Ignore the Warning Label Pt. 02

I moved into him, trying to get even more of his cock with each of his thrusts. We hit my throat a few times, not quite hard enough to gag but enough to make me worry. 'Fucking reflex, go away!' Soon, noticeably more salt flavor flowed over my tongue from his precum and his breathing turned ragged. I thought I could feel his throbs start in his legs, trace all the way through his thighs against my chest and finally burst up against my lips and cheeks in a little puff of precum.

Either it kept getting faster or I lost track of things, either is entirely possible. Part of my thinking quieted to nothing and I sort of just watched myself from inside myself, feeling Malcolm's and my own pleasure more acutely while my discomfort dimmed.

I gasped for breath when he pulled out of me again, surprising myself with how much I'd needed air. He was close to cumming, His cock was distinctly redder and slightly thicker and taller.

"Please, Sir," I panted, "I want to feel you cum." Finally having some room, I wanted to see more of him. From my position between his legs, he looked and felt like a colossal statue of some ancient god. His expression was so powerful, full of majesty, full of passion in his work, but strangely calm in his dominance. Shivers ran down my spine. 'Oh fuck! That's what I do for him!' I felt like I'd created something beautiful. Like we'd created it together.

He must have seen something moving in me as well because he was fit to burst the second he got back inside me. His rocked in and out faster and faster, making me smile and moan along with his primal groans and sighs. Yet somehow, he maintained his focus and control to always stop just short of hitting my throat. 'To him, being dominant isn't about just holding control over me. It's about being responsible for both of us.' He had tried to explain it before, but it hit home through his actions. 'Dominating me is only fun for him if it's fun for me. It wouldn't be fun for him if I was choking and miserable.'

I didn't have capacity to appreciate how amazing he was. He tensed in stages, squeezing me between his legs and slightly pulling my hair in spasms of muscles tensing. I got ready for it, swallowing all my spit out of the way and licking like mad under his head. His breath and core muscles locked up together and a flood of boiling hot cum poured into me. It was natural to take it all into myself. Just one more aspect of Malcolm to envelope me.

Natural, but at the same time, it felt incredibly intense for me, trapped in the middle of it all. The restraints seemed to amplify the effect, like I was tied down in the middle of a tornado feeling the wind trying to rip me away. I felt every throb and spasm course through his body and erupt into my mouth. It was incredibly erotically satisfying. I felt an integral part of his orgasm, like his pleasure intended beyond his cock and I got to experience the joy of it too through our connection. I licked and swallowed and licked and swallowed until, with a visceral groan of contentment, he was spent.

After, there was an interesting sort of calm. It was very different from the satisfaction I feel after a strong orgasm myself, I still felt horny as fuck, but more similar to the feeling after maxing out at the gym. My body felt achy and tired, but full of achievement and satisfaction from doing something heavy. I felt like I'd had a strong emotional release. It's hard to describe how it was different from an orgasm because it felt similar, but distinctly different.

We slowly disentangled from each other, at least physically. In an odd way, even after his limp penis left my body and he helped me to my feet, I still felt like he was all around me. Like I could float and be supported by nothing but him. It was a weird sense that was punctuated by the screaming in my legs, shoulders, arms, jaw, and basically everywhere else after Malcolm freed me and I stretched them out.

Malcolm smiled at my groans, "Yeah, your muscles work hard when you're tied up. How do your hands feel?"

"Fine. Not numb at all. That was really fucking awesome!" That made him smile wider.

"I'm happy you think so too, I was worried that getting blown might have biased my perception. What about it felt good to you?"

"All of it! Well, I don't know, I liked feeling like—" I tried to describe it, the feelings, the mindspace in the cuffs, the connection between us, all of it at once. He didn't interrupt me, letting me bounce between thoughts as I got frustrated with my words feeling incapable of communicating quite what I wanted them to. He warmed up the pizza in the oven and stretched out on the couch.

"— Then you were like... you're not allowed to use this against me, alright? Like a god, so fucking huge up there. Just the perspective, you know! Okay, maybe not just that... that's how you felt.—"

He handed me a slice of pizza and I realized my mouth still felt like thick goo and salt.

"—the way we were close let me feel your body really well. Shit, I don't want cum flavored pizza. I've gotta brush my teeth. --"

We ended up on the couch together, trying to lean intimately into each other without spilling grease and toppings over ourselves.

"—it was like we were together, you know? Like something out of a shitty hippy song about peace and being as one. Like... I don't know. Do you know? I loved it, that's all I know. I want more of that."

"I think I know what you're trying to say. I felt it too. Kind of like how you forget the rest of the world exists and all the energy you would have spent on everything else gets focused onto the two of us." He sighed and absent mindedly brushed his hand back and forth over my leg, "there's lots of stuff written about it, but I know what you mean, it never sounds right. I think of it as the payoff for all the trust you place in me and I hold safe for you."

I liked the sound of that. It sounded much better than anything I'd come up with.

"You make it easy to trust you. I mean, you just fucked my mouth and you never made me gag! That's like me sticking my head in a lion's mouth."

"I think it's probably easier when people start out as friends and transition into sex, rather than starting out sexual and having to build a friendship. There's a foundation of trust already in place. Still, though, some parts of this surprise me."

"Like what"

"Like this, for example. This feels natural to me. How many times have we sat on a couch together? Hundreds? Close, but never intimate. We never even held hands before. Now you're basically naked cuddling into my shoulder, talking about the sex we just had like it's nothing. And you know what? It doesn't feel weird at all."

I snuggled a little harder into him. He was right, it did feel so natural that it hadn't occurred to me to wonder about it. Even with him petting my thigh close to my pussy and nature of the conversation, I hadn't felt a norm shock.

"It's just how we are. We've always been open books to each other." As I said it, a cramp gripped my abdomen and out of nowhere a hormonally negative voice whispered in my head: 'Except that isn't true for you, it is? You've bitched to him about all your shitty boy and girlfriends, but you couldn't stand to even talk about him with someone else. Jealous bitch. You locked yourself away from a whole world that is his lifeblood because you couldn't bear to think about him and Chloe. He's got a whole host of friends you've never even heard of because you got bitchy whenever he brought her up.' I tried to drown it out, make the romantic moment cuddling with Malcolm last, but it was relentless. 'Then, when he was alone and needed someone, you left him out in the cold.'

It wasn't true. I told myself it wasn't true and I could almost half believe it. I hadn't abandoned him after his breakup, I'd done everything I could think of to try to draw him out of himself. Everything... except fucking talk to him about it. About her. It hurt because too much of it was true.

I held his hand tight 'I'll do better. I promise, I'll be better for you!'

----------

"So, how do you feel about archery?" Malcolm asked.

Pleasantly full of food and good company, I tried to figure out how this would transform into something sexual. "I feel like it was probably a good way to hunt stuff a thousand years ago."

"Want to try it out?"

'Maybe the arrow is his cock and the target is me... then what's the bow? And doesn't that mean that he'd be sharp at the end?' That didn't seem right. "Are we talking about shooting actual physical bows and arrows at targets?"

"Yeah, what else? Mind out of the gutter, Devyn." He squeezed my breast playfully. "There's a place that does it nearby in The Heights, I thought it might be fun."

"That's not nearby, The Heights is like an hour away!"

"I checked, it's 35 minutes walking. Unless you were serious about wanting to chill here and watch bad Netflix?"

I was intrigued. I admit, I had a few Katniss, Hawkeye and Legolas fantasies growing up. I'd always assumed that archery was a super expensive hobby, like fencing and riding horses and collecting fine art and everything else that came out of the middle ages.

"It isn't," Malcolm told me, "at least, not if you're just trying it out. Twenty-five bucks to rent their equipment and for an introductory lesson. I've no idea how much it would cost to buy your own bow." It did sound like a lot more fun than trying to agree on a season of How I Met Your Mother to binge. Still, I was slightly suspicious.

"Have you ever done it before? This isn't going to be another bowling incident, is it?"

He laughed heartily, "I haven't thought of that in years! You've got to admit, given where we are now, it's a good thing your parents already like me." He squeezed my breast again possessively when he said 'where we are now'. I smiled, liking the feeling of being possessed by him. "No, I have never shot before. Anyway, not everything needs to be a contest, you know."

"That's easy to say when you win," I grumbled.

We got dressed and started walking, happily bickering over the details of the first time Malcolm had ever gone bowling.

Malcolm and I went to different colleges a long way apart, so getting time to hang out over breaks and holidays was a big deal. Unfortunately, most actual holidays that brought both of us home involved a lot of family obligations, like Thanksgiving Dinner and Christmas quality time with my grandparents. One such family tradition is the Christmas trip to the same local bowling ally my grandparents went to on their first date back in the 50s.

I suck at bowling. Well, by the actual rules of bowling, I suck at it. By my own success criterial, I think I do damn well. I throw the ball faster and, when I do hit, make the pins fly higher than anyone else. The score at the end? Just a distraction. Why else do they give you a 12 pound spherical rock to throw if the goal isn't destruction? If they wanted me to make precision shots, give me a basketball. I'll make strikes as easily as I sink 3-pointers if I had my basketball.

Anyway, Grandma overheard me complaining about not being able to spend time with Malcolm, so she suggested I invite him along. That prompted Mom to wonder why I'd never introduced them to this boy I was so friendly with.

"That's a good question," Malcolm asked, "why did it take a year and a half to get an invite over to your place?" It felt good to hold his hand while walking. It made something mundane feel special.

"Are you kidding? That's the year you gave me a LovinglyHandmadePornography subscription for Christmas. A whole lot of basic questions might have been really fucking awkward." I impersonated my grandmother's voice, "How did you two meet? What do you do for fun? Well, since you ask, Grandma, Malcolm here just bought me access to sensual spanking and cunt busting videos! Yes, that is exactly what it sounds like."

Malcolm laughed, "I remember that! We both liked how they showed off a positive tone to BDSM. But we had a lot more in common than that!"

"Sure we did, but you gotta admit, my hesitation was justified."

"I was great that night. It's not my fault they liked me too much."

Malcolm arrived dressed up like himself, trademark friendly smile and confident aura on full display. As I intruded him all around, my younger sister Kara gave me a look that seemed to say "how the hell are YOU friends with someone this HOT?" In the months since graduating high school, I had forgotten that Malcolm was the guy who could fit in with any clique. Five minutes in, he was laughing and exchanging stories like he'd known all of us for years. It was like watching a chameleon, his tone and word choice shifted slightly going between my grandparents, parents and sister. He can talk to anybody about anything, football with my dad, retirement home social politics with my grandmother, even that awful British boy band Kara was obsessed with.

"Ah come on, One Direction were bad but they had some mildly catchy tunes."

I gave him a withering look, "you only get to say that because you didn't live across the hall from someone with their albums on repeat. If they all die in a fire, it'll be too kind."

It was his first time bowling. I smiled as my grandfather gave Malcolm all the sage bowling advice he'd tried unsuccessfully to instill in me. They all assured him that it was just a fun activity to have as an excuse to be together, it didn't matter if he sent all the balls into the gutter. Little did they know that Malcolm is one of those people who is infuriatingly good at everything.

"Not everything," he insisted, "If you hadn't spoon fed me calculus, I would have flunked the class."

"Normal people don't throw One-Forty their first time touching a bowling ball!"

"That wasn't until the last round. I'd had two terrible rounds before that to practice."

True, his first few balls went in the gutter. But he learned very fast and was soon picking up spares with a fluid, graceful motion. He ended up narrowly beating me out in two out of three games. His first time out, he beat me at something I'd been doing for years. True, it wasn't something I liked... but the competitive part of me never let it go. I wasn't sure if I was annoyed at myself for losing or proud of him for the impressed looks from my family.

Afterwards, my family laid into me with one not-so-subtle comment after the other. 'He seems like such a nice boy!' 'He's really friendly, you should have him come over more often.' 'He seems much more put together than that last guy you were with.' It was like they all wanted to date Malcolm vicariously through me.

We both laughed at that, "Okay, in retrospect, it is actually pretty funny," I said. "But I sure didn't think so at the time. At the time, I was just like 'can't a girl have any male friends!'"

Jersey City Archery sits in a hulk of a building that must have had a past life as a manufacturing plant of some kind. It's the kind of steel and concrete construction that looks like you could douse the whole place in gasoline, toss in a match and see no difference afterwards. Malcolm squeezed my hand, "this time we're both newbies. If you're going to insist on turning our first date into a contest, then may the best beginner's luck win."

My heart skipped a beat. "That's what this is! This is our first date?" I quickly kissed his cheek, whispering in his ear, "then I'll definitely have to kick your ass!"

My good mood took a hit when we got inside. The instructor was an attractive, willowy Asian woman who took one look at Malcolm, chose to overlook his hand in mine, and deliberately bent over the tablet she was using to check people in, drawing attention right down her low-cut shirt. She only spoke to him the entire time, only giving me a few obligatory glances while taking my credit card. It wasn't that I felt threatened, it was her blatant disregard for me that pissed me off! My uterus, clearly offended as well, chose that moment to start cramping again. 'Wonderful.'

She droned on about safety and obeying her instructions about when to fire and when to retrieve our arrows. Basically, a bunch of obvious stuff about avoiding being in a Darwin Awards YouTube video. I just wanted to shoot! The bow felt light in my hand and I was excited to try it out. After two minutes of being lectured, Malcolm leaned over and, in a gruff Patches O'houlihan voice, whispered, "if you can dodge an arrow, you can dodge a ball!"

I did pay attention when we moved on to technique. It reminded me a lot of shooting a basketball foul shot, keeping my form steady and consistent each shot. 'Repetition and stability, that's how you sink buckets.' Clip the arrow in. One finger on the string above the arrow, two fingers below it. Bow arm up, string pulled just below my chin. Aim.

Aim? There was nothing to aim with! Wasn't there supposed to be a crosshair or something? Or was that just guns? 'Trial and error it is, I guess.' I lined the tip of my arrow up with the center of the target, steadied my arm, and released! The bow thrummed satisfyingly and the arrow leapt away in a burst of speed, flying through the air to strike a good six feet above the target. 'Damnit!'

Surprisingly, I'd done better than half of the other seven novice shooters. One had managed to drop his arrow, and another must have clipped it on wrong as it had landed a few feet in front of him. Next to me, Malcolm's shot had sailed over the target stand entirely and hit the netting against the back wall.

I went through the motions again, trying to remember exactly what the details had been. Where on my chin had I pulled back to? Was my shoulder up or down? This time, instead of lining the arrow tip up against the center of the target, I went for the very bottom of the lowest circle. Better! Only four feet over the target. I sighed, just how low was I going to have to go? At least my shots were more or less aligned, if I could get the height correct then the left/right component was good.

It took the rest of the first five arrows to finally hit the target. On the fifth arrow, somewhat exasperated, I was lining up the arrowhead with a spot on the floor in front of the target. But it worked! I hit the red ring outside the center yellow! Eight points! That, and I was confident I could do it again. 'Doesn't have to be pretty, just has to work!'

We retrieved our arrows. After his wild miss on the first shot, Malcolm had managed to hit the target twice. However, where my shots formed a vertical line from my experiments with height, Malcolm's arrows were scattered all over the place. It was weirdly symbolic of our two styles in most things, I analyze things and build a plan with a framework whereas he goes by feel. Probably why I ended up as a programmer and he's going to be a lawyer.

I felt more and more confident as we continued shooting. It still felt very weird aiming against a spot on the floor, I'm pretty sure Katniss didn't do it this way, but it got me the results I wanted! Soon, all my shots were on target. Then, most of my arrows landed within the blue, red or yellow stripes.

An hour later, my fingertips were red and my arms and shoulders were feeling drained from all they'd been through that day, but I was happily clutching our paper targets that we got to keep as souvenirs. Malcolm had done well, but he'd stayed somewhat erratic and my target was much more damaged in the middle.

I'd like to be able to say that I was as humble in victory as Malcolm regularly is... but that would be a boldface lie. I was shit talking the entire way out and promising to hang up our targets as trophies in my apartment. Malcolm was much more of a sportsman than I, smiling and letting me have my fun.