I am a Super Mom.

Picture first, then all the words.

Peter is a ray of sunshine in my cloudy, lonely, busy, lovely, exhausting, fun and complicated life.  Each week we send a few texts; sexy, funny, flirty.  We narrow down a time to meet and we make it happen.  In my office on rare occasions, but mostly in my little apartment with dozing animals and late afternoon sunshine as our backdrop where I get to see the green of his eyes.

Yesterday he darkened my doorway with a smile and a sweet kiss hello.  I gave him a Topo Chico and he sat on a kitchen bar stool while I wedged myself between his knees and we talked forever like we always do and I melted against him.

“I like this height thing,” I said and dipped my head just a smidge to kiss his soft lips.

I’m barely taller standing than he is sitting.  We laughed into each other’s smiles and ran our hands along each other’s arms and chests.  He cupped my breasts and moaned, pulled my “Super Mom” shirt up and over my head.  My bare breasts bounced between us and I arched my back.  He knew what to do.

I held his dark head to my breast and leaned into his wet, suckling mouth, pulled back and tore his work shirt off and matched up our nipples and wriggled a little.

He stood up and towered over me.

“Well there goes that height equity,” I quipped.

He took my hand and I led him back to my room.

Eyeing my bed I laughed, “But we’ll be equal again in a minute.”

Naked and astride his narrow hips I stuffed him inside of me and rocked and rolled on him with abandon.  He grabbed the hams of my ass and massaged them against his shaft until we both lost our shit entirely. Moaning and groaning, cussing and thrusting.

His beautiful face focused on mine as I sought release atop him, careful to leave no marks on him with my clutching, pawing hands.  He tasted salty and sweet as he gritted against his own pleasure, my green-eyed beast of a man.

Once, twice, three times I lost myself in his breath and deep, wet kisses with him buried entirely inside of me.  I grabbed my Hitachi and pressed it against my mound as he twitched and gently bucked against me.  I came like a banshee that time and collapsed on top of him as he finally let go and came with me, dumping all his delicious jizz into my hungry little body.

“Fuuuuck,” we said, and laughed and panted together conspiratorially.

We talked and giggled some more until I noticed the beautiful late afternoon light filtering in through my window.

“Can I take some pics of you for the blog?  The lighting is so good right now.”

He said yes and I fluttered around him adjusting sheets and clicking my phone and pressing my body against his and clicking some more.  I felt shy and awkward, but really didn’t want to lose the light or the opportunity.

I mentioned writing something about this moment and he said he’d want to read it.  I admitted to having already written about him.  “Oooh, I want to read!” he said as he buried his face in my breasts.

I held him close and laughed.  The truth is I’m nervous to have him read me, but am willing.  He didn’t press and I didn’t offer more.

I clicked the camera a few more times – click click click – before we showered and washed away all remnants of our sex with the little green and white stripped bar of soap a girlfriend brought me from New Zealand.

“Does she ever leave town?”  I asked.  He knew what I meant.

“She’ll be visiting her sister’s new baby in January for a whole weekend,” he answered.  “Would you like to have an overnight??”

“Fuck yeah, I would,” I said and pulled his face down to mine for a kiss.

I gathered the socks for him the dog had squirreled away while we were busy and  finished our tryst with more smiling kisses on my tip toes.  Time with Peter is at once long-lasting and quick and I wished I wasn’t saying goodbye.

“Bye, gorgeous,” I called to him just before he rounded the corner to the stairs.

“Bye, sexy,” he called back.

I locked the door and finished getting dressed then scurried off to an event for Pey, filled to the brim with Peter.  Just like a good Super Mom should.

 

Ed. Note: Pic posted with Peter’s permission.

Sinful Sunday

A 40-something single mother who writes honestly about sex, body image, D/s, relationships, her nervous tics, and how much she loves to fucking fuck. She also likes to show you her tits.

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13 thoughts on “I am a Super Mom.
  1. I know the feeling of having them scamper off when you’d rather they stayed.
    But for now, enjoy what you have. I’m happy to read a happy post of yours.
    XO

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