My miserable neighbor with his thick thighs and his fancy suits, his shiny car, and all that lack of self-preservation in one tightly-wound package. My mind drifted back to spanking, which was no good for anyone, so I closed the back door behind me and flipped on the kitchen light.
My laptop was still on, work scattered around the dining room table, and I sighed, slamming the top of my computer closed for the night. I didn’t have the energy to deal with whatever crisis my boss was trying to generate after hours, so there was no point in even looking at the emails. I was tired, but I was riled up and no matter how hard I tried—which admittedly, wasn’tsohard—I couldn’t get sex off my brain.
My roommate, Grayson, was out for the night. Not that I wanted to sleep with him. We’d done that already, more than once, and that was enough for us both to know that two tops in bed did not make a right. The struggle for control had been fun at first, but there were things neither of us wanted to compromise on. Like any self-respecting kinksters, safewords were used and the scene—or in our case, the relationship—ended. That was years ago, both of us barely on the right side of twenty and not knowing better one way or the other.
But I’d gotten a best friend out of the mess, andGrayson and I were content to let sleeping dogs lie, for lack of a better term. He was out tonight at a club he’d found somewhere by the 210, built in a church or something. He was excited about it, while I thought it might be a bit blasphemous. Even though the risk of eternal damnation had never stopped me before, I just hadn’t felt like pouring myself into a pair of leather pants just to go out and pay for overpriced drinks at a bar an hour from the house, hoping to find someone who piqued my interest.
Reluctantly shuffling my work into some semblance of organization, I set my phone on the table and swiped open to my favorite hookup app—One Night. I swiped through a whole row of people who did nothing to spark said interest before slim hips and an even slimmer waist caught my eye. With a username like SubbyCubby69, I knew exactly what he was about, thankfully, exactly what I was looking for. I double-tapped his profile picture, automatically sending him an alert.
SubbyCubby69 replied quickly and politely, which I appreciated. I didn’t normally host, but with Grayson out of the house, I didn’t see the harm in it. After exchanging pleasantries—his name was Nathan—and status—we were both negative—I sent off my address and started to get my playroom ready. We’d agreed that this would be a one-off and he told me his favorite kinks were praise and spankings. Mine were impact play and being generous with orgasms, so I considered that a win.
The house I shared with Grayson was mine in name, his by default. Inherited after my grandparents passed away, I’d spent most of my inheritance gutting the whole place and installing all of the necessary updates. No more shag carpet, goodbye linoleum, so long oak cabinets. The one thing I had kept and repurposed was the horribly magnificent gold-veined mirror panels from the entryway. Those now covered the ceiling in the smallest bedroom at the end of the hall.
Growing up, I’d spent many weekends in that bedroom. It was mine, after all. Even though I didn’t live with my grandparents, they’d made sure I always had a place to call my own. My parents and I stayed local, but we moved around a lot, which was fine because I always hadthisroom. I always knew I could come back to this place. Now, as an adult, I still came back to that place, just for less savory purposes. Or more, depending on who you asked.
I knew my grandma especially would be horrified to know that in four years I had fucked more men under the watch of those gaudy and dated mirror tiles than she had in her entire life, but I was pretty sure she just wanted me to be happy. And fucking men—or women—in that bedroom made me happy beyond measure.
Once I’d refinished the kitchen and the floors and the bathrooms, I’d had more than enough left over to invest in some high-quality kink equipment, far beyond the pervertable homemade shit Grayson and I had been making due with for years. I found that not everything was better with money, and I still favored some old school goodies like wooden spoons and zip ties.
The room was clean, the bed tucked into the wall with fresh sheets on it, waiting for whatever the rest of the night would bring. With every second that ticked on, my cock grew harder with anticipation. I flipped off the light switch, casting the room into semi-darkness. There was an amber-colored nightlight plugged into one of the receptacles and the glow gave the room an intimate and sexy vibe that I loved.
It was hard to swallow, my nerves tingling with that familiar excitement that came from bedding a new partner. There was something to be said for the thrill that came from knowing you were only going to fuck someone one time. The dedication involved with putting forth the best effort you could manage, the promise of knowing they’d leave thinking about you…that there would come a day when they compared a future lover to you.
And that you’d always be the better partner.
Maybe it spoke to the uncontrollable nature of my ego, but I fucking loved that shit.
Nathan showed up three minutes early, wearing a trench coat and not much else. A leather harness spanned his slender chest, and when I opened the door, he opened his coat. I hooked a finger through the warm metal O-ring that lay on top of his sternum and yanked him into the house. His eyes were dark, so brown they were nearly black, and his skin the color of snow. I was seventy percent sure he was wearing contacts and eighty-four percent sure he was wearing a plug up his ass.
Spinning him around, I pressed him against the door and reached down. After swatting the coat away, my fingers grazed over the thick elastic bands of his jockstrap before feeling between his hot ass cheeks to confirm my suspicions. A broad rubber base sat nestled in his crack, and I leaned close, whispering into his ear, “What a boy scout.”
“Be prepared,” he murmured, dropping his forehead against my front door.
“Good boy.” I pulled the coat off of him, letting it fall to the floor. Nathan pressed himself against the door, ass pert and back arched.
I already knew his safeword, and he knew mine, from our brief app exchange, so I didn’t hesitate to pull him off the door and shove him toward the hallway.
“Last door,” I told him, pointing over his shoulder to the playroom. He sauntered, and that annoyed me. I didn’t want to play ego games, unless it was with my potentially miserable neighbor, whom I’d already decided to call buddy for the rest of his time in the house. The irritation in his voice from his fall, paired with his displeasure at the way I spoke to him, was what had gotten me hard enough to open the stupid hookup app in the first place. Nathan didn’t know any of that and he didn’t need to. He wanted a fuck and I was willing to give him one.
* * *
In the end, I knew the sex wouldn’t win either of us any awards. Nathan was too demanding, too bossy, too much of all the things I hated most. And I was too horny, too dominant, too unyielding to meet him anywhere close to the middle. I’d played the part though, gotten him off, and then came across his face in the most lackluster display of semen I’d ever seen in my life. It was no fault of his, though.
Only my own.
I didn’t let one-time playthings sleep in my room, but I pulled the comforter on the bed down for Nathan, and after a shower and a snack, I’d diligently tucked him in for the night. I slept like shit, tangled in my own sheets and my own thoughts, and the next morning when it was time to walk Nathan out, I knew there wasn’t enough coffee in the world to right my head.
It was obvious to me, from his awkward posture and his tight frown, that Nathan felt the same way about things, and that was fine. I’d already blocked him on the app so we didn’t make the same mistake twice. We were halfway down my driveway when Cranky McSourPants next door opened his garage. I could hear the click of his heels against the concrete as he walked toward his car, even the way his feet scuffed against the ground when he stumbled.
I looked up, catching sight of Nathan’s bare shoulder in the foreground, and my neighbor’s guarded expression in the back. Nathan’s coat was starched, not an ounce of fabric softener in sight, I thought as I tugged it back up over his arm.
“Drive safe,” I told him, stepping back.
Nathan opened his car door and lowered himself down, the tension not leaving his shoulders even as he settled in the driver’s seat.
“It’s okay, you know.” I leaned down so I didn’t have to talk loudly. “Mistakes happen.”
He answered that with a soft huff of a laugh, some of the anxiety falling away from his face.
