Birthday Cake

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“Have you given any thought to what you want to do for your birthday this year?” He dropped it in casually, on the daily ride to the gym. Honestly, I hadn’t really given it much thought, other than to realize that I was in no way pleased about the prospect of this birthday; maybe for the first time in my life, it held little or no excitement. This is it, I thought. This is when it turns around, and birthdays become something to dread. This is me, getting old.

“No, not really,” though, was the short answer.

“Well, do you want to have a party of some kind? I know a lot of your friends have moved this year, but you know my family would be more than happy to put something together for you.”

Oh, gods. They would, I knew, put together a celebration that was theoretically about me and to which I would somehow still feel peripheral. Well intentioned? Sure. Just, no. So, no gathering of my close friends. No family deal. And, given that I was turning thirty-four, not twenty-four, the idea of hosting a big free-for-all, the kind of party you have when your friends have mostly moved away and you need to meet new people, just sounded sad and made me feel even older, not better. Not to mention, having been to my sister’s thirtieth birthday bash in Las Vegas only a few months before, the memory of the two-day hangover was still fresh enough to make me sure those days were pretty much behind me.

So, what to do? Leo’s a sweet guy, and he wants to make me happy. What do I want? If I could really have it, what would it be? “Give me a few days? I’ll think about it, really.”

“Okay, babe, but don’t think too long, or I’m going to let my mom loose on you. We can do whatever you want, but if you can’t come up with something for yourself, I’ll do it. Or my mom and sister will do it, but you’re not just going to let this one pass by. I, for one, am glad you were born, and we’re celebrating.”

Because, you know, he wants to make me happy and he’s a sweetheart and all, but he’s still a bossy fucker. Seriously.

Which got me thinking: man, we haven’t scened forever. Time keeps getting eaten up–work, school, recession lay-offs and looking for new work, training for the half-marathon, family obligations, settling my father’s estate…it was always something, and it just ate at our time together. It’s hard to find the time to get really into a good scene when we’re happy and feeling lucky if we have the time and energy to have sex on a regular basis. Just sex. Pure vanilla, hold the sprinkles.

Sad, really.

Hmm…the first glimmer of a birthday plan was beginning to catch the light. What if we had a private celebration? What if what I wanted wasn’t a kid’s birthday party, but a very adult and intimate celebration?

If I could ask for anything, would I have the guts to ask for what I really wanted? That was fast becoming the new question.

I think I made up my mind within about ten minutes of his asking me about it. I didn’t manage to bring it up, though, not for three days. How can that be? I’m a grown woman, I chastised myself. We’ve had sex a few thousand times. We’ve scened plenty. Hell, we’ve done most of the stuff two people can do to and with each other, barring outside assistance or major labor costs. How could it be so difficult to talk about this?

Finally, I cheated a bit, and talked to him while he was in the shower. With the smoked-glass door shut, I could talk to him without him seeing my face. Such a scaredy-cat, me. “So, I’ve been thinking about my birthday. Do you mind if we do something just the two of us? I mean, we can do something with the family and all, but can my present from you be a private thing?”

“Sure…” His cautious voice suggested he was expecting something else, or waiting for another shoe to drop. “Do you have somewhere you want to go? If you want, I can take you for a weekend away. Maybe Santa Barbara? Newport? San Francisco? I need to know soon, though, so I can get the time off and get us set up.”

“No, we’re fine to stay here. I just want a date.” Dammit. I was still avoiding the issue, hemming and hawing. Spit it out, Nina!

The water shut off, and the sliding door opened. Man. Looking at him still stopped me cold. Actually, he looked better naked than he ever had before. Sure, we’d been together since we were teenagers, but in recent years we’d given up martinis and late-night Mexican food in favor of macrobiotics and marathons. He biked all over the city, too. Tan, lean, tattooed just enough, water dripping off his blonde curls and down his body. Yeah, he looked Marmaris Escort good.

Wait, what was I saying again?

“Okay…what kind of date?” Oh, yeah, we were talking.

“Well, what if we had a little dinner out, and came home for a little private time?” Dammit! I will say this! “We haven’t had a real, full-on scene in a long time…” So, so lame. But at least it was a start, and the half-smile on his face told me all I really needed to know.

“So, a scene? I can definitely do that. What are you looking for, exactly. It’s your birthday; you can set the terms. Within reason,” he added immediately. He never has liked to bottom very often, and when he does it’s within very narrow parameters. Sometimes that’s a pain, because I’ve got a mean streak and am just as bossy as he is, but this time it would work out just fine.

“Wax? You know that’s my favorite, and I never get it up to ask for it, because it’s so labor intensive. But, that’s what I want. A good, messy wax scene. You up for it?” Just hearing me talk about it, he was increasingly up for the occasion, and since he’d still not put on any clothes, his eagerness was readily apparent, which made me bolder. Within role, of course.

I took the towel he’d been drying off with from his hands and started patting him down the rest of the way. When I knelt to dry his calves and feet, he looked down at me, eyes full of the look halfway between pleading and command that comes over him whenever my head is within two feet of his cock. “Is that okay? Can I have that as my present?” As I asked this, I let my gaze travel to and stay on his erection, directing the question to it as though it were magnetic.

We both knew we’d come to terms. It sounded good to both of us. The rest is just negotiation. Foreplay. Oh, the games we play. Just thinking it was getting me worked up. Yeah, it had been too long. We never really managed to stay vanilla; power always crept into our bed. But it had been too long since we’d really played our best games.

I brought the towel up his legs, turning him toward me so that I now faced his cock, but paid it no direct attention, looking him in the eyes as I dried the skin up the inside of his thigh and then began toweling off his balls, carefully but thoroughly. It wasn’t exactly clinical, not quite to that casually detached nurse-y place (a whole other game) but far removed from the timid, almost reverent touch of a young virgin (an oldie but goodie, that particular sport).

He reached down slowly, his hand gently touching my hair, as if he hadn’t yet decided how he wanted the moment to unfold. I slid one hand, wrapped in soft towel, under him, cupping him, and patted his fully-developed erection dry. I dropped the towel, dropped my hands to my sides and looked up at him. His eyes filled with fire as he tucked my hair behind my ear. I put my hands behind my back and clasped them there.

“Yeah, I think I can arrange that. You sure this is what you want, Nina? Be sure, because once we agree, it’s what’s going to happen. This is your birthday; you should have your fantasy.”

“I want this,” I said, gazing him directly in the eye, too excited and distracted now to be embarrassed. It was time to go for it. There’s that place, that shameless and free place; chase it. “I want this;” letting my eyes drift down to stare directly at the hard cock two feet in front of my face.

“Oh, baby, I love you. I love you so much.” The second part drifted off into a murmur or a growl as he cupped the back of my head and pulled me toward him, entering my open and waiting mouth.

Because my actual birthday fell on a Friday this year, we decided to make our usual date night into my private birthday party. The family time would come later, but this night would be for us to play.

That afternoon when I got home from work, Leo was already home and waiting for me. “Get changed; I’m taking you out for dinner.”

“Well, how should I dress? Do I get to know where we’re going?”

“Wear whatever you like. I’m just going to be picturing you naked anyway. I thought maybe Solace? We’ll go have that butternut squash thing you like so much, get a few drinks.”

This sounded great to me. I love food, like going out, and I love our neighborhood. Besides, Solace made great drinks that really sneak up on you. And it went just like that: we went out, had a light dinner and a few drinks and some good conversation. During most of dinner, we never talked directly about our plans, and I hadn’t seen anything much at home. Marmaris Escort Bayan Then again, I had only really come in and gone into our room to change, then headed back out.

The door to the back bedroom had been shut, a fact I didn’t really notice until the middle of our dinner conversation. I tried to bring it up, but he stopped me. “Really, Nina. Have a little faith. You’re going to love it. Best birthday ever. Now, don’t be so eager. Show a little patience.”

Naturally, this just made me crazy frustrated, and I wanted to head home, partly because I was eager to play and partly because I just couldn’t stand the not knowing anymore. We finished up, had a final drink, and headed home.

When we arrived, Leo sent me off to get prepared. “You: go strip down, put your hair up, and lotion yourself thoroughly. When you’re ready for inspection, call out to me and I’ll come in.” He said nothing of what he would be doing while I prepared, and I knew better than to ask, because there’s no way he would tell me.

I stripped down to nude and caught my long, blonde hair up in a ponytail. I could hear ambiguous sounds from the neighboring room as I moistened my skin with a very potent, hypoallergenic lotion until it was dewy. Then I called out to him. “I’m ready!”

I stood there under the bedroom lights, completely bare and exposed to his eyes. “Turn for me.” I spun slowly, letting him examine me from whatever angle he wanted, feeling scrutinized and excited. “Nice. Very nice. You look ready. I’m ready for you in the next room, birthday girl. Are you ready for me?”

“Yes, please,” I chirped at him, voice full of anticipation and glee.

“Really? Let’s see.” He moved to me, spun my naked body tight against him, his jeans pressing into my bare flesh, one hand across my body, holding me to him. The other hand explored my flesh, groping, testing, teasing, sliding into me. “Oh, yes you are ready. Such an eager little slut, aren’t you?”

Let’s be honest: I wasn’t paying attention to what he said. I just agreed. Whatever, man. Let’s get this party started.

“Come on, then.” He took me by the hand and led me into the back bedroom, a combination office and play space. The carpet was covered in a black tarp, and dozens of candles burned all over the room—tapers, votives, tea lights, religious candles, beeswax, even soy. Everything but those weird gel candles was represented. He’d been busy.

In the center of the tarp, a large wax melter like the kind they use at spas held easily a half gallon of liquid wax. Just looking at it, smelling the wax in the air, I could feel my pussy leaking, dripping with anticipation.

“Lay down, face down, in the middle. Spread your legs, close your eyes and wait for me.”

I did as he directed, and could hear him dropping his clothes, then moving around in ways I could not as easily pin down. Suddenly, he sat down on me, straddling my back. “Pick your head up.” I did, and he slid a blindold over my eyes. “Now you don’t have to remember to keep your eyes shut.” I just accepted this, grateful that he didn’t expect me to participate in conversation and seemed to be talking to himself, or maybe for my benefit.

Just as abruptly as he’d landed on me, he was gone again. The next thing I felt was a hot splash, as he picked up a handful of melted paraffin and washed it across the middle of my back. I let out a moan, which seemed to please him. “Oh, there’s my girl. You like that, don’t you?” When I didn’t immediately respond, he tugged on my ponytail, pulling my head up several inches. “Answer me, slut. Tell me you like it. Ask me to do it again, or I’ll just leave you here.”

I have no idea what I said. The next bit gets a little grey around the edges. The next clear impression is of biting, stinging droplets, beeswax probably, on the backs of my thighs. I think I screamed. “Okay, come back to me. Come back to me. Focus. You need to pay attention, or you’ll miss your birthday cake.”

Something about what he said, or how he said it, drew my attention back. It must have, because things get clear again right about the time he said those words. Then again, maybe it was the struggle for air, as I heard him saying these things with his cock buried down my throat, his hand wrapped up in my ponytail, guiding me up and down on him as he knelt by my head. For a reason I’ve never really understood, it felt amazing, hard and insistent but soft and surprisingly vulnerable. I was, in any case, focused enough to wonder where his other hand was, when he answered Escort Marmaris my unspoken question by dripping a steady stream of what smelled like prayer votive down my back and shoulder, making me convulse. My shudders and twitches made it all the harder to keep him in my mouth. I wanted to cry out, and pulled back against him, but he had a lock on my head and kept himself buried in my throat, the shaking and struggle making him swell and twitch until he pulled out and left me gasping.

“Such a good girl. Definitely time for your birthday cake.” He pulled off my blindfold. “Here, get up on your hands and knees. Okay, now slide this under you.” He pulled across a ramp, designed to keep a bottom in the air for paddling.

Nude and lit only by candles, he knelt near my head. “I want you to count off. If you miss one, then we’re done, and you don’t get to enjoy your cake. You understand?” I nodded, too caught up to speak. “Answer.”

“Yes. Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.” He picked up a candle, a purple votive with a long wick that had clearly been burning for a while. “And this is?” He held it under his nose, blew it out.

I cried out “One!” as the wax hit my skin, hotter than the paraffin bath and simple paraffin candles that had come before. I could feel the hot trail melting through other layers, digging down toward my skin, the wet heat trickling to a cooler, tacky texture and stopping, hardening on my skin. In a few minutes, it would start wanting to crack.

“Two!” This one was green and smelled like lemongrass. “Three!” was black and burned like mad. He sprayed alcohol on the surface of his canvas. The evaporation cooled the maddening wax fire, but immediately made me crave more.

I don’t know how long this went on, really. There were thirty-four candles, I know that much. I made it all the way through, though I have no idea how. By the time the last one was hitting my skin, he was looking for places where it would make an impression on me. I was far away, though, in the zone.

He decided to pull me back part of the way. “Okay, now up on your hands and knees again.” When I was slow to react, he pulled on my ponytail and smacked my ass, hard. “I said up. You’ve had your cake, now you need your birthday spanking. That’s one. Count off.”

“Two! Three! Four! *grunt* Five!” Each hand-fall loosened some of the wax, sending whole sheets of it sliding to the floor beneath me, sending the smell of wax and a half dozen scents into the air again. “Six! Seven!” My ass was on fire, but I was away from it, feeling the heat from behind a curtain. My pussy, though, that was full of a fire I couldn’t get away from.

“Eight! Nine!” He stopped briefly, sliding a questing finger and then another into my dripping pussy and manipulating me, pressing down and forward, making it impossible to think.

Just before I would have come, though, he pulled back again and resumed the spanking. “Cat got your tongue?” The next blow was fierce, and I cried out. “Oh, so you can still make noise. Good! Now count off!”

“Ten! Eleven!” We must have reached 34, but really I have no idea. I do know that by the time he finished, I was begging him to fuck me, and it seemed like I had always been begging him, had always been desperate for a fuck, had always been so on fire.

I came the moment he entered me, though really, that’s only partly true. In some ways, I had been coming for an hour or more. His cock just gave me a way to focus it. It’s hard to explain it any other way, and it falls under the category of things that will make sense to those wired like me, and that no number of words would ever explain to someone whose sexual wiring follows a more conventional design.

My burning ass was slapping against his skin in the rhythm of his pounding me. And it was a pounding, as he was definitely fired up from all the play time. My skin felt like it must glow in the dark, it was so intensely sensitive.

He leaned down over my body, pulling me up until we were kneeling together, him behind me and holding me tight, his cock buried in me and deep as he could drive it. “Happy birthday, baby. I love you.” He clutched me to him, pulling my head to the side to bite my neck in that sweet spot he knows so well. I twitched and shook, my convulsions pulling him over the edge. His swelling cock and scraping teeth pulled me with him.

Seconds later, we lay on the wax-covered tarp, trying to catch our breath. “Thank you, Leo. Thank you.” He smoothed my hair, gently began peeling wax from the areas where it still clung.

The calming down and cleaning up would take a while, I knew in a dim recess of my mind. Probably it would be best if I helped, or at least got out of the way. But for now, I just wanted to close my eyes for a few minutes. I was so tired, so very tired and happy. It was the best birthday party ever.

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