Orgasm Giveaway

With the New Year’s hangover comes my annual Birthday Month Orgasm Giveaway. Each January, I give away orgasms for duration of the month in celebration of my birthday, which is January seventeenth. My goal is to give away one orgasm for each year of my life, plus one to grow on. This year, I turn forty-seven, so that’s forty-eight money shots.

Last year, I exceeded my goal a tad—I gave out two-hundred and forty-six orgasms.

Each year, I meet new people who have read my blog for a while but never contacted me. If you’d like to shake my hand and get off to boot, here’s your chance.

Tally

January is the month of my birthday and each year, I celebrate by giving out orgasms. My goal is to give away one orgasm for each year of my life, plus one to grow on. This year, I hoped to give away forty-seven wet spots.

I wound up giving away two hundred and forty-six.

How disappointing to be one shy of two hundred over target! In truth, there were more orgasms delivered, but I misplaced a few: at an orgy I had the bright idea of marking my tally on my forearm with a pen, not realizing I used water-soluble ink. Those orgasms washed away in the hot tub.

Other than this mistake, I endeavored to make an honest accounting. Wisely, I asked my partners to keep track and report their own orgasms. This proved a learning experience, as I discovered a few things about my partners and really, the nature of orgasms.

One woman reported three-and-a-half orgasms; I rounded that down to three, as I wasn’t sure I could explain a half orgasm to skeptics. Still, if she reports it as such, who are we to doubt it?

After one man came, I thanked him for the orgasm. He replied that he had actually had three, but had only ejaculated on the final one. I occasionally have such multiple orgasms as well, though rarely. Apparently, in his case, they are common.

One woman is very vocal throughout intercourse, though in fact, infrequently orgasms from penetration. In having sex with her, I can’t always distinguish an orgasm from the general array of fireworks. Having her report helped me to understand what gets her over the edge.

Another, a partner for several years, revealed something I had not realized. I had assumed that her noisy and vibrant orgasms were of long duration, but in fact, she has multiple orgasms in quick succession. I had never realized that, as I had never thought to ask.

During the course of the month, a reader wrote to say that at age twenty-six, she has yet to experience an orgasm, either alone or with a partner. Therefore, though she gets pleasure from masturbation and sex, she doubts the existence of the female orgasm. Distance prevents us from further study on the matter.

As the orgasms began to pile up, I resolved that I wouldn’t do anything out of the ordinary in their pursuit. I didn’t stage an orgasm assembly line, for example, nor did I increase my number of dates or partners beyond the usual. I don’t typically track numbers, so I thought this could become a snapshot of a month in my current sex life.

My protégé Halo is a statistician. She pointed out that all this raw data could be represented graphically. I’ll avoid the obvious pun and go straight to the charts she so thoughtfully provided.



In January, I had sex with thirteen partners. Two were new to me and eleven were recurring. Three were men and ten were women. (NB: Due to an error in my reporting, the first column is inaccurate: it should indicate eleven recurring partners, not eight.)



The majority of my sexual encounters these days are with one partner per session. This month, thirteen percent of my sexual encounters were in group situations, defined as two or more partners in addition to myself. This does not reflect the percentage of orgasms per single or group situations; that data were not collected.




Of the two hundred and forty-six orgasms delivered in January, one hundred and twenty-six were claimed by my girlfriend smalls. There are three reasons for her taking nearly half of those given. One, we have sex frequently. Two, she has multiple orgasms. Three, I am sadistic enough to keep going even after she is exhausted—fortunately, she is piggy enough to favor pleasure to respite.

Along the way, I also had sex in Staten Island, filling a lamented gap in my sex map: I’ve now had sex in all five boroughs. Now I can focus on filling in states, nations and continents. I’m only missing two continents, actually. South America should be easy enough, but Antarctica?

Orgasm Giveaway

The turn of the new year means the return of my annual birthday gift to you. Each January, I celebrate my birthday by giving away an orgasm for each year of my life, plus one to grow on. I turn forty-six on January seventeenth, which means I’ll dole out forty-seven orgasms between now and the end of the month. I should say at least forty-seven, because it ain’t like I’ll stop just because that goal is reached.

I’ve installed a counter on the sidebar at right to track progress.

The rules are simple. The orgasms will be given in person. Tell me what you want to do and let’s see if we can make it happen. This is a good chance for lurkers to come forward, as getting you off is a fine way for me to get to know you.

If you’re itching to be scratched, email me at onelifetaketwo@gmail.com.

Letter of the Week

Here’s a nice pick-me-up. The following was chosen as Time Out New York’s “Letter of the Week,” in response to the Secret Lives issue earlier this month.

Secret Service

Thanks to your Secret Lives of New Yorkers issue, I found a guy who could give me an orgasm! After being so intrigued by Jefferson’s story, I went to his blog, we emailed a bit and then had a meeting. After much cunnilingus, he was successfully able to get me off! He was the second man to ever do that. (Thank God for vibrators.) He might be helping me find my g-spot soon, too! Thanks again!

A., via email

She only left out the part in which I had to remove a painting from the wall she had been slammed against.

Fleshbot and Jack U Off

This week’s Sex Blog Roundup at Fleshbot is for those who resolve to keep it fresh in the new year. It ain’t necessarily the same old same old.

Those of you who enjoy stalking me will find me disturbing breath, taking in waifs and watching Letterman.

Lily writes me with the news that we’ll no longer be having sex, and I am thrilled for her.

Tilda finds that telling me a few things goes a long way, as her breath is taken away after letting me know her interest in erotic breath play.

Janie spends time in her new comfort zones of deep throat cocksucking and submission on her way to losing another virginity.

Lynsey resolves to have more sex, has an awesome dream, and learns when that when it comes to advice, it is sometimes better to receive than to give.

Bianca misses a train and enjoys a rare peek at a day in the life of the man behind the curtain. She finds that it’s all tuna sandwiches, writing and late night television.

Bridget doesn’t mention me at all in this post, but since it concerns a blonde, daisy dukes and white trash, let’s just pretend it does so I can link it.

Cody gives me credit for saving her life tonight, but don’t cue up the Elton John so quickly. I mean, that’s what friends are for. (It will get better, Cody, as will my song references.)

Your requests are playing at Smut Turntable. But I warn you, do not listen the Dresden Dolls’ Shores of California. It’s an earwig! If you listen just once, it will course in your bloodstream like . . . like . . . the protozoa that first climbed onto the shores of California . . . or Aristophanes and Homer . . . or tease, or sleaze, or escort agencies . . . fuck, now I have to hear it again. Just once more. I can quit anytime.

Oklahoma-homa.

Speaking of traps, by passing “Go” on the new year, we collect two hundred dollars and enter the low-rent month of my birth. But baby, don’t you know I’ve got hot-sheets hotels on Mediterranean and Baltic Avenues? Book a room, because you’ll need it.

On the first birthday following the dissolution of my marriage, I turned forty. I found I had drawn three losing cards—middle aged, divorced and broke. My new girlfriend May suggested that we commemorate survival by getting out of the apartment and taking a room at a fancy hotel on Central Park South. There, we fucked and lounged nude. At one point, she blindfolded me, tied me to the bed and began to kiss my body. I felt her lips on my neck, my cock, my toes . . . and then, my cock and toes at the same time, and then my cock and toes and chest, all at once. “Hey, what gives?” I asked. She took off the blindfold. She smiled as I gasped, looking at Marcus, up from Washington, and his friend Daniel, who had flown in from San Francisco. Both were also nude. Our private retreat became a surprise party—or rather, a surprise orgy—arranged by friends who had left their lives behind to be with me on my birthday.

May and I were skidding by my next birthday. By that time, my sex parties had taken off, I had started a sex blog, and I was falling fast for a woman half my age, Shelby. That year, I decided to commemorate my birthday with a week of wall-to-wall sex that began with an all-male gangbang that cost me my bed.

By my next birthday, my annual week of wall-to-wall sex had left me exhausted. I got together with a dozen women, half as many men, and rolled from threesome to threesome before crashing and feeling dissolute. Last year, my most recent birthday week of wall-to-wall sex expanded to a month, I was inspired in the final two weeks of January to call for blowjobs from forty-four people: one for every year of my life, with one to grow on. Incredibly, that goal was reached by month’s end.

Now, of course, my friends want to know—how will I celebrate my birthday this year? Another broken bed? Another month of sex? Forty-five blowjobs?

I’ve got a different idea. This year, I want to get you off.

I really appreciate hearing from readers who’ve enjoyed getting off to this blog. For some, it’s been a fun diversion. For others, it’s opened doors to trying new things. For still others, the blog has let them know that they aren’t alone. That’s all good stuff, and it has much to do with why I write as “Jefferson.” It gives me joy.

So give me more joy for my birthday. Tell me how I can get you off. Maybe you want to have sex with me, trade oral sex, or find your g spot. Maybe you’ve dreamed of spankings or getting your virgin ass fucked. I can have sex with your lover, watch you masturbate, or teach you to deep throat.

Or maybe you would get off on having someone listen to the things you can’t tell people. Maybe there’s a picture you want someone to see, or a desire you want to share. There are many ways to get you off, and we don’t even have to meet for many of them.

This month, I'm going to get off forty-five people. One for every year of my life, plus one to grow on.

If you’re interested in participating, drop me a line at onelifetaketwo@gmail.com to tell me what you have in mind.

Assistant

“Hello, may I speak to Jonathan, please? This is Jefferson calling.”

“This is Jonathan. Good afternoon, Jefferson.”

“Good afternoon. Is this a good time to talk?”

“Sure, now is very good. I’m glad to hear from you.”

“Good, good.” I adjusted myself in my chair, taking care to crush her face with my bare feet. A sigh was muffled by the ball of my right foot.

I stroked her hair with my toes.

“Jonathan, as you know, I’ve been asked to help in the hiring of an assistant on this project. The hiring decision will not be made by myself alone, but it was felt that since this assistant will be working most closely with me, I should have a say in selecting the candidate.”

“Yes, of course.”

I stuffed her mouth with toes. I kicked her knees apart so that I could grind a heel into the flesh of her abdomen.

“Good. Now, I see that your undergraduate degree is from Amherst. They have a fine department there, don’t they? I actually know your adviser fairly well; she’s really top notch. Can you tell me a little about how your studies there led you to choose your current graduate program?”

Jonathan began to relate his academic career. I listened, absentmindedly flexing and relaxing my toes to clutch her labia.

I looked under my desk. Her eyes were closed as she contentedly licked my big toe.

She’s a good girl, I thought.

I kicked her in the tits. I ignored her grunt. “Great, Jonathan. That does seem to be the right program for you. Now, can you say a little about why you applied for this particular placement?”

Eden’s path to the space under my desk had begun with an email a few weeks before.

I’m sure you get this a lot, and I suppose this is kinda coming out of left field, but you only life once, right? I came across your blog a couple of months ago, and I noticed a trend: You have hot sex. And I would like to have hot sex, for once. I’m in the city on an almost daily basis, so if you are interested, drop me a line.

Take care,
Eden

She sent a photograph showing a smiling, fresh-faced young woman with long blonde hair.

I was interested.

I was interested, but it would be a while before I could see her. I proposed that we correspond, and asked that with each reply, she provide more photographs.

“Sure,” she wrote. “What do you want to see?”

I thanked her for offering to take instruction. I created a file for Eden. It filled with images of her modeling panties, of her wet body, of her tangled in bedclothes, of her laughing, of her masturbating. She was comfortable with her nudity, and so my eyes became familiar with every part of her body.

She was also comfortable in opening up her life. She told me about her past experiences with sex and kink. She described herself as bisexual, though she had never been with a woman. She had been with four men, three of whom were forgettable, one of whom she described as “the bad ex.”

(She would later amend this number upwards—she had been with five men. One had been so forgettable that she had actually forgotten him.)

Eden added that she had been experimenting with BDSM for two years. She considered herself a masochist.

Now, that was interesting. She said nothing about being submissive. She was all about the pain.

I set ground rules for meeting her. I don’t dom anyone I’m not fucking, I explained, so sex would be a given. I expected to have full, continuous access to her body. She was not to wear clothes in my home unless specifically instructed. I would look to her to tell me how much pain she could endure, and to tell me how she wanted it. As she was not in a relationship, I would not hesitate to leave marks.

I omitted my preference of receiving bourbon as a tribute. At twenty, she was too young to satisfy that requirement. That could wait.

She readily accepted my ground rules.

I invited her to my place. “Not so much kink on a first date,” I informed her. “I want to get my dick in you to see what you’re made of.”

She arrived precisely on time. She was neither one minute early nor one minute late.

Her eyes were lowered when I opened the door. She looked up when I greeted her. Her mouth was small and firmly set.

I closed the door behind her.

I drew her into a kiss. She gave her mouth easily. She had seemed so demure a moment before. Now she was aroused and passionate.

“Take off your clothes,” I commanded.

She stripped. I stood very close, constricting her movements to a small space. She handed me each article of clothing in turn. I dropped them each to the floor, one by one.

When she was nude, she stood erect, her eyes on mine. I kissed her again, taking her body in my hands. She was firm, with soft skin textured by fine invisible hairs raised to electric attention.

She was also very wet.

“Suck my dick,” I instructed.

She dropped her to her knees. I took out my cock. She examined me. “Are you clean?” she asked.

“Smart girl,” I said, petting her hair. “Yes, I am.”

She took my cock in her mouth.

It wasn’t an audition, but she appreciated that first impressions matter. She used her tongue liberally. She breathed quietly, as if to avoid using too much of my air. She took me deep into her throat.

I wanted more of that. I pulled out, tucked my cock away, and zipped up.

“Come with me,” I ordered, taking her hair in my fist. She complied, dropping her hands to crawl at my side to my bedroom.

I lead her to my chair. “Kneel.”

She knelt, waiting as I undressed.

I sat in the chair, offering her my cock. “Right. Now suck it.”

She blew me with no special urgency or ardor. This suited me well. I intended to take my time enjoying her mouth. She had skill. I wanted to see if she had stamina.

Twenty minutes later, I told her to stop.

She sat back on her haunches, erect.

“Get on the bed. I want to lick your pussy.”

She lay back on the pillows, spreading her legs for me.

“I never cum from this,” she warned.

“Doesn’t concern me,” I lied, shrugging. “I just want your taste.”

She soon came in shudders.

“That puts you in a very small club,” she laughed afterwards.

“I’m pleased to join such select company,” I smiled, reaching for a condom.

I looked into her eyes as I entered her. “Eden, you have a remarkably tight pussy.”

She nodded. “So I’ve been told.”

“Well, that’s very nice,” I said, taking her hair in my fist. I twisted her head to one side. She grunted as she followed my direction.

I leaned forward to kiss her neck as we fucked.

Here again, her stamina was impressive. It was clear that she was content to fuck for as long as I wanted—which can be a very long time.

At one point, I held her chin steady and slapped her.

She grunted, turning her head violently from side to side. She began to thrash her body.

“Eden, no!” I ordered. She calmed down.

I fucked her gently, kissing the offended cheek.

I slapped her again. She grunted and thrashed.

“Eden, no!” I repeated. “You are not to move like that. You could get hurt.”

She calmed herself.

The next time I slapped her, she did not move. She did not grunt. Her nostrils flared, her eyes shot darts, but she behaved.

“Good girl,” I commended. I kissed her ear. “You’re a bit of a brat, aren’t you, Eden?”

“So I’ve been told,” she said through gritted teeth.

I pulled up to look at her. I pushed the hair from her face. “Shh, shh,” I consoled her. “No more slaps for now. Let’s just fuck.”

That evening, she went home with cane marks, bruised tits and an invitation to return soon.

I processed what I had learned about Eden on our first date. I wrote to ask that she tell me more about her desires and fantasies, instructing her to leave nothing out.

I also asked for daily photographs of her breasts, so I could monitor the progress of her bruises.

At our subsequent meetings, she started to understand that I had asked about her desires in order to guide our interactions. I wanted to be on target in giving her the pain she craved. I also wanted to allow her to submit, if that felt natural. We could take her time in realizing her fantasies, taking care to make a natural progression to each in turn.

She soon revealed her fondness for men’s feet.

In preparation for this date, I swept under my desk. I showered, scrubbing my feet and clipping my toenails. I put a blanket near my desk. I had reserved several hours for her.

She arrived precisely on time.

She undressed at the door, presenting herself to me fully nude. I pulled her to the couch to kiss.

“Eden, you are doing everything just right,” I commended, fingering her clit. “I’m very pleased with how things are going with us.”

“Me too,” she grinned.

“So today, I have a special treat. I have to work for a few hours. I’m going to allow you to spend that time under my desk.” I kissed her cheek. “Today, you’re my foot stool.”

She turned to look at the space under my desk.

“Okay,” she replied. Her voice had lost its affect.

“I am also allowing you this blanket,” I said, pointing to the carefully folded bundle. “Make yourself a little bed under there while I get a few things together.”

“Okay,” she replied. Her voice lifted slightly. “Hey, can I listen to my iPod? Or is that against instruction?”

I kissed her cheek. “Always ask questions if you don’t know. Of course, you may listen to music, pretty girl.”

When I returned, Eden was reclining on comfortable bedding under my desk. Her knees were bent so that her feet were propped against the desk’s side.

The basketball that usually resides under my desk was pushed to one side.

“Oh no, Eden, the basketball must also stay under the desk,” I said, kicking it her way as I sat in my chair. “You are joining the basketball, not replacing it.”

“Oh, my bad,” she said, tucking it under her knees. “Why do you keep it here, anyway?”

“Because I do not always have so pretty a foot stool,” I smiled, covering her face with my feet. I rubbed them gently, squeezing her cheeks together.

“Mmmmph,” she muttered.

“Are you happy?” I asked.

“Mmmmph mmm,” she nodded.

“Good girl. Now be quiet while I make a few phone calls.”

I took my time interviewing Jonathan. He was an impressive candidate for the position as my assistant.

I learned that if I wedged a knee against the underside of my desk, I gained leverage to press hard into Eden’s belly.

I called another candidate, again impressed with the quality of applications.

Eden began to masturbate. I kicked her hand away. I pushed a toe against her asshole, pressing in and out.

I began to type notes from my interviews.

Eden wriggled with arousal, sucking intently on my feet. I willed myself to ignore her.

I immersed myself in copy editing another text. I cut a few paragraphs, making it more concise. I read it over a few times and found I had cut too much, so that one key point was lost. I reinstated a few sentences, trimming the excess.

I noticed the time. I had been working for a little over two hours.

I sat back and looked under the desk. Eden was napping, a toe dangling from her lower lip. She looked very peaceful with her ear buds in place, her hair tucked behind her ears. She was turned on her side, her arms nestled against her chest. I rubbed a foot gently along the curve of her hip.

I smiled at the scene. She looked so sweet and innocent.

I kicked her leg, hard.

“Eden? Pretty Eden?” I prodded her stomach.

She twitched and woke with a start. Her eyes opened, confused.

“Eden?” I held out a hand. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you fucked.”

She looked around, remembering where she was. “Okay,” she nodded, taking my hand.

Counting

Avah looked up instinctively as she crawled around the corner.

I tugged down on her jaw, gripping it firmly, my thumb on her chin, two fingers under her tongue.

Her eyes dropped. Her nude ass rose. Good.

We had first met just a few minutes earlier, yet already, we each knew how to respond to the other.

We had prepared the way.

Our first correspondence had been friendly and flirtatious. I was glad to see photographs of the pretty young woman who had contacted me. She read my blog, and so she had some insights into my life. I asked about hers.

I asked about her past experiences, and what had drawn her to me. She revealed a rather jagged and fast-paced sexual history.

She was nineteen when she wrote to me, on the cusp of her twentieth birthday. She had lost her virginity at the age of seventeen. In the intervening two-to-three years, she had lost track of the number of men she had fucked.

“How can that be?” I asked. “Did you run out of fingers and toes to count?”

“No,” she replied. “I was an escort for a while when I was eighteen—at least, until my mom found out and made me stop.”

Avah had joined an agency that knew how to make good use of a fresh-faced teenager. She would book a New Jersey motel room and spend a day seeing a succession of clients, primarily men she would never see again. At the end of a working day, she would tuck a few hundreds into her purse. The agency would put much more into their accounts.

It was a sweet deal—for the agency.

Since her forced retirement from whoring, Avah had been involved with a few boyfriends, including one who would occasionally tie her with ropes. Avah writhed under the restraints and came to see herself as submissive, although she wasn’t sure how to pursue this with her boyfriend.

She considered herself bisexual, although she had little experience with women.

She had never had an orgasm with a partner.

I released her jaw from my fist. “Get on the bed,” I directed.

Avah nodded and lifted her arms to the bed. Slowly, with the deference of a chastened dog, she crawled onto it.

“On your back.”

She rolled off her knees, settling back into the duvet.

I kept her eyes in mine as I removed my shirt. I watched her eyes lower as I removed my jeans. For the first time, she saw the cock she had already had in her mouth and throat.

I lay next to her. I took her face in hand and lowered my lips to hers.

Her mouth opened. A sigh was trapped in her chest.

My fingers moved lightly across her flesh as I kissed her firmly. My mind was searching for her responses, adding tactile sensations to the information it had gathered on Avah.

I took my time. We made out like the kid she still was.

“Are you ready for rope?” I asked.

She nodded. “Okay.”

“Good.” I reached over a corner of the bed to retrieve a line. I wrapped it around her wrist, knotting it loosely.

“Slip knots on a first date,” I whispered, reaching for the opposite corner of the bed.

“I know,” she nodded. She had read that somewhere in my blog. I tied another knot.

I sat back on my knees, looking over her pale skin. I settled on the girlish pink of her nipples. I pinched one, watching it turn white when I released my hold.

“May we try clothespins?” I asked. She nodded, watching my hand reach for a drawer.

I gathered a fold of nipple and flesh from a breast much smaller than my palm.

She sucked in her breath as I attached the first clothespin. “Shhhh,” my voice soothed as the second snapped into place.

Avah drew deep breaths as the sensations rushed to her head. Her hands balled into fists. I watched as her toes curled, waiting for them to relax.

I leaned forward to kiss her neck. I traced a tongue to her clavicle, kissing again as I made my way to her breast. I kissed and licked as the clothespin bobbed, providing the axis around which I traveled.

I took the underside of her breast lightly in my teeth and held it. Her breathing accelerated as my incisors gradually dug deeper. I increased the pressure until she writhed. I held it longer and then suddenly released her.

“Ahhh-unhh!” she moaned, twisting. The sharp pain of the bite competed with the sustained pinch of the clothespins.

I watched her face, my hands rubbing her belly. Her brow furrowed and then relaxed as she calmed her contortions, willing herself into composure.

She knew what to do. She knew what to anticipate.

My teeth sank into the soft underside of another breast.

My mouth’s tour of her body left the oval of my teeth’s imprint repeated across her torso. In some places, small bites nestled inside larger ones, creating pink flowers that would blossom into purple bouquets in the following hours. My garden was somewhat formal in its symmetry.

In time, my mouth arrived at the conclusion of it meandering, unhurried path. My destination was damp in expectation.

I leisurely lapped at Avah’s clit. She breathed out in relief that I had finally arrived.

I suckled and tongued, giving her head in different modes, trying on rhythms and patterns for this pussy new to my mouth, and so misused by other men.

I found sensations that resonated with Avah’s body, filing them away and moving to others. I wasn’t pursuing her elusive orgasm—not yet, anyway. This was more of a fact-finding mission to collect data preliminary to later use.

Two fingers curved into her.

Avah’s legs spread as I filled her cunt for the first time. Her back arched as now, for the first time, she felt a pressure her own fingers had been unable to produce—and no other lover had bothered to try.

My fingers pushed gently. Firmly. Pressing. Rhythmically. Screwing. Pulsing. I watched her face, rubbing her thighs and torso, learning.

I pulled out. She collapsed slightly, sighing.

I opened a nightstand drawer. “I’m going to fuck you now,” I informed her.

She opened her eyes. “Okay.” I smiled, kissing her cheek. We both knew, in that moment, that she would have refused me nothing, just as I was prepared to give her something she needed.

We both knew that we wanted that trust.

I watched as, for the first time, my cock vanished into her shaved folds. I thought of the uncounted men who had used Avah’s body, trading small folds of cash for this moment of feeling her tight teenage cunt close in on them.

All that effort, I thought, lowering my body to hers, and no one had bothered to take care of her. Stupid, really, that men pay for so little, when there is so much more to be had—if one learns to appreciate what is given.

I fucked her slowly, kissing her cheeks and mouth, nestling my face in her hair. I bit into her arm as she flinched, unable to move away from my mouth.

I sat back, pushing her thighs forward. I fucked harder. She squirmed and moaned.

“Is this hitting that same place as my fingers?” I asked.

She opened her eyes and nodded.

“Good,” I smiled. I pounded hard, fucking her with a measured ferocity.

She zoned out. I caressed her hair.

My phone rang. Avah opened her eyes.

“This is very rude of me,” I shrugged. “But I do need to take that.”

Avah nodded, panting.

I reached for the nightstand. “Hello? Yeah, how’s it going?” I pushed deep into Avah, then back lightly. “Good. Yeah, it’s going very well. I like her.” I smiled at Avah. She smiled back. I fucked her a little faster. “Yeah, I think she likes me too. So where are you? . . . Uh huh . . . No, no it’s cool. Come on over. The door is open.” I fucked slower. “Her? No, no worries. This one does what I tell her. See you soon.”

I returned the phone to its receiver.

“Friend of mine,” I said, pinning Avah’s legs back. I reached for the rope, lashing her calves to her wrists as we fucked.

I offered no further explanation of the phone call. She knew better than to ask.

I fucked her through different rhythms, finding the ones that worked. A few times, she seemed close to orgasm, but never made the leap.

I lowered myself to her.

“Okay, now, I want to try something,” I said, looking into her eyes. “Are you with me?”

She nodded.

“All right. Now, I’m going to fuck up into you, just like this.” I pushed in and up, back and forth, in a regular pattern. “Now, you push down onto me.” Her pussy clenched on my cock. “Good! You are so swollen and tight now. And that sense, that ‘pushing down’ is what your body has been doing when you are about to cum. I’m going to keep fucking you, just like this.” I pushed in and out, repeating an unwavering beat. “You push down and focus.” I kissed her. “I’m not stopping. I’m not cumming. We’ll take all the time we need.”

“Okay,” she said, smiling a little nervously.

“No pressure,” I said, kissing her lips. “Just try this.”

“Okay.”

I took her shoulders in my arms. Together, we chased her orgasm.

Soon, she panted and pushed and moaned. She fell limp.

“Ugh,” she complained. “No good.”

“You were close?” I said, slowing.

“So close,” she said. “What’s wrong with me?”

I slapped her. “Nothing is wrong with you.” I resumed our rhythm. “Again.”

Her eyes flashed as her cheek grew red. I felt her pussy clench on me.

“Good girl.” I smiled. “Let’s try again.”

We were pulsing in our motion. I loomed over her, dripping sweat from my brow. I held her throat in my hand as she gasped, flush and intent.

My front door opened.

Avah’s eyes widened.

“Ignore it,” I commanded. “Keep fucking.”

Avah nodded and closed her eyes.

My front door closed.

I spit on two fingers and circled Avah’s clit. She gasped. We were getting close to the combination. I could feel the tumblers falling into place.

Focus, girl, I thought.

“Harder . . .” she whispered.

“The fucking or the fingers?” I said forcibly.

“The fingers . . .”

I quickly untied a leg and arm. I brought her hand to her pussy.

“Rub your own God damned clit.” I barked. “I’m fucking.”

Avah’s back grew rigid. Her pussy was swollen and full after so much fucking. Her clit was twitching. In the next room sat someone she didn’t know, someone who heard every sound we made.

She gasped.

“Give it.” I ordered. “Give me what I want and I swear to God, I’ll beat the shit out of you.”

She sucked a breath. “Oh my God, oh my God . . .”

“That’s it,” I urged, pressing in, refusing to be expelled by the coming earthquake.

Avah convulsed. Her cunt pushed and pulled. Soon enough, she shuddered and cried out.

“Mother fuck, my God, oh my God!”

“Yeah, yeah!” I laughed. I fucked her even harder now.

Three years of sex with countless men, and finally, Avah got her orgasm.

We kissed.

I untied her and we relaxed in one another’s arms.

“Honey,” I panted. “You done good.”

Avah looked at me. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she laughed.

“You’re sweet,” I smiled. I kissed her forehead then turned to face the door. “Hey, Meg!”

“Yeah?” a voice called back.

“Come here. I’m going to beat up this girl. You want to watch?”

“Yeah!” she called back. “Just a sec.”

I turned to Avah. “You don’t mind if I cane you in front of my friend, do you?”

Avah laughed nervously. “I guess not . . . ”

“Good girl.” I squeezed her hand. “Just keeping doing what I say, and you’ll be fine.”

Meg joined us. I introduced Avah, and suggested Meg settle into a comfortable chair at the side of the bed.

I retrieved my cane.

“On your knees, all fours,” I commanded. Avah did as instructed, her face in the pillows.

“No, no,” I reprimanded. “Stupid girl.” I tapped the bed with my cane. “Look at Meg. See where she is sitting? Meg wants a good show. Face your ass to Meg.”

Avah looked up. She crabwalked into a more suitable position.

“Good.” I leaned next to Meg, sizing up her view. “Now, spread your knees, Avah. Meg wants to see more pussy.”

Avah complied.

“All set, Meg?” I asked.

“Oh yes, this is a great view,” she nodded.

“Any requests?”

“Shouldn’t she get a birthday spanking?” Meg suggested. “And count off each one?”

“Splendid idea,” I smiled. I kissed Meg. “And one to grow on.”

“Of course,” Meg nodded.

“Oh, God,” Avah whimpered.

“Now, now, none of that. Ready?”

Avah wriggled her hips. She drew a deep breath. “Ready.”

Avah cursed as she counted the stripes that would keep her standing for the next two weeks. She called me a monster when I delivered two blows for her seventeenth year, marking her deeply for the loss of her virginity.

She hated me as she waited anxiously for the twenty-first blow.

It came down hard and diagonal, bringing all the other blows to vivid, exquisite agony.

I put down the cane and took Avah in my arms.

We talked in low voices, kissing as she came around. In time she was laughing and trading jokes with Meg.

“I’m glad we met,” I said, petting her hair. “I hope you enjoyed your birthday?”

“Oh yeah, this was the best birthday ever!” she laughed.

“Good.” I kissed her lightly. “Now, get dressed and get the hell out of my apartment. I have company.”

“Oh!” Avah sat up. “Sure, of course . . .”

Meg and I chatted as Avah retrieved her clothes and returned to the bedroom. She began to put on her panties.

“Unh unh,” I said, holding out a hand. “Those are mine.”

“You’re taking my panties?” she asked.

“First date.” I said, nodding.

“He’s got quite a collection,” Meg agreed.

Avah handed over the panties. “That’s my nicest pair, too,” she winced. “Black lace and everything.”

“Of course they are your nicest,” I said, taking them to my nose. “It was a first date, after all.”

Avah shouted as the denim of her tight jeans touched the fresh welts on her ass. Meg cooed in sympathy.

I showed Avah to the door, kissing her goodbye.

“Did you have a good time?” she asked.

“Honey, we’re just getting started.” I smiled.

I locked the door behind her. I returned to the bedroom and flopped over my bed.

“She’s cute,” Meg observed.

“Oh, she’s a keeper all right,” I nodded. I reached over to touch Meg’s calf. “So, you want to fuck?”