Fifteen

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ATTY

Best.Sex. Ever.

Yes, I think I say this every time, but I swear, it gets better with each fuck. It's not just his big dick and how he uses it to bring me pleasure. It's the way he talks to me. The things he says. How he touches me, and forces me to bend but not break. How he controls every little detail about our sex life.

The way he looks at me. Fuck, I'm even a slut for ‘baby girl,' which I nearly feel horrified about. His praise is everything.

And the way he wants me to be good for him? To obey his commands? I swear I don't even recognize myself as I do it without question. It's like his words literally control my muscles. I want to do as he tells me. For fuck's sake, I want to be a good girl for him!

My cheeks burn at the thought. Good girl. Pfft. But I can't deny that it's what I want to be for Toby Eads.

The endorphins inside me are still swirling around like a hurricane after he finally let me come. My orgasms are always so intense with him. Probably because he tells me when I can come, forcing me to hold it for a long ass time. But also because he creates a new kind of pleasure that I've never known before.

Speaking of which, my ass cheek stings. Did I nearly bust a nut with each slap of his hand? Yes. Yes, I did. Who knew that was my kink?

We stare at each other after I've quite literally sprayed cum all over the fucking place. I can still feel his big dick lodged inside me. I have nothing to equate this to. It's weird. Made even weirder because of how much I enjoy it.

I can feel his dick pulse. Throb. And when my muscles tighten around it, everything inside burns even hotter.

There's a moment when something flashes across Toby's face while we remain motionless except for our panting. Something that's slightly alarming. His head falls back and the words out of his mouth are, "Let me dress you up, baby girl."

My breath stutters. What does that even mean?

Toby picks his head up to look at me. His lips are parted as he stares with heat in his eyes. I can see how turned on he is. But there's still something concerning him. I can see it.

His eyes close and he says, "I didn't put a condom on when I pushed back inside you." His eyes squeeze as my heart tries to push out of my chest.

Fuck.

Toby takes a deep breath and licks his lips. "There hasn't been anyone but you since we got together. I haven't not used a condom in like… three years. I'm a very firm believer in them because I don't like the idea of using things like PrEP because… you know, that's a discussion for another time. Chemicals, drugs, and shit. Let's just leave it at that. I'm quite confident I'm clean, though I haven't been tested in six months."

I nod, unsure of what to say. His bare cock is still in my ass. A shiver races through me.

"I'm sorry," Toby says, meeting my eyes. "I swear, I'm not this irresponsible regularly. Ever."

I nod again because what am I supposed to say right now? Am I angry? I should be. The happy, feel-good aftershocks of an intensely good orgasm aren't letting me think clearly right now, though; so all I can manage is staring at him with wide eyes and nodding.

Toby sighs. I nearly argue with him when he slowly pulls his dick from my ass. Then he leans over me, pressing his sweaty body to mine, squishing our cum between us like mayonnaise on two slices of bread.

"We'll get tested," he says earnestly. "I'm so sorry, Atty."

"Okay," I agree.

He gives me an amused look. "That's all? Just, okay?"

"I have like three brain cells online right now. That's all you get."

Toby chuckles, dropping his forehead to mine. For a minute, we're quiet. Slowly, a few more brain cells log back on. These control the muscles in my arms, so I wrap them around Toby.

"I'm… wary, but I'm not angry," I add after a minute, once I've been able to fully process his words. "And I believe you. I trust that you're telling me the truth. I've been with two girls since Marie. I always wear a condom because I'm not interested in being a father. I was tested at the end of the season—mandatory health check. This was just before we met."

Toby relaxes. "Atty, I swear to you, I don't make these mistakes. I… I can give you lots of reasons for it happening now. All of which are just lame excuses. Bottom line, I wanted you to come on my dick and I was too caught up in the moment to realize what I did until I was already inside you. I'm sorry."

"Okay," I say again.

Toby picks his head up and looks at me. "You're really not mad? You can be. You have every right to be. We just talked about trust and I fucked up big time."

Pulling his face to mine, I press a kiss to his lips. "I. Trust. You. Besides, being angry isn't going to change anything. This is just something we'll get through together. I think we've both been safe up until this point, so we likely have nothing to worry about. If the tests say otherwise, we'll deal with it."

Something changes in the way he looks at me. A softening in his eyes. The way his lips curl, just a bit, into a very small, soft smile. "You're… I've never met anyone like you, Atty."

"I'm one in a million," I tease, smirking.

Toby sighs. He presses his mouth to mine though it's not really a kiss. Just our lips pressed together. "I mean it," he murmurs. "I have no words to express what I mean, but trust that it's all good and I'm just very… happy we met."

I'm not entirely sure what to make of that. It almost sounds like the precursor to a goodbye. ‘I'm glad we met. I'll never forget you.' It makes my heart race.

"So… can I dress you up?"

I blink away the horrible thoughts of goodbye and focus on his question. "In what?"

"Well," Toby starts, reaching one hand up into my hair. "I think some bows. Nail polish. And I just bought this black dress and matching thong that I'd really like to see you in."

"Do you have a lot of girl's clothing?"

"Clothes don't have a gender, baby. But to answer your question, no. I don't have a lot. Just what I've bought since we met."

"So this is a new… thing for you?"

Toby grins. "No. But I don't recycle clothing between the men I meet. That feels icky."

My face scrunches. "Yep. Like giving an ex's engagement ring to a new lover."

He laughs. "Wow. I feel like there's a story there."

"Not my story, but there's a story."

"Are you avoiding answering the question because you don't want to? It's okay if you don't."

I inhale deeply and nod. "We can play dress up. What are you going to wear?"

His grin is devilish. "You, baby. I'm not going to pretend that seeing you in this sexy dress isn't going to make me want to fuck you again. With a condom."

I snort. "You don't have to keep assuring me. I believe you, Toby. But when we get tested and prove that everything is fine, you can stop worrying about it. I'd still like to use condoms, but if things get crazy and there's another mishap, we'll already know."

Toby stares intently in my eyes. "You should be furious. You know that, right?"

Rolling us over so he's under me, I kiss him. I can feel his amusement and we both know I'm on top of him because he's letting me. Because he feels guilty. "I know, but I'm not. Probably rather stupid of me, but—" I shrug. "If you're going to dress me up, then do it because I might chicken out. I've worn jockstraps before. So that wasn't a huge ask. A dress, on the other hand…"

"Up," Toby says, shoving at my shoulders gently. "Bathroom."

His bathroom isn't large. The shower is tiny, and I barely fit into it. We don't even try to find room for both of us. I wash quickly and then Toby passes through while I dry off. With a towel wrapped around me, I sit on the toilet lid as his fingers move through my hair. I'm surprised by the little storage container with hair ties, bows, and other things I couldn't name.

"Do you wear these?" I ask, peeking in as he gently tugs on different strands of my hair.

"No. My kink isn't seeing me feminized. It's seeing my big, manly lover feminized."

"I see. You find many guys willing to do this?"

I can hear his smile when he answers. "Not often. Most of the time, I don't even progress in a relationship far enough to get to the point where I'd ask."

We're in a relationship? My stomach dances with such vehemence that I think I might be sick.

"I only recently moved to L.A.," Toby continues. "The place I consider my home is up north. Glensdale. You know where it is?"

I shake my head.

"Nearly at the Oregon border. A valley in the mountains."

"That's where you grew up?"

"No," he says, chuckling. "That's where I went to college. It's where my best friend lives still, though he's down here right now. But I think that my feminization fantasy came about because Jayse, my best friend, and I decided to take this forging course and the guy who ran it is this giant Norseman-looking man. Big arms and chest. Full beard. Practically nine feet tall! Like, he's the stereotypical macho guy, right? Only, he's covered in pastel tattoos and always wears pretty pink dresses and stuff. He's the sweetest man I've ever met. And, not going to lie, the whole aesthetic just did it for me."

"I see. So I'm a substitute for your fantasy man," I tease.

Toby tugs on my hair, laughing. "No, no. I adore Vulcan. Yes, that's his name. Appropriate for a man who owns a forge, no?" I nod. It really is. "But he's… He's just Vulcan. I can't explain why he isn't my fantasy. Just everything he… wears?" Toby shakes his head. "I haven't put it into words before. Just know that I don't have a crush or anything on him. He's family. Almost like a kid brother, which is amusing to even my own ears since he's nearly twice my age and size."

I can tell how much this guy means to Toby. There's a protectiveness in his tone talking about Vulcan. Also, I kind of want to see this guy for myself. He sounds like an oxymoron.

"Okay, done. No peeking. Time to do your nails."

Obediently, like the good girl I am—pfft—I keep my eyes down as we leave his tiny bathroom. I sit on his desk and he takes the chair in front of me. He pushes my legs apart and reaches for my hand. While he paints my nails black, he asks, "Where did you grow up?"

"Greece."

Toby looks up at me, surprised. "Really? That explains the hint of an accent occasionally."

I nod. "Yep. Until I was twelve. Then we moved to Canada so I could play hockey at one of the schools there. My English is decent now. Unless you're really listening for it, the accent isn't as prevalent as it was fifteen years ago."

"So is Marie from Canada, then? Not Greece?"

"Yep. She's Canadian. Her family lived down the road from mine and our parents became friends. When we were fourteen, our parents started pushing us together. Basically, since high school started."

Toby shakes his head. He concentrates on my nails for a minute before asking, "Is she nice?"

I try to keep my amused smile small. "She's very nice. Marie's one of my best friends. More times than not, your closest friends should stay just that—friends. I'm convinced that if our parents hadn't meddled, we'd never have gotten together. We were never meant to be together."

He nods. After another minute, he asks, "Do you think if you hadn't been pushed to her, you might have maybe looked at guys?"

"I don't know," I answer honestly. "There's a very real chance that the world put me into an expected role and I never thought to question it. Since I like women well enough, if I hadn't seen you, I might not have ever looked elsewhere."

Toby looks up. "Now that you've seen me?"

His eyes are so pretty. Dark. Expressive. I shake my head. "I don't know. I've really tried not to question this because I shouldn't question it. Gender shouldn't matter, right?"

He smiles and shakes his head. "Right. It shouldn't."

"So I'm trying not to think about it. Not to let it bother me."

"But does it bother you? Wait—don't answer. I shouldn't be pushing you to talk about it when you've already said you don't want to. Sorry."

I might have answered him anyway if I had an answer to offer him. The truth is, I think about it all the time. I can't stop being very aware that he's a guy. ‘Shouldn't' is a very frequent word in my mind in all kinds of scenarios, both in terms of expectations and breaking free of them.

"Okay," Toby says. "While they dry, I'm going to get the dress ready. Then you're going to change in the bathroom—don't look! Promise?"

"Promise."

"Good. Then I'm going to fuck you." Toby flashes me a grin and just his voiced intention to fuck me conversationally has my dick chubbing again. Damn thing.

I remain where I am, looking at my now black nails. Chewing the inside of my lip, I try to imagine what my friends will say. Will they even notice? Hugo probably won't. Winslow will for sure, but he likely won't say anything. Egon and Noah? I think they'd both notice, too.

Toby returns and waves to the door. "Dress for me, baby."

He's already looking at me as if he's going to pin me down. Hopping off his desk, I pad barefoot into the bathroom and shut the door. He has a towel over the mirror, for which I'm grateful. It'd be too easy to accidentally catch a glimpse.

There's a black thong on the counter. I pick it up and raise a brow. My cock may not be as big as Toby's, but I need a little more material than this. Sighing, I hang up the towel and slip into the thong.

It's… fucking strange. Like a jockstrap, but smaller, with a piece of fabric stretched between my ass cheeks. However, I'll say that the silky material feels wonderful. Like a cloud.

The dress is simple and black. Made of the same material or something similar. I slip it on and love the way it just glides down my body. So smooth! Soft. Like a damn cloud, or water that rolls right off without making you wet.

It fits oddly well, though the chest looks a little silly. I have a bit of a chest since I exercise my pecs for hockey, but the top is still a little loose.

Strangely, I like the fit. Though, as I look down at my thighs, I decide it could totally be a little longer.

Taking a breath and trying not to tense with nerves, I step into the room. Toby's sitting in his desk chair again, swinging from side to side as he waits. As soon as the door opens, his head snaps up and he stares.

My cheeks heat. Especially when he doesn't look away. His eyes travel all over me. Touching everywhere he can see. My fingers twitch at my sides. I never know what to do with my hands.

"Breathtaking," he murmurs. "Can I take your picture?"

"You're not going to sell it, are you?" I ask.

Toby shakes his head, though he doesn't stop looking. "I'll take it to my grave."

It's stupid of me, but I nod. Toby takes a few—from the front, from the side, and from the back. Then he tosses his phone and crosses the room to me. Like a predator and I'm his prey caught in a trap.

His hand moves over my stomach and then around to my ass. Toby groans. His eyes meet mine. "I'm going to need you on your hands and knees, baby girl. And bury your face in the pillows because I'm going to make you scream."

The heat that rushes through me has my head spinning. I stumble toward the bed.

Yes, please.