Obedience seven
Author: timrod
Rating: NC17 overall
Pairing: Billie Joe/Mmmmike
Disclaimer: I don't own Green Day. Dammit.
Part seven of fuck knows. You asked nicely.
Goes hand in handcuffs with
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Mike believes he is part panther, I think. He tries so hard to get in and out of bed without disturbing me, but after
four years of being a parent, I wake at the sound of a feather landing on a cloud. Five feet ten of muscle and bone stands no chance of not being noticed. He’d been gone about fifteen minutes, I guess, and when I heard him returning, I went into fake-sleep mode. It fools him every time. Sometimes it even fools me. The bed dipped and I felt warm air rise from under the billowing sheet.
He smells great first thing. I have never understood how he appears so fresh when I look like a wreck when I wake. That mirror above the bed is fucking unforgiving in the morning. I managed to stay ‘asleep’ until he kissed my forehead, and then I went through the whole sham of waking, which he seems to love so much.
“Hey …” *yawn, stretch, eye rub* “Morning.” *ball-scratch, yawn, blink*
“Hey. Happy anniversary, Darling.”
I had to smile. It’s a name we both use almost exclusively for our children, and when Mike uses it to address me, I know he’s in super-romantic mood.
“Same to you, Mikey. Thank you for two wonderful years.” His lips came down to my mouth level, and I could taste something on his breath that I wanted, too. “Coffee?”
“Yeah, downstairs. I fixed us breakfast. We missed dinner last night.”
“And lunch. Sounds great.”
We pulled on bathrobes before going down to the kitchen to eat, although they stayed unfastened over our otherwise naked bodies. He’d made a pot of our favourite hot drink, but the rest of the breakfast consisted of three different packets of cereal, OJ, and a bowl of apples. This was the least effort he’d put into a meal in years, but I soon fund out why. At my place was an envelope, the glue still wet from where he had sealed it, and two red roses. I ripped the card from its cover, trying hard not to smudge the ink.
He’d made a good job of it. The front bore a photo of the two of us on our wedding day, my head on is shoulder, him kissing my hair, and inside he’d quoted some of his vows to me that day, and another message of love, which I am keeping strictly private, sorry. A guy has to have some secrets. I stood it on the counter and dug his card out from behind the toaster.
I’m not often this organised, but I’d seen the ideal card at the store when I went to buy cigarettes a few days before - three perfect heart-shaped strawberries. They didn’t have one with pineapples on, and we have discovered that strawberries work almost as well to soften the taste of coffee-come. I’d scrawled something incredibly sentimental inside it, and filled the rest of the space with ‘x’s, assisted by the wobbly pen-work of our daughter. He read it, placed it next to mine and wrapped me in his arms, replicating the image on the card he’d made pretty accurately, only this time I could put my lips on bare skin instead of a silk shirt. It was all very romantic until my belly gurgled. We giggled, kissed one more time for luck, then sat at the counter, where I poured the coffee whilst Mike poured the cereal.
We ate a lot, but we ate quickly, and I don’t think either of us spoke more than a dozen words until bowls and mugs were empty. I cleared the debris, half an apple clenched in my teeth, whilst Mikey let the dogs out into their daytime compound, and refilled their food and water dishes. I felt a little guilty that we hadn’t taken them for a run yesterday, and I was pretty sure that today would not involve much fresh air for us, either. Exercise, yes. Fresh air, no. We were just about ready to go back to our little love-nest when the entry phone buzzed. Mike was closer, and he beckoned me to go upstairs while he dealt with the caller.
I just about had time to straighten the bed a little, strip and strike my best Playgirl centrefold pose by the time he joined me. He was carrying a bottle of champagne, frosty-cold, and a huge basket of flowers, all scented varieties, which wafted over me in the draught caused by him walking into the room.
“Wow, gorgeous.”
“From Frankie. There’s a card, too.”
“I meant you, but the flowers are nice, too.”
“Asshole. I thought I’d bring them up here. They might make this room smell better.”
I had to agree. Sweat and sex had made the air a little funky, and we wouldn’t be downstairs much to admire them if things panned out the way we anticipated. I turned over as he placed the flowers by the window, still displaying my best side. I was more than half hard, as I had been for the whole morning so far, but he was wrapped up in his robe, not having wanted to scare off the delivery guy. I sat on the edge of the bed and beckoned him over to me.
He stood between my feet, resting his hands on my shoulders, damp and chilled from the champagne that he’d managed to squeeze onto the crowded nightstand. My fingers fumbled as I untied his belt, and the garment fell open, revealing his magnificent body like movie theatre curtains parting for the main feature. He was at the same state of arousal as me, so basically fifty percent bigger, and I felt compelled to finish the job, which did the trick for me, too. And all of this in near-silence. All at once, the room felt smaller, more intimate, and I couldn’t help but remember the first time I’d seen him like this, and what had happened next - a huge leap of faith that had ultimately led to this moment. I kissed his balls, muttered “beautiful …”, and guided his cock back into my mouth.
I know his mind was in the same place as mine - the small part of it that wasn’t controlling the gentle thrusting of his hips, that is - because so many of his words and gestured echoed that sunny afternoon in my Rodeo bedroom. He raked through my hair, kissed a finger and dabbed it on my cheek, and suddenly, I felt I wanted to get closer, touch more of him - all of him, needing to know this was real and not a dream. I spanned my fingers and stroked every inch I could reach, and then he shrugged off the robe so that I could get to even more.
I’m proud of the scream I got out of him, a shrill rendition of my name, like a falling climber desperate for someone to catch him. His climax was definitely a 6+ on the Richter Scale, and I felt sure his legs would have buckled had I had not been clutching him to me, supporting him with my palms cupped around his cast-iron butt. He didn’t taste too bad, either - we’d been far too busy yesterday to make coffee - and I made sure there was nothing left in his plumbing before I let him slip away. He grabbed the champagne, popped the cork to the floor and offered it to my swollen lips before taking a long drink of his own. As one, we flopped onto the pillows and of course, he kissed me.
“So are we seriously gonna spend four more days just giving each other orgasms?”
He gave out an adorable giggle before answering. “Sounds good to me. You got any better ideas?”
“No,”
“That’s settled, then. Four days of non-stop fucking. Except for tonight. The car’s coming for us at six thirty.”
“Best set an alarm. You know what happens when we get days like this.”
“Good plan.” Mike reached for his phone, plugged into the charger in the base of the lamp on his nightstand. I say his - we’ve never got into that couple thing of sleeping on the same side of the bed every night. The twin cabinets held more or less the same thing, anyway. “We got a message from Mom. God, look at the cute!” The photo was of our kids, with wonder on their faces (and some evidence of what they had eaten) at one of those over-priced ‘character breakfasts’, flanked by Mickey and Minnie. Neither of us are big Disney Corporation fans, but I gotta admit, they know how to charm children. “Mom says they’re great, and happy anniversary.” That seemed to be a good time to toast ourselves again with the champagne. Well, we didn’t want it to go flat, did we?
“I wonder what time they got her up this morning.”
“Early, I bet. We gotta pay her back for this.”
“Yeah, I was thinking Vegas for a long weekend with some of her friends, or perhaps a cruise?”
Mike nodded, taking one last look at the happy faces of our children and setting that alarm. His attention focussed on me again, in particular a handful of hardened flesh with ambition. “I think she’d go nuts on a cruise, but Vegas sounds like a plan. She’s a fucking demon at poker, so Frankie says. Now, what am I going to do with you?”
We hadn’t scratched the surface of the contents of the boxes on the floor, and I still held out hope for that huge vibrator getting a work-out some time soon, but I played it cool, leaving the balls *snigger* in Mike’s court. After all, it was his anniversary too, and he does seem to like believing that he wears the pants in this marriage (and yeah, I know, Mike wearing pants? Not so much this week, you’ll be glad to know). I was more than ready for whatever his evil mind could devise, but after the teasing yesterday, I could also cope with waiting for an orgasm that would certainly make the wait worthwhile. I rolled into his arms, sort of high-fiving his thigh with my cock in the process, put on my best submissive voice and whispered, “Whatever you like.”
Apparently what Mike likes is to torture me.
With a quiet order for me to stay where I was, he slithered from the bed and started raking through the boxes. I could hear stuff hitting the floor, a mix of metallic and plasticky objects by the sound of it. The heavy thud had to be the intimidatingly large butt plug that we had wavered over back at Adams, the clanking was probably the chains that attach to the collar he made me wear yesterday. I was up for anything, and everything, and it sounded to me like Mike was going for the latter. His face was that of the proverbial kid in a candy store. His forehead was all wrinkled, and he had his tongue out at one point, because everyone knows that helps with thinking.
Finally, choices for the day made, he came back to bed, his arms full of a jumble of toys in natural shades and alarmingly luminous colours. He dropped them to the sheet then started to arrange them into size order, ranging from phallically-challenged to ‘whoa, one at a time, boys’. He’d selected nine or ten, I just glanced at them, didn’t count, just noticed that the Butt Plug of Doom was not among them, nor was Mike’s mechanical rival. He pointed to one of the pint bottles of lube on the surface beside me, and I swear he rolled up the sleeves of the shirt he was not wearing before he told me my fate. He can be so fucking adorable sometimes.
Most of the time.
Always.
What he wanted from me was simple. I was going to get ravaged by each of the toys in turn, going from small to large (that was quite a relief), but he had one rule - I was to let him know if there was any danger of a toy doing what it was designed to do - make me come - so that he could stop. My little swimmers were destined to stay in my balls until I was filled with something that was not powered by batteries, that was his rule. We had a little disagreement about that, because he had chosen two dildos, one made of solid silicone, the other a clear perspex, and it took a bit of a tickle fight to get him to clarify that I was not allowed to have two pre-orgasmic orgasms. That champagne had gone to our heads already, leaving me feeling relaxed, even about the prospect of being teased to within an inch of a climax for as long as Mike could resist me. We had another quick swig of the champagne, and then Mike coated me with coconut lotion, applied with a very cold finger.
The first toy was tiny, about the same dimensions as the butt plug he had made me wear yesterday, although this was metal, and vibrated evenly and gently. It was packaged as a prostate massager, and had a cute little curve to it, which made contact with the right place almost at once. I was on my back, legs apart and bent, and my husband (I still get such a fucking kick out of calling him that) lay beside me, watching my face for any sign that I was getting too carried away.
It may have been small, but I certainly wanted to add one of these to our already impressive collection. Probably two. When we were at Adams’, Julie had shown us a new range of furniture for the bedroom - including a nightstand with a secret - the drawers at the front were shallow, and there was a hidden compartment at the back to stash anything that you wanted to keep safe from small people with enquiring minds. We’d ordered one each, but I could see us doubling that order if the rest of the contents of the boxes were as good as the current contents of my ass.
Sometimes I had control of the toy, but every so often, Mike took it from me, and the change of angle, and of rhythm, helped to stop me from going over the top, but soon I got to the point where every tiny movement felt just too damn good. Fuck knows how, or even why, but I became a willing participant in my own torture by pleading with him to take it out.
He rewarded my strength of will with kisses, more champagne, and a hug, avoiding touching anywhere that sets me shivering. That was a challenge, but after a cooling - off period, he risked introducing me to the next toy.
On my life, that is exactly what he did, cross my heart. He waved the silicone dildo in front of my face and did the whole “Billie Joe - dildo, dildo - Billie Joe” thing before refreshing the lube and burying seven inches of day-glo pink inside me. Fucking clown. The laughter helped me to relax, this time lying on my side with my tormentor behind me, propped up on his elbow to allow him to study my face as he fucked my butt by proxy.
To be fair, I studied his face, too, and I loved what I saw. He is way overdue for a haircut - I haven’t seen him this shaggy since we were sixteen - and he had stolen some of my peroxide a week or so ago to lighten summer-blond to almost white. He’d got a faint growth of stubble - we both had, actually - and his unbleached eyebrows stood out startlingly against his skin. His expression was one of intense concentration, although every time I smiled at him, or told him just how fucking beautiful he looked, he smiled, and made himself even more beautiful.
I lasted a little longer with this sex aid, and to be honest, I think it was more the fault of the deep kiss that neither of us could hold back from that made me once more ask him to stop. The dildo got thrown into the box with the first toy, and he rolled me onto my back for another session of tonsil-hockey.
We carried on like this for the rest of the morning. My erection got virtually no attention, and as a result, it shrank to a semi a few times, which actually made it easier for Mike to torture me for longer. If a toy had multiple speeds, he tried it out on every single setting, although for one deeply-ridged vibrator, we had to make three attempts to thoroughly put it through its paces. It was just too good. By the time the monster was the only one left to try, Mike had arm-ache, an erection that was at least as big as the one in Julie’s office, and my ass had absorbed getting on for half a pint of lube.
He’d been so careful to give me plenty of breathing space, but the penultimate toy, the clear perspex one, had tested my won’t power to the max. It kept cold, even inside me, and had probably the shortest test of all, resulting in me now getting the longest respite. And fuck, I needed it. We had finished the champagne around number five, and had also emptied a water bottle each. and add to that the extended stimulation of my prostate, I was desperate for a piss. I informed Mike of my problem in the most romantic way, mid-kiss, and waddled to the bathroom, wriggling my ass, not to be sexy, but to help get my legs working properly. It felt good, too - all the excess lube making my butt cheeks slide together like ….. two things that slide together.
Pissing was going to be a challenge, because my dick was as hard as it had ever been in my life, and I spread my palm on the cool tile above the john, almost straddling the bowl as I tried to aim straight. I didn’t hear Mike follow me, his footsteps obviously lighter than a feather on a cloud, and mercifully, he waited until I had finished pissing before placing his soft hands on my hips, and pressing his heat against my back. I gasped, twice, as his mouth closed over the bruise he had created yesterday, and suddenly I needed to use both hands to support me before my wobbly legs let me down. He whispered my name, and immediately, I knew where this was going.
“I want you now. Can I …..?”
I bowed my head and hissed ‘yes …”.
Oh, boy, was I gonna get it. Finally.
To be honest, I thought ‘now’ meant ‘let’s go back to bed’, not ‘brace yourself, incoming’, although, to be fair to Mike, I was already using the wall to keep me upright. He let go of one hip, made the hottest noise imaginable as he grabbed his cock, and fed it into me.
First stroke, I was already struggling to remember my own name, because, no matter how good a dildo is (and that last one was right up there with the best), nothing beats the real thing. I was how he needed me to be - slippery, open, compliant and desperate - and he ticked every box on my want list, too. He had, of course, already come once, but that felt like an age ago, and I had been so close so many times, I thought I was going to blow before we’d even started, but Mike has great self-control, and knows how to manage me, too. His hands were both back on my hips, and mine were fully occupied, leaving my cock to bounce around freely. That was fine - I swear, that if he had as much as weighed my heavy balls in his hand, I would have gone. This way, I had more chance of holding out for a reasonable time.
And I did. Him, too, working me with his cock in the same way as he had with the toys. I could see us in the mirror wall behind the basin, and I stared at
our reflections as if I were watching someone else. Mike realised what I was doing, and I found myself returning the smile in the glass. To my surprise, he stilled, and whispered into my ear.
“Can you walk?”
“Huh…?” I had no clue where this was going, and his sudden need for both a walk and conversation threw me.
“Can you walk? Like this, with me in you?”
“Fuck, I don’t …. walk?”
“Over there. To the sink.” He licked the bruise, and that made thinking a whole lot more difficult, until he explained what was going through his mind in two words that made perfect sense to me. “The mirror.”
All at once I knew what this was about. I whispered ‘okay’, my voice cracked with emotion, and pushed myself backwards from the wall, falling against him, but he was holding me tight, and I knew he wouldn’t let me go. Slowly, we shuffled the mere five or six steps to the basin, me on tiptoe with my ass stuck out, Mike with his knees flexed to keep us fused together. We would have looked absolutely fucking ridiculous to any onlooker, but, mission accomplished, I grabbed the edge of the basin and nodded at the scarecrow-haired man in the mirror in front of me.
The years dropped away. It was as if we were transported back to Mom’s, and, twenty-five years since he fucked me for the first time, I watched a sixteen year old Mike take my virginity.
******
Afterwards, he carried me back to the bed, kissing me all the way. He sat against the headboard, cuddling me tight, and continuing to explore my mouth with his tongue, his hands straying all over my skin as if he were trying to convince himself that this was real. I was exhausted, but I didn’t want to close my eyes, because that would have meant that I couldn’t see his face, and at that moment, that was all I wanted from life. His touch inevitably made my cock stir and swell, and, still in his lap, he brought me to orgasm for a second time, slow and delicious and fulfilling, then kissed me to sleep, cradled close in his arms.
We were an hour late for dinner.