Sometimes I wake to an insistent tugging on my shoulder. I give in to it and roll onto my back. In the darkness of the night my heavy eyes can see Him kneeling beside me, face in grimace, cock in hand. And as the hot splatters of semen fall thickly on my breasts and the soft moans reach my ears, I realise I have been used for a receptacle for His come again.
When I turn back to my side, He snuggles up behind me, making our bodies merge into one. His semen trickles down towards the bed.
'I am sorry, angel.' He whispers. 'I didn't meant to wake you. I just needed you so badly. Go back to sleep.'
Being the good girl I am, I do as I am told.
In the morning when I ask if it was a dream or real, He apologises once again. His desire to fill me with His semen and His protective instinct to let me sleep battle with each other until He compromises and just marks me with His seed. I don't complain. I adore that His want for me can be so great.
This alone would be reason enough to miss Him greatly, yet this is just one of the reasons that I do.