A Favor for Ryan Pt. 01

"Oh, well, hello there," said Ryan, opening the door to his townhouse, with a grin on his face.

I stepped across the threshold, flashed a smile, and said "Oh, hello!" I dropped my duffel bag on the floor, turned, and hugged Ryan. "It has been way too long." I stepped back and admired my friend- tousled brown hair, a worn-in band tee, and well-fitting black denim jeans. My eyes lingered briefly on his smile before I turned and dramatically fell face-down on the couch. "The drive was horrendous. I don't think that the other drivers were being pushy, because that implies that they were paying attention, and they most assuredly were not." Still face-down, I turned my head to the side. I peered through my hair at Ryan, who had taken a seat across the living room from me and was studying me carefully.

"Tough day, huh?" Ryan asked.

"Still better than flying," I said, sitting up and tidying my hair. It would be disingenuous to pretend I didn't plan my outfits carefully and want to look good on the rare occasion that I had time to spend with Ryan.

I had always held a candle for Ryan. We met in college and just stayed in each other's orbit for the decade or so since. He was always a safe person who was smart, funny, and saw me as a person. He didn't just listen to me, he really cared and asked about my life and interests. Plus, he just had the kind of irreverence that visionaries have- devoting absolute mental concentration to just those things that he cared about, whether or not they "mattered" or were "productive" in the capitalist sense. I still remember meeting him. I remember the first time we hung out. I remember the time he told our professor that he couldn't answer a question about our assigned reading because the author was a fascist unworthy of study, and I got quizzed in his place, because it was well-known that we were always in cahoots.

I thought he was so cute from the moment we met. I remember the first time we hung out- I hadn't laughed or smiled that much in a long time, and I think he had just as much fun as I did. But he had been seeing a girl for several years at that point and by the time he was single again, I was in a long-term relationship. I've always wondered whether he had an interest in me in that way, it just never really mattered one way or the other. He has such a sociable nature to him that it's just hard to tell, and I didn't want to lose him as a friend and confidant by freaking him out that I thought of him in that way, so even if both of us had been single at the same time, I can't say that I would have made a move.

"How've you been?" I asked. It wasn't just a conversational question. I worried that he slept too little, worked too hard, and wasn't eating enough fruits and vegetables. I knew that Ryan could take care of himself, but I also wanted him to be nurtured and cared for, for a change.

"Oh, you know, the city never sleeps. Or, you'd think that's the case since my clients feel empowered to call me at 1 am. Turns out, one of the partners in the business tried to take all the computers out in the middle of the night, and the other partner who was doing all the work all along saw it on the Ring camera he had set up and went to the office to throw down about it. Can you believe it? A multimillion dollar partnership. And this is how they act. So I had to go downtown in the middle of the night and chaperone everything being put back and have them shake hands on dealing with it this morning- which also meant that my work this morning was derailed." Ryan had started his own business consultancy after college, which looked a lot more like babysitting grown adults than the uninitiated might expect.

"1 am? The nerve of some people." I meant it, although I also felt impressed that his work ethic was, clearly, alive and well. I had taken the coward's path after college- going to work in a marketing role at a soulless national company, doing soulless, meaningless work, that offered a steady paycheck, benefits, and not one 1 am call in all the years I had been at this job.

This, by the way, is what had brought me to Ryan's place on this day. Although we lived two states apart, my job involved a fair bit of travel, and he was often along my way. I wouldn't miss a chance to visit (and rest).

We chatted for hours about politics, our parents, and his online dating adventures.

"She showed up to the date on a Lime scooter. I just... it was very unattractive. I will not be seeing her again," he declared, as if this was such an obvious infraction that he had no choice but to continue wandering the desert. "What about you, though?" he asked, cautiously. "Last time we talked, you mentioned that your boyfriend was upsetting you?"

"I just don't understand why he's pushing me away," I said, wincing. "I have been so clear about my needs."

"And those are?" Ryan asked, with curiosity.

"I need him to act like he wants to be together, you know? We have been together for seven years and he hasn't popped the question. I feel so stupid. He isn't working on himself and he isn't acting on the feedback I'm giving him," I said, realizing that I was talking quickly. "The bigger issue is that I don't know why he doesn't take an actual interest in turning me on and aspire to delivering a really great sex life."

"Maybe you aren't turned on because you just don't have much of an interest in sex, yourself?" Ryan asked, tilting his head slightly.

"Not to be crass, but I have a great deal of interest in sex, just not with him," I said, before blushing and dropping my eyes to study his coffee table. "I think I just resent him to such a degree for completely blowing past what I've asked of him for so long that it's hard for me to see how I get back around to enjoying... anything with him. But still, I don't want to blow my life up. We have a nice house, a dog, we are good roommates. And the longer I let this go on, the older I get, the closer I get to maybe not caring so much about the abysmal and infrequent sex? I feel like he is pretty much there already- he does a lot of things that are 'icks' for me and is a selfish lover, to boot. Then my enthusiasm is obviously going to be less, which puts a damper on the experience that he has, as a result. It's demoralizing. He keeps stringing me along that he will marry me when 'the time is right' and that there is hope for all the rest of our issues with a promise of this new medicine or this book he will read or going to counseling or whatever and none of it helps! At the end of the day, this is a set of attitudes that is hard to think that a middle aged person will change."

I know that it sounded terrible, all spilling out like this. But Ryan was one of two people on earth that I could truly be an open book around. He had been there from the beginning of this relationship and knows us both well enough to understand how difficult it would simultaneously be to stay with my boyfriend, or to leave him. And he never said "leave him." He always had kind, insightful things to say about our problems, and led with his wish that my boyfriend and I could find some sort of equilibrium that worked for us both.

"Has he opened up with you any? You said before that you hoped he would try new things?"

I laughed bitterly. "Of course not. Because my happiness and pleasure isn't his priority, his comfort zone is. And being closed off emotionally, and closed off to new things, is working just fine for him. It's an honest to goodness impasse."

This is why my friendship with Ryan was at once so comforting, so exhilarating, and so bewildering- the emotional intimacy between us was organic, sincere, offered so freely between us, and so meaningful. Ryan confided his fears, his moments of self-doubt, his most private ethical dilemmas- things with me that he didn't share with anyone else. Ryan knew all my kinks and what kind of porn I consumed. Ryan found time to chat with me in the loneliest times of my life- he picked up the phone, and I think it's because he knew I'd talk myself out of it. I never felt more seen as a person than by Ryan. And my boyfriend didn't relate to me in any of these ways, after all of these years.

I could tell that my eyes were welling with tears. I tried not to blink too hard, because then one might trickle onto my face, and then I'd be crying, and mortified. I took deep breaths as discreetly as I could.

"You know what he said to me when I told him I needed him to have sex with me more often?" I asked, sniffling quietly. "You're asking for change from me and you aren't changing anything." "And when I asked him what I needed to change, he had absolutely nothing to suggest. He just wants me to be... different?" I scrunched my face as I said it and a fat tear rolled out of each eye. "That's just... crazy to me. Why bother building a life with someone who wants to have sex if you are not a person who wants to have sex?" I sniffed more loudly this time and the tears were openly rolling down my face. "It makes me feel like I'm coercing him or asking something unfair of him, but truly, rationally, I don't think that's the case."

Ryan stood, crossed the room, picked up a box of tissues, and sat beside me, handing me one. "Hey, I'm sorry. I don't know what to say. It's not a situation that's fair to you."

I sniffed and smiled. "Thank you. I agree."

We sat in silence for a few beats. Then Ryan set down the tissue box, slapped his legs, and said "well, our dinner reservation is in... forty-five minutes. I had better wrap up one thing for work and get myself ready."

I agreed, and started gathering my dinner outfit from my bag. I sidled into his bathroom and closed the door. I stripped off my t-shirt, jeans, and bra. I put on a push-up bra and admired my reflection. I don't know why I feel the need to get his attention, but it doesn't even feel like a choice- of course I want to dress in a way that I know will draw his attention.

Why, though?

I tilted my head, still looking at my breasts, more prominent and round than usual. I traced the contours with my hands, cupping them from beneath and jiggling them slightly. My tits look amazing, though. I pulled the dress over my head and smooth and teased the fabric to lay just so. It was a form fitting, long sleeved, mid length, burgundy dress with a high collar, gathered darts in a vertical line to one side of the midsection that accentuated my hourglass figure, terminating in a slit from my upper leg to the hem of the dress.

I removed the French pin from my blonde hair and it fell gently around my shoulders and down my back in a circular motion. I fluffed it out a bit with my fingers and turned to admire how pretty and shiny it looked down my back.

I stepped out of the bathroom and tried to look nonchalant as I dug in my bag for my makeup. I felt his eyes on me.

"Wow, you look great!" he said.

Honestly? I do look great, and I know I do. But it's nice for someone to say it. A compliment shouldn't be hard to come by if you aren't being taken for granted.

I could feel myself blushing. I mumbled my thanks and dipped back into the bathroom to put on makeup. Ryan materialized and watched as I applied it, making chit-chat- a little eyeshadow, a little mascara, a swipe of blush, and lipstick- Revlon Rum Raisin. It was intimate and flattering, although I struggle to articulate why.

He went to his bedroom to get dressed for dinner. I returned to the living room, sat down, and admired how my leg looked through the slit in my dress. I drummed my fingers.

Why can't I stop thinking about just, like, fucking him?

His voice drifted from his bedroom. "Last time I went to this restaurant with some of my clients, we shared around a bunch of dishes I hadn't had before. Anna just ordered for the group, it was great." Anna was his secretary-turned-junior analyst. She was fresh out of college, beautiful, and shrewd- basically made in a lab to get Ryan to cooperate with her.

He came out of his room and into the living room while he was zipping his pants, still talking. I didn't hear it. I felt my mouth fall open slightly.

Don't look at his crotch. His underwear are gray. Don't look at his crotch. Wow, he looks so good in a plain gray undershirt and those dress pants. Don't look at his crotch. He really knows how to dress himself.

He fastened his belt. My brain was soup. I felt my eyes slide to his crotch for just a second, and then I felt his eyes on me. My eyes flicked up and met his. I detected just a hint of a smile.

Why can't I keep my eyes from his crotch and what would possess me to then make hard eye contact? Why can't I play this cool?

He stopped talking. The right corner of his mouth curled. His eyes sparkled. I was flipping through entire books in my head for something, anything to say. He started talking again and went back to his room.

Did he want me to stare at his crotch? No, that's silly.

He came back out to the living room, pulling a button down shirt on. I realized my mouth was still open and clamped it shut.

"Did you hear about Jen, from school?" Ryan asked, casually, slowly buttoning his shirt. "She bought the accounting firm that was across from that house I rented in college."

I hadn't heard, and told Ryan so. "That's nice for her, though, I know her family is from there."

Ryan finished buttoning his shirt around the collar and straightened his lapels. I felt like I was seeing something I shouldn't. I couldn't look away. He turned and went back to his room. I felt my heart beating out of my chest. My fingers stopped drumming and I realized that I was leaning forward in my chair, gripping the edge with both hands. I have always loved a man in a suit but it felt, I don't know, indecent that he would look this good. It felt impossible.

His voice drifted out. "Lucky you, this is my nice suit." He came back out, pulling a suit jacket on. It was, indeed, a nice suit.

I smiled way too big of a smile and softly said, "You look great!"

He picked up his keys and put his wallet in his pocket. "Shall we?"

I put on my shoes- four inch maroon pumps that I know look great with this dress.

"Oh wow, heels?" he said, with the same smirk on his face. "I love heels. The best part is watching them being taken off."

Why would he tell me that?

"Yeah, well, marketing professionals have to dress to the nines. We can't all be consultants and dress like scrubs," I said, ribbing him.

********

The restaurant was a short drive away, a very nice Ethiopian restaurant near our college. This was a special treat for me, in particular, because my boyfriend didn't care for the cuisine. I had a lingering question in my mind about why, but regardless, Ryan was an enthusiastic companion for this meal. He was even a good sport about sharing around a dish that is spicier than his taste.

Over the meal, we chatted about updates that Ryan planned for his townhouse, new habits we wanted to build, and talked through a hypothetical- one of my favorite things to do with Ryan because he just thought about things so uniquely. "If you had three months to get your hands on one million dollars to buy an experimental drug that would save your life, how would you do it?" My idea was to rapidly stand up a portfolio of social media marketed products- high and low price points, low-volume/high-margin items and high-volume/low-margin items. Ryan's was focused on diversification across many different clever business ideas- and multiplying his impact by also enlisting interns from our alma mater and building their business ideas with his experience and oversight, shark tank-style. I must admit that I thought he was much more likely to achieve the goal of the hypothetical than me, but that also came as no surprise.

But, the whole time we ate, I noticed myself watching Ryan much too closely- how he tore his bread, the grace with which he managed to eat a meal that is eaten entirely with the hands. His lips. I hoped that Ryan didn't notice my gaze.

After dinner, we walked a few blocks to an ice cream shop that we used to frequent, called "Icecreamtastic." It was a unique spot because it was dimly lit, had wood paneled walls, and taxidermied critters all over the walls. Ryan got a dish of "crunchtastic," which is a flavor that is supposed to taste like those ice cream cakes with the little crunchy balls of cookie. I got a waffle cone of "maltastic," which was a chocolate malt flavor. It was a humid night, and I found myself licking dribbles of ice cream off the cone before they escaped to make a mess. I thought that I might have caught Ryan paying a little too much attention, which amused and thrilled me.

We drove back to Ryan's place. Ryan opened the door and turned on one of the lights. It wasn't dark, but it wasn't bright, either. Dramatic shadows were coming off of us and the furniture. He took off his suit jacket and got a hanger from the coat closet. I set down my purse. I set down my phone. I realized that I was rifling aimlessly through my purse, stalling as he was putting his jacket in the closet. He turned around. I set my purse back down. I didn't make eye contact. I felt his eyes on me. I took off my right pump by stooping slightly, running my finger along the side of my foot where it met the edge of the shoe, picking my foot up slightly, sliding my finger in the heel, and popping off the shoe. Then I did the same on the left.

Why had I needed to make sure he saw that?

I looked up and saw that he had stopped entirely and was openly watching me. I met his eyes with mine.

Bold.

He stepped back, turned, and said "Well, time for bed." He put his pajamas on and brushed his teeth. I stretched out on his couch, resting my eyes, my dress falling open, exposing my thigh, at the slit. I was wide awake, and my thoughts were swirling.

He stepped back into the living room and sat in a chair across from me, carefully studying me. After a moment, he asked "what's on your mind?"

We chatted for an hour or so- work stories. Family stuff. How we've been sleeping. Sex toys.

Wait. How did we get here? I don't think I brought that up! Did he? I shouldn't talk about this.

He smirked. I told him about my favorite toys, and my favorite features. Masturbation habits.

I mean... I'm an open book, for better or for worse.

The conversation petered out and I was just looking him in the eyes, silent. It felt inappropriate. I stood and walked toward the kitchen, asking, "where do you keep your glasses? I'd like a glass of water."

Ryan followed, trying to navigate me toward the right cabinet. I stood on my toes and grabbed a glass. My hip brushed against his as I walked to the tap. It felt like electric current passed between us in that instant.

I've never felt something like that. He felt it too, right?

In spite of myself, I turned my body to face Ryan, studying his face. He did the same. I felt a mixture of sensory overload, gratitude, and arousal. As if I was a puppet on strings, I leaned in and kissed him. I hadn't craved a kiss in a long time. This, I craved. I savored. His lips were soft and tender, and he kissed me back, gently but hungrily. I placed a hand on the side of his face, and the other on his shoulder, and continued, kissing him deeply and enthusiastically. It was overwhelming. It was hot. He ran his fingers through my hair, and I heard a quiet, involuntary moan escape my lungs. Our tongues articulated the unspoken lust we had plainly harbored all this time. My legs were gelatin and my heart was doing backflips.

After several minutes, he withdrew and whispered, "what was all that?" with a broad smirk.

Why is he so hot?

My mind was in a shambles. That was excellent. I was surprised that he participated in that, because he has a strong opinion about cheating. I was surprised in me, for that matter, because that's nothing that I ever intended to do, either. I had my doubts that my relationship could survive my boyfriend's indifference, but I always intended to end things before I wound up in this situation.

"I shouldn't have done that," I blurted out, my eyes wide. "I am so sorry. That was excellent but totally inappropriate of me. I am so sorry." More than anything, I was worried that Ryan would think less of me.

"I understand. You are in a difficult spot," he said, gently, and I felt myself relax instantly.

"We should talk about it some time, but obviously I was out of line and I'm just sorry to have done that and put you in that spot," I said, realizing I was speaking quickly in my panic and embarrassment.

"Really, don't worry about it," Ryan said, his eyes kind and soft. "I do have to tell your boyfriend, though. It's only right."

My jaw dropped. "I disagree. That would be very hurtful to him, and make things difficult between us."

"Really though," Ryan said, tilting his head, "it's not me telling him that makes it difficult, it's you kissing me. And that already happened."

He was right, but I didn't like it. "Could you just not? After all this time, as a favor to me, could I just ask you not to tell him about this?" I pleaded. All of the joy and warmth I had felt during the kiss had given way to a sort of slow-motion horror.

Ryan paused, thoughtfully. His eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly. "Well," he said, "I could be persuaded to keep quiet about this, if," his eyes met mine, "you do a favor for me."

Relief flooded me. "Of course, what?"

Ryan said, calmly, "Well, after all of that, I'm quite aroused. Perhaps you could take care of this for me?" He gestured at his erection, prominent and firm in his nicely tailored pants.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "What do you mean?" I asked, certain that I had misunderstood something.

Ryan made very direct eye contact, and said, pleasantly, "What I mean is, I don't think I'll be able to sleep if you don't get me off with that beautiful mouth of yours."

I was aghast. Have I wanted to give him a blow job for a very long time? Absolutely. The thought of making Ryan cum like that has been the subject of untold amounts of masturbation for me, for many years. I wanted to thrill him and see if I could impress him. Especially since we have spoken about some of his likes and dislikes through the years. I really get off on being great at oral sex, and being able to make a man putty in my hands. I'm a giver like that. But this was... coercive. It felt like something that on principle, I should refuse to do. I could tell that my eyes were like saucers.

"Uh, no, that doesn't seem right," I stammered, still in disbelief.

Ryan smiled. "That's okay! I understand. That's totally your choice. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. "But I hope that you understand that I need to tell your boyfriend that you just kissed me so thoroughly and deeply that I have a massive boner." He caught my eyes with his and winked merrily, before typing in his passcode.

"No no no no no, wait!" I said, trying fruitlessly to grab his phone as Ryan lifted it out of my reach.

"I'm listening," said Ryan, pausing.

"I'll do it," I said, breathlessly.

"Will you? Because I'm completely serious when I say this is your choice."

"Yes," I said, with a steely resolve. "I.... want to," I said, blushing.

Ryan set down his phone and smiled. "Okay, then."

I took a deep breath. I kneeled in front of Ryan, my feet crossing behind me. I unfastened his belt, and unbuttoned his nicely tailored pants. Ryan took an audible breath as I unzipped his pants, revealing his enthusiastic erection in his underwear. I caressed it through the fabric. He moaned lightly.

It's extremely weird to be in this situation, but I'm also very into this. And I'm going to do a good job.

I pulled his pants and underwear down to his ankles. He had an intoxicating light musk that I can only describe as faintly sweaty and masculine. It was surprisingly sexy. His penis was circumcised, which I already knew, as it had come up in passing. I grasped it and, slowly, began taking it into my mouth. It was warm and firm, and I tasted a dribble of salty pre-cum as it entered.

"Mmmmmmmmm," moaned Ryan. "Your mouth feels so good."

I started bobbing up and down, taking as much of him into my mouth as I comfortably could. He was slightly larger in length and girth than my boyfriend, which was a challenge. I used plenty of spit and sucked with some vigor. Ryan moaned, open-mouthed, and gently grasped a handful of my hair near the scalp. I held his cock from the base with both hands, one stacked over the other, and gently twisted and moved up and down while I continued bobbing up and down with my mouth, my pace increasing slightly. Ryan was clearly enjoying himself, moaning and only getting harder as I continued my work. I could feel myself becoming overwhelmed with how aroused I was, too. I slowed my pace and gently cupped his balls with one hand, focusing my mouth on the head. I flicked my tongue around the head and drew my tongue in circles around the spot on the part facing me where the head meets the shaft.

Ryan inhaled sharply and massaged my scalp. "Oh my god, you're good at that."

Keeping the head in my mouth, I looked up at him. His eyes looked hungry. He grabbed my head with both of his hands and pushed down, hard, until his cock hit the back of my throat, and then pushed my head up and down for a while, grunting.

This is something that I love. I love that he's in control, assertive, and confident, but also that I got him this worked up. I could tell that I was becoming really wet, I wanted so badly for him to fuck me. When he released my head, I continued my work. I didn't want to escalate the situation any more than it already had, but I couldn't help myself. I plunged a hand down the front of my pants and started touching myself. Ryan could feel my moans in his cock and grunted loudly.

I couldn't take it anymore. I looked up at him and pleaded, "fuck me?" while continuing to stroke his cock with my stacked hands.

Ryan was occupied, but he was still Ryan. He peered at me, begging to be fucked, and considered, with a smirk on his face. "Oh, I don't know."

I stood and lifted my dress at the slit, revealing my black lace thong. I cautiously reached for his hand and guided his index finger inside of myself. I kissed his neck and whispered breathlessly in his ear, "Don't you feel how turned on I am for you? Don't you want to fuck me?"

Ryan stroked his cock thoughtfully. It did not escape my notice that he was rubbing himself with my juices, which drove me wild. "I thought you didn't want to do this and couldn't do this?"

I removed my dress entirely, showing off my breasts, which looked sensuous and alluring in my bra. I took his hand and ran it over, between, and around them. I kissed him deeply, and he kissed me back. His arms wrapped around me, exploring my breasts, waist, and butt. I felt his cock through my underwear and couldn't help but grind against it. I moaned and pulled back from the kiss. I bit his neck and sucked on his earlobe, which elicited a desperate groan from Ryan. "Please," I begged softly into his ear, while fingering myself. "Please," I said again, turning around such that he was now behind me, hugging my front. I removed my bra and placed his hands on my breasts, gasping and moaning as he played with my nipples. I brushed my backside against his cock and slid his cock under the band of my panties, gyrating slowly so he could feel my skin and the lace. I reached my arms behind me to caress his hair, neck, lips, and cock. I turned my head slightly to the side and kissed him deeply.

"I didn't know what a slut you were," said Ryan, seeming genuinely surprised. It was shocking to hear him speak to me like this, but also arousing. He grabbed my arms, turned me around, and pushed me back down to my knees, saying, "But, you promised me that you were going to get me off with your mouth tonight. We have a deal." He held his cock in his right hand, opened my mouth with his left hand, and put it back in my mouth, thrusting hard, over and over, while he held my head with both hands. I couldn't apply much skill under the circumstances, and heard myself making juicy gagging sounds, "Guh, guh, guh," as he thrusted.

Ryan knew me well enough to know that this was not how I had ever been treated sexually, and also an overwhelming coming-true of a fantasy of mine. It felt cruel that he would not fuck me and give me some relief.

After some time, he slowed down and released my head enough that I could control the pace and motion. I could tell that he was close to finishing and trying to edge and pace himself. I slowly bobbed my mouth up and down the length of his cock while I ran my hands across his thighs, butt, back, and gently caressed his balls. I pointed my tongue firmly and traced up, down, around, and zig-zag as I worked. I started sucking harder, which made Ryan gasp and moan. I placed a couple of fingers inside myself and got them wet with my juices, and returned that hand to his cock, pumping slowly as I continued sucking and bobbing. I felt Ryan's muscles tense, and he gripped my head, moaning "ohhhhhhhhhh" aloud. I could taste my own juices as I worked, salty and distinctive, and this only compounded how turned on I was.

Clearly, he was still trying to stave off the point of no return. I really admired the discipline, and more than that, I was enjoying causing such ecstasy in him and didn't want this to end. I slowed my pace significantly, and peeked up to look Ryan in the eyes again. Our eyes met, and I flicked my tongue around the head, so he could see. Ryan threw his head back, I suspect because he couldn't bear any more eye contact without finishing, and moaned, "oh my god, you're so sexy when you look up at me like that."

I increased my pace slightly, and continued bobbing straight up and down. I varied my movements so that I would bob and take just the head into my mouth, bob and take an inch more, bob and take an inch more, and continued until I was taking his entire length, slowly, in and out, making a slight gagging sound as I reached the base. His cock was warm and hard. It was so erotic, I couldn't resist exploring here and there with my tongue. Ryan was grunting with every movement now, his eyes were shut, and he had slackened his hands away from my head. I could tell that he was focusing entirely on not finishing.

I gave him a momentary reprieve and released his cock from my mouth. I stood and kissed him, deeply, before asking, "could I lay down and you fuck my face until you finish?" I expected that Ryan would agree- this happened to be a fantasy of each of ours, which our partners had not been enthusiastic about indulging.

Wordlessly, urgently, Ryan pushed me to the floor and began thrusting into my mouth, down my throat. His balls slapped against me as he thrusted. This was incredibly hot for me- if I had to explain why, I'd say that I wanted to be used, sexually, as an object of desire, and I wanted to give my partner as much pleasure as possible. I wanted to be disrespected, even hurt a little, if my partner got off better for it.

I had clearly gotten Ryan's attention. After a short time, I felt Ryan tense up, push his cock as far into my mouth as he could, and grunt "uuuuuhhhhhhmmmmmnnnn," loudly, as he unloaded his cum into my mouth and throat. It was salty and bitter. Ryan's orgasm seemed to last a long time.

After a few moments of stillness, he removed his cock from his mouth and helped me to sit up. I swallowed some of his cum, and dribbled a little out of my mouth, which I knew would be hot for Ryan to see. He took my chin in his hand, smeared the dribble off, and said "that was the best orgasm I've ever had. That was a good deal for me." We both laughed.

Ryan stood and helped me to my feet. "Do you need anything?" he asked, searching my eyes with concern.

"No, I'm fine, but thank you," I said, smiling gently.

Ryan excused himself to bed, and I retreated to his guest room.

I changed into cotton shorts and a baggy t-shirt, brushed my teeth, swiped my face with a makeup removing wipe, braided my hair in two pigtails, put on lip balm, and got under the covers. I stared at the ceiling.

I don't think I've ever been this horny. I cannot think of a time. I absolutely need to masturbate or I will not sleep. I have my vibrator, but... it's so quiet in here.

I slid my right hand down the front of my underwear and rubbed my clit.

I wish I was in his bed right now.

Slipped a finger inside.

It would feel so good if he squeezed my breasts. Rubbed my butt. Kissed my neck.

I started rubbing my clit faster, and squeezed my breast with my left hand. I imagined how it would feel to have his breath in my ear, to feel him biting my neck. I felt the orgasm coming, unstoppable. I continued rubbing my clit as it began, my entire body shuddered, I felt my kegels clench, hard, and unclench, over and over. I felt waves of pleasure wash over me. I flipped over to face down on the bed and put a finger back inside. I was wet, so wet, and swept the wetness to my clit, and started rubbing again. It was hot to me to be so obviously aroused. I put a finger back inside and thought about what it would be like to be fucked by him.

I put in a second finger and worked them in and out. I felt my back arch. I orgasmed again, hard, feeling the urgent clenching and unclenching against my fingers. I took a deep breath.

This isn't calming me down, this is getting me more worked up.

I imagined how his cock would feel inside me.

I bet he would like doggy style. I know I do.

I pictured the passion and urgency of him thrusting in and out, grunting, grabbing my hair. I was somehow just getting wetter. I rubbed my clit, savoring how lubricated I've gotten. I put my fingers in my mouth and tasted it. I returned to my clit. I imagined swiveling my hips (my specialty) and how it would feel for him to get harder and harder, shudder, and feel his cock pulsating as he cums in me. I orgasmed again, hard. I noticed that I was sweating and breathing heavily. I went several more times before falling asleep from exhaustion.