1000 Strokes Ch. 03

300

She says, "How are you feeling tonight? You have to endure three hundred, and we're at least a week away from the end of this."

"I'd be lying if I said I didn't like this," he told her.

"Do you have something to read tonight?"

"I do, but it's short. It's something I found on the internet."

"Well then maybe I'll put you to work when it's done." Then, as if something just occurred to her, she says, "Or maybe you'll just have to watch me do myself."

She's standing at the foot of the bed. She takes off her clothes. "Hand me the oil," she says to him.

He does, then lies back down on the bed where he was, watching her. She spreads oil on her hands, and she sees his cock begin to stir. She rubs the oil onto her chest, over her breasts. She cups her breasts, looking down, considering them. Rubbing them. Displaying them to him.

She tosses him the oil bottle. "Stroke," she says. "Read and stroke. I'll count."

She sees him smile, that combination of fear, and was that awe? and lust. He slicks his palm with oil, picks up his phone in his left hand, strokes his dick with his right, and begins to read.

TRAFFIC LIGHTS, DEFINED

Can you please explain the traffic light safe word system to me, he asked her on their third date. I want to do this with you, but I'm a little intimidated.

She smiled at him. They'd only played once before. She loved to break in the new boys.

Red means stop, she said. When you say red, it means no more negotiation, something has crossed a line. Maybe I'm hurting you too much. Or I've freaked you out somehow, or crossed some line you don't want to cross. Red means stop.

Yellow means that you need a break or that something is too much, or that if I going then you're going to "red" soon.

Green means that things are going well and you want to continue, or even ramp it up a little.

Now, this is the second time we've played, and last time, you didn't use these words, and I want you to use them. When I check in with you, I don't want to hear "OK," or "fine." It's much better if you say "Green," or "I was very close to yellow when you stopped."

I'm going to tell you something important now: my new favorite color is yellow. It's not about taking anything I can dish out. I promise you, I can always go harder. I want to know how you're doing. I'm going to take you to yellow tonight, on purpose, a few times, just to find out where your limits are. After that, I'll aim for the just under that. I don't want to hear 'green green red, because neither of us want to stop. I want some indication of how you're doing and when you're getting close to what you can handle, okay?"

He swallowed hard, nodded, and said, "green."

She had joined him in bed, and was watching him—counting­—and touching herself.

"One hundred and fifty," she said. Her hands were moving lazily on her breast and between her legs. "You keep count now," she said.

He put down his phone, bit his lip and stroked while he watched her. "One seventy-five," he said, his lips dry. She rolled onto her back, spread her legs, pressed her hand between her lips. "Two hundred," he said. He tried to lighten his own grip, but she saw it.

"Harder," she said. "Faster."

He stroked hard and fast. Two-ten. Two-twenty. She moaned, that little sound she makes before she comes and saw him stop dead, squeezing.

"Oh god," he said. He was trying so hard to hold back his orgasm.

"Keep going," she said. A sheen of sweat slicked her belly, she had two hands between her legs, one on her clit, one fucking herself with her fingers. "Keep going," she insisted.

He started stroking again. "Two-thirty," he called out. "Two-forty."

She was bucking her hips, biting her lips as she fucked herself. She closed her eyes and said, "Keep counting."

"Two-fifty," he said, "Two-sixty, oh god two seventy," his voice raising higher and higher.

"I need to stop," he said.

"Don't you dare stop" she said, and that sent her over, spasming hard, her orgasm washing over her like a wave. "Keep. Oh. Going. Oh god."

"Two eighty." He didn't think he could hold it. She held her hand between her legs, clamped her thighs together and kept pumping and grinding.

"Two ninety. Two ninety-five."

"Stop!" she called out.

He released his cock. He was panting.

"I get the last five tonight," she said.

She dragged herself up to her hands and knees. God she felt good. Afterglow warmed her skin. Her limbs felt loose. She felt beautiful. She got between his legs, took his cock in her mouth, made him as wet as she could. He let out the longest, slowest sigh she'd ever heard. Then, using her hands, she gave him five of the slowest, steadiest strokes she could. Two ninety-six, seven, eight, nine... three hundred!

She drew her body up across his, and kissed him slowly, grinding into him. "Tomorrow, we go for four hundred," she said. "What's your color?"

"Green," he said.