Page 26 of Glitter

As if the word was some sort of trigger, he wiggled his ass, the middle section of his body writhing and shushing against the soft looking sheets.

“As lovely as a long, drawn-out fucking sounds,” he continued, drawing his plump lower lip in between his teeth and leaving it slick and shiny when he released it. “And as fantastic as it would be to hear the sounds I could get you to make for me, boo…” I nodded helplessly in agreement as he stated, “I have no doubt I could get you to make the most gorgeous noises.” Then I almost could’ve wept with joy and relief as he delivered his decision. “But I think it really only would be fair for you to get me off now. Not in a couple hours, after all sorts of edging and teasing, but now.”

While no actual tears escaped, my gratitude certainly did with an abundant flow of verbal babbling. “Yes. Yes, please. Whatever…whatever you want,” I gushed, scrambling onto the bed and nearly crashing my larger body into his. “I’ll please you. Fuck you and make you come,” I breathlessly promised. “Um, however you want. Thank you. Uh, thank you.”

My mind was a swirling mess. There was the low-level, constant disbelief and awe that a man as beautiful as this was letting me near him, touch him. There was the accompanying rush of lust and want over that exact same thing. And then, past all of that, there were the practicalities of this particular moment.

Yes, he’d said I should fuck him, but… What should I do first?

Should I take care of the condom situation, getting it open and rolled onto my dick, before falling onto my angel like a desperate, horny monster? Should I… Well, as almost nonexistent as his thong underwear was, it would have to be removed before things progressed too far. So, maybe I should deal with that first? And then fall on him in desperation.

Or maybe… He’d said he wanted me to fuck him now. Make him come now. But, surely, some sort of foreplay was in order before the actual fucking. Was he even… Would I need to prep him? Before all the needy, desperate fucking.

The previous two times he’d had me fuck him, he’d already been prepared well in advance. Both times, when he’d dropped his pants, his hole had already been slicked with lube and stretched out—with his own fingers or a toy—and ready for me to slide my dick right on inside of him. ‘Pre-gamed’ my angel had called it. Had he ‘pre-gamed’ tonight, or would I finally get the opportunity to get him ready myself?

“You know, I wasn’t kidding when I used the word ‘now’, boo.”

Oh, fuck. How long had I been perched on the bed, kneeling near his feet, and letting my mind spin? Because, while he didn’t sound like he’d changed his mind, his words did come out a trifle annoyed sounding.

“Unless you don’t want to get me off and you’re going to make me do it myself.”

“No. Please… No. Fuck no,” I frantically replied. Not giving him what he wanted was the last thing I ever wanted to do. I raised my eyes to his, hoping he’d be able to read my complete willingness on my face, only to be met with a skeptical narrow-eyes expression on his own face.

I worried that, if anything was going to have him changing his mind, have him leaving this bed and booting me out of his house, it would be admitting that I was overcome by the abundance of all the options, now that I had the opportunity, of what I could do to him.

Now it was my turn to bite my lip, letting just a small amount of my nervousness show, as I asked, “Tell me what to do?”

His expression smoothed out, although faint wisps of doubt still clouded his pale eyes, as he answered my question with one of his own. “You want me… You want me to tell you what to do, boo? Like…step by step instructions?”

“Please.” My begging whimper revealed my relief that he’d understood my request. “Please. I don’t… I don’t want…”

“You really do like when I’m bossy,” he said. It wasn’t a question, just a purred gloat of satisfaction, but I nodded my head to answer him anyway. “I noticed you seemed to like that at the club. Obviously, I noticed that,” he stated, adding, “Your reactions when I did were not that subtle, boo.”

A puff of air escaped my nose in a soft snort as I expressed my agreement. He was right, I hadn’t been very subtle. Subtlety had never been one of my strong suits, and it was particularly nowhere to be found when I was around him.

His voice gentled, until it almost sounded like an auditory caress. “I just wasn’t sure if that was still something you’d like, something you’d want, when we’re…we’re…”

“Not in a public bathroom?” I finished. “In your house? Have a nice big bed at our disposal?”

“Yes. Those.”

“I want to…I need to… I want to give you what you want,” I told him, since it seemed as though he still didn’t understand, or believe, this thing that I’d told him several times already. “Whatever you want. However you want. So, I need… I need you to tell me what that is. Exactly. Step by step.”

He didn’t directly acknowledge this last thing I’d said, but a new awareness—a fine tension in his otherwise relaxed body—seemed to vibrate through him. And his voice became silkier, firmer, as he ordered, “Remove my panties, boo.”

My hand twitched, my own body eagerly leaping to obey the command in his voice, although it only got as far as his delicately turned ankle.

His skin was taut and warm, the heat of his easily penetrating through the thin, silky barrier of his stockings. The warmth of him, the realness of him, grounding me in this moment. Reassuring me that, yes, I was here, with him, and that all of this…everything that was about to happen was really happening.

Impatient that I wasn’t doing what he’d told me to as quickly as he’d like, or perhaps thinking I was opting to disobey him, he raised his voice and repeated, “Take my panties off, boo. Slide them down, all the way down my, until you can pull them off, then fling them who-the-fuck-cares-where.” He then barked out, “Now!” As if that weren’t enough, he added a threat to incentivize me. “If I have to do it myself, I’ll tell you to get off my bed, have you stand in the corner, and make you watch me get myself off.”

That warning was almost enough to actually have me intentionally disobeying him. Almost.

If I didn’t have this desperate need to always give him what he wanted. If I didn’t get a rush of satisfaction at doing what he said and being the one to please him. If I didn’t have a constant, aching want to have him moaning because of me. Panting, and pleading, and swearing, feeling so good, because of me.

Maybe some other time. Because it wouldn’t be now.

My hands flew up to the ridiculously narrow band holding his underwear in place, both of us moaning as my fingers slid beneath the delicate, silky fabric. They felt so fragile beneath my clunky, meaty fingers. I tugged at them gently, trying to pull them down without ripping them.

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