By Kendra Holliday | August 17, 2014
You know how some people have a kinky night, where they bring out the fuzzy handcuffs and the whip cream in order to spice things up?
Well, every once in awhile – like, every three or four months – Matthew and I have a Vanilla Night.
We’re so used to fucking around with our kinky friends and enjoying extraordinary encounters, that we enjoy the challenge of switching gears and trying our damndest to be normal.
We even give ourselves normal names on these nights. Instead of Matthew and Kendra, we’re “Randall and Michelle.”
We’re monogamous, married eleven years, and he is pussy whipped and I’m a bitch.
Instead of me washing the dishes while he steps outside for a drink and a smoke, he cooks dinner AND does the dishes. I don’t say please or thank you.
Instead of talking about a porn clip or the upcoming pirate orgy, we discuss what we should get our friends Roger and Stacie for their big Chicago wedding, and if we should attend the baseball game while we’re in town. I tell him I’d rather go shopping and that he better not have more than two beers because he has to watch his carbs.
I nag him about fixing the dripping faucet and yell at him for leaving his balled up socks on the floor.
After we finish watching a romantic comedy, instead of him ordering me to “go upstairs, slut” so he can fuck the shit out of me, he meekly suggests, “Shall we adjourn upstairs, Michelle? Do you feel like making love tonight?”
I sigh and say, “Has it been two weeks already, Randall?” because the marriage counselor told us we should schedule lovemaking sessions on a somewhat regular basis.
We have such a hard time keeping a straight face.
Sometimes we struggle our way through awkward vanilla sex, where I only let him fuck me missionary and I act put out.
But more often, we can’t help ourselves and we slip into a role reversal of sorts where I turn Amazon woman on him and use his face and cock for my own pleasure.
You’d think he would’t be able to take that sort of treatment lying down, but he LOVES it. We’re still enjoying highly charged, polarized sex, and nothing turns him on more than knowing a woman is really fucking into sex.
“Lie down so I can sit on your face!” I bark, and he says, “OK!” and flops right down and puts his hands behind his head. This is key. Usually he’s got a grip on me. No grabbing allowed.
I sit on his face and ride his eager tongue, grabbing his hair and telling him exactly how to pleasure me. “Tongue fuck me. Lick me faster.” After a while, I snake my bitchy body down his torso and reach for his helplessly hard cock.
I stuff it in my soaked pussy and grind into his crotch, snarling and going wild, digging into his chest with my nails and wantonly filling my pussy and rubbing my angry clit against his meaty pubic bone until I explode in an orgasm, which makes him cum, too – BUT I DON’T CARE.
I roll off of him and stuff his boxers between my legs to sop up the mess. Getting comfortable and surrounding myself with pillows, I tell him to get me a drink of water and turn off all the lights. He gratefully obliges.
And that’s our version of Vanilla Night.