Archie suggested drinks, but I was feeling antsy and asked him to go for a walk with me.
We walk through the darkness in the fragrant night. He’s solicitous and engaging, polite. The trees are studded with fireflies.
We find a bench and we sit and chat politely for about five minutes. He rubs my back and I’m on him. He has my tits out of my shirt and is moaning over them, tugging and twisting my nipples. I bend over in front of him, pull my pants down so he can finger fuck me from behind. I reach back and stroke his cock. I pose on all fours and he gives me a spirited spanking. “Lots of heat coming off that,” he says, holding his hands close to my ass.
And then an errant cyclist comes ambling down the trail, headlight blazing. Whoops.
Archie’s a big nerd and it gets me all hot and bothered. His accent, his peculiar way of expressing himself, his curly auburn hair and blue eyes. He wears red underpants. “They’re very popular in Spain,” he says.
Like most men in the world, Archie is uncircumcised.
As a general disclaimer! All men love their willies, and I love them too, but the uncircumcised men in the U.S. get an unfair “shake,” as it were. Uncut cock isn’t gross. It’s different, and it’s how the rest of the world does it. The only time I see Archie ever get close to irritation is when he talks about this.
I find myself craving his uncut cock. His foreskin is silky like sugarless bubble gum; I like the way it slides around in my mouth. It makes the cock more like a sexual organ and less like an elbow.
He expresses himself in an endearing, if peculiar, fashion. Nothing is hot or sexy; my nipples are “pleasing” and it’s “exciting” when I reach down to rub my vulva while he fucks me. Still, he’s a nasty boy, and his combination of nerdy and dirty intoxicates me. He uses the word “inchoate” in casual conversation and I feel my cunt throb.
One evening together I have confessed to some erotic misdeeds, and I am facing the consequences.
You’ve been a very naughty girl, he says. And you need to be punished.
I see the handcuffs and my eyes get wide.
I’m afraid you can’t keep still, he says. Turn around.
If you’ve never worn handcuffs, here’s an interesting point…handcuffs clamp down to a wrist shape, not the circle you’ll see when they’re in the relaxed, unlocked position. This is to keep the restrained party still; if you move or twist your arms, the cuffs dig. The only area of me that still hurts the next day are my wrists.
Another interesting point about handcuffs is that you are significantly off your game balance-wise if you don’t have the use of your arms. He pulls me down across his lap and I feel panic bubbling up inside me. What if he drops me?
My dress is pulled up and my panties are pulled down.
Right, he says. I want you to count.
Now it’s starting to hurt.
Nine. Ten. Eleven.
Fuck, it’s not just ten. FUCK.
I keep counting.
I’m aware that I’m drooling on the couch.
I am sweating.
I concentrate on the numbers for the remaining four swats.
He pulls me up; I’m unsteady on my feet.
We’re going to do another twenty, he says. I whimper. He pulls me back across his lap.
I make it through another 20 swats before I slide to the ground. He brushes my hair out of my face with his hands. He kisses me, his lips cool against my flushed ones.
You’ve been such a good girl, he says. You counted out loud. You let me restrain you. You deserve a reward.
Such a good girl. I’m so very pleased.
He slips his cock out of his pants and into my waiting mouth.