Husband Sit (Husband #1) (15 page)

So
I said, “I’m liking the look of that cock and I want to ride it. Rodeo cowboys
have to stay on for eight seconds. Do you think you can last that long?”

I
wanted to set the bar low, in case it was all too much for him.

His
smile was slow to come. “Yeah, I think I can last that long.”

“Then
let’s ride.” I slipped off the bed to remove my white lace bra and briefs. Then
I tore open a condom packet and slid it on him fast.

He
caught his breath and I saw his cheeks flush, his arms pulling instinctively
against the bindings.

I
loved the way it defined his biceps. “Do you like being tied up?” I sounded
breathless myself, really looking forward to a fast, hard fuck.

He
nodded, staring into my eyes, breathing unsteadily now. “Do me,” he said.

I
crept back onto the bed and positioned myself over him. “When I’m on, you have
to buck.”

“Eight
seconds,” he said. “I can do it.”

“Good
man.” I felt between my legs to see if I was ready, and all the talking and
anticipation had certainly made me slick. I grasped him with one hand and
guided him in while I lowered myself, deliberately holding one arm up like a
rodeo rider. “Starting in three, two,
one!”
On the last word, I shoved
down hard, pushing him high up inside me, and in the next second I was nearly
tossed off. He bucked up hard and I had to grab his biceps with one hand to
anchor myself, shoving down on his upthrust and really getting off on the
intensity on his face.

So
much so, that I forgot to count!

I
meant to. But I was enjoying the feel of his hard young body under mine, and
the joyous enthusiasm of his bucking hips.

I
wanted to eke out as much pleasure as I could, but I was no-where near an
orgasm when he shouted, “Oh fuck,
fuck!
” and slammed up into me.

It
nearly displaced me, but I grabbed both biceps and came down hard on top of him
when he dropped his hips. Then I squirmed against him to draw his climax out
for as long as I could.

We
were both panting afterwards, and I straightened to find him grinning like a
loon.

“Fifteen
seconds,” he crowed, as if that was the world record.

Part
of me wanted to say
Buddy, that’s pathetic
but I was having too much
fun, and besides, I really liked this kid. So instead, I said, “Pretty
impressive for a first shot. Particularly as I’m guessing you haven’t had any
for a while.”

“Maybe.”

 Maybe
never.

I
don’t know why, but I decided to shock him, so I pulled back and looked into
his very dark eyes and said, “I could fuck you up the ass if you want.”

“What?”
He blinked a few times, but I was interested to see his cheeks flush. “I’m not
a poofter.” His voice sounded deliberately deep.

“I’m
a girl, in case you didn’t notice.” I tapped him on the nose. “It’s not gay if
you let a girl do it.”

“It
isn’t?”

He
so
wanted to do it. I could tell from the way his lips fell open.

How
delicious.

“Sure.
I do it all the time,” I lied. “With a strap-on dildo. Guys love it.”

I
could tell he desperately wanted to say
Do they?
But instead, he pursed
his lips for a second and said, “Does it hurt?”

“Well
they scream,” I replied and his eyes widened in what looked like panic. “But
it’s screams of pleasure, and they say they’ve never come like that before.”

He
seemed to consider it for a second, then he said, “Have you...?” and tilted his
head to glance down at my ass.

“No
way,” I replied. “That’s not what lesbians do.”

“Jesus,
have you been with a girl?” His eyes lit up like sparklers. My quick
misdirection appeared to have worked.

“Yeah,
just the other day I slept with a red-head. She had freckles all over her nose,
and elsewhere,” I added, hoping Fritha never found out about this. “She told me
later that she loved me, but...” I shrugged. “I’m a free agent.”

He
nodded. “That’s what I want. To do my own thing. Not be tied down.” The moment the
words were out of his mouth, he realized what he’d said, and we both smiled at
the pun. He tugged on his restraints for good measure.

“So
you like a little light bondage?”

He
shrugged as best he could. “Can you untie me now?” I heard the very faint quiver
of uncertainty in his voice, as if he was worried I was some sort of Damien
who’d try and force him into things he wasn’t ready for. That made me feel
guilty so I hurriedly undid the knots, and when he had both arms free, he
surprised me by rolling me onto my back and kissing me.

He
was sweet, but I couldn’t help myself comparing him to Finn whose take-charge
kiss at the airport would be forever lodged in my brain as
the hottest kiss
of all time.
Which was
so
annoying. I really needed to stop thinking
about that.

To
push Finn out of my head, I pulled back and said, “Put your hand here.” I moved
it across to my pussy.

He
let me maneuver his fingers to slide across my clit
real
slow. I was
slippery down there, so the whole sensation of his hand gliding over my mound
made me shudder. In a good way.

Finn
came back into my thoughts then and, try as I might, I couldn’t push him out.
But it wasn’t comparison this time. I was just thinking about him, about how
much I loved looking into his eyes, bantering with him about cricket, eating
his home-cooked meals, and feeling his cock inside me. I was pretty sure the
warm achy longing I experienced was love, and maybe it was selfish to think
about one guy while another was touching you, but the meltiness of that feeling
added a dimension to Simon’s stroking that lifted pleasure to a whole new
level.

“Kiss
me again,” I demanded, and Simon did, sometimes forgetting the choreography of
his hand while his tongue was moving, but getting back to it, stroking my clit
gently, delving sometimes, but keeping up that sensation that built inside me
like a cat making bread on a quilt. I could feel the pulling inside, the
purring, and I started to squirm.

He
stopped kissing me long enough say, “Harder?”

I
shook my head. “Just the same. Keep going.”

He
probably thought it was monotonous—I know guys like variety—but to his credit
he kept stroking gently, kept kissing me as waves of heat rolled around inside
me. I was close.

“Watch
me come,” I breathed, and he pulled back from my lips but I had my eyes closed,
watching colors throbbing and swirling behind my eyelids.

“Your
nipples are rock hard.”

I
gritted my teeth as the first tendrils spread up from my crotch. “Just keep
doing it,” I panted. “Till I tell you to stop.”

Then
the pleasure hit, like a spasm of
Fuck yeah!
down low, and a tingling
Squee!
behind my breasts. I bucked against his hand but he kept on stroking while I
shuddered some more and then finally it faded and I pushed his hand away, too
blissed-out to speak, even to say thanks.

It
was silent for a long time. Maybe a whole minute. But I couldn’t open my eyes.
Couldn’t speak. Didn’t want to, frankly, because now Finn was gone and I felt
empty.

Finally,
Simon said, “Is it always like that for girls?”

I
licked my lips. “Mostly.”

“That’s
so
not
like porn.”

“Welcome
to the real world.”

“I
mean, you were quiet. And you wanted it gentle. And—”

“Simon.”
I opened one eye a crack. “You do not learn about sex by watching pornos.
They’re fantasy to wank to. That’s all.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Fuck.”
He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, clearly thinking about that.

I
wasn’t sure he believed me. I hoped he would. In my lifetime, I’d met plenty of
guys who were disappointed with sex because it wasn’t what they’d seen on some
porno site. Well guess what, guys? Romance isn’t what you see in the movies
either! Most men wouldn’t invest in a relationship to the tune of a ten carat
diamond, so why the hell should real women—including Brittay—waste time getting
silicon boobs or a bleached asshole, let alone bounce around on a cock for half
an hour like the energizer bunny.

I
mean, for what?

I
wanted to give Simon a lecture about not needing perfection to achieve a
brain-sucking orgasm but I felt tired and hungry and suddenly, unaccountably
sad. I couldn’t help missing Finn’s warm green eyes and tumble-down dreadlocks.
If I’d been at his house, he’d have made me dinner. We could watch cricket and
get drunk on expensive white wine.

Luckily
for me, Simon didn’t have a romantic bone in his body, so his conversation was
a solid distraction. “Is there any limit to the number of times we can do it a
night?”

I
wanted to sigh. “No.”

That
wouldn’t be fair.

“Good.
I only want three more times tonight.”

I
shook my head. “Young men.”

Simon
caught my nipple between his finger and thumb and rolled it, creating a
delicious ache down low. “You don’t have to sleep in mum’s bed. You could stay
here with me.”
Not if I wanted any sleep.
But bless him, he looked as if
butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

“You’ve
got it all worked out, haven’t you?”

He
nodded. “Five fucks a night, fourteen nights, that’s seventy fucks.”

I
couldn’t stop myself grinning at his audacity. “Ambitious.”

“But
do-able.”

“Completely.”
Rough sex with Damien hadn’t pushed Finn out of my head. Maybe I needed
quantity to wear his memory away.
“Okay. Seventy fucks. But you have to
cook the meals.”

“Deal!”

A
fortnight later, we were at the end of our marathon. He’d taken #69 literally
and I’d woken in the middle of the night to a mouth full of cock while he’d
crouched over me, laving at my clit with his tongue. I could pride myself on
the fact that I’d taught him the mechanics so well, I happily ended up with a
spectacular orgasm. But in the wake of our double-delight, he asked for the
wild card as our final fuck, and headed to the shower, visibly nervous.

A
week earlier, when my mail-order dildo had arrived, he’d been at:
I’ve
thought about that and no
. Curiosity, however, must have overcome his
reservations, and perhaps trust had built with each fuck. Whatever. He now
wanted the dildo, and I was pleased to have yet another memorable sexual
experience coming. With luck, my cumulative tally of sex would blur the past
and erase any achy memories from my mind.

So
I went to Simon’s mother’s room, where my things were kept, and unpacked the
offending item—gel blue. It wiggled and wobbled like a tall, skinny smurf, and
I had a horrible urge to say something inappropriate like
I feel like
smurfing some butt.
But that was just wrong. So I fitted it onto myself
with the harness and walked around with the dildo wobbling about in front of
me.

It
was so comical I started to giggle. Then I realized that guys had this every
time they got a hard on. When did they stop giggling at how stupid it looked?
Maybe they never did.

I
decided then and there to compliment my blue gel harness and dildo with a
sixties slab of blue eye shadow and some thick eyeliner, channeling Austin
Powers. I even teased my dark hair up at the crown and left it curling around
my shoulders. It actually didn’t look too bad, particularly when I slipped on
some very high silver heels.

More
fembot than smurf now, which was hopefully sexier.

Then
while Simon was still fussing in the shower, I scampered back to his room and
put a condom on the dildo, posing beside the mirrored door of his wardrobe so
he could see me front and back when he came in. Not long afterwards, the
bedroom door opened and he entered, naked and with his hair slicked back wet.

“Hey
sexy,” I drawled, and he tried to smile, but I could see he was tense.

He
nodded at my get-up. “Retro. Cool.” The costume seemed to distract him.

“So
bring that cute ass over here where I can touch it.”

He
nodded, but I saw his Adam’s apple bob. “What about the tying-up part?”

I’d
forgotten about that, but was happy to improvise. “Stand here.” I pointed at
the juncture of mirrored doors on the wardrobe, and when he was in position, I
tied his wrists together. Then I opened the doors and looped the other end
through the thick beam that supported the shelving above his head. When the
rope snaked down, I pulled on it, and he didn’t resist his arms rising above
his head. I tied a few knots to secure it.

“Will
that hold?” I asked.

He
nodded, still saying nothing, maybe mentally preparing himself. I closed the
mirrored doors on the rope so he was facing his own reflection, and in that moment—strangely—I
felt a surge of power, along with a completely inappropriate urge to hurt him,
maybe smack his ass.