Stability, like a rock, can sometimes squash creativity. It happens to all couples. After the first 6 months routines are instituted, all the right buttons pushed, switches flipped. Where’s the passion?? we wonder. Well, I can tell you. It’s beneath the everyday maintenance and all the layers of intimacy. That sexy new man is right in front of you, but you have to see his otherness first.
This is a nice place to be. The Neighbor, always a goddamned enigma to me, has become tenfold more attractive. I like his mysterious, unfathomable ways these days. It turns me on.
I focus on the fact that I simply cannot know everything about him and while I know enough to say I love him and want to stay, I am allowing his strange newness to step forward and surprise me more. Yes, I know “he’s mine,” but life gives no tidy contracts. I gotta work for this fool; think about the next big thing we’re gonna do. The familiar embrace of possible rejection keeps me alert and focused on keeping us both interested in each other.
And so this weekend I planned on tying him up again, something which I haven’t done in far too long.
I heard him come in first, quietly, before I saw his head pop up from my spot on the couch. “Are you alone?” he asked.
“Yep,” I answered, slightly confused. He disappeared for a moment and then walked out from behind the room divider buck naked with a nice, heavy chubby cock.
“Good. I didn’t want to scar Peyton just in case something had changed and you were on kid duty.” He walked towards my smiling, appreciative face.
“Nope. All alone,” I answered and grabbed his cock.
He was clipped and clean and I smelled soap. I wrapped my hand around the base and sat up just enough to take the tip in my mouth. I looked up and saw him watching me. “Put your arms above your head,” I said succinctly.
He giggled, but complied and I turned my attention back to his hot meat. Every so often he would moan and I would look up. The points of his elbows high in the air brewed something deep down in my center, the soft tufts of hair in the arm sockets, the trail of hair leading to my face. I lapped and sucked and he said how much he loved my mouth. When he tried to lower his arms I commanded he put them back up immediately. He smiled broadly and did as he was told.
When his breathing was labored I stood up and led him into my room. The bed was made and cat on the windowsill. A clean palette for the mess I was hoping to make.
He asked me to keep sucking from my knees. “It’s so hot,” he explained. I encourage him to be vocal about his wants and so I dropped immediately, used my knees to spread his feet a little to bring him lower; up went his arms again. His passion grew and he lost some control; he wanted to stick it in.
“Not yet,” I said. “Lay on your back on the bed.”
I went around and got my Box o’ Toys. “What are you doing?” he asked a little nervously.
“You’ll see,” I replied as I pulled out two silk scarves and quickly tied his ankles to the foot of the bed. Then I reached in and grabbed my dildo, a massive, beautiful beast of silicone and jelly.
His eyes widened. “What re you going to do with that?”
“None of your business,” I answered curtly. “Now keep stroking your cock. I’ll be right back.” I left to rinse off the beast and smiled because I knew his strange man-mind was thinking I actually planned to put this up his tight, sweet ass. I’m not so naive as to think it would even be physically possible — I had other ideas — but I quickened at the thought that he truly didn’t know.
When I came back in I knelt beside him, nude, but for my knee socks, and wagged the thing above him. “Open your mouth,” I said firmly. He looked at me and squirmed. “Do it,” I added.
Struggle played across his face and I delighted in it. I dragged his left hand between my legs and let him feel my wetness. He pushed in two fingers as I pushed the dildo past his lips and he took a little taste. His brow was furrowed with embarrassment and I placed his other hand on my hanging breast as I leaned over and controlled the depth of the cock in his mouth.
He popped it out and asked me what I’d put on it. Confused I said, “Nothing, just water, why?”
“My mouth is burning a little,” he explained.
“Nope, just water,” I reassured him. “But do you want to stop?” He answered by taking it back in his mouth. I gasped a little and watched, transfixed.
He was an image of sex: ankles secured so he couldn’t move, his hands full of pussy and breast and his mouth stuffed with this big, fake cock.
I let him take the cock from me so I could stroke his real one as I whispered fucking unbelievably hot he was, then I’d had enough.
I climbed up on him and wiggled down, my eyes latched to his face as I watched his performance anxiety melt away and his energies focus on me, not himself. He was doing all of this for me. All of it.
This knowledge kicked my hips into motion and I rode him hard as he did a better job of deep-throating that thing than I ever could. I came in little bursts and squirted like a fountain as my breasts pulled at my chest as they bounced all round. Sweat prickled to the surface all over my body and I felt like a live wire.
Exhausted and panting I climbed back off, untied him, and grabbed my Hitachi from up high in my closet. He looked at me knowingly and I lay down beside him, turned on the wand, and watched him suck my fake cock. I imagined a real man above him fucking his face and I came loud and hard then went limp.
He set the cock between us with a quizzical look on his face.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, concerned.
“My throat is burning and feels tight,” he said.
“Oh shit!” I exclaimed.
“Yeah, it’s like that feeling when I take Benadryl or Tylenol PM.” Shit, fuck, damn!, I thought. He’s deathly allergic to those things!
It’s funny how quickly one can accommodate life’s demands. Think of all the times a rutting couple has been interrupted by a small child’s cries. I sat up and asked, “Can you breathe ok?”
“Yeah, for now.” He stood up and I could see he was checking his own vitals, his hand on his chest. “It’s really burning,” he added. “But I feel ok enough.” He took a big drink of water.
“No, we’re just going to pause here,” his “I feel ok enough,” an implicit go-ahead to keep doing what we were doing. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to dress an unconscious, 200lb man for EMS? We’re going to just chill here for a bit before we do anything else.”
He laid down next to me and I stroked his chest. “Maybe you’re allergic to the dildo,” I offered.
“What’s in that thing?” he asked.
“I dunno, I suspect silicone? Are you allergic to that?”
“I highly doubt it. Wouldn’t I know by now?”
“Your plan for murder didn’t work today.”
“Damn, you figured me out. I can see it now: ‘DEATH BY DILDO.'” We giggled and chortled at that.
“What would you tell the paramedics?”
“The truth! I’d tell them and the ER docs that I’m a kinky fuck and that you adore me and would do anything for me so you sucked a big fake cock that tried to kill you. I’d want them to have all the facts. I’m not embarrassed.” We laughed and he hugged me.
“Are you feeling better, yet?” I asked, genuinely concerned. He took another drink of water.
“I think so.”
We rested some more before getting up and going about our day. I checked in on him later and he said he’d done some research and discovered that silicone allergies are incredibly rare, but that there could be some kind of manufactured jelly he may be allergic to. “I’m just gonna have to suck that thing with a condom on next time,” he concluded.
“I’d never make you do that.”
“I know, but I’d do it anyway.” I could feel his smile through the phone and I felt lucky that there are still so many things about this young man that surprise me, namely that he’ll do anything for me, including not be afraid of giant, beastly killer dildos.