Chapter 48
Colby
I park my truck in front of Lydia’s house, shift my boner in my jeans, grab my single crutch (yeah, thank God, I’m down to one crutch now), and make my way up Lydia’s walkway. Holy fuck, I’m so horny, I can barely breathe. And so in love with Lydia, it’s a miracle my heart hasn’t physically burst by now.
Lydia, Lydia, Lydia.
It was six weeks ago that Lydia first sat me down and told me about her therapist’s brutal advice. Six weeks of me going to physical therapy sessions at the clinic by day and sneaking over here at night to talk and hold hands. And crazy enough, as torturous as the idea of celibacy for two months sounded to me at the time, it’s turned out to be the best advice imaginable. It’s pure insanity, I know, considering Lydia and I haven’t so much as kissed this whole time, but these past six weeks have been the best of my life. Obviously, knowing there’s a definitive finish line to the pain has made it doable and, actually, kind of fun. Painful, yes. A slow death. But totally, thoroughly awesome. It’s felt a lot like training for a marathon or triathlon, actually. Grueling. Painful. Horrible. Torturous. But you just stick with the training program and trust euphoria will come on race day as you cross the finish line. Oh, and the craziest part of this Celibacy Game we’ve been playing? How erotic the slightest touches have turned out to be for both of us. Especially after last week, when our little game took a decidedly kinky turn.
For the first two weeks or so when I raced over to Lydia’s house after her kids went to bed, we held hands and she doled out yet another heartbreaking or heartwarming chapter of The Story of Darren and Lydia. Sometimes, she cried. Sometimes she laughed. But through it all, her walls came crashing down.
And then, about three weeks in, our conversations evolved from Darren and the kids and the story of her past to the story of who she is today. And it was then that our hand-holding evolved into something indescribably sensual. We caressed fingers. And then wrists and palms. And then we fudged a little and started laying soft, passionate kisses on each other’s palms and fingers and wrists. And then we stretched the rules again and progressed to laying wet, greedy kisses on each other’s hands and fingers and wrists and forearms. And then little nips and sucks. And, I’ll be damned, the sensation of her stroking and kissing my forearm and fingers and palms started feeling almost as hot as if she’d been stroking or sucking my dick. It was the damnedest thing ever.
And then, just over a week ago, our late-night conversations and confessionals took an intriguing turn. We started playing a sort of Truth or Dare game... which led to us asking each other pointed questions about all manner of sexual topics and answering them with brutal honesty... which led to me asking Lydia about her masturbation practices a few days ago.
And that cracked the whole thing wide open.
From that moment forward, we ditched Lydia’s couch and started having our “conversations” in her bedroom. In our underwear. Physically showing each other what we meant when we said, “I like it like this.” It was FaceTime phone sex without the phone. Fucking without the fucking part. And, oh my God, it was hot.
Four nights ago, I think it was, after Lydia had finished whispering to me about how much she was dying to suck my cock and telling me exactly how she’d do it, she surprised me by grabbing my hand and sliding my finger into her mouth and sucking it off exactly the way she’d just described she wanted to do... and I broke down. Without asking if it was permissible under the rules of our fucked-up game, I pulled out my dick, pumped my shaft no more than ten times, and came all over her tits. And that’s when Lydia did something that told me she was no longer the sobbing mess I’d fucked almost two months ago. She scooped up my cum and licked every drop of it off her fingertips with a wide, curling tongue.
Oh, Jesus fucking Christ. I’ll never forget that moment as long as I live. I knew right then the therapist had given Lydia the best advice possible. And I also knew that, if I could just hang on a little while longer, I’d be handsomely rewarded at our impending finish line. Indeed, I’d get to experience the best sex of my life. And so, although every fiber of my being wanted to rip Lydia’s panties off and plunge myself deep inside her right then and there, I kept my eye on the prize and recommitted myself to the game, albeit this new, revised one in which we both sent Jane Austen turning over in her grave.
And now, it’s time for me to raise the stakes, yet again. Lydia’s offered to fuck herself with a dildo for my viewing pleasure tonight. And I can’t wait.
I reach Lydia’s front door and knock. Seconds later, when her door opens, my balls tighten at the sight of her. She’s wearing a white tank top and underwear that complement her mocha skin beautifully. Without a bra, her ample tits look incredible. Her thighs look strong and smooth. Her cheeks are blooming.
“Hi, baby,” Lydia says simply, leaning her shoulder against the doorjamb.
“Hi, sweetheart.” Her dark nipples are taunting me through the thin fabric of her tank top. “Are you trying to torture me, wearing that?”
“Yes.”
“God, your nipples look amazing. I’d commit murder to get to suck those things tonight.”
“Patience.”
“Torture.”
She smiles. “Sorry I texted so late tonight. Bea’s molar is still coming in so it took forever for her to fall asleep.”
“The Tylenol didn’t help this time?”
“She was too wound up. I just rocked her and sang to her for a bit and she finally calmed down.” She visibly puts her game face on. Shifts her weight. Juts out her incredible breasts. “So, hey, sexy man, you want to head to my bedroom for a little show or what?”
I shift my hard dick in my pants, enter her house, and close the door behind me. “Fuck yes. Lead the way.”