Her ToyBear

by Bonnie Burrows

  She stroked his face tenderly, affectionately. “All of it. My sweet boy.”

  With arms around each other and legs intertwining, Jennifer and Wesley locked in a long, long kiss to seal everything that they had so quickly come to mean to each other. After what seemed like forever with their mouths together, Wesley pulled away just enough to say, “I'm gonna be hard again soon. And I've gotta go to work. Wanna get in the shower? I love eating out and doing it in the shower.”

  “It’s a shame to get out of bed now,” said Jennifer. “But okay…off to the shower.”

  Somehow they managed to tear themselves away from the bed. It wasn’t easy, but somehow they did it. In the shower, where Wesley had rinsed himself off after stroking himself off, they wet each other down and lathered each other all over, then rinsed each other off. They embraced and kissed in the stream of warm water, and slid their hands up and down over each other’s wet skin.

  The sensations of nakedness, wetness, and closeness brought Wesley to another furious erection. He shut off the water and backed her up against the shower wall. Then he dropped to his knees in front of her dripping wet sex, pried her legs apart, and devoured her petals. He licked and sucked at her love button and French-kissed her lady parts, turning her into a quivering mass of sheer delight.

  He stood up again, put his lively, erect member where his mouth had been, and drove himself into her. She clung to him and let him pound away at her, grunting wildly and slamming inside her again and again. The walls of the bathroom rang with the cries of their shared ecstasy. The steam from the shower paled in comparison with the steam of their commingling bodies.

  Their release came in an explosive shock of an orgasm, and a fountain of creamy seed shot from Wesley’s rod into Jennifer’s passage. Panting, they slid down the wall and crumpled onto the shower floor with Wesley’s white sap dripping both from his member and her opening. There they sat for a time, fondling and kissing, soaked and sated.

  Finally emerging from the shower, they dressed. Jennifer simply pulled on a blue silk robe while Wesley put back on the clothes in which he’d arrived and picked up his overnight bag, which he had left in the living room. They returned to the kitchen and dining area, laughing about how they had skipped dessert after dinner and actually had each other for dessert.

  She made them breakfast, and after they finished eating, they walked back to the living room with Wesley’s arm around her. In the living room, she went as she customarily did to the desk drawer and took out the checkbook from which she cut his last payment for artistic services rendered. Jennifer handed it to him. Their hands touched, and he smiled his sexy boy smile at her as he pocketed the check.

  Then he pulled her close again and kissed her, a kiss filled with all of the torrid desire of the hours they’d spent after last night’s meal, and he slipped his hands under the hem of her robe and squeezed Jennifer’s soft and yielding buttocks.

  “You’ve got such a sweet ass,” he said, breaking the kiss.

  “You are such a sexy boy,” she replied.

  The lascivious look burned in his eyes. He removed his hands from her bottom—and took them to his belt and his zipper.

  Jennifer’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding. Now? Again? You’re going to be late for work, Wesley…”

  “Can’t help it,” he said, unzipping and taking down his trousers and underwear, unleashing the straining and hardening contents of his briefs. “One more time before I go.” He glanced across the room. “One more time, on the couch. Come on, lay down. Let me do it one more time.”

  With a sigh, Jennifer accepted her utter inability to deny him. She took him by the hand and led him to the sofa. She undid the belt of her robe, opened it up, and stretched out before him. Grinning wickedly and lustily, Wesley took his briefs and trousers down to his knees and brought himself down on top of her. His hardness slipped inside her once again. Whimpering with this latest onslaught of pleasure, Jennifer submitted to his spontaneous sex, receiving his urgent, deep thrusts, marveling at his insatiable desire and his seemingly limitless ability to drill between her legs.

  He took her hard, fast, and deep, as always, moaning out once again how thrilled he was at her tightness and her wetness. His pumping spurred him on to the brink of another orgasm. Sliding in and out of her, he raised himself up on one hand and slipped his free hand down to her bud to play at it while pumping her channel.

  She whimpered longer and more loudly, pleasured two ways at once. The hot and tingly release of her orgasm whirled through Jennifer’s body yet again, followed by a long, loud moan from Wesley that signaled his latest jet of seed into her depths. Panting, he lowered his face back to hers for one more kiss.

  “Damn,” he said. “I hate to go.”

  She kissed him back. “I hate to let you go after that.”

  “Tonight?” he asked. “After I get out of work?”

  “Another skipped dessert,” she said, grinning.

  “Another all-nighter,” he promised, and sealed it with one more long kiss.

  _______________

  After leaving the gym that day, Wesley phoned Jennifer to tell her that he was returning to his apartment to check his mail before going back to her place. To bank as much money as he could before starting his fitness trainer business, Wesley rented a simple studio apartment in the city, a short walk away from work. He went to his mailbox and took out the expected bills. He walked up to his door and let himself in.

  He set down his bag and the envelopes, not really interested in their contents at the moment after all. He looked around at his bed, where he was keenly aware of having not slept last night—not that he did much sleeping in the bed that he did occupy—and his other simple furnishings.

  What a difference there was between his little studio and the penthouse where he’d spent the previous evening and where he would be spending this one and, he hoped, many more in the future. He could see this little place becoming a way station between the gym and there—where Jennifer would be waiting for him.

  The thought of her stirred his member, sending hot blood coursing into it. Wesley stripped off everything but his briefs, which bulged with their hardening and throbbing contents, and tossed his clothing into the laundry basket near the door. Then he made a beeline for the bathroom.

  In the bathroom he studied himself in the mirror, as he had done just yesterday in Jennifer’s bathroom after manually working off the arousal of his last posing session. He had not shaved since yesterday morning, and his growth of stubble had become a deep shadow of hair on his upper lip and lower face. Jennifer had not seemed to mind him kissing her with such a growth.

  She had received his kiss this morning with undiminished desire to match his own, the same desire with which she welcomed his urgent, exuberant sex. The memory made his erection strain in his briefs. In truth, Jennifer did not seem to mind anything about him. And realizing this, he felt impaled on a rude, cruel, hot spike of realization—the realization of what it was about him that Jennifer was likely to mind very much and would in all likelihood be utterly unable to accept.

  He shut his eyes at the thought of it, trying to chase the plain, unavoidable fact from his mind, but he could not. The truth and the fear that it brought were bigger than he was. They were even bigger than what Jennifer did not yet know.

  Wesley took his shaving cream and his razor from the counter at the sink. He pressed a large dollop of foam from the can into his hand—and this, too, reminded him of yesterday, and last night, and this morning. It had started with him pressing a very different substance, not from a can but from himself, onto his skin, then wiping and washing it off himself.

  It had continued with an urgent and impassioned night of dispensing that same stuff into the woman who had started as his patron but was now becoming something much more. What would she say, what would she do, when she learned—as he knew she inevitably must—the one thing about him that she did not know?

  He spread the shaving cream onto
his face and began to whisk it and the dark growth away. With every stroke of the razor, he seemed to relive another touch, another fondle and caress, another stroke of his member, that he and Jennifer had shared. His tool almost danced in his briefs at the memory of what had gone on in her bed and her shower, and what he had been so unable to stop himself doing on her sofa.

  His mind went back to that moment in her living room when he took down his trousers and his briefs and released his beast for her one more time. He stopped at the sight of himself with the last little blobs of shaving cream dotting his face and all the stubble shaved away. And the spike of dreadful anxiety plunged through him again at the irony of shaving off this hair so easily.

  Other hair was not so easily removed, and it came with other things—things that would not be easily explained to an artist who lived in a penthouse. What would she be to him then? Would he still be the boy that she so desired, the man who so thrilled her?

  Wesley’s body ached—not the good ache of an erection, eager to be put to work on a beautiful and willing older woman, but the ache of not knowing what to expect. Or perhaps what he knew he could expect. He hunched over the sink and shut his eyes. Oh God, how did I let this happen?

  He had trained his body to physical perfection, and the thing he loved best to do with it was to lie humping and thrusting atop a woman. Sex was essential to him; he needed it as he needed air, water, and food. A life without sexual intercourse was for Wesley no life at all. But long before he’d ever left home, his parents had warned him of this very thing.

  “Son, be careful who you get close to. Be careful what you do and who you do it with. You know how they are. You know how scared they get, and what they can do when they’re scared. They’re not evil; they’re not bad. But their fear is dangerous. It can hurt you. It can even kill you. And it can break your heart. Be careful, son; they’re afraid, and there are more of them than us. Just watch what you do.”

  Still hunched over the sink, Wesley thought, “Oh, Mom, Dad…I didn’t watch myself like you said. Not this time. I walked right into it.” And it was true; it was as if he had blindly put down his foot right into a trap. His foot—or an even more sensitive part of himself. And now he was caught. He had never let this happen before. It was something he’d never had to worry about with Adela.

  But with all the other girls, the ones in school and the ones he’d slept with since coming here to the city, he’d been careful. He had sexed them, satisfied them, and enjoyed them, and he’d been careful and moved on. But Jennifer was the trap—the older, beautiful, classy, intelligent, alluring trap, who adored his youthful beauty and revered his hot, humpy young body and his massive manhood. And now, Wesley was caught.

  He thought he should just tell her. He should just tell her—explain it to her and assure her that there was nothing to fear. And he should just show her. That was all he had to do. If the feelings between them were real, she would understand, wouldn’t she? Jennifer was not just older and wiser and intelligent and talented. She was kind. She was understanding. She was gentle. She wouldn’t be afraid, if he just helped her understand—would she?

  Wesley imagined himself telling her. He pictured her reaction. And in a moment that made him want to curl up on the floor, he saw the warmth and tenderness and desire on her beautiful face turning to stark terror and abject horror. He couldn’t stand the thought of her looking at him that way, the light of desire in those sparkling blue eyes turning to abhorrence and fear. He couldn’t live with the thought of Jennifer, who had moaned in ecstasy under him for so many hours, now screaming and wanting to run from him.

  And then, what would be left for him? In just one night and one morning she had become everything to him. Jennifer was everything and everything was Jennifer. Jennifer's lips and Jennifer's eyes. Jennifer's breasts and Jennifer's buttocks. Jennifer's wet, tight, slippery sex and the way she contracted around his shaft when he plunged it into her. The way Jennifer worshipped his body as he pinned her to the bed--or wherever--and screwed her madly for hours on end.

  The maleness in his briefs roared at him. Clenching his teeth and growling, Wesley tore down his underwear and kicked it away on the bathroom floor, making himself naked. Growling more, he grabbed his root and pulled at its pulsing length, faster and faster, and as he worked it with one hand, he reached around the other to rub his bottom, imagining that it was her hand groping at him. Tossing back his head, he bellowed, “Uhh…uhh…Jennifer…! Jennifer…!”

  From the blunt and turtle necked head of his tool came a thick, white, wet and sticky response; a fountain of seed that arced up from Wesley’s glans and over into the bathroom sink. He moaned and whined at his release, an echo of what he’d done just about twenty-four hours ago while leaning against Jennifer’s bathroom door.

  After that mighty spurt of sticky whiteness, his seed continued to leak copiously from his tool onto his still-stroking hand. Wesley panted with the hot tingle of his subsiding orgasm, knowing where he wished he had released himself rather than into the sink. More softly now, he breathed out her name: “Jennifer.”

  He looked at himself in the mirror, with bits of foam on his face. He raised his hand up from his loins and looked at the coating of man-jam on his fingers. He reached for a washcloth and slowly began to wipe off his face and his hand.

  Wesley thought that he should just end it, that he should tell her that this was a mistake and they should call it off. But he knew it was a lie, and he knew that he would be lying without conviction. And he knew that it would break her heart as surely as it would break his own. And he despaired of the heartbreak awaiting both of them, whichever way he turned.

  There was no turning back from what he had done, from what Jennifer had so eagerly, willingly, joyously let him do—and was waiting for him to do again. And the greatest truth of all was that he wanted to do it. There was no other place on Earth that Wesley Horne would rather be than in the bed and between the thighs of Jennifer Casey.

  He was going back to that penthouse, and he was going to lie with her and atop her and screw her until they both passed out. He would give her his body, his manhood, everything. And he would show her how beautiful she was and how much a young man could please and be pleased by a woman like her.

  And somehow, perhaps, if he sexed her enough and pleased her enough, he could tell her the truth and she would understand.

  _______________

  The evening unfolded just as he’d said that morning. As soon as Wesley was in the door of the penthouse, his clothes came flying off. They couldn’t even wait long enough to go upstairs to bed; their first time that evening was there on the sofa again. Only after that release of desire that had built up in both of them over the day did they make their way up to the bedroom, where Wesley humped her and climaxed the two of them once more.

  As they cuddled quietly in bed in the last twilight before the night fell, Wesley said in a deep and dreamy voice, “I love sex.”

  “I noticed,” she chuckled, kissing his chest.

  He looked at those blue eyes into which he felt as though he could dive and swim. “Seriously, Jen. I love everything about sex. I love how it tastes and how it feels and how it smells…” He reached down and played with his index finger on her slick petals, making her coo with pleasure. “And how you tighten up around me when I'm in you and I feel you come. I love it best when I feel you come just from having me in you. That's how I know I've really made you happy.”

  “You always make me happy, Wesley,” she said. “Every time. That way and every way. Wesley, I want you more and more. I don't think I've ever wanted anything as much in my whole life as I want you.”

  He smiled at her. To hear her say that made him feel as if his heart were suddenly too big for his chest to hold. “I want you too, Jen. More than anything. Before we met, I never got enough sex. Now...I just never get enough of you.”

  She curled up against him. He took her in his arms and wrapped a big, strong leg around her. “Wesl
ey,” she sighed, “you are the sweetest thing in the world. The sweetest boy. The sweetest man. Just the sweetest.”

  Wesley shut his eyes tightly. The heart that felt so large inside him now felt like a mass of warm syrup. To hear her say such things to him… He could not compare it to anything else in his life. He thought of everything that had gone through his mind back at his apartment, everything he had felt and feared, and there was one truth greater, bigger, than any other.

  Oh, my God, what am I doing? What have I done? I’m in love with her.

  He gulped at the feeling. It both lifted him up and terrified him, but there it was.

  I’m in love with her.

  His eyes snapped open at a new sensation—that of Jennifer’s fingers teasing the full and succulent roundness behind the base of his man-hose. Powerless against both this sensation and his emotions, Wesley instantly responded. His hose lengthened and stiffened into a thick, hard pole once again. He sighed, “Yeah, Jen. Yeah, I’m your boy. I’m your boy…”