There were dishes. I did them, all the while thinking how nice it’d be to have a sound beating. Sure, he’d slapped my ass a bit for the circle jerks, but you know that’s not what I’m talking about.
There were coffee beans. I ground them as the kettle boiled.
As the coffee steeped I sat on the couch to knit.
I fixed my coffee and filled a water glass, carrying both into the bedroom. I set them on Jefferson’s nightstand and touched his shoulder.
“Hey… what time is it?”
“It’s early. Nine. You want me to let you sleep?”
“No, I’m up. How long have you been awake?”
“Long enough to do the dishes and make coffee.”
“You did dishes? Come here,” he pulled me over to spoon.
“Yes, I did nearly all the dishes. But, Jefferson, I haven’t done the cast iron skillet…I, well, I don’t know where you keep the grease can.”
“Where do you think it should be?”
“Um, under the sink.”
“And what type of container do you think it should be?”
“Well, um, a coffee can?”
“That’s exactly right. So you didn’t really look for it, did you? If you had, you’d have found a coffee can under the sink reserved for that purpose. Nice try, Madeline. But you’re going to have to do better than that if you want me to beat you.”
Of course I knew where the grease can was kept. And not only am I the world’s worst tourist, I am also its worst liar.
“Okay, fine! You caught me. Goody for you. D’you want some coffee or what?”
“Yes, please. Coffee would be lovely.”
I heard him laughing as I walked out to fill his cup. He was sitting up when I returned. I handed him the mug and sat on the edge of the bed.
“Why won’t you beat me??” I fake whined.
“Girl, you are not gonna get a beating out of me this early in your trip. I don’t wanna have to look at all them bruises for another four days!”
Sometimes I wish I didn’t bruise so easily. If someone so much as grabs my upper arm firmly, I am marked.
Actually I was enjoying the comfort and closeness, the ease with which we fell into our own rhythm. But I didn’t want him to forget that I do like me some rough sex.
“It’s okay, honey, I can wait. I have patience to spare. So, we don’t have anything planned today until Viviane’s dinner party at 8, right?”
“That’s right, baby. The day is ours. Want to go for brunch in Chelsea? We can go to the galleries afterwards.”
“That sounds great. And it’s a gorgeous day. I would like to pick up a few things at Babeland before we get to Viv’s, though.”
“Not a problem. We’ve got plenty of time.”
It was still early and he pulled me back into bed. We fucked, long and slow, my orgasms building on one another.
I straightened my legs as his cock pushed upward. Long and short, deep and shallow, it was all good.
Suddenly my hips were writhing beneath him and I wanted him as far inside as he could be.
“Sshhh…don’t move,” I whispered, pulling him very close.
His body was on mine, his cock pressed against my g-spot, his hand on my face. A few breaths later it started: the feeling in the pit of my stomach stretching down to the pulsing of my clit, electricity moving back to the walls of my pussy and swirling up my spine. My back arched and I wailed, my body shuddering and contracting repeatedly, forcefully.
We hadn’t moved.
It’s not a secret that I cum easily, and that I experience different types of orgasms. Many are small, sweet and encouraging. These happen frequently during sex and masturbation. There are larger ones which curl my toes and explode through my body which are quite exhausting. Those happen very regularly as well. I have no complaints whatsoever about these orgasms. They are fantastic, and I know how lucky I am to have one, let alone many in one go.
Then there is the Kundalini Rising.
Kundalini means “coiled serpent” in Sanskrit. It is believed that the universal life energy, or prana, lies dormant, coiled at the base of the spine. Through yoga, meditation and tantric practice it can be awakened, powerfully raising one’s consciousness.
Starting at the first chakra the energy spirals upward through the next six chakras toward enlightenment, effectively flooding--I mean flooding--the nervous system with, fuck, I don’t know what. It can take seconds or minutes. I've heard of yogis who have controlled it for hours.
Jefferson held onto me as it happened, my body bucking over and over, my voice crying out. I have no idea for how long.
When I’d finished, I couldn’t move. I looked at him, my eyes wide. He was smiling down at me.
“Did you feel that?”
“Oh, honey, I sure did.” He was breathless.
“Fuck, Jefferson… tell me! What did you feel?”
“It was,” he swallowed and moved his hand up and down in front of his body, “like, waves…”
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