Up All Night

My eyes hurt. I think someone came along in the night and replaced them with marbles but I can't tell because when I look in the mirror, all I can see are puffy, blue bags underneath them. And that's what you get for staying up all night fucking.

What can I say; it was too ridiculously humid to sleep and really, once you've got to 4 am you weren't going to get any sleep now anyway, whatever the weather. So we made do instead with one long, sweaty, shattering fuck encompassing (but not necessarily in this order): the bedroom floor; the shower; the kitchen table; ice cubes from the freezer; next door but one's cat strolling in the French windows and watching me suck D's cock; both of us getting scratched in semi-intimate places breaking up the subsequent fight between my cat and next door but one's; some hand spanking on my inner thighs and the mound of my cunt; a bit of a breather and some whiskey with crushed ice; hours of grinding and frigging and licking; me having a serious coughing fit after getting spunk up my nose; more orgasms than I could be bothered to count; and D flat on his back groaning and making me promise not to touch his cock again for at least a week.

He's probably going to kill someone at work today as the result of a terrible judgement-impairment error following sleep deprivation. Do you think if I turn up in court the jury will take one look at me and accept his defence of diminished responsibility?

There's something about the aftermath of a really epic fuck - it's a combination of floopy relaxation and overstimulated lust. I know I should be satisfied, but I just want to run out into the street and drag a random man back to my bedroom and fuck him all day. Or maybe not waste time dragging him back but just lie down in the street and let him fuck me, while I look over his shoulder for the next man to replace him when he's spent.

I've sent D a text at work explaining that I won't be keeping my promise.

Comments

[Doug H.]

I have come to notice, with increasing frustration over the years, that none of Lucy's posts have never mentioned Worcestershire sauce!! I am simply looking out for the interests of John Wheeley Lea and William Henry Perrins.

[Lucy]

Worcestershire sauce is, of course, implicit in the many references throughout my blog to cheese on toast. Haven't you ever heard of sub-text?