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“What’s that?” I asked, though I knew exactly what it was, and so did she.
“That,” Elena said, lifting it out of the bag by its harness and letting it dangle between us, “is Mr Plum. I bought him eight months ago, the night you said you were curious. I’ve been waiting for the right moment.”
I had said I was curious. After a bottle of wine and a very good film. I’d honestly assumed she’d forgotten.
“Do you still want to?” She sat me down on the bed, kneeling in front of me, hands on my thighs. Her voice dropped out of the game and into something warm and real. “Properly. Tell me now, because there’s no shame in no. We go as slow as you need. We stop whenever you say.”
“I want to,” I said. My voice cracked. “I’m scared. But I want to.”
“Good. Scared is allowed.” She kissed my knee. “On your front. Hips up.”
I lay face down with a pillow under my hips, my cock trapped hot and heavy against the duvet, and heard the click of the lube bottle. Cold gel, then her fingertip circling me, patient, teasing. I clenched.
“Breathe out,” she murmured. “Good boy. Let me in.”
One finger slid inside. The stretch burned, then softened, then turned to something deep and dizzy. She curled it, found a spot that made me see white, and I groaned into the pillow.
Behind me, I heard the buckles of the harness.