Miche & Bob

Miche is described by those who know as "genderless" and as someone who defies most pronouns, although, with age, preserves and evokes the appearance of someone who is becoming more feminine than masculine.

Miche's legs are shapely, topped by a tight ass, controlled by firm abs, adorned with a pair of succulent breasts, and controlled by a sharp and slightly wicked imagination. In other words, aside from the slender neckline, beautiful clear blue eyes, high cheekbones, and seductive lips, Miche has "looks that kill"; and, as someone with up close and personal experience with Miche, I support this general consensus.

Bob met Miche covertly, his wife unaware of his almost daily compulsion, fueled by uncontrollable passion, or what I would call frustration, trapped by his own advancing age, in the-all-to -common "Sexless marriage"; although I give him and his life-long partner an "A" for effort.

For the benefit of his family and accepted by the outside world, Bob earned a living working in a poolside casita, converted to an enviable home office, with artificial intelligence level technology. The buttery leather, chrome accents, video screens in every corner, connected to recording devices, all energized and controlled with the click of a remote, served to open Bob's door to his dark web and eventually to Miche.

Bob purposefully left a crack in this door and nervously waited and sincerely hoped Miche would enter for what Miche and Bob referred to as "the first time."

Miche accepted the invitation to Bob's first time because Bob left an open post describing himself and his situation with enough detail.

In anticipation of Miche's arrival, Bob darkened the blinds to the casita and locked the door. He placed pool towels on the floor and laid down on his back. He used an electric razor to remove the hair from his legs and arms and with practiced skill, shaved the recently neglected overgrowth covering his hardening cock and balls, which reacted favorably to the accompanying vibration.

From Miche's perspective, Bob had more of a clit than a cock, aptly suited for the bald shave finish, as Bob messaged it with a coating of vitamin E oil. He rolled over onto his knees, placed his right hand on his balls, and slid his middle finger up into his ass deep enough to reach almost to the garlic-like bulb of his prostate.

Had Bob not been confined in his sexless marriage, he thought this act would have been better performed by his partner, in much the same way as he frequently used his skin tone silicone dildo.

Miche imagined Bob, fair, fleshy, and slightly overweight, bent over the arm of his sofa, waiting anxiously for the touch he imagined would begin on the small of his back.

Miche's warm breath diffused into the room, and Bob felt the goosebumps grow on his ass, as Miche played between his legs, first with an index finger, reaching up to where Bob couldn't, moving past his "clit", up into his ass, and expertly finding the source of his anal pleasure. The lingering oil served its purpose, and Bob's smooth shave made the job more pleasurable for both.

Bob tried to relax, submissive, as Micke ran a left hand up along the back of his neck and then up under his throat, pulling his head back. Bob thought about what it might feel like to cum and spread his legs wider, welcoming the feeling of being probed, with two and then a third finger.

The fist fucking started slowly, then he felt it accelerating and deepening, which brought the contradictory urge for him to both push back and welcome the penetration.

He felt what seemed like a mouth full of dew stretch down like a string and land on his ass, mixing with the oil into a soupy mess of ass and fist.

In the darkness of his office, he felt another presence in the room and felt his chin touch his shoulder, guided by Miche's hand. Bob felt the fishhook like pull of Miche's grip on his chin and thumb between his lips, stretching his mouth open and cheek back.

In the darkness, he could only see the black silhouette and outline. He heard the zipper sound and thought what he honestly wanted and about how he would react if it was actually presented.

He recollected the few experiences of his youth. The time he and another boy had undressed, in the privacy of the bushes, down by the creek. He remembered the humidity and the innocence of the finger size penis, as it began to harden between his thumb and index finger. He thought about the slender hips and bare skin, as he quickened the pace, using his recently acquired and innocently advanced skill. He thought about his own first time, the way it felt to almost pass out with pleasure from breathing heavily, and the holding in, as the tingling began at his knees, the unfamiliar white load erupting unexpectedly, draining into his hand.

He learned then to savor the taste, licking and swallowing each drop with a clean sweep. He wondered if he would have gotten that opportunity then and realized he would get it now.

"Open your mouth fucker", the voice called out from the dark.