Like most, if not all, women, I use to shave my armpit hair. This has changed several weeks ago when my man asked me to keep it. Which I did, not exactly confident why… Until today!
Today, with almost all kids at home, I had no plans for morning sex. Just when their big sister has organized the twins for a culinary shopping spree, I finally realized the opportunity. Surprise… Surprise… We may get a couple of hours of home aloneness, after all. Kids went to buy the ingredients for the Christmas cooking. Did I mention that the kitchen field will be theirs these days? Cannot tell you how relaxing this sounds to my ears. So I grabbed hubby under the sheets for an intense morning quickie. Few minutes later, rang the bell. Sigh… did they forget something? I ran out to answer the mailman, get the pack, the letters, the Christmas cards, etc. When back in bed, undressing again because it’s quite cold outside, his buddy turned shy. No wonder, with all this turbulence. But I wished it quick, hard and deep. Now!
Caressing and talking and kissing didn’t help much, neither sixty-nine-ing. “Do something!” I commanded. Resourceful as I know him, there came the element of surprise. “Up your arm so I can sniff and kiss and lick your armpit hair please.” What a lovely idea, never crossed my mind. Hurriedly, I positioned my elbow under my head and watched with curiosity.
His nostrils scenting my mildly wet morning thrill. His lips pressing the few rebel hairs on my armpit. His tongue… but… Wow! Triple wow… Forget about his tongue now! Did you feel it? Er… Did I feel it? OMG. He fixed his dick between my legs, dived between my labia before I could say a word and started to rhythmically pound my inside with a vigor that reminded me of the morning wood wakeups or of our filmed summer nooners in the garden.
“You are amazing!” Said I in breathless admiration.
“Me? Not at all. It’s about your armpit hair. Your hormones, your pleasurable sweaty scent, the damp silky skin adorning your diminutive forest… these, and many more that I cannot fathom, have had my engine ignited.”
An ignition that gradually burnt through a missionary roar, a facial blow, a snow ball and eventually dwindled with our mixed juices dripping and sticking between my butt cheeks after my tongued clitoris gave in, my arched body ached of pleasure and my mouth had to shout at him to halt. The word I spoke instead of “stop” was “Perfect!” Then “Perfect!” once more. Then “It is perfect! Stop, you silly!”
“We have had our morning sex consumed in less than fifteen minutes. That’s a record! Well done, dear, very well done!” Did he smile or not, cannot tell, couldn’t see because of his balls hanging above my nose… “Please take this hair away from my face now, dear.” He jumps aside to show me his whitish wet and sticky grin. “Love ya!” “Yes, me too!” I return eager to dress myself, not for the mailman but for the avocado waiting between our clean breakfast plates. When they left us home alone, the kids thought we were having breakfast. 😉
“Honey,” says he while wiping his face with a clean dry tissue as I wiped my pussy with a moist one, “yesterday we have watched (for the n-th time) ’17 Again’ with Zac Efron and Leslie Mann, remember?”
“Oh yes, an adorable movie!!” I say, pulling my panties up tight as he continues the idea. “Think I know why you just love watching it over and over again…” “Why? Tell me!” I pull up my jeans as he lies down in all laziness. “It is because the middle aged wife gets the chance to touch her teenage husband. Sort of a cougar’s romantic fetish, dunno…” Now that he had pronounced his short logic, he jumps out of the bed, looking for his socks.
Interesting deduction, can be true. Especially when the midlife wife wants it fast, firm and perfect. Like this morning. But one other fetish remains: a hairy armpit has enough hormonal powder to turn on your man… like… er, 17 again!?