And he still does.
With three fingers worked inside me, he hits that sweet spot just right and nearly makes me come.
Then the bastard uses his fingers around the base of my cock to make me hold back. “Not yet.”
I whine before I even realize I’m doing that. Ineedhim. This feels like I’m about to have my firsthonestorgasm in over twenty years.
We finish in the showerand he towels me dry first, then himself, and leads me to the bedroom.
Out of his bag comes his phone and a speaker. This one’s a modern Bluetooth speaker, better sound quality than the one back then, a different phone, obviously.
He pulls me down onto the bed, on top of him, as “It’s a Hard Life” by Queen starts playing.
He sits up, dragging me over his lap and spanking me with his bare hand.I’d forgotten how sweet that first sharp, stinging slap feels. We started every morning together that week with a spanking and he introduced me to the addictive allure of subspace. There’s little I wouldn’t have done for him when I dove headfirst into that welcoming mental haze.
All this comes back to me now as he mixes squeezing my ass cheeks with more impacts, back and forth until I’m nearlyfrantic with need.
He pulls me off his lap and rolls on top of me again, all his weight on me. “I missed our morning spankings,” he says.
I grin. “Me, too.”
“Good, because you’re going to get them again.”
“Yay!”
That makes him smile in a way that lets me see the boy he was twenty years ago.
“Let Me In Your Heart Again” by Queen plays, as if reading my mind, before we’re treated to REO Speedwagon.
We stretch out on our sides and kiss, hands stroking, him on top of me, back and forth but Chris allowing nothing more than kissing and exploration. “Save Me” by Queen follows a medley of other songs from the ‘80s and ‘90s. When the opening strains of Queen’s “Love of My Life” plays, I realize he’s looking over at the phone with an undecipherable expression.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “That’s yourplaylist, right?”
He finally turns back to me. “No,” he quietly says. “That’s Pandora. It’s random. It’s not even the Queen station.” He fists my hair and pulls me in for a kiss, rolling on top of me again.
I can’t help laughing when his cock enters me to “Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy,” and he’s still slowly fucking me, drawing this out as “You’re My Best Friend” takes over immediately after.
He’s kissing me while we get a ZZ Top interlude, but then Queen’s “Too Much Love Will Kill You” starts playing.
He stops moving. “Goddammit,” he hoarsely says, reaching for it.
I catch his hand. “No, leave it. Please?”
I’d forgotten how green his eyes are in real life. They shift and change, depending on the light and what he’s wearing…or not wearing. Right now, in my dim bedroom, they’re backto emerald and pine, and focused on me.
“I love you,” I say. I feel like I can’t say it enough, now that he’s back. What if he’d died without me able to tell him one more time? “I have a playlist with all the songs I remembered on it. Including these.”
A sad sigh. “I couldn’t,” he says. “After a while, listening to these just made me cry.”
* * * *
I softly groan when I awaken the next morningfeeling like I’ve been run through a wringer.
Because, of course, I have.
The wringer himself still sleeps next to me, an arm and leg possessively draped over me, pinning me to the bed, unless I awaken him to get up.
Which…I really don’t want to do.
