Sex Du Jour: Nail Me, Screw Me

Sex Du Jour: Nail Me, Screw Me Sex Du Jour: Nail Me, Screw Me

Status: Finished

Genre: Romance


Status: Finished

Genre: Romance


Ragnhild Ascwin wants her good-looking husband, Stian Elberd, to nail and hump and shag her in different styles. This is a full-of-years sex story collection.


Ragnhild Ascwin wants her good-looking husband, Stian Elberd, to nail and hump and shag her in different styles. This is a full-of-years sex story collection.


Submitted: January 27, 2015

A A A | A A A


Submitted: January 27, 2015



Stian Elberd has made tracks off to work hours back. But I long to see him anew and even ache for him like I have last caught a glimpse of him in centuries. Perchance I have; perhaps I have not. As I ensconce myself in the pale gray divan at our still and hushed home, with nothing more than to work out and bear on myself, I take hold of my cell that is lodged on a pint-sized slab counter adjacent to me, and snatch it leisurely and unhurriedly so that I can make use of it in forwarding and mailing the ensuing SMS to him.


My vagina is regretting the absence of your John Thomas. She cannot tolerate his absenteeism.


In just forty undeviating seconds, he echoes back.


John Thomas is hard-pressed and industriously busy right now. He does not want to be interfered and pestered with. Sweetened, dearest Vagina better find something else to execute. You can practice self-abuse or onanism with her if you crave to.


I am so mystified and flummoxed I can’t find any comfort or restfulness in myself.


What do you hint at by saying that John Thomas is hard-pressed and industriously busy. Is he having fun with another Vagina Number Two right now?


Stian is edgy and cantankerous just as much as I am.


That is not what I had in mind, Ragnhild, when I composed my not-long-past text to you. John Thomas is engrossed deep into forty winks or beauty sleep in my Dolce and Gabana underclothing or underwear right now. Why do you want to rouse him from his zizz. Is that not what you purpose to do? Is that not it?


I chuckle and snigger to myself at poring over Stian’s all-singing and latest text. Fuck him to hell!


I want John Thomas to bestir from his dormancy and snooze, you hear? Vagina is all pissed off and outcast and lonesome and companionless here. I connote that it is not reasonable and justly fair, or is it? You must school and coach John Thomas not to be sleepy and drowsy and work-shy, for the most part in broad sunlight like this. Daylight hours are for labor and sweat and night hours are for shuteye and repose. If John Thomas desires slumber, he can access and acquire it no more than in the night hours. Do you get that?


I was curious and nosy-parkering on what Stian’s riposte to that would be. Like I did not forecast and think likely, I was unbearably and terribly awe-shocked and rude-awakened and blow-staggered by the mode and course-of-action that he utilized to riposte back to me.


Excellent! You have triumphed and prevailed, Ragnhild. John Thomas is at long last roused from his sleep and bed. Now what do you have to pull off with him. What now?


Phew. At long last I have smash hit the jackpot and couped up the Sexually Whipping-up bonsela or trophy. Yuppie! Now the grand stroke and feat begins, must not it commence? I certainly and categorically surmise and presume so myself.


I want to suck and slurp and up and quaff him with my lips first. After that, I am going to grab the lollipop that I am gripping and clasping in my hands now, and after stroking and caressing it on John Thomas so that he slops out and tips over a great deal of scorching and scalding hot scum on it, I am going to chew and much the lollipop itself in my merry and jubilant mouth until I am so sweltering and sultry even as your jissom itself is.


Stian is short-winded and out of breath all because of that. His feedback insinuates that. I suppose so.


Fabulous! That is amazingly brilliant cracking. My goodness…John Thomas is about to let out the aboil, piping hot jissom. Nab and capture it on your lollipop, will you, Ragnhild?


I take a deeply and heart felt breath, pivoting and gyrating and  wheeling my eyes as I do so.


I am all set and in readiness, Stian. Notify that to John Thomas, will you please?


He blusters and spouts out back without hesitation.




And I work out just that…


My goodness. Stian and I are inside our motor car, left high and dry in the lurch in this immense, incessant traffic jam and I in all my earnestness and from the very bona fides of my heart don’t know when it will be that we will have to hook it from all this awful, yucky ilk of mess. Yeah. It may likely and perchance take a large amount of time before our automobile and all those that are on the highway with us get to make just even the tiniest iota or whim of a move. Duh!


While checking out on me serenely and composedly, Stian gets his hand as far as my skirt beneath and starts to caress and rub and pet my sugary, taken aback and caught-on-the-hop pussy or cunt with his bulky, attractive, and practiced hands. Yeah. Every time before he fucks and has intercourse with me, he continently does this to make and get ready my body up. And I adore it. Spinksy!


“Arghhh,” I moan and sigh out as he stirs his fingers in and out of me, pleasuring and tingling me such that I cannot help but glow and flush about with tickled-pink excitement and rip-roaring, electrifying pleasure. Goodness. This is damn sensational and stimulating. I know what come off next.


Having whizzed and tore down the fly of his jeans kecks or pants, he caresses and fondles and pets his heavy but flaccid, slack like cock with one hand, the other one amusing itself and romping and sporting about with my saccharine, honeyed pussy. Yeah. The sensations are all charming and silver-toned resembling.


As I observe his plonker or giant schlong gets and straightens itself up, I am knocked senseless and out of breath at just that excellent and brilliant sighting. I can’t accept it as the authentic and veritable truth. That gigantic, sweet-smelling dick is all mine. All for me to take immense pleasure from and relish myself with. Yeah. Sex is topping and fantastic indeed, don’t you shake hands and nod your head with me on that one?


“Good,” Stian bleats out loud and feasts his eyes upon me, letting go his hands from my thrilled, elated vulva after giving it one masterly class and mega awesome poke and nudge. Then he jacks in his tongue out of his mouth, lapping and brushing his lips with his tongue before he at last expresses to me, “Take a seat on top of my dick, Ragnhild, will you? You are all welcome and endorsed to regale and make use of it in giving pleasure to your jolly, cock-a-hoop pussy—just as you feel like.”


Wow. Wasn’t that just great and fantastic? I regard and view it as being that way in my overview and way of looking at things. I don’t know about you. Duh!


Just as I plant myself on top of Stian, position my clitoris and vagina on his jumbo and bulky cock, waxen as a whey-faced sleet of snow, cloying and very much sugary to plonk into my vagina, I moan and sigh out piercingly, all groggy and reeling but on cloud nine all thanks to this top secret, unseen and covered undertaking of ours. Our auto-wheels has got jet-black comparable-to tinged and tinctured windows, making whatever thing that we do inside our car here very conspiratorial and hush-hush principally just to the two of us. That is just awesome the-dog’s-bollocks, don’t you agree with me? Duh!


Stian’s dick is too pleasing and delightful. I could devour and munch it with my vagina all day long. Yeah, I could do all that. And so much more if doable. While I graze and hoover it, shutting my eyes and opening them momentarily whenever I am incapacitated and transfixed with deep enjoyment and delectation, I shed soft, mild tears, and sing out to myself sensitively and delicately, “Yeah, Stian…you are so sweet…you are so sweet, my love.”


Before I am enlightened and even well-briefed about it, he hits and notches up his climax and big O too quickly and rapid than I myself, toppling and capsizing over overspills and spillages and leakages of semen into me while moaning and whining to himself, and I orgasm just next after him, inhaling and exhaling heavily and breathlessly. The gridlock traffic is ending now, it appears, as is suggested and evinced by the noisy and strong and booming droning and tearing of vehicles about us. Shit! We must have choked the lane, right? Someone is already hooting and beeping the hornet of his car behind us!


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