“May I give it a kiss?”
“Just one.”
He restrained himself admirably, giving her foot a single kiss before standing to help her up.
She had a wicked idea. She was having a lot of those recently. “How would you like to stay like this until I’m done practicing?”
“You mean, wait here?”
“No, you can go prep dinner. It’s a weeknight. But I’d like you to keep your shirt and pants off.”
He hesitated. “There are windows in the kitchen.”
“I’ll go around and close all the curtains. It’s getting dark anyway.”
“I was going to do some fried rice.”
“You can wear an apron.”
He still hesitated.
“Honey, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“No,” he said slowly. “It’s okay. I just had to think about it. But I go around the house in my underwear all the time in the summer, right? So, sure, I’ll keep my shirt off.”
She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Good boy. I’ll go close the curtains for you.”
She was done with her practice before dinner was ready, but she didn’t want to interrupt him. She sat in the dining room and watched him finish. His upper body wasn’t much to look at, but years of cycling and Olympic lifting had given him a nice butt, even in those saggy shorts he insisted were still worth wearing.
Finally he turned off the range hood and turned around. “Oh, sorry, how long have you been waiting?”
“Not long. Come take my shoes off.”
He took a step toward her.
She rolled her eyes so dramatically her entire head moved. In her best movie villainess voice, she spat, “Crawl, boy.” Then she looked at him again, letting her face relax into a grin.
He wasn’t looking at her. He was getting onto his hands and knees. He crawled over and apologized so sincerely she let him lick each shoe from heel to toe before taking it off. A little shaken, she handed him his clothing.
Over dinner, she asked, “How did that feel?”
“Really weird. Not bad!” he clarified hastily. “But really weird. I’d mostly forget. Like I said, I do this all the time when it’s hot. But then I’d catch a glimpse of myself in the window or some water would splash on me where my shirt would usually catch it. Suddenly I’d remember why I was doing it this time and get incredibly horny.”
“What does that mean?” she asked. “Why you were doing it this time?”
“Well, because you asked me to. Come on, you know I like it when you get bossy in bed.” He looked at her in confusion. “Wait, why did you ask me to stay undressed then?”
She shrugged. “Eye candy while I was practicing? I wasn’t really thinking about your end of it, to be honest.”
He got a pained look on his face and she realized how selfish she sounded. “Shit, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I thought that was an okay thing to do.”
“No, no, actually, I’m actually painfully erect.” He thought about what he had just said and laughed. “Actually.”
“Really?”
“It’s kind of a fantasy of mine when you order me around because you want to, not because you think I’d want you to. Also, you have to understand, men get called eye candy rarely enough it still feels like a compliment.”
“Wow. I’ll have to think about that.”
“So…” he said. “Coming back to how I was getting incredibly horny while I was cooking…”
“Yeah, I was going to offer you a hand job.” She paused, just long enough to let the past tense sink in. Just long enough to savor this moment. Just long enough to pluck up the courage. “But if you’re into me doing what I want and not what I think you want, well, giving you a hand job tonight is a bit more the latter…”
He look absolutely gobsmacked.
“You can always masturbate,” she offered, relenting a little.
“Well, I probably will. It’s not the same, though.”
She reached over and took his hand. “Am I being too mean?”
“No,” he said, giving her a firm squeeze.
“You promise to tell me if I am?”
“I promise.”
“Because I know you’re into mean girls, but I don’t want to overshoot and just be a bitch.”
He smiled as if enjoying some private joke. “It’s not so much that I’m into mean girls as the girl I’m into is mean to me.”
“I’m serious.” Was he going to make her say it? Bastard. “I worry about this.”
“Would you feel better if I told you some things I won’t do?”
“Yeah, do that.”
“Nothing public. Nothing permanent. Nothing illegal. No scat, no piss, no blood. No petticoating, no turning out, no cuckolding, no forced bi. Uh, no enemas, no sounding, no piercing. Nothing with my eyes or my hands. Shall I go on? I can, for a while. I’m super—” He made a motion with his hands, as if drawing two parallel lines in the air. “—straight-laced, as these things go.”
“Uh, no, that’s okay,” she said, reeling.
“So were you going to do any of that?”
“I don’t even know what some of that meant,” she said, trying to play it all back in her head. “Wait a minute, did you say no blood?”
“Are you thinking about when you scratched my back and a couple spots oozed a little? That’s, uh, not blood play. Trust me.”
“Okay,” she said.
“Look, I told you about the curtains and the grease splatter, didn’t I? I wouldn’t let you make me do anything I didn’t want to do, at some level. We can always talk about it. I’m not going to get mad at you for asking.”
That was what she wanted to hear. She smiled, relaxing. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah, okay.” She squeezed his hand again and he squeezed back, hard.
They left it at that for the night, but his words echoed in her head. It’s kind of a fantasy of mine when you order me around because you want to, not because you think I’d want you to. And, I’m not going to get mad at you for asking.
The next day, after he’d helped her into the shoes again, she asked him, “Remember you promised not to get mad if I asked you to do something you didn’t want to do?”
“Yeah, what’s up?”
She had thought about how to phrase it. “It’d be a turn-on for me to see how excited you were, to know that you were thinking of me while I was practicing.”
His eyes lit up. “Are you asking me to edge for you?”
She had no idea what that meant, so probably not. But he seemed so excited that she said, “Maybe? What does that mean?”
“Do you want me to stroke myself until I’m about to come and then stop and go make dinner hard and leaking?”
She could feel her face flush with blood at that description. As well as other parts of her. “I was going to play with your cock myself, but what you said sounds way hotter. If that’s okay with you.”
He gave her a kiss. “Yes, it’s more than okay. And for the record, you can ask to play with my penis any time you want. Let me get some lube and a towel.”
He came back with the lube and the towel and a confused look. “I didn’t think about this until after I left, but what was with all that preamble about not getting mad at you? You do this to me all the time.”
“I do not,” she said indignantly. “Sometimes I drop some hints when I’m in the mood and I don’t know if you are. And sometimes when you’re in the mood but I’m not we pet a little without going all the way. I’ve never asked to play with your cock like it was some kind of toy I could pull out and put away.”
He gaped at her.
“What?”
Finally, he said, “I don’t even know where to begin.” He ticked his points off on his fingers. “Um, first, I will reiterate that you may ask to play with my penis whenever you want. Second, do you understand that you are some kind of idiot savant of turning me on? Tell me again how my penis is some kind of toy for you to pull out and put away.”
“I swear that’s not how I think about it.”
“I know, I know. Just, say the words, would you?”
“Your penis is nothing but a toy for me to pull out and put away,” she said obediently.
“Say it like you mean it.”
“Your cock is nothing but a toy for me. I’ll pull it out when I want and put it away when I’m done. I shouldn’t even call it your cock. It’s my cock. You just take care of it for me when I’m not playing with it.”
“Good grief.” He looked stunned.
“Too much?”
He pointed at his crotch. “Do I seem offended?”
“Wow,” she said, staring at his erection in fascination. “That’s not left over from putting my shoes on? You get off on me talking about you like some kind of faceless meat dildo?”
“And…there you go again.”
“Faceless meat dildo?” she asked.
“Faceless meat dildo,” he confirmed.
“So, if I were to say something like…” She tried to remember the crudest thing anyone had ever shouted at her. “Less talking, more wanking, little boy. There’s a reason you have a mouth, and this isn’t it.”
“Hot,” he said emphatically. “Very hot. I don’t know where you get this stuff.”
She decided not to spoil the mood. Instead she said, “Tell me about edging. Is this something you do? It sounds awfully frustrating.”
He smiled. “It can be. Is that a bad thing? For you, I mean.”
“Mm, I guess not,” she admitted. A wicked little smile crept onto her face. “I do like it when you’re frustrated. I like the way you look at me.”
“Right, so there’s that. But, purely for myself, it’s nice that I can back off and try again in a minute, and if I have enough time to do it a few times that can get really intense.”
She remembered him squirming desperately as she gave him a handjob too soon after he’d finished. “Does that mean it doesn’t hurt to go again, like after you come?”
“Maybe it would eventually but I’ve never gotten there.”
Forcing herself to watch his face, she said slowly, “It sounds like the meanest thing I could do is ask you to edge only once, so you get all the frustration but none of the later sensation.”
“On a weeknight, probably.”
“And if we had more time?”
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