The Heist

I swipe my fingernails from the left side to the right and his stomach bounces and quivers wildly from the sensation. He screams for me to stop. I don't. I let my fingers rake from side to side over and over again and I think he might hyperventilate. I have decided against tools. No Q-tips, no feathers and no electric toothbrushes. I'm going old school with just fingers (and eventually tongue). I keep this up for a good thirty minutes and his voice is getting hoarse from the constant screams.

I go back to inserting my finger into his innie hole and his eyes roll back into his head. I carefully but firmly press around inside and explore the walls of his little depression. It's another thirty minutes before I'm satisfied. For my final serenade, I plunge my tongue into his perfect orifice. His whole body jolts like he is being electrocuted. I dart in and out, swirl all around and suck on his navel like I'm juicing an orange. I keep this up for an unimaginably long time. He is too exhausted to scream anymore. He just looks dizzy at this point. I bring him right up to the edge, stopping just short of shooting his load in his shorts. I have other plans for his man juice.

I undo his belt and cast it aside. Grabbing the scissors from the table, I cut away his shorts and underwear. His full erection springs free. The belly button play has him very horny and probably ready for a big release. I owe him that much.

Time has flown by. It's probably midnight at this point. I kneel on the bed between his legs and pick up my trusty measuring tape. I would estimate Bryce to be 5' 11" and 160 pounds, much of which comes from his muscular arms and thighs. He has man-sized hands, man-sized feet and a man-sized cock. But I still want to know specifics. I grab his bobbing shaft and he gasps from the shock. I run the tape measure starting at his base and up along his length, curving around to his slit. Was I too generous with his starting and ending points? He's earned some generosity. I tell him, "Nice. Seven inches." I give him a few strokes and he moans in pleasure.

Bryson:

Why does being measured turn me on even more? Being manhandled and maneuvered into position doesn't hurt the cause either, but hearing that Antonio is pleased if not impressed by my length makes me raging hard. Maybe he should check again. I bet I gained another quarter of an inch.

He plants his hands next to each of my hips and lowers his head, taking me in. I groan in delight. His mouth is warm, wet and wild. I am crazy turned on and I hope I can hold out at least a little while and enjoy some pleasure after the hours of torturous tickling. He slides up and down and on and off. He makes my toes curl as he works me in earnest. I feel the head of my dick against the back of his throat as his lips tighten around the base of my shaft and I am completely enveloped.

"Oh my god!" I exclaim.

He does not let up. His tongue swirls my underside as his suction intensifies. And then he slides up and down three more times and I'm done for. He can tell that he has lit my fuse. He stops and I'm out of his mouth for the grand finale. He grabs me with both hands and pumps up and down has his thumbs drag the length of my sensitive underside.

He says, "I want you to fill that hole."

I could fill many holes with the load I'm about to blow. Between his upward strokes and the uniquely unusual thumb action, my first spurt way over shoots. It splashes just below my chin. I find another scream and I let it out. Each of the next ten pulses travel shorter and shorter distances and I eventually do fill my belly button.

I am panting and red-faced as he stands up and begins to unbutton his jeans. He pulls them down and steps out of them. His erection is tenting his boxer briefs. He has had this erection since the UPS parking lot many hours ago. I know. I could tell.

Then he pulls down his underwear and he is now as naked as I am. He reaches for a condom that has been sitting on the table and I say, "Measure it first."

He grins at me.

"I want to watch you do it."

He complies and shows me the result. I let out a low whistle. "Eight inches. I can just about handle that."

His grin widens.

He rips open the condom and I say, "Let me watch you put it on."

His big black cock might be the most beautiful work of art I've ever seen. It should be painted and framed. He slowly rolls the condom (it must be extra-large) over his penis and the sight keeps me rock hard despite everything my poor dick just went through. Then he cuts the bindings at my feet and bends my knees up to my ribs. He kneels on the bed again and applies some lube to both his sheathed sword and to my puckering hole. He pokes me slowly and cautiously at first, making sure I'm okay. I am more than okay. He slides in at a turtles pace and it takes a full two minutes before he's balls deep.

He rocks and bumps, finding my trigger spot quickly with his most lethal of weapons. He has been turned on to extreme levels for many hours too. I don't know how long he can last against the powers of my tight ass. As he gets close, his rocking motion intensifies. As it intensifies, he stimulates my prostate more and more. Just when he reaches his climax inside of me, my second ejaculation showers me again.

Fun can be messy. And exhausting. Antonio cuts my wrists free but I just lie there spent and lifeless.

Antonio:

I wake up Saturday morning at 10:00am. I hadn't gotten to bed until after 2:00am, but the whole night had been so intense and exciting that when sleep finally came, (like Bryson and me) it came hard. I rarely get a full eight hours.

Arms are hugging me from behind as a manly body is spooned up against me. His lips kiss the back of my neck and I smile as a tingle rolls through my body.

My husband whispers in my ear, "Good morning sleepy head."

I chuckle.

His hands begin a slow journey down my chest and to my stomach. Once there, they explore my well-defined abs and play with my shallow belly button. He's not tickling me; there is a time and a place for that and this is not it. It's not long before I begin to physically respond to his delicate touch. Before this turns into that, I spin around and face him. We kiss with all of the passion and intimacy that last night lacked. We are gentle, caring and tender with each other. Nothing like while we're playing the game.

Bryson smiles, "You really upped the ante this month. How will I ever top that?"

"You won't," I smile back. "You'll try, we'll have fun, but I will be the definitive winner."

I don't really believe a word I'm saying. I'm trying to rile him. I want to inspire him. I want his turn next month to push things even further. He grins and kisses me again. We don't kiss while we're in character. That would be too personal. Too real. It would shatter the illusion of The Heist.

Bryson says, "The problem with you taking your turn is that I have to see you in all of your dark gorgeous glory, but I don't get to touch you. It's worse torture than your tongue in my belly button."

I laugh and we kiss some more.

Bryson and I got married one year ago. He was twenty-two and I was thirty. We had met the year before at a wedding that neither of us wanted to be at. We started talking and we hit it off. Being married to Bryson has been wonderful. The most beautiful man I'd ever seen in my life was suddenly my husband. I was deliriously happy. But I was also insecure. Was I enough for him? Would he get bored with me one day? Would our age difference become an issue down the line? Was our sex life already too predictable and dull?

So, to keep things interesting, at six months in we began to incorporate some role playing. There was the Menacing Mechanic, the Torturous Tailor and the Dirty Doctor. Soon it evolved into more elaborate plots involving abduction and domination. We take turns each month and surprise each other. We never see it coming. Last month when it was his turn, I had been convinced on a Saturday afternoon that he was working an overtime shift. Hours before he was due home, the doorbell rang. It was Bryson, but it wasn't Bryson. He was in a navy blue uniform (that I later learned he borrowed from a friend) and he said he was here to inspect my pipes. I asked, "What pipes?" He reiterated, "Your pipes," and he quickly overpowered me.

He had me tied and gagged in minutes. While he "inspected" every inch of me, there was one "pipe" in particular that he paid special attention to. Over the course of the afternoon and night he had me tied to every stationary object in the house as he did X-Rated things to me. At various points I was anchored to the dining room table, the basement doorknob and the hot water heater. My favorite was when he tied my ankles to the staircase railing and suspended me upside down for an hour of delicious torture. We had been raising the stakes each month. I want him to outdo me next time. I don't want there to ever be a winner.

It's all just a game. It's completely safe. In fact, he asks me presently, "What did you use for your gun? It really felt like a muzzle in my back?"

Good. It was supposed to. It was some candle wick-trimming tool, but I won't tell him that. I might want to use it again in the future some time, so I only offer a shrug.

"Fine," he gives me a sexy slow blink. "Be that way." Then he swats at my arm, "Did you really slash my tires?"

I grin, "I just let the air out. No real damage done. We'll pick up your car later."

Now with the month and my turn both over, I have the next four weeks to anticipate how and when he makes his next move. Meanwhile, I will start thinking about my own next Heist. As they get more elaborate, they take more time to plan. I'm considering hanging a hook from the ceiling so I can suspend him bound and gagged. That might be fun. I would need to buy a stud finder, which is ironic because I found my stud a couple years ago.

Bryson:

It's cute how he's insecure. And it's ridiculous too. My husband is the hottest guy on the planet. The eight year difference in our ages is nothing. And our sex life has been far from boring. And it never will be boring because all he has to do is walk into the room and I get turned on. But when he began these little roleplaying scenarios, they ended up being fun. It was by the time he played the Dirty Doctor that things escalated to another level. That doctor did some very naughty things to me that surely should have resulted in him losing his license to practice medicine. I was just too lazy to report him. And I enjoyed it too much.

From there things ramped up. We called our little game The Heist. So while I disagree that we need it, it's too fun to argue against. I need to come up with something fantastic for next month.

I ask him, "With this month over, will you go back to the Riverwalk for lunch or will I still see you in the alley?"

"As long as you cut the bottom button off your new shirt, I'll be lunching on the back steps."

I laugh. I took the UPS job a year ago right after our wedding, but they only recently assigned me to this new route. It's been a month. And on my first day, Antonio was there watching on those steps, not eating his salad and sporting an erection. When I told Antonio that his office area was now part of my day, his plan for this Heist began to secretly take shape.

"So, what if they change my route again?"

He scoffs, "If they do, then you're quitting."

"But I haven't saved enough--"

He cuts me off, "Yes you have. You've been working hard and you've saved plenty of money for grad school. Besides, I make enough to support us for a while."

I kiss him again. My parents weren't the greatest when I "came out". It could have been worse, but they don't support my life choices. That's what they say. While being true to yourself is a choice, who that true self is, is not. But arguing that with them is a waste of breath. So I just don't bother. I have everything I need. I kiss my man again.

After a pause, he asks, "So that was Carlos last night?"

I'd mentioned Carlos before as the only person at work that I was friendly with. I look into his transfixing dark brown eyes as I draw out a slow, "Yes..."

He clears his throat, "He's kind of cute."

He has no cause for jealousy. I poke him in the belly button and he flinches and giggles.

"So what! Fine, he's kind of cute. But you're fucking hot! And you're my husband!"

He kisses me again. "I know. But maybe you should tell him that you're married."

"Why?"

"Bryson, you are smart, brilliant, funny and adorable but you are also clueless. That kid has a bigtime crush on you."

He's right. I do kind of see it. But it's totally harmless. I tease Antonio, "What if I tell him I'm married, show him your picture and he finds you to be as devastatingly magnificent as the rest of the world does and he inquires about the possibility of a three-way?"

Antonio strokes his chin in pretend thought, "I would be lying if I said I hadn't noticed his adorable bubble butt as he walked away last night all dejected. I think I'm open to discussing the possibility."

I jab my finger harder into his navel and he chortles. "Are you now?" I scold. Suddenly I'm the one feeling a little jealous. But I know he's just messing with me.

I ask, "Are we going to the gym this afternoon?"

He nods, "We have to work off all that pizza."

We always eat healthy, but once a month on Heist Night, we indulge.

"I'm thinking about starting some new routines," I say. "Like crunches or that torso twist thing."

He grabs my belly and I laugh. "Don't you dare! If you change that gorgeous vulnerable tummy of yours, you will be severely punished.

I grin. His punishment would be something to enjoy. I tell him, "And if you don't work your abs, you will be punished too. No turning soft on me."

"No worries. Half of a century from now I'll be eighty years old and never soft around you," he says and we both laugh.

He ducks under the covers and my tummy gets buried in his face as he blows a big raspberry. And then, he buries another part of me in his face while his strong hands grip and massage my ass. I am in blissful delight.

No role playing needed.