He made love to me like a wild man last night. This morning, even before the sun has opened its eyes to the day, a look of boyish beauty and innocence caresses his face in his slumber. My mind flashes back to the rapturous orgasms he gave me with his hands and mouth and beautiful hard penis. My own sex becomes noticeably empty as I watch his chest rise and fall ever so slightly in rhythm to his breathing. He's laying half on his back, half on his side, facing me, his now flaccid manhood nestled warmly with his testis between his thighs. The same manhood that so boldly filled me in rapt splendour just a few short hours before.
As I study his sleeping form, he emits a slight groan and rolls over, more onto his back. This movement has caused a blood flow change and his penis moves and grows slightly to accommodate. Does he watch me in my sleep the way I admire him in his?
I feel a familiar and welcome tingle between my own thighs. I can't help but touch myself and recall the love and lust that filled me the night before. But my own touch falls short of the experience and leaves me wanting, no, needing more. I quietly shift myself on the bed and move closer to his slumbering body, being ever so careful not to startle him awake. I will want him back from his dream world soon, but slowly and soothing.
The scent of our mingled juices is embedded in his pubic hair and fills my nostrils as I close in to kiss the head of his penis. I can feel the fire growing between my own legs and my nipples lightly brush his side as I take his flaccid, but growing, penis into my mouth.