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21st BirthdayBecky was waiting by the door, perched on the overstuffed chair. Two roommates were away for the weekend and she had managed to shoo away the other. She had changed her mind three times about having him pick her up here, at home -- but finally she thought she might want to bring him back. Afterwards. If it went well. She had to smile at that; bringing someone home on the first date wasn't exactly her style. Hadn't been until now, anyway. And he was married. That definitely wasn't her style. Or his either, he said.
But, as she'd told him in e-mail, you only turn twenty-one once. And they'd agreed that it might be okay to meet, just this once.
The knock was firm, which she liked. She stood, smoothed her dress again, took a deep breath, and opened the door.
He was wearing a suit and topcoat. That surprised her. He had a mustache; that surprised her too. She took in the rest quickly enough: not tall, but still taller than she was. Not overweight but you could tell getting buff in the gym wasn't his top priority. A redhead, all pale otherwise: pale blue eyes and pale skin and pale freckles. He wasn't anything special to look at, he'd said. She thought he looked better than that.
"Hello," he said. "I'm looking for Becky." He was soft-spoken. She liked his voice.
"Hi." Not knowing what else to do, she stuck out her hand. He shook it. His palm wasn't sweaty, and he didn't try to crush her hand. "Uh, come in."
He stepped in, looked the place over non-judgmentally. "If you'd like the nickel tour--" He nodded, and it was quickly done. "I know it's done in early poverty," she said -- I'm babbling, she thought, but couldn't stop -- "but we're students."
"Hey," he said. "It's fine. I think it's a great place. You should have seen some of the places I've rented." He gave her a thumbs-down gesture. "One place was so bad I had to have rabies shots." She smiled.
He reached into a pocket and pulled out an envelope. "May I be the zillionth person to say Happy Birthday?" The card made her laugh, and then it seemed okay to give him a big hug. He returned it, and they stood there for a moment, feeling the warmth of each other, hungry for touch.
"I was worried there," she said. "E-mail is so different than being in person."
"I understand. I hope I don't fall too short of your expectations."
"Well, I have to see your tush first." He laughed and turned for her. "You're wearing a suit."
"You're on a date with an older man. Let them all think I'm your sugar daddy."
She laughed again. It was easy to laugh. "And," she said, her heart suddenly in her throat, "do I meet your expectations?"
"Well, I haven't seen your tush yet," he said, "but I'd have to say yes. I had no idea what to expect -- but I tried. I figured you might be pretty from your description, and you are. Pretty, that is."
She blushed. "Thank you."
He reached into a coat pocket and pulled out a small box. "I'd like you to wear this tonight, if you don't mind."
"Not quite. Here's what you do. Into the washroom with you, this isn't something I should see you putting on. If you choose not to wear it, that's fine, too. But I'd like to think of you wearing it anyway, and I don't want you to spoil my illusions just yet. Scoot."
"Oh, mystery! You sit down. What time are our reservations?"
"Six-thirty, but they'll hold until seven. I made arrangements."
She took the package and went into the bathroom. She cut the white ribbon with nail scissors and then carefully peeled off the metallic blue paper.
It was translucent blue rubber, looking like a piece of clay someone had squeezed in her fist and then smoothed. It rose up from a broad base (not quite a suction cup), tucked in, swelled and then tapered again to a soft point. She looked in the box again. There was a little tube of K-Y jelly there, too.
Oh. It was a butt plug. That was going a bit fast.
On the other hand, fast can be fun. And they were only going to have this one night.
On the other other hand, she didn't like him assuming they were going to end up in bed together, even if she had invited him up for just that.
On the other other other hand, she told herself, he specifically said she didn't have to do it. And besides, one butt plug does not intercourse make.
She started hot water pouring over the tiny tube before she lifted her skirt and slipped out of her panties. The jelly was still shockingly cold on her anus. She got a slippery grip on the plug, consciously relaxed herself, and gently slid it in.
It felt huge and slick and she had to relax herself again and then the bulge was inside her and the tightening of her sphincter forced the plug the rest of the way inside her. She stood up and moved her hips experimentally. She felt...oiled. Lubricated, as it were. Very aware of her ass. She wiped the excess jelly with some toilet paper, then pulled her panties back on. She adjusted her garters one last time, dropped her skirt, and went back to the living room.
Fully aware of her ass with every step.
"Ready to go?" he asked.
"Quite," she said, determined not to let him know it was in.
He held doors for her, which she liked. Once she was settled in the car, he named the restaurant, which she had never heard of, and the address, which she wasn't sure of. "Then I'll need you to give directions." He leaned across her to pull a map from the door pocket. The faintest hint of citrus made him smell clean. He got the map and stopped to look in her eyes. He was so close she could feel the heat of his skin and that was unexpectedly close, very intimate. Arousal surged through her.
"Thank you," was all he said. She nodded, unsure of her voice.
The restaurant was small and uncluttered, but still cozy. "It's nouvelle cuisine," he said. "But I have been told you should not order an appetizer if you plan to have dessert. Not if you want to be able to walk later."
When they sat down, he handed her another small envelope. "This is the stop word," he said. "If at any time you don't like what I'm doing, you say this word and I will stop." She opened it up. Printed on the card was the word gherkin. "It's not likely to come up in conversation," he told her.
"Except now I have this incredible urge to discuss pickles."
"On the other side," he went on, "is the quit sentence. Say that and the evening is over, no questions asked. I'll get in the car and drive away."
She flipped over the card. It read, Thank you for a lovely evening, but I'd rather you go now, please. She smiled. "It's very polite."
"I'm very polite. I say 'excuse me' when people bump into me."
She laughed. "Me too."
And then they talked. They spoke of the upcoming elections, and she explained what the issues were likely to be. (She discovered he actually listened to what she said, which pleased her tremendously.) They discussed favorite writers. (He knew of the classics but had not read many.) They argued over who wrote Shakespeare's plays. (When interrupted by the waiter, they agreed to switch stances, since each thought the other had missed some important arguments.) They described and shared their meals. (Rated his delicious and hers excellent.) She told him about her ex-boyfriend; he talked about the woman he hadn't married: relationships that had made each of them crazy. He told her about his mother's death, and she explained about her parents and grandparents. She thought later that they hadn't just talked. They argued, rambled, discussed, discoursed, digressed and confessed.
And every time she leaned forward in the excitement of the discussion, she was distracted momentarily by awareness -- that the plug made her feel full, and kept the buzzing of sexuality constant throughout the discussion.
He was cute, she decided, and she would sleep with him. She slipped her shoe off under the table and stretched her left leg out. She rested her foot between his thighs and pressed gently down with her sole. The lump of his erection was obvious to her. He stumbled over what he was saying. She smiled at him.
He bravely continued. "So I got to the point where I wanted to provoke them. I mean, a guy in handcuffs in your restaurant shouldn't happen every day. I started walking up to the waitress station and asking for things." He shook his head. "Never fazed them."
"Do you still have them?" she asked.
"The handcuffs? No, I lent them to a fellow to use with his girlfriend. He never returned them, so I guess they liked them."
"Darn," she said and pouted for him.
"Well, I knew your ideal birthday celebration involved Canadian B&D." She raised her eyebrows. "Bondage and dinner," he explained. "So here." >From his suit-coat pocket he produced another tiny package.
She laughed as she opened it. "How many presents did you bring?" The box held gold earrings in the shape of tiny handcuffs. "They're great!" she said. "Where did you find them?" She set about removing her pearl studs.
"A friend picked them up for me at a leather shop in Detroit."
She had the handcuffs in. "How do they look?"
"I'm biased, but I think they look great. Just symbolic bondage, but that can be the strongest of all."
She nodded. "What I really need to set them off is a lot of black leather."
He patted his pockets. "Left that in the other suit, I guess."
The bill arrived and he paid it without questioning. He was not surprised at the cost, wasn't worried about whether he could pay it, and didn't complain. She liked that. She could get used to dating older men.
In the car, he said, "I thought we might like to go dancing next. Do you have a favorite place to go?"
"Yes," she said. "My place."
* * *
She came out of the kitchen with their wineglasses to find him looking through her CDs.
"Anything appeal to you?" she asked as she set down the glasses.
He looked her up and down again. "You mean musically, of course. It's your birthday. Are you feeling fast"--he held up one CD--"or slow?"--he held up another.
"Cop-out," she said. "Pick one."
"I have to warn you," he said as he put on the slow one. "I can't dance." He was not entirely correct.
As the CD played, they moved closer together, his thigh moving between hers. She pulled him tightly to her chest, closed her eyes, inhaled his scent. He slid his hand down her back to the base of her spine. He kissed the base of her throat, and she moaned, pressing her crotch hard against him. He kissed her again, and again. He kissed behind her ear, then sucked her earlobe into his mouth. His thumb stroked lazy patterns, not quite caressing her ass, making her aware yet again of the plug.
She bathed in the slow sweet torture of it. As her desire grew, she moaned again and nuzzled his neck.
"You're lovely," he murmured. He smoothed his hands down her back, from her shoulders down to cup her buttocks, pulling her momentarily against crotch. She felt the hardness of his cock, and she sighed.
"Do you like that?" he asked, and she nodded, her head still resting on his shoulder. He pulled her against him again, and they stood there for a moment, pelvises pressed together, feeling each other.
"Um," she said, and she pulled away to look him in the eye. "The music's stopped."
"I hadn't noticed." He kissed her softly on her mouth. A good kiss; he didn't slobber, his lips were soft, he didn't immediately try to fuck her mouth with his tongue. She kissed him back. They kissed each other, their kisses softening until their tongues met. They stood there for a long time, kissing and exploring each other. She teased his tongue, threatening to bite it, chasing it into his mouth with hers.
Her breasts were hard with need. She could feel how damp she was, how her labia had swollen. She rocked her crotch against him, against his erection, and kissed him fiercely. "I want you," she whispered. She began to kiss and bite his chin, his ear, his neck.
"I want you," he said huskily. "I want to kiss you here"--his hands brushed her shoulders--"and here"--the sides of her breasts--"and here"--her ribs--"and here"--he pulled her ass tightly against him. She felt the plug move as her groin was crushed against him. She moaned and slipped his jacket off.
"Yes." She clawed at the ridges of his back as she kissed his throat.
"I'm going to eat you," he said, "until you come. I'm going to lick and suck and nibble you because I want to see you come." He cupped her breasts in his hands and squeezed. She gasped and pressed herself to him again. "And I'm going to fuck you."
"Ummmm," and she kissed him on the mouth again. "You sure? Because I think I'm going to fuck you." She traced a line down his chest to his belt buckle. "It's been so long since I had sex I don't remember who gets tied up anymore."
He chuckled. "Joan Rivers."
"Only time she ever made me laugh."
He gently disengaged himself. "If we're going to be doing all this fucking, sucking, and biting, we'll need birth control. Excuse me."
She was pleased but manufactured a pout. "I can't believe you don't have them in your pocket."
He shrugged. "They're very big condoms..." She laughed.
He was back in a moment with an overnight bag. She arched an eyebrow and said, "Those are big condoms."
He grinned. "I buy them at Condom Ginny Plus."
"And you have a hard time with that."
"They charge me a stiff price."
She winked. "Especially for something you're only going to use for two minutes."
"The first one." He pulled her close and kissed her deeply again. "But I brought extras, and I may manage to last longer the second time." Another searching kiss. "And the third."
She chuckled. "Promises, promises." She unbuttoned his shirt and slipped her hand inside to feel his smooth chest. He moaned softly as she found his nipples, and she raked her nails across his chest. He inhaled deeply, happily.
She tumbled into desire, then: Fingers shaking, she was pulling at his tie and his shirt, trying to pull them off. She could see the five red lines on his pale skin. Her mark on him. She could feel her labia, already long and wet and hot.
He reached around and began unfastening the back of her dress without fumbling. She heard an appreciative murmur when he discovered her lacy bra, and a second murmur when he found the matching garter belt.
"I think we'll leave this on for a moment," he said.
She began walking to her room, pulling him by his pants. "I thought I'd wear something appropriate to your generation."
He grunted as he grabbed at the overnight bag. "Honey chile, the elders of my generation burned their bras and only wore underpants on Sundays."
"I know," she said. "That's why you love this stuff."
He ran a finger down her spine; she shivered. "It's true," he said.
In her room, they melted against each other again, thirsty for touch and taste. Her fingers danced down his ribs, his hips, and over the hard bulge. She squeezed his buttocks hard, then pulled his shirt-tails out and slipped her hands under his shirt to rake her fingernails gently over the skin. He arched his back in pleasure, like a big cat. She chuckled in his ear.
He pulled her dress down over her shoulders and arms until it fell in a ring at her feet. She stepped out of it, feeling shy, and he just looked, smiling. "So pretty," he murmured. She blushed and moved to him, to be doing something.
As she quickly undressed him--tie, shirt, socks--he touched her. Light strokes and caresses on bare skin: the ridge of her spine, the slight bulge of flesh over the cups of the bra, the hip-skin between garter belt and panties. She gasped when he slipped his fingers into the crotch of her panties and stroked her wet vulva.
Tired of waiting, she undid his trousers and pulled undershorts and trousers down together. His cock gently straightened and stiffened until the plum-head bobbed just below her nose. The scent was distinct and pleasant. She touched the tip of her tongue to it, then exhaled softly onto it. He voiced a small sigh.
She held the shaft in her hand to examine it. He stood steady, waiting, like a racehorse in the starting gate. His erect cock was not as large as her boyfriend's had been, but it was larger than the (few) others she'd seen. The shaft was straight, without bend or curve, and she could just make her thumb and middle finger reach around it. She jacked him gently, fascinated by the fold of foreskin that appeared and disappeared.
She had planned to tease him a square millimeter at a time but instead she gave a long hot lick along the length of his cock. He gasped, then moaned as she took the head in her mouth and gently sucked. His hips trembled with restraint, but he still stood steady. She swirled the smooth hot skin with her tongue, enjoying the surprisingly delicate flavor.
She looked up at his face. His expression was tight. "So soon?" she teased.
"You're goddam sexy."
"You're just easy."
"But not cheap," he said as he helped her to stand again. "My turn."
He stood behind her, nuzzling her neck, his hard cock poking her in the small of her back. He cupped and squeezed her breasts as he sucked and bit on her neck and shoulders. She liked rough foreplay, but not at first -- she had to build up to it. He started gently and tested her, easing off if she flinched, never crossing the boundary so often it became a burden.
His hands were all over her torso, stroking and caressing, as he kissed and nipped his way down her back. She spread her legs for him as his kisses reached the base of her spine. As he kissed and licked her buttocks, his fingers deftly and delicately explored her from the front. When one finger finally slipped inside her, she had to bend over and lean on the bed, gasping.
He worked the butt-plug for a moment, pressing his fingers against it from inside her pussy. Then he pushed it firmly into place again and bit and sucked his way up the front of her body, finger-fucking her all the time. He raked the fingernails of his other hand along her back. His bites on her nipples were small explosions.
She climbed on the bed, off his fingers, and pulled him after her. She grabbed his face and kissed him carelessly, urgently, on his eyelids, earlobes, chin, cheeks -- painfully hard kisses that bruised her lips. She grabbed his hot cock and breathed into his ear. "What now?"
"And now," he said in his best Monty Python accent, "the oral sex!"
He nestled himself between her legs and kissed her thighs; she wiggled her toes against his ribs. He snickered and then blew on her damp lips. She moaned and lifted her hips up to his face. He touched his tongue to her there and there and there, gauging her response. She moaned again to encourage him. With one broad lick, he momentarily satisfied her need to be touched.
She angled her hips at him just so and he teased the hood of her clit. As she moved her hips, he changed how and where he licked her. Suddenly she wasn't a recipient, she was a participant; and this turned her on even more. This was not like when her boyfriend had (grudgingly) gone down on her.
She experimented for minutes, learning to guide him wordlessly to where she wanted him. His tongue seemed tireless, and she brought herself to the edge of climax -- to the point where she could no longer control her movements. Then she had either to use words or to trust him.
She chose to trust him.
Once again he began to tease her. Gentle nips on her labia, her thighs, and the stalk of her clit sent pulsations through her as his fingers rhythmically filled her and stretched her. His weight held her hips down though she tried to buck. The helplessness of it thrilled her, and then he took her sensitive -- so sensitive! -- clit between his teeth. She reached down and clutched his head. He sucked, hard, and with his tongue on her clit pushed her over the edge into a lovely long bright orgasm. He continued as long as she held him there.
Finally, exhausted, she let go, and he crawled up the bed beside her.
"Mmmm," she said. "That's nice."
"Nice?" he said in soft mock indignation. "That's all? 'Nice' is when your Aunt Mamie gives you a quilt. 'Nice' is when that boy in grade eight walks you home. 'Nice' is a kind of cookie."
She smiled. "It's pronounced 'neece.'"
"Very well. 'Neece' is a city in France."
"No, 'niece' is your brother's daughter." She looked him in the eyes. "And as for it being nice... Guess what? We're lying on a quilt my Aunt Lulu gave me." She held up one hand and wiggled her fingers. "And these are a kind of cookie." She winked. "Ladyfingers." She reached down and stroked his hard-on.
"Sweet," he said, and closed his eyes, smiling.
She rolled onto her side and whispered in his ear, still stroking his cock. "And you know what else?" She threw her leg over him. "I fucked that boy from grade eight."
She slid herself along his body, feeling her lips spread pressed against his belly. His cock poked her between her buttocks. She reached back and pushed it down.
He grabbed her hips. "Condoms," he said.
She frowned. She didn't want to stop and get a condom. She didn't want to be responsible and careful and good. She wanted to feel him inside her, without a condom. He moved his shoulders and she pressed down on them, holding him still. "Gherkin," she said.
"Shhh." She calculated. Her period was due day after tomorrow, which was part of the reason she was feeling so randy, and why her breasts were so swollen and sensitive right now. She'd risked worse with her boyfriend, and it had been okay. "You heard me. Gherkin."
"I heard you," he murmured. "I just didn't believe you."
"Believe me." She leaned down to kiss him again, her breasts mashed against his chest. He was hesitant at first, then he kissed back with increasing fervor.
She liked the absolute veto power of the stop word. She was tempted to use it again just because he would obey it. She resisted the temptation; it was one thing to avoid using a condom when she was pretty sure she was safe but it was another thing to jerk her partner around.
Instead, she reached behind her for his erect cock. She wiggled her hips to help guide it, and then she slowly sank down on him, feeling him fill her. She slowly sat up, which pushed his cock even farther inside her. She sat there, feeling full: full of cock and butt-plug. He reached for her clit, but she blocked his hand. He reached for her breasts instead. She rubbed and stroked her clit; he caught her rhythm and moved against her, letting her ride him like waves in the ocean. She came with another sudden bright orgasm. In the midst of it, she thought maybe he was coming too, for he had stopped moving, and his hands clutched her breasts deliciously tightly.
But she gasped then as he began to move again, urging her on again. She did not expect to come another time -- once was her usual -- but she felt her body begin the long warm climb again. She fell forward onto him, and they rolled ungainly over. He thrust rhythmically into her. She squeezed her eyes shut; she felt so full, so sensitive and so stretched. His thumb found her clit, and she threw her head back and cried out in surprise as she came again. He thrust himself into her, hard, and held himself there, and she thought perhaps he had come.
He hadn't. His cock was still hard, and he moved slowly inside her.
"Mmmm," she said without opening her eyes.
"Mmmm-hmmm," he agreed.
"But you didn't come."
"Mmmm-hmmm," he agreed again. "The better to fuck you again, my dear."
"I want you to come."
"I will." He chuckled. "Trust me, I will. But I can't, just yet."
She looked at him. He didn't look like he was joking.
"That's how it is with me," he said. "There's a sort of threshold early on, and if I'm going to come, that's when. If I hold off past it, then I probably won't come. That time."
"I never heard of that. Are all guys like that?"
He laughed. It made his cock jerk inside her. "I have no idea. We don't actually talk about this stuff."
"You ought to." She put her hand on his hips to stop his movement. "I'm just a bit sensitive."
He pulled out and kissed her mouth. "You're all sweaty."
"It's hard work, coming like that. You're all sweaty, too."
"It's hard work, not coming like that."
She reached down to touch his cock where it lolled against his hip. "Would you come if I sucked your cock?"
"Does your-- Does your wife mind it's so hard to make you come?"
He chuckled again. "It's not hard to make me come at all. I just have the option of not-coming. And I take a long time to get it up again after I come. I thought it was better to make it last."
"Oh," she said, feeling easier. "So next time will you decide to come?"
"Depends on whether you think there'll be a time after next. Don't think I'm not going to come with you. Don't think you're not sexy enough or exciting enough to make me come. Because that's not true."
She stretched lazily beside him. "So we just have to have sex again."
"Or maybe again and again."
She frowned with as much severity as she could manage and wagged a finger at him. "You listen to me, mister. Sometime tonight, I want to feel you come. I don't care where, as long as I'm there."
"Yes, ma'am," he said meekly, trying not to grin. "Living room, bedroom, or bathroom?"
"I was actually thinking mouth, pussy, or ass." She smiled. "Or fingers, nipples, or tummy."
"Hey, which word do you prefer -- pussy or cunt?" He rested his head on his hand and looked at her.
"Pussy," she said immediately. "Cunt's just a bit crude."
"Hmmm. Because I have other friends who think 'pussy' is just the outside -- all those years of reading about shaved pussies, I guess. And still others who feel the way you do." He tugged gently at her arm. "Roll over and let me give you a back rub."
And then they were chatting again. Becky felt oddly pleased, and it wasn't just orgasmic afterglow or the pleasant back rub. Finally she realized she felt pleased that she was obviously in the category of friend. Although, she told herself, we are lying together naked. That ought to count for something.
After a long warm time, he got off the bed. "What are you doing?" she murmured sleepily.
She heard him rustling about. As she lay there, comfortably relaxed, he lifted one of her hands and kissed the palm. Then he wrapped something around her wrist.
"Good." He wrapped the other wrist. She still didn't open her eyes, and then she heard the jingling of chains. This time she made a conscious decision not to look -- though it was an effort. He touched her wrists again and then sat on the edge of the bed. "There," he said, "how does that feel?"
She tugged experimentally. Chain jingled. Her arms moved a short distance, then stopped. The wrist-wraps kept the pressure light and comfortable. She opened her eyes and looked. Broad nylon webs were wrapped around her wrists; they kept the pressure light and comfortable. Clips fastened them to the chains.
"It feels fine," she said. "You do come equipped."
He shrugged. "I had to borrow the gear. But you said you like it, and--you know what?" He ran a finger between her damp lips, dipping it into her, then rubbed that fingertip across her mouth before sucking on it himself. "I like it too."
She smacked her lips, tasting herself. "What now?"
"I can't see anything except the headboard of the bed. Ooooh," she said as two of his fingers slipped into her. He pulled gently up. She had to follow and finally she was on her knees with her shoulders still on the bed. She stopped talking.
He began to kiss her muscular buttocks and thighs, gradually working in towards the centreline. He stroked her gently with his hands, then slipped his tongue inside her. She could feel pressure against the butt plug.
With one hand he began to work the butt plug, moving it in her ass. He tugged gently on it and she felt her asshole widen; then he pushed it back in, and it seemed to go deeper than it had before.
Despite what she'd said, she had never had anal sex. Her boyfriend had been too large; she hadn't wanted to risk the pain. Jack was not as large as her boyfriend had been but still...
With his other hand he played with her lips, her pussy, her clit. She could feel the orgasm coming, but it was held at bay by the uncertainty of what he was doing to her ass.
She writhed her hips, trying to get him to push her off that knife-edge and commit to the orgasm. Instead he pulled out the butt-plug, and she felt shockingly empty. She hadn't realized how accustomed she'd grown to that fullness. She whimpered.
"Shhh," he said. "It's okay." She felt one wet finger enter her asshole, rough in comparison to the familiarity of the butt-plug, but filling her. She felt his tongue on her clit, and moved closer to orgasm.
She hadn't realized she could ride this close to orgasm without coming, and she whimpered again.
She couldn't think anymore; everything had funneled to her hips, where there was a peculiar kind of slow gravity centered on her clit. All sensation fell there. She barely noticed the fingers in her ass, pulling and stretching, except that they kept her from coming.
Her eyes were squeezed shut so tightly she saw only slow, sloe afterimages. She tried to reach back but the chains stopped her. She could feel the pressure of his hot hard cock head against her thigh, and that sensation too fell somehow to her clit.
His tongue left her clit and stroked her labia, rimmed her cunt, and slicked her ass cheeks.
He adjusted positions again and hugged her from behind. His cock pressed against her clit again, and he slid it against her, inside her cunt, pulled it out and slid it between her cheeks, then filled her cunt again, still slowly, still gently.
He pulled out and she whimpered again. Then she felt the coolness of lubricant against her hot asshole. She jerked suddenly against the restraints.
"Hush," he said, working the lubricant into her asshole. "You know the word to stop me."
She froze, suddenly unable to remember the stop word. Oh, yes. Gherkin, that was it. She didn't say it yet. After all, it didn't hurt yet.
He stroked her back and sides strongly, evenly. "Did I tell you how beautiful your ass is?" He cupped the cheeks of her ass. She could feel the lubricant in her asshole. "It's gorgeous. All that horseback riding, no doubt. And I really want to do this. You'll enjoy it."
"I know," she said. His fingers flickered over her clit, her belly, her nipples, her shoulders, the nape of her neck, her spine. She shuddered once, then pressed her ass back against him.
She willed herself to relax, relax, relax as she felt his huge cock enter her. She relaxed a bit; he entered a bit -- she groaned -- and then she relaxed a bit more. His cock slid back out a bit, and they pushed together again. He was groaning too. It was too big, she thought, too big, thank God she'd never done this with her boyfriend, his cock had to be a foot long, no, the size of a rolling pin, no, a baseball bat. Jesus, she felt full.
She felt his hips against her ass. They stopped moving then, breathing raggedly. He ran his hands over her again. "Can you feel it?" he whispered in her ear. "Can you feel my cock in your ass?"
"I can't feel anything else."
"I like it. I like how it feels. You feel so good to me."
She grunted in a high-pitched way she hated. "It hurts. A little."
"Relax," he said. "That's what makes it good. Relaxing."
She barked one laugh. "Your ass isn't full of cock." He started to move, slowly, and she made a little sound she couldn't classify. She hurt, yes, but the feeling of his cock in her was sexual, was sexy. He was nearly all the way out now and started back in. It was easier this time; the pain was an occasional twinge, and it was different, she discovered. It was bright, sexy pain, like love-bites or fingernail scr*pes, and it fueled her arousal.
She was going to say something about this discovery, but then his fingers found her clit again. She made nonsense sounds as she pulled against the chains as hard as she could, and there was a rhythm hidden in there, a rhythm he found as he thrust into her and it wasn't her ass it was sex, just sex, good sex, and she fell into another orgasm. Her sweat-damp hair stuck to her face as her head flipped back and forth and finally she cried, "Oh, oh, oh," in the rhythm of her climax. The contractions were so strong, so surprisingly strong, she forgot to breathe.
As her orgasm waned, his waxed. He pressed against her tightly and against her again. He moaned and she felt his cock tighten, stiffen, and pulse inside her and then she felt something hot and wet impossibly far inside her and she knew it was his come.
She gasped for air then and noticed his hands were on her hips -- when had he moved them there? -- and his cock was still hard and huge inside her. Her thighs were trembling; so were his. She lowered herself to the bed; gently, so he could follow. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and hugged her tightly, nuzzling and kissing her neck.
"Do you think it's hot in here?" he asked.
"Pretty god damn fucking hot," she said. "You came."
"Good." He nuzzled her ear for a while as his cock slowly softened. When he finally eased out of her, she was mortified by the rude fart sound. Something wet trickled out of her ass.
He chuckled. "Better out than in, my uncle used to say."
"It was damn good in." She jingled the chains. "You better untie me so I can clean up." She sighed. "If I can walk. My legs feel like rubber." She heard him running water in the bathroom and closed her eyes. Her asshole still felt enormous.
When he came back, he didn't untie her. Instead, he took a warm wet cloth and cleaned her, then kissed her dry. She murmured her appreciation. Then he began to massage her with scented oil. With the scent of sandalwood in her nostrils, she dozed off.
She was half-conscious when she rolled over, feeling the sweaty heat of his body beside her, and then she was all conscious as she realized she had rolled over. Dawn light was leaking around the curtains.
She looked over at him. He was awake and watching her. "Good morning," he said.
She stretched and smiled lazily. "Good morning."
"I have to go. I have to be on the road by eight."
"Um." She had known that. She had been fine with it. Now she didn't know how she felt about it.
He started to say something, stopped, and shrugged at the inadequacy of words. He leaned forward and kissed her tenderly on the mouth.
"Thank you," he said softly. "For being a good dinner partner. And for being a great sexual partner."
She hugged him fiercely. "No, thank you."
She lay on the bed and watched him dress. "Hold on," she said to him.
"What is it? My fly's down?"
She moved herself to a sitting position and reached out to him. "No, the problem is it's up." She unzipped his pants and pushed down his shorts. He was already getting hard. With her best Sally Field impression, she chirped, "Oh, you like me! You really like me!" He chuckled. She could smell his arousal, his scent mixed in with hers.
She cupped his balls in her hand and took his cock head in her mouth, enjoying the feel of it as it got harder, smoother and thicker in her mouth. She swirled her tongue over the head, then began to give him the most pleasure she could. She licked and sucked him, then took him as deeply into her throat as she could manage. He made a small animal sound. She hummed, and then began to bob her head until he got the idea and he was fucking her face and they were both moaning.
With one hand she reached between his legs and with the other she reached between her own. Even after all of last night, she was wet again. He pushed against her, indicating she should lie down.
She had enough presence of mind to glance at her bedside clock. If he fucked her now, she knew they would not get out of bed today. She didn't lie down. Instead, she stroked his cock with both hands as she sucked on it.
He twined his fingers in her hair, his grip tight as he moaned one more time and then his cock pulsed three times as he came in her mouth. She swallowed some of it and held the rest in her mouth. When he kissed her, she passed it back to him. He swallowed it easily.
"Thank you," he said. "You didn't have to do that."
"I wanted to."
She put on her robe to walk him to the door, then kissed him once more, reluctant to let him go. He clutched her tightly against his body, exploring her mouth one last time. She could taste his come again. His fingers danced along her back, her buttocks, and then between their bodies, between her legs, between her lips. She gasped as he stroked her, then returned urgently to the kiss. He fondled her to orgasm quickly, surprisingly. She sagged against him, almost as much in surprise at the speed of it as from the orgasm itself.
He brought his hand up between their faces and kissed his own fingers clean. She could smell herself, and watching his tongue move over and between his fingers, she began to get aroused yet again. Down, girl! she told herself firmly. We agreed that it would be just this once.
She took that damp hand and led him to the door. There she kissed him one last lingering time, a soft kiss of emotion instead of sex. She sighed, almost entirely content.
"Good-bye," he said softly.
"Good-bye." And then, as he opened the door, she responded to that whisper of discontent: "Jack?"
He stopped, turned back.
"A girl only turns twenty-two once, you know."
He grinned. "See you next year."
End of Story
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