I had no way of knowing how many inches it was, nor would that have made any difference to me had I known, as I had no frame of reference. All I knew, was that it was beautiful. Nearly as thick as my wrist, and almost as long as my entire forearm, ridged and veiny, with a plump domed head. Heavy.
God, I should really learn to even think a few dirty words.
His...cock...was beautiful. And his balls looked at once heavy and soft.
His thighs were...I couldn't even come up with a metaphor or simile that was apt. A phrase from the golden age of science-fiction and fantasy rolled through my brain: might thews--Baxter had mighty thews. He was a football player, I remembered, and judging by the raw power of his legs, he could run down a freight train and tackle it.
I extended a trembling hand and touched his abs, slid my palm up to his chest, explored his pectoral muscles, and then back down. Traced the ridges and blocks of his abs. The lines delineating the muscles in his thighs. The carved angle of his waist, and his hips. I shifted forward a few inches, so I was closer to him, and palmed the cannonball hardness of his buttock, then again with both hands.
"I..." A laugh bubbled up out of me as I caressed his buttocks. "I like your butt."
He laughed. "Football scouts and agents actually look at players' asses. Big butts mean a lot of power."
"Then you must have...a lot of power," I said.
"Honey, you have no idea."
Oh geez. Oh boy. I gulped at the heat and the promise in his voice. "I can imagine," I murmured.
His chuckle managed to sound like he was teasing me. "You know, babe, somethin' tells me you probably couldn't. Not yet, anyway."
"Not yet?"
"I plan on showing you." His voice was a purr, now. Leonine. Thrilling. Seductive. "I plan on showing you my power and my stamina."
"Ohhh boy. Oh boy."
"Oh...boy," he repeated, monotone, sarcastic. "You just said...oh boy."
"Cursing and vulgarity is not ladylike, nor is it elegant. It is the mark of an uneducated and decidedly unsophisticated mind," I said, instinctively quoting verbatim Mrs. Allison, the woman who had taught me comportment and decorum and proper social etiquette from the time I was eleven until I graduated high school.
Baxter's eyebrows arched. "Well fuck me, then, right?"
I felt my cheeks burning. "I--Baxter, I'm--I didn't mean--"
He laughed. "Relax, babe. It's fine. That's actually been proven to be untrue, but you can think what you want."
I eyed him. "What do you mean?"
He shrugged. "Well, just that several scientific studies have actually proven that a large vocabulary of curse words is a sign of greater intelligence, not less." He winked at me. "But I'll grant you that someone who swears a lot, like me for example, probably isn't very elegant or sophisticated."
I thought about it. "I suppose it's just been drummed into my head for my whole life that cursing is a sign of weakness and demonstrates a lack of decorum, and that there is no reason to engage in it. I don't curse as a matter of habit. It's not a...a religious or moral thing."
Baxter crossed his arms over his big chest, and quirked an eyebrow at me, with a wry, knowing smirk curving his lips. "You wouldn't be trying to distract yourself, now, would you? I ain't in any kind of hurry or nothin', but for someone who says she wants to experience this whole touching me and making me come thing, you sure are talking a lot."
I swallowed hard. "Yeah, I might be delaying a little." I met his eyes. "I am pretty nervous."
His smile was reassuring. "Nothin' to be nervous about, honey. Just reach out and grab it. I won't move, won't say a word."
I held his gaze. "No laughing at me, no teasing?"
"Some things I don't joke about, Eva. Gettin' my dick touched is right at the top of that list."
"I just...I don't want to--to do anything...I don't know. Wrong, I guess." I broke the gaze binding our eyes.
He chuckled, reaching out and lifting my chin so I was looking at him again. "Told you, there ain't no right or wrong. This ain't a test, or a game, or a competition. This is just two consenting adults, alone, doin' what feels good. Only advice I might give you is, to start out with, don't squeeze too hard, but I also ain't gonna break, so you don't have to act like I'm made of porcelain or some shit." He crossed his arms again. "This is about you, this time around. Don't worry about how I feel. You got your hands on me, I'm enjoying it. Promise."
"Okay." That actually did make me feel a little better. "I just...I don't want to hurt you or anything. I know you're...sensitive, down there."
He laughed again. "Honey, you plannin' on kneeing me in the sac or something?"
I glared up at him. "Of course not!"
"Then quit worrying. It don't bend when it's hard, and it only stretches so far, but...honestly, just...do it. Touch me. Quit thinkin', quit stallin', and just reach out and grab it. I don't bite." He glanced toward the ceiling with a shrug. "Well, I do, but not in this situation."
I laughed despite my hammering, jangling nerves. "Okay...okay. Here it goes."
He just stood still, arms crossed over his chest, like a living sculpture of an ancient god or a warrior from times of old, massive and hard and muscular and perfect, with a dauntingly enormous erection staring me in the face.
I started at his thighs, palms sliding upward from his knees. I couldn't help a detour back to his butt, because it really was incredible, taut and round and hard but yet the skin so soft, with a light dusting of dark hair. And then up to his abs, because what woman could resist touching that stomach, the hard marble blocks of muscle? I traced the V-shaped indents with my thumbs, and let my gaze fix on his erection. I sucked in a breath, blinked hard, let out the breath, and wrapped my right hand around him.
Oh...oh my. Oh my god. So big. Hard, yet silky soft. Springy, yet containing a core of steel. Smooth, and warm. I let my hand travel down, until my knuckles brushed his belly, and wrapped my other hand around him. I glanced up at him: his belly was tensed, and his jaw was ticking and pulsing, and his brows were drawn down, and his eyes were locked on me. He was stone-still, except for the gentle rise and fall of his breathing and the tick of his jaw.
One hand, again. I slid my fist up, slowly, marveling at the feel of him in my hand. I was amazed at myself, for doing this, inordinately pleased and proud, and wildly giddy. I pulled him away from his body, toward me, and then from side to side, testing the range of motion. Rubbed the rounded top part with my thumb, brushing the tiny little slit with my fingernail; he flinched when I did that.
"Crap, did I hurt you?" I asked, somewhat breathlessly, a little panicked, since he hadn't flinched even when getting punched during the fight or sliced along the arm in the alley.
He shook his head. "Nope. Exact opposite."
I flicked the little slit with my thumbnail again. "So this...? You like it?"
"Yep."
I kept my grip loose and light, and slid my fist up and down his length a few times, mimicking what I'd seen on the video. "And this? It feels good?"
His mouth quirked, as if he was restraining a laugh. "Hell yes. Crazy good."
I used both hands, and let myself enjoy the sensation of just stroking him and petting him, caressing his length, using all sorts of grips and touches and rhythms, experimenting and exploring.
I grinned up at him. "I really like this."
"You like what, exactly?" he asked, the furrowed ridge of his brows deepening, the ticking of his jaw becoming more rapid, his words coming through clenched teeth.
"Everything." I watched my hands, liking the contrast of my skin tone against his, the erotic view of his erection sliding between my fingers, the way he seemed to be struggling to contain his reactions. "Touching you. The way you feel. The way you look." I paused, just watching myself touching him. "I like that...that I can see you physically trying to...I don't know. Hold back your reactions."
He grunted wordlessly. "Not a reaction I'm holdin' back, sweetheart."
"R
eally? Then what are you struggling with?"
He made a sound that was part laugh, part grunt. "Everything. I wanna let you just touch me, and take as long as you want, but...it feels so fuckin' good, Eva. I'm goin' a bit crazy, here, watching you touch me. You're so far outta my league it ain't even funny, but here you are, gorgeous and incredible, and you're touching me like you're the one getting all the enjoyment outta this."
"Because I am."
He growled, literally growled. "You have no idea what this is like for me." He sucked in a deep breath, and I could see his abs tautening and hardening. "I'm a real bastard. I know that about myself. I'm a vulgar, violent, rotten son of a bitch, and I ain't ever gettin' into Heaven. So I figure this is as close as I'm ever gonna get, havin' a woman like you waste her time with a piece'a shit like me."
I frowned up at him. "You don't think very highly of yourself, do you?"
"Nah, I do." He inhaled sharply, held the breath, and let it out slowly as I stroked him with leisurely, lazy, slowness. "I'm a good-looking motherfucker. I'm built like a god. I can take a hell of a lot of pain, and I can dish out even more. I can run the hundred-yard dash in a damn near Olympic time. I'm smarter than most people would assume. I'm a good brother, a good friend, and damn good in bed. But am I a good person? Nah. Probably not, and I'm okay with it."
I caressed him with short, soft, sliding strokes, watching him breathe even more deeply as I did so. "I disagree. I think you are a good person. You've been nothing but kind to me."
"Maybe I'm just using you. Taking what I can get from you."
"I'm not expecting anything from you, Baxter. That's not what this is. I don't know what it is. Except that I'm getting as much from this as you are, if not more."
He was breathing heavily, now, inhaling and exhaling deeply through his nose, scowling at me in concentration. "You've got your sweet, sexy, innocent little hands all over my cock, Eva. I'm not quite seein' what you're getting."
"Something I've wanted to do for a long, long time," I said. "Experience this kind of...intimacy with a man. Something I've chosen, because it's what I want for myself. Choosing what I want, and who I want."
"I'm startin' to feel like whatever it was you experienced with that fuckface Thomas it wasn't anything like good fucking."
I squeezed, just a little, and glared up at him. "We are not talking about that jerk. Not here, not now. Not ever."
His lips quirked. "Noted. Sorry."
I smiled, to alleviate the tension of the moment. "I just...I'm enjoying this, a lot, and I don't want to ruin the moment talking about someone to whom I'm never giving another moment of my time, nor a single second of my attention."
I was stroking him rhythmically, with both hands, up and down and up and down, relishing the slide of all those hard, beautiful, veiny inches through my hands; his hips were flexing, ever so slightly, and he was breathing heavily, his jaw clenched hard, his eyes glinting and flashing, watching every movement of my hands, every once in a while flicking to my eyes, searching my face.
"You better stop soon, Eva," he murmured.
I frowned at him. "Why? I wanted to...I want you to..." I shrugged, looking at his erection instead of his face, now. "I want you to feel good. Like you made me, twice now. I want you to come."
He grimaced in concentration, every muscle taut and tensed, a deep growl rumbling in his chest. "And I'm gonna, any second now. But Eva, honey, it's gonna be a mess. You know that, right? I can't control that."
My eyes widened, and I gulped. "Oh. Right."
I thought back to the video--in that, the woman had used her hands for the whole video, and then, when the faceless male had gotten close to release, she'd aimed him at her breasts and he'd come all over them, and she'd moaned and whimpered and carried on like it had benefitted her somehow, sexually, when it obviously and clearly had not, and could not. In the video, that had seemed like an obvious conclusion to such an act. But sitting here, doing this, touching this man, a man with a name and a face and a heart and a soul and personality, me doing this, touching Baxter Badd intimately, bringing him to the cusp of orgasm, I just simply could not imagine doing...that. Letting him do that, onto me. Nor could I wrap my head around the other thing I'd seen in many videos: using my mouth. I'd never even touched a penis before now, in real life. I'd never touched--him; I barely even saw it. Nor had I seen a man orgasm. In my previous experiences, he'd grunted a few times, moved a little more vigorously, and then he'd rolled off and vanished. Assuming he'd come, any mess had been contained in the condom he'd worn.
This...with Baxter, this was a whole different experience. I wanted to watch him come. I wanted to be the one to bring him there, and I wanted to see what it looked like, the whole process. But to take it in my mouth or on my body? I wasn't quite there yet; I probably would never be there...but then I never thought I would be here, doing this. Who knew what I might do, in the future? Anything. I could do whatever I wanted. Maybe I would enjoy that, letting him--making him--do that to me.
Baxter ...grunted again. "Eva?" He pulled out of my grip, growling with each breath. "Sorry, but I won't be able to hold out if you keep it up much longer."
"Could we move to the bathroom?" I suggested; the bathroom wasn't en suite, but was rather just outside the door, kitty corner.
"You go first, check that the coast is clear."
I moved past him, eased open the bedroom door, peered out to make sure no one was around. The hallway was empty, and I could hear the mower going outside, meaning John was out there, and I heard a blender whirring in the kitchen, meaning Beverly was in there. I snuck out, pushed open the bathroom door, waving at Baxter. He trotted into the bathroom after me, and I closed the door behind us, looking at him and suppressing a fit of giggles.
Baxter eyed me suspiciously. "What's funny?"
I breathed through the giggles. "I don't know. I'm sorry. Just...this is funny. You and me, sneaking around like teenagers doing something naughty." I bit my lip, trying unsuccessfully to keep another fit from washing over me. "Also, you running like--like that...it was just...it was funny."
"How so?"
I had to sit down on the closed toilet lid as I tried to suppress the laughter. "You were...your--your--" I waved in the direction of his crotch, and then tried the word out loud. "Your...cock was waving and wobbling all over the place, and it's just...it's funny."
He was standing with his back to the door, a smirk on his lips. "Say 'cock' again, Eva." The heat in his voice ensured any humor left in me disappeared immediately.
I stared at him. I had to take a fortifying breath. "Cock."
His eyes slid halfway closed, as if in some kind of rapture. "Hearing such a dirty word from such sweet lips, babe...it's--it's almost too much."
"Come over here," I said, and then realized it had come out sounding like an order. "Please."
A grin quirked his lips. "You can order me around all you want, Eva. Chances are, I'll probably listen." He winked as he swaggered over to stand in front of me, his back to the tub, only inches between us, now, in the small confines of the bathroom. "But only because I want to. Nobody tells me what to do." His tone of voice and the humor in his voice turned that last part into a joke. Preserving his macho attitude, but sort of...tongue-in-cheek.
"How..." I reached out and grasped him in one hand, gave him a slow plunge of my hand from top to bottom. "How should I do this?"
He shrugged. "You could switch places with me. I'll sit on the tub, and you can get down here where I'm standing. Then, when I come, I'll come on myself instead'a on you or all over your room." A wink. "Pretty experienced at cleaning myself up, know what I mean?"
I blushed at the image. "You masturbate a lot?"
He grinned. "Hell yeah."
"Did you, since...since last night?" I asked, rising off the toilet lid and moving to the side so he could take my place.
He sat down, sinking low so he was perched on the very edge, his feet framing me on either side, braced on
the tub, head tipped back to rest on the wall above the toilet's tank. He was relaxed, physically, but I could see the anticipation in the glint in his eyes and the tension in his muscles.
"Yeah," he murmured. "I did."
I knelt in front of him. I was thinking about all the videos I'd watched in which the actress went to her knees; usually, almost always, she ended up using her mouth. I wondered what it would taste like, feel like? To have him in my mouth? What does flesh taste like? I've kissed lips, but that's it. I shook the thought away, filed it away for later perusal.
"What did you...what did you think about?" I asked. "Is that too personal a question?"
He shook his head. "I'm an open book, babe. Ask me anything." His gaze was hot and hard. "What would you think if I told you I thought about you?"
I couldn't look away from his intense brown eyes. "I don't know. Partially I'd be flattered. Maybe a little embarrassed. And..." I shrugged and broke the stare. "Also, maybe a little...turned on." I forced my eyes to his again. "Did you?"
"Started to. This morning. I was in the shower, and I thought about you, last night. Making you come. Touching your hot wet little pussy. Kissing you. The glimpses of your tits I'd gotten. I started to imagine touching you. Kissing you. Getting my hands and mouth on those fuckin' amazing tits of yours, making you come a few more times."
"You started to," I prompted. "Is that how you...how you finished?"
He shook his head. "Nah. It felt...I didn't want to...I dunno how to put it. Cheapen you? Does that make any sense? Whacking off to you just felt...wrong, somehow. Dunno why."
"What did you...what did you think about to make yourself come?"
"Just...sex. Not anyone specific." He hesitated. "Although, now that I've seen more of you, I think maybe it was still you."
"It wouldn't feel cheap or wrong to me, if you thought about me. I wouldn't mind." I grasped him. Stroked him, staring into his eyes. "It would be...it would be erotic, knowing you were touching yourself and thinking about me. What would you think about, what would you imagine?"
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