Chapter 13
CADENCE
Itruly, genuinely cannot believe this is happening. This is my life.
I am doing this.
I am touching Riley’s…I said it—out loud:
His cock.
Even thinking it makes me grin and giggle.
"What's funny?" he murmurs.
I shake my head. "Not funny. Just…" I shrug. "Surreal."
He does not answer. His eyes are hooded, his lids heavy, his jaw hard and tight.
He appears angry but I know he is not. He breathes raggedly, roughly.
His magnificent abdomen heaves, curls in, tightens, the thick, hard blocks of muscle hardening and relaxing.
I slide my loose, soft grip around the hot, silky-soft skin, down and down to the very bottom, and he tips his hips up, pushing into my hand.
A sign of enjoyment, I believe—a signal that he wants me to do it again. Like when my hips buck into his touch. He went faster and faster until I was mad with need, and then slowed down—it only made me more desperate for the release, but oh, the result.
I shall try that.
I sit up cross-legged, facing him. Watch him with hawklike intensity for any facial expression that might be a clue as to his feelings. I grasp his…I must move past this silly hesitation over mere words; it is childish, and I am a grown woman. If I can touch it, I can say or think the word.
I grasp his cock in one hand—I like that word, I think. I decide to try it out loud again. "I like touching your cock, Riley."
He groans when I say this. "Fuck, honey. Not as much as I like you doing it."
"I think we can each enjoy it without it being a competition,” I say.
He laughs. "Sure can. All I mean is it feels fuckin’—” Right then, I caress his testicles, and he breaks off with a moan, head throwing back, eyes closing.
Yes, he likes that—a lot.
I do it again and receive the same intense reaction. “You like it very much when I do…this," I caress his testicles again, “in particular."
“Yeah, babe," he says, his voice tight and raw. "The way you do that? Touchin' my balls like that? Gonna make me come so fuckin' hard."
"Balls," I say. "Your cock…and your balls."
He huffs a laugh. “Yeah."
I decide to heed his advice and try new things.
If giving him an orgasm is a function of friction and rhythm over time…
and if extending the duration by variance of those parameters increases the intensity of the orgasm…
then I should be able to maximize his enjoyment of my ministrations by constant and random adjustment of the application of rhythmic strokes to his cock.
What kinds of variances are there, however? Let us find out.
I try a simple, fast stroke, first, one hand traveling swiftly from the plump, round head down to the base.
A few of these, and Riley is growling and his abs are contracting—yes, that would be the swift and efficient method.
Not what I am after, in this case. I want this to last for as long as possible—for both of us.
So now I try short, shallow, swift pumping movements at the top. Then a long stroke down to the base, and then the short, shallow, swift pumps again down there. He bucks into my hand again, grumbling in his chest.
"Fuck, Cadence…" he breathes. "So fucking good. Never felt so good in my life. Please, please don't stop."
I lean over him and kiss him while applying slow strokes like before, long ones from top to bottom, kissing him to show him my desire, my joy, my appreciation, my affection. "I will not stop, Riley. I promise."
"You're learning fast," he growls.
Pride bubbles. "I have always been a quick learner. I am applying the methods you employed to heighten my pleasure."
He wraps his hand around mine which is around him and guides my movement, showing me a new stroke—twisting around the top and then plunging down to the base.
I try that on my own a few times, and his eyes flutter and roll back in his head.
When I do it again, paired with caressing the soft, hot weight of his balls, he arches off the bed and grinds into my touch.
The best reaction yet.
"What else can I do to make this better?" I whisper.
"With just your hands? You can't. This is…fuck, Cadence. I…ah, fuck. So good."
"Just my hands?" I repeat.
He tenses. "Never mind. "
"No, what?"
"You're not there yet, sweetheart."
“Where?" I cup his cheek. "Tell me. I shall decide what I am ready for, if you please."
"Mouth," he murmurs.
"Oh," I whisper. "I see."
"You don't—"
I kiss him quiet. "Hush, Riley. You said I am in control."
“Yeah," he growls. "You are. I just—"
"I asked a question, and you answered. What I do with that information is up to me. Yes?"
“Yeah."
"Then let me enjoy myself. Because I am."
He groans when I give him a slow, twisting stroke and caress his balls.
I like his balls. They are quite strange, if you consider them objectively, but this is not the time for objectivity. It is the time for exploration, experimentation, and enjoyment. I like their softness. The wrinkled skin, the veins. The soft ticklish black fuzz all over them.
I like his cock. I like how it feels in my hand.
When I touch him, there is nothing else. Just like when he touches me.
My mind is soothed, blanked. My only thoughts are of him; I can see how people can become obsessed with sex.
I imagine myself kissing his cock. If you had asked me seventy-two hours ago if I would consider putting my mouth anywhere near the privates of a man I've just met, I would have fainted at the mere suggestion. Not literally. I would not have believed you, however.
Yet here I am.
Considering it.
In the meantime, I ply him with my hands. Caress the length of his cock. Twist. Pump. Stroke. Both hands plunging, both hands twisting.
"There are so many possible combinations of ways to touch you," I murmur.
He laughs. "I guess so." His voice is tight, and his laugh had a sharp edge.
"Are you…alright?" I ask.
"More than." He thrusts into my hands as I do what he seems to like best—the twisting stroke and caressing his balls. "Ohhhh fuck. Fuck. Too good, babe. Gonna—ahhh fuck—gonna come soon."
"You are?" I ask, unable and unwilling to even attempt to hide my excitement. "Do not hold back."
"No—no chance of-of-of…of that. FUCK!" He arches off the bed, every perfect, hard muscle tensed and straining.
And now he bucks into my hand, not just once, but in a rhythm.
Meeting my strokes by thrusting into my hand.
Yes, he will soon release. I am very, very excited.
I have received my first orgasm—several of them!
—and now I am about to give my first orgasm.
Glee and eagerness and joy ripple through me, and I do not attempt to restrain my emotions.
I let myself smile and laugh and giggle as he moves, thrusts, grunts.
"You are so hot, Riley," I murmur. "So sexy. I cannot believe I get to do this with you."
"Ah fuck, baby," he growls. "Sayin' sweet shit while you're making me come? Jesus. Goddamned goddess, honey. That's what you are."
He likes that? Then I shall do it again.
I lean over him and kiss him while I slowly repeat the twisting strokes of his long, thick, hard, straight cock.
And all the while, I caress his balls, cup them, and stroke them with my fingernails and fingertips and massage them with the gentlest of touches.
“You have shown me such amazing joy," I whisper in his ear, and he shudders.
"You are the sexiest man I've ever seen.
And you…" He groans, eyes squeezing shut as he arches and thrusts, making me lose track of what I was going to say, and so I start over.
"I wish this could last forever, I wish I could caress your cock forever.
I want to make you orgasm like you never have before. "
He laughs, but it's a groaned, ragged laugh. "Jesus! Oh god, fuck. You—" he breaks off, gasping, bucking. "You are!"
"Will my mouth make it better?" I breathe.
"Fuck yes," is his immediate answer.
I shift down so I am lying on his legs and pull his cock away from his body toward me.
Oh gosh, am I really going to do this?
"Cadie—Cadence, you don't—"
"I know I do not have to do anything, Riley. But you did this for me several times now. You do not seem to find it gross."
"I…it's not. I fuckin'…" he trails off, panting, watching as I taste his flesh with a swipe of my tongue, laving over the groove of his glans and over the weeping tip.
“Jesus. I love going down on you. Love the way you taste.
Love watchin' you lose your shit, hear you scream my name while I make you come. It's not gross, it's beautiful."
"Then why should I feel any differently?" I ask.
I shift forward a bit further and lick my lips, clear my throat, swallow…
and then just do it. Carefully keeping my teeth from scraping his delicate, tender flesh, I accept his cock into my mouth, slide it between my lips and against my tongue.
It is a strange sensation at first, both in taste and…
mouth-feel, I suppose one might say. His precum is rather more flavorful than I had expected.
I taste the salt of flesh and the musk of his precum, and my lips stutter against his skin, and then I feel him at the back of my throat—I am quite well aware that some women will use their throats as well as their mouths, but I do not believe I could do that without my gag reflex being an issue.
I slide my lips back up, watching his reaction. His mouth is open wide, working in a silent scream, and his hands are buried in the sheet and knotted, and his abs are tensed.
"Mmmm," I say, "I find that an eminently enjoyable act to perform. Is it enjoyable for you, Riley?"
He only looks at me, but the expression speaks volumes—if only because I am already learning what his expressions mean. This one is disbelief that I could ask such a thing, as if my question is a statement of the glaringly obvious.
"Shall I continue?"
"I'll beg, if that'll help," he growls.
"Tell me what to do?" I murmur.