Birthday bubbly

For DSM birthdays are not usually popping corks and explosive climaxes of fireworks.

I prefer to get a year older quietly and discreetly, especially now I’m the wrong side of 35. A table for two somewhere half-decent is the most I aim for.

So my recent annual day was set to be more of the same… until The Man made himself available for a steamy afternoon.

As I walked through his front door I heard water running and he quickly led me upstairs. The bathroom was softly lit with tea-lights and the centrepiece, his roll top bath, was almost overflowing with frothy bubbles. He poured out two glasses of champagne and we swiftly discarded our clothes, sitting end to end.

I stroked his muscly legs and he ran his fingers along my ankles and feet, as we lay back, soaking up the hot bubbles and sipping the cold ones from our glasses. Within minutes the outside world had ceased to exist and all that mattered was the warm suds, the cool drinks and each other.

When we eventually (as our skin was turning wrinkly) prised ourselves out of the bath, The Man turned on the shower, suggesting we rinsed off the bubbles. As the hot water sprayed us, I felt his strong, solid body against my back. His arms first encircled my waist, then his hands moved up to my breasts, massaging them in circular movements. I turned around to face him and we kissed, water spraying into our mouths and everywhere between us.

We clambered out of the shower and, still soaking wet and dripping all over the floor, dashed into the bedroom, half falling, half diving on to the bed. He kissed me keenly, exploring with his tongue, moving down my neck, my chest, pausing to suck and lick my nipples, moving further down my body until he reached my now-ravenous cave. As he explored all the nooks and crannies I felt my entire body tingle and judder. He barely emerged for air as he devoured the pink flesh before him with his skilled tongue and fingers. I was immobilised with waves of spasms until he moved upwards and kissed me, letting me taste myself.

By now his penis was fully standing to attention, reporting for duty and ready for action. I had to get a mouthful so I returned his devotion by licking the long shaft and sucking as much as I could cram into my mouth. At the same time his fingers entered me and played my favourite song.

It had almost reached the point of the second cork of the day being popped when I used all my might to pull him on top of me so he had no choice but to enter me. I said, quietly: “I want you to fuck me now!” Well, it was my birthday! Of course, he obliged, first slowly but firmly, then harder as I slapped his bottom to make him go faster and the bed began to creak. We rolled over so I was on top and made the bed creak a bit more. He then thrust himself into me from behind as I bent over the bed.

Now fully dry, we collapsed on the bed in a heap and I snuggled into his chest, listening to his heart thumping. We kissed softly, sipped more champagne and kept the outside world at bay for as long as we could.

Well, it certainly beat being given the bumps or soggy sandwiches with cheese and pineapple on a stick…

Read my blog at drunkenslutmum.co.uk

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