Afternoon, Monday, June 3rd, 2024
Garin wanted to tell Lyrou all about his time with Contessa. She’d been the most interesting so far; not a work acquaintance, not an ex, not a transaction, but a purely fun and new connection free of history or sediment, no subtext or inertia, no obligations or ledger. But to tell Lyrou anything about Contessa would violate the rule for round four, and so he determined not to say a word.
He found Lyrou tending to her vegetable garden in the front yard and sat beside her, handing her gardening tools and scoops of fertilizer and organic bug repellent as she reached for them like a surgeon, him playing the nurse. She’d started talking to him about their daughter’s flagging scores on her math tests. With her hands covered in soil, Lyrou looked up at Garin with a frown. “Chéri, Pinny’s math teacher emailed again. Her grades are slipping, and I don’t know what to do.”
“There’s the after-school math academy. She doesn’t want to do it, but needs before wants, yes?” Garin crouched down beside her.
She had a hint of frustration in her voice. “Oui, chéri, but she’s so stubborn. And I don’t want to push her too hard,” she worried in the lilt of her accent. She plucked a weed from the soil, her wedding ring glinting in the sun. “But I fear she’s falling behind.”
“I can be the bad cop, you nicely ask her if she’ll go to the math academy, if she says no, I’ll barge into your conversation and do the angry stern father bit. I’ll tell her she must try the math academy for one semester, and that then we’ll revisit whether she’ll continue there.” Garin looked about, spotting neighbors as they came and went.
“Merci, ma vie.” Her hands were still buried in the soil. “I’ll talk to her tonight, see if we can’t convince her.” She leaned over to kiss his cheek, the scent of earth and blooming flowers surrounding them. “But for now,” she said, taking on a playful tone, “let’s not let our garden suffer from neglect.”
Garin raised an eyebrow, “Do you mean this actual garden, or are you referring to something else?”
Lyrou glanced up at Garin, her eyes narrowing slightly. She placed the gardening trowel aside, wiping her hands on her apron. “Chéri, I’m talking about our garden,” she said in a gentle reprimand. “But if you’re referring to Pinny’s math troubles, yes, it’s a concern. She’s so much like you, but unfortunately, not in the math department.” She chuckled softly, plucking a petunia and twirling it between her thumb and forefinger, then placing it behind Garin’s ear. “Her mind is more, I don’t know, creative.”
“Your genes, your personality exactly.” Garin held his palms up.
The corners of her lips curved upwards. “Ah, husband, you say the sweetest things. But we must focus on Pinny. She needs our support.”
“Without doubt. And Alan? Steady sailing as always with him?” Garin watched Lyrou’s face, registering it in total, yet her real thoughts were unreadable.
Her chest rose with the intake of air, and her breasts pressed against the fabric of her blouse. For a moment before she spoke. “ Ehlehn? Mon prince. Il n’y a pas de problème, mon amour. He’s been busy with his own life, as we all are.”
“Early adolescent and yet ready to move out. We’ll blink, and he’ll be either a tech company CEO or up on federal hacking charges.” Garin nodded.
“Ah, our big Ehlehn,” she said, filled with pride and amusement. “Always ahead of the curve.” She took a moment to wipe her hands clean before leaning back against the porch railing, her eyes scanning the garden. “But let’s not forget,” she began, her smile turning mischievous, “that he derived his double dose of digne disposition from both of us.” The air grew thicker, charged with the electricity of their unspoken arrangement. She picked up a sprig of mint, crushing it gently between her fingers, releasing its scent. “How was your day, chéri?” she asked, her eyes flicking back to him, the question loaded with the anticipation of his date’s details.
Garin leaned in and whispered, “I want to tell you everything, but that’s against the rules this time. All I can say is I haven’t gotten there yet. Have you?”
Curiosity grew within Lyrou at a rate she surprised herself. “Hmmmm. Patience is a virtue, and I’ve been quite surreptitious in keeping my latest adventure to myself.” She picked up a handful of soil, letting it sift through her fingers.
“Then you’ve finished your fourth?” Garin’s eyes imbued a kind of dread but also, so strangely, adulation.
“Mon amour, you know I cannot tell you much,” she said in gentle tease. She leaned closer, her breath warm against his ear. “But let’s just say, I’ve been busy. So yes.”
Garin inhaled deeply, searching for the sky. He picked Lyrou up, cradling her in his arms, disregarding all her attention to her garden and her hands layered with black soil. “Well, well, well.”
Lyrou didn’t protest but smiled and surrendered her person to be carried wherever Garin had in mind to carry her, “I can’t guess what this means.” She mused.
He walked her into their home and closed the front door behind him with a kick of his heel. Up the stairs, he took her into their bedroom and placed her with an “umph” onto their bed. He kissed her mouth and peeled off his shirt. She held her blackened hands up, trying not to touch and stain anything with them, again as a surgeon would.
Her mood was ever more mischievous. “But you know the rules of round four.” She shook her head; her hands were covered in soil. “You can’t rush a good harvest.” She leaned back on the bed, her eyes on his. “I want to grab you like a trowel handle. But for now, you must tend to your own yield.” She wiggled her dirty fingers playfully. “Let me clean up.”
As Lyrou walked into the bathroom and rinsed her hands clean, Garin wordlessly knelt behind her and pulled her jeans shorts off, and then her panties. He kissed her ass cheeks, noticeably pale-brown relative to the deep eumelanin of her arms, legs, and shoulders from the summer sun. “I love it.” He nommed across her soft buttocks.
In the mirror, with a playful smirk. “The rules?” She stepped away from the sink, her damp hands leaving smudges on the white porcelain. “You must complete your fourth before we can share ourselves again,” she reminded him, her hips swaying as she moved towards the bed. She lay down, her legs locked together to bar him from entry, her skin glistening from the day’s heat. “But,” she said, her eyes darkening with desire, “that doesn’t mean you can’t till the field.”
Garin pulled his pants off, kneeling and kissing Lyrou’s legs on the bedside. He began to jack off slowly, rubbing his glans along her shin. “When did you do it?”
A playful twinkle in her eyes as they smiled shut. “Ma vie, the beauty of round four is the mystery,” she said. She reached down, her hand hovering just above his, but not touching. “I can tell you nothing but that it happened.”
Garin tested if Lyrou would crack even slightly. He buried his face in her lap, her thighs still tightly pressed together to bar him from entry. “Lyrou, tell me anything… anything?”
A nonchalant taunt in her tone, “Garin, my love, you know I can’t.” She lifted one leg slightly, allowing him to kiss her inner thigh. “Ask whatever you like, and I won’t say a word about it,” she said, her fingers tracing the outline of his shoulders. “It’s my secret forever.”
“Forever?” Garin ran his fingers deep across Lyrou’s warm, smooth, feminine, fleshy hips as if she were some silk or velvet to pet.
“Tout à fait, forever,” she said, so unbothered and gentle. She allowed her leg to drop, her hand coming to rest on his ruffled head, her fingers burrowing through his hair.
Garin pressed his glans between Lyrou’s thighs, but could not press them open. “Lyrou, I’m not joking. Tell me something.”
She leaned back against the pillows, her legs tightly pressed together, a barricade to his questing cock. “You know I can’t,” she said, her hand sliding down to gently trace the outline of his cheek. “But your dedication to the rules is commendable.” She smirked, watching him with an amused gaze as his frustration grew.
“If I look in your phone now, will I find anything?” Garin’s precum turned the leg-cleavage of Lyrou’s thighs slick, and he rubbed his glans between them with increasing pleasure.
Feeling sly, “Mon roi.” She whispered, her voice certain, “No, Garin, I deleted and cleared it all.” She leaned back, arching her back slightly, offering him a better view of her breasts straining against her blouse. Her thighs remained firmly pressed together, constituting a teasing barricade to his desire.
Garin’s dick was then able to slip into the part between her thighs, and he thrusted, but Lyrou crossed her feet at her ankles to really tighten the lock. “Lyrou, did you orgasm with him?”
“Ah, chéri,” Lyrou said, feigning annoyance, “you’re so eager to know the details.” She raised her eyebrows. “But that would spoil the fun, wouldn’t it?” She slid her hand down to his neck, her fingers tracing the line of his collarbone. “Even if you think I might tell you, “She continued, her voice taking on a sultry tone, “I absolutely will not.”
Garin began to reach orgasm merely by thrusting between Lyrou’s thighs. She hooked her thumb to seize his dick around the shaft and pull it from between her thighs, denying him any further thrusting. “Lyrou, please, please tell me something. Tell me if you cummed with him?” And Garin knelt on one knee on the bed, one foot on the floor, and cranked with an expression of need.
Lyrou leaned back, watching him with amusement and arousal. “Non. Never means never. You know I adore your curiosity, but some secrets are best left untold.” She let her hand drift to her chest, her palm lightly stroking the swell of her breast.
Garin lay beside Lyrou, still handling his rod, and he tried to kiss her mouth, but she pulled away. “Lyrou, please, just tell me if you cummed.”
With a knowing glint, the thrill of the secret thrumming through her veins. She leaned in, her breath warm against his cheek. “Mon beau, the beauty of our arrangement is in not-knowing.” Her hand traced a lazy path down his chest. “It’s like a parry we both alternately lead.” Her voice grew softer, tantalizing. “But,” she added, her hand sliding down to his hip, “what’s the point of a good parry if you know all the steps?” She trailed her nails along his side, the sensation making him shiver. “The ecstasy of the unknown,” she said, dropping to a seductive, almost inaudible moan, “it’s what makes it so exhilarating.” She leaned back on the bed, her legs folding under her, creating a barrier between them. “And,” she continued, her eyes sparkling with mischief, “it’s what keeps our love so special and precious.”
As Lyrou stood from the bed, clearly to deny him any further physical touch, Garin splayed shamelessly on the bed and masturbated, eyes closed and understanding he’d have to finish by himself. “Lyrou, just that, just if you cummed with him?”
She leaned over him, her breasts grazing his chest as she whispered in his ear, “Will I answer that? Non. Non. Non. Never. You can imagine it or pretend it never happened. But you can never know anything about what happened with me and this last man.”
Garin raised to kiss Lyrou again, but she pulled back and walked away, bottomless, bending over her knees straight, with lovely creases in them, to give him one last look of her wet womanhood as she picked up her panties and shorts, putting them back on with a little wiggle. “You want to know if I cummed with him?”
She answered herself. “Maybe not. Or maybe so.”
And Garin began to ejaculate, his sperm running out of his phallus like white lava out of a cock volcano. Lyrou looked with disregard at his dick as his sperm ran down it, and she briskly removed herself. Garin listened as she stepped down the stairs, opened the front door, closed it, and presumably returned to her gardening.
Then, outside in the sun and air, Lyrou thought that what she wanted to tell him, no, wanted him to ask, was if the carton of chocolate-covered cherries she stashed in the freezer was from her mystery date. She couldn’t decide if it was more amusing for him to ask and be fed a lie, or if he were never to think to ask in the first place. She’d make sure the chocolates remained there for a while, quite literally in his face when he inevitably plundered for a frozen treat. As she tended to her garden where she’d left off… she thought he might eat them.
⚜
Afternoon, Friday, June 7th, 2024
Prestige. Mel was an old-money Fifth Avenue WASP who had played lacrosse for the team his great-grandfather had played on. He’d torn through Wall Street at 25, sold two companies, been married to three high-IQ, super busty, curly-haired Ashkenazis, and, closing in on 60, he was as hungry and relentless as ever to expand his classic all-American car collection. He had hired Garin because he saw a rare natural brilliance beyond his own in this field, and Garin had proved to be a key general in every war room Mel held since.
Mel didn’t care about personal lives, not his own and certainly not Garin’s. When he stuck his nose in your office door, it was to summon you for some matter related to the company. That included if the matter was private. Mel had no room for warriors on their decline, for men going through changes or rethinking themselves, all existential. He sensed, and feared, that’s where Garin might be. In a tell-me-it ‘s-not-so manner, he put his hairy, brawny hand on Garin’s shoulder, waiting at the elevator before he left for the day, “I should ride down with you the one day you’re not taking the stairs.”
Garin smiled, shooing his hand off his shoulder, “I only jog up the stairwell in the morning.”
Mel stepped into the elevator with him, “You’re disciplined. I couldn’t do it; my clock would tick its last tock on the 4th floor.”
Garin knew Mel had something to say, and it wouldn’t be happy. He wasn’t going to allow the boss to gruffily ease it on him, with the doors closing and that little internal vestibular twinge one feels when the elevator starts down, “You’ve seen that I suck lately.”
Mel let out a deep laugh, “I was going to give you a coach speech first to rub your ass. We can’t have that with you, though.”
Garin grinned, “There’ll be no rubbing my ass, coach, I know I’m off lately.”
Mel adored Garin for his inhuman, forthright way about confrontations, and that he owned up to his faults, which spared him the sort of splitting headaches others gave him. “I want you back at 110% G. G is the secret element in my formula. You know you’re off, but do you know why you’re off, how you’ll get back on, and when you’ll get back on?”
Garin watched the floors countdown on the screen above, “None of your business. Decide to. Monday.”
Mel paused and grinned ear-to-ear, “Good.” And as the elevator stopped and the doors opened, he gestured for Garin to exit, letting out another big laugh as he did, “Monday!”
⚜
Afternoon, Friday, June 7th, 2024
Garin & Lyrou’s 14th anniversary had been the day before, but because it was a rainy Thursday, they agreed to delay it one day to this much clearer Friday.
But with time to burn before Garin came home from work, Lyrou picked up Reine as she came out of a special needs summer class she was charged with teaching. Having coffee together, Reine talked about her husband, “Philip wants to build a doghouse in our backyard… like a cartoon doghouse. Our fluffles will die outside, they’re afraid of the neighbor’s feral cat, and all it did was be orange.”
Lyrou respected the orange one, “If the feline overpowers your canines, then that’s will to power, and you serve the cat now.”
Reine looked out with a brief chuckle and read aloud the promotional window to an office across the street, “Marriage counselor, dead marriage, sexless marriage, author of ‘I Meant My Vows, and I Still Do’ and ‘My Kids Love Their Dad, But Do I?’
Lyrou sipped and nodded, “That’s one of the therapists I had on my list to take Garin to see.”
Reine gave an understanding little frown, then a quip to cheer her up, “Is it a sexless marriage if one of you is still having sex though?”
Lyrou smiled that Reine would make a joke a touch dirtier than her usual self, “There are forums full of couples arguing the definition of a sexless marriage; how many weeks without action must pass before it’s officially sexless, what if there’s sex but it’s always the same person initiating, what if it’s always the same person climaxing, what if she has vaginisimus or if he’s impotent, and it all gets onerously hermeneutic.”
Reine asked, “TMI warning?”
Lyrou snortled, “Who are you kidding? Spit it out.”
Reine recalled, “After birth and recovering, Philip didn’t push. But I knew, like, he wanted it. Or I thought he wanted it. I tried to initiate with him for the first time, and he got awkward. He declined. I wondered, is it that he thought I was only offering despite not being ready yet, out of concern that he was starving? Or was he privately not physically attracted to me since my body changed? I couldn’t get a straight answer from him, only a vague kind of “let’s not rush”. That made me want to rush. Whichever his reason, I couldn’t let it stand; he had to give it to my lactating prune pouch self, even if I had to tie him to the bed. And that idea gave me an idea. I should make it more interesting for him.”
Lyrou perked up, “Did he want to be tied to the bed?”
Reine shrugged, “Maybe? But nobody wants to admit their erotic curiosities to their spouse; they might not share the same curiosity and judge you for it. What if I tell him we should try bondage, and he’s horrified?”
Lyrou imagined Philip, “Or what if you get him to open up and it turns out he wants to wear an assless gimp suit with the zipper mouth?”
Reine gestured that she was yanking a zipper across, “I’d zip him shut. But really. So, my sister told me about a survey site where you can select, from a list of 200 of the most common out there, only five eccentric erotic interests you harbor. And then, without revealing your selection, your spouse or partner selects their top five, occulté, if they have that many. Finally, you both see which, if any, you have in common.”
“Why limit it to five?” Lyrou wondered.
“Because one person could disingenuously select all 200 just to find out what the other is into, whether they might be down for any of it or not,” Reine explained
Raising her eyebrows impressed, “Clever safety measure, but it means somebody got tricked and dumped for wanting to give a golden shower or to get fingered in his urethra, doesn’t it?”
Reine pointed her sharp, narrow pinky finger up with urological finality, “Deserved and sacrificed to science. So, I presented Philip with the survey, and he agreed to do it.”
“He selected five?” Lyrou imagined Philip, a grown man, frozen before a list of 200 kinks, having to choose a handful but unsure and torn between options.
“Yes, or at least two.” Reine clarified.
“You selected five and had two in common with him?” Lyrou just about forgot to drink her coffee.
“It mustn’t have ever appealed to him to try bondage/bdsm, sleep creep, or burglar/intruder,” Reine admitted her fantasies.
Lyrou guffawed, “Sleep, um, creep?”
Reine leaned in, rolling her eyes at herself, “I’d pretend to be asleep, and he’d pretend to sneak into my room, hesitantly approach the bedside for fear of waking me, and softly start rolling up my nightshirt, rolling down my panties, and taking it slow, stopping whenever I stir the slightest. I experienced that once, and I want it again.”
“Who?” Lyrou wondered.
“My senior year of high school. My sister’s college boyfriend. I told no one, but Claire could read his mind and dumped him the next day.” Reine looked around as if scared her sister would manifest, throwing chairs.
“I recall you had something with her ex, so that something was a shadow in the night?” Lyrou was reminded of Garin, “Eh, bien. And burglar/intruder would be just what it sounds like?”
Reine understood her interests were variations of the same narrow theme: “A scarier version of sleep creep; I’d hide in the closet after midnight at the sound of the door being broken into, he’d come up into our room after making some noise downstairs and find me.”
“Ça alors.” Lyrou covered her mouth and elbow on the table.
“He’d wear a black balaclava and black leather gloves not to leave fingerprints.” Reine was getting some joy even speaking it.
“Ça alors. I could’ve told you Philip couldn’t do that. It’s wise of you not to have told him you want that. But alas, it wasn’t meant to be. Then what was meant to be?” Lyrou sincerely asked.
Her hands turned over before her. “We both selected medical role-play and security strip search,” she said, scrunching her forehead up.
Lyrou didn’t judge, “C’est fascinant. Did he wear an N95 respirator and blue latex gloves?”
“No!” Reine said too loudly in this small public space.
“No!” Lyrou matched her disregard for inside voices.
“He wanted me to.” Reine shook her head, recalling her disappointment.
“Ouf! Did you ask him sternly to spread his arms and legs, and rub him with a detector wand, Reine?” Lyrou poked fun.
“No! I want to be told to spread my arms and legs. I want to get rubbed with a wand.” Reine lamented.
“It’s a pity.” Lyrou had her a solution in mind, but it wasn’t a solution Reine would go for. Was it?
⚜
Noon Saturday, June 8th, 2024
The upcoming weekend, Garin had bought a proper hiking getup and was ready for Contessa: a new tank top, athletic shorts, waterproof, high-traction trekkers, and a small, comfortable cinch pack.
The two had a zesty chicken sandwich lunch together: “If you don’t, you’ll have a bad energy crash in the worst location.” As she explained. She was dressed for hiking and in a way that revealed her shape thoroughly, with fully bare arms and purple leggings so tight that the fabric maxed out in parts and revealed the untanned white of her skin beneath. At the start of the trial, she tied back her hair and struck such an athletic figure. She did a light stretch before embarking, which flashed a touch of cleavage when she bent, smiled at Garin, and took the lead as his guide, with the added benefit of giving Garin sight of plenty of callipygous wedgies and perpetually alternating lower ass cheek creases to stare at along the way.
She went on about how the park had been expanded since she first began coming years ago, “They roped off steep falls, added stairs and rails, map tables, signposts, some lights, and portable toilets. It’s appreciated, but too much can ruin the rugged appeal of the place.”
“Didn’t a couple of women die up here last month?” Garin blurted, abruptly changing her topic as they walked up the rocky incline and into the forest.
Her voice was light and airy, like the rustle of leaves in the breeze. “Yep! They were taking selfies on a muddy ledge. One slipped, and the other fell trying to grab her. But don’t worry, Garin,” she said, her eyes sparkling with confidence, “I’m more than capable of keeping us safe even if an angry momma black bear attacks.” She glanced back at him, her smile widening as she took in his nervous expression and presented a flare gun tucked away in her bag. “Besides, I have a feeling you’re more concerned about the wildlife of a different nature.”
“Beary concerned about wild hams, I mean wild glutes, I mean wild pigs.” Garin took a drink of his ice water.
Her laughter echoed through the trees. “Wild hams, Garin?” she teased, her face and body moving forward with mirth. “I’d be more worried about the wild deer than wild pigs. They can be quite nasty when they feel threatened.” She continued up the trail, her hiking boots sure and steady on the rocky terrain.
Garin kept the hiking conversation focused on Contessa; he learned about her life, her interests, her politics, and her story. She shared that she hiked the Pyrenees when she’d lived in Spain for 6 months, “Barcelona. I was just teaching English and taking university courses. And having fun!” She shared that she had a father who insisted on her being trained and licensed in firearms, “He’s paranoid I could get mugged or raped, or murdered, which I guess it’s possible.” She shared that she was looking for a serious man but had resigned herself to “take relationships as they come and let what may be… be.”
The hike went well; they found several wonderful viewpoints and took selfies together. She wasn’t shy about embracing him for the shots, her body pressed firmly against his, arms wrapped around this and that part of one another as a couple would.
They also spotted wildlife, deer among them. “Reindeer!” Garin childishly pointed.
“No! Come on, you know those aren’t reindeer, you goofy.” Contessa corrected him.
Garin shrugged, “Jersey deer?” he played dumber.
“Oh yeah. OK, they’re Jersey deer, a special subspecies. They’re not running away, normal deer would.” Contessa sarcastically played along.
Garin voiced the deer, “Wrong forest, pal? Need directions, what’s your problem?”
Completing their hike, Garin drove Contessa to a roadside diner, where the food felt earned by their earlier exertion and the conversation turned thought-stream; ancient Egyptians’ zoomorphs vs ancient Greek and Minoan zoomorphs, if short legs or long legs are best for hiking, what it’s like to have ticks and lice, the risk of Alpha-gal, and a debate over if modern dental disorders are due to bad breeding or soft and sugary foods.
Then Garin drove her home, this time much later than before. “Garin, it’s after 1 am. Why don’t you stay the night?” And she needn’t ask him twice.
Once in her door, he swooped her off her feet and began to kiss her, both smelling strongly of sweat, and went trotting through the darkness of her apartment. “Which way to your shower?”
She wrapped her arms around his neck, her heart exploding in anticipation. “This way,” she whispered, pointing down the hallway. Alive, her body thrumming at the prospect of what the night would bring. “I have a walk-in.”
Garin felt the heat of Contessa’s body against his own, her long legs wrapped around his waist as he carried her to the bathroom. Her heart matched his tempo. They slipped out of their clothes together, and she turned the shower on. The warm water cascaded over them as they kissed, her soft curves melding into his firm body. Her hands roamed over his back. The scent of their sweat together and the freshness of the soap as they washed each other, their hands finding new bodies for the first time. He kissed her neck, feeling the pulse of her veins beneath his lips, and asked, “You want it now? In here?”
“Mm-hmm,” she answered, a complete surrender. She slid down his body, her wet skin gliding against him. “I want you,” she breathed, her hands reaching for his erection.
Garin placed a firm hand on Contessa’s shoulder and turned her around. He poised to press her against the glass of the shower and penetrate her from behind as the shower-head rained on them, “Do you need this?”
A wild need in her eyes. “Yes,” she gasped, arching her back as he filled her. She braced herself against the cool glass, the water beating against her skin as he moved inside her. “I need you, Garin,” she moaned, her voice echoed.
Garin enjoyed the back view of Contessa he’d endured all day, but now naked, wet, and with him plunging inside. He ran his fingers along the fold in her lower back made by her arching her ass into him and being pressed into the glass of the shower. Her moans echoed in there so deeply, muffled by the ambience of the shower water beating against their bodies and running off, swirling into the drain.
Her body shivered with pleasure, the water cascading down her back as Garin’s strong hands held her in place. She leaned back into him, her soaked hair sticking to her skin as she threw her head, her eyes closed in ecstasy. “Oh, Garin.”
Garin reached his hands under Contessa’s arms and seized her tits from behind. “Tell me what feels good.”
Contessa against the steamy shower wall, her breath fogging the glass as she tried to keep from screaming out. Garin’s hands on her breasts, his cock deep inside her, and the relentless beat of the water on their skin was driving her wild. She bit her bottom lip, her teeth marks in the plump pink as her orgasm built. “Eh-eh-Everything,” she gasped, “Everything feels so good, how you invade me, how there’s nowhere to go, the steam, the heat, your hard body, your hard dick.” Her back arched further, pushing her breasts into his palms, and she began to grind back against him, her wetness mixing with the water and making their movements slick and easy. The sound of their bodies, corybantic, colliding, filled the small shower. She reached back, her hand sliding over his slick abs to grasp his hip, urging him deeper, faster. “Don’t stop, Garin,” she begged, “Please, don’t stop.”
Garin grasped Contessa by her hips and pulled her hard into himself, angling his cock so that it stroked her G-spot and then ran hard up into her, again and again, the impacts reverberating in the hollows of her pelvis; her cartilaginous pubic symphysis and sacroiliac joints vibrating like a drum. He kept quiet to let her get lost in the sensation.
The combination of Garin’s strong grip, his angling, and the relentless beat of the water against her skin was pushing her closer and closer to the edge. Her moans echoed off the tiles as her orgasm built within, “Mmm-yes-mmm!” She tightened her hold on the shower handle, her knuckles turning white. Pinned against the steamy shower wall, seeing only a blur of colors and light, every inch of him, every movement, and it was driving her wild. “Oh, fuck,” she panted, her body shaking with the intensity of it all. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.” Tightening around him, her walls pulsing in time with the rhythm of their lovemaking. And then, with a cry that was lost in the sound of the shower, Garin pulled from her, and she came, her psoas spasming, her body convulsing in his arms. He watched with triumph as she arched her belly forward, shoulders back, her scapulae squeezed together, droplets running down and between them.
Garin’s left hand found Contessa’s waist, a fingertip gently entering her navel, and his other hand dared to touch her clitoris as she came. “Turn.” And he pulled out to twist her such that she faced him. He lifted her with his arms under her knees, and with her back braced against the tile shower wall, he fucked her face-to-face. He kissed along her collarbones, and her breasts were mashed against his chest. He turned off the shower, and they fucked standing eye-to-eye, now loud enough that the neighbors must surely hear them through the floor and ceiling, through the ventilation, she thought… neighbors who’d recognize her and hear now what private activity she was in. She’d face them later and act as if she believed nothing was heard, good. Let them all hear me getting fucked, she thought, that sleazy single slut in our building bringing a man back to her place.
She obeyed, turning to face him, her legs wrapping around his waist as he held her up against the cool tile. The sudden change in position only heightened her pleasure, her eyes locking with his. The water dripped from their bodies, mixing with their sweat as they kissed, their tongues finding wet lips. The raw, animalistic need in his gaze only fueled her desire. Her nails digging into his shoulders as another orgasm approached, “I-I-aah!” She gawked down at his torso, his glistening wet six-pack flexing firm with each thrust, his deeply sculpted V-line guiding her eyes down further to his pubic hair and the sight of his shaft pounding between her parted labia. In this chamber of rain, his thumb came mashing her clitoris, “Garin,” she breathed, a whimper of pleasure. “I’m going to cum again.”
With his forehead to her forehead, Garin looked deeply into Contessa’s hazel eyes, “Are you cumming again?”
Nirvana and surprise in her face, then wincing, “Yes,” she whimpered, her body tensing in his arms. “I’m so close.”
Garin kept eye contact with Contessa, and she understood that she was to cum while looking into his gaze, she wasn’t to look away, or close her eyes, she was to orgasm with this intimate memory imprinted of Garin’s eyes set in hers. A powerful connection that went beyond physical. Her body was a coil of sex, tightening with each stroke, “Mmnn, uuunn-un-umn.” Her orgasm built, thickly creaming his shaft, a crescendo. At her pinnacle, “I’m cumming. Oah! Oah!” The world around them fell away, and all that existed was the pounding of their hearts and the slick-slapping sound of their bodies moving together. She threw her head back, her eyes squeezed shut as the orgasm washed over her, “Ouuuuuwwwww-ah!”, and then she forced them open to meet his once more. Her body trembled in his arms, her legs almost buckling.
“Do you want me to finish inside you?” Garin gyrated, stirring his dick inside her
Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, then certainty. “Yes.” The voice of a woman made receptacle and, throwing caution to the wind, “Finish inside me, Garin.”
Garin carried Contessa, her legs wrapped around his waist, from the shower, both dripping across her floor, and intuitively found her bed. In the dark, he lay her down, his hands then taking her by her ankles, thumbs squeezing in her Achilles tendons. He positioned and committed them to missionary. Now he only fucked for himself, taking long dives into her and rocking her body with overwrought vibrations, watching her breasts bounce between her folded over arms, and her wet hair lying over her face in the moonlight from her bedroom window.
Her eyes closed, mouth parted, the power in his thrusts, the claiming of her body for his use. Her lips formed into vowels, her breasts heaving forward with each breath, “You can go as hard on me as you like.”
Garin added three hard slams, stopping for a second with each, a jab at her cervix, but it hurt right. His ass muscles flexed, and he stopped deep inside her to release. “A grunting, hissing “Aaahhh!” Inside her, pumping in peristalsis, pouring out.
The melted warmth of his climax filled her. Her own body still quivering, she watched his features in the moonlit room. Her chest heaved with each breath, her legs still wrapped around his waist, her heels atop his buttocks. The weight of his body on hers was comforting. For now, she held onto the moment.
Garin and Contessa fell asleep in her bed, drying off naked and half-covered by her blankets. In the morning, he woke and dressed. Her eyes opened, and she didn’t speak; she only watched him. He noticed she was silently awake as he put his socks on. “Good morning.”
“Morrrning,” her voice still thick with sleep. She watched him dress with sadness and contentment. As he raised his arms to brush his hair, his unbuttoned shirt opened wide, and she admired the movement of his obliques and serratus, that his androgenic body hair was by her eye just the correct balance between sparse and hirsute, and that he struck such a solid stance. High on oxytocin, “Thank you for yesterday.”
Garin watched Contessa stretch, exposing the axillary crease of her armpit and thin pectoralis major tendon. Sitting up with her arms and face contorted, her hair was messy in a strangely gorgeous way. He felt regret that he was to leave her now, but it was what had to be: “I’m married.” Garin stood, stating it flatly.
“I know,” she said with a quiet understanding. “But sometimes people find themselves in situations they didn’t intend to be in.” She reached out to brush off a stray strand of fabric from his pants, her touch gentle and girlfriend-like.
“How’d you know?” Garin really wondered.
“You’re not the first married man to play single with me,” she answered with an eyeroll and a sigh.
“You weren’t beguiled? You weren’t hurt?” Again, he really wondered.
Contessa’s expression remained calm, “Physically, no,” she assured him, sitting up and pulling the sheet over her breasts.
“Yes. But nonphysically?” he asked quickly.
“You didn’t do that,” she said, now unfazed.
“Would you see me again, I mean, even if it has to wait?” he’d like it if she answered she would, though unsure of himself if he would.
The sadness in her gaze was replaced by a flicker of vague, dubious hope. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “It’s complicated. It depends on where I am when you decide to pop back in, and who I’m with. But I do enjoy your company.”
“If and until then.” Garin made his way through the hallway of Contessa’s apartment, and she followed him naked to her door, with a weak smile. He opened her door, turned for one last kiss.
Contessa’s eyes met Garin’s for the last time, her smile bittersweet. She leaned in for the kiss, her body still warm from her bed. Their kiss was soft, lingering, filled with the empty promise of what couldn’t have been. “Goodbye, Garin,” she whispered against his lips.
⚜
