Patti called the dealership at two-thirty. I was in the hallway between the showroom and service, still holding a key fob.
“Dick. It’s me. Can you talk?”
“Give me a minute.” I stepped into the lot.
“Roger’s in Seattle until Thursday. Conference. I’ve been walking past the playroom door since this morning.” She didn’t dress it up. “I want you here after work. Not the guest room. That room.”
“What time?”
“Whenever you can leave. I’ll eat something. You don’t have to take me to dinner.”
I told Tamra I would be late. She asked who. I said Patti, Roger’s gone. She said, “Don’t wreck yourself so bad you limp at breakfast,” and hung up like it was a parts order.
The side door was unlocked. House quiet. One lamp in the hall. The playroom door was open.
Patti was already in there in the black robe, bench in the middle of the room the way I remembered it, cuffs hanging off the sides, the rack still loaded. The strap she’d used on Tamra was on the shelf—harness, flesh-colored shaft, not the biggest one, thick enough. Lube. Gloves I hadn’t noticed last time. A towel.
She kissed me like Monday, then pulled back.
“Different tonight,” she said. “I want you in me first. Then I want you on that bench. I want the strap. And I want to try my hand. Roger tried to fist me last year. I couldn’t take it. Hurt, and I made him stop. I keep thinking about doing it to you. If it’s too much, you say so and I stop. That’s not a line.”
“All right.”
Clothes off. No audience, no cameras, no Roger knocking. It felt different right there.
I sat on the edge of the bench and pulled her into my lap. She was already slick. I got into her ass the way she always wants it, slow at the start, then deep. She held my shoulders and fucked herself on me, little cock rubbing my stomach. No dirty monologue this time. Just breath and the wet sound and her forehead on mine.
“Harder.”
I gave her harder. She came first, that small wet streak between us, hole clamping. I held her down and finished in her, not as many pulses as the first night, still enough that it ran when she lifted off.
She kissed me and said, “Now the other way.”
Wrist cuffs first. Padded. Snug. Ankle straps to the far corners so my ass was at the edge of the bench, hips up on the wedge she’d put there. I could move an inch. Not more. She walked around me once, looking, then put a hand on my cock.
“You look good like this.”
She spent a long time with her mouth and fingers before anything else. Lube, one finger, two, the prostate tap she’d learned I react to. Three. She wasn’t in a hurry. When she picked up the strap she had me watch her buckle it on over that little cock, the shaft standing out where hers didn’t. Same one that had been in Tamra.
“This was in your wife,” she said. “Now it’s going in you.”
She put more lube on the toy and on me and pressed the head against my hole. I let the air out. She slid in slower than Roger does, watching my face. Midway she stopped.
“Still good?”
“Yes.”
Then she started fucking me with it. Short strokes until I opened, then longer ones that made the bench creak. The harness slapped her hips. Her real cock dragged against the back of the strap. She leaned over and kissed me while she thrust, tits on my chest, the cuffs rattling when I pulled.
It was different. No man behind the cock. Her voice. Her hands on my thighs. She changed angle until I made the sound she wanted and stayed there, grinding.
“You can come like this,” she said. “I want to see it.”
She stroked me in time with the strap. I shot on my stomach, hole working on the toy. She didn’t pull out. She kept a slow fuck through it until I winced and she eased the shaft out.
I thought that was the night.
She put on a glove, coated it until it shone, and held her hand up so I could see it.
“This is the part I haven’t done. I’ll go as far as you can take. Thumb in last. You say stop, I stop. I won’t be Roger pushing because he wants it.”
“Do it.”
She started with what I already had—three fingers, then a slow rock, more lube than I thought we still had. The fourth finger took work. Burn, then pressure, then that full stretch that isn’t a cock. She talked the whole time, quiet. “Breathe. Again. That’s it. I’m not going in the hole, I’m waiting for it to let me.”
When her knuckles pressed I almost said stop. I didn’t. She waited, added lube, waited again. The widest part went through in a short, ugly second and then her hand was inside me, fist closed, still.
Neither of us moved.
“Dick.”
“I’m here.”
She flexed nothing. Just stayed. Full in a way Roger’s cock isn’t. I could feel my pulse around her wrist. She found the angle toward my prostate with the knuckles and gave the smallest turn. My cock twitched, half hard, a drip on my belly.
She didn’t punch. She didn’t chase a second orgasm out of me like a trick. She held the fist, kissed my knee, and after a minute began to ease out the way she’d gone in—slow, more lube, the stretch in reverse. When her hand left, I felt the empty more than the ache.
She stripped the glove, uncuffed my ankles first, then my wrists, and climbed onto the bench beside me.
“That didn’t look like it hurt the way it hurt me,” she said.
“It was a lot. It didn’t hurt like I had to stop.”
“Good. I didn’t want to be him.”
We stayed there until my legs were trustworthy. Shower in the hall bath. She washed me like I might break, then laughed when I wasn’t broken.
At the side door she said, “Roger gets home Thursday. I won’t tell him chapter and verse unless you want that. I’ll tell him you were here. He already knows what that means.”
“Tell him.”
“Thursday lunch is off. I’m sore in a different place than you are.” She touched my belt. “Next time I want the strap again. The hand only if you ask.”
I drove home sitting a little forward in the seat. Tamra took one look at how I walked in and didn’t ask for a full report.
“Playroom?” she said.
“Playroom.”
“She use the strap?”
“Yes.”
“The one from me?”
“Yes.”
Tamra nodded, almost a smile. “Then I don’t need the rest tonight. You’re sleeping on your side.”
I did. The cuffs were off. I could still feel where the fist had been, and where Patti had been on the other side of that harness, fucking me with something that had already been in my wife.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
