19. Call Me Mary
CALL ME MARY
RYDER
Warm.
I don’t think I’ve ever been this warm.
That’s the first thought that crosses my mind as I drift towards consciousness. I am so incredibly warm, especially around my middle and on top of my thighs. It’s a soothing kind of warm, not the itchy, overheated feeling of sleeping too long. It’s almost comfortable. Almost, because…
Hard.
I don’t think I’ve ever been this hard.
I am ridiculously, cartoonishly, painfully erect.
I’m no stranger to morning wood. I’m a twenty-seven-year-old man with a working dick; I wake up with an erection more often than not.
But fuck, my cock is throbbing today. Straining, stretching, pulsing, it’s leaking all over the inside of my shorts, leaving the fabric wet and the rest of me aching.
I must have been having one hell of a dream, or maybe I’m backed up since I haven’t cleared the pipes since moving into Mabel’s place, because, fuck, it hurts.
I don’t think I can function until I take care of the situation between my legs.
I’ve been so good about restraining, but at this point leaving my balls full and aching can’t be healthy.
I should probably sneak into the shower before I jerk off.
But with all the blood in my body pooled in my cock, it’s likely I’d pass out and fall on my way there.
I’ll have to be quiet and careful and maybe spray the couch with some disinfectant when I’m done.
I don’t bother opening my eyes as I slide my hand towards my waistband so I can take care of business. But as my hand snakes down my stomach and hits an unexpected speed bump, it’s like a bucket of cold water being dumped on my head.
Arm. I’m touching an arm. An arm that’s not my arm.
My eyes snap open, and the scene in front of me unfolds like a montage of every fantasy I’ve had since I was a teenage boy.
I’m in Mabel’s bed. The pillow wall she built last night has been penetrated, shoved to the side and forgotten.
I shouldn’t have let myself fall asleep while holding her hand.
I knew she wouldn’t stay on her side of the bed.
When we were still just toddlers, young enough to be put down for our afternoon naps together while our moms gossiped downstairs, I always woke up with a diapered-butt Mabel sprawled across the bed, usually sticking a finger up my nose and the flat of her foot directly against my gut.
But even with the prior knowledge of her childhood nocturnal habits, I couldn’t have imagined this.
Mabel, warm and sleeping with her arm around my middle and her thigh slung over my legs, eyelashes fanning her rosy cheeks and her lip slightly parted as nuzzles against me.
My wife is a sleep cuddler, and goddamn it feels good to be the body she’s cuddled against.
Her hair is a delightful mess, with strands of golden red falling loose from the bun she tied it in without a second thought last night, and her cheek is smooth as silk where it meets the juncture of my arm and shoulder, the spot she claimed as a pillow at some point during the night.
One long, smooth, toned leg is slung over mine, and I fight the urge to peek under the blanket to see if the sleep shorts clinging to her skin have ridden up at all.
She sighs, and her breath ghosts across my skin, teasing my nipples from their proximity to her plump mouth.
Her hips are rocking in the tiniest motion, but it’s enough to make my blood boil.
My cock twitches, as though it’s trying to find its own way out of my pants and closer to Mabel, desperate to touch her, feel her, sink inside of her.
Goddammit, I’m going to come. Mabel is on top of me, sleeping like an angel, and I’m going to fucking come.
Wanting to spare myself the humiliation of Mabel waking up wrapped around me and thinking I had a wet dream all over her immediately after she welcomed me into her bed, I shift slightly and try to slide my way out of her hold and off the side of the mattress.
But when my thigh shifts, so does Mabel.
She nuzzles closer to my armpit, her thigh shifts higher, and I’m branded by the heat of her pussy pressing down against my leg.
My heart stops, my breath stills, and then she’s rocking again, this time grinding all that sweet heat directly over my quad.
A moan escapes her lips, and only then do I realize what she’s been doing all along.
That the damp spot on my shorts isn’t just from the precum leaking from my tip, but from the arousal soaking through the pink, cotton shorts covering her slit.
Mabel is pleasuring herself with my leg between her thighs.
Holy fucking shitballs, I am definitely going to come.
I should wake her up. I should feign some sort of bathroom emergency and catapult myself out of this bed before she realizes what’s happening.
I should do anything but lay here and let her continue to grind her pussy on me like I’m her favorite toy.
But, fuck me, she’s so damn beautiful like this, somehow looking both peaceful and stressed out as she jiggles her little hips, desperate to find her release even in sleep.
Her nails scrape across my chest, scratching my sensitized skin and pouring gasoline on the fire of lust burning in my belly.
I can’t let this go on, but I couldn’t stop it if I tried.
Mabel’s breathing quickens, morphing into whimpers and pants as her brow crinkles and her hips glide faster, losing their rhythm as she seeks relief.
With each slide of her covered pussy over my thigh, my cock thickens further.
I swear, I can almost feel the swell of her little clit through her pajamas as she presses against me.
Almost there, baby girl.
Without permission from my brain, I hike my knee until my thigh is ground tight against my wife’s pussy and splay my hand across her hip. I want to help her. Want to see it, the moment where she falls over the edge.
On an inhale, Mabel’s eyes flutter open. She blinks up at me, awareness sinking across her features as she wakes.
“Ryder,” she gasps, her movement of her hips slowing, but I can’t have that. Gripping her hip tight, I thrust forward and grind my thigh against her slit.
“Shhh, Mabel. Don’t stop, baby. You’re so close.”
The second of hesitation on Mabel’s face might as well last a lifetime for the way my nerves react to it, but when she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and resumes her rocking, relief floods through me, stronger and more satisfying than any orgasm I’ve ever experienced.
Mabel digs her little pink-painted nails into my pecs, probably leaving holes in my t-shirt while she humps her pussy on my thigh over and over until finally—
“Ryder, I’m—” she gasps, a moan cutting her off as those intoxicating brown eyes roll back, her entire body trembling and that hot juncture between her legs soaking through her shorts as she comes, babbling and whimpering and clawing at my chest until I’m sure she’s drawn blood.
She’s a trembling, sweating mess, more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.
I want to lean in and lick the beads of perspiration from her throat.
I want to shove my fingers inside of her and feel the way her pussy clenches and contracts.
I want to bury my face between her legs and drown in the taste of her.
More than anything, I want to live in this moment forever, but I’m not strong enough to ride my own edge any longer.
My insides coil, pleasure grasping at me and pulling my balls up tight like a zip tie until I can no longer handle the pain.
Hiking Mabel’s leg up a few inches until her supple thigh is pressed against my erection, I grind once, twice, and then I’m spilling in my pants.
My stomach muscles contract so violently, I have to grit my teeth as my orgasm demolishes me, shredding me and knitting me back together.
The second my pleasure subsides, my skin erupts in goosebumps. Mabel is trembling in my arms, and looking up at me with glassy, dazed eyes. I stare at her lips, so pink and kissable, and I—
Oh fuck. Oh fucking fuck motherfuckers, what have I done?
“Ryder,” Mabel whispers, brushing her thumb over the chain resting on my heaving chest.
“I’ll go clean up,” I grumble, doing what I should’ve done five minutes ago and getting the hell out of the bed.
I sprint to the bathroom, where I immediately rid myself of my t-shirt and cum-filled pajamas and get to work cleaning away the evidence of my ill-advised orgasm.
I wrap a fluffy yellow towel around my waist and search the cabinets until I find an unopened toothbrush, since I’ve been keeping my toiletry bag in the kitchen.
I squeeze a line of Mabel’s unscented, natural toothpaste onto the bristles and go to town on my teeth, staring at myself in the mirror and hoping that if I brush hard enough, I might be able to bleed the embarrassment out through my gums.
Mabel won’t even talk to me about whatever is going on between us, and the second I have my hands on her, I come on her leg like an animal.
“Fucking idiot,” I mumble under my breath.
There’s a soft knock on the door, but I ignore it, spitting into the sink. Another knock, this time a little bit harder.
“Just a second,” I call out. Mabel knocks again.
“Ryder, come on. It’s not a big deal. We fell asleep and woke up horny.
It happens. I know I made a big deal about the pillow wall last night, but I thought it would make you more comfortable.
I’m sorry I crossed it, but you told me to keep going when I woke up.
And I mean, really? What’s a couple of mutual orgasms between a husband and his wife, right? ”