Thursday, June 27, 2013

23. The brief payment of a minor debt

     Without going into the background details, let’s just say that I owed him. It wasn’t a bet I’d lost, but you can think of it that way. (Plus, the night before had been a pink night, and while those were originally designed for his benefit, they have since clearly become about mine.) So I had dressed to amuse him: Little knobby pig tails, infinitesimally tiny boy shorts that I bought in the stripper section of the adult store, and my polka dot bra – I don’t know what the full effect is in reality, but in my head it makes me feel like a pin-up girl. All that was missing were my high heeled Mary Janes with the ankle strap. I had every intention of a straight (five star, major league, righteous) blow job, that would bring him all the way through to the finish.
     I was settled in, and I was showing off. The Vegas trick, kitten mouth, ice cream on the spoon, the envelope, ripe peach, tongue trap, lady left, threshold, the hitchhiker, deep throat with a wave… He stopped me three times. I took it as a compliment, he wanted to make it last as long as possible and didn’t question, but on the third stop, he stopped me.
     “It seems counter-intuitive that I would stop you here, but I’m going to.” Then he got up and walked away from the bed. His demeanor suggested that nothing was wrong, so I sipped my wine and waited to find out what he was up to. He returned with a cigarette, a lighter, and a bottle of the good lube.
     “Don’t come back until you’re ready for me to fuck you in the ass until I come. It’s perfectly reasonable for you to make yourself come before I do that. Take as long as you need.” I guess I’d need the Mary Janes after all.
     I went outside slightly baffled (he does this to me with malice of forethought, no question). It had only been a few nights before that he’d sent me outside with a cigarette and similar instructions. This hadn’t been such a common occurrence for awhile; he must have read the same thing I did, about inconsistent reinforcement. I started in a squat – you know that good, ass to Achilles’ tendon, high heels and elbows on your spread knees position that’s great for smoking a cigarette, half naked. I rolled my stripper panties down so that they were cutting into my thighs just below my ass, took a drag, and slid a finger into my ass from the front, on the exhale. I understand smoking porn, I really do. I’d rather be the object of it than watch it, but the concept gets me off just the same. I was enjoying myself, but there was something about his instructions that was nagging at me, and I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. I tried to appreciate the cigarette, long, straight exhales through just-pursed lips and perfectly round smoke rings sailing away wider and lighter. (It’s not easy to blow a perfect smoke ring while you’re fucking yourself in the ass, you know.) I tried to appreciate the ass fucking, too, to feel the full sensation of entry and withdrawal through the nerve endings in both the finger and the ass. But the cigarette was done too quickly, and I’d barely added a second finger to my ass from underneath and behind, and his orders had been so definite, like the ringing of a bell. I was missing something. I decided I just hadn’t done enough preparation, and he’d said I could take all the time I needed, so it didn’t matter that my cigarette was done. I dropped the panties to my ankles and bent over from the waist. I added more lube, spread my ass and used two fingers well and good, from behind. I introduced my other hand to my pussy from the front, but I didn’t want to get off completely, without my husband there to witness. Then I had it: “Don’t come back until…” Did that mean if I was going to come, I had to do it before I went back? Knowing my husband, he couldn’t possibly have meant it that way. He likes to watch me make myself come as much as I like making myself come while he watches. But his words were spoken with such casual command that I was scared to death to get it wrong. I really didn’t want to ask. I just wanted to get it right. My first instinct, the way I’d immediately understood it when he’d said it, included getting off in front of him after coming inside with a lubey ass and a brain that was mentally prepared. I would trust my instinct.
     And then I went inside and couldn’t make it past the threshold of the door. Technically you see, I wasn’t back yet. I had thought I was sure, but I just couldn’t pull it off. I never can. I have to ask or speak or whatever it is, every time. It’s the same as my inability to lie to him. Holding something back feels like not telling the truth. So I stood there and waited for him to acknowledge me, and I asked for clarification, when he did.
     “I can be as specific as you like.” He said it with this dangerous nonchalance he’s possessed since the day I met him. It’s a little scary and a lot sexy and it makes the air in my chest flutter. “The next time my cock goes in your mouth, when it comes out, it’s going straight into your ass, and I’m going to slow-fuck you until I come. What happens between now and then, is up to you.” He looked unblinking into my face as he spoke, and I had to hold onto the door frame to keep from going weak at the knees. Did he want to watch? Of course he did.
     I left the Mary Janes on, and re-lowered the panties to the tight bands I’d made of them, outside. I got out my pink toy and left it nearby – I wanted to bring myself almost to a clitoral orgasm and then put it in my ass and throw myself over the edge with the amplified intensity. I far overdid the lube, not bothering to count how many pumps came out of the bottle, and didn’t touch it at first, letting it slide from my clit to my pussy to my ass. I fucking love that sensation. It’s not hot like come, when you pour it straight from the bottle, but since it’s gone untouched by my fingers it does almost the same thing to my head, like being creamed on in pulsing spurts. Also, the lotion kind has the right look and feel to it, so if I’m sitting in a position from which I can see myself, I can imagine it from my husband’s point of view and try to know what it would have been like to shoot it there. At that point I can’t help but touch it with my fingers, play in it. I hadn’t been doing that long before I felt his fingers in my ass. He had said I could get myself off and that he wanted to watch, but he’d never said he wasn’t going to get involved; that had been my mistaken assumption. And he didn’t just fool around a little either, building me up – that had been my job to complete, outside. He went straight in with two relentless fingers and reminded me just how tight my little pink asshole actually is. How is it possible that he can fit his whole cock in there?! By the time he withdrew his hand, I’d changed my mind about my little pink toy. I left it abandoned on the bed while I produced my green Lelo vibe with the two heads and pulled the stripper panties off over my shoes.
     I backed up a little – physically, to be sure he had a good view, and in the masturbatory progression, to get a good build up going again. I started with it the “right” way, little head on my clit, big head deep inside me and out again fucking myself while he watched, and then of course, I flipped it over. I had the big head still in my pussy with the little one in my ass and my fingers on my clit and the whole thing was so slippery with lube that I could barely work the controls. I went from the weakest to the strongest continuous buzz, to the rising one that gets more and more intense and then ends in a pulse. This is usually where I keep it until I come, but I knew what was going to come next on this night, so that wasn’t going to be enough. I flipped the vibrator over again, so the little head was back at the top, but this time I put it in my pussy and slowly pressed the big side into my ass. So fucking tight, but there was more than enough lube to work it into a good rhythm. Then I went back to the slippery controls and switched to the fastest, most intense pulse it’s got, trying to keep enough of a grip on the thing to fuck myself as hard as he was going to fuck me, any minute now. That was the thought that did it. Well, that and the fact that he was whispering to me as he watched. Whispering about my tight little ass getting fucked like that and how it was going to take his cock next and how much he knows I like it… I came with him whispering to me to come for him.
     I was rewarded by getting to suck his cock again. Threshold, tongue trap, three piece suit, lady left, the ripe peach, the hitchhiker, three piece suit, deep throat with a swallow, happy dog, tree trunk, envelope, ripe peach, threshold, deep throat, push-pop, three piece suit, envelope, tree trunk… And then he was talking me onto his cock. It was just as effective as if he’d grabbed me and pulled me up onto him, fingers digging into my hips, but he did it with words in that calm, deadly serious undertone. He spoke my ass onto his cock. The whole time he was whispering to me, half filthy, half instructional, like he was teaching a neophyte concubine how to be sluttier. I was trying so hard not to lose control and just fuck him until I came, it would have been so easy, I was so close, but he kept reminding me with that voice bordering on reproach, “This one is for me.” Then he took me by the ass cheeks, holding me above him and spreading me open at the same time, and from underneath, he slow-fucked me just like he said he would, with his eyes locked onto mine, until he came, pulsing deep in my ass.
     Like I said, I owed him. It’s not my place to question whether it’s better to be the creditor or the one in debt.



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