Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
“What are you touching, lovely?” he says softly.
I look at him, confused, and then I realize. He’s trying to expand my naughty vocabulary. I dip my head. “I’m not sure I can say that.”
He gives me a commanding look that sends a thrill down my spine. “You have to say it before you can play with it.”
Usually I hate men telling me what to do, but this is very different. I take my hand off him and take several deep breaths before I manage to say, “Gray, may I please touch your penis?”
He chuckles. “That’s not the right word at a moment like this, Ava.”
“I know.” I take another breath, then blurt out, “I want to touch your cock.”
A little shock goes through me that I actually said the word, and afterward I feel a rush of power. As if I’ve broken an invisible chain that was wrapped around me.
This time, I get his smile of approval. “Good girl. Say it again for me.”
I drop my eyes to his beast. “Gray, please let me play with your cock.”
“Play away, lovely.”
Relieved, I go back to touching him. I don’t ask him what he likes; I have a basic sense of technique now, and I know he’ll speak up about anything he wants. So I enjoy myself, watching his responses closely.
“If you want,” he says as I’m getting into the groove, his voice strained, “many men also like to have their balls touched.”
“Oh!” I look down, and naturally my hand stops as I switch my focus. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. You can start up again when you’re ready.”
With him coaching me, I cup him, rolling each ball gently in my fingers, and run my thumb along the seam. From the sounds he makes, it seems some men like this a whole lot. Then I get my other hand moving again, and try to keep enough split awareness in my brain to satisfy both parts of his anatomy.
I lose track of time, less worried now about whether I’m doing okay, more able to stay in the moment and pay attention to Gray’s responses. I speed up before he tells me, and don’t even startle when he starts to come.
“Fuck,” he groans when we’re done, sprawling out on my couch like a cat taking a nap. “You’re a fast learner, Ava.”
I flush with pleasure and grab some baby wipes to clean up. I can feel the endorphin rush, like I’ve just conquered Mount Everest. Being able to reciprocate a little of the pleasure I’ve been receiving is amazingly empowering.
I want to do it again.
I want to do more.
Naughty games are now the highlight of my life.
I look around at Erik and Brax. From their expressions, watching me do naughty things is a turn-on even when it isn’t with them.
“This should have felt a lot weirder than it did,” Brax says, which makes Gray and Erik laugh. I’m so pleased that they seem okay with it, because I hope there will be more playtime like this soon.
AVA
The next morning, I’m still buzzed. I took a huge step forward in overcoming my old hangups, and I’m proud of myself. Some of the old guilty feelings try to surface, but I find I can dismiss them without much difficulty, which also feels like a victory. Churches have lots of different rules about sex, and my church’s way is certainly not the only way.
I’ve been understandably distracted from my work lately, but today at the fiber shop, all of the colors seem more vibrant, and all of the textures feel more satisfying. I offer genuine smiles to every customer and get smiles back in return. When a new student has a breakthrough moment learning to knit, it feels like the best thing ever. Well … almost the best thing.
Of course, in the back of my mind, I’m still processing all that’s happened. In many ways, I’m a different person now. Before, my family and church and job were my whole world, and that’s no longer true. I have a whole other part of my life now that belongs to me and only me.
When I first started on this dating adventure, I felt like a rebellious teenager. It was exciting to do things I wasn’t supposed to. I had more emotional awareness in most respects than an actual teenager, but I was still feeding a part of myself that hadn’t fully grown up.
I don’t feel rebellious anymore, even though the church would obviously say I am. I feel like I’m taking control of my own life, living the way I want to, doing what’s right for me. It’s satisfying, but not in a getting-away-with-stuff way. More a coming-into-my-own way.
Then I realize I just made an accidental pun about coming, and have to fight not to laugh in the middle of crochet class.