Celebration Sex – Another Date to Remember

Celebration Sex – We just love reasons for celebration sex.  You know, birthdays, Valentine’s Day, wedding anniversary, first kiss.  Happy events to fondly look back upon.  Any reason to kick back and rejoice in the memories of God’s past leading, to forget the routine of everyday life in order to reminisce with my lover, to jump in the sack and make passionate primal love like there’s no tomorrow. Celebration sex can be addicting.

And there is one special day that rolls around every summer that’s just a little different from the others, the anniversary of a life-changing event that almost literally meant “no tomorrow”.  For on this date in 1988, my husband of seven years suffered an accident that surely should have left him dead, or at least paralyzed below the neck.  Why the Lord chose to spare him and restore him to good health we will never know till we see Him face to face.  For this life, though, every day alive together is a gift from above.  And every June 12th is an opportunity to express with my body celebration sex that his body still exists!

I’m not even sure if Chris remembers the particular date each year, which is okay with me.  A lot better than the flashbacks he used to have for awhile.  This year I celebrated by surprising him with a little project I’d been working on for several months.  My little secret:  fingernails!  It might not sound like too much, but for the first time in my adult life I had resisted the compulsion to bite and pick my fingernails.  I’d  polished and conditioned them, buffed them till they shone like pearls, and tonight I’d filed the ends into sharp little points.  And I figured it wouldn’t be too hard to learn how to use them. Part of this year’s celebration sex was going to be the passionate use of those nails.

In bed, alone now, a little moonlight shining in, not so much brightness as to make me uncomfortable.  He’s lying on his side facing me, a pair of pillows bunched up around his ribs and shoulders in a configuration I know is least painful to him.  As usual, he is naked for the night, and I must say he looks and smells nice enough to eat.  All is quiet, and I know he’s working up the nerve to ask for sex.

Well, Angela, do you want to?   Hmmm, I guess we could try, Chris, but don’t expect too much response from me…(I can be such a fibber sometimes)  And then his hands tentatively tug at the borders of my nightie, one from below, the other working its way across the neckline and down toward the cleavage.  Meanwhile, I’ve let my one hand wander over to his groin and the other to mine. It’s been a total of maybe thirty seconds, and his penis is hard as a rock, reaching almost up to his belly button.  In a matter of seconds my clitoris is swollen and moist, and I feel ready to receive his body into my own…Slow down, Angela, I tell myself, not just yet. My one hand leaves my pussy.

Next, Chris has his nimble fingers deep inside me now, basically making sure I have enough lubrication so he can mount me for a quickie.  Ha!  Not tonight Mister.  Okay, girl, steady, steady…Now!!

My own fingers now suddenly change their angle of touch, and the sharpened nails are plowing a set of neat furrows up the base of his shaft, the nails of the other hand dancing around the glans of his delightful–and obviously delighted–love tool.  The effect on my unsuspecting man is delicious.  Chris literally gasps out loud and stops breathing for almost a full minute before a long exhalation escapes from his trembling lips.  Next I go to work on his nipples, clawing and pinching, twirling the little buttons till they turn hot pink under my feline touch.  Before long he’s being treated to what must be a somewhat painful scratching of his balls and rear end.  And after that I’m drawing my fingers across his flanks toward his twitching phallus, leaving little white trails of lovingly excoriated skin.

Chris has by this time stopped playing with my body, not surprising since he is now experiencing something he’s never felt before in his life.  So I simply take up where he’s left off, working on my own vulva, lips, and clitoris with my newly-grown nails.  And I got to tell you, it feels pretty darned good!  Very different sensation from my soft fingertip or a vibrator.

When my left hand encounters the slick pre-come on his glans I decide to join him in one flesh.  We have a sex position we really like, where he lies on his side while I’m on my back, and he enters me from below.  Sort of like a half missionary gainer with a reverse twist.  Allows him to relax his spine and have free access to my bosoms, while I can ride him to almost any depth or rhythm.  So I now hook my legs over his thighs, grab his turgid member with my talons, and ram him home.

Between his heightened arousal and huge girth created by my sharp little nails grazing against his scrotum, penile shaft–and occasionally the glans when I chose to slip it out to rub against my clitoris–and my own response to the new sensation of my nails against my private parts, I’ve climaxed fairly quickly.  And then again.  And again.

Chris moves his hips a little and next thing I new there’s this wonderful  pressure from his manhood exactly on my G-spot.  My body goes stock-still in anticipation of some nice G-spot strokes, but the guy decides to wait a few seconds till I beg for it.  Chris, I never beg.  Never..AAnnnnhhhh!!!!!

Now I am lost to my fourth orgasm, and no longer feel the need to caress myself.  But what’s this?  Now he is rubbing my pubic mound, deeply against my womb, so hard it almost feels like a labor pain, while his shaft continues to ram deep into me, no sign of slowing down, and I could swear I can feel his hand rubbing his enormous penis right through the wall of my vagina, and O#5 is now wracking my body.  Great, huge convulsions of orgiastic bliss, so powerful and drawn out that I can no longer distinguish the end of one climax from the beginning of the next.  Celebration Sex, Ah Celebration Sex!. Love it!

He’s switched to full missionary now, I’m too spent and nearly comatose to artfully participate in his movements.  He’s pumping madly away, deeply, right up to the hilt, and another wave of ecstasy flows over me.  He erupts in a flurry of shorts thrusts, grinding his pubis against my mound as the sperm (not really–he’s had a vasectomy) shoots deep into my sex just as O#8, or is it O#9 who’s counting anyway, takes over my thoroughly loved body.  Things begin to go a little blurry…

Angela?  Uh, Angela, you can let go now.  Whoops, sorry dear, and I realize that my fingernails are dug deeply into the flesh of his buttocks.  I ease his spent form down to the mattress alongside me and gingerly disengage my claws.  A quick inspection shows no bleeding, although he’ll see the marks on his chest and scrotum for a few days at least. Some times celebration sex gets out of hand.

He’s almost asleep already, looking just absolutely beautiful in his contentment.  “Chris, sweetheart, I’m so glad you’re still alive.”

“Mmmm, me too Angela, God really is good.”

Same time next year?  Okay, it’s a date.  I love you!

Celebration Sex – Ideas at Celebrate Love

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By: kevin rawlings