I didn’t expect much. Nothing really. A recovering John Brownstone is a decidedly non-sexual John Brownstone…or so I thought.

The sun peeked in through half-closed drapes and blinds. Light enough to wake us up, not quite enough to compel either of us to get out of the bed. All was quiet outside our bedroom door. It was nice to simply be together in bed.

I rolled over. Phone in hand, time to wake up – email helps, apparently.

Lost in my morning routine of liking, favoriting, sharing, and reading, I didn’t hear him roll over or feel the bed dip behind me.

His hand clamped over my mouth, covering my nose only a little. Immediately, my breath became ragged. My rational mind knew I could breathe, if I calmed down. The rest of me gave over to the excitement of the moment.

He hooked his ankle around mine, spreading my legs apart. I dropped the phone. Full body shivers started from the first touch.

Rough, but not too rough. Firm, but not too firm. His touch set off flames in every limb. My hips thrust forward, my thighs spread wider. With his hand over my mouth, there would be no asking for permission or begging for an orgasm. The climax would be forced – until he was satisfied.

I squealed into his palm, huffing, my breath coming in ragged draws. A shift in his hand made me think he would let me breathe. Wrong. He uncovered my nose but clamped his hand more firmly over my mouth. This was going to hurt. I was going to love it.

Screeching and writhing against him, orgasms came in waves. The first one was small but powerful. The next one arrived and sent tremors down my body. The third took over my body. I bucked and undulated. His fingers never stopped.

My eyes rolled back in my head. My throat became tight with the belief I couldn’t take in enough air. My body spasmed against his. Fluid dampened my thighs, coating him and bed in the process.

One last stroke across my pussy. One last flick over my clit. One more moment of silencing me. The final orgasm exploded out of me, and I screamed into his hand, forgetting to breathe.

He released me without a word. We both gasped and panted. I mumbled a “Thank you, Daddy” into the pillow. The only response I heard was the crinkle of a condom wrapper being torn open and the tell-tale sticky sound of latex covering flesh.

I’d had my turn. Now it was his.

Welcome to Masturbation Monday! Just when I thought I’d have to use my sexy imagination this week, I received the gift of a few forced orgasms. Okay, y’all, go see what other smutty writers have for your reading pleasure this week!

Share this: Facebook

Twitter

Pinterest

Reddit

WhatsApp

Email

