Good morning (m/f)“I’m asexual & generally pretty...

Good morning (m/f)

“I’m asexual & generally pretty sex-repulsed, which I was sort of afraid to explain to my boyfriend at first because I was worried he would think less of me for it or something. I’m glad I got over that worry, because once I told him he asked a bunch of really respectful questions and we ended up having a really long conversation about the things we’re comfortable/ not comfortable with in the bedroom.

We knew that because I was going to study abroad the next semester we’d have to be long distance for about six months, so to try and, I don’t know, stockpile time with him I started sleeping over in his room more and more often. (He has a single, which was so nice when I needed to get away from my dorm for a little while.) Usually he’d get home from class or one of the clubs he’s in, I’d get home from my seminar, we’d make out and then go to sleep.

One morning in December I woke up perfectly spooned in front of him, my head on his left arm and his right hand resting on my thigh, right near the crotch of my pajamas. I don’t know if it was something about how close to him I felt or the fact that I was about to be away from him for half a year, but I shifted a little to kiss the inside of his elbow and accidentally ground against him with my butt. He let out this really soft gasp and sort of pulled back from me a little bit like he was worried he’d done something wrong, but that sleepy gasp made my heart absolutely race in a way I’d never felt before, so I ground on him again, this time grabbing his arm so he knew I was doing it on purpose. He gasped again and pulled me closer, his left hand slipping down to splay across my ribs just under my breasts.

“It’s eight in the fucking morning,” he said, “on a Saturday.”
I rolled over a little bit to give him my very best morning smile, and kissed the base of his neck like I know he likes, then the side, then his cheek and up along the side of his jaw to his ear.

“You’re beautiful in the morning,” I said, and slipped a hand under his shirt to grab his waist. I leaned in to worry his earlobe.

I don’t know what came over me, I really don’t, but I tugged the hand he’d left on my thigh and moved it up a little so he could slip his fingers under the waistband of my pjs. Something about the sleep in his voice, or the way he was talking, made me want to hold onto his warmth for just a little longer if I could.
He asked if I was sure I was comfortable with this, and I said yeah, I’d thought about it before, I’d just never acted on it because it didn’t seem like a big deal.
He’s got really gentle hands, but I don’t think he’s ever rubbed a girl off before because I had to ask if I could put my hand on top of his and guide his fingers to my clit. He took it really slow, fumbling a little bit before asking me to describe how I liked it so he could do a better job. The way he talks to me while getting me off is simultaneously the cutest and hottest thing.

He kissed the back of my neck, my shoulders, all while stroking my clit with one hand.

“God,” he said, “I can’t believe how wet you are, I’ve barely started.” He slowed down even more and now I could tell he was doing it on purpose. Every once in a while he’d flick my clit just to make me spasm and gasp.

At this point I had my right leg up and hooked over his to give him better access, but this also meant that my butt was right up against him, grinding on him through both of our pajama pants. His left hand cupped my ribs, then my breasts, and he ran his thumb over my nipple so lightly my back arched of its own volition and I let out a little moan.

God, I was so embarrassed! I slapped a hand over my mouth but he reached up and laced his fingers through mine, holding my hand, even stopping moving his other hand on my clit to hold me close, and he whispered, “baby, you can be as loud as you want, don’t be afraid to let your voice out.”

I nodded and kissed the only part of his arm I could reach. He started moving his fingers again, circling my clit, running the pads of his fingers right next to it but not quite touching. The anticipation just built and built, and I was- this sounds fake but it’s the best way I can think to describe the noise I was making- keening deep in my throat. At one point he lifted his hand so that only the barest tips of his fingers were touching me, and I could take it any more. I turned over my right shoulder, grabbed the collar of his pajama t-shirt and growled “Stop. Fucking. Teasing me.”

For a second I thought I’d put him off somehow.

And then he pinned my hand against my chest and went to fucking town on my clit with three, maybe four fingers, I don’t know, rubbing it in fast circles, somehow hitting the same rhythm I use when I masturbate, and soon I’m bucking against him, trying not to kick my hips too hard so I don’t crush his dick, moaning and gasping like there’s no tomorrow until I come so hard that I just go limp against him. He kept rubbing and I had to tell him to stop because my clit gets really sensitive when I come. He slid his hand up the front of my belly to my waist, completely encircling me in a hug, and it was quiet for a second until he said,

“Sorry, but I have to take care of this,” and rolled over onto his back so he could jerk himself off without weirding me out. It was really thoughtful, and I really appreciated his concern. At the time though I couldn’t do a whole lot more than nod and breathe; he knocked the wind out of me with one hand and I’m so glad it happened.”