1. Pushy

Ben pushes me into the chair. It’s a gentle touch, like he’s doing it for my own good, and maybe he is, but it’s unforgiving and I go where I’m told. I never know what to expect when he gets this jealous streak going, and someday I’m going to stop flirting with the checkout girls at the store and not worry about it anymore. Someday, I’ll be that smart. But right now he’s pushing and I’m sitting.

Sure, he’s pushy and stubborn every damn day, usually about things like parallel parking and trans fats (least sexy thought ever, okay and I’m trying to get back on track. Back in the chair, back in the saddle, baby got back…)

“Pay. Attention.” Ben drags his finger down my forehead, over my nose and shoves it into my mouth. I’m trying to talk but it’s more like grunting at him with his finger fucking my face, and Ben holds his other hand up, finger over his lips in a shushing motion. He wants me to be silent and now I know where this is going. I give him one small grunt just to show I’m not a pushover and start sucking on his finger like a porn star.

He shifts to stand between my knees, not too close, and I know trying to drag him closer won’t work, not without resorting to wrestling on the floor. Not that I got a problem with that, or any full contact sport involving Fraser’s really, amazingly strong thighs. That would backfire on me hard, though, as I know from painful trial and error. Right now, Ben’s not about the give and take. He just needs to take.

I’m good with that. I can give with the best of ‘em.

Ben takes his finger out of my mouth now that I’m quiet, sets his feet and whips out his dick like he’s going to pee. I love that, man, he’s just so calm about it, no shame. He can be a real prude about cuss words and lingerie ads but in the bedroom he’s all “majesty of life” and “beautiful natural act” and getting naked, fast. I got my hands fisted on the seat of the chair – we’re in the front room, because he couldn’t wait – just to keep from touching. He checks anyway, his eyes going over me like I’m being booked for shoplifting and he can’t trust my hands. Which he can’t, because if I let go of the fucking chair I’m going to grab his ass. So, you know, I get it.

He leans forward and his dick, that thick uncut Canadian log, is right in my face and I’m salivating like one of those drooling dogs but he puts one hand on the back of the chair for support and starts stroking himself with his other hand, pulling his foreskin back to show me that red, leaking cockhead. I’m only human: I whimper. I mean, goddamnit. But I can’t do shit and he’s already pissy with me about the noise, I can tell, even if that bastard knows my dick is hurting.

“Quiet.”

I bite back a groan (and the spit) and try not to shift around too much as I watch. He’s all business now, taking a second to shove his jeans and underwear down his thighs because he likes his balls hanging free, then pumping himself hard, leaning over me. I know it’s going to be fast and this is going to be long night when he gets his second wind later, but for right now he’s hammering for the home stretch. He’s got this wicked wrist twist over the head of his dick that smears his precum all down his shaft and I can’t stop watching, not even to look up at his face. He’s staring at me, bright eyed and calm and locked down, and there’s a part of me that hates it but I know why.

When he’s close, I slide my ass forward and tip my head back. Yeah, I know what it means to bare your throat and it’s kind of dumb – I feel dumb – but fuckit, Ben whimpers and shudders and comes all over my neck. It’s like being branded, his cum is so hot for a second, and yeah….that is the point.

The angle is bad for my back but I hold it as he slumps forward, his arm curling over the back of the chair and my shoulders. He’s breathing hard, still clutching his dick as it spasms out, and I’m nearly crying into his shirt because damnit, my hard on is killing me.

He nuzzles my hair and my ear, laughing at me, but I don’t care, because hello? Painful dick trapped in my pants.

“Now, Ray.”

I’m scrambling to get my pants open and I almost fall off the chair, but Ben’s got me, he pushes me back again with that soft touch, one hand on my shoulder while he’s still fondling his limp and wet dick and that is so hot, I’m gonna blow before my brain can even catch up. Hell, I do, five strokes in, messy and hard all over myself, my hips banging on the chair while Ben holds me down.

We’re like that for a few moments as I fall over that cliff, then Ben pushes off and packs up, eyeing me again like a damn criminal. I know better than to even try and clean off my neck until he’s ready. He’ll get me a hot towel at some point. Later, like after dinner. He’ll make me wait, and I won’t ask.

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