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Max is staring.
He’s sitting naked on the bench in her room while she adjusts the harness she fashioned out of spare belts. She’s naked too, except for the leather strapping on her new cock. It’s dull black rubber, angled up away from her body, blunt and just long enough to be sure it’ll reach the spot she wants it to.
He’s already halfway hard, just from looking.
“Where’d you…?”
“Made it. Told you I could.” Scrap rubber is easy enough to come by. It had just been a bit of trial and error, finding the right mixture that could be melted down to come out hard and smooth from the mold she made.
She steps closer to him, cock bobbing with the movement of her hips, her gaze catching the way his hands twitch and his tongue flicks over his lips. She’d debated keeping her arm on, but the dumbstruck look on his face makes her think one hand will be plenty to ensure he does what she wants.
She rakes her gaze up and down his body with a thoroughness that brings color to his cheeks. Oh…yeah…this is going to be fun.
“You can touch.”
He reaches out and strokes a finger along the underside of the smooth rubber, as if it’s real. And then he drops down onto his knees, his eyes on her while he sucks the tip of it into his mouth and—oh. Why is that so hot? It’s not like she can feel anything, but still…the sight of her temporary appendage disappearing between his plush lips….and the way he looks up at her with such naked trust while doing it…. She already knew what his mouth could do, but she thinks any man who’d had the pleasure of getting their cock sucked by Max was probably a lucky smeg.
She rocks her hips just slightly, her cock sliding in and out of his mouth. His hair has grown out to the perfect length for twisting her fingers through and she does that, not trying to hurt or control, just encouraging him.
His hand trails up between her legs, teasing her where she’s already gone slick and hot between the straps around the insides of her thighs, and, well, she’s not above indulging him for a moment. She lets him wring a breathy gasp or two out of her before she bites her lip and pushes his hand away, takes a step back to slide her cock out of his mouth, leaving a little trail of spit on his lips.
“That’s not what we’re here for.” Her voice is soft and easy but he complies instantly, waiting for a command with his wet fingers resting on his thigh.
When he’s on top she likes rough and aggressive, likes it when he makes her, but for him a light touch seems to be more than enough.
She tilts her head toward the bed. “Lie down. Show me how you want it.”
He crosses to the bed and lies down on his stomach. She’d hoped she would get to look at his face, instead of the tattoo across his back with PSY disappearing into a forest of scarred-over scratch marks. But she’s not surprised he wants the option to hide from her. And...he does have a very nice ass.
She puts the small bowl of palm oil and the other one filled with water mixed with a cup of Janey’s moonshine on the stone floor next to the bed. Then she kneels on the mattress and pushes his legs open with her knees, hears his stuttery exhale of breath against the sheets.
She leans over him, braced on one elbow, her hand in his hair again. Beneath her she can feel his body practically humming with nervous energy, and it sends a spark through her, all that coiled power held still and waiting, wanting, for her.
“I’m going to use my fingers, and then I’m going to fuck you with my cock,” she says softly, just a whisper in his ear. “Is that what you want?”
He makes some sort of whine into the sheets, but that’s not enough, she needs words for this part. She nuzzles down and bites him on the shoulder, demanding attention.
“Unh. Yes,” he huffs out.
“Good.” She licks at the spot where she just left teeth marks. “What do you do if it gets to be too much?”
“Say stop. Or tap out.”
“That’s right.” She licks along to his neck, making him shiver, and then withdraws and dips her fingers in the bowl of oil.
“Mm. ’F I…don’t talk much,” he mutters into the sheets, and on the half of his face that’s visible she can see the effort of forming words. “Doesn’t mean…don’t like it.”
“Oh. I think I can make you talk if I want to.” She slicks her oily fingers in a slow circle around his asshole.
He groans, hips twitching up, tension flickering through the muscles in his legs and ass. “Easy.” She rests her nub gently on his lower back while she gets more oil on her fingers, slides them around again, letting him get used to the touch. She waits until she sees his muscles relax before she presses a single digit inside.
He grunts, and she can feel the tight ring of muscle clench up around her finger for a minute before he can relax it. For that she rewards him by sliding in another inch. He moans.
“Okay?”
“Ngghhff.” His hands are clenched into the sheets.
“Words,” she says calmly.
His breath hitches once or twice before he gets out, “F-feels good.”
“I thought so.” Nothing reduces him to an inarticulate mess quite so effectively as pleasure.
She works her finger in and out slowly, until she can slip it in up to the knuckle with ease, and then she gets more oil and slides in a second one. He whimpers when she twists them around, working him open, exploring to find the spot that makes him grunt and arch up with a sudden, “Ffff—unghh.”
“Yeah…there?” She can just reach with her long fingers, but a toy will be better. She gets distracted for a minute, watching the muscles in his back ripple while she rubs and he clutches at the sheets. “You like having my fingers inside you?”
“Nnnngghhh.” It’s not really a word, but she thinks she’ll let this one slide.
“Are you ready for my cock?” Speaking is beyond him at this point, but he nods vigorously.
She slides her fingers out and he makes a little noise of disappointment. She cleans them in the alcohol-water and wipes them on the sheet, because fuck, she really wants to touch herself while she’s fucking him now.
He squirms while she smears a thick coat of oil on the toy. She gives him a warning to stay still with just an arch of an eyebrow.
“Hard,” he mutters with a soft laugh, rocking his hips against the sheet.
“I’ll bet.” His hand starts sneaking down before she adds, “No touching.”
He groans and gives her a mock-resentful look, but he goes back to clutching the sheets as she climbs back between his legs.
The noise he makes when she pushes the head of her cock into him is low and feral, an overwhelmed shiver running through his leg muscles where they’re splayed wide open against hers. She’s on her elbows, draped over his body so she can get the right angle, and she can feel the heat coming off him like an engine in the sun as she guides her cock in.
Once she pushes past the initial flinch of resistance the toy slides in with unexpected ease, making both of them moan. “Oh…Max…you’re so good at taking my cock,” she purrs in his ear. The bit of his face she can see is flushed bright red.
She starts rocking her hips, and every time she thrusts he moans against the sheets, hands clenching, the muscles in his forearms flexing. Finally she can’t help it, she reaches down to worm a hand between them and touch herself.
“So good,” she mutters against the back of his neck. “Make me wanna come while I fuck you.” She’s unconsciously speeding up as she plays with her clit, and then she snaps her hips hard and deep against him and he yelps.
“Okay?” She stills for a moment, worried she hurt him.
He’s shaking his head, and she doesn’t know if that means stop or keep moving. “Good,” he finally gasps out. “Do—again.”
She gives him another hard thrust and he groans obscenely, burying his face in the sheets. “Yes? Like that?” He nods, and the warmth that floods her is half relief and half renewed lust. “You like it hard like that?” She snaps her hips against him and he whines and squirms.
She fucks him like that through her orgasm, groaning and biting down on the meat of his shoulder while he makes wrecked little whimpers under her.
He’s bucking his hips up and she finally realizes it’s because he’s gotten uncomfortably hard. She urges him onto his side, a leg hooked around his to keep them pressed together. Her hand is still slick with oil and she doesn’t make him use any more words, just wraps her palm around his swollen cock and gives him long, firm strokes while she snaps her hips up into him.
When he comes he makes a broken-sounding noise, muscles clenching and curling him away from her. She can’t resist looking over his shoulder at the ribbons of white come splattering over the sheets and his lower belly. He usually comes inside her; it’s…kind of fascinating to watch like this. She keeps rocking against him, gently, until he gives an exhausted, shuddery sigh and taps the mattress twice.
She slides out of him carefully, suddenly aware of the burning ache in her stomach and thigh muscles. He curls up, facing away from her, while she unstraps the harness with tired, slippery fingers.
She climbs over his body, arranging herself around the mess of come on the sheets to lie facing next to him. He’s still curled up, silent and still, his hands tangled in the sheets, and the tiny bit of his expression that she can see looks lost.
She feels a cold rush of fear, wondering if she did something wrong, if she pushed too far without realizing it.
“Hey.” She brushes a slightly sticky hand through his hair. “You okay?”
His face scrunches up, a flicker of hurt or shame or something else, she can’t really tell, but then he swallows and nods slowly. “Good,” he rasps out. “Just…a lot.”
She scoots a little closer so she can put an arm around him, and he burrows his face against her neck, hands switching from clutching the sheets to clutching at her back. She’s not really sure if she’s doing the right thing, but she lets him stay there without moving, stroking his hair while the sweat dries on their skin.
When she tries to slide away some time later he clings to her. “Just gonna get us some water,” she murmurs. “Be right back.”
She comes back with the water pitcher and cup, and the cloth they use for washing. Wipes up the lingering slick of wetness and oil from between her legs, and then wets a clean corner of the cloth and takes care of the drying mess on his stomach and the inside of his thighs.
She downs a cup of water and then fills one for him. While he’s sipping, propped up on an elbow, he mutters without meeting her eyes, “You’re very good at that.”
She smiles and shrugs, trying not to notice the flush that creeps into his cheeks and how utterly disarming it is. “You’re very hot.”
She usually sleeps with her back against his chest, the position that feels safest to her, but tonight she lets him curl up with his face tucked against her shoulder, fingers hooked around the ridge of her shoulderblade until they relax with sleep.