Yesterday was a long day of missed opportunities and the usual guilt that comes with an overly flexible schedule and not enough to do. Coffee-pumped and butt-sore from writing all day I left the coffee shop to shop for dinner for Peyton and my ex.
The day was bright and beautiful, the weather strangely warm with a cool undertone, like one of those filtered Instagram pics everyone is so fond of using. I bought some sole, celery root, and squash, a nice Spanish red and two bricks of butter. My navy blue glasses perched on my head like the unused torture-devices they were; I squinted the entire time in the store and hoped no one I knew thought I was ignoring them if they saw me.
Earlier in the day, I’d texted The Neighbor about something and he’d said, “We’ll talk later [about me pulling away].” I sent him a picture of my pussy from beneath my skirt with a winky face in return (I’m nothing if not subtle) and went about my strange, lazy, mostly unproductive day.
I considered warning him that my ex and Peyton were over in case he popped by, but decided against it; I’d rather see what happened in real-time rather than trying to strong-arm the situation into something “easy.” I shouldn’t have worried; he didn’t show his face.
I accidentally insulted my ex, loved on my baby, made a fabulous celery root puree with papillon sole wrapped around thyme and nestled on a bed of matchstick squash and herbs, and almost had too much wine. It was 7:30 when they left.
I stood in my apartment and felt lucky. Lucky to be alive, to feel strong, to feel safe and stable. I’ve made terrific new friends over the last year and I feel like my cup runneth over with love, attention, things to do and places to be. Not having any plans made me feel free and open and not at all lonely like I might have felt in the past.
TN’s silence all day since our morning texts occurred to me occasionally, but didn’t linger. I would let him come to me on his own time. I would worry only about me and set the tone as I vowed to do a couple of days ago.
My back ached and the tub called out to me. Himalayan bath salts spiked the warm air as I drew my bath, poured myself a third glass of wine and got my book. TN flashed in my mind again. Would he knock while I was in the bath? Should I keep my phone close in case he did? I deliberately left it out of reach. I could be unreachable for an hour. We’d both survive.
I lay in that water until it was lukewarm and my neck ached for straining to read. Then, “brrrrrrring!” The chime on my phone went off. I stood up and wrapped myself in a towel. I knew it was him.
“You awake?” my phone glowed. It was 10 pm.
“Yeah. What’s up?”
“I want to cum on your face.”
“Haha. Give me 10 and I’ll text you when I’m out.”
“Save that cum, Neighbor.”
I turned on the shower and shaved and lathered with sweet-smelling things never actually found in the wild – berries and vanilla and honey and love. As I stepped out, steaming and slick, an idea hit me. I picked up my phone again.
“Come in and lay on my couch. No pants. I’ll be out in a minute.”
Instinctively I knew he would comply. I took my time finding sheer black panties and see-through white t-shirt and began to blow-dry my hair. I knew he could hear it from the other room. When my hair was dry enough to not be cold on his warm skin while I impaled my face on him, I quietly turned out the lights, grabbed my glass of wine and walked out into the living room.
He was there, under a blanket, stroking himself. The Christmas tree lights glowed a soft pink on him. I sauntered closer and said, “Well, isn’t this a wonderful sight to see.” I bent over his face to place my glass on the table beside him. I stood and peeled back the blanket. His pants were gone.
“Mmm. I like this,” and without another word I fell on his cock, warm and delicious and clean. He swelled in my hand and mouth and he sucked in his breath.
“Oh my God, I’m so sensitive… softer, softer,” he begged.
I lightened my touch and he moaned and exclaimed again, this time for perfection.
I swung my bottom around so he could get a good view of it and he snaked his hands between my legs and began to pet my pulsing vulva. I whimpered and gagged on his cock. He lightly swatted my rear end.
I sat up and stretched long and lean in the light and pulled my shirt over my head and returned my breasts to his mouth. He clutched at them both and sucked on both nipples at once. He stared up at me from those white mounds and I remembered him saying, “You must have been so beautiful pregnant. I would never have stopped sucking on your tits.” I groaned and closed my eyes and clutched his head to me and began to slide my crotch along his erection, the skin caught on the lace of my panties.
“Help me take these off,” I breathed into his ear.
“No. Keep them on,” he retorted. My eyebrow lifted in interest as I pulled the fabric aside and leaned over, my head resting on his shoulder. My free hand found his cock and guided it in. I was wet and ready. I slowly bore down and sat up and a squeal escaped my lips.
I rocked hard on him and felt blossom after blossom bloom in my chest, but I stopped before I released on him and got off and turned around, my knees on the edge of the couch, my back arched, my ass silhouetted against the lights and returned my mouth to his tasty pole.
I could taste myself, slightly metallic from some very light spotting, clean and womanly all the same. His hand stroked my flank gently, no spanking. I pivoted around so I was between his knees with one shapely leg to the floor and began to work him. It was swift and compulsive. His semen shot down my throat, his hands forced my head down lower than I could take and I felt spurts at the back of my throat.
He tasted of ambrosia and his laughter filled the air like so many butterflies.
I quickly climbed back on him and put him inside of me. I rocked a little, but not much. He continued to laugh and convulse. He’d lost it a little; a fine reminder that he likes to be subdued by me.
We talked like that for a while, him going soft inside of me. I offered him a sip of my wine but he refused. “I’m at exactly 1600 calories today and I don’t want to ruin it.”
“You know,” I began, looking down at him with his cock peacefully hugged inside my body, “I’m really proud of you for doing this. I hope you enjoy it.”
“You know, I kinda do. And just wait, you’re gonna be so happy when you get to be with this hot, buff dude one day.”
I smiled. “I already think you’re hot, but ok! And just wait, you must be so happy to be with me! Big boobs, big ass –” He cut me off.
“Hy, no, I get to be with this voluptuous, gorgeous, sexy woman!” I melted under the praise so rarely meted out, each word emphasized with a stroke of his hands on my curves. “I want to see you cum. Let’s go in your room.”
We walked naked back to the darkness of my room, the candle I’d lit during my bath sputtering like dappled light through trees. He spanked me then, hard. I leaned my bottom back into the cradle of his pelvis. “Get on the bed, Hy.”
“No. Hit me again.” I bent over the bed and arched a little. His hand rained down on me as I writhed then climbed up and lay down. He hooked his fingers inside of me and began to stroke. “No, please, be gentle,” I begged. His stroking softened and he handed me my vibe.
“I came 4 times yesterday before you made me cum,” I said. “I tried again this morning, but I was too sensitive. I hope this works now.” He chuckled and dipped his head to my breast as answer.
I turned on the vibrator and timidly placed it on my clit. I jumped at the sensation and began the almost nauseating climb up. He teased and coaxed me with his hand and fingers and the vibrator played dastardly collaborator to his stroking. I twisted, panted, and moaned.
His free hand latched onto my throat and gently squeezed. My arousal leapt to a new plateau; exquisite, painful, beautiful, blinding. My cunt throbbed and I searched for release, but the tension was so intense I was lost. I flipped the vibrator off and managed to whisper, “Edging… I’m edging.. too much… might die.”
His warm, deep chuckle filled my ears and I flicked the toy back on. This time, I leapt to a level above the previous. I quivered and shook, nearly felt sick. His hand flew to my neck and he growled, “Fucking cum for me now, you fucking slut. NOW.”
I yearned for it, sought and fought for it, but this new place had me spinning out of control. I began to cry and I could only feel his breath on my face for my eyes were sealed shut. I broke it off for a handful of seconds, begging to rest, but he said, “No. I’m taking this. Now.” And his hand slammed into me and my pussy cried its pleasure into his cupped palm and my body incinerated into flames of desire.
I went back to it with my toy, motioned for his hand to return to my neck, and swiftly and powerfully climaxed out of the planes of my body into somewhere out there.
A puddle of a woman I cried as he climbed back over me and tucked me into his arms. He crooned and hushed me sweetly. I barely knew how to talk. He was happy with me. I was happy with me. This is how we communicate, the two of us. These two idiots who can’t stay away, but can’t be together.
I told him I’d been obsessing about playing with his ass. For weeks now, ever since I’d learned he had a butt plug collection from his Domme days I have tried — and failed — to bring it into our bedrooms. “I want to play with your pretty ass, TN. I really do. I’m obsessed with it.”
He paused for a second and finally said. “Ok. Just give me a heads up of an hour. When do you want to do it?”
Immediately I said, “Friday. And Saturday. And Sunday, too.” We laughed and settled on Friday.
When I had cooled down more and felt righted he stood up and walked around to my side of the bed. I sucked his chubby cock gently and answered more of his questions. “What’s it like to suck cock?” “What’s it like to swallow cum?” “Is it fun?” “Does it taste good?”
“It’s wonderful. It’s a little scary sometimes because I have no control. Its the best thing ever. You taste amazing.”
He pulled out and turned to the side. “Spank me,” he said.
Surprised, I complied. I missed and tried again. Good, hard, stinging contact. “Ow,” he cried.
“C’mere,” I purred and pulled his wrist down towards the bed and laid him prostrate across my lap. I struck his round, white bottom with alacrity, a steady hand and thoughtful heart. He jolted with each smack and I caressed his angry skin. “Stand up,” I commanded.
I positioned him just like he’d had me minutes before. His lily whiteness outlined by my dark aubergine sheets. I could see a curve in his waist and it brought me up short. I didn’t know men could look so soft from behind.
With some force I brought my hand down on his right flank. I felt it in my own cheek. Again and again and with each crack he arched his back and howled and twisted, and I would hold his hips tenderly and press my thighs into the backs of his, press my hand warmly on the sting, kiss it sweetly to make it better.
My excitement grew; the trust he handed me intoxicating like a fine whiskey.
“You’re a good boy,” I said.
He answered with an “Mmmm.”
I returned to my ministrations and could see it was hurting more with each blow. I began to lighten my touch, but continued to focus on the same, hot, weeping spot. Finally, I stopped and kissed his red skin one last time. “Stand up. Let’s see it in the light.”
He flipped on the light and we looked at his buns. A nice, round cherry-red mark glowed before us.
“I want it darker,” he said and walked back to the edge of the bed and bent over.
I worried about hurting him, but thrilled at the idea of creating something with my hand on the canvas of his body. I struck him several more times until I knew I couldn’t bear it anymore. We checked the red in the light again and it was brighter still, like the shameful blush of a masturbating teenaged boy who’d been interrupted by his mother.
“That’s better,” he approved. I took a picture and sent it to him. His bubbly butt marred by my first spanking ever.
We returned to the couch to gather his things. “I’m not going to cum again until Jack and Emma on Sunday,” he mentioned casually.
“No,” I countered, “You can cum, but only with me.” He looked pensive for a split second then agreed. “Besides, your ass is mine Friday, remember??”
“Oh, right,” he smiled as he pulled his clothes back on. Dressed and ready to leave now we unhesitatingly went to each other for a goodnight kiss. It was deep, passionate and hard, sweetness proven with our roaming hands and our bodies pressed against each other from hip to shoulder.
It felt real to me, authentic. We love each other. He is my best friend. I fuck him. Finally, finally, I have figured out where to put this in my heart: I am fucking my best friend.