A Bit of Nothing Ch. 08

A/N: This is the ⅖ of the story. As a foreword, the entirety of this is basically a traditional linear type narrative.

Content Disclosure: This is categorized under Romance since it explores the lives of its main characters, it's psychological approach and the themes that it delves into. However, due to the explicit, graphic and sexual elements of certain chapters, I can also categorized them based on their dominant tone. Right now, it could be subcategorized as either Erotic Couplings, Non-Consent/Reluctance or BDSM. This story also comes with an unfiltered language.

***

Chapter 8

Yo, the sex is a blast!

After finding out that Mike and I were STI-free based on our agreed-upon medical results, I got the IUD I was talking about. Damn. So, when we finally got into raw sex, I took that meaty, thick, slick dick. How it rubbed inside me... It created lots of moist taps against my ass, his balls splashing when he plunged deep.

I also rode him. Moaned straight into his face as my cunt slapped on top of that hung stud--which would soon have that cock twitching and spurting its hot fill inside me. His throbbing veins would be kept buried in my equally throbbing, stretched-out pussy lips. Shit, I got horny just thinking about it. What I eventually did soon after was swipe my mother's credit card--my charity allowance for being her freeloader and Dad's caretaker--and go to a waxing salon to get my pussy pampered. Afterwards, I bought a pair of lingerie.

My plans didn't have to stop there. They had to go forward. You see, when I told Mike I was into rough sex, he was too fuckin' mid. When I told him about kinky stuff, he had to cross-examine me first.

"You sure?" That was the first thing he said when I told him I was fine with consensual non-consent--CNC--sex.

"Yeah," I pressed, enthusiasm in my eyes, hand patting his abs. "If you want to fuck me while I'm asleep, you should. Wake me up coming so hard you make me shriek."

And you know what showed on his pretty face? Like he'd seen a ghost.

He managed an exasperated sigh. "So, like, if I have morning wood, I can just shove it straight in your pussy?" He leaned further away on the couch and observed me.

Now that shit is erotic as fuck. A smile crawled onto my mouth; I licked my lips. "Why not?"

He shrugged. "Okay."

And bam! This guy didn't hesitate. The next morning, while we were fast asleep lying sideways, I thought he'd wrapped me up for a cuddle. But sometime in the middle of my deep sleep, before I even became aware of it, he spooned me for an hour. Stuffed my pussy with his big cock, and ooohmph...

How that cock was rock-hard and full...

Coming in and out like a swing, I creamed immediately; it soaked everything, making rhythmic, squishing sounds.

He kept swaying his hips behind that cock in a slow, lazy slide, as if it were a lullaby while my pussy cradled him. My husky grumbles turned into helpless moans because of it. And once he heard I was stirred awake, one arm wrapped around my breasts while the other wrapped around my waist, his hand slithering down beneath my pelvis to play with my clit.

He toyed with that clit, and my titty too--he'd cup and jiggle it, then pinch lightly enough to make it pebble-hard and perky. My moans became shallow pants. When I was about to come, I whimpered more, louder. Then I shrieked, true to what I'd requested. After the convulsions and gripping him, he kept stroking inside me.

Shit, I ended up more tired than energized upon waking up. But then his cock twitched again and blasted me with tons of hot cum that my womb could just fucking store like a bucket. As if that wasn't enough, the wetness and sliminess would eventually drip outside my cunt and soak my inner thighs all over.

Ahh... I groaned when he withdrew. It left me feeling empty, but he got up, raised my folded leg, and spread it wide open to see my gaping cunt glistening with his spill. One of his fingers then slipped in and caught the trickling white strings.

"Cumdump," he said in a low voice, stretching my cunt lips further open as he looked at them. "Isn't that what you said? Here, pet my cock. It needs some good stroking." I heard him speak, but I was too spent.

Fuck, no. I was off to sleep at seven in the morning rather than greeting him with a good morning blowjob. He, however, in his usual routine, would get ready to go about his day.

I moved in with him, 'cause 1) he had an extra-big room, 2) he seemed like such a loner in this house, and 3) I wanted a change of scenery 'cause I'd been seeing my mom 24/7 at home.

Sometimes, I liked to think of myself as productive, so I ended up going for daily walks. I'd visit Dad. I'd visit Mamita at the grocery store with Mike's dog tagging along--I called it double purpose. When Mamita got surprised I tagged the dog around, I usually told her that. I also bought Mike's supplies, which served as my excuse to Mamita to keep us chatting.

Remember that dog I once hypothetically told Dad he might shoot? Well, his name is Toddy, a husky. A big fuckin' husky with an energy I could never keep up with. Toddy the Husky also functions as a hunting dog, which therefore makes him too high-spirited. I usually fed him, but damn, that dog exceeded my daily consumption when it came to his food supplies.

My productivity also sometimes included trying to cook, badly. Apart from all these hustles, the majority of my time was spent being Mike's couch potato.

I suddenly got bored doing nothing in this mansion. So the next week, I told him I was moving out. And, as always, he had that reaction:

"What the fuck?! Katarina?" His hands flew up in the air.

"I got bored," was my candid reply. "Dad was my job before, but then Mom took over."

"You could try cooking or gardening like my mama does," said the great Michael. "What else has been bothering you?"

I looked down and scrunched my mouth. "I'm freeloading off this house's resources," I mumbled.

He braced his hands on his hips before running a hand over his face with a sigh. "What else?" he probed further.

"And I don't know what to do with my day after I wake up with a creampie."

"Katarina..." Mike exhaled, patiently enunciating my fucking name. "Isn't that what you bargained for?"

"But, you know... like..." I threw a tantrum, crying and stomping as I walked back inside the house--we were at the front door. He followed, waiting to see what shit I was pulling now. "I didn't ask to be this type of girlfriend. What else can I do except look forward to the next fuck? What am I? A gilded hoe whose main career is to have her legs open?" I wallowed.

"You're not a hoe, for whatever that's worth. You're my fucking girlfriend."

"Yeah," my voice caught. I stretched my arms out wide. "But if I were your fuck buddy or booty call, I would just come over here for that. With this," I said, gesturing around the room, "I don't know. Being your girlfriend feels like a big shoe to fill."

"Katarina..." he said again, walking over to the couch and sitting down with another sigh. "Come here," he invited, beckoning me to sit on his lap.

Hmph. I begrudgingly did so. When I sat down, he massaged my head and my cheeks. My furrowed expression relaxed. I think I like this face massage. So I shut up and enjoyed the moment of attention.

"Tell me everything that's bothering you?" he said, circling his thumb on my forehead near my hairline. Is he a secret masseuse? Do I get a free service? I like this. I really like it a lot.

"I tried cooking, visiting, feeding your only dog that I once consented to shoot, putting him out for a walk, and keeping this place in order," I began.

I really like it now that he's massaging my cheeks. It tickles.

"But I prefer being a couch potato. Get it, Michael? I know you don't have to reprimand me about independence. But you work hard; I don't want to. What can I give in return?" I whimpered. "Nothing!"

"Don't you know I prefer you being around doing nothing, freeloading off the food stocks, and greeting me with your legs spread wide open if you feel like it, over the silence this house has when you aren't around?" he scolded lightly, as if reminding me I was putting up a tantrum.

"You can find another girlfriend," I still mumbled.

"Katarina," he insisted, clicking his tongue. "It's not like we don't spend time together outside the bedroom and all we do is fuck around."

My mouth remained scrunched. Unconvinced.

But I like his face massage...

He went on, "Whatever keeps you at ease, I don't mind. It's no big deal. Those resources haven't even crossed my mind--"

See what you get from having a privileged boyfriend? Out-of-touch-with-ordinary-reality statements like these.

"--you can eat whatever you like, pick up groceries at Rosana's whenever you like, sit on the fucking couch all day and wait for my arrival. It is what it is. As long as you're here."

I still found it unconvincing.

"But what is the point of me being here that makes up for all that?" I insisted.

He stopped his massage then tilted my head. "I like you," he said, looking at me with those clear eyes. "I like how I talk with those knowing, cynical eyes. How you get what you want--which can be quite interesting since you made it clear it was me. And I like listening to your unfiltered mouth."

Really?

"Really?" I asked.

He nodded. "Yeah."

"Because it blows your cock real good?"

His mouth tightened, but he just shook his head, resigned. "No. But if you feel like doing it, why not?"

I wrapped my arms around him and settled my head against the curve of his neck, smelling the outdoors on him. He must have been on his forest ranger duty.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing? How does an unfiltered mouth make you attached?" I muttered anyway.

He touched my nape and massaged it again. Wee! I'm loving this. I think I'd massage him like this too and call it mimicry. I laughed internally.

"It means you speak your mind regardless. Despite any mind games, I don't have to figure out much of what you want. Like telling me this right now rather than dragging it out," he murmured near my ear.

Okay. Fair enough.

He, however, stopped massaging my nape and guided me to look at him again. "And," he continued. "I wanna see you smile. I like that playfulness in you, even in bed or out of bed with your annoyance and teasing."

That made my day. My lips immediately stretched into a grin. "You want me to hurt you? Like with a whip and I'm a dominatrix?" I cheered, doing a 180.

His head averted with a wince, and he looked at me deadpan. "Not like that," he said again, before sighing. "For the life of me, Kata--"

I cut him off, covering him with lots of kisses, my voice bright. I kissed his lips many times, then his cheeks, his jaw, the sides of his eyes, before looking at him once again. "I like you too," I told him with enthusiasm. "Especially if we spice things up in bed with whips and slaps--"

Again, he covered my mouth before I could completely finish what I was about to say. But then he tilted my chin up with the same hand and drew his head closer. He kissed my temple as his lips traveled down my cheek. That downplayed my playfulness. I thought we were into kinky stuff?

"You know what, Kat? I really, really like you whenever you look at me and just see me," he said once more. "Stay like that with me, would you? And I'll give what I can give."

Should I smile? No. Instead, I licked his hand. Petrified, he let me go. "Jesus," he muttered.

"Alright. I'll be your fucktoy," I finally resolved. "And you'll be my fucktoy in return."

Mike fell silent. He bowed his head, breathed in, and his shoulders started shaking before a faint chuckle erupted into full laughter. He spread his arms wide open and cupped my face, shaking his head. "What a fuck-up way for us to be a couple," was his confusing reply, before giving me a slow kiss.

Well, obviously, I plunged right in.

And that's how I got over the attempt of moving out of his fucking mansion. I came to terms with the saying: happy girlfriend, happy life.

Although, one thing you need to understand about Mike is his night shift. For one, he comes home really late. And since I'm a couch potato by day, I'm wide awake like an owl by night. I'm usually up to greet him when he gets in around 11 PM--totally worn out. His heavy eyes and constant sighs said it all. Completely wrung out.

So much for me spreading my legs when the guy is obviously dead tired.

"Baby boy, you tired?" I teased as I met him at the door. Damn, he's too tall, so I had to get him into the living room and onto the sofa I'd been warming up for a while.

Such a waste of my silk robe. It was supposed to be for a strip tease. Ugh. Whatever, moving on.

He was so tired he didn't even have the strength to speak; he just plopped down on the sofa and closed his eyes. Shit, is he even healthy like this?

I scooted over and climbed onto his lap. He made weak, grumbling protests, "No, I just came from the hospital, Kat. You might catch something."

Bummer.

I slid off him. Why didn't I think of that? He was still in his scrubs, anyway.

I sighed internally. Just look at him. His handsome face was completely hammered by exhaustion. Another sigh slipped out--this one audible--before I started a massage, copying moves I'd learned from him. Ha.

He turned his head, leaning into my hand with an affirming moan. Okay, this better work. So, massage is the way to get what I want.

I smiled slyly.

"Go take a shower--not a bath, or I'll drag you out of the tub myself--then come back here," I said. "I want to practice my massage skills."

Mike's eyes fluttered open, those olive-green irises coming back to life. He gave me a wide, cheeky smile. "You would?" he challenged, eyebrows raised.

"Uh-huh," I nodded confidently.

He chuckled before getting up, leaving me alone on the couch again. When he returned, he was shirtless, wearing just sweatpants. There was no way both of us would fit on the sofa with his huge body laid out, so I stood up like a pro masseuse and offered it to him. The asshole didn't hesitate, just dove face-down onto his stomach and was practically dead to the world.

Of course, I didn't give up. Poor guy, though... I shook my head and exhaled. What a sight.

So I straddled his hips and started the massage anyway. First, his neck--oh my god--so fucking stiff! I had to ease those tense muscles. He groaned. Then I moved to his broad shoulders and encountered tension even harder than his neck, like solid rock.

I had to use all my strength, kneading harder than I thought I could; almost felt like I was making a career for myself. But hey, I liked his beautifully ripped, worked-out back. Quite the aesthetic. I guess I could endure playing masseuse for this.

Then I traced his spine down to his tailbone. Cute. I chuckled. Then came more heavy kneading on his biceps and across that incredibly broad back. He grumbled and moaned, and suddenly rolled over to face me. He took my hands, pulled me down on top of him, buried his face in my hair, and sighed.

"Take your time with me like that whenever I come home, and you can have the entire food supply inside this house," he murmured, wrapping his arms around me. Then he was dead asleep again.

So I'm not a couch potato as I previously thought. I'm a couch stuff-toy.

Bummer.

Don't worry, I moved on. So, going back to Mike...

I eventually figured out his pattern. If he gets home late, like 11 PM, he needs attention. If he gets home around 7 PM, he's fuckable. If he arrives earlier than 5 PM... maybe he's just idle? Just kidding.

It's nice that he comes home every day. But what if he doesn't always come straight home? What if he hangs out with colleagues--guys and girls? Oh shit, what if he's having an affair?

What would I do? If he fell in love with someone else, fine. But if he was just sleeping around? That's a crime. Because what about our STI results? Could they get compromised? I don't know.

But nah... Probably not. He wouldn't stash me in this mansion if he was going to cheat, right? Right. I hate drama. I just want sex.

"Hey, Mike..." I started one time when he got home around 9 PM--probably worn out, but maybe only moderately. "If you ever feel an immediate attraction to someone else, fine. If you fall in love with her, fine. Just don't sleep around, okay? I don't want our STI results compromised." Then I shrugged.

He actually cried. He was so taken aback he couldn't speak, just gulped a few times before wiping the corners of his eyes. Shit. I made Mike cry.

Hadn't I kind of predicted this would happen?

"I would never do that," he said, wiping his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "Can't you at least try to make me feel like you appreciate this relationship even half as much as I do?"

I turned to him, resting my head on my hand. "Like what? Actually have feelings? You want me to tell you if I catch feelings?"

"Fuck, please do," he scoffed, though his voice cracked. "Because all I see right now is how little you seem to care."

"Cheat, and I'll fucking murder you and your bitch," my voice turned to steel. "If you're going to betray whatever it is we're building here, do it now while it's early. Don't wait until I actually give a damn. Because if you do it then, I'll fucking drive you straight to the asylum myself."

"But didn't I tell you I've been on the receiving end of that? How could I ever stomach doing that to someone else, Kat? How?" he pleaded, trying to suppress another jerking tear.

I felt bad. But hey, I was just covering my bases, just in case it messed with our arrangement.

"I want this to work. I want you, Kat. I want to get to know you more over time because, like I said, I like you. But fuck..." He turned his head away, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "Can't you at least pretend to be jealous sometimes? It's so fucked up that I have to ask for some sign of jealousy or possessiveness just because your indifference is louder than anything else."

Okay, that pretty much debunked my suspicion. I moved closer, sat on his lap, and traced his jawline with my fingers. "Hey, don't cry," my voice softened. "I'm sorry then for these unfounded suspicions. I wouldn't like it too if you do. If I cared enough as your girlfriend, I'll murder you if you cheat."

He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand before replying, "Why jump straight to killing me? Haven't I given you enough assurance? Have you given me enough assurance?"

I sighed, watching him. "That's the way I am, Michael. My mother cheated, and beat me at the same time. But I don't need your pity, or your understanding, or your empathy." My hand went to his hair, stroking it, trying awkwardly to comfort him. "That's why I just wanted us to fuck. You wear my body out in a good way, I get relief, you get relief--we both get relief and carry on," I finished.

He didn't speak for a long moment. He just looked dumbfounded, watching me with wide eyes before letting out a shaky breath and muttering 'Oh god' a few times. Then he pulled me into a tight hug, his breathing still uneven.

Since I hate drama, shit can get awkward. I gently pulled back from his hold and cupped his cheek. "You okay now?" I murmured.

He didn't reply, just kept looking at me with those wide eyes. God, he was pretty.

You ever see food at a fancy restaurant that's presented like art, so beautiful you almost don't want to eat it? That's Mike. Too good to be true for me. I always figure he'll be out of my reach eventually, that whatever we have is temporary.

He'll be committed to a more stable girl. Someone who can complement his wholesome qualities and not make him cry because of toxic tendencies like I do.

Though, I wish that what he will have is a blonde woman more prettier than his ex Jessica. Who is like his first love Ellie. Where the both of them lean into its goodness and both aspire like his family.

I pulled his head to my shoulder and hugged him, exhaling. "It's okay, Mike. I like you too, okay? Again, I'm sorry I made you cry."

He sighed, arms tightening around my waist as he straightened up. He just looked at me for so long I started wondering what the hell was going on.

"Can I ask you something?" I asked. "Kind of related to what we were just talking about?"

His hands moved from my waist to rest lightly on my shoulders, one thumb gently brushing over my eyebrow. "And that would be?"

The gentle pressure felt a bit like a massage, making my head bob slightly. "Do people hit on you at work?"

"Yeah," he answered.

"But it doesn't work?"

"Doesn't work," he confirmed.

"Why not? I bet some of them are your type," I mumbled.

He stopped brushing my eyebrow, letting his hands rest on my back. "Because I want a real relationship, with someone who likes me back the way I like them. That hasn't always been easy to find."

Hmm... That's a wonder.

"But I proposed a sex-only thing. How does that fit in?"

Mike leaned closer then, looking right at me. "I have nothing to lose from someone who is clear from the start. Not from someone who says she loves me but not beyond my looks and my status. With you, Kat, whatever be my loss, it'll be because it's my choice."

Was that some cheesy line ripped straight from a rom-com? Let me guess, Pretty Woman? Yeah, sounded like it.

After a moment of silence, I remembered something. Looking up at him, I asked the toughest question facing every couple in the 21st century:

"Would you still love me if I turned into a worm?"

His jaw tightened slightly. He cupped my face with calm assurance as he delivered his answer...

Which was...

"No."

So, I broke up with him right then and there.

Sike.

As the days floated by in this big, blue house, and after the paranoia cleared up, I decided on something productive: sexercise. You know, specific sets of exercises to enhance my sex drive. Mike works out. And whenever we're at it, his stamina makes our sex feel like just a warm-up for him. But by then, I'm already spent and exhausted.

Damn, the way he drills me sometimes...

He fuckin' makes the bed creak, my body thuds against the mattress, and the quick, wet-slapping sounds of our joined flesh... it makes my womb feel like it's snapping in crisis. When he comes in so hard, he has to hold back this aching groan but keeps going until I've come again, multiple times. During those moments, he's ten times the intensity of my vibrator plus dildo combined.

I'm a satisfied Jane... very, very satisfied. It makes me wanna be his good bitch.

That's why I had to come up with a plan to keep up.

From then on, I invested my days in productive workouts, yoga, and Kegel balls. Ha-ha. If he pounds, he better get gripped. No offense, just fair play, boy. Going on from there, my daily routine also included a lot of erotic dancing that I intended to blow Mike away with. As I said: I'll win. I heard a maniacal laugh singing in my head.

My ass was pretty much rolling on that big yoga ball when my mom suddenly sent me a text message.

Your Dad had a checkup at the clinic. It's gotten worse. Come over. We'll discuss our next steps.

Of course I went. We ended up at the hospital. Beside my mother, I faced the doctor--the same one I'd told about my plan to seduce Mike. Should I tell her I've succeeded these days? Ha-ha.

"Mrs. Nievez, and Miss Nievez, I'm afraid to tell you he's reached that state," she said, dressed in her white coat as she scanned the papers.

My mother turned to me. "He collapsed while we were walking around the house."

I couldn't speak. Instead, I watched my Dad, then stood up and reached for his hands. Rough, bony, fragile hands. My thumb caressed the back of one while he slept soundly, hooked up to oxygen. He's not dying, right?

"Katarina," I heard my mother speak. She brushed her hands on her thighs before sighing and sitting in a chair near the door. "We should put him in a place that can give him 24/7 care now."

"I can do exactly that," I said, my eyes fixed on my father's breathing chest. He'll live more decades, Kat.

"Won't you get tired? Are you truly willing to sacrifice your life when you just had it started? Look, you're even getting it on with your boyfriend--"

"Have you been willing enough to sacrifice anyway?" I cut her off. My Dad has a steady rhythm in his chest, and bright brown eyes once he wakes up and sees me firsthand. "You're fine giving a piece of your mind, when you barely gave a piece of your time."

"When will your anger cease?" My mother sighed in resignation.

"If Dad's gone, don't talk to me ever again. I'm talking back right now, aren't I? Why don't you get some metal pole and hit me with it?" My voice gathered coolly, eyes still on my father. "You won't dare now? Because I've come to dig your own dirt?"

She didn't speak for minutes. I didn't care how long we stayed like that.

"Your father," she continued when she could finally gather her senses, "needs to be cared for with great attention. Whatever we could do, it won't meet his needs, Katarina," she said. "Think about it. Think about what that means for your own life."

I scoffed. "Damn," I breathed out. "Now you care about my life? Fine," I said. "Let's move Dad to a nursing home. Until then, don't talk to me unless it concerns him. I'll make my visits, but they don't have to depend on your schedule."

The doctor came soon after and talked with my mom until both of us signed papers consenting to move my father to the nursing home. When we got back to his room, I gave Dad a big hug and a brief kiss on his forehead before heading back to Mike's place.

I threw my arms around him immediately when he opened the door. But since he's too tall for my reach, I just circled his chest with my arms and breathed him in.

"Your Dad was rushed to the hospital, I was informed," he said, wrapping me up in return.

My head nodded against his chest. "We're moving him to a nursing home," I murmured.

"Will you be okay?" he coaxed.

And I only answered what was on my mind right then. "I don't know, Mike. If I lose him, I lose me."

That's when he hugged me tighter, urged me inside, and tried to cheer me up until I felt my spirits lift a little. I watched him cook and was struck that he actually does.

"You cook?" I asked, dumbfounded.

He just gave a noncommittal nod. "Yeah."

My mouth dropped, and with amused wonder, I gawked as he worked. He prepped the ingredients with such skill. Damn...

"How'd you learn?" I prodded further.

"Mama," he replied simply. "I liked her cooking, so I figured I'd copy it."

I let out a chuckle. "No way," I mumbled.

He made fried pickles, a hot sauce, and french fries. Since I got bored, I just helped clear the area around the sink and ended up doing the dishes (even if Mike's kitchen had a high-end dishwasher, I had nothing else to do, alright?).

We moved our food to the living room and started watching SNL. Yeah, just like that, plainly watching the good ol' TV. But hey, his sauce was distinctly remarkable, though. So I ate a lot of what he made. I ended up lounging on top of him before he'd even finished his own meal.

I looked up, found his neck adorable, and ended up pressing my face close to smell his fuckin' faint cologne. I gave it a kiss, but only a little peck. I think my mood had really lifted. So I pushed it further, started leaving open-mouthed kisses on his skin, lavishing his goddamn neck.

Mike covered my forehead with his palm to push me away slightly and looked below at me. I gave him a cheeky grin. He bit the bait and joined in the make-out session.

He played with my attention, an unhurried kiss that traced the inside of my mouth, then led into shorter smacks. He chuckled, withdrew, got back to eating, and finished it with a drink.

Well, it naturally subsided. So I reverted back to chilling beside him. My ear was pressed to Mike's chest, listening to it rising and falling. The steady movement seemed to carry my own breathing away with his rhythm. My head was running with thoughts about Dad when I suddenly felt a tickling sensation below my dress shirt.

It was his fuckin' wild hands. He'd set my panties aside and lazily started stroking me. Son of a bitch. He was trying to get me worked up. Which worked, anyway, 'cause I only had to turn my head to look at him, watching the TV while he did that to me.

I rolled slightly, raised my legs open, and he inserted two of his fingers. He thrust them, which made me gasp and let out a well-pleasured moan. It got wet whenever he touched me there. So he added another finger, stretching me. I bit my lips and whimpered, my face furrowed in delicious ache as they kept going, crooking inside and teasing my walls.

"Do you want to take your panties off for a deeper dive, or nah?" he asked, finally turning his attention away from the TV to look at me.

Damn it. Does my libido know any limitations? Of course not. So I got up, hunched over to lift the hem of my dress shirt, took my string panties off, and returned to lie next to him. I wanted to be tended to, so I adjusted my pussy for his convenience. And he fuckin' pets it.

It was meant to be lazy petting from him, but my horny thoughts led me to something else. I'd probably lap dance his dick later--I mean, what else were all my exercises for?

However, that reminded me of something. That fuckin' lingerie I bought. Damn, I think I should've done a strip tease first before giving him a lap dance.

Maybe later.