Switch Ch. 03

"You're not hurting my feelings. And I promise you I'm not gauging how important I am to you by how we are when there are a hundred other people around. Or even just the rest of your band." We nuzzled, kissed, nuzzled a little longer. "But you do still have to answer my million-dollar question about your feelings about monogamy. Like I said, I'm not jealous. And given that you might not feel like you're getting all your needs met just by me, maybe we should keep it open. So you can be with women," he added in an adorably sheepish way that was totally incongruous with his manner throughout the rest of our talk. "On the other hand, being a promiscuous slut is pretty played out for me, so—especially in the short term while we're figuring our relationship out—I won't feel deprived if I'm not sleeping around. I just need to know what you want so I don't do anything that would hurt you. Or hurt us."

"I guess . . ." I don't know why it seemed impossible to say it.

Dario leaned in, planted a few soft kisses along my temple. Gave me a sweet smile. "You guess what, baby?"

I cleared my throat. "I guess . . . this thing with you is new and intense. And as my freakout at the party clearly demonstrated, I don't quite have a handle on my feelings. For me, I guess, fooling around with anyone else would just confuse me even more."

"So, no kissing Joe Burke or Melissa, for either of us?"

I laughed. "Deal."

"Deal. Which means this weekend, you can feel safe and know that if you see me talking to Alex or Burke, you don't have to worry about finding me in a dark corner or upstairs doing anything more than smoking a bowl or droning on endlessly. And if you change your mind, just come and talk to me about it."

"Okay."

"Anything else you think we should talk about?" I must have grimaced or something at the idea of any more discussion because Dario laughed and said, "Then for fuck's sake, can we please go upstairs and screw until we pass out?"

"God. Yes."

Dario leaned in and whispered in a throaty voice that went straight to my cock, "But tomorrow night, we're going to have a talk about bondage."

On the bed. Naked. Kissing. Up on our knees, chest-to-chest, belly to belly. Dario drawing back. Smiling.

I told him, "You look like you're gloating over a secret."

He laughed. "You're too good at reading me."

"But I can't read what the secret is."

"Good. Life's dull without surprises. What's your favorite color?"

I laughed. "Red."

Then he pushed me down on the mattress and straddled me, pinning my wrists over my head. The kiss he gave me then drove a surge of blood to my cock, and soon he had me writhing under him. I wanted to pull him closer against me, I wanted to grab his ass, I wanted to slide my hand between us and stroke him, but he didn't let go of my wrists when I tried to move. Instead, his grip tightened and he extended his arms, stretched his torso, until my arms were pulled taut over my head, almost to the point of discomfort.

He put his mouth close to my ear and purred, "I changed my mind."

"About what?" I tried to sound playful, though I was suddenly feeling thrown off and nervous.

"About waiting until tomorrow night to talk about bondage. Also, I changed my mind about talking about it."

I laughed. "Dario, I'm not sure . . ."

"Not sure? About what?"

"Not sure I'm ready. Not sure I want to do that."

"What's your favorite color?"

"What? I already told you," I said, my voice high and tight and weird. I tried again to pull my wrists out of his grip, but he held tight.

"Tell me again."

"Red." I huffed, adrenaline making me shake, making my heart race.

I flexed against his grip, half testing his strength, half testing my fear. He didn't let go. He kissed me, very softly. Then looked at me with that gaze that made me feel like our souls were touching. Then kissed me again, softly, and when I gave in to his gentle warmth and kissed him back, he came at me more hungrily, a deep, possessive kiss, and something about being pinned like that, my torso stretching, straining, made the sensation of his body sliding against mine feel absolutely exquisite, and the want flooding my body pushed away that anxious uncertainty his grip had provoked.

But then he started flexing and shifting and using his legs he pushed mine apart, got his hips between my thighs. I felt his hard cock against my belly, brushing against my dick as he writhed over me, kissing me deeply, but slowly. Then he drew back and gazed down at me. Reading me. When he reached for the drawer, when he grabbed the bottle of lube I tried to pull my wrists free of his one hand, but somehow I hadn't noticed he'd done something with the sheet, twisted it around my wrists and hands. He'd done it so quickly and furtively I figured it would be easy to twist and flex my arms and hands a little and get myself free, but no.

"Dario. I really can't move."

He grinned. "I know." He said it as if I'd told him that dogs can't fly. "What's your favorite color?"

"Dario . . ."

Soft kiss. "Be a good boy, and tell me one last time."

"Red."

I felt weirdly vulnerable. Something beyond the physical restraint of not being able to move my arms. Like something was happening that I couldn't control, not with my body, not with words. Like things were simply happening to me regardless of anything I might think or feel, and Dario lubed up his swollen cock, taking his time about it, enjoying stroking himself with one hand while he held me down with the other, enjoying watching me watch his hand slide over the glistening length of his shaft, the gleaming, rosy crown of his cock. Then he got more lube and slipped his fingers between my ass cheeks.

My voice cranked up with panic now I pleaded, "Dario, not like this."

Another bemused grin. "There's one word you can say to make me let go of your wrists. One word, if you want me to stop anything I'm doing. But only that one word. So, you can tell me no, you can tell me you're scared, tell me it's too much, too hard. You can even cry, and I'll keep going. But if you say the one word, I'll stop that second."

"What word?" I asked, starting to really freak out.

"What do you think?"

In my panic it took me a couple moments for my mind to calm enough to come up with the obvious. "Red?"

"Yes. You won't forget it, will you?"

"No."

"Good. But only use it if you really want to stop things."

Then he shifted and flexed and slid his greased-up cock between my ass cheeks.

"Dario," I practically yelped.

"I didn't put on a condom. Do you think I'm going to fuck you bareback?"

"No."

Holding me down, holding my gaze, Dario started writhing over me, and his cock slid back into the cleft of my ass, then forward, nudging against my balls before it slid back again, Dario sighing, groaning as he used his legs to force me to splay open even wider. Nervous as I was, I was rock hard. Aching. But he didn't touch my cock. For once, he seemed totally focused on his own pleasure, the slippery sliding and chafing of his cock nestled into that narrow crevice, him hovering over me, pumping his hips as if he were fucking me. Then he stopped, and settled the weight of his body down on top of me to keep me pinned while he reached overhead and—I realized after a moment—fasten the sheet binding my wrists to the headboard. Then he reached back into the drawer, fished around for a few seconds, my mind riffling through remembered or invented images of toy after phallic toy, all of them thicker and longer than the two fingers he'd put up my ass on a few occasions, a couple of them larger than any cock I'd ever seen, terrifying proportions of length and girth. The one he seized and held up for my appraisal while his gaze locked on my expression was somewhere in the mid-range. Smaller than Dario's cock, but definitely bigger than those two fingers I'd let him fuck me with.

Dario got a glob of lube in his hand, then watching me watch, greased up the dildo. Lying there, holding that little three-letter word ready on my tongue, I watch him set the dildo on the nightstand, then flash an aroused grin before he took hold of my hips and with no apparent effort, lifted me and put me on my belly. I don't know why, but that drove my panic through the ceiling. Being face-down, not able to easily see what he was doing, not being able to read my safety in his gaze, all of a sudden I felt abandoned, helpless. Honestly, terrified. Then he was hoisting my hips up and wedging a pillow, two pillows under me, in a low, aroused growl by my ear, said, "Be a good boy and present for me." Then one hand on the small of my back, gently but irrefutably pressing down, and one hand—I can't describe how possessive this felt—cupped my balls and part of my cock, and lifted, making me raise my ass up in the air. "Yes. Fuck. Just that that," he purred, sounding like his arousal was escalating with my embarrassment and fear. "Don't hide in the pillow like that, baby. Turn your face to the side. Good. Now I can watch you, see what you're feeling while I fuck you."

My heart was hammering so hard I could barely breathe.

"With your ass up in the air like that, you look like you're absolutely begging for it." His hands on my cheeks, spreading me. My face burning hot. "Fuck, I love how you blush for me, baby." That he said softly, that note of tenderness he used with me in our most intimate, connected moments, and some of my terror drained away. Then I felt him shift against me, and then the cool, moist touch of something against my hole. "I'm going to push it in. Just a little," he said. First, there was just more pressure there. Then an insistent sort of nudging. But then that slick blunt thing was pushing more and more urgently, and I felt my body yield and dilate for it. Be good, baby. Bear down a little like I taught you." I did as he'd told me, and little by little I felt the phallus prying me open and burrowing into me.

"How does that feel, baby?"

Unfiltered honesty. "It feels big," a said, my words tinged by a note of alarm.

"Mmmm." He sounded so fucking aroused. "I thought you deserved better than two paltry fingers," and he slid it deeper into me, making me whimper in revived panic, and the weird, alarming feeling of being stretched so tight and filled up so full.

"No more, no more," I pleaded.

"But baby, that's less than half." That couldn't possibly be true. Or I was deformed in some way, if other people's assholes could swallow twice what he'd pushed up inside of me so far. "I'm going to push it in another inch."

"No, don't."

"You can tell me if it hurts, but it's not going to," he said in his caressing voice, and in the middle of my whimpering little protest I felt that incredible, strange fullness extending up inside of me as he pushed the cock in his hand further up my ass. "See," he said, "that didn't hurt. Did it?"

I was trying to breathe.

"Tell me, baby."

"No."

"I think you can take the rest. Don't fight it, hmmm? Relax, and bear down a little again for me."

"Wait, wait, wait," I pleaded, my voice escalating with my panic, but that cock was driving into me, dilating my asshole, stretching me, filling me as I panted and clawed at the sheet with my toes.

He sighed. "Fuck, baby. Fuck, you can't imagine what you do to me, blushing and writhing like that while you take it." He bent over me, combed his fingers through the hair above my ear. Kissed my temple, my cheek, the corner of my mouth. "Let's see how you like being fucked. Just a little, just gently to start."

Not waiting for an answer, he moved the phallus buried in my ass, drawing it slowly out against the clinging grasp of my body, and a euphoric relief poured through me, but before I'd even caught my breath Dario was driving it back up inside me, slowly, but unhaltingly, inch after inch until I felt his hand brush up against my balls. Two more slow, deep strokes, and little by little the fear that I was going to tear, that the hard thing tunneling into me was going to hurt me, subsided. "That's right," he purred. "I knew you could take it all." His warm hand caressing my ass. "Now, you're going to have to help me, because with the dildo in your ass instead of my fingers, I can't feel your anatomy the same way. You you have to tell me when you feel that pressure on your prostate. Can you do that for me?"

When I didn't answer, he asked me again and I nodded my head, and then he started moving that man-made cock gently and slowly in and out, changing the angle slightly every few strokes until I let out a startled grunt.

"Did I get the spot?"

"Yeah. I think."

He nudged the tip of the dildo upward a couple more times, knocking a couple guttural groans out of me. "Mmmm. There it is, hmmm?" Then he said, "You haven't forgotten your favorite color, have you?"

A strained, embarrassed little, "No."

"Good. Then you want me to keep fucking you." All earnest arousal. His hot hand still planted firmly on my ass, he got to fucking me for real, not long hard strokes, but little pulsing thrusts that bumped up against that knot of nerves inside of me each time, and in no time I was trembling, toes clawing and burrowing out of maddening, needful, but overwhelming, uncomfortable pleasure now, instead of fear. I was waiting, praying, writhing for that hand on my ass to slip around and take hold of my cock, and when I saw Dario grab the bottle of lube I was sure he'd barely have the chance to stroke me for a minute or two before I'd come (unless he decided to torment me, dragging it out, making me beg). But his hand didn't wrap around my cock. His hand didn't land on my ass again. But I felt him moving. I heard the rhythmic, sticky chafing sound of him jerking off.

"I imagine how hard and ruddy that beautiful cock of yours must be," he growled. "Does it ache?"

"Yes. Fuck," I groaned, hoping he'd take pity on me.

"And is this still the place? Hmmm?" He drove the dildo into my asshole. A sudden, brutal jolt of pleasure knocked a quivering whimper from the bottom of my lungs. "There, baby? There?" He pumped my ass full again, again, and I writhed and strained against the twisted rope of sheet holding me fast, pulling me taut while that wet smacking sound of Dario stroking his cock tormented me with need, with envy. The longer he kept at me with the dildo, the more intense and strange that cruel pleasure felt, until I was trying to wiggle away from it because it felt like I was going to lose control of my body in some way, I didn't know how, but it worried me, it embarrassed me, it scared me.

"Wait. Wait!"

Dario slowed that pulsing penetration, but didn't pause even for a second.

"What is it, baby?"

"It feels strange. Maybe I don't like it."

Soft laughter. "Maybe? Don't be shy. Give in for me."

If anything, he started fucking me harder, and with every deep thrust of the cock he was driving into my ass, I was crying out, now. Defenseless cries of submission to whatever was happening to me.

"Fuck, yes," his groan mingled with the sticky sound of his fist riding up and down his cock. "I love hearing you, baby," his voice had changed, tight with strain, "the way you cry out for it." Then the cock buried in my ass stilled, and Dario let out a desperate wail of pleasure, of release, and I felt a warm wet splatter on my ass as he ejaculated, the warm creeping tickle of his spunk slinking down my thigh. "Oh, fuck," he groaned. Panting. "Fuck." Then his hand was back on my ass, caressing, and the dildo slid into me, slow, deep, nudged at that magic spot, insistently, until I grunted and shuddered.

"Baby, I wish you could see yourself, ass in the air, my come running down your thigh, you panting and grunting and writhing while I ream your hole."

"Please," I almost sobbed. "Please, I need to come."

"Do you, baby?" He pulsed up against that spot again, again, and I whimpered, dying to feel his fingers wrap around my excruciatingly hard cock and jerk me off. Instead of grabbing my cock, his hand slid up my back to the nape of my neck and pressed down, just hard enough that I suddenly felt utterly immobilized, unable to shift my shoulders or move my head, and just then he started fucking my ass hard, fast, ramming against that spot over and over again, and my shuddering body suddenly spasmed violently, and I was coming hard. Like no orgasm I'd ever had, not even with Dario's fingers up my ass, and I was gasping, wailing, collapsing on the bed as I lost all strength in my legs, all control over my body.

Lying there trembling, my heart hammering, I felt Dario gently slide the dildo out of my ass, then was vaguely aware of him touching my hands. He'd untied me, because then he was pulling me into his arms, cradling me against his chest. Stroking and kissing my hair. Trailing his fingertips lightly up and down the length of my back. For a long time he was quiet while he held me. Finally he asked, his voice quiet, warm, "You're alright?"

I think I laughed. But weakly because I still felt limp. Drained. "I'm alright. Exhausted. Perplexed, but fine." Then I revised. "Wonderful. I think I feel wonderful."

He sighed contentedly, or it was a sigh of relief, and hugged me tighter and kissed my forehead.

"I didn't know that was possible."

"Hmmm?" He sounded sleepy.

"I came."

"That was the idea."

"But you didn't touch my cock."

A drowsy little laugh. "It's a different feeling, isn't it?"

"Understatement of the day."

He stirred, kissed my cheek. "Before we drift off." He hopped out of bed and I heard the water come on in the bathroom. He came back with a wet washcloth that was warm on my skin, and I realized he was washing his cum off the back of my thigh and my ass.

"You dirty boy," I teased him when he got back in bed.

"Me? You're the one who planted that idea in my head."

"When?"

"Your fantasy about the girl you lick clean."

"The washcloth is cheating, don't you think?"

"Touché. To be fair, I was busy giving you a life-force draining orgasm. Next time, I promise to come all over your cock and balls and to slowly, meticulously lick and suck you clean." If I'd been any less exhausted, that image and the way Dario said it would have gotten me hard again.

"So, was that my bondage tutorial?" I asked.

"The first of many, I hope."

"Dario? Can I ask you something?"

"Always. Anything." Our ritual.

The night I tried to tie you to the headboard . . ."

"Yes?" He sounded strange. Guarded.

"I'm not saying I don't understand why you were upset. But, was there something else going on with you that night? You just seemed so scared. Maybe more scared than I'd expect, in retrospect, since the cuffs are yours and you have experience with that kind of thing, and I don't think you've ever had reason to feel afraid of me before?"

He was silent for a long time, so long that I got more and more nervous about what he was about to tell me. Finally he said, "I don't know. It was a weird night. I was asleep, confused. I guess everything just came together in a bad way for me at that moment."

I don't know why, but I didn't believe him.

The next time we were in bed together, I asked him to teach me how to hit the magic spot while I was fucking him. It turned into a deliciously long tutorial, starting with putting my fingers up his ass, him talking me through everything with endearing patience and, eventually, a huge boner and a lot of delicious sighs, and finally a marathon fucking session, with partial success as far as the G-spot goal. A strong first effort, he promised with smiles and kisses after I'd finally taken pity on him and stroked him to climax while I fucked him.