Sore Kitty

Oh, my poor little kitty. She is so, so sore. It’s such a good sore, but sore nonetheless. After the hours and hours of sex and orgasms both last night and this morning, my little kitty is plum tuckered out. She isn’t used to so much attention and for such long periods of time. He cooked me dinner tonight and as things progressed in a naughtier direction, I winced at every touch. Before I went over there, I noticed while showering how tender I was. I didn’t bother to shave again, because my kitty couldn’t stand to be pulled and prodded at. I wished there was a way to ice down my poor little cooter and soothe the soreness (such GOOD soreness) that consumed her.

But at his place, when his hands found my breasts and his mouth found my neck, and then my chest, and finally my thighs, I sighed and gave into temptation. He’s just so good at what he does and my body responds accordingly. When his fingers finally found my dripping wet slit, I gasped and jumped back slightly. But he promised to be gentle, and he was. His tongue (I know! More on this in another post!) found the perfect spot and the perfect rhythm and while I thought I was orgasmed out for the day, it turns out I was wrong.
I don’t remember the last time I was with a non-selfish lover, one that was more concerned with pleasing me than being pleased, but he didn’t even expect anything in return. Which was good, because after that last orgasm, me and my sore kitty took a little cat nap. He cuddled with me through the whole thing, and when I woke up, we watched Cool As Ice, the Vanilla Ice movie. It doesn’t get much better than a home cooked meal, a copious amount of orgasms, Cool As Ice, and a sore kitty.
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