16. Woody

16

WOODY

How I managed to walk out of that barn and not bust ass was beyond me. I approached Shadow, who was munching on the hay Emery’d left out by the hitching post, and pressed my face into her neck.

She blew out a sigh, likely tired of my shit, but stayed in place long enough for my brains to fucking unscramble. Not gonna lie, I nearly fell when I mounted her, but she stepped into the movement right on time.

I barely remembered opening the gate or the ride up to my cabin. I kept thinking of the way Emery’s pulsing cum battered the sensitive head of my cock, flooding my foreskin, layering pleasure upon ecstasy upon bliss until my brain shorted out.

Fuck, the pressure, how the sensitive, super thin skin bulged with his cum and mine...What the fuck did any of it mean?

I ripped off my T-shirt and unzipped my jeans, then fell backward on the bed. Bringing one hand to my cock and the other to my nipple, I jacked off to the memory while pressing my thumbnail into the sensitive bud. Surprised I had anything left after the way Emery had—once again—perfectly manhandled me, I came so fucking hard that my balls ached.

I lay there for a long time, my dick soft and damp against my belly as my head spun with...everything. I’d been embarrassed to admit I didn’t know what docking was, but Emery didn’t make me feel like I was less than. Still, it was the same as admitting that I wasn’t that experienced with the kind of sex we were having, and I didn’t know how I’d face him after this.

He already knew too much.

I’d known for a long time that I liked it a little rougher. That, despite my general attitude about things, I liked it when my lover took over. Shane’d been somewhat willing to go there with me, but it’d always felt like he was doing me a favor. I’d never felt like I could ask for what I really wanted.

With Emery, I knew I could ask, but I never needed to. How he’d known what to give me, what to show me...I didn’t think I’d ever understand that. My throat ached when I swallowed, and it kept me in a tortured state of arousal. I couldn’t come again, but God, I wanted to.

I wondered what he’d do with me if he had the time.

He has the time today. Go back and ask him to keep going. And going. And going.

I could imagine him giving me a performance pill, then playing with me, keeping me on the edge, giving me everything I never had the courage to ask for.

I yanked off my boots, then kicked off my jeans and underwear and lay there, spread eagle, letting the ceiling fan send cooled air along my inner thighs, balls, and spent cock. The only thing able to get hard at this point were my nipples, and I luxuriated in the sensation.

He mapped my body like the land itself.

Pulling pleasure where there had been none . . .

I rolled over on my belly, wincing and enjoying the pressure of my body against my overworked cock and balls. I spread my legs to enjoy the airflow over my ass and undercarriage as I stretched for the pen and notebook I always kept on my side table.

Most of my poetry was written out in nature as I sat on a bluff or atop Shadow, but today my pen moved smoothly across the linen stock, my nudity somehow important as the words found their way to the page.

Soft and dominant

Forceful and attentive

My brain and body are his perfect mess.

I shifted my hips as I wrote, the scratch of pen on paper a pleasure to my eardrums, sending pulses down to my cock. My nipples against the nubbly fabric of my covers added to my overall sensitivity. Never had I simply played with my arousal, not for the orgasm, but for the continuity of sensation.

The individual hairs on my skin

Prickle

His sensual heat embedded in each cell

My published works had never been horny, or even romantic, but this’d broken the dam on my words, and I wasn’t going to question it. As I wrote, softly writhing in my bedsheets, I imagined what it’d be like to write like this, in exactly this position, but with Emery spread over me, his cock warming in my ass as he softly kissed my neck, murmuring encouraging words as I composed love poems in his name.

Fuck, that visual was so powerful it made me feel empty. I curled my toes under, using them as a counterpoint to stretch far enough to open the drawer on my bedside table. My fingers landed on the curved anal plug, which consisted of two intimidating beads rather than the typical tapered shape. I tossed that on the bed next to my hip then reached in blindly, my fingers landing on the rubber nipple suckers I’d only used the one time.

Why not?

Pinching the rubber, I slipped the first one over my nipple and sucked in a breath as it bit down on the tender flesh.

Oh, fuck. That’s . . . that’s fucking nice.

I fastened the second one and groaned. Soft— spent —and turned on was a new one for me, and I didn’t mind it one bit.

I reached into the drawer again, shuffling around until my fingers found what I’d been looking for—the bottle of silicone lube. The slick on the bottle prevented me from getting a good grip, but I didn’t want to get up, to lose the contact of my cock on my bed. So, I stretched further, finally getting a good handle on the bottle as my dick plumped under the pressure.

First I spread the thick, slippery liquid between my cheeks, then spread it over the plug. Going to my hands and knees, I grabbed the toy and pressed the bulbous end against my hole. After taking a deep breath, I quickly pushed it past the ring of muscle, gasping at the painful intrusion. I breathed through it, tugging on the nipple suckers as I imagined Emery’s thick head breaching me.

Adding a bit more lube, I pushed the second bead—slightly larger than the first—past the aching muscle, hissing through my teeth. Fuck . I was so full. I loved the sharp hit of pain, the way it softened my cock while amping up everything else.

I rocked on my hands and knees until the pain faded into a pleasurable stretch, then resumed my writing position, flat against the bed, cock trapped beneath me. Fucking perfect. The only thing missing was Emery’s heavy body holding me down, but this was enough.

I picked up my pen, rocking slightly with the words. Line after line poured from my fingertips. I’d never primed my literary pump this way before, but it was nice to know that, regardless of the mechanism of my inspiration, my ability to lock in and create poem after poem was still intact.

It felt like I was downloading from the fucking universe, and I lost all track of time. At some point I paused to remove the plug and the nipple suckers. My nipples were puffy, my ass was sore, and I still hadn’t come, but my body felt like it’d been given a workout. Or a sensual massage.

I was surprised that the words kept coming once the stimulation had been removed, though these were less horny and more nature inspired. I wrote until my hand cramped and then wrote a little more. Only when my phone buzzed did I realize that the light had shifted in my cabin.

I stood and reached up, loving the stretch in my muscles and lower back. My phone buzzed again, and I went searching for it. It was in the front pocket of the jeans I’d discarded, and I fished it out.

Emery: I’m making burritos for dinner. Want me to bring you one?

Me: If you’re offering, I’m taking. Haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast.

Emery: Can’t have that now, can we?

I was far too excited to receive texts from him. Though, considering I’d written line after line with him on my mind and a plug in my ass, maybe my reaction wasn’t so out of line.

Tossing my phone to the side, I raced to the shower. Having edged myself all fucking day, I wanted to be ready for him. He might be the one bringing dinner, but I was definitely going to ask for dessert first.