I lean back again so I can catch his eye. “Can I?” I ask.
He nods hurriedly. “Please.”
I take one hand and glide it down the crease of his cheeks until I find what I'm looking for and then I apply a little pressure. Marty nods again and I smile as I move the pad of my finger in little circular motions, before then tapping softly. When I then go back to stroking his entrance, he makes that same grunting noise again and I'm so relieved he can't see my self-satisfied expression because my face is buried in his chest. His arms come around to grip my back, one hand on the back of my neck, the other around my waist. He's thrusting now, charging into the soft warm space my thighs create and I have to squeeze harder than ever, trying to cross my ankles over one another to keep my legs in place. All the while I continue to play with his hole, little taps, little rubs, little pushes of pressure, until I finally feel brave enough and I force the tip of my middle finger a little harder and it breaches him only slightly.
“Oh, shit,” he hisses out and he jolts up and back a little too much that his dick gets free.
“Did you...” I ask, keeping my finger where it is, unmoving.
He shakes his head. A vein throbs in his neck. “So fucken close.”
I move quickly, finding his dick with my free hand but keeping my finger where it is. I stroke his length, twisting my hand around his head, as he positions his body at a slight angle so it's easier for me to have my fingers exactly where I want them on either side of his body. I also have the perfect view of his head thrown back, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, and his eyes closing shut as he comes barely a minute after I've taken him in hand.
He calls out with a string of curses that only my name interrupts and I don't stop stroking him until he goes quiet and still. But even then, I don't take my hand away from his hole, not until he dips down and wraps his arms around my waist to pull me up, so my legs are cinched around his body and our lips are touching again, kissing.
“Too fucking good,” he says to me. “I love that you just did that.”
“I love that you let me.”
“Why wouldn't I let you do that?”
I shrug.
“Your ex?” he asks. “He didn’t like it?”
“He didn’ttryit,” I clarify.
His eyes run up and down my face before he says, “His loss. His big fat stupid loss. What else didn’t he try?”
“A lot of things...”
“Give me an example.”
“Spanking... Tying me up. Any kind of kink.”
“You like that?”
I turn my head from the sun’s heat, my cheeks warm enough now. “I think I’d like to try it. But I never really have.”
“What else?” Marty asks.
“Ropes. Restraints. Breathplay, maybe.”
“Dom, sub type of things?”
“Maybe. Do you think that's weird?”
“I think it's wonderful. Kink is a wonderful thing.”
I look up at him, a little surprised if not shocked. “You have experience?”
“Sort of. Well, I have a funny story about a BDSM club I got lost in in Ibiza once but also with Arnie... Jesus. We tried a lot of things.”
I feel suddenly in awe of him, the possible inexperience of his youth an illusion I now know was only in my mind. “How... how did you get so confident about sex by this age? About what you like? About trying new things?”
Marty nibbles on my neck as he talks. “I think being bi helped. It flipped everything I thought I knew about sex on its head. My eyes were literally opened to so many endless possibilities.”
“I can imagine,” I say. “I feel like I knew about these things, have read about these things, but I never applied it to my own life. I never really asked myself what my kinks could be, until I found myself bored and restless in my marriage and I realised the other ways I wasn’t satisfied. But then it was too late. I scared him off.”
