Our holiday has gifted me the opportunity to perfect and harness the power of the silent orgasm.
Usually I’m pretty expressive in vocalising pleasure and pain during sex and play, (unless I’m deeply in subspace and then Cuiplash will read my breaths and observe my movements). I will communicate my responses through a range of squeaks, moans, gasps and cries. My hunger for him becomes a cat call of mewls, growls and hissed intakes of breath. He loves to hear me, often commanding it of me, particularly when we’re alone and are free to express ourselves with abandon. I know he gets off on my verbal reactions to his control over my body.
However, with our children sleeping in a room beside ours, separated only by a partition wall with sliding doors that don’t quite reach the high ceiling, silence is a must.
Being with Cuiplash 24/7, semi naked, hot, exposed, slick with suncream and sweat, pool water glazing tanned muscles and curves, ignites our craving for physical connection, in turn deepening and feeding our emotional one. I feel his eyes on me as I strip to my swimwear poolside, as I rub suncream into my breasts and thighs, and when I ask him to do my back his hands are rough, claiming what is his as he protects the skin he’ll devour later. Heat and holidays make me horny as hell, and him too. Our lust for each other rising. I tease, stretching out on sun beds, splashing him, luring him to play.
So when his fingers grip my hips in the depth of darkness, his mouth catching my breath and forcing back the reflex to moan my need, I have learned to chain my voice and funnel my desire into my movements alone. My body tells him all he needs to know, without sight or sound, as I wriggle and writhe, undulate and quiver. He hands spread me, grip me, play with me.
Sometimes my hand involuntarily covers my mouth, in an attempt to gag myself. Sometimes his hand rests upon my lips, reminding and warning me. Sometimes I burrow my face into the pillow so it absorbs my breath. I heave and exhale as he strokes and dips and penetrates and thrusts. I twitch and clench as he moves his fingers, punishing me with pleasure and pleasuring me with pain beneath the thin cotton sheet as the cool breeze from the air conditioning bristles goosebumps and kisses erect nipples, waiting to be bitten and pinched.
And when I cannot take it any more, using the smallest of signals, I honour our rules and ask permission to cum. Request granted, I implode for him, under him, around him, next to him, over him. For my silent orgasm is a greater implosion than explosion. I combust at my core as all the energy I’d expend in my voice provides fuel for my finish. Supernovas blind beneath my eyelids as my body coils like a spring then bursts apart and stretches tight in a prolonged and powerful climax. My ripples and pulses around his fingers, his tongue, his cock, speak for me as my voice is held deliciously captive in bondage.
And as I regain my breath and my pounding heart eventually slows, he whispers in my ear, “good girl, my s, now sleep” and I nod and I kiss and I curl into his warmth, no words needed to tell him how much I lovelust him.