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“Sarah…Jesus.” Joseph’s voice is hushed. If his skin wasn’t so beautifully dark olive, I would be able to see him blush right now. I’m not trying to embarrass him, but we’ve been standing in the toy section of Slick for twenty minutes and he has done his best not to even look at the options. I know he wants this. He’s told me, repeatedly, that he wants this. And, well, we won’t even go into how much I want this. But I also know he’s nervous about it all. Sometimes Joseph needs a gentle nudge to get what he wants.
A nudge that I’m happy to give him in the form of a pale rubber cock and a slightly raised voice. I bounce it in the air a bit, pretending I haven’t seen his obvious discomfort.
“This looks like a good fit,” I say. I look at him a long time. My look says: We’re going home with a strap-on, one way or another. So if you want something other than the one in my hand, now would be a good time to say so.
Joseph moves away slightly, his voice far quieter than mine. “Maybe something less”—he touches the edge of his earlobe, then flicks a thumb over his goatee—“realistic?”
Now we’re getting somewhere with his wants. I put the cock back on the shelf with the other samples and pick up a slightly smaller silicone toy. It’s royal purple, with just a hint of a curve, and looks nothing like a real cock. I actually picked it out as the perfect toy the moment we walked in, but he doesn’t have to know that. I’ve done this before, bent over the boys in my life, but it’s all new to Joseph. So I want him to feel like he’s the one in control, he’s the one making all the decisions about what happens next.
Joseph looks at the toy, biting the side of his lip a bit. He doesn’t say anything, but his breath comes a little quicker. I imagine that if I reached down, I would already feel his cock hard and pulsing beneath the fabric of his jeans. The very thought makes my own breath catch. Suddenly I want nothing more than to leave this store and have Joseph naked and bent over in front of me.
“Yes?” I ask, trying not to let my impatience show.
He drops his gaze slightly and a small smile turns the edges of his lips. “Yes, please,” he says, in that soft and submissive voice that only shows up when he really, really wants something.
Oh, sweet man. Oh, beautiful man. “I love you,” I say as I take his hand with my free one and squeeze. What I don’t say is what he already knows, that I can’t wait to bend him over and fuck him until he is moaning my name, begging me to let him come.
* * *
I wouldn’t say that I fell in love with Joseph for his ass, but damn, it certainly didn’t hurt. At the start, it was mostly the way he wore his jeans. And then we got together and I discovered he didn’t just have a beautiful ass, he also had a deliciously sensitive one. A finger between his cheeks made him moan in delight. A little lube around his sweet spot, and he’d practically come right there.
Most guys don’t have great asses. They don’t even have good asses. They’re kind of flat and white and, well, you know. Just there.
Not Joseph. Joseph has one of those asses. He’s got Italian blood in him, so he’s olive-skinned everywhere, even his ass, even in the winter. And he has these two beautiful globes, muscled and firm. Not so hard that they’re not fun to squeeze. They’ve got just the right amount of meat to them.
He’s one of those guys who are naturally gifted. Good genes and all that. But he also does these squat-something-or-others at the gym. I don’t know what they are or how they work. He tells me, and I try to listen, mostly so that I can imagine him there, bending down under all that weight, the muscles of his thighs contracting, his ass wrapped in those lovely black shorts he favors. Sometimes he wears them home from the gym, not having showered, smelling like fresh salt, and I make him bend down for me right by the front door, take that beautiful ass in both hands and just knead it. All those tender, taut muscles, just begging for release. Of course I don’t give it. I find the sorest spots, the ones that make him squirm, and massage until he’s nearly screaming for mercy.
I say almost, of course. Because he knows how to make me merciful. And it’s not by screaming. I like to hear him scream a little. More importantly, he likes to scream a little. It’s part of what makes us such a good pair.
I’ll admit—I’ve always liked to look at men’s asses, but it wasn’t until Joseph that I understood just how much of a thing I have for them. It’s kind of an addiction, to be honest. But I figure since he doesn’t seem to mind, I shouldn’t either.
We’ve played a lot. Lots of kissing and fingering and lube and beginner butt plugs. Every little touch makes him happy and makes him want more. Which in turn makes me want more. Most of the time, it’s amazing we get anything done besides each other.
But only recently did he admit to me that there was something he’d always wanted to try. As soon as he got out the words “bend over” and “strap-on,” I was ready to jump the man’s bones in a whole new way. If not for the lack of proper equipment, I probably would have.
Which is why we have just bought a beautiful purple toy that looks more like a slightly melted grape popsicle than a cock. And a lovely black leather harness that fits my curves perfectly.
It’s also why this drive home feels like the longest trip ever. It’s why we keep glancing at each other out of the corner of our eyes like we’ve got a secret. A very hot, very delicious secret. It’s why we run to the house like teenagers, giggling and shoving, not knowing what else to do with our excited energy.
I make him wait. Do not ask me how I do this, because I do not know. I never have this kind of willpower. Normally, I’m a now girl, a gimme girl, but the fact that waiting is making him all antsy and nervous is somehow a reward on its own. He paces around the kitchen, putting things away, picking dishes up and setting them down, watering the plants. He doesn’t look at me and yet he radiates lust like a finely honed scent. He’s beautiful in his need, dressed in a white button-down and a pair of black pants. His olive skin makes a beautiful contrast with the white, his green eyes rimmed with thick black lashes. His cock makes a dramatic profile, bulging against his jeans. And his ass, well, I’ve already talked about that.
I watch him awhile longer, puttering. I’d say that I decided to be nice, to put him out of his misery, but really it’s me who can’t wait any longer.
“Come with me,” I say. I’m wearing one of his favorite outfits, a crimson wraparound dress with knee-high leather boots, and I walk slow and deliberate toward our bedroom, letting him watch my ass for a change.
In the bedroom, he stands silent before me, his cock straining against the front of his pants. He’s got a beautiful cock too, lightly curved with a soft, tongueable head. But I’m not particularly interested in his cock right now. I want his ass. Want is too soft a word. I need his ass.
“Get undressed,” I say.
Joseph knows how to do this already. No touching me. No touching his cock or his nipples. No begging or pleading or asking questions. He takes off his shirt, pulling it over his head, giving me an almost-long-enough glimpse of his stomach and chest muscles working. He folds his shirt; that’s his rule, not mine. His jeans are next, the lovely sweep of a leather belt through the loops and then the button-fly. Soon, he’s standing before me in black boxer briefs, hands behind his back. His cock, semi-freed, strains to be released fully. A spot of precum darkens the fabric further.
I’m still fully clothed. He has the audacity to note my dress with a quizzical gaze but doesn’t actually ask his question aloud. I wait until I have his full attention and then reveal myself to him slowly, letting him anticipate as I untie the wraparound and let it fall. I’m not wearing anything under it, and he releases a rough exhale of desire that makes me smile.
I practiced putting the harness on a few days ago, and as I pull it from the drawer now, I’m delighted to realize that its black leather is going to look beautiful against the purple toy. I take my time, sliding our new toy into the harness, settling the leather over my pelvis.
“Would you like to buckle the straps?” I ask.
He nods.
