Silver is somewhere out in the Midwest doing family things like the caring, good son that he is, but in that time I am entertained by a fantasy of fucking him.
I already told you that he is a technical virgin. The reality of his “innocence” is, of course complex. He builds desire together with me with sophisticated experience because he didn’t particularly limit himself in exploring his kinks, just (in my perception) the complexities of wading through three miles of waist deep vanilla courtship expectations, just to reach a possible opportunity to try an activity that wasn’t the highlight of his fantasies, provided no incentive.
But I like penis in vagina sex, so it’s on the table. Between Covid-19 and some incredibly complex feelings on my side, it hasn’t happened yet. But, not for lack of desire.
He seems extremely interested in losing his virginity now.
He told me conventional sex was not a priority. If he had not brightened up like a string of Christmas lights when (in negotiation of our first hookup back in December) I said sex was off the table, but that he was definitely fuckable, I probably would have considered this not ever important to do.
In the heady glory of our New Years hookup, he discovered he was rather good at this physical thing. Kissing, touching and being sucked all went well.
We almost fucked on New Years day, both accidentally as our bodies slid together and the nudge of his cock followed the cleft of my crotch and, engorged and wet, biology almost won out to neither of our rational wants, and the other time when my lust almost drove me to mount him, standing.
That time I could feel the phantom sensation of his cock as the temptation told me to push him onto the bed and climb on, or just hitch up one leg to fuck him against a wall.
And yet it wasn’t the right time. I thought maybe June, maybe a bit later, then Covid happened.
Since then the fantasy has built and coalesced, trying on scenarios in my mind. A perfect “first time”:
Perhaps we fuck on the steps of my apartment, front door barely locked behind us, before the pandemic repressed lust makes me take him.
Or maybe him in full latex, mounted by me, swathed in the fetish that works so very well for him, restrained so I do all the work, even the freedom of thrusting stolen from him. The decadence of filling his fetishes so completely is, to me a sort of sexual gavache, stuffing him with so much pleasure it’s a perversion in itself.
A pair of thigh high latex stockings shipped from the UK has created my latest fantasy.
Receiving them, I slipped one on to test the quality while there was still reasonable time to tell the tailor my review, and then, finding the whisper of the smooth, soft and thin material over my skin, perfectly fitted, I could only think of wrapping my legs about him.
I think then, about taking the lead, my voice sing song and hypnotic in his ear. It’s so easy to make him hard, with my body, but even more so my mind asserted over his. He’s enraptured by the whole package, not just the sight of my flesh, but how I use it.
I can feel it so vividly, the slide of latex on skin against him, leaving my skin tingling, even as my eyes capture him and hold him.
My legs are long enough to twine around him with enough strength to squeeze, not threatening but asserting my authority, even if I take a supine position.
And I can count on the the lust tie we share, grown stronger every day from commanding him in a way that makes him hazy and helpless. In my fantasy, as life has shown me happens easily in his company, I am wet. Guiding him to me is only a matter of letting nature place its programming on our aim.
Perhaps I have gloved his cock in more latex, a condom stroked on with eager hands. Perhaps he thrusts to me and hilts so he feels the full heat and wetness, skin to skin. In my fantasy, I have been speaking, pushing him further into a trance.
I remind him he is helpless, command him to go deeper for me. Deeper and deeper, engulfing his cock into my body, even as my eyes and the crooning words slipping from my lips shatter the last of his control.
In my fantasy, I milk his cock until he comes, and in that moment he is mindless and senseless, but for a release he has no choice over. I want it, that helplessness just after he has cum, and lost all ability to do anything but rest.
My body will be the place where he is at his weakest, inside and on me.
Resting. Spent. Drained.
Maybe it will go like that. Maybe it will be different and difficult, and although the fantasy is gentler than many, but it is intense and vivid enough to reoccur.
And maybe it will take more than a year to “consummate” this, but, while we wait, it remains a matter of logistics before I add it to the other firsts I have already plucked.
Image sourced from a manga: [Aoi Tiduru] Step up? (COMIC Koh Vol. 8)