of pre-orgasmic bliss.
As good as it felt, my self-consciousness wouldn’t let me surrender to the pleasure. With no covers and no cover of darkness to hide behind, I felt so exposed.
Pushing past my embarrassment, driven by an all-consuming need to come, I took one hand off the wall and pinched my left nipple hard. A jolt of electricity, almost matching the one from the vibrator below, raced straight down to my clit. As I rolled the tender flesh between my fingers, I was reminded how large and supple my new tits are. I ran my free hand across both swollen breasts, kneading them appreciatively, before capturing my right nipple and giving it a twist.
The sensation was like a lightning storm of ecstasy, and without realizing it I had begun rocking back onto Ken’s probing finger, moaning, “Mmm…fuck my ass,” into to the cold night air.
My surroundings were gone. It was just me and my nerve endings and the building rumble of thunder that would crash over me at any second. Sensing how close I was and emboldened by my moans, Ken suddenly mashed the vibrating bullet directly into my clit and thrust a second wet finger into my primed and ready back entrance.
Boom.
The combination of pleasure and pain and dirty and bad immediately caused my core to constrict in a violent, pulsating torrent. Where my senses had been alight with fire just moments before, I found myself plummeting into orgasmic darkness, only remotely aware that I was also convulsing and moaning and cursing as my knees buckled and I dug my fingertips into the wall for support.
When I came to, Ken was leisurely washing his hands in the sink, watching me out of the corner of his eye and looking all too pleased with himself. I half-walked half-hobbled over to him and rested my cheek on his bicep, gazing drunkenly at his reflection in the mirror.
My wild, wavy auburn hair stuck out in all directions, my face and lips were flushed pink, and my forehead had a bright red patch on one side from being pressed against the wall. Ken’s hair had that freshly fucked look, too, but it was from being tucked up under his hoodie just a few moments ago. I glanced down at the cozy black sweatshirt, still in a pile on the floor, and failed to hide the shy smile spreading across my face.
When I glanced back up, Ken’s expression matched my own.
Yeah, I definitely have a thing for sick Ken.
Postscript: I just Googled the going rate for a petri dish of rhinovirus—and did a Craig’s List search—to no avail. Evidently, I’m the only asshole in America interested in stashing the common cold in my freezer to infect my husband with year-round. I can’t decide if that makes me a monster or a genius. I’m leaning toward…menius?
And That’s How Deepak Chopra Scored Me Some Much-Needed Oral Sex
FROM: BB EASTON
TO: SARA SNOW
DATE: WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 1, 10:27 A.M.
SUBJECT: MEDITATION --> CUNNILINGUS
So, you know how I’ve been doing those Deepak Chopra–guided meditations every day? Well, them bitches are paying off! You have got to start meditating, boo!
As an experiment, I wrote this über-raunchy X-rated journal entry about fucking Ken in the bathroom the other day and put it in the Super Private Journal That Ken Is Never, Never Allowed to Read Ever file so that he would read it. I might have embellished a few parts for his ego… best wife in America.
So, the next day, clearly encouraged and emboldened by my pornographic journal entry, Ken slinked into the shower with me and blew…my…fucking…mind…for all of 2 minutes before he came. Poor guy got so flustered that he hopped out of the shower and started rummaging through our vibrator/Q-tip/mousetrap drawer in an attempt to salvage the situation. And guess what? ALL the fucking batteries were dead! All of them! He had no choice but to go down on me. Mwa-ha-ha-ha!
It was divine intervention, Snow. Deepak did that for me.
That asshole (Ken, not Deepak) hadn’t given me head in at least 18 months. Granted, during those 18 months, I’d gotten enormously pregnant and then made him watch helplessly as I pushed a fucking person out of my vag at 5:30 in the morning while writhing and screaming and bleeding and tearing and making guttural caveman noises, so I’m sure he was probably afraid to touch my twat with a ten foot pole for a while, but whatever.
I manifested that shit—me and Deepak.
I know it was the universe because when we