whipped about her attractive face. She also took care to rake her fingernails lightly across his muscular back, to further the impression that she was very much aroused by the sex-which she wasn't.

Ellen hadn't been in the mood--a too common occurrence of late. Working her trim body up and down under him on sexual autopilot, she tried to remember. How long had it been since she craved Paul's fabulous body? Seemed like forever. It was a shame because she still loved her husband. She loved him more now than she had during their first whirlwind year together, eight years ago, when they'd met, and indulged in interminable bouts of wild, hot sex. Back then, it had seemed that they could never get enough of each other.

What's different now?

She moaned, stroked him, threw her pelvis up to meet his thrusts, and pretended to be more aroused than she was--all for his benefit.

Was it because she and Paul were no longer twenty-one-the age they'd been when they'd met? Could it be because they'd made love so many times over the years, since those heady, early days?

She looked up fondly at her husband, smelled the faint odor of his cologne mixed in with the natural, musky scent of a man engaged in a very physical activity, and smiled. He really was gorgeous, dark and handsome, with short-cropped, slightly, wavy black hair and beautiful hazel eyes. Then there was his chiseled body. His sculpted physique, consisting of massive shoulders and arms, trim waist, and tight, muscular ass were all products of years spent in the weight room-a workout schedule that bordered on compulsive. She knew they were an attractive enough couple to turn heads when they entered a room.

Why don't I love sex with him as much used to? Maybe part of it was that they always seemed so rushed lately, when they have sex. She moved her right hand up to give his hair another gentle stroke and continued to synchronize her hip movements to his with an effortless, rolling motion.

Tonight was yet another example of how making love always felt rushed. A few minutes ago, she had been ready to turn out the nightstand lamp for the night when she'd noticed, that look, in her husband's eyes as he stared at her from across the king-sized bed. Ellen had been tired and ready for sleep. But she'd also made a vow to herself, when they'd first married, never to become one of those wives who was "too tired" or who always "had a headache". So when he reached for her, she had come to him.

A minute of kisses and cuddles later, the knee-length man's tee shirt she normally wore to bed came off. Once he was naked too, a few minutes of his hungry mouth on her nipples had been all the foreplay he afforded her and now...here they were!

He was inside her. She was wet enough to handle his impressive length and girth, but just barely. It didn't hurt, as he moved within her, but she was far from being in the juicy, super-excited, can't-wait-to-have-sex state that produced their most satisfying unions.

What they did right now was pleasant enough, but it didn't really...excite her. While she loved the feel of him on top of her and the way he held her tight-the intimacy of the act itself-she missed the white-hot thrill of the two of them madly devouring each other! She longed for the fiery passion they once shared, the sheer ecstasy of an out and out thrill-ride of a just-can't-get-enough-of-each-other...fuck!

How long has it been since they experienced one of those?

Ellen wrapped her arms around Paul and pushed her breasts up tighter against his chest. Years of making love with her husband told her he was close to orgasm, and she wanted to make it good for him.

At the same time, a question at the back of her mind nagged at her. When was the last time it was really good for me? When was the last time I really got off hard with Paul?

Somewhat surprised she realized it had been seven or eight months ago. They'd been on vacation in Hawaii. After a carefree night of dinner and drinks, followed by even more drinks, they'd danced in the hotel's lounge until the bar closed. Following that they staggered-all giggles, loud laughter and teasing horseplay-back to their room. Once in the suite, they'd torn each other's clothes off and fucked with all of the intensity and abandon of a pair of teenagers who'd sneaked off to spend the night together.

Dear God, but I'd like it to be that way all the time again!

Paul's gasp brought her back to the present. His cock jerked inside her and the first big splash of hot semen jetted into her womb

Her lips near his ear, she murmured, "Oooooh! So much! Give it to me, big boy! Fill me up with that hot stuff!"

Paul moaned and unloaded a few more smaller jets of come into her and slowly stopped his movements. She felt him go soft and finally slip out entirely.

"You're the best, babe," he murmured and kissed her cheek.

"So are you, honey." She smiled at him and kissed him back once before he sighed heavily, got off her, snapped off the lamp, and rolled onto his side.

As always, in less than five minutes, he was asleep. The sounds of his breathing were steady and deep beside her. Ellen let out a sigh of mild frustration, found her discarded tee shirt and got back into it.

She waited another minute or so, until he was dead asleep, and then eased the shirt back up her lithe body until the hem rested just under her chin. She lay on her back next to him in the darkness and waited for a big glob of Paul's slippery semen to ooze out of her slit. She caught the hot, super-slick goo on her fingertip and used it to paint her clitoris until the tiny pink bud was as slippery as a, well-greased ball bearing.

As she toyed with her clit, Ellen thought once more about that night in Hawaii, of how hot and wild and great the sex had been. She ran her fingertip around and around and took her left nipple in between the fingers of her other hand and began to squeeze it lightly, her eyes already half closed with enjoyment.

I really shouldn't do this. For the last few months, she'd made a habit of masturbating herself to a climax whenever the two of them had finished what, for her, had been a less than a satisfactory sexual experience. She felt vaguely guilty about it, but she had to admit-even if the orgasm was self-induced-she still slept better than she had in the past, back when she had given up and gone to sleep unfulfilled.