I woke up alone the next morning, the siren song of a coffeemaker drifting in from the kitchen. I was staring at the ceiling, getting my bearings before braving Matthew by daylight when he beat me to it.
“She wakes.” He grinned, poking his head through the door. Clad in a T-shirt and boxers, hair askew, he looked rumpled and horribly, unfairly sexy. “Coffee?”
“Yes,” I answered, perhaps a touch too emphatically.
He snorted. “Cream? Sugar?”
“Black is fine, thanks.” I raked my gaze over the floor, scouting around for my clothes.
“Borrow a shirt, top drawer.”
He turned down the hallway, and I scrambled out of bed. I pulled on my underwear, considered putting on my bra, then decided against it. It was Sunday morning, and he already knew my boobs didn’t defy gravity on their own.
I riffled through his drawer and pulled out one of his white undershirts, hoping it wouldn’t be comically small once I pulled it over my curvy frame. It skimmed the tops of my thighs and stretched taut over my breasts, tight enough to feel a bit sexy, but not so tight I felt like a sausage.
I checked myself out in the bathroom mirror. My hair was a rat’s nest, but overall, the effect wasn’t too bad. My mouth, however, was as dry as if I’d been chewing on cardboard with a gravel chaser after all the panting and screaming.
“Hey, can I borrow your toothbrush?” I called down the hall. I loaded it with toothpaste and ran it under the faucet without waiting for an answer. Rude, yes, but I was desperate. And I figured we were beyond the point of no return on germ sharing. His cock had been in my mouth less than twelve hours ago; his toothbrush was a hell of a lot less intimate.
“Sure,” he replied as he rounded the corner with a steaming mug of black coffee in hand. He stopped dead. “You should always be in my T-shirt and panties with no bra when you’re here. New rule.”
“Are you serious?” I mumbled through a mouthful of foam and toothbrush.
“I could be.” He leaned against the doorframe and watched me while I blushed right up to the roots of my hair.
I finished brushing and rinsed the sink before I took the mug from his hands. It smelled like heaven. I rose up on my toes to kiss his cheek. “Thank you,” I whispered into his stubbly skin.
I was curiously comfortable with our domestic scene, stealing his toothbrush, sashaying into the living room with my coffee, wearing nothing but his T-shirt and my underwear. In my years of semi-self-imposed celibacy, I had forced myself to forget how good this part could be, these simple intimacies. I curled up into a corner of his couch. Matthew sat at the opposite end, stretching his long legs my way and brushing my calf with his toes.
“Sleep okay?”
“Mm-hmm,” I murmured between sips. The coffee was blessedly good.
“C’mere.” He reached toward me and unfurled my legs, placing my feet in his lap. He gently stroked and massaged my calves, careful not to tickle my feet. I arched my back and slumped down the armrest to give him more of my leg, resting my mug in the gulf between my unsupported breasts. If humans could purr, I would have.
“How are you feeling this morning?” His tone was light, but we both knew it meant much more than that.
I sighed. “I don’t even know how to answer that.” His eyebrows creased with concern and his hands stopped rubbing my legs. “It’s okay though, I promise.” I poked his chest with my toes. “Keep doing that.”
He relaxed and lifted my foot to plant a small kiss on my big toe before returning to his lazy massage of my legs. I giggled at the still-strange sensation of his lips on my foot, but it didn’t tickle and I didn’t reflexively mule kick him in the nose, so I considered it a win.
He looked like he was in the mood to talk, but I wasn’t ready to process my own feelings. I’d gotten as far as orgasms are awesome, and I didn’t want to ruin the lazy Sunday glow with my ridiculousness. I opted to grill him instead.
“How did you start doing”—I waved my arm—“you know, all this? How did you figure out this was what you’re into?”
He blushed slightly and my heart might have turned to jelly. “It’s amazing what a horny teenage boy can learn with unrestricted internet access and premium cable.”
“What, so you were watching kinky porn and thought, ‘Huh, I want to do this’?”
“Yes and no. I was always a bossy kid who wanted to control the rules of everyone’s games. I think I would have gotten here even without the porn. Porn just helped me figure it out sooner.”
“I still don’t get how you go from porn to ‘I want to tie you up and spank you’ in real life.” I couldn’t imagine initiating that conversation for the first time.
“I got lucky in my never-ending quest for kinky porn.” I snorted and he shook his head. “Teenage boy, okay? Skinny, awkward, nerdy teenage boy, I was not exactly fighting off girls. I found websites for groups that did workshops and hosted social events. Once I was in college, I ended up meeting people that way.”
“Wait, am I the first person you’ve been with who didn’t already know you were into this?”
“The first in a long, long time.”
“Oh.” I paused to absorb that one for a minute. “Why were you surprised when I said I’d never done this before?”
He smiled. “You picked up on so many of the hints I dropped, I thought you were playing along. I had no idea you really were so innocent and you didn’t just look it.”
“Hey.” I poked his chest with my foot again. “It’s not like I didn’t know BDSM exists. I’m sheltered, but I’m not that sheltered. It’s…I never thought about it for me before. I haven’t thought about anything to do with sex in relation to myself in a long time.” I cringed and bit my tongue. There was no way he was going to leave that morsel of information alone.
“What do you mean?” He furrowed his eyebrows at me. “Last night you said it had been a while. How long has it been? Months?” I shook my head. “Years?” I nodded. “How many years, Jolene?”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“How long, Jolene?” he asked me in that voice with a quirk of one dark eyebrow. Jerk.
“Six years, okay?” I glared at him. “And no using that voice for evil.” That earned me a smack on the thigh and I squeaked.
“There’s a saying about smart-ass masochists; do you want to know what it is?”
I lifted an eyebrow. Two could play that game.
“They get an ass that smarts.” He popped me on the thigh again. “Remember that.”
It wasn’t that funny, but the whole situation was so weird I cracked up anyway. I would never in a million years have imagined having a conversation about porn and BDSM over coffee after spending the night with a guy. Yet there I was, having one of the stranger mornings of my life, but still with an odd sense of comfort and safety being with Matthew. I was probably clutching at every shred of intimacy that came my way after having gone without for so long.
“Is there a reason you went six years without sex?”
I sighed. I’d hoped I was off the hook for the rest of this conversation. “Lack of opportunity. Lack of inclination. It’s kind of a chicken and egg thing.”
Matthew nodded at me to continue.
“There’s no big reason. My last boyfriend and I broke up right before graduation and the dating pool back home is shallower than a puddle in the desert in July. After a while I stopped caring. It’s not like I swore off sex intentionally.” I shrugged. The last thing I needed was to kill the mood by dredging up ghosts of boyfriends past. “Can we stop talking about this now?”
“Okay. I ask because if you have triggers or past trauma, I don’t want to trip over it in the middle of a scene. Does that make sense?”
“Yes. But I promise you, it’s not anything traumatic, just a plain old epically dry spell. Which is now broken, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He grinned sheepishly and squeezed my leg.
“So we got kind of, um, distracted last night. How does this actually work now?”
“That’s as much up to you as it is to me. At its most basic, I want to play the active role, and I want you to be receptive. Beyond that, whatever we actually do together, it’s in your power to say no, or slow down, or I thought this might be fun, but it isn’t so stop it right the fuck now.” He half smiled like he was recalling a specific incident.
“I don’t even know what I might like, though.”
“That’s where trust comes in. I have to trust you to be honest about how you’re feeling, whether we’re talking about an idea for a scene or something you’d like to try, or we’re in the middle of it. You have to trust me to respect your limits and listen when you say no, but also to push you a bit. If you reject something, I might ask why, but the point is never to judge or coerce. Everyone is allowed to have boundaries, and those can shift and change as time goes on.”
“Am I allowed to question you the same way?”
“Always. We can talk things out as much as you need to.”
“What if I try something and I hate it?”
“Then you use a safeword, and I’ll be grateful you did. I hope you won’t have to, but it can be difficult to predict how you’ll react to new stimuli. We’ll take things slowly and see how it goes. I would much rather come to the end of a scene and have you tell me you could have taken more, than to take you too far, too fast, and harm you.” He gave my foot a reassuring squeeze as he said the words, his tone deadly serious, like he was making a pledge to me.
“Okay.” It came out as a whisper. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Okay.” The word came out a bit stronger. Matthew grinned like a kid in a candy store. I could almost see him rubbing his hands together with glee. What am I getting myself into? “What now?”
“I think last night proved you’re probably not averse to spankings, having your tits slapped, and maybe a bit of bastinado.”
“Bastinado?” The unfamiliar word rolled around in my mouth.
“Foot torture.” He grinned like a comic book villain. “But no tickling, I promise.”
“I won’t be held responsible for anything that happens to body parts in the path of my foot or leg if you tickle me, so you know.” I still caught shit at family gatherings for breaking my cousin’s nose when I was nine.
“Noted.” He chuckled and squeezed my foot again. “I have no interest in forcing you to do anything you hate, Jolene. Some people get off on having their partners suffer for their submission, some subs want it too, but it’s not my kink. At the end of the day, I want you to feel good, and I’ll always want you to come eventually. I’m not going to waste my time making you truly miserable, that’s the exact opposite of what I want.”
He leaned across the couch, took the mug out of my hands, and set it on the coffee table, then he pulled me down by the hips until I was on my back underneath him.
“Oh.” My cheeks flushed. “What do you want right now?”
“Do you have anywhere to be today?”
“Nope.” I grinned.
“Good girl.” He slid his hands over my skin under his T-shirt and kissed the sweet spot where my neck and shoulder met. “I want to fuck you on this couch, then we’ll have breakfast.” He punctuated his words with nips of my flesh from my shoulder to my jaw. “Then I might fuck you again before I take you home.” The last he whispered in my ear, sending shivers racing up and down my spine.
“I think that sounds like an excellent plan, sir.”
He laughed into my neck. “I’m glad you agree.” He abruptly lifted himself off me and stood. “Stay put,” he ordered and jogged down the hall.
I giggled at his retreating back. When he returned, he was completely naked but for a wolfish smile, and carrying a strip of condoms. Ambitious.
“Don’t think I didn’t hear that, Jolene,” he growled and flipped me onto my stomach.
He tore open the packet and I heard the crinkle of latex as he rolled the condom down over his cock. He leaned over me and the heat of his chest radiated over my back through the thin cotton of his T-shirt. He pulled away and pushed the shirt over my head, then gripped my panties in both hands and roughly pulled them down over my legs before pressing a hand to my throbbing, needy pussy.
He slipped two long fingers inside me and hummed. “So responsive. Do you like this? Giving yourself over to me?”
With his clever fingers dancing on my nerve endings, I couldn’t find the words to agree. I mustered an inarticulate moan. He removed his fingers and gave me a sharp slap on the ass. “Answer me.” He returned his fingers to my sex, working in slow, firm circles around my clit.
“Yes, sir,” I huffed before being reduced again to wordless babble. He teased me until I was quivering right on the verge of coming, then took his hand away and positioned himself to enter me.
“You don’t come without permission, understood?”
Not answering would get me another smack on the ass. I was so wound up, torn between chasing the orgasm he’d been on the verge of giving me and the buzzing, needy heat that last smack had left on my skin, I seriously had to consider what I wanted, a spanking or a fucking. In the moment I had to choose, I decided I wanted the fucking more, and choked out a shaky, “Yes, sir.”
“Good girl.” He growled deep in his throat as he slid into me. His palms held me down at the hips and pushed me into the couch as the tips of his fingers found purchase along the crests of my pelvis.
My pussy was almost unbearably full in that position with his cock buried to the hilt. He gave me time to adjust before he began to thrust. He started slowly, with long, smooth strokes that made me whimper and moan and wriggle my hips trying to achieve more friction. He was going to reduce me to begging for it. Again.
It didn’t take long before I started whining, “Please. Please, sir.”
“Please what, Jolene?”
I groaned but couldn’t form words.
“Please what, Jolene? For a girl with an English degree, you’re not being very good at using your words.”
How is he making jokes right now? I moaned and mumbled, “Please,” into the cushions some more, but it didn’t satisfy him.
“Say the words, Jolene. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what you want.” He slowed the pace of his thrusts to a crawl, teasing me with every inch of his cock from root to tip in a maddening display of control. “Tell me you want me to fuck you, Jolene. Tell me you want to clench your sweet, little cunt down around my cock while you come for me.”
How he expected me to respond coherently to the magnificent filth coming out of his mouth, I don’t know. “Please, please fuck me, sir.”
“What else, Jolene?” He pushed into me harder, but with no more speed.
He was going to make me say all of it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Please fuck me, sir. Please fuck me so I can clench my cunt around your cock while I come.”
It was enough. As soon as I got the words out he shifted his hands to my shoulders, using my body for leverage to piston into me. I arched my back into his thrusts as his cock stroked in and out of me over and over until my muscles started to tense and ripple, hurtling toward an orgasm.
Almost at the point of no return I remembered his injunction against coming without permission and cried out, “So close. Please, please, please, please.”
“You can come, Jolene.” He tucked a hand under me and found my clit. My body went rigid, teetering on the precipice. “You can come right…now.”
He pinched my clitoris between his thumb and forefinger, and I screamed into the couch cushion. I did, in fact, clench down around his cock, hard enough that he came with a yell before he collapsed on my back.
I don’t know how long we lay like that, me with my face pressed into the couch and Matthew sprawled over me, breathing into my neck, but I mumbled and snuffled in protest when he finally moved to get up and go to the bathroom.
When he came back, he pulled me upright, dropped me into his lap, and held me against his chest. I absently ran my fingers through the dusting of dark hair, mesmerized by the feel of his skin against mine. My mind was quiet, cocooned in his arms in a post-orgasmic haze, simply enjoying being held. We stayed snuggled up, not speaking, until his stomach rumbled and broke the spell.
I giggled into his shoulder and levered myself up off the couch. I held out my hand to help him up, but he pulled me back down. I straddled his hips as he pressed his face into my cleavage.
I leaned away and mock-glared at him. “I was promised breakfast, sir.”
He sighed and looked thoroughly put-upon before he lifted me up and set me on my feet. “Demanding little thing, aren’t you?”
“You did promise,” I pouted. “And we’ve both expended quite a bit of energy, you know.”
He cupped my cheek and kissed my forehead. “Fine. Go sit.” He pointed to the breakfast bar and I started to reach for my borrowed T-shirt. He snatched it away. “Nope.” He shook his head, wicked half smile in place. “Go sit.”
I raised my eyebrows but didn’t protest as I scampered into the kitchen to await my breakfast. Naked. And not even worrying about it. A niggling voice piped up from the back of my mind to tell me it was too easy to last long. The other shoe was going to drop, and it was going to suck when it did. I chose to ignore it, propped my chin in my hands, and rested my boobs on his cool granite counter.
He rounded the corner, dressed again in a T-shirt and boxers, and laughed. “Do you want breakfast, Jolene?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered with the straightest face I could muster.
“Then get your tits off my counter.” He couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice as he picked a spatula out of the utensil jar and swatted my breast with it.
I yelped and giggled. “Yes, sir.”