I scrolled down to the text, still expecting Rick Astley’s smug fucking face at any moment.
Could you be our unicorn? We are a married D/s couple in our forties looking for a submissive who likes to take orders and dish out pain to a vocal, needy masochist.
My lips parted. Vocal, needy masochist? Oh, hell, this was a phishing scheme, then, wasn’t it? Instead of Rick-rolling me, they were going to ask for my credit card information and try to bleed me dry. Because there was no possible way a couple of hot, older dudes wanted someone like me. But God help me, if they asked, they could have my credit card number, because seriously, they had me at “vocal, needy masochist.”
I might not be what they were looking for, and now that I looked, the post had been up for a few months, so it was possible they’d already found someone and had just forgotten to take it down. Still, it was worth a shot. And hell, nothing ventured, nothing gained. It wasn’t like I had anything else going on aside from trying to turn this house into someplace I could live without losing my mind.
So, I wrote back:
I’m a sub and a sadist. Would love to meet, see if there’s chemistry, and talk details. – Kelly
Heart thumping, I sent the message. Then I put my phone aside and lay back, hands laced behind my head as I stared up at the ceiling.
And I couldn’t help wondering what the guys who’d put up that post were like.
Three
Will
“I said harder.”
Aaron tightened his grasp on my hips, and he slammed into me harder, nearly knocking me onto the mattress we were bent over. He grunted with exertion, and his hips and legs were probably burning with fatigue, but he didn’t let up because I didn’t give him permission.
I closed my eyes and let my head fall forward as I moaned. When he was fucking me this close to oblivion, it took work to stay in control of both of us, but I did, and I purred encouragement peppered with commands not to slow down. This was delicious torture for him—keeping up the grueling pace and also keeping his orgasm back. From his sharp, uneven breathing, he was getting close to begging me to let him come, and oh, yes, I wanted him to beg. I’d give him what he wanted, but he had to earn it, he had to plead for it, and when I gave him the word, he’d be grateful for it.
Aaron adjusted his grip, his hands slick with sweat, and though he didn’t slow down, his rhythm faltered. Then again. “I’m so close,” he moaned. “Please… Please, can I come?”
“You want it?”
“Yes.” His rhythm was falling apart now, the way it always did when he was ready to lose it. “Will… Fuck. You feel so… Please let me come.”
“Not yet.”
He grunted in frustration. His rhythm was on. Off again. On again.
“Not yet, baby,” I taunted. “I haven’t given you permission.”
A pained moan just barely carried over the sound of his hips slapping against my ass and the bed protesting every punishing thrust. He was close. So close. He shuddered, and I thought he might’ve come after all, but he sucked in a breath and kept going.
“Will,” he pleaded. “Please…”
“Come. Now.”
Aaron gasped, and I almost came too as he forced himself into me and shuddered. He thrust again, and holy fuck, his throaty cry was so damn sexy, especially coming from a man who never so much as raised his voice outside the bedroom.
Then he shivered and slumped over me, his breath coming in sharp rushes that cooled the sweat on my shoulder. We stood there a moment, both us leaning over the bed as our knees shook.
Whimpering softly, Aaron started to withdraw, and we both gasped as his cock slipped free. I stood and turned around, and when I hooked a finger under his collar and claimed a hungry, demanding kiss, he gave it with a moan that no one in the world could hear but me. He loved it when I did that, especially the part where I pulled him in by the collar. He melted every single time. All these years together, all the times we’d had sex or played, and I still got drunk off my mellow, soft-spoken husband turning into a needy, sweaty wreck. Even now, on the rare occasion I watched him in the courtroom, my pulse went wild because I knew—and no one else in the room knew—what that even-keeled and unshakable attorney turned into when he was naked. When he was mine.
Thinking about it now turned me on even more, and I tightened my hold on his collar as I pressed my hard-on against his hip. He moaned into my kiss again.
“You’ve got me all turned on,” I mumbled against his lips. “Kind of feels like you should do something about that.”
“Uh-huh. Please.” His voice was strained and pleading, just the way I liked it.
Without another word, I let go of his collar and shoved him down onto his knees. As I pushed my dick into his eager mouth, he groaned with pleasure. No one sucked cock like Aaron, especially when he was thanking me for letting him come. He was greedy and hungry, moaning around the head and the shaft as he pumped me with his hand.
“You want more?” I teased.
He moaned, looking up at me with eyes full of need.
Steadying myself with a hand on the bedpost, I rocked my hips, slowly at first, then faster, thrusting into his mouth just like he’d been thrusting into my ass a moment ago.
I gripped his hair tight to make his scalp burn just the way he liked it, and I forced myself into his mouth the same way he’d been forcing himself into my ass—hard, fast, relentless. Like always, he kept a hand firmly on my hip. I was never comfortable forcibly fucking his face unless we both knew he could push me away if he wanted to. He never had, but it was like a safety release on a set of handcuffs—knowing it was there meant we could both lose ourselves without worrying.
“That’s it, baby,” I growled as he took me closer to the brink. He was so damn good at this—he’d been amazing the very first time he’d gone down on me, and he’d only improved his technique over time. After twenty years…holy fuck.
“God yeah,” I breathed. “You’re so good at that. Yeah, that’s right.”
He moaned around my dick as his fingers twitched on my hip.
I thrust as hard as I knew he could handle it—and liked it—as my orgasm closed in. “Mmm, yeah. Perfect. I’m gonna come. You ready for me?”
He moaned again, this time looking up at me, wide blue eyes framed by tear-sprinkled lashes, and I gripped his hair even tighter as his lips and tongue and hand and just the sight of him pulled me over the edge. With a shout of “Fuck!” I came in my husband’s eager mouth, and he kept teasing and stroking me until I let go of his hair.
As soon as I let go, he sat back on his heels. Wiping his swollen lips with the back of a shaking hand, he gazed up at me, and I grinned down at him as I struggled to catch my breath.
I leaned down and hooked my finger under his collar again. As I brushed my lips across his, I murmured, “Have I told you lately how much I love your mouth?”
He grinned. “You’ve said something to that effect, yeah.”
I chuckled, kissed him again, and straightened, tugging his collar so he knew to stand. Both a little unsteady on our feet, we grabbed a shower together—which we spent about half of kissing lazily and tenderly—before we climbed into bed and cuddled up under the covers. This hadn’t been anything that required aftercare, just some rough sex with our usual Dom/sub dynamic. He hadn’t been to subspace, and neither of us needed the comedown we would have after an intense scene involving pain and bondage. But aftercare had become part of sex for us even when it was completely vanilla. We just liked it. Tonight, there was no need to tend to welts or bruises, and he didn’t need to be guided gently back to earth while endorphins wore off, but the way we held each other and cuddled wasn’t much different from what we did after a scene.