Lazy Morning

The other morning, Sir woke early, went downstairs for a while, then came back to bed. I said,

“It’s a good thing you came back up when you did. My hand was in my crotch, and I was starting to idly masturbate. Thank you for coming back and saving me from myself, Sir.”

Sir smirked, smiled, and pulled the covers back up.

We lay together in companionable silence, looking at our phones. We had plans later, but there was time.

Time marched on.

After a while, I suggested that we should get ready. Sir agreed, and taking pity on my randy state, said,

“But first, I think you should masturbate.”

“Yes, Sir!”

I grabbed my trusty vibrator and a lovely g-spot stimulator.

“Whoa,” he said, “Pick one.”

“Yes, Sir!” I picked the vibrator. I am efficient. And my hand gets tired.

I pulled back the covers so Sir could watch.

I closed my eyes because, even though we have been intimate for years, there is still some shyness. The vibrator buzzed against my clit. I stroked my labia, gently, with my other hand. I moved my hips and slowly slid two of my fingers inside me.

I felt Sir’s hand on my thigh, grasping hard. That restriction on my movement gave me something to writhe against, and I felt wetness drip down my thighs. Sir’s hand batted mine aside, and he slid two fingers into me.

That was what I needed.

“Please, Sir, may I come?”


“Please, Sir, may I come?”


“Oh god, Sir, please, please, please may I come?”


Oh, yes. Yes. Yesyesyesyesyesyes!

“Thank you, Sir.”


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