wait and see

Morning. He’s already up, and I’m lying in bed trying to warm up by thinking pleasant thoughts, but I’m distracted and I can’t maintain sufficient concentration to get a fantasy off the ground. Although I’m nicely wet, my mind remains largely disengaged.

He comes in and asks how warm I am. “Somewhat,” I answer vaguely. But I am, at least, in the mood for him to be quite bossy, relatively speaking. The night before, we discussed what ‘bossiness’ will look like: for minor adjustments to my position, he’ll simply push me where he wants me; for anything else, he’ll give me terse instructions.

“Sit up. Move out of the way.” He moves my pillow down to hip-level. “Lie down, face down.” It’s cold, so he covers my back with a blanket.

And then he starts on my bottom. Pats and squeezes and caresses. Spanks and squeezes and caresses. After a little while, he asks if I need any more. “Maybe a few,” I respond. More spanks. And still more. Stinging spanks. It goes on about three times longer than I’d expected, with the last few feeling sharp indeed. My bottom is well warmed and I’m so wet that the moisture is practically dripping off my clit. He checks, hmms appreciatively, and licks the juices off his finger.

He deems me ready (and how!) and arranges me with my ass in the air. But the concentration required for running the show so far as left him less than hard. He lies down beside me, we spoon for a bit, and I start to worry that he’s going to give up in frustration. So I ask, “Would you play with my nipples?” And he says, quietly, “I’m still in charge here…” Oho, the game is afoot!

A moment passes, and then he gets up. “On your hands and knees.” He has opened the dresser drawer, I hear the crinkling of a packet. A pause. And then he’s sliding in and he’s fucking me from behind and he’s putting his finger in my ass. I won’t come this way, but mmm.

He comes and then it’s my turn, with vibe and his fingers on my G-spot. The lead-up is promising but the orgasm is anticlimactic. No matter. We’ll take care of that later, maybe later today. Maybe with fingers or cock or a toy. Maybe just once, or maybe more than once. I’ll just have to wait and see.

Dark Ages 6: HFH (again) and Bad Boy (again)

With impeccable timing, Home for the Holidays turned up again, 2½ years after we’d first met, while I was conveniently single.

Summer night, his parents’ place. We sneak in the back door, quietly down into the basement — his domain. He puts on a movie, we start watching. After 20 minutes, wide awake, movie thoroughly forgotten, he’s leading me to his bedroom. He asks, fervently, may he lick me between my thighs? Mmm, yes please.

I liked receiving oral; Bad Boy did it only occasionally and with bad grace. What a revelation that a guy might enjoy it enough to ask me if I would allow it.

A few days later HFH asked if he could make love to me and I said yes, but logistics was an issue and his parents’ place was out. (It could be that they were still up and they’d hear us, which would be awkward. It could be that they’d wonder who he was having sex with, given the fact — I later discovered — that he had a girlfriend in another city.)

We (he) decided to go to a central but rather seedy hotel and he gallantly offered to pay. He didn’t actually have the cash on him but would pay me back.

We slept together that night; I didn’t feel pressured and it was nice. And though I don’t really remember anything else about it, it must have been at least OK for me because we had sex again in the morning.

Later, he dropped by my place (I wasn’t the only one home) and handed me the cash. It was … awkward. I had already been thinking that this maybe wasn’t the best idea I’d ever had.

Not long afterwards, Bad Boy and I got together again. I must have confessed that my groin had been itchy and he offered to take a look. Oh god! I had crabs! I sat on the counter in the basement bathroom while he painstakingly removed the crabs with tweezers. There was an uncomfortable discussion about where they’d come from, and he got pissed off at me about HFH, even though I’d been single at the time. He blamed HFH for it, and I ended up writing a snarky letter to HFH, which I delivered to his parents’ house in a sealed envelope the day before he left town. It didn’t occur to me until much later that the source might actually have been the bedding in the dodgy motel. Oops.

my hair is too short

I’ve got a pixie cut, short back and sides. Short. Clippers short.

I want him to grab my hair at the nape of my neck, twine it around his fist, pull my head back sharply.

I want him to breathe on my neck and lick me.

I want him to kiss me deeply, control me.

But my hair is too short.

fuck toy

We wake up at about the same time in the morning but, as usual, he’s out of bed first. I don’t rush into consciousness ­— I drift. And during my drift, I think: about our conversation last night about playing, and about how we might play today. With all these juicy thoughts, I wind myself up surprisingly well.

“Honey?”

He comes to the bedroom to check on me.

“I thought I should tell you that I’m really very wet right now.” I’m the wettest I’ve ever been, in fact. Literally dripping.

“Is that right? And what would you like to do about it?”

I respond quietly, “I think I’d like to be a fuck toy.” Thinking about it has made me wet, and saying it out loud gives me butterflies and that delicious clench in my gut.

As a courtesy, he asks if I have any preferences for position, but I know he may well ignore a request. The game is that he’s to use me as he sees fit, and so when he asks this question, it ironically serves to draw my attention to the fact that my preference is irrelevant. But I duly report my ideas to him.

I nip off to the bathroom briefly: whether you need to go or not, it’s wise to have a pee before embarking on either a trip or a pounding. When I come back, he bends me over the low dresser — a first — with my bare ass exposed. I’m so wet and ready that he slides in easily. He takes me from behind like this for a few moments, then pulls out.

“Get on the bed.” Slightly awkward in my excitement, I quickly arrange the bedding for the fuck I’m about to get.

“On your back.” He puts my legs where he wants them. He bends me like a jackknife with my ankles on his shoulders near my face, or he rears up and puts my ankles together on one shoulder or the other, all the while giving me his entire length. I’m so aroused that I can take it all.

“Turn over.” Now I’m on my hands and knees, ass in the air. Again, he slides in and fucks me rhythmically. Then, without words, he pushes my chest down against the bed and grabs my hips. No longer pacing himself for the distance, he sprints for the finish line and comes hard inside me.

He collapses beside me and, after a few moments, starts working my G-spot with his fingers while I take care of my clit with my vibe. The pounding has changed my sensations — some places have become more sensitive and others less so. It takes some time, but I’m rewarded with an intense G-spot orgasm. Once I come down, I feel sated and thoroughly fucked.