Come and Help Me!

It feels like I should update you with my Bear progress. Following on from our incredibly embarrassing almost-ambulance incident, I really ought to bring you some sort of kink-related post, but there’s a good chance this will be more vomit-inducing than boner-provoking.

I spent three days at Bear’s house, and although we had that slight glitch on the first night, things were pretty decent-flowing after that. Well, apart from a slight incident involving a bottle of vegetable oil. Let’s have a chat about that, shall we?

“Erm … What have you done?” 

“Come and help me!” 

I don’t really know how I managed it, but once again, everything that could have gone wrong did go wrong when I spent some time over at Bear’s house. We got rid of the penis problem, and then we had my vagina problem, and then that brought the penis problem back for a spell. I was starting to think we were never going to catch a break. We’re made of tougher stuff than that though, and I now have so much stuff to tell you about … again.

This particular fuck-up incident was courtesy of the previously mentioned bottle of vegetable oil. Being the clumsy idiot I am, I’d somehow managed to rip the entire yellow plastic lid from the bottle in my attempt to get it open. As I pushed the yellow ring back around the neck, the entire bottle collapsed on itself, sending a wave of oil shooting up … directly over me. From chest to neck, I was covered in a thick band of the stuff, and it was starting to gloop and drip off me all over his floor.

He came over and when he saw what had happened, burst into fits of giggles.

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

“I know that, please help me. I’m covered in oil so I can’t touch anything.” 

He grabbed the kitchen roll and started to mop the oily residue from my arms and neck, but the more he rubbed, the more it just slid across my skin. We weren’t actually cleaning anything up.

“You’re going to need to have a shower. Come on, I’ll give you a hand getting that top off.”

He called to his son and told him to keep an eye on the oven, directing me upstairs to the bedroom, laughing to himself all the way.

“Right, stand there. I need to get your shirt off without smearing oil all over your face and hair. Ready?”

I don’t know how he managed it, but he did get that shirt off me without smearing oil everywhere. It’s a shame he didn’t think about where he threw it though. It ended up on the floor pooling oil into the carpet, not long after he growled at me. My chest was glistening from the oil and the glow of the small lamp next to his bed. Stood in front of him in just my black jeans and a white, now covered in oil bra, despite smelling like a chip pan, I felt ridiculously sexy.

We didn’t exchange a single word as we fell into each other’s arms at exactly the same time, the oil and dim light setting a mood that neither of us expected. Arms were everywhere, me trying to open the buttons on his jeans, and him wrestling with my bra, desperately trying to release my nipples. He’d loves my tits so much. I’ve never come across a man who pays them so much attention, and I lap it up, gratefully, gracefully, every which way I can.

Both newly naked, he grabbed at my chest with his huge Bear hands, smearing oil everywhere as he did so.

“Bend over the bed.” 

He can be so forceful when he wants to be, and it makes me a little weak at the knees when he orders me around in that way he does. I’m starting to think this man may have rather dominant undertones about him, and it’s driving me wild. It’s like the sexual elephant in the room that both of us know about, but we’re both too scared to bring it up in case we’re wrong and it scares the other person away.

I do as I’m told, arching my back so that he has full access to my ass. He loves it, and I love that he loves it. I’ve never had a great relationship with my ass, and anal has always been a bit of a weird thing for me, but he doesn’t want to shove his cock in my ass, he just wants to play with it, switching between hard and soft licks and probing fingertips. He likes to get things nice and slippery, and that’s just what he did, falling to his knees and devouring my pussy from behind. He holds me up with one arm, leaning his shoulders underneath my left buttock, and he groans into me, growling deeply, sending vibrations right through me. And he always, always makes damn sure I’ve cum hard before he fucks me. I believe him when he says he can’t get enough of my body, because he cannot get enough of my body. Morning until night, it doesn’t matter where we are or what we’re doing, the mood changes somehow. We’re never in each other’s company alone for very long before one or both of us is naked, and nine times out of ten it’s me. My pleasure is his pleasure, and that really is absolutely my pleasure!

He doesn’t cum this time though. He doesn’t want to yet. He does fuck me for a spell, hard and fast against the edge of the bed, slapping my ass a few times to test the waters. I know what he’s doing, and I let him know he’s allowed by releasing that little moan that I know he loves. We don’t need to talk about it because body language does that for me. He feels me clench hard around his cock as he slaps his hand across my cheek, and he always rubs that little sore spot right after, just a little. Almost as if he’s apologising for his actions. Not that I want him to.

And then, just like that and without any warning, he pulls out. As he puts his clothes back on, he kisses me on the back, gently rubbing my quivering mess of a body, and he places a towel over me.

“Go and get in the shower, baby. I’ll sort dinner out. I love you.”

I lay there for a few minutes, catching my breath, thinking back over what just happened. It doesn’t make sense in my head, although I do appreciate there’s something rather sexy about being covered in oil. But vegetable oil? That’s not a sexy smell. I don’t know what happened, what happens, in fact. We can go from having a serious, sensible conversation to being covered in each other’s body fluids in 60 seconds flat. It’s insane.

So insane, in fact, that I’ve now been tattooed by him. In fact, technically I’m pretty sure we have matching tattoos …

To be continued. Obviously. And I guess this post was a boner-provoking one after all.

Oh, and did you see? He LOVES me. It’s been eight weeks. I counted.

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