Oliver goes pliant, hands at his sides and mouth swollen, waiting for me to do whatever I want, and yet again I have to marvel at how compatible we are. We enjoy all of each other, switching back and forth between top and bottom to suit our mood. Tonight I’ll fuck him, and perhaps tomorrow he’ll fuck me. I love it all.

He stands before me and I look down at the obvious bulge in his slacks, just as obscene as I thought it would be, and I reach out to cover it with my palm, squeezing gently through the fabric as I press up onto my toes to kiss his wet, puffy lips.

“Is this all for me?” I murmur against his mouth, squeezing again before tugging open the button of his slacks and yanking at the fabric until the zipper slides down. My hand slides into his underwear, curling around his wet cock and humming my approval, thumb circling the rim of his foreskin. I toy with him a while, giving him filthy kisses as I stroke his cock, and then pull away entirely.

“Turn around and put your hands on the counter, darling,” I tell him, stepping to the side to make room for him to do so. My cock is still achingly hard, jutting up out of my open fly, and I take a slow, deep breath as I watch him move.