Patreon LogoYour support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)

Brief encounters - on Thursday

Foxy Lady

Jan 30, 2014
United Kingdom
'I'll just close the bedroom door.'

Everyone in the house knows what a closed bedroom door means. It means: do not disturb, unless the house is on fire, in which case knock first.

Everyone understands and everyone respects it, because we are all entitled to some me-time and private space.

That's why no one bursts in on Ronnie while he's watching porn and masturbating. And no one bursts in on Aggie when she's face-timing her closest friends to discuss life. And no one bursts in on me and Frank when we are making love on Sunday morning.

So I know, and Frank knows, that there is no need for a lock or a bolt. No one will walk in on us and no one will disturb us until we are finished, which means when we open the door.

So that must mean that there is no need to announce that I am shutting the door. Frank will understand, won't he?

Well, maybe, maybe not. You see, there's one thing I haven't mentioned yet: today isn't Sunday, it's Thursday.

Which is why is worth pointing out what I am doing.

And why Frank is looking surprised. Not by the fact that I am wearing only my panties; he sees me like this often enough. But by the fact that this is Thursday or, more importantly, not Sunday.

'Frank,' I sit on the bed with a serious face, 'I want you to do something for me.'

He is now looking worried as well as surprised. If that is possible. He waits.

'I want you to shag me.'

'But, it's not Sunday.'

'No, Frank, it isn't Sunday. If it were, I would say I want you to make love to me. But this is Thursday and I want you to shag me.'

'Right,' he says, but is now looking confused.

'Let me explain,' I take his hand and pull him to sit next to me. 'We make love every Sunday, without fail. And you do it very nicely. You make sure that I cum before you do. You vary what you do from week to week so that I don't get bored. You know how to make me feel good and you make me feel good. I have no complaints whatsoever about our love making and I don't want it to stop, ever. Every Sunday.'

He nods and waits. He is concerned, you see, about the "but" that is sure to follow.

'Shagging isn't making love to each other. It's purely physical. Nothing spiritual.' Did I really say that? What a pompous cow. 'It's about pleasuring ourselves and each other. It's not caring about making sure I cum first. It's about surprise and experiment and laughing and screaming and playing out our fantasies and … anything either of us wants it to be.'

'I see,' he says the words but his face says that he does not really get it. I will need to demonstrate.

'Let me give you a for-instance. Suppose I have this fantasy of catching our neighbour, John, the guy with the muscles who wears tight shorts, and I'm feeling horny and I can't hold myself back, so I knock him to the floor, rip his clothes off and riding him cowgirl until he screams for me to stop. Do you get the idea?'

Frank swallows and begins a sentence. 'Well, I think so, but-'

He gets no further, because I have pushed him off the bed onto the floor and am ripping his shorts off.

It didn't last long but, like I said, it's Thursday, so I don't care. Now on Sunday it will be a different matter.
Top Bottom