Wine glass in hand I lay on Tina’s bed. She was touching up the paint on her toes and we were talking life, love, and threesomes. My phone chimed.
“It’s The Neighbor, isn’t it?”
I picked it up. “Yep,” I said smiling. It was his cock.
He knew I was over there. I’d asked him to send me a cock pic earlier and he’d asked for a minute or two to clean up from the gym. I’d told him, “Good boy,” and sent him a picture of my cleavage with Tina’s cool hand in the cleft.
“Jesus Christ,” he’d texted. “I appreciate you so much. I’ll be home in a few minutes, unless I crash while looking at that picture in which case I will die smiling.”
TN has been body-snatched, y’all.
“I’ll be home soon,” I’d replied. “Leave your door unlocked. What a sweet boy.”
Fifteen minutes later he sent the perfect Bat Signal: the image of him buck-ass naked holding his giant erection.
My response was immediate to him. “Wow. Got the pic. Leaving this second.” I turned to Tina. “I gotta go,” I told her laughing.
“Yeah, you do. Damn, that guy has it bad for you. What the hell did he say to you just now?”
“Nothing,” I smirked.
He answered the door glowing white and naked and let me in. I walked back to his bed and sat down, but he begged me to get up. He still hasn’t been able to stabilize it since we broke it last week. “Just go next door. I’ll be right there. I promise.”
I complied and no sooner had I hung up my purse and things than he walked through the door, sadly clothed. We sat on the couch and found each other with our mouths. My hands ran up his shorts and found his arousal. I peeled off my sweater and glowed under his appraising eyes. I have never felt more beautiful with this man than I have in the past 48 hours.
I sucked and kneaded and kissed and nibbled. He sucked and kneaded and kissed and nibbled. “Lets go in your room,” he said.
He unzipped my boots with his teeth and tossed them on the floor with a laugh. I was in black lace panties and knee-high socks with white stripes at the top. “Jesus Christ, you’re hot,” he moaned and fell on top of me, crushed me with his mouth and muscles and warm, creamy skin.
“I want to turn your lily-white ass red,” I moaned back.
He stopped short then kept kissing me, dipping into my mouth and looking into my eyes. I stared back at him, bold and unafraid of my own passion. “Yes. Get on your belly.”
He rolled off of me and lay quietly below me. I spread his knees and positioned myself between them and struck his right buttock. Hard. “What do you want to tell me if you’ve had enough?” I asked him, too shy to say “safeword.”
“You mean a safeword??”
“Yes. I’m going to hurt you, but I’m no sadist. You have all the control here. What’s your word?”
“Good. Thank you,” I said and cracked my hand down on his right flank. I struck and wailed and rained my hand down upon him. He writhed and tried to crawl away from me. I wrapped my arm beneath his hips and pulled him back to me. Asked him if I ever tried to get away from him?
I pressed my thighs into his and kissed his inflamed skin, crooned to him, told him he was a good boy. I told him how hot he was.
He whimpered and tried to curl up with each blow, but it took no effort for me to pull him closer back to me, to my warmth and love.
I concentrated on one space of his canvas only occasionally breaking to the left. My hand stung and my pussy dripped. I felt time freeze and my heart swell outside of my body. I could see every hair on his body and smell his pleasure and his fear and his contentment like fresh-baked cookies.
I paused as he laughed and cried into the mattress. I felt a strange kind of remorse for what I’d done, but also a sick sense of pride. I needed to care of him. “I’ll be right back,” I told him. “Don’t move, honey.”
I ran and grabbed an ice-cube and returned to the glowing ember of his ass. He started when I put the cool rock on his skin, but relaxed as it slid beneath my palm. As the water ran down his hips and between his buttocks I caressed the heat and pressed my lips to him.
“Is that better?” I whispered against his bottom and kissed it tenderly.
“Yes,” he answered and then my hand cracked down on the wet spot.
I fondled his soft cock and gently tugged on his balls as I brought the heat back to his backside, then slid my hand to his crack and pressed at the little starfish in the center. He tried to retreat. “I won’t hurt you. It’s ok.”
“But what if I’m dirty?” he worried.
“You’re not dirty. Your ass is beautiful and I want it. Come here,” and I pulled him back to me and spread his knees further. “Arch your back,” I said softly. He arched and I pressed just one slender finger inside of him. He was so tight I felt my own center quicken. Oh, how I wished I had a cock to slip deep inside of him, all the way to my hips, to feel him tight around me and writhing. Men are so lucky.
I felt for the invisible scar on his lower back with my free hand and kissed its raised skin, wishing all the reasons it was there never existed. My poor friend. He never deserved any of that. My breasts pressed into his soft ass.
I barely wiggled around inside of him, only one knuckle, and continued to spank him. I was afraid of going too far with my fragile new toy; my finger one little thread holding the beautiful puppet before me.
“I want to leave a mark on you, like you do me.” I told him.
“Do it,” he agreed. “Let’s see how you’re doing so far.” I let him get up and he swung his bottom into the light of the bathroom. There were broken capillaries, but no deep, blooming welts like he leaves on me. With a quick hand I struck him again. He winced, but remained still.
My hand stung and throbbed and I suddenly knew we were done. I couldn’t think straight, my memory of minutes before was blurry. I’m not even sure I have the lead up to this right. I could be writing complete fiction.
I next remember laying with him and him asking me, “When did this happen, Hy? I didn’t know you had this in you.”
I thought for a second. “It’s always been there, but this trust you give me, it sets it free. It’s so hot, so beautiful. It turns me on so much. You have no idea. Do you like it??” Suddenly I was unsure, worried I’d hurt him, terrified him.
“Yes,” he answered. Maybe he said he loved it or thought it was fucking hot. Again, I can’t remember, my brain was scrambled and I still can’t sort it all out.
He stroked me, kissed me, touched me, dipped his fingers inside and exclaimed at my wetness. He started to slam his hand inside of me and a climax came up and washed over me and right out my pulsing hole, a river of emotion and arousal bounding down a mountainside of flesh.
Then he pulled me into his arms and held me and kissed me tenderly. “Do you ever have to think about it when you spank me?” I asked him. “Does it come naturally to you? You’re not just doing that for my sake, are you?”
“No, not at all. I love it. It just happens to me, too.”
He rolled into me and spooned me warmly, wrapped his arm around me and squeezed and kissed my neck. I began to talk gibberish and found myself awakening in mid-sentence as I struggled to maintain consciousness. He giggled at me and I flushed at my own vulnerability — the only thing worse would be to be caught drooling in my sleep.
He rose then and tucked me in. I muttered something — incoherent, perhaps — and I’d like to think he kissed me somewhere before leaving saying he’d lock the door behind him, but I don’t remember. I was already fast asleep, my hand scalded and bruised from abuse.