He had to cum first.

 

Hy teases IG
I shared this on Instagram earlier this week with promises of more to see.

I have been unbelievably busy the last 3 weeks.  Not only were there the obvious holiday reasons, but I’ve also been doing some freelance work on the side.  It’s eaten up every spare moment I have and contorted my body into rare and awful positions to the point that I just cannot bare to sit in front of the computer for one second more.

But some of that is behind me, thankfully.

Today is Friday and tomorrow a friend from back home arrives all pretty and golden and filled with smiles just for me.  We’re going to drink and talk and hug and go out and I’m going to try to figure out what to do in my hopping hipster town as [basically] 40 year olds.  We’ll likely get all dolled up and hide it all under puffy jackets and scarves, then brave the cold only to sit in a thumping club and laugh at how we’re the oldest birds around.

I’m excited!

I’m also drowning in housework.  You should see my couch right now.  No, really.

Hy bares her tits
No more teasing.

The Neighbor made the mistake of leaning against the mountainous pile of laundry I have resting there last night and the peak toppled like a little avalanche.  He laughed.  I grimaced a little.

I was in Peyton’s room perusing Instagram when he came in; my baby was asleep with my belly as a pillow.  He sneaked into the room and when Peyton roused a little he said, “Hi, Peyton,” and then helped me slip out from under.

On the couch, I was overwhelmed with love.  A strange sensation, frankly, considering the ups and downs of last year, but lately I’ve hit a groove with him.  I have refocused my attentions on myself, my baby, my career, my bank account, and my health and with that inward focus, he has come to me.  And when he closes the distance I feel calm.

I rubbed his thighs and sipped mint tea; he shared his day.  And then I realized that I felt something.  An old familiar “something” that hasn’t been with me in some time.  I wanted him.  I was aroused.

“Come on,” I said as I stood and held out my hand.  “Let’s go lay down.”

In my room, with the door locked we laid down and cuddled a bit.  I had him slip off his jeans and give me his butt nook.  Oh, the delectable delights his big booty gives me, pooched into the cradle of my hips, my hand on his hip and fondling the large package beneath his underpants.  Heaven above, it’s glorious.  Like cake.

We lay like that for some time before he began to swell in my hand.  I pushed him onto his back and realized that somehow the conversation had meandered to transgressive talk, dirty fantasies.  His cock had swollen more.

“I guess my penis likes crazy shit,” he said with a shy smile.  “Tell me more.”

And I did.  I talked about selling my panties to pervy panty sniffers*, of men who call customer care people just to jerk off, of women who love to piss all over their slave boys.  I talked about husbands who pine for a cuckold life and of boyfriends whose girlfriends are size queens who get off on humiliating them.  Anything that grazed the edge of my imagination I yanked it in and gave it voice.

As I spoke he pushed my hand away from the avid listener between his legs and began to pump, not slowly.  I tweaked and twisted his little nubbin nipples and watched him jerk and giggle all the while bent toward my voice and pumping his cock.

“Wait,” I said overcome with a great idea.  “I want to cum, but I won’t until you do.”  I rolled off the bed and ran to my bathroom to grab something I knew would help.

Hy rolls around in bed
I don’t actually sleep with my socks on.

“Here.”  I opened my palm to show two tiny little hair claws, their little teeth lined up next to each other and closed tight like a clam.  He groaned, as I got everything in order: the Hitachi, the removal of his clothing, the positioning of our bodies.  The last thing I did while lying beside him, breathing heavily, was to pinch his little areolas and feed the hair clips’ jaws.

He hissed as I turned on the Hitachi.  I lay on my side, my left breast pinched with my left hand, my right pressed the head of the wand to my mound.  I wasn’t talking anymore, but it wasn’t necessary.

I stared at the blurry arc of his hand, the rapid rise and fall of his chest with the little tortoise-shell devices clinging to him like barnacles, and I listened to his breath catch, his voice break and body twitch.

He was about to cum in under a minute.

My own orgasm bore down on me as if to say, Fuck this, he’s not beating me! and as he began to cry out and spurt hot, thick jizz into his bellybutton I cried out, too.  I floated on the sounds of our release and convulsed from my core.

Before I could stop him, the tiny jaws had been removed.

“Hey!” I protested.  “What are you doing?  I didn’t say you could take them off!”

Ever the petulant one he pointed out that I’d made no clear distinction as to how long he had to wear them.

Instead of being mad, I saw his defiance as a perfect opportunity for punishment at a later date.  “You’re going to pay for that,” I told him, still thick with orgasm, “but another day.  Right now, I’m going to cum again.”

As I turned the vibrator on me again he latched onto a nipple and drew hard and I begged him to finger me.  Forty-five seconds later I screamed and arched my back and clamped his hand between my legs as if to suck him into me entirely.

We both laid there and panted like dogs who’d run through fields.  “That was all pretty fucking hot,” he said.

“Yep,” I breathed back, heart still pounding.  “It was.  Do you usually cum that fast?” I wondered.

“Nope.  Almost never,” he answered.  I smiled.

“Cool,” was all I said.  I was just happy that he came first.

Hy and her big, naked boobs
It’s time I got new pajamas.

 

[*Ed. Note: I mean pervy in the very best sense.  I’m not judging, it was part of the fantasy talk to call them perverts.  I’m sex-positive, remember?]

Masturbation is a sin.

In my worst nightmare, masturbation is a sin and I would be robbed of magical moments such as what I experienced this morning.

Naked and wrapped in my white sheets, I propped my phone up with one hand near my pussy.  I spread my knees and with my other hand I moved my little pink buzzing thing around and around on my plump, clean-shaven skin.

My phone, delicately balanced near the action, had action of its own flashing on the screen.  It was The Neighbor from almost two years ago; a video of him doing wonderfully debased, sinful things to himself.

Video #1 started off with him laying in his bed and when it panned down I could see him in a pair of my black lace panties.  I remembered the catch in my breath when I first saw it all those months ago, far away in San Francisco, it was the same this morning.  Video #1 ended with him taking an enormous erection gingerly out of the lace basket it’d been straining against.

I kept buzzing as I switched to video #2, the cat readjusted himself on the pillow above my head, I hit Play.

Instantly, I heard him call my name, “Hyacinth, Hyacinth, fuck me, Hyacinth.”  My arousal lurched forward and I slid the movie cursor back and listened to him call my name out over and over and over.

Hyacinth, Hyacinth, fuck me, Hyacinth.  Hyacinth, Hyacinth, fuck me, Hyacinth.  Hyacinth, Hyacinth, fuck me, Hyacinth.

I watched his hand blur and heard the telltale smacking sound of his arousal, my breath caught, my eyes closed.

One more quick rewind and I finally came with him.  Thick, milky jizz spurted out towards the lens and I cried out and arched my back.

I sent him a picture from my  morning and said I wished I could have sent him a picture of me masturbating to him jerking off.

 

Hy pleasures herself.

He suggested a webcam, but I just laughed.  I’d much rather have an extra set of hands in the room to help me capture a moment such as this.  Any volunteers??

He masturbated while I watched.

hy_pjs_boobs
This is what you get the morning after you jizz on your own chest in front of me.

I was open with him.  “I don’t mean to make you feel badly or self-conscious, but I would very much like it if I knew you were getting as much pleasure as me, if you had the occasional orgasm in my presence — I feel guilty, greedy.  It’s always about me and my pleasure, never yours.”  I paused, thinking about what to say next as he looked at me softly with his icy blue eyes.

“And you’re not getting the pleasure of giving,” he finished for me.

“Yes,” I breathed with relief.  He got it.

His “apathy,” as he calls it, is what he struggles with the most.  He appears to be completely unflappable when it comes to social intricacies, connecting, receiving, and giving.  He has built himself an iron island and no one may ever let him down.  It’s emotionally impossible after 29 years of fortitude.

He doesn’t care about things.   What those things are, I couldn’t say, I haven’t poked around too much for fear of hearing I am one of them, but he is working on cracking open enough to the vulnerability that is inherent in caring about something, maybe someone.

Almost as if on cue, I began to feel unwell the days following that conversation.  Sex was off the table.  So we cuddled and talked and let our words probe each other rather than our body parts, but aching/hungry/ass belly aside, I was still set to drooling last night when my absentminded cock-stroking awoke the beast.

We giggled as it rose stiffly against the elastic of his shorts and I gripped it happily and squeezed.

“I’ve thought about what you said the other day,” he said huskily, close to my ear, “And I’m not going to jerk off until Saturday night.”

“Really??” I asked incredulously.

“Yes, really.  When you come to La Maison du Voisin, then I’ll cum all over your face, in your mouth, and maybe in your pussy.”

“That’s a lot of cumming!” I said impressed.

I was touched by this grand gesture.  La Maison du Voisin night marks the very first time he’s offered to cook for me, hang with me, and tuck me in next door.

It’s not as romantic as you think, however.  It was originally a gesture of contrition and remorse.  Saturday he let a drunk girl pass out face down in his lap and, panicked and drunk, he stroked her arm and shoulder in a creepy, intimate way while our knees bounced against each other in the back of a bouncing pick up truck.  My warning looks served only to heighten his discomfort and feelings of helplessness and rendered me anxiety-ridden and miserable.

That night, he offered me La Maison du Voisin.

The next day he woke me up to say he feels bad that he continues to cross boundaries with other women he considers in distress.  It was at that moment I realized he’d tossed me bones: Wanna come over to my house Saturday??  Would you like for me to make you dinner?  You can stay the night, too.

“Did you offer all that La Maison du Vosin stuff because you felt bad about the drunk girl?”

He admitted it was true, but that he still really wanted me to come over and do those things for me.  So, ok.  I’m gonna take it however it may come.

I squeezed the cock hot and thick in my hand and it pulsed a little.  I told him I wished I was up for fucking.  He hugged me and said it was ok.  I wasn’t sure if I should try, but I decided to grab my Hitachi.  His eyes lit up.

I put the buzzing head on top of my plaid, pink pj shorts and rode the vibrations to a quick and powerful crescendo.  I panted, whimpered, and arched my back, and through fluttering lashes I watched his hand move to his cock and begin to blur.

His hand was fast and fapping and I watched his massive thighs flex and relax again and again.

“Do it again,” he said.

My stomach felt ok, so I decided to oblige him.

Again I flipped the switch and rose swift and high, like a rocket, and his hand continued to be a blur as I watched entranced, his muscles flexing and releasing like a wild animal on the run.

I came hard for a second time and lay limply beside him, his hand idling on his stiff cock.  “Could you have cum?” I asked, assuming we were done.

“I’m trying to cum!” he said with a smile.

“But I thought you weren’t cumming till Saturday…” I said confused.

“Yes, but I figured jerking off next to you was totally allowed.”  He smiled broadly at me.  I agreed it was absolutely allowed.  “Cum a third time,” he whispered.  I knew he was telling me he needed to watch me for a little longer, that he was close.

I flicked the switch back on and gasped the second it hit my clit.  The rise was fast, but I was spent.  I knew this was for him.  I turned my head to the side, let the little row-boat of my orgasm bump against the dock, and watched his hand become an arc of Caucasian skin.

His eyes were tightly closed, his chest knots of muscles.  He grunted and gasped and began to buck into his hand even as it slammed down into his lap.  His stomach clenched and he crunched up a little, his hand slowed and spurts of milky white choked out of the abused head.  A little glob landed on the silky nest of his chest hair.

He laid back down with a sigh and squeezed out more semen, slowly milking himself.

“Fuck, that was hot,” I said, the vibrator forgotten and turned off.

He leaned over and kissed me and I kept my eyes on the glistening tip of his cock.

He rose then and walked around to the other side of the bed, my side, and his still rock hard cock bobbed by my face.  He leaned towards my face and I opened my mouth and gently drew him in.  He tasted salty and clean.

Then he pulled away and smiled.  “I just wanted you to taste it.”

“Thanks,” I said.  “It tastes delicious.”

He came back around and we cuddled some more until my lids were heavy and my smile left an imprint in his chest hair.  He rolled out from under me and pulled up my covers, leaned over and kissed me goodnight with soft, long strokes.

I’m looking forward to Saturday and lots more of this cum-flavored contrition.