I Just Don’t Know What It Is about Sundays #NSFW

I Just Don't Know What It Is about Sundays

Sundays just seem to be our day. Whether Bear’s son is around or not, whether he has clients or not, whether I’m working or not, we always seem to find a way to get together and get good n’ frisky. It must be the Holy-day business. Something about Sundays just makes us damn horny.

Today was no exception. I’ve already blogged today and that’s why I’m making you wait for this post. I can’t have a two-post day. You’ll get bored of me. But I feel the need to tell you what we did together. Why? Because it was hot as fuck, that’s why.

We were actually waiting for his client to turn up. We had a few minutes spare, and I had new hair too. And damn sassy hair it was at that. There’s something about having new hair that turns me into … well, a different woman, for a few days at least. I just get damn sassy.

I was prancing around in skinny black jeans. Scrap skinny, they were skin-tight. Like, actually skin tight. I don’t wear them out the house much, just because I don’t think there’s any need for jeans to be quite *that* skinny, but I wear them at home. I wear them because Bear likes them. He likes my ass in them, and the fact that you can see the outline of my defined legs. I actually quite like my legs, even more so now they’re colourful and tattooed.

I was wearing a tight black tee too, and I had my sassy new hair in big and bouncy curls. I’m pretty sure that’s what started it all – me bouncing around the house with my new blue bouncy curls. It was as we were getting ready for his client that it happened, and it came out of nowhere too. One minute I was dancing around, the next I was being held face-down on the bed, having my jeans torn down and a cock thrust up. Well, eventually. First – fingers. Luckily for me, Bear is a big fan of fingering. In case you haven’t seen it, I’d highly recommend checking out this post here > #FingerBangMe – What Happened to Fingering Anyway?

I don’t really know how it happened. I don’t remember. I don’t really think it’s important. But I do know that we were in the living room, dancing around, and then in a heartbeat he’d backed me into the bedroom by my hair. He pushed me down on the bed, face down. He held me down into the bed, still by my hair, and with his free hand he tore down my jeans. He didn’t even tear them off entirely. Not even one leg off – just pulled down enough to let him gain access to my pussy which was, of course, soaking wet. I knew if I’d pranced around in front of him enough I’d get his attention. That’s what I wanted. I knew he was busy, but I wanted him. Right there. Right then. And I wanted to know if I could too. Could I distract him? Perhaps Sundays just make me mischievous? Maybe I’ve just not wanted sex too much recently, so my sudden bout of “the horn” just took me by surprise?

He pushed me onto my side, one trouser leg pulled right down to the ankle and the other just to above the knee, and he buried his face deep into me. I could feel his beard prickling the soft skin on the inside and top of my legs, and it make me giggle a little.

“Do you think this is funny, Rainbow? You’ve been bad. A bad girl.”

And with that, he slapped my ass. Hard. A sharp, stinging slap that I could feel for ages afterwards. It’s been a while since he slapped my ass. I forgot how much I kinda love it. I once used to think it was so cheesy, so porno-like, but I think the guys that were slapping my ass made me feel like that. Bear doesn’t make me feel like that. When Bear slaps my ass, I want more. I want that stinging to hurt a little more, and to last a little longer too. I want him to take his frustrations out on me, even though he tells me he never would. He just plays with me. I love the way he plays with me.

“Very bad.”

Or something like that, it was another deep grumble muttered under his breath. I couldn’t hear him. Before I had a chance to ask him to repeat what he said, he flipped me over. Just like that. Like I weighed nothing. Once again, I found myself face down in the duvet. This time, however, I was totally unable to move with his hand holding me sternly down, my curly blue hair wrapped tightly around his huge fist. His hands are always remarkably soft. For someone so big and gruff, the baby-softness of his hands always take me by surprise, especially when he’s pushing his fingers down into the soft folds of me for the first time in a while. That’s how he made me cum too, right there, still holding me into the duvet, forcing his fingers, almost stabbing my clit from behind. All the while biting my ass, but not too hard. He knows I hate that. But little nibbles? I love those. They drive me crazy.

It was totally out of nowhere and even as he fucked me, it lasted no time at all. It didn’t need to. It was furious and passionate, like an itch we both really needed to scratch. We had fifteen minutes to spare and we used it wisely, reconnecting in a way that needed no words at all. With just his hands and his cock, we both said everything that we needed to say. And without saying a single word again, he removed himself from his position slumped down on top of me, still with me face down in the bed, and pulled his jeans back up. He walked out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him. He went about getting ready again, as though nothing had happened. Five minutes after that, the client was ready and waiting for him.

There’s something so very sexy about that. About that brief 15 minute period where neither of us needed to even bother getting undressed, or bother saying anything, just revealing enough of us to fuck, hard and fast.

I just don’t know what it is about Sundays. There’s just something about ‘em.

I Just Don’t Know What It Is about Sundays

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