u/Specialist-Row-2881

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Hello and welcome to another Wordcount Wednesday!

This is our chance to get together and discuss our craft. It’s a great way to make friends, promote your stories, and just get a chance to talk with people who get you. No matter who you are, we’re all here for the same thing - to create and enjoy great smut.

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So, without further ado:

°Have you posted anything this week?
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°What stories/authors have you been reading? (Bonus points if they aren’t already a Top Author!)
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See you in the replies!

If you find a loophole in your d-type's orders, do you still get punished? I kind of thought the purpose of the loopholes was to avoid punishment while still doing what you want? How does that work in your dynamic?

My Daddy still wants to punish me, loophole or not. I think that's very unfair. If I go through all the effort to refuse to do what I'm told without breaking any rules, my time and consideration should be rewarded. Not punished.

This story is for Image 15. It was deeply inspired by We're Here. You must go read that one first. This story is incomplete without it.

(Infinite thanks to Tom: for giving me the first story and for being so supportive and encouraging when I wanted to write another. Thank you.)

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We’re 39.

We grope frantically, rolling in the bed. This isn’t romantic; this isn’t even sexy. This is desperation.

40 creeps closer every day. Soon, we’ll be “old.” We consume every second of our remaining youth.

Your thrusts stop. You sit up, pulling my hips toward you. Your fingers slide across my clit. I laugh up at you and accuse you of cheating. We both know you’re taking a break to pretend that one more move won’t unravel you. You laugh back. Does that mean I want you to stop? Your fingers pause. No. No, I don’t want you to stop. I tell you so; you smirk.

Tension builds in my legs as my breath quickens. Before I surrender to the onslaught of your fingers, I look up to take in your heaving chest, your drawn eyebrows, your complete focus on making me cum.

I burn the image into my memory with a bittersweet smile and close my eyes.

We’re 43.

Everything is busy. The house, our lives: busy.

But tonight we have the house to ourselves. The quiet is heavy around us.

Somehow, I feel awkward. This isn’t a quickie in the laundry room. This isn’t our bodies seeking connection on an early morning in complete silence because a single sound will awaken the busy.

This is you and me as we are. As we were. As we haven’t been in so long.

You touch my face and tell me I’m beautiful. My mind sketches the roadmap time has drawn on my body: stretch marks, laugh lines, so many wrinkles. I feel anything but beautiful.

But then you look into my eyes. I take in the love, honesty, lust. For this moment, I believe you.

The awkward is gone. We move on hormones and muscle memory. We join together and I forget we were ever apart. My first moan sounds loud to my own ears, but soon my cries echo freely down the empty halls.

In a feat of strength that surprises us both, I roll you onto your back and straddle you. I lace our fingers together as I ride you. Partly to feel your touch, partly to brace my knees as I roll my hips and grind myself on you. I take what I need. What I’ve missed.

You hold me up. Rising to meet me. Giving me your all.

We’re 52.

Once again, it’s just you and me. I’m the child with a bellyache who still begs for one more taste of icing. You have become the icing on my cake. I know my legs will cramp and my back will be sore after I climb out from under you. But I don’t care. I burn for one more taste.

Is this the fabled sexual peak? Or just who we are?

You sidle up behind me, lift my shirt, and squeeze my breasts. I slap your hands away. I’m cooking dinner. You’ll have to wait. You pull me tighter to you and nuzzle my neck. Why not now? Your scent awakens my every nerve. I lean into you. Why not now? You spin me around, capture my lips, and untie my apron. We grin at each other as it falls to the ground.

A trail of discarded clothing marks our path to the bedroom. When I hit the mattress, I open for you and you slide home. This is home. You fill me, making me whole.

Sex doesn’t last very long anymore. We don’t mind. It doesn’t need to. I know the spot behind your ear that makes you growl deep in your throat. You know the stroke that makes sparks fly behind my eyes. You make me cum again and again.

I lay my head in the dip of your shoulder. The one made just for me. I fit my body next to yours and listen as your racing heartbeat settles. Soon, I hear your soft snores. I need to finish cooking. But your body is so warm. I want to enjoy this moment just a little longer...

I awaken to the alarm. No. I’m not ready to get up yet; just five more minutes. I reach to snooze the clock.

The smell reaches my nostrils the same time my brain snaps to life.

I shove you out of bed and we bolt to the kitchen. Smoke pours out of the oven as I remove the black charred lumps that were once food. You silence the alarm while I rush to open a window.

The adrenaline fades. We look at each other and burst into laughter. I start to apologize, but you silence me with a kiss. The smoke from our charcoal supper swirls around our heads as we giggle between kisses. We’ll order a pizza.

In a minute.

We’re 56.

We don’t really have sex anymore. I still whistle and catcall when you get out of the shower. You still smack my ass when I walk past you in the living room. And you can still make anything into an innuendo. But there’s no follow-through.

Intimacy evolves.

While it once sounded like my moans while your head was between my legs, now it sounds like me reminding you again to take your medication. While it once looked like you driving into me in the night, now it looks like you driving at night, because I can’t see in the dark anymore.

Touching. Always touching. Holding hands while watching tv; a quick kiss as we pass in the hall. I fall asleep in your arms every night. You reach for me and pull me back when I roll away.

Though I love this new version of us, I sometimes miss the past. So tonight I’m eschewing the granny panties and carefully cutting the tags off the brand new ones I bought for you. I dig to the very back of the closet to find that dress. The one that flipped up against the sofa so easily. It’s looser in the hips and I spill out the top. I wriggle it on anyway.

At dinner, I take off my coat. Your eyes almost fall out of your head as I almost fall out of my dress. I slide my foot out of my shoe and into your lap.

You look at me with surprise. I lock eyes with you and smile that same smile that deprived you of sleep in my bed all those years ago. You return the smile with that same look that made me want to keep you there forever.

We leave the restaurant without ordering. Tonight is only for dessert. One more taste.