Chapter Fifteen #2
Bailey huffed out a breath. “So, if I get turned on, I can’t do anything about it! No coming, remember?”
Gwen just stared at her for a full five seconds, then shrugged. “Eh, you’ll survive.”
“Gwen!”
“You get to fuck Sawyer,” Gwen reminded her, flipping through the streaming options until she located Heated Rivalry.
“So, what? I deserve to suffer first?”
“I wouldn’t put it that way, but…yeah.”
Bailey groaned. “Chloe, help me out, here.”
Chloe held up her hands. “I’m staying out of it.”
“I need better friends,” Bailey mumbled and went to fetch the bottle of Kahlúa.
Fortunately, Gwen started with episode one. Since Bailey had seen it twice now, she was able to ignore most of it, and went home feeling only marginally horny.
Unfortunately, when she got home, she had to put in her two hours of butt plug time.
Nash was out of the house, and since she wanted to get her time in while he wasn’t around, she hurried upstairs. She shucked off the shorts she’d worn to Chloe’s, wiggled out of her panties, and retrieved her butt plug from the bin of infrequently used toys under her sink.
She always cleaned everything after using, but she gave it a thorough wash anyway with soap and water before carrying it into the bedroom.
She kept the lube in her nightstand drawer, along with condoms and the toys that saw the most use.
She pulled it out, tossed it on the bed along with the plug, then set about arranging the bed.
She placed and plumped the pillows, then grabbed her current non-fiction read, a book about Queen Victoria’s daughters. It was a compelling book, interesting and informative, but could in no way be considered sexy, and would hopefully keep her from getting too worked up during the next two hours.
She lay on the bed belly-down, the pillows under her torso, and reached for the lube. She squirted a generous blob of the cool, viscus gel onto two fingers, then reached back, cocking her leg out to spread herself open, and pressed her fingers to her anus.
The lube warmed quickly against the heat of her body as she patiently worked it around, then in, the delicate opening.
Normally the single application would’ve been more than enough to ease the way, but two hours was a long time.
Knowing her body would absorb the meager amount of moisture long before that two hours was up, she reached for the lube again.
Erring on the side of caution, she used a generous hand, and by the time she was satisfied that she wasn’t going to be extracting a bone-dry plug in two hours, her asshole was bubbling with lube.
Annoyed that she hadn’t thought to grab a towel, Bailey wiped her hand on her butt—she was going to need a shower after this, anyway—and reached for the plug to position it at her now sloppy asshole.
Breathing slow, she pushed it in.
It glided in smooth, aided by the lube, but the lube couldn’t mitigate the stretch of delicate tissues, the pinch of discomfort as the plug slid in to its widest point.
She paused, holding it there, waiting for the pain to pass, the ache to ease.
And felt, with desire laced with dismay, the answering pulse in her pussy.
She’d always loved this part of anal sex, the part where the muscle, not meant for this use, gave its instinctive protest, its reflexive resistance.
The pain that accompanied it was sharp, almost sweet in its intensity, and for reasons she’d never been able to fully articulate, it turned her on like nothing else.
Her pussy twitched and throbbed with each little spasm of her asshole, her anus’s struggle to adapt the richest of aphrodisiacs.
And when the muscle finally relaxed and the plug slowly slid the rest of the way in to settle snugly and firmly in her ass, her pussy continued to pulse and weep, begging for relief.
Breathing hard, her hands shaking, she reached for the book. With a glance at the clock to note the time, she sent up a quick prayer that Queen Victoria’s lackluster parenting would keep her sufficiently distracted. Otherwise, the next two hours were going to be torture.
Cursing Nash, she opened the book and began to read.
* * * *
When Nash got home with a car full of groceries, the house was quiet.
Bailey’s car was in the drive, but when he hauled in the first round of bags, there was no sign of her on the first floor.
Curious, he went and stood at the bottom of the stairs for a moment, ears straining for any sound from above.
But he couldn’t hear anything. Deciding she was probably indulging in a Sunday afternoon nap, he went back outside for the rest of the groceries.
He was unpacking the bags when he heard the shower turn on upstairs. He paused for a moment, a head of lettuce in his hand, to picture her naked and wet. Then he shoved the lettuce into the fridge and the image out of his head.
He noted when the shower shut off a scant few minutes later, but kept moving, putting cans into cabinets and vegetables into the fridge, and he’d just finished putting it all away when she walked in.