The Fun Of Being Stripped Out Of Wet Running Gear ~ Angela Goodnight

Angela Goodnight in soaking running gearOn 21st November I had one of my runs where I got soaked to the skin and this almost always leads to lovemaking before the shower, during the shower or after the shower. We always enjoy these events and so it has become a tradition. If it is raining and I’ve been running it is always going to happen. Fortunately, we live in a country which experiences a lot of rain! Not that I love lovemaking or anything like that!

I promised to write about this occasion and apologise for the delay.

Lovemaking before the shower is often downstairs before I start to strip off but on this occasion, there was a slight variation.

During the last half mile, I always build up the pace. Whichever direction I’ve been running from, it is relatively flat on the way home except for the last fifty yards, so I really stretch myself into a sprint. Today I’d been running in from the Upton hills so was pumping up the speed coming down hill, across the canal, round the crescent, onto the main road then left into the estate for the short uphill finish to the house. That is enough to leave me gasping and exhausted. I’m told that the exhaustion is when your body cleans out the cells to best effect.

I stumbled into the utility room and leaned on the washing machine while I breathed deeply to recover. I slipped off my running shoes and went through to the kitchen where Peter was sitting at the breakfast bar in his pyjama shorts and top, with a slice of toast. I came up behind him and gave him a hug.

“Argh! You’re wet!”

“Oh, must have been raining,” I said as the wind thrashed the rainfall noisily onto the kitchen window, “I hadn’t noticed!”

He put down the toast, got off the stool, turned to face me and we cuddled and kissed, his lips warm and welcoming against my wet, cold face.

In seconds, he was soaked through too. He dragged me upstairs, pulled off the duvet and we tumbled onto the bed. I didn’t matter if the sheet and undersheet got wet as it was Monday and we usually strip the bed on Mondays.

I have always loved him lying on me in the missionary position as he has a lovely way of taking most of his weight on his arms, yet I am pinned helplessly beneath him. I could feel the warmth of his legs between mine, his chest against my wet top and, what was that … there was an interesting protrusion in his shorts, pressing against exactly the right spot.

We have always loved kissing. Kissing is so important and today our embrace and kissing went on and on for, I don’t know, but more than ten minutes anyway. How lovely to feel Zebedee moving against my vulva, arousing me and causing me to pull my legs up to enhance the sensations. Now his hips were warm against the insides of my thighs and I crossed my ankles behind his back so I could rock rhythmically causing him to rub against my clit.

Suddenly, he was on his knees and my socks were being pulled off, sticking wetly to make it more difficult. Then my shorts. Today they were my luminous lime green pair. They came off fairly easily with the built-in panties trying to retain their grip upon my wetness which, by now, was no longer just water.

He pushed my legs back and the warmth of his lips were on mine, my intimate lips. So warm, so soft, so gentle and now they were being parted by the inquisitive pink creature which lived between his, but had its fun between mine. None of all my twenty-plus lovers has ever been able to make me come as quickly as he. Long slow strokes from my vagina, pressing deeply between my labia and finishing with a flourish over my clit. Several like that before his tongue managed to work its way under my hood and concentrate on my naked nub. Such a stunning sensation – it was hardly moving now just spelling the alphabet over my clitoris, up and down each side, under and over, across and pushing hard against it and, oh my God, I was lost to the effect. The build-up of feeling inside forcing me to lift myself upwards to press against his lips then a deep heat all around my clit and inside my vagina as the explosion happened.

My orgasm never ceases to amaze me. The uncontrollable spasms of my genitals, so hot and all-encompassing. It comes with such violence it is difficult to concentrate and appreciate the sheer unadulterated pleasure which is happening. A pushing, squeezing, contracting, thrusting sensation coming over and over and over and over. I don’t know how many times I throbbed, but in the teens, leaving me glowing with love for Peter and with an overwhelming need to be penetrated. I so love the ache which dominates my body with desire to have something inside me, anything, just to fill me to occupy me. He rose from my vulva, yanked off his pyjama bottoms and I swear his aim was simply perfect as he plunged into me to his very hilt. Wonderful.

As always, he held still at his furthest extent for my enjoyment and I rewarded his thoughtfulness with a couple of extra contractions.

I lay still while he pulled off my running shirt, undid the Velcro on my sports bra and both hit the floor as my hands awoke from their paralysis and pulled his pyjama top over his chest and head. He collapsed upon me, holding me tightly, pressing me into the bed, turning our togetherness into a loving clinch. So very good.

Angela Goodnight in a loving sexual embrace with Peter StoneHe remained still within me, still fully ensconced in my body as I caressed his flanks, his back, ran my fingers through his soft beard and cropped hair. We told each other we loved the other. My body was still damp, but his warmth was permeating my being. He still hadn’t moved. Feeling him filling me to my very depths was always one of my most enjoyable experiences. I squeezed him internally and he forced some penal contractions which I loved feeling at my very entrance. I gripped him more tightly, pulled my thighs to the vertical and linked my ankles around him once more.

I began to rock back and forth against him, feeling his penis moving within me while he held me tightly squeezing his arms inwards against my sides and his face descended for our lips to meet in the enjoyment of another kiss. I could taste myself upon his mouth, very tangy after my sweaty arrival. After the kiss I apologised for the strength of my flavour, but he told me he loved it. He told me it was sugar and spice, and all things nice, because that is was girls are made of. I wasn’t going to argue.

How long he lay still while I performed my gentle clitoris masturbation against his pubic bone, I don’t know. I’d had my O and now all that mattered was that he had an enjoyable experience. He told me he loved being still inside my body and I loved it too, so there was never a hurry. Our retirement gave us all of the time in the world to enjoy our lovemaking and we tried to make the most of it.

I whispered that I was coming again and held tightly to him as my vagina performed its tricks a third time, squeezing Zebedee with incomprehensible waves of pressure. My legs slipped from his sides back onto the bed during my climax and that was the signal for him to begin his own motions.

Angela Goodnight enjoying Peter Stone's rhythmic lovemakingHe built up slowly to a rate of about once a second, raising himself onto his outstretched arms. No frantic fucking, just steady, deep strokes. I loved his loving as much as he did and I held onto his biceps, gazing into his eyes, thrilling to his obvious sexual rapture. Time passed slowly, yet far too quickly. Not a single variation to his thrusts, but plenty of changes to his whispers of love. Finally, despite being a committed atheist, he cried out loudly for God as he emptied his love into my welcoming vagina which vibrated a fourth time in appreciation of the millions of tiny welcome visitors, secreted within his semen, with their one and only objective – to merge themselves with eggs I no longer produced. Despite their futile journey, their enthusiasm for the attempt never waned and nor did that of my husband to provide me with an endless supply.

Oh boy. Lovemaking is what life is all about. We so enjoy it. It is the most important part of our lives as we progress through our late sixties.

We didn’t separate for ages and rolled into the scissors position to hold and caress each other until I realised he was about to fall asleep. I left him snoozing as I leaked my way to the bathroom and took my shower, drenching in the cascade of warm water for ages before beginning my ablutions.

What a wonderful Monday morning. How was yours?

Angela Goodnight, 3rd December 2016

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