Tuesday

It was just a Tuesday night, the same as any other. The two of us snuggled up on the couch enjoying our designated DVR catch-up evening. Neither of us really knows what day or time the shows we like play, we just watch whatever catches our interest whenever we have the time. There are some recorded shows only she likes and some only I like. Tuesday is the day we picked to watch shows we both like. Why Tuesday? If there was a reason, it’s been long forgotten by both of us.

A simple dinner, then the evening curled on the couch watching shows and skipping commercials. Well, not always skipping the commercials, sometimes we like them as chances to talk. To ask short little questions about this or that, like “What’s the plan for the weekend?” or “Did you remember to get the dry cleaning?” I suppose it’s the sort of thing most couples do in one way or another.

My feet up on the ottoman, leaning into the corner of the couch. She’s sort of on her side with her head on my shoulder/chest. A blanket wrapped around us. Just like every other Tuesday.

A commercial starts and I reach for the remote. She softly clears her throat and I know she’s going to ask something, so I don’t hit the fast forward.

In a soft voice she says, “I’ve been thinking.”

“About?” I can’t say why, but I feel this sort of tension at her words, like she’s struggling with if she wants to bring up something.

Her head sort of rubs against my chest, “Something we’d talked about a while back.”

“Uh oh, this sounds like I’m in trouble over something….” I can definitely feel the tension now, but it could only be in my mind. Is this a classic example of some long ago disagreement we had coming back? We don’t really fight, but like all couples, we don’t agree on everything.

I can actually feel her smile, “Well, the sort of trouble you said you’d like.”

I’m happy she can’t see my face. My eyes flutter as the implication of her words hits me. Her hesitation at bringing this up now clear. I’m positive she can hear, if not feel, the uptick in the beating of my heart.

“Oh. What… have you been thinking?”

Her right hand, until now simply resting on my chest next to her head, stretches and then lightly starts to caress me through my shirt. “Lots of things.” Her fingertips find my left nipple and lightly circle it.

I swallow, thinking I know where this is going and suddenly unsure if I want to go down this path. It’s true enough it’s a subject I had raised when we first met, but now faced with the unexpected reality of it was just a tad unsettling. Exciting, but unsettling.

“Anything.. you care to share?” There’s a bit of twinge in my voice. She knows I greatly enjoy my nipples being played with. I can’t help but shift in my seat as my cock begins to harden.

“Shh, the show will be back in a minute.”

And so we sit more or less just like before. Only now, my mind is thoroughly distracted from the show. Her fingertips, and occasionally fingernails, toying with the nub of my nipple while my cock as grown fully hard. There are countless things I want to ask her, but it will have to wait until the next break. I’m sure she’s smiling. I am sure she’s enjoying the sexual tension her simple words have created.

Finally, the screen quickly goes back and the next commercial starts.

Perhaps a tad too eager, but I can’t resist a puzzle and she knows it, “So, anything you care to share?”

Her head nods, “You’re assuming you know what I’ve been thinking about.” The smile heavy in her words.

“Oh, I see, you’re just in the mood for vague comments to tease me.” A smile on my face now. The innuendo probably much to obvious, but I’m working out what to say on the fly. I suppose she is right, that I’ve assumed what she has been thinking. Her reply to my teasing comment will clarify things.

There’s a bit of a pause, as if she’s pondering her reply. A sort of last chance to change course. A fingers tighten on my nipple, pinching it. I, ever so slightly, squirm first from her pinch and then from her reply, “Yes, I’m in a mood and teasing you is just part of it.”

She’s always been the blunter of the two of us. I’m usually the one to make playful comments with multiple messages and she’s simply more to the point. It’s often a point of contention between us, something I’ll do that drives her crazy. Tonight, it seems, she’s much more in the coy the mood. I’m not exactly sure how to take this. I’m intensely curious about what she’s been thinking and where she wants this to go, but I don’t want to say the wrong thing and get this off track. She’s very much the sort to have planned this out.

When I had originally brought up the idea that I enjoy a woman who liked to be in control in the bedroom, she had frowned a bit and said, “Like all the time? A fetish kind of thing?” I vaguely recall being immensely happy that we were in an online chat and not face to face as I explained, no not all the time, but something that I did enjoy. The subject came up a second time during a drunken conversation where she’d ask me sort of things the phrase “woman in control” included. By that time, we’d already had had sex, which had been, for lack of a better word, normal – not as in average, but as in non-kinky.

Now it seems, for a third time, the issue was coming up and she wanted to, at the very least, talk about it or possibly even explore it.

“What’s the other part?”

For the first time, her head turned to look at me, her eyes glinting to match the smile on her face, “Me cumming hard.” Like I said, she’s usually blunt and to the point. Even still, there was the slightest touch of blush to her cheeks.



Our eyes locked and I wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. Slowly her head shifted back to its original position watching the show which came back on, saving me from having to think of something to say.

Her hand slide from my chest, down to my belly, and finally coming to rest atop the hardness covered by my shorts. I squirmed as she cupped me, a soft moan coming from my throat and she shushed me. We do have a rule not to talk when a show is on, that’s what commercials are for.

Watching, but not really watching, as the show raced toward its conclusion for the episode. We normally watch one more show, sometimes even two more shows. Is that what she has in mind? Some playful fondling and mental teasing as foreplay to sex? Or does she mean something more like we’d talked about during the drunken conversation where I’d brought up the idea of liking the idea of my partner having an orgasm while intentionally, purposefully telling me I couldn’t that night.

She started to lightly squeeze and release, a sort of rhythmic pulsing on my hardness. If I had a lot of things to ask before, there were easily ten times as many now, but the show was on, so no talking. Instead, I closed my eyes and flexed my rump to match the pulsing teasing squeeze of her hand.

I’m not even aware the credits have started to roll until she speaks, her voice hardly more than a whisper, “Hey, you sleepy?” A joke about my eyes being closed.

I shake my head, “No, not at all.” I open my eyes and she’s again looking up at me, grinning even wider than before. I start to move, to wrap my arms around her, but her head gives a little shake. The message is clear, she doesn’t want me to move, that she has things, more or less, worked out how she wants them to go. For now, I’m just supposed to be still

Her squeezing firmer, but slower, “You curious, why?”

I swallow and nod, “Yes, I am.”

“I can’t decide if I should tell you or not.”

Does she want me to beg or is she really undecided? Is this part of little script she’d worked out in her mind or are we off into true musing territory?

Since I’m free to moan, that’s exactly what I do while flexing my rump to her firm squeeze. She hold the squeeze and so I hold the flex along with my breath. The second tick by with our eyes locked. Finally, I exhale and relax and her gripe loosens. She seems utterly enthralled by what just happened, the combination of the pulsing of the blood in my cock as she squeezed it and the mental aspect of what’s happening.

Her voice still a whisper, “Again.”

She squeeze. I flex. And we hold this again. She stretches to close the short distance between our faces and I eagerly dip my head to meet her and we kiss. Long, passionate French kiss.

It breaks when I exhale and relax.

She asks me, “What are you thinking?”

“So many things…”

Her hand back to light, rhythmic pulses, “Share…”

I take a moment to gather my thoughts, a small shrug, “I don’t know where to start.” I know she’s going to say ‘start’, so I keep talking in an almost rapid fire rambling, “Where did this come from? What exactly at you planning? How long have you been planning it? How long are we going to lay on the couch? How do you want to cum? I really want to cum. I want to kiss you again. I want you to stroke me. I want to caress you. Why aren’t we naked? More?”

She blinks, trying to process the myriad of comments and questions. Her hand pauses in the squeezing and starts to toy with the button on my shorts and then the zipper. “What else?”

My eyes close as she uncovers my hardness, freeing me from the confines of my shorts, fishing me through the fly of my boxers. Her touch light, nearly maddeningly so. “You said tease, is that all this is? Distract me through another show? What are you thinking? How do you see this end? Why aren’t we naked? Please, stroke more. Should I be touching you? Do you like this? What should I do to make you happy? I like you stroking me. I want to have sex. I want to cum inside you. Is that what you want? What do you want?”

She ends this round of rambling by kissing me again. Her stroking picks up, but just while we kiss.

“Yes, I’m liking this. Yes, I have a sort of plan.” She kisses me again, “I think I’d like you to ask me though.”

“Ask you what?”

She gives me a playful, pouty look, “Awww, don’t ruin the fun, you know what I mean.”

Indeed I do. Her stroking stops and just the tip of her finger circles the tip of my cock’s head. I swallow, thinking about the implications of what I’m about to ask, “Would… you like… to explore, you know, the control idea?”

She frowns, still playfully, “That’s close, but not quite right… ask again.”

I swallow again. Mentally fumbling with what exactly she wants me to say and not sure how many ‘wrong’ tries I’ll get. That she’s blunt occurs to me and so I skip to what I think is real question, “Will I get to cum tonight?”

Her frown turns into a bright smile, “Such a wonderful question.” Her hand resumes the light, slow stroking. “I’m so tempted right now to say, I want you. To say, let’s have sex. Here. Now. On the couch. On floor.”

I’m nodding as she talks, I want to do exactly that.

She continues, “But I promised myself. If I started this, I’d see it through, at least once, you know?”

“See what through?” I know what she’s going to say, but I sense she wants to play through this bit of dialogue.

“To see what it’s like. To see if it’s something I might enjoy.”

I shiver and moan, both from her touch and how she’s drawing this out, “Enjoy.. what?”

Her voice sort of oddly flat, “Telling you no.”

I moan at her words. She seems conflicted, struggling with the idea of what she’s just said. I squirm in my seat, I want to ask her if she’s sure. If there’s some way I can change her mind. I sense, I think, that I could if I tried, if I begged enough, pleaded enough that she’s give in. But she said she wants to explore this, to try it. I struggle with what to say, how to reply. My and body in a conflict. Part of me wants to get her to change her mind, but part of me doesn’t. Part of me wants to see where this will go.

“Maybe… tomorrow?” is what I manage to finally ask.

“Maybe.”

What reply can I make? I moan and squirm in the couch. All I can think about is the soft touch of her fingertips, that’s really all she’s using, sliding up and down my shaft. As she moves, the head of my cock rubs against the blanket. We stay like this for a while, a long while. Not talking. Her slowly caressing my cock. Me laying, moaning, flexing my muscles in time with her pace. Her so very, very slow pace. I want it faster. I want to grip firmer.

She kisses my neck, nibbling lightly. Licking at my jawline. I struggle to stay still, I want to hold her, to touch her. I have to give, I can’t just lay still any longer. My left hand cups her face, lifting it to mine and we kiss again. A long, forceful kiss. My right, which has been resting on her hip, the most it’s done so far is clench into a fist as I struggle to be still. Now it slides up side, hungrily seeking her breast. The kiss grows deeper, as I cup and squeeze her breast, making her moan for a change.

We lay like this for I don’t know how long. Our breathing deep, panting. Kissing. Hands working each other more and more towards sexual bliss.

Finally, she pulls back and her hand lets go of my aching hardness. I can easily see she’s as worked up as I am. She’s been thinking about, working out ideas. And now it’s coming into action. She still seems a bit unsure of herself, if she’s going to follow the plan she’s dreamt up. Reality is always a bit different than the fantasy of something.

“Bedroom?” I ask.

“Not yet.”

“First?” I really can’t manage more than one word at time.

She licks her lips, it’s another decision point for her. This one is easier of course, we are already headed down the path. I try to imagine, to guess what she’s going to say. I’m wrong.

“I want to watch you….” Her voice trails off.

“Me what?”

She lifts up the blanket, not exactly answering my question, “Shorts off.”

I don’t need to be told boxers too, moments later I’m naked from the waist down and the obviousness of what she wants to watch. I can only lean toward her to kiss her as my left hand goes to stroke myself. She turns the her head and to watch and we are almost back how we started, her head on my chest, only this time she’s watching me stroke myself instead of TV.

“Like this?”

She nods her head and then, much to my surprise, “Get close, but not too close.”

I openly, loudly moan at her words and start to stroke faster. It doesn’t take too long for me to feel the building of urge to cum. She’s had me hard for a more than long enough. The idea of her watching me is just as exciting as the earlier conversation about teasing. Mentally, I struggle with what to say. I want to ask her if I can cum, but the earlier sense that I shouldn’t ask again lingers. As the time grows near, I manage to stammer, “Just close?”

She nods. I groan. A few strokes more and I stop and she watches my cock throb and twitch. The orgasm it had been expecting not happening. A bead of precum has oozed forth from all the stimulation. I watch, fascinated, as her fingertip wipes it off me and then her finger disappears behind her face and I know that she’s licking or sucking it off, but I can’t see. I moan.

There’s an impish grin on her as she turns to look at me. “You really want to, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“But you won’t?”

I shake my head, “No.” My voice seems small, so very small.

We kiss. “But I can?”

I nod, “Do you want to?”

She nods, “I do.”

“Now?”

She nods again, “Now.”

Her right hand undoes the button of her shorts and the zipper. She struggles a bit, sliding them and her panties off and soon she matches me, naked from the waist down. I pull at her shirt, lifting it up to expose her breasts. Perhaps it’s chance or she really has thought this far ahead, but her bra is a front clasp. Soon her breasts are free, her nipples hard and begging for attention. I’m only too happy to oblige. To my surprise she starts to touch herself, moaning softly as she does. She gives me a long kiss and then returns her head to my chest, looking at my hard, pulsing cock. I don’t need to be told what she wants.

I start to stroke myself again, this time a nice even pace. We are both moaning, that sound complimented by the sinfully erotic squishy sounds of her fingers playing with her pussy. She lifts her right leg, putting it on the back of the couch, letting me see everything she’s doing, as she’s watching me. I have to be slow, careful almost. I want to cum. There’s a growing ache in my balls.

My right hand moving from breast to breast, cupping, squeezing. Fingers finding her nipples, rolling them, pinching them, pulling at them. All the things I know she loves.

The sound of her moans change, they grow deeper, more forceful. I know the change. It makes me want to cum all the more, all the harder. It’s a simple sign that her own orgasm is close. More than once I stop with my stroke and just let my cock stand and throb before her. Her hips start to buck as she works herself toward cumming. Her moans get louder, her breathing deeper.

And then there’s the unmistakable sound of her orgasm. The long, deep groan. The tensing of her body. The jerky spasms of her hips. And finally, the resumption of breathing.

Her chest heaving, she turns to look at me, her face and chest totally flush. Her lips glistening. “You good boy?”

I nod. I didn’t cum.

She smiles, “Good boy,” and drapes the blanket back over us signaling that things are, for now at least over. “How about one more show?”