The Invitation

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The subject line of your email read simply “An Invitation.” I knew it would be something good. No matter what we had done together, I’d always had a great time with you. We’d traveled to faraway places, and had adventures like horseback riding, hiking, and shooting. We had also done less dramatic things like eating out, going to shows, and working out at the gym. Some of our best times together had been simply curled up on the couch watching TV. Being close to you and sharing the intimacy of our togetherness is what I’d loved the most.

When we were the most exposed to each other had been some of the most intensely intimate moments. No doubt those had come during sex. And had we ever had sex! Together we’d explored and pushed our sexual boundaries pretty far, and reveled in our discoveries. Some might think we’d been kinky or overboard, but I’d never thought in those terms. I knew that when it came to sharing physical pleasure, nothing had ever felt wrong or been off limits. Sure, there were hard boundaries, but those were just common sense, and we’d often laughed together about not doing anything that would land us in the ER. That was definitely a hard limit. Otherwise, in our sex life, and in our entire life together, I had absolute trust in you.

So when I saw your invitation, I knew that my answer would be “yes.” I could almost hear myself say that word in the same way I say it during the throes of our passion. The way I say “yes” when you pull my hard cock deep into your mouth, or run your fingernails over my chest. The same way I say “yes” when you penetrate me in the most intimate way of all by thrusting your finger deep into my ass. Yes, yes, whatever you want, anything you want, the answer had been and will always be, “yes!”

With all of these feelings and memories running through me, I opened your email. It was very brief:

You are invited to a play date next Wednesday at 1:00pm.

Location – Our bedroom.

Dress – casual….very casual.

RSVP at your soonest.

There was nothing else, no explanation and no details. “Play date” could mean anything, anything at all. I knew it was your intent to leave a lot to my imagination, to tease me with the possibilities. Teasing and anticipation had always been a big part of our sexual foreplay. I felt a tingle of excitement run through me, and my cock stirred in anticipation of our “play date”.

I almost hit the Reply button in my haste to say yes before I noticed several lines of small text at the very bottom of the email. They read:

Fine Print:

1) This is a limited time offer. I suggest that you reply with your acceptance very quickly.

2) Details and instructions will follow.

3) By accepting this offer you accept ALL conditions, limitations, directions, responsibilities and terms, and anything else that I might decide to impose, direct or otherwise layout for you without restriction. And no, I’m not telling you now.

4) Don’t bother checking your calendar to see if you’re free. I’ve already checked and you are. No excuses mister!

5) I’m not responsible for what might happen to you if you say no.

I smiled. “Fine Print” indeed. This was so like you — playful, funny, teasing and demanding all in one. You’d never been one to hide your desires and passions. And even though there was nothing explicit in the email, the depth of your desire came through loud and clear. There was no way on earth that I was going to say no.

My reply was short and sweet, “Yes”. “Yes, yes, a million times yes, anything that you want,” I thought, and pressed the send button.

A very short while later, I saw two items pop-up in my Google calendar. Since you had complete access to that (as well as everything else), I was not surprised to see that you had put our play date on the calendar. I was a little surprised to see that you had also put “Grooming” on the calendar. I knew exactly what you meant by “Grooming.”

I love your body and am very well aware of the attention you devote to keeping yourself physically fit and neat. Your tight rear, and muscled arms don’t just happen by themselves. It’s the result of hard work in the gym (something we share together), and attention to your diet. And likewise, your delicious pussy, devoid of annoying hair, except for a small landing strip at the very top, doesn’t happen by magic either. On a regular basis, you subject yourself to the discomfort of waxing by your favorite beautician, Leena. We’d often laughed together about how she matter-of-factly rips the pubic hair from such a sensitive location. You do that so we can enjoy the erotic pleasure of direct skin contact without pubic hair dulling the sensations.

“No dental floss there,” you’d joked.

So in the same way that you had sculpted your body for our pleasure, you introduced me to body grooming, manscaping. It started out with you trimming my abundant chest hair, a manifestation of my plentiful testosterone, I’m sure. First you şişli escort did it with a pair of scissors, but it wasn’t long before you bought an electric trimmer so that you could more quickly and evenly trim my “fur”. I immediately appreciated both the neater look and feel. Of course your attention wasn’t limited to my chest hair. You did the same to my pubic area, carefully trimming the hair around my cock and balls to a length short enough so that you didn’t get any of the “dental floss” you hated during oral sex.

I liked my shorter pubic hair even more than my shorter chest hair. Not only were the sensations I felt while we made love more intense and I knew more enjoyable for you, the day-to-day sensitivity of my nearly naked cock and balls kept the pleasure of our sex life in my attention constantly.

It wasn’t long before I began to crave even more stimulation. I sought out ever more minimalistic underwear that cradled my balls and covered as little of me as possible leaving as much of my nearly naked skin exposed as possible. The boxer style underwear got pushed to the back of my dresser drawer in favor of more and more tiny bikinis.

“You’ve become an underwear whore,” you laughed.

But you also said how you liked the way my low and tight bikinis emphasized my cock and make my pants bulge in the front. We’d shopped together online and found ones you liked to see me in, and sometimes you would set out a skimpy pair for me to wear under my work clothes. I enjoyed wearing what you picked because I knew that you’d be thinking all day about how my cock would satisfy you when I got back home. If the guys at work had known I was wearing a thong or a pair of Cox sox they would have only been jealous of the mind-blowing sex that you and I would have later. “Too bad for them if they and their partner weren’t as sexually adventurous as you and me,” I thought.

I really looked forward to the times you would trim me. You called them “grooming sessions” Each time I would lie naked on the bed while you, naked as well, straddled me, your pussy, warm and full, pressing down on me. You’d loom over me with the trimmer ominously buzzing. The sensuality of being so vulnerable and at your mercy while you operated a power tool next to my most sensitive places was overwhelming. My trust in you in those moments was, and still is, complete.

Needless to say, you weren’t surprised when I wanted to move beyond just trimming my pubic hair. I loved the feel of your skin against mine, and I didn’t want even the thinnest layer of hair between my cock and your skin. I’d considered shaving my pubic hair . Not only could I look forward to doing it, but I also would have wanted you to do it to me. It would have been glorious to feel you slather me with warm shaving cream, and then carefully position my cock and balls so you could get just the right angle with the razor. But shaving wasn’t a good option, because the inevitable prickly stubble would have been painful to you when I thrust my cock into you. Depilatories were also not an option. There was no way I was going to put harsh chemicals “down there”. There was only one good option. Just as you put yourself through the relative torture of waxing, so would I.

That was not something that I was going to do lightly. I did my research on the internet and decided that I would try home waxing a small part of myself. If all went well, then I would go all out and bare as much of me as you wanted … and I could take. So I ventured out to Walmart and got some waxing strips. I tried it first on myself, figuring that I needed to experience it before asking you to do it to me. I was surprised that although it did hurt (and made me really appreciate what you go through) it wasn’t as bad as I thought. Before I knew it, I was once more lying naked on the bed under you. This time you wielded warm waxing strips instead of trimmers.

“Spread your legs wide,” you said and pressed the warmed strip against my balls.

“Oooh that feels good,” I thought, warm wax and your hand massaging the strip against my scrotum.

“Are you ready?” you said and broke my reverie.

I pulled my skin as tight as I could stand (I learned from my earlier self-trials that taut skin is very important) and nodded.

“Riiiiip” The pain was immediate and intense, but not overwhelming. I gasped, but proudly did not cry out. You immediately pressed your hand against my newly bare skin, and that very quickly eased the pain. Your hand directly against my skin without any hair in between felt very good. You looked at me lovingly and asked, “Are you okay?”

“Oh yes,” I thought.

“Keep going?” you asked.

I nodded and inside I thought “Oh yes, yes! Keep going.”

It felt so erotic. First the warm wax strip against my skin, then the harsh stinging pain as you ripped out the hair. And finally your hand pressed lovingly against my naked skin, easing the pain. I wanted to feel beşiktaş escort it again and again. When you got to my waxing perineum the pain was more intense. In some ways that made it better, because I knew that the intensity of whatever pain I felt as you took the hair off, would be more than matched by the intensity of the sensations I would later feel from your hands and mouth on that bare skin.

The final peak of eroticism was when you had me pull my legs over my head so you could wax down over my anus. I had learned earlier in our sexual relationship how much I like ass play. I like the intimacy of giving and receiving anal stimulation. We’d experimented with this, and discovered how to please each other.

“Pull your legs up. Higher. Higher,” you said. I felt a little silly and a lot like a pretzel in this position, my knees beside my ears, bare butt high in the air. You reminded me that you do this with a complete stranger when you get waxed. So I felt lucky to be in this position with the love of my life rather than some stranger. Besides, being exposed to you was so very erotic. I felt the warm wax strip cover the pucker of my opening and up onto the lower part of my perineum.

“This area doesn’t hurt me very much,” you said. But I knew how sensitive I am there, and I was reminded of that as I luxuriated in the pleasure of you rubbing the warm wax strip against me with your hand.

“Here we go,” you warned and then you yanked the strip off.

It was a mixed feeling. While the area immediately around my anus didn’t hurt very much, the pain at my lower perineum was breathtaking. I gasped and felt a little lightheaded. Within seconds your hand was pressed up against me, soothing me, and the pain quickly faded.

“God that feels so good,” I thought.

“We’ve got to stop here. Your skin is kind of red and irritated at this point. We’ll have to come back for more later. Pretty good I think.” you pronounced holding up the wax strips abundantly coated with the hair that you had ripped out of my now very sensitive skin.

There was very little lingering pain, only a faint sting that I discovered got more intense later.

“I need to put some oil on your skin now,” you said.

In seconds I was in heaven. Unbelievable, incredible were the only coherent words that my swirling brain could think of, as you lovingly smeared silky oil over my freshly naked balls, cock, and anus. Your warm slippery hands massaged the oil into me, over my now extremely sensitive skin. I wished that you wouldn’t ever stop doing that, but I knew that I could look forward to more when you finished and “came back for more” at a later date.

Ever since that first grooming and waxing, I’d looked forward to our sessions, the sting of pain, the pleasure of your attention, and especially the end result of bare, naked skin that I enjoy 100% of the time. I’d never go back to being furry, ever. So when I saw that you had put “grooming” on my calendar, my cock jumped yet again.

I remembered that our ability to sexually enjoy each other was limited for a day or two after you waxed me, and I pouted a little on the inside. But if you were putting grooming on the calendar in advance of a play date, I knew the delay would be worth it.

Looking at the calendar, I also noticed that our work schedules were opposite each other after that point, right up until our Wednesday play date. Between the post-grooming hiatus and the schedule, it was going to be a long spell before we could satisfy each other. I knew without a doubt that you had planned it that way. You wanted to build up the sexual anticipation to a feverish pitch before we could bury ourselves in each other and release our pent up energy. “How wickedly wonderful of you,” I thought.

I also knew that between now and next Wednesday you would torture me by sending me emails and texts hinting at what we would do during our play date. You would use that as well to build ever increasing sexual tension. I loved it when we “sexted” and I always tried to match your teases with my own. My cock grew hard in anticipation — anticipation of your grooming, and anticipation of the upcoming teases you would lay down on me. I could have cum right there.

When I got home that evening, you were already there puttering about the kitchen.

“We’re going to the gym together, then we’ll have dinner. It’s going to be stir fry. I’ve made some sangria that’s chilling in the fridge.” you said.

I could tell your in-charge attitude was in full swing. Hey, who was I to resist? Not only did everything you said sound like a great idea, but I loved it when you led the way.

“Now go upstairs and get ready for the gym,” you commanded.

I quickly shed my work clothes and changed into my workout stuff. I pulled on quick dry tee short and a pair of spandex undershorts that I wear under my regular shorts. They are way more comfortable than a jock strap, cup my balls snugly, and prevent taksim escort chaffing. I also knew that you liked the way I look in them, at least that’s what you’d said before. I grabbed my gym card, some socks and shoes and headed downstairs.

“All set,” I said as I laced up my running shoes. “Let’s get all hot and sweaty,” I teased trying to dish out a little of what I knew you’d soon send my way.

“Don’t you wish,” is all you said with a twinkle in your eye.

An hour and half later, indeed hot and sweaty, we got back home from the gym. As always our workout together was great. We had started our relationship in the gym and it had become a regular part of our lives together. We didn’t get there as often as we’d like, but we both valued how staying physically fit made us feel (in the bedroom and outside) and we knew it would prolong our lives together. That was the most important thing.

“Go ahead and get a shower, while I get dinner started,” you said.

“Get dinner started?” I thought. “What’s to start, it’s stir fry.”

I headed upstairs without giving it another thought and went straight into the shower to clean off. I washed carefully everywhere, especially my cock and balls. I knew that tonight would be the last night I had any hope of “getting some” before the celibacy that would be enforced by my upcoming grooming and our conflicting work schedules. I wanted every nook and cranny as clean as possible. I ran the bar of soap over every surface, and up and down the crack of my ass and around my balls. I wanted those areas especially clean. My cock grew as I did it, thinking of your hands on me, rubbing and cleaning. It had been too long since we played in the shower together. “Maybe that’s what she’s planning,” I fantasized about bathing together while I got clean, but ultimately stepped out of our oversized shower alone. I was pleasantly surprised to hear music playing loudly from the iPod and see a cold drink waiting for me on the counter. “How sweet” I thought. But I also remembered how under these exact same circumstances you surprised me one day as I came out of the shower and made me jump.

“You screamed like a little girl.” you said laughing at me. You still laugh and tell that story. I also remembered that after you surprised me, I made you scream in ecstatic pleasure as we had wildly screwed each other’s brains out right afterward. “Hmmm, I wonder if she’s reminding me of that?” I thought. But you did not surprise me as I got dressed in loose fitting clothes, nor did we fuck our brains out before I got back down to the kitchen to help make dinner.

“Your turn,” I said as I hugged you from behind while you were chopped veggies for the stir fry.

“I’ll get a shower later,” you said “I’m hungry now.”

Trying to get you stirred up I replied “I’m hungry for you now,” and nibbled on your ear lobe.

I heard you moan happily when I did that, but you swatted me away. “Food first.”

Dinner was great, as always. We sat out on the three season porch, chatting as we ate. As usual, our conversation flowed easily from one topic to the next. As sexy as you are, and as much as I loved your physical body, I loved your mind and your spirit even more.

After we cleaned up the dinner dishes you announced “I’m going to shower now. Sit down and watch some TV or something.” Your directions made it clear that I was not invited up into the bathroom with you. Inside I pouted just a little, but I understood that we all need private time, no matter how intimate we might be otherwise. I grabbed my glass of sangria and parked myself in front of the TV to channel surf looking for something to watch while you headed for your shower.

Quite a bit of time elapsed with you in the bathroom and me in front of the TV. I was hoping for a little of the intimacy I’d previously thought about on the couch before bed, but didn’t begrudge you the slightest for taking your time and luxuriating during your shower. When you came down and sat next to me on the sofa, your hair was slightly damp and your skin glowed, freshly washed. You had your terrycloth robe wrapped tightly around you.

“Whatcha watching?” you asked.

“You know, I don’t really know. I’ve been flipping channels. What I want to watch is you,” I replied.

“Really? And what is it that you think you’ll see?”

You sounded playful. My mind raced and my cock stirred. “I want to see all of you, every square inch. There’s not a single part of you that I don’t like to look at, touch or taste,” I said.

“Oh so you want to look at this?” you said, and pulled the lapel of your robe aside so I could see just the edge of your nipple capping your luscious 38 D breast.

“Yes. I love looking at that. But you know, a look is often not enough especially since I really should check and see how good a job you did getting yourself clean,” was my reply.

In mock consternation you said, “You doubt my abilities in the shower do you? What other abilities of mine do you doubt?” You let your robe fall wide open so I could gaze fully at your breasts and see the small strip of fluffy pubic hair just above your pussy.

“I don’t doubt any of your capabilities,” I said. “But it never hurts to double check, you know.”

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