Go to work for the day … or go fuck Country Hottie for the day?

Let me pretend I thought about this for more than five seconds. Country Hottie had a few days off work and invited me to visit him. The last weeks of my resignation period have been filled with ostracism, politicking, lazy bastards trying to involve me in their late projects so the soon-to-be absent me can take the blame on their behalf and some constrasting heartfelt support and kindness from others that has had me hiding tears too regularly. And I have three months’ sick leave because I’m usually conscientious and sick leave isn’t paid out on exit. Easiest decision ever. The hardest part was deciding what to take.

I experienced a pang of guilt early in the day and hoped like hell I wouldn’t be involved in a bizarre event or car accident that made the news (a friend once skipped work to see me when I was living interstate, and it was the day a baggage handlers’ strike broke and she was seen standing in the airline queue on the TV that night; another was featured on the front page of a newspaper after a photographer snapped him enjoying a ride at an agricultural show instead of being at work), but today space junk didn’t fall from the sky on my head and  traffic parted like the trip was meant to be.

I arrived and Country Hottie said, “So, what was this plan you had in mind for me?”

I replied, “Massage you and jump you.” I considered my bluntness and lack of detail and added, “I know it’s a simple plan, but simple plans are often the best.”

He said he wasn’t good at trying to be submissive and I negotiated impatiently that all I wanted from him was to relax and be still. I’m not sure if grinding his groin into the mattress while I was massaging his backside was relaxing either of us as I was getting awfully distracted, and by the time I had oiled his feet he was rubbing them over my breasts, but he tried to relax and not participate, I guess. As I rolled him on his back and worked from his thighs to his upper body, he had me flipped over, pinned underneath him and was sliding his slippery chest along my body.

I have little gaps in memory and the order of events, but before I showered I remembered remarking that I was covered in oil, sweat, my own wetness, squirt juice and the semen he massaged into my breasts when he came on me.

At lunch we had a heart-to-heart talk and he said he had no problem meeting switched-on, attractive women but their sexual conservatism has been a deal breaker. One considered having her hands bound beyond her limits and they said they wouldn’t consider indulging him in his BDSM interests if in a committed relationship. None would support him seeing other women with an interest in fetishes so he could feed that side of his sexuality elsewhere. I said his situation was a reminder of the fortunate position I was in and that breaking free of ego issues and social conditioning got easier with practice (and making the most of my side of the bargain) but I could understand how a lot of women don’t learn to both merge and separate love and sex. I said my problem is that I struggle dealing with people and the sex isn’t usually a problem as it doesn’t often get that far. We sighed and decided to make the most of the day and return to his house.

Part of the afternoon was spent seeing the other women’s point of view: I was sitting on the edge of the lounge with a large dildo in my cunt surrounded by a dozen clothes pegs attached to my labia and clit. My hands were tied behind my back and he was standing in front of me with his cock sliding in and out of my mouth. If I allowed his cock to fall out of my mouth, he would smack my breasts with a riding crop. I let him slip out a couple of times to test the water and the strikes were firmer than I wanted to tolerate; he also gradually leaned back so I had to bend to not lose his cock, which made the dildo start to slip. Very clever. I’m the first to agree these games aren’t everyone’s idea of a good time and the breadth of his experience can be intimidating, but seeing him switch to the part of his mind that concocts these scenarios is like opening and allowing part of his sexual expression to bloom.

The last part of the day was spent lying on his loungeroom floor with him on top piledriving me into quivering orgasms every few strokes, thinking the other women have no idea what joys he could give them if they trusted him. He’s healthy, athlete fit, responsive, skilled, open to any scenario and stays hard for as long as desired — communication dramas aside, the man is a human playground and it’s not every day I’m left lying on the floor so exhausted with heart-singing pleasure.

The universe punished me with a rotten head cold the following day that genuinely kept me at home. It was worth it.

2 thoughts on “Go to work for the day … or go fuck Country Hottie for the day?

  1. It was a great day all up. If I ran the country, one of my policies would be one day off a month for everyone to spend on hedonistic pursuits.

    I’ve lost my voice now, but that’s helping at work *evil smile*.

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