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A deflated ball lazily bouncing off the gravel pavement is like Pavlov’s bell. The kids are gone. Jarvis and she have the flat all to themselves for an hour; two, if they’re lucky, and Sylvia—her neighbour—invites them for dinner.
A cranky floor fan ruffles the net curtains that now wear a yellowish frock. It smells of baby powder and anti-bacterial wet wipes. There’s a certain fragility in his chest—it is firm, like any man’s, but it’s bony, too. She throws him off balance and the quilted eiderdown catches his long-limbed figure. Her weight on top of him traps him here, between her thighs. The tie is sleek like a fish, and, securing it around her fist, she draws him nearer, until her whisper tickles his ear.
‘I’m going to tie your hands to the bed frame, and you can say my youngest’s name if it’s too much.’
‘Alright.’
Her fingers fit underneath the lithe strip of fabric and give it a yank. It loosens easily. She makes an 8 around his wrists and hooks them up. Jarvis is a sight like this: hog-tied, perspiring, his chest heaving like after he did five push-ups the one time she bet him to.
She lifts her hips and then drops herself onto his hardening crotch. He hisses, and everything but ignoring it is too indulgent for him yet.
‘Had some kid come to my office today—he slitted his brow and I had to stitch it together right there. He screamed so much it sounded like murder,’ she says, and he laughs, visibly keyed up. She starts to hump him slowly; more for his pleasure, really, ‘for some reason, all the kids there are terrified of betadine. He walked out with a huge brown spot on his face. And then I had to do paperwork all day... was thinking of you.’ She then leans closer to him, locking eyes, ‘Don’t have kids with nurses. They’re horny all the time.’
‘I like when you get horny...’
‘It’s only because you can escape yet. You’ve no idea how insatiable I am.’ To underline this, she parks herself on him and grinds very potently, until his hips buck upwards. Then she gets up on her knees once more, away from his reach. ‘With all the toddlers running about... I have to let my hair down somehow, y’know?’ she chuckles, scratching him under the chin like a cat. ‘You’re my anti-stress toy.’
‘Like a bouncing putty?’
‘No. More like an alive dildo.’
He bursts out laughing.
With a wicked smile, she gets off him to remove her light-wash bermudas—they’re one of the first items she sewed; before she’d only knitted. It’s nice to have hobbies that produce tangible results.
She takes her place atop him again.
‘I’m going to get your pants a bit filthy. Hope you don’t mind?’ she asks when she’s already in contact with the fabric (oops).
‘No,’ he says quickly, and then, ‘I’d rather you take them off, though.’
‘Well, I’d rather you keep them on.’
The friction now is so much better. Her lower belly quivers, and she decides to put off her dominatrix plans for a bit, dragging her clit along the protruding part of his fly. Though soon, his pants get too drenched to feel stimulating, and so she just hovers over him with her hand lowered, spreading her wetness across her pussy. She knows Jarvis is dying to touch her. It only makes her wetter. He keeps trying to defy the restricted state of his hands, and he keeps writhing in frustration when he can’t succeed.
‘You wanna come?’
‘I’m so close...’
‘I see. But as for me, I got quite thirsty doing all this, how about you?’
He spouts something unintelligible—probably some sort of plea.
‘I’ll go and make us some tea,’ and then, she throws a stern ‘don’t move’ over her shoulder, just to keep him on his toes.
She goes to the kitchen—and what a luxury it is to walk around the house half-nude (bless you, Sylvia). It’s mainly to rile him up. It maybe wasn’t the brightest idea since she only has one clean hand to do all this, but thankfully the tea is just a prop, really. She dunks some sugar in the tea she made for Jarvis—wait, had she already put sugar in there?—she tastes it and, yes, she had, and it’s also lukewarm (ew). She’ll pretend it’s good. Sugar coma isn’t real. She stands in the doorframe, naked from the waist down and sipping on the tea (diabolical) cold-bloodedly, as if it isn’t the most repugnant beverage she’s tasted. The fact that Jarvis is fully clothed yet so hot and bothered almost makes her coo. Oh, to be thirty again. She just knows he would have no chance surviving her appetite before the menopause hit her. He looks at her with puppy eyes.
‘You want a sip, too?’
‘Please...’
Since he can’t do it himself, she tilts the cup a bit and slots the rim between his lips—and wow, is it a power trip to control someone’s tea consumption. Sex with this man is eye-opening sometimes. Once he finishes it, he gives her a judgy side-eye and she only grins, setting the cup on the nightstand.
‘So, wanna get out of the clothes?’
He lights up. ‘Yes, yes, please.’
‘Mmm, you’ll have to do it yourself.’
‘My hands are... tied.’
That sends them both. Every time, without fail.
‘Oh, well. You’ll have to entice me then.’
‘Anything you want. Just undress me.’
‘Risky boy, you are. Alright. You chose this life.’
She unbuttons his shirt. Now not only can she feel the ribs, but she can see them, along with the filmy layer of sweat coating the rosy skin. Then she moves onto the fly of his pants, and the moment she touches it, he jolts. ‘Alright?’ she laughs, and he’s got enough dignity to look meek. She peels them off, and they end up hiked just above his knees in that uncomfortable crease that’ll mess with his blood circulation for sure. His cock slaps against his abdomen, and it looks offended at all the neglect it’s got so far. She gets such a kick out of it, she cannot stop smiling.
‘Now, you said anything I want...?’
‘Yes.’
She positions herself right over his face. ‘If you make me come, I might consider returning the favour. Are we clear?’
He’s about to say something, but she lowers herself, effectively shutting him up. She’d poke fun at him, but he touches her with his tongue like he wishes he could touch with his tied hands. There’s no time for her to mock him between her lost-for-words moans. It’s a bit messy, but not enough to turn her off; he really does give it his all, to the point it starts to jeopardise her commanding aura as she can’t help but lean into it with her whole body, not even caring if she crushes him. She comes hard, dropping that cool-headed act irrevocably. It takes some time to recover before she climbs off him with far less grace than she climbed on, grasping for straws of authority like she hasn’t scythed them for good.
‘So, I’m thinking we’re done here.’
‘But...’
‘You want more?’
‘Please.’
She unties his hands and snatches whichever is the nimblest. ‘Hey, I didn’t tell you could touch me.’
‘May I?’
‘...Go ahead.’
Jarvis instantly reaches underneath her green jumper and gropes her breasts; there’s still a bit of an indent from her bra, and he lingers there for a bit. Then he does this ticklish as fuck thing he likes to do, which is raking four of his fingers along the stretch marks on her belly. She always dreamt of a tattoo, but it seemed too permanent—this is permanent, but it doesn’t make her worry about whether she’ll like it ten years later. He then lets his thumb rest in her belly button, and it’s crazy how his hands grasp her waist and not only meet each other but also overlap. It gives her this nice feeling of petite-ness whilst also highlighting how much power she can exert over him should she so desire. That’s one of the main reasons this arrangement has lasted so uncharacteristically long. She goes for the grab and sinks down on his cock; a perfect move to reroute his attention, as he’d been too distracted to notice. He certainly isn’t now. Another thing that turned one fling into a semi-stable liaison is that he’s very vocal. Easily, the loudest she’s had. There’s something so weirdly enticing about a grown man moaning like a girl. Like he can’t help it. Still, the window is ajar, so she scoops the flattened hair on the back of his head and pulls him into a strategic kiss. With how pent up he is, it doesn’t take long for him at all. Thank god, she wouldn’t be able to ride him for more than five minutes. She’d make a virgin joke, but she lets it off this time. Whilst he lies there like dead weight, completely unresponsive, she takes a quick trip to the bathroom and grabs some more napkins for him too.
She’d leave him be for a while, but all of a sudden he grabs her hand and she ends up collapsing on top of him.
‘Wait, no,’ he grumbles like he’s just woken up.
‘Jarvis? What are you doing?’
‘Shhh, don’t move.’
‘Jarvis!’
They roll from the bed giggling and somehow end up under the table.
‘Caught you,’ he announces, pinning her hands above her head. ‘Keep them there for me, alright?’ and then he dips his fingers inside her still wet entrance, squeezing against her clit with the heel of his palm and oh—he wants to make her come again. She didn’t even realise that she was this close! It hits her when he randomly decides to dip his tongue into her collarbone. It’s less focused, but it’s everywhere this time. They both lie there, exhausted, with trees rustling outside.
They move to the kitchen.
‘I only came here to have a cuppa, y’know. And still, I haven’t drunk a drop. Isn’t that cruel? You’re just teasing me the whole day.’
‘Yeah, well, do you not like it?’ he stands behind her, nosing in her freshly washed hair. It doesn’t bother her until he traps her between the counter and himself. ‘Hey, if you continue with this, I’ll get too turned on to make your tea! Go wait on the settee.’
The pressure from behind vanishes, and she hears the settee squeak when he sits down.
As she lets the brewed tea steep, the kettle whistles in the background. She pours the water first, followed by the tea, and adds a single lump of sugar—just the way he likes it. But when she turns around, he’s already fast asleep, a stripe of lemonade light across his face. He looks even younger like that. Usually, he isn’t the ‘roll over and doze off’ type, but today it seems like she’s pushed him to his limits. She’s no clue how she’s going to explain to her kids that ‘Uncle Jarvis’ is sleeping over.
And she’s already boiled a litre of water.
She shakes her head and starts to sip on the tea she made for him. Poking her head in the half-open window, she shouts, ‘Wayne, Julie, Diane, Heather, Rachel, come home!’