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Subject: STORY: Just This Once [MF] Jordan Shelbourne
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Still retiring, still clearing out the back drawer of items I never
made quite good enough.  (I swear, this retirement is taking longer
than any of Frank Sinatra's. Or Gordie Howe's.) Take heart, though:
the drawer is nearly empty.

All of this stuff is available at The Ivory Gate website,
http://www.u36.com/jordan.
                                                      Jordan


Today's Quotation:
                After SCTV and my wife, nothing Canada produces
                surprises me any more.
                                                     [Blair P. Houghton]


                            JUST THIS ONCE

			   Jordan Shelbourne

[Tedious legal material:

[Copyright by the author, 1998. All rights retained. Please do not
archive without permission; for permission, contact me at
jordan@u36.com.]

Becky was waiting by the door, perched on the overstuffed chair. Two
roommates were away for the weekend and she had managed to shoo away the
other. She had changed her mind three times about having him pick her
up here, at home -- but finally she thought she might want to bring him
back. Afterwards. If it went well. She had to smile at that; bringing
someone home on the first date wasn't exactly her style. Hadn't been
until now, anyway. And he was married. That definitely wasn't her style.
Or his either, he said.

But, as she'd told him in e-mail, you only turn twenty-one once.
And they'd agreed that it might be okay to meet, just this once.

The knock was firm, which she liked. She stood, smoothed her dress
again, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

He was wearing a suit and topcoat. That surprised her. He had a
moustache; that surprised her too. She took in the rest quickly enough:
not tall, but still taller than she was. Not overweight but you could
tell getting buff in the gym wasn't his top priority. A redhead, all
pale otherwise: pale blue eyes and pale skin and pale freckles. He
wasn't anything special to look at, he'd said. She thought he looked
better than that.

"Hello," he said. "I'm looking for Becky." He was soft-spoken. She
liked his voice.

"Hi."  Not knowing what else to do, she stuck out her hand. He shook
it. His palm wasn't sweaty, and he didn't try to crush her hand. "Uh,
come in."

He stepped in, looked the place over non-judgementally. "If you'd like
the nickel tour--" He nodded, and it was quickly done. "I know it's
done in early poverty," she said -- I'm babbling, she thought, but
couldn't stop -- "but we're students."

"Hey," he said. "It's fine. I think it's a great place. You should
have seen some of the places I've rented." He gave her a thumbs-down
gesture. "One place was so bad I had to have rabies shots." She smiled.

He reached into a pocket and pulled out an envelope. "May I be the
zillionth person to say Happy Birthday?" The card made her laugh,
and then it seemed okay to give him a big hug. He returned it, and they
stood there for a moment, feeling the warmth of each other, hungry for
touch.

"I was worried there," she said. "E-mail is so different than being in
person."

"I understand. I hope I don't fall too short of your expectations."

"Well, I have to see your tush first." He laughed and turned for her.
"You're wearing a suit."

"You're on a date with an older man. Let them all think I'm your sugar
daddy."

She laughed again. It was easy to laugh. "And," she said, her heart
suddenly in her throat, "do I meet your expectations?"

"Well, I haven't seen your tush yet," he said, "but I'd have to say yes.
I had no idea what to expect -- but I tried. I figured you might be
pretty from your description, and you are. Pretty, that is."

She blushed. "Thank you."

He reached into a coat pocket and pulled out a small box. "I'd like you
to wear this tonight, if you don't mind."

"A corsage?"

"Not quite. Here's what you do. Into the washroom with you, this isn't
something I should see you putting on. If you choose not to wear it,
that's fine, too. But I'd like to think of you wearing it anyway, and I
don't want you to spoil my illusions just yet. Scoot."

"Oh, mystery! You sit down. What time are our reservations?"

"Six-thirty, but they'll hold until seven. I made arrangements."

She took the package and went into the bathroom. She cut the white
ribbon with nail scissors and then carefully peeled off the metallic
blue paper.

It was translucent blue rubber, looking like a piece of clay someone
had squeezed in her fist  and then smoothed. It rose up from a
broad base (not quite a suction cup), tucked in, swelled and then
tapered again to a soft point. She looked in the box again. There
was a little tube of K-Y jelly there, too.

Oh. It was a butt plug. That was going a bit fast.

On the other hand, fast can be fun. And they were only going to have
this one night.

On the other other hand, she didn't like him *assuming* they were
going to end up in bed together, even if she had invited him up
for just that.

On the other other other hand, she told herself, he specifically
said she didn't have to do it. And besides, one butt plug does not
intercourse make.

She started hot water pouring over the tiny tube before she lifted her
skirt and slipped out of her panties. The jelly was still shockingly
cold on her anus. She got a slippery grip on the plug, consciously
relaxed herself, and gently slid it in.

It felt *huge* and slick and she had to relax herself again and
then the bulge was inside her and the tightening of her sphincter
forced the plug the rest of the way inside her. She stood up and
moved her hips experimentally. She felt...oiled. Lubricated, as it
were. Very *aware* of her ass. She wiped the excess jelly with some
toilet paper, then pulled her panties back on. She adjusted her
garters one last time, dropped her skirt, and went back to the
living room.

Fully aware of her ass with every step.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

"Quite," she said, determined not to let him know it was in.

He held doors for her, which she liked. Once she was settled in
the car, he named the restaurant, which she had never heard of, and the
address, which she wasn't sure of. "Then I'll need you to give
directions." He leaned across her to pull a map from the door pocket.
The faintest hint of citrus made him smell clean. He got the map and
stopped to look in her eyes. He was so close she could feel the heat of
his skin and that was unexpectedly close, very intimate.
Arousal surged through her.

"Thank you," was all he said. She nodded, unsure of her voice.

The restaurant was small and uncluttered, but still cozy. "It's
nouvelle cuisine," he said. "But I have been told you should not
order an appetizer if you plan to have dessert. Not if you want to
be able to walk later."

When they sat down, he handed her another small envelope. "This is
the stop word," he said. "If at any time you don't like what I'm
doing, you say this word and I will stop." She opened it up. Printed
on the card was the word *gherkin*. "It's not likely to come up in
conversation," he told her.

"Except now I have this incredible urge to discuss pickles."

"On the other side," he went on, "is the quit sentence. Say that and
the evening is over, no questions asked. I'll get in the car and drive
away."

She flipped over the card. It read, *Thank you for a lovely evening, but
I'd rather you go now, please.*  She smiled. "It's very polite."

"I'm very polite. I say 'excuse me' when people bump into me."

She laughed. "Me too."

And then they talked. They spoke of the upcoming elections, and
she explained what the issues were likely to be. (She discovered
he actually listened to what she said, which pleased her tremendously.)
They discussed favourite writers. (He knew of the classics but had
not read many.) They argued over who wrote Shakespeare's plays.
(When interrupted by the sommelier, they agreed to switch stances,
since each thought the other had missed some important arguments.)
They described and shared their meals. (Rated his delicious and
hers excellent.) She told him about her ex-boyfriend; he talked about
the woman he hadn't married: relationships that had made each of
them crazy. He told her about his mother's death, and she explained
about her parents and grandparents. She thought later that they hadn't
just talked.  They argued,
rambled, discussed, discoursed, digressed and confessed.

And every time she leaned forward in the excitement of the discussion,
she was distracted momentarily by *awareness* -- that the plug made her
feel *full*, and kept the buzzing of sexuality constant throughout the
discussion.

He was cute, she decided, and she would sleep with him. She slipped her
shoe off under the table and stretched her left leg out. She rested her
foot between his thighs and pressed gently down with her sole. The lump
of his erection was obvious to her. He stumbled over what he was saying.
She smiled at him.

He bravely continued. "So I got to the point where I wanted to provoke
them. I mean, a guy in handcuffs in your restaurant shouldn't happen
every day. I started walking up to the waitress station and asking for
things." He shook his head. "Never fazed them."

"Do you still have them?" she asked.

"The handcuffs? No, I lent them to a fellow to use with his girlfriend.
He never returned them, so I guess they liked them."

"Darn," she said and pouted for him.

"Well, I knew your ideal birthday celebration involved Canadian B&D."
She raised her eyebrows. "Bondage and dinner," he explained. "So here."
>From his suitcoat pocket he produced another tiny package.

She laughed as she opened it. "How many presents did you bring?" The
box held gold earrings in the shape of tiny handcuffs. "They're great!"
she said. "Where did you find them?" She set about removing her pearl
studs.

"A friend picked them up for me at a leather shop in Detroit."

She had the handcuffs in. "How do they look?"

"I'm biased, but I think they look great. Just symbolic bondage, but
that can be the strongest of all."

She nodded. "What I really need to set them off is a lot of black leather."

He patted his pockets. "Left that in the other suit, I guess."

The bill arrived and he paid it without questioning. He was not
surprised at the cost, wasn't worried about whether he could pay
it, and didn't complain. She liked that. She could get used to
dating older men.

In the car, he said, "I thought we might like to go dancing next. Do you
have a favourite place to go?"

"Yes," she said. "My place."
</P><P ALIGN="CENTER">
                             * * *

She came out of the kitchen with their wineglasses to find him looking
through her CDs.

"Anything appeal to you?" she asked as she set down the glasses.

He looked her up and down again. "You mean musically, of course.
It's your birthday. Are you feeling fast"--he held up one CD--"or
slow?"--he held up another.

"Cop-out," she said. "Pick one."

"I have to warn you," he said as he put on the slow one. "I can't
dance." He was not entirely correct.

As the CD played, they moved closer together, his thigh moving
between hers. She pulled him tightly to her chest, closed her eyes,
inhaled his scent. He slid his hand down her back to the base of
her spine. He kissed the base of her throat, and she moaned, pressing
her crotch hard against him. He kissed her again, and again. He
kissed behind her ear, then sucked her earlobe into his mouth. His
thumb stroked lazy patterns, not quite caressing her ass, making
her aware yet again of the plug.

She bathed in the slow sweet torture of it. As her desire grew, she
moaned again and nuzzled his neck.

"You're lovely," he murmured. He smoothed his hands down her back, from
her shoulders down to cup her buttocks, pulling her momentarily against
crotch. She felt the hardness of his cock, and she sighed.

"Do you like that?" he asked, and she nodded, her head still resting on
his shoulder. He pulled her against him again, and they stood there for
a moment, pelvises pressed together, feeling each other.

"Um," she said, and she pulled away to look him in the eye. "The music's
stopped."

"I hadn't noticed." He kissed her softly on her mouth. A good kiss; he
didn't slobber, his lips were soft, he didn't immediately try to fuck
her mouth with his tongue. She kissed him back. They kissed each
other, their kisses softening until their tongues met. They stood there
for a long time, kissing and exploring each other. She teased his
tongue, threatening to bite it, chasing it into his mouth with hers.

Her breasts were hard with need. She could feel how damp she was,
how her labia had swollen. She rocked her crotch against him, against
his erection, and kissed him fiercely. "I want you," she whispered.
She began to kiss and bite his chin, his ear, his neck.

"I want you," he said huskily. "I want to kiss you here"--his hands
brushed her shoulders--"and here"--the sides of her breasts--"and
here"--her ribs--"and here"--he pulled her ass tightly against him.
She felt the plug move as her groin was crushed against him. She moaned
and slipped his jacket off.

"Yes." She clawed at the ridges of his back as she kissed his throat.

"I'm going to eat you," he said, "until you come. I'm going to lick
and suck and nibble you because I want to see you come." He cupped
her breasts in his hands and squeezed. She gasped and pressed
herself to him again. "And I'm going to fuck you."

"Ummmm," and she kissed him on the mouth again. "You sure? Because
I think *I'm* going to fuck *you*." She traced a line down his
chest to his belt buckle. "It's been so long since I had sex I
don't remember who gets tied up anymore."

He chuckled. "Joan Rivers."

"Only time she ever made me laugh."

He gently disengaged himself. "If we're going to be doing all this
fucking, sucking, and biting, we'll need birth control. Excuse me."

She was pleased but manufactured a pout. "I can't believe you don't
have them in your pocket."

He shrugged. "They're very *big* condoms..." She laughed.

He was back in a moment with an overnight bag. She arched an eyebrow
and said, "Those *are* big condoms."

He grinned. "I buy them at Condom Ginny Plus."

"And you have a *hard* time with that."

"They charge me a *stiff* price."

She winked. "Especially for something you're only going to use for two
minutes."

"The first one." He pulled her close and kissed her deeply again. "But
I brought extras, and I may manage to last longer the second time."
Another searching kiss. "And the third."

She chuckled. "Promises, promises." She unbuttoned his shirt and slipped
her hand inside to feel his smooth chest. He moaned softly as she
found his nipples, and she raked her nails across his chest. He inhaled
deeply, happily.

She tumbled into desire, then: Fingers shaking, she was pulling at
his tie and his shirt, trying to pull them off. She could see the
five red lines on his pale skin. Her mark on him. She could feel
her labia, already long and wet and hot.

He reached around and began unfastening the back of her dress without
fumbling. She heard an appreciative murmur when he discovered her lacy
bra, and a second murmur when he found the matching garter belt.

"I think we'll leave this on for a moment," he said.

She began walking to her room, pulling him by his pants. "I thought I'd
wear something appropriate to your generation."

He grunted as he grabbed at the overnight bag. "Honey chile, the
elders of my generation burned their bras and only wore underpants
on Sundays."

"I know," she said. "That's why you love this stuff."

He ran a finger down her spine; she shivered. "It's true," he said.

In her room, they melted against each other again, thirsty for touch
and taste. Her fingers danced down his ribs, his hips, and over
the hard bulge. She squeezed his buttocks hard, then pulled his
shirt-tails out and slipped her hands under his shirt to rake her
fingernails gently over the skin. He arched his back in pleasure,
like a big cat. She chuckled in his ear.

He pulled her dress down over her shoulders and arms until it fell
in a ring at her feet. She stepped out of it, feeling shy, and he
just looked, smiling. "So pretty," he murmured. She blushed and
moved to him, to be doing something.

As she quickly undressed him--tie, shirt, socks--he touched her.
Light strokes and caresses on bare skin: the ridge of her spine,
the slight bulge of flesh over the cups of the bra, the hip-skin
between garter belt and panties. She gasped when he slipped his
fingers into the crotch of her panties and stroked her wet vulva.

Tired of waiting, she undid his trousers and pulled undershorts
and trousers down together. His cock gently straightened and
stiffened until the plum-head bobbed just below her nose. The scent
was distinct and pleasant. She touched the tip of her tongue to
it, then exhaled softly onto it. He voiced a small sigh.

She held the shaft in her hand to examine it. He stood steady,
waiting, like a racehorse in the starting gate. His erect cock was
not as large as her boyfriend's had been, but it was larger than
the (few) others she'd seen. The shaft was straight, without bend
or curve, and she could just make her thumb and middle finger reach
around it. She jacked him gently, fascinated by the fold of foreskin
that appeared and disappeared.

She had planned to tease him a square millimeter at a time but
instead she gave a long hot lick along the length of his cock. He
gasped, then moaned as she took the head in her mouth and gently
sucked. His hips trembled with restraint, but he still stood steady.
She swirled the smooth hot skin with her tongue, enjoying the
surprisingly delicate flavour.

"Ahem."

She looked up at his face. His expression was tight. "So soon?" she
teased.

"You're goddam sexy."

"You're just easy."

"But not cheap," he said as he helped her to stand again. "My turn."

He stood behind her, nuzzling her neck, his hard cock poking her
in the small of her back. He cupped and squeezed her breasts as he
sucked and bit on her neck and shoulders. She liked rough foreplay,
but not at first -- she had to build up to it. He started gently
and tested her, easing off if she flinched, never crossing the
boundary so often it became a burden.

His hands were all over her torso, stroking and caressing, as he
kissed and nipped his way down her back.  She spread her legs for
him as his kisses reached the base of her spine.  As he kissed and
licked her buttocks, his fingers deftly and delicately explored
her from the front. When one finger finally slipped inside her,
she had to bend over and lean on the bed, gasping.

He worked the butt-plug for a moment, pressing his fingers against
it from inside her pussy. Then he pushed it firmly into place again
and bit and sucked his way up the front of her body, finger-fucking
her all the time. He raked the fingernails of his other hand along
her back. His bites on her nipples were small explosions.

She climbed on the bed, off his fingers, and pulled him after her.
She grabbed his face and kissed him carelessly, urgently, on his
eyelids, earlobes, chin, cheeks -- painfully hard kisses that
bruised her lips. She grabbed his hot cock and breathed into his
ear. "What now?"

"And now," he said in his best Monty Python accent, "the oral sex!"

She giggled.

He nestled himself between her legs and kissed her thighs; she
wiggled her toes against his ribs. He snickered and then blew on
her damp lips.  She moaned and lifted her hips up to his face. He
touched his tongue to her *there* and *there* and *there*,
gauging
her response. She moaned again to encourage him. With one broad
lick, he momentarily satisfied her need to be touched.

She angled her hips at him just so and he teased the hood of her
clit.  As she moved her hips, he changed how and where he licked
her. Suddenly she wasn't a recipient, she was a participant; and
this turned her on even more. This was not like when her boyfriend
had (grudgingly) gone down on her.

She experimented for minutes, learning to guide him wordlessly to
where she wanted him.  His tongue seemed tireless, and she brought
herself to the edge of climax -- to the point where she could no
longer control her movements.  Then she had either to use words or
to trust him.

She chose to trust him.

Once again he began to tease her.  Gentle nips on her labia, her
thighs, and the stalk of her clit sent pulsations through her as
his fingers rhythmically filled her and stretched her.  His weight
held her hips down though she tried to buck.  The helplessness of
it thrilled her, and then he took her sensitive -- so sensitive!
-- clit between his teeth.  She reached down and clutched his head.
He sucked, hard, and with his tongue on her clit pushed her over
the edge into a lovely long bright orgasm.  He continued as long
as she held him there.

Finally, exhausted, she let go, and he crawled up the bed beside
her.

"Mmmm," she said. "That's nice."

"Nice?" he said in soft mock indignation.  "That's all?  'Nice' is
when your Aunt Mamie gives you a quilt.  'Nice' is when that boy
in grade eight walks you home.  'Nice' is a kind of cookie."

She smiled. "It's pronounced 'neece.'"

"Very well. 'Neece' is a city in France."

"No, 'niece' is your brother's daughter." She looked him in the eyes.
"And as for it being nice... Guess what? We're lying on a quilt my
Aunt Lulu gave me." She held up one hand and wiggled her fingers.
"And these are a kind of cookie." She winked. "Ladyfingers." She
reached down and stroked his hard-on.

"Sweet," he said, and closed his eyes, smiling.

She rolled onto her side and whispered in his ear, still stroking
his cock.  "And you know what else?" She threw her leg over him.
"I fucked that boy from grade eight."

She slid herself along his body, feeling her lips spread pressed
against his belly. His cock poked her between her buttocks. She
reached back and pushed it down.

He grabbed her hips. "Condoms," he said.

She frowned.  She didn't want to stop and get a condom. She didn't
want to be responsible and careful and good.  She wanted to feel
him inside her, without a condom.  He moved his shoulders and she
pressed down on them, holding him still.  "Gherkin," she said.

"Excuse me?"

"Shhh." She calculated. Her period was due day after tomorrow,
which was part of the reason she was feeling so randy, and why her
breasts were so swollen and sensitive right now. She'd risked worse
with her boyfriend, and it had been okay. "You heard me. Gherkin."

"I heard you," he murmured. "I just didn't believe you."

"Believe me." She leaned down to kiss him again, her breasts mashed
against his chest. He was hesitant at first, then he kissed back
with increasing fervor.

She liked the absolute veto power of the stop word.  She was tempted
to use it again just because he would obey it. She resisted the
temptation; it was one thing to avoid using a condom when she was
pretty sure she was safe but it was another thing to jerk her
partner around.

Instead, she reached behind her for his erect cock.  She wiggled
her hips to help guide it, and then she slowly sank down on him,
feeling him fill her.  She slowly sat up, which pushed his cock
even farther inside her.  She sat there, feeling full: full of cock
and butt-plug.  He reached for her clit, but she blocked his hand.
He reached for her breasts instead.  She rubbed and stroked her
clit; he caught her rhythm and moved against her, letting her ride
him like waves in the ocean.  She came with another sudden bright
orgasm.  In the midst of it, she thought maybe he was coming too,
for he had stopped moving, and his hands clutched her breasts
deliciously tightly.

But she gasped as then he began to move again, urging her on again.
She did not expect to come another time -- once was her usual --
but she felt her body begin the long warm climb again.  She fell
forward onto him, and they rolled ungainly over.  He thrust
rhythmically into her.  She squeezed her eyes shut; she felt so
full, so sensitive and so stretched.  His thumb found her clit,
and she threw her head back and cried out in surprise as she came
again.  He thrust himself into her, hard, and held himself there,
and she thought perhaps he had come.

He hadn't. His cock was still hard, and he moved slowly inside her.

"Mmmm," she said without opening her eyes.

"Mmmm-hmmm," he agreed.

"But you didn't come."

"Mmmm-hmmm," he agreed again. "The better to fuck you again, my
dear."

"I want you to come."

"I will." He chuckled. "Trust me, I will. But I can't, just yet."

She looked at him. He didn't look like he was joking.

"That's how it is with me," he said. "There's a sort of threshold
early on, and if I'm going to come, that's when. If I hold off past
it, then I probably won't come. That time."

"I never heard of that. Are all guys like that?"

He laughed. It made his cock jerk inside her. "I have no idea.
We don't actually talk about this stuff."

"You ought to." She put her hand on his hips to stop his movement.
"I'm just a bit sensitive."

He pulled out and kissed her mouth.  "You're all sweaty."

"It's hard work, coming like that. You're all sweaty, too."

"It's hard work, not coming like that."

She reached down to touch his cock where it lolled against his hip.
"Would you come if I sucked your cock?"

"Maybe."

"Does your-- Does your wife mind it's so hard to make you come?"

He chuckled again. "It's not hard to make me come at all. I just
have the option of not-coming. And I take a long time to get it up
again after I come. I thought it was better to make it last."

"Oh," she said, feeling easier. "So next time will you decide to
come?"

"Depends on whether you think there'll be a time *after* next.  Don't
think I'm not going to come with you. Don't think you're not sexy
enough or exciting enough to make me come. Because that's not true."

She stretched lazily beside him. "So we just have to have sex again."

"Or maybe again and again."

She frowned with as much severity as she could manage and wagged
a finger at him.  "You listen to me, mister.  Sometime tonight, I
want to feel you come.  I don't care where, as long as I'm there."

"Yes, ma'am," he said meekly, trying not to grin. "Living room,
bedroom, or bathroom?"

"I was actually thinking mouth, pussy, or ass." She smiled. "Or
fingers, nipples, or tummy."

"Hey, which word do you prefer -- pussy or cunt?" He rested his
head on his hand and looked at her.

"Pussy," she said immediately. "Cunt's just a bit crude."

"Hmmm. Because I have other friends who think 'pussy' is just the
outside -- all those years of reading about shaved pussies, I guess.
And still others who feel the way you do." He tugged gently at her
arm.  "Roll over and let me give you a back rub."

And then they were chatting again.  Becky felt oddly pleased, and
it wasn't just orgasmic afterglow or the pleasant back rub.  Finally
she realized she felt pleased that she was obviously in the category
of friend.  Although, she told herself, we are lying together naked.
That ought to count for *something*.

After a long warm time, he got off the bed. "What are you doing?" she
murmured sleepily.

"You'll see."

She heard him rustling about.  As she lay there, comfortably relaxed,
he lifted one of her hands and kissed the palm.  Then he wrapped
something around her wrist.

"Too tight?"

"No."

"Good." He wrapped the other wrist. She still didn't open her eyes,
and then she heard the jingling of chains. This time she made a
conscious decision not to look -- though it was an effort. He
touched her wrists again and then sat on the edge of the bed.
"There," he said, "how does that feel?"

She tugged experimentally. Chain jingled. Her arms moved a short distance,
then stopped. The wrist-wraps kept the pressure light and comfortable.
She opened her eyes and looked. Broad nylon webs were wrapped around her
wrists; they kept the pressure light and comfortable. Clips fastened
them to the chains.

"It feels fine," she said. "You *do* come equipped."

He shrugged. "I had to borrow the gear. But you said you like it,
and--you know what?" He ran a finger between her damp lips, dipping
it into her, then rubbed that fingertip across her mouth before
sucking on it himself. "I like it too."

She smacked her lips, tasting herself. "What now?"

"You'll see."

"I can't see anything except the headboard of the bed. Ooooh," she
said as two of his fingers slipped into her.  He pulled gently up.
She had to follow and finally she was on her knees with her shoulders
still on the bed.  She stopped talking.

He began to kiss her muscular buttocks and thighs, gradually working
in towards the centreline. He stroked her gently with his hands,
then slipped his tongue inside her. She could feel pressure against
the butt plug.

With one hand he began to work the butt plug, moving it in her ass. He
tugged gently on it and she felt her asshole widen; then he pushed it
back in, and it seemed to go deeper than it had before.

Despite what she'd said, she had never had anal sex.  Her boyfriend
had been too large; she hadn't wanted to risk the pain.  Jack was
not as large as her boyfriend had been but still...

With his other hand he played with her lips, her pussy, her clit.
She could feel the orgasm coming, but it was held at bay by the
uncertainty of what he was doing to her ass.

She writhed her hips, trying to get him to push her off that
knife-edge and commit to the orgasm. Instead he pulled out the
butt-plug, and she felt shockingly empty. She hadn't realized how
accustomed she'd grown to that fullness. She whimpered.

"Shhh," he said. "It's okay." She felt one wet finger enter her
asshole, rough in comparison to the familiarity of the butt-plug,
but filling her. She felt his tongue on her clit, and moved closer
to orgasm.

She hadn't realized she could ride this close to orgasm without
coming, and she whimpered again.

She couldn't think anymore; everything had funneled to her hips,
where there was a peculiar kind of slow gravity centered on her
clit.  All sensation fell there. She barely noticed the fingers in
her ass, pulling and stretching, except that they kept her from
coming.

Her eyes were squeezed shut so tightly she saw only slow, sloe
afterimages. She tried to reach back but the chains stopped her.
She could feel the pressure of his hot hard cockhead against her
thigh, and that sensation too fell somehow to her clit.

His tongue left her clit and stroked her labia, rimmed her cunt,
and slicked her asscheeks.

He adjusted positions again and hugged her from behind. His cock
pressed against her clit again, and he slid it against her, inside
her cunt, pulled it out and slid it between her cheeks, then filled
her cunt again, still slowly, still gently.

He pulled out and she whimpered again. Then she felt the coolness
of lubricant against her hot asshole. She jerked suddenly against
the restraints.

"Hush," he said, working the lubricant into her asshole. "You know the
word to stop me."

She froze, suddenly unable to remember the stop word. Oh, yes.
Gherkin, that was it. She didn't say it yet. After all, it didn't
hurt yet.

He stroked her back and sides strongly, evenly. "Did I tell you
how beautiful your ass is?" He cupped the cheeks of her ass. She
could feel the lubricant in her asshole. "It's gorgeous. All that
horseback riding, no doubt. And I really want to do this. You'll
enjoy it."

"I know," she said. His fingers flickered over her clit, her belly,
her nipples, her shoulders, the nape of her neck, her spine. She
shuddered once, then pressed her ass back against him.

She willed herself to relax, relax, relax as she felt his *huge*
cock enter her. She relaxed a bit; he entered a bit -- she groaned
-- and then she relaxed a bit more. His cock slid back out a bit,
and they pushed together again. He was groaning too. It was too
big, she thought, too big, thank God she'd never done this with
her boyfriend, his cock had to be a foot long, no, the size of a
rolling pin, no, a baseball bat. Jesus, she felt *full*.

She felt his hips against her ass. They stopped moving then,
breathing raggedly. He ran his hands over her again. "Can you feel
it?" he whispered in her ear. "Can you feel my cock in your ass?"

"I can't feel anything else."

"I like it. I like how it feels. You feel so good to me."

She grunted in a high-pitched way she hated. "It hurts. A little."

"Relax," he said. "That's what makes it good. Relaxing."

She barked one laugh. "*Your* ass isn't full of cock." He started
to move, slowly, and she made a little sound she couldn't classify.
She hurt, yes, but the feeling of his cock in her was sexual, was
sexy. He was nearly all the way out now and started back in. It
was easier this time; the pain was an occasional twinge, and it
was different, she discovered.  It was bright, sexy pain, like
love-bites or fingernail scrapes, and it fueled her arousal.

She was going to say something about this discovery, but then his
fingers found her clit again.  She made nonsense sounds as she
pulled against the chains as hard as she could, and there was a
rhythm hidden in there, a rhythm he found as he thrust into her
and it wasn't her ass it was sex, just sex, good sex, and she fell
into another orgasm.  Her sweat-damp hair stuck to her face as her
head flipped back and forth and finally she cried, "Oh, oh, oh,"
in the rhythm of her climax. The contractions were so strong, so
surprisingly strong, she forgot to breathe.

As her orgasm waned, his waxed.  He pressed against her tightly
and against her again.  He moaned and she felt his cock tighten,
stiffen, and pulse inside her and then she felt something hot and
wet impossibly far inside her and she knew it was his come.

She gasped for air then and noticed his hands were on her hips --
when had he moved them there?  -- and his cock was still hard and
huge inside her.  Her thighs were trembling; so were his. She
lowered herself to the bed; gently, so he could follow. He wrapped
his arms around her shoulders and hugged her tightly, nuzzling and
kissing her neck.

"Do you think it's hot in here?" he asked.

"Pretty god damn fucking hot," she said.  "You came."

"I came."

"Good." He nuzzled her ear for a while as his cock slowly softened.
When he finally eased out of her, she was mortified by the rude
fart sound.  Something wet trickled out of her ass.

He chuckled. "Better out than in, my uncle used to say."

"It was damn good in." She jingled the chains. "You better untie
me so I can clean up." She sighed. "If I can walk. My legs feel
like rubber." She heard him running water in the bathroom and closed
her eyes. Her asshole still felt enormous.

When he came back, he didn't untie her.  Instead, he took a warm
wet cloth and cleaned her, then kissed her dry.  She murmured her
appreciation. Then he began to massage her with scented oil. With
the scent of sandalwood in her nostrils, she dozed off.

She was half-conscious when she rolled over, feeling the sweaty
heat of his body beside her, and then she was all conscious as she
realized she had rolled over. Dawnlight was leaking around the
curtains.

She looked over at him. He was awake and watching her. "Good morning,"
he said.

She stretched and smiled lazily. "Good morning."

"I have to go. I have to be on the road by eight."

"Um." She had known that. She had been fine with it. Now she didn't
know how she felt about it.

He started to say something, stopped, and shrugged at the inadequacy
of words. He leaned forward and kissed her tenderly on the mouth.

"Thank you," he said softly. "For being a good dinner partner. And
for being a great sexual partner."

She hugged him fiercely. "No, thank *you.*"

She lay on the bed and watched him dress. "Hold on," she said to him.

"What is it? My fly's down?"

She moved herself to a sitting position and reached out to him.
"No, the problem is it's *up.*" She unzipped his pants and pushed
down his shorts.  He was already getting hard. With her best Sally
Field impression, she chirped, "Oh, you like me! You really like
me!" He chuckled.  She could smell his arousal, his scent mixed in
with hers.

She cupped his balls in her hand and took his cockhead in her mouth,
enjoying the feel of it as it got harder, smoother and thicker in her
mouth. She swirled her tongue over the head, then began to give him
the most pleasure she could. She licked and sucked him, then took him as
deeply into her throat as she could manage. He made a small animal sound.
She hummed, and then began to bob her head until he got the idea and he
was fucking her face and they were both moaning.

With one hand she reached between his legs and with the other she
reached between her own. Even after all of last night, she was wet again.
He pushed against her, indicating she should lie down.

She had enough presence of mind to glance at her bedside clock. If
he fucked her now, she knew they would not get out of bed today.
She didn't lie down.  Instead, she stroked his cock with both hands
as she sucked on it.

He twined his fingers in her hair, his grip tight as he moaned one
more time and then his cock pulsed three times as he came in her
mouth.  She swallowed some of it and held the rest in her mouth.
When he kissed her, she passed it back to him. He swallowed it
easily.

"Thank you," he said. "You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to."

She put on her robe to walk him to the door, then kissed him once
more, reluctant to let him go. He clutched her tightly against his
body, exploring her mouth one last time. She could taste his come
again. His fingers danced along her back, her buttocks, and then
between their bodies, between her legs, between her lips. She gasped
as he stroked her, then returned urgently to the kiss.  He fondled
her to orgasm quickly, surprisingly. She sagged against him, almost
as much in surprise at the speed of it as from the orgasm itself.

He brought his hand up between their faces and kissed his own fingers 
clean. She could smell herself, and watching his tongue move over and
between his fingers, she began to get aroused yet again. Down, girl! she
told herself firmly. We agreed that it would be just this once.

She took that damp hand and led him to the door. There she kissed him
one last lingering time, a soft kiss of emotion instead of sex. She
sighed, almost entirely content.

"Good-bye," he said softly.

"Good-bye." And then, as he opened the door, she responded to that
whisper of discontent: "Jack?"

He stopped, turned back.

"A girl only turns twenty-two once, you know."

He grinned. "See you next year."


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