Dick, The Finale

I think it was Julia Child who said, “With enough butter anything is good.”

You know, she was right about that. Although, I will admit that Dick was good without the butter, but the butter made it better. Somehow it made the steamy hot scene, even sexier.

Thankfully we moved from in front of the (hot) stove to the kitchen table. I can still hear the sound of the table scraping on the tile floor from the friction of his rhythmic pace. I can still remember the way he gripped my hips. The way he ravaged me. And I also remember that I loved every second of it.

As he came closer to the edge, he reached around and began torturing my clit with his fingers. I simply could not take all of that stimulation at once and had a sobbing, screaming orgasm, right there, face down on his kitchen table. He came soon after I did, collapsing beside me on the table.

We just looked at each other for what seemed an eternity. Neither of us said anything. My face was tear-stained from the intensity of what had just happened.  He looked at me with such concern, wiping my eyes with his thumb. And without a word, Dick took me by the hand and led me to another part of the house to the guest bathroom. I’d not noticed it before, but this bathroom had a huge claw-foot tub.

He turned on the water and walked out of the bathroom for me to have a bath. I gingerly got into the tub and relaxed in the warm water. I was spent. Completely spent. It was so soothing. The lights were dim, as it was only illuminated by the light from the hallway.  I was exhausted and relaxed. Just as I was about to doze off, he walked in with a plate of eggs and some juice.

He sat on the floor next to the tub and we shared a plate of cold eggs and dry toast. Again, neither of us saying anything. When we were finished, he took the plate back to the kitchen and returned with a towel for me.  I dried off and practically stumbled to his bed. He showered and joined me soon after.

We slept until noon.

I remember the soreness I felt that day. Every muscle in my body ached. It was a good sore. I liked that feeling. Dick woke up, turned on the coffee pot and dressed for his daily run. Every day, he ran at least three miles. It was his drug. I grabbed a cup of coffee and sat outside while I waited for him.

When he returned home, I asked him, “So what’s on the agenda today?”

He grinned a devilish grin, and I thought, oh shit…I cannot handle any more sex right now. My legs felt like Jello and I knew I’d probably pass out at the first orgasm.

He said, “Hmmm, Tess.  I don’t know. Let’s grab a late lunch and maybe see a movie or something?”

I breathed a sigh of relief. My poor body needed a respite from the sex marathon we’d had. I said, “Lunch and a movie? That sounds great!”

He smiled and said, “Good! But on the way home, I need to pick up some things at the store.”

“I am all out of butter.”

On a side note, I later realized that Dick’s ingenuity with butter was not likely his original idea. About seven years ago, I watched the movie, The Last Tango in Paris, for the first time. I have a sneaky suspicion, Dick took that taboo tidbit from the infamous butter scene.

Such a bad boy, that Dick.  

bathtub-1

(Photo credit: Pinterest)

17 comments

    1. Thank you! It was slippery good fun. And that weekend was about as far as it went with Dick.
      But I never slowed down. This bad girl soon had another Dick to take his place. Lol.
      Thanks for reading and commenting!❤️

      Like

  1. I really enjoyed this mini-series Tessa Girl! But you know I wondered if he used the same butter that he swirled around your tail to cook those eggs!
    LOL!!!
    No harm meant—You know LadyG is just teasing 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    1. LMButteredAO! You know when it was happening, I kept looking out of the corner of my eye, thinking (I know you are going to throw that away now…please tell me you are throwing that away). I think that’s when my OCD started. But thankfully the eggs were done before he did me…
      But the toast, that was questionable.

      Liked by 1 person

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