Ascension

“I’m at the point that I think I’m going to fuck someone.” 

His eyes flicker as they meet mine before quickly breaking away. 

“I just want to feel hot again…I mean, I DO, feel hot. But I’m horny because I never get laid. I don’t even want to with Pete at this point because it’s been so aggravating with him lately and he’s just a slob.” I sigh, looking up at him through the fringe of my new-ish curtain bangs. 

“I started taking some pictures,” I offer, fully aware of Ave’s past love of exotic dancers and promiscuous sex in the 90’s. 

Ave raises an eyebrow as his full lips curl into a smirk. I relish the opportunity to delicately edge the tension. 

“Me and a friend decided to try modeling on Only Fans, and so far the money has been great…and it turns me on.” 

I blush as his jaw momentarily goes slack. 

“Mostly just lingerie stuff—and nothing nude that’s not behind a pay-wall…the dirtiest stuff I use a different website and alias…” 

“You surely can’t think I’m judging you? Oh honey, you know I love strippers!” He says, grabbing my knee. “I am dying to know more about your new business venture!” His enthusiasm is evident, an engaged posture and devilish grin both conspicuous clues. 

I tell him how my friend and I stripped down to black lace lingerie and shot some light BDSM themed photos together that were doing especially well. I explain how I receive Cash Apps from an older gentleman with a latex fetish to put on pairs of gloves and rub oil onto my tits. 

“What’s the dirtiest stuff?” Ave asks sheepishly, casually glancing around to make sure the handful of other cafe-goers aren’t eavesdropping. 

“Well, I take special requests to make short videos for people sometimes. It’s nice since I just pick and choose who I want to deal with…I loved one I did recently for a husband and wife. She is an exhibitionist and gets off on another woman being both turned on and disgusted by her. I put her photos on a screen and masturbated while I talked dirty about her. Five minutes, piece of cake.” 

His eye contact is smoldering as he quips, “I’m sure it turns you on, too. Probably why you’re so sexually frustrated lately, if I had to guess.” 

Ave listens, offers his ever-wise advice, and commiserates with my struggle, as he explains experiencing a parallel dry-spell at home. His wife of 20 years is attractive and cool, but I can imagine the ways they have diverged from one another in that time. She’s a social butterfly, with a somewhat concerning relationship with her daily wine. He, more beta and certainly a homebody, a devoted father, and frustrated but loyal husband. 

“More than one thing can be true at a time,” he says, the hint of a frown on his lips as he sets down his empty cup.

~~~ 

“Your eyes are so green in this light,” Ave says, sitting across from me in the booth as we finish our first cocktail of happy-hour. 

It is my last day at my job of nearly a decade, and I decide there is no more perfect way that it could have ended. My sigh must be laden with my emotional overwhelm, eyes welling as I conjure a silent prayer that life will allow us the space to continue the friendship I have come to value so dearly. 

He inhales sharply, and forces a half-smile. “It’s going to be okay. I’m not going anywhere and I am rooting for you. Remember who you are and what you have done. Be proud.” 

Ave had been a constant support through the squalls of personal-life drama and the self-discovery of my twenties. Though he was generally misunderstood as a touch pretentious and too self-assured, I was acutely aware of his kind heart and advocacy for my scrappy come-up from stormy blue collar beginnings. I would miss sitting across the shiny oak of his desk and absorbing the concise insight and coaching he provided. I had always strived to make him proud as my boss. 

All salt-and-pepper entering his best years, I find him more attractive than ever. Early fifties, he emits a Don Draper-like gravitas that I have always found appealing. His powerful frame looms in stark contrast to his boyish dimples. Though we were always close, we maintained our professionalism on the clock. After hours, I regularly reached for fantasies of him fucking me on that desk, both of our spouses none-the-wiser. Snapping back to reality, I return his smile in spite of the pit deep in my stomach that reminds me how much I will miss him. 

~~~ 

Returning home from our coffee date, my phone alerts me to a notification—a new DM on Insta. Ave and I have sent each other the requisite memeage of close friends, but my pulse quickens as I read, “Thanks a lot for the coffee, now I am at the office all horned up and cannot leave my desk, if you know what I mean…” 

My hands shake as I send the first sext, an appeal to our mutual appreciation of dark humor to mask my reciprocal lust: A picture of me in lingerie and latex gloves, two fingers extended suggesting an impending digital rectal exam, accompanied by the text: “This ought to help bring it down.” 

“Don’t assume you know what makes me hard. I’ve been fantasizing about you being my bad little girl for years. So good in public, and my secret slut in private…it makes me so fucking hot.” 

As I upload a truly glorious follow-up pic of my big natural tits in a fishnet body stocking from the archive, I receive a message from Ave so direct it frightens me a little. 

“Are you home right now?” 

My pussy is dripping wet. It has been months without sex. I can barely remember the last time, and certainly have forgotten the last time I actually enjoyed it much. Still, this is escalating fast, so I fib, “No, I’m sexting you like a maniac at the grocery store.”

“When you get home, I want you to get your vibrator, make yourself cum thinking of me, and message me when it is done.” 

I read and reread his messages as I walk to the bedroom to retrieve my rabbit vibrator from my underwear drawer. Impatient, I pull my yoga pants and panties down to my ankles in one motion and lay back, ramming the smooth silicon into myself. I orgasm sharply moments after. Deeply affected, I continue on, allowing the waves of my orgasm to radiate to my core. I imagine the hair on his knuckles as his big hands would grasp my soft hips. I picture the sexy curve of his calves in shorts, golden skinned from gardening and life by the sea. Laying on top of the soft lumps of down comforter in the mid morning light, I decide I want him for real. 

“It’s done sir,” I message with restraint. 

“Good girl.” 

The next morning he messages me from the office, instructing me to begin to touch my pussy and expect a call from him shortly. My pulse quickens—doesn’t he realize millennials loathe phone calls? Still, it’s a prospect I cannot refuse. 

My nipples harden as I quickly strip down to my lacy bralette and black cotton thong. I grab my cotton-candy pink butt plug along with my trusty rabbit, then recline on my velvet chaise, sliding my fingers under the lace of my bra, stroking my nipples before deeply pinching them, instantly igniting a sensation between my labia. I glance expectantly towards the phone, lube up the plug and wince through the pinch of insertion. I’m already edging as Ave’s call lights up my screen. 

I answer only with a ragged exhale. 

“Such a good little slut,” he murmurs. “I want you to cum hard thinking about what I’ll do to you. What toys are you using?” 

“DP with a rabbit vibrator and buttplug, Daddy,” I answer eagerly. 

“Mmmmmm,” I can tell he is sitting in his Land Rover with me on Bluetooth, my moans surrounding him in the leather cocoon of its luxe interior. I hope he is touching his dick right now, too. 

“Do you want me? Do you want to fuck this pussy?” I ask childishly as I breathe heavily and cum for him without restraint. 

“Fuuuuuck,” he groans in affirmation. “Can’t wait. See you soon I hope.” 

The following weeks are a blur—lust, doubt, sincerity, pretense steeped in each message Ave and I exchange. He eventually admits his confusion and shame in the indiscretion, unknowingly shattering the little fairy-tale simulacrum I had crafted and totemized. Shaken and sad, I retreat, though the fantasy remains bubbling and hot within my viscera. 

~~~ 

I glance at the clock on Valentine’s Day and sigh, deflated that my only plans for the day include work. It has been a month since our dalliance, which inevitably pops into my head daily. Scrolling through my email, I am surprised to see an appointment request from Ave for Friday, Feb 17, 11am. He must be following up on the project I asked him about for my current employer. I shoot him a quick text to clarify the location of the meeting, and return to my task. When my phone buzzes, the two-word message leaves me swirling in anticipation. 

“Your place?” 

Friday morning arrives, and I seat him in my breakfast nook. I feel wholly disembodied; fractured and completed even here, amongst our reports and papers like so many years before. He is pulling up a file for me to review about some goals for the company, smiling and engaging me with a charming repartee and ambiguous shine in his eyes. As we finish with the pretense of our business talk, I become restless and hop to my feet and into the kitchen. He is on my heels, his presence at once familiar and alien, commanding in his effect when his arm encircles my waist and the flame of his tongue is already in my mouth. Ascension. I am vibrating as my pelvis begins to rock into his. I cradle his face in my hands and receive it fully. 

“That’s good,” he coarsely exhales. I shiver, coming to grips that he too is not impervious to the chaos this has created. His perfect, beautiful hands are on me, then on my neck, in my hair, on my face. My head swims; I can’t remember when I’ve possibly wanted something so desperately. 

Smiling, I lead him to the bedroom while my knees buckle beneath me. I feel so far removed from the tough, slutty ingenue that had been tempting him for weeks. Looking up at him, I feel like the little girl I was when we first met, unsure and a bit afraid. Sensing my reticence, Ave takes my hand and pulls it towards his zipper—“Look how hard you made me already.” He strokes my chin as he pulls me into him. He’s always been like this for me, here to reassure me in moments of doubt. 

“Are you okay with doing this here?” he asks, motioning to the low-set king bed I share nightly with my husband. I nod, flushed with the excitement of the present moment, my fantasy coming true. 

He pulls my tank top over my head, exposing my naked breasts through the sheer fishnet of the body suit I wore, just in case. He strokes my nipples, his breath hitching as his hips grind into me. “Are they sensitive?” he purrs as he pinches them. His rough hands grab me with increasing urgency, it feels as though lightning is coursing through my body. My pussy drips with anticipation for him—my mentor and chosen father figure. 

Our tongues explore the fullness of our kisses. We shed our clothes through the undulating embrace. I can barely stand it when I see his cute socks and boxer briefs beneath the crisp khakis he put on for work that morning. I moan as I consider him preparing to come here, thinking of my hot little pussy and nothing else. 

“First, I want to bring what we talked about on the phone to life,” he says, eyes locked with mine, voice low and gravelly. He pulls the soft curve of my ass towards his lap and I grind onto his erection. His teeth find my earlobe and his hot breath whispers “You’ve always been my good girl.” I feel his fingers slide into me, stroking my pussy with the expertise of a practiced lover. I have never been wetter in my life. I can hear every wet smacking sound as his hand massages me, his lips and tongue sucking my neck between the whispers of dirty talk as he firmly holds me against his chest. He grabs my breast and I cum for him, shuddering in his lap. 

Ave grabs my fleshy hips as he flips me onto my back, pressing me hard into the bed as he kisses me. Before my last orgasm has even fully subsided, I feel his tongue enter my pussy, slurping my wetness. I rock my hips against his face as my asshole stretches from the pressure of his curious fingers probing my holes. His tongue encircles my ass as I cum for him again, this time sighing “Daddy…” 

I am still quivering from the intensity of the orgasm when I feel the hardness of his cock already in me pumping eagerly. I always expected it to be big, but it still shocks and impresses me with its fullness deep within me. He has hoisted my hips upward in his beautiful, groping hands and the arch of my back creates a transcendent combination of friction and penetration. His rhythm is so sexy, excited but restrained, exploring, wanting to savor these moments inside of me. He sighs, “You’re so fucking wet…you’re..so different..” before surrendering to his own orgasm. 

I reach up to his temple to fix his bedhead while he rests still inside of me, our bodies both perfused but momentarily depleted. The earnestness in his gaze as he bends to kiss me reminds me of a particularly memorable DM from he-of-so-few-words. “BTW..Our eyes will be locked together. Taking somebody’s body is easy…taking someone’s mind is where the payoff is at.” 

I want to hold him like this forever, both safe here, letting me adore him in my way. We lay side by side in blissed-out silence, simultaneously aware of all the entangled tenderness, fire, and fear this act holds for each of us. I move to the crook of his shoulder and encircle his lips with my hot kiss. 

The deep want for him I feel right now makes me feel electric and alive as I hungrily spit on his cock while holding his gaze. He grunts, chin tilting upward as he seems to be in prayer as I tug his sack and gag on his dick deep in my throat. “I don’t get this at home…” 

I climb onto his broad lap, spreading the thickness of my ass and thighs to feel him so deep within me, as I gyrate on his huge uncut cock. 

“Fucking breed me, Daddy,” I insist brattily, and he kisses me so deeply I can barely breathe as we both cum again, bodies slapping together in a frenzy of pent up years of yearning. We lay panting, holding eye contact, smiling. 

We quickly dress after cleaning up, and off he goes, turning back with a smile as he leaves out the side door. I make a cup of pour-over coffee as I feel his hot semen dripping onto my panties and allow myself to bask in the love and light of this beautiful moment. Inevitably, there will be a reckoning here. But right now, my darling—we’re perfect.