it can be nearly soothing, or burn. Touch me more, and I’ll tell you how it feels.”
She held still for a moment, and then around the edges of his blindfold, Darius felt the light get stronger.
Her fingers circled him, measuring his girth.
“I like that,” Darius said. “I like a firm touch, especially around the base. Move your hand up, along the shaft, and just there, under the tip. The tip is particularly sensitive, and that spot, more sensitive still.”
“What do you mean, sensitive?”
“Easily aroused.”
“Like your…”
“Nipples,” he said the word slowly, teasingly. “My balls are sensitive too.”
“These.” She slipped her hand down, and he raised his knees and spread his legs to give her room to maneuver. He did not dare tell her he was proud of her boldness.
“Those.” Darius sighed at the pleasure of it—she was unfailingly, beguilingly gentle. He’d missed gentleness in bed desperately and not even known it. “One good, hard squeeze, and you’d have me retching on my knees. They’re that sensitive.”
She didn’t squeeze, she caressed, a soft, fondling pass of her fingers that learned the shape of him as it pleased as it… stirred.
“So odd, your manly bits.” He couldn’t see her smile, but he could feel it. “This is all very interesting, but now what do we do with it?”
“We needn’t do anything.” He lifted his hips though, for she’d gone back to sleeving his cock with her fingers. “I just wanted to acquaint you with my equipment, so to speak.” Because William, in five years of marriage, apparently hadn’t bothered.
“I have a question.”
“I won’t hurt you.” He found her hand and brought it to his lips. “You’re wondering how this will fit, how it will work, and I can assure you, you’ll enjoy it.”
“Give me leave to doubt,” she said, wrapping her hand around him. “I think your dimensions have increased even while I’ve been touching you.”
“You’re built for bearing children. I won’t hurt you.” He was taking a vow, whether she comprehended it or not.
“I’m built for bringing forth children in pain,” she reminded him. “Angela says Scripture does not exaggerate.”
“And how many children does your sister have?”
“Three.” Her hand paused. “With another one on the way.”
“This won’t be awful, Vivvie.” He arched into her touch again. “I’m not moving my hands.”
“I didn’t say you were.” She stroked him again while her other palm passed over his nipple, and he had to fist both hands hard to keep from dragging her over him. “Why do women spank you?”
“How do you know it’s women?”
“All right.” She caught a rhythm, her hands synchronizing on the respective parts of his body. “Why do you let anybody hurt you?”
His wits had been ambushed by honest arousal, and he lacked the mental focus to dodge her question. “It makes them feel good, and it’s profitable. And it doesn’t hurt that much.”
She fell silent, thank a merciful god.
“If you keep that up,” he whispered, “I can spend, Vivvie. You don’t have to do this.”
She didn’t stop, so he tried again.
“If you just want to play”—his hips were moving in counterpoint to her hand—“I can hold off, but…”
“It’s sharp now, isn’t it, the yearning?” she said, her tongue grazing his nipple.
“And sweet.” His hand ached to caress her hair, to smooth the curve of her shoulder, to guide her breast to his mouth. “Very sweet.”
“Spend,” she whispered the word just before she passed her tongue over his nipple once more, and though he forced himself to hold off a few moments more, that was truly all he could manage. His balls drew up tight, his spine tingled, and pleasure, hot, fierce, sweet, and achy welled out from his groin as he came.
“Jesus… God…” He shivered with it, bowed up, pushed hard against the snug pressure of her fingers, and let it drown him, the sheer relief of it
She held still for a moment, and then around the edges of his blindfold, Darius felt the light get stronger.
Her fingers circled him, measuring his girth.
“I like that,” Darius said. “I like a firm touch, especially around the base. Move your hand up, along the shaft, and just there, under the tip. The tip is particularly sensitive, and that spot, more sensitive still.”
“What do you mean, sensitive?”
“Easily aroused.”
“Like your…”
“Nipples,” he said the word slowly, teasingly. “My balls are sensitive too.”
“These.” She slipped her hand down, and he raised his knees and spread his legs to give her room to maneuver. He did not dare tell her he was proud of her boldness.
“Those.” Darius sighed at the pleasure of it—she was unfailingly, beguilingly gentle. He’d missed gentleness in bed desperately and not even known it. “One good, hard squeeze, and you’d have me retching on my knees. They’re that sensitive.”
She didn’t squeeze, she caressed, a soft, fondling pass of her fingers that learned the shape of him as it pleased as it… stirred.
“So odd, your manly bits.” He couldn’t see her smile, but he could feel it. “This is all very interesting, but now what do we do with it?”
“We needn’t do anything.” He lifted his hips though, for she’d gone back to sleeving his cock with her fingers. “I just wanted to acquaint you with my equipment, so to speak.” Because William, in five years of marriage, apparently hadn’t bothered.
“I have a question.”
“I won’t hurt you.” He found her hand and brought it to his lips. “You’re wondering how this will fit, how it will work, and I can assure you, you’ll enjoy it.”
“Give me leave to doubt,” she said, wrapping her hand around him. “I think your dimensions have increased even while I’ve been touching you.”
“You’re built for bearing children. I won’t hurt you.” He was taking a vow, whether she comprehended it or not.
“I’m built for bringing forth children in pain,” she reminded him. “Angela says Scripture does not exaggerate.”
“And how many children does your sister have?”
“Three.” Her hand paused. “With another one on the way.”
“This won’t be awful, Vivvie.” He arched into her touch again. “I’m not moving my hands.”
“I didn’t say you were.” She stroked him again while her other palm passed over his nipple, and he had to fist both hands hard to keep from dragging her over him. “Why do women spank you?”
“How do you know it’s women?”
“All right.” She caught a rhythm, her hands synchronizing on the respective parts of his body. “Why do you let anybody hurt you?”
His wits had been ambushed by honest arousal, and he lacked the mental focus to dodge her question. “It makes them feel good, and it’s profitable. And it doesn’t hurt that much.”
She fell silent, thank a merciful god.
“If you keep that up,” he whispered, “I can spend, Vivvie. You don’t have to do this.”
She didn’t stop, so he tried again.
“If you just want to play”—his hips were moving in counterpoint to her hand—“I can hold off, but…”
“It’s sharp now, isn’t it, the yearning?” she said, her tongue grazing his nipple.
“And sweet.” His hand ached to caress her hair, to smooth the curve of her shoulder, to guide her breast to his mouth. “Very sweet.”
“Spend,” she whispered the word just before she passed her tongue over his nipple once more, and though he forced himself to hold off a few moments more, that was truly all he could manage. His balls drew up tight, his spine tingled, and pleasure, hot, fierce, sweet, and achy welled out from his groin as he came.
“Jesus… God…” He shivered with it, bowed up, pushed hard against the snug pressure of her fingers, and let it drown him, the sheer relief of it
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