Twelve Days Of Denial Ch 01

And the fun begins! A little bit of backstory, a little bit of sexy time.

Feedback welcome, as always.

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Day 1:

I awaken as the sun begins to shine through the blinds, energized to begin my day. I stretch languorously, feeling the exquisite tension and relaxation of all my muscles, arms, thighs, abs, ass, even my pussy.

Something's off, though. As my right hand stretches to reach out to that half of the bed, I find it empty. Instantly I begin to panic. Have I overslept and missed his wake-up call? Not twelve hours after he tells me that my instructions have no bearing on my usual routine, I've broken routine!

I begin to rush to the bathroom, but stop short when I see the clock next to it. It's not even 6 o'clock yet. So where is Master? Torn between running out to make sure he's okay and making myself presentable in case we had unexpected company, I stare at the clock for a few seconds more.

Six months earlier

"Oh, I got you something, Drew." I reached into the bag to pull out the slim, transparent box that had been burning a hole into it on my drive here.

"It's a clock, in that steamship style that's in these days. I know how neat you think watches and their precision are. The gears on this are oversized and exposed. I saw it at the antique store on the way back from the community center and thought you'd like it. And the metallic finish is both aesthetic and manly." In my nervousness, I'm blabbering and I overdo it - grin and wink at him. Then I still completely as his eyebrows rise.

I knew I was going out on a limb here. Jackson Andrews was Wyatt's friend, and that's why he had been going out of his way to be sociable with me, even after the questions of my finances were settled. But the truth is he had been incredibly helpful sorting through all the paperwork and investments, and I hadn't repaid him at all, because he just wouldn't accept anything. Suggesting I pay him would have been an affront to his friendship with Wyatt, and I couldn't think of what else to do. His house was tidy, he ate well, and was wanting for nothing, really.

And it was so confusing that despite his being very sociable with me and encouraging me to get out and meet people more, he only ever met me alone. I knew he had parties because I drove by one evening and saw several cars on his driveway, but he had never invited me.

Drew rose from his favorite armchair. Oddly enough, instead of just leaning over to grab the package, he walked behind me and put a hand on my shoulder. It sat there, the heat and heft palpable through my simple cotton t-shirt.

In the year that I'd been spending time with him, this was the closest that he had ever stood to me. If I but leaned back, I would be in contact with his crotch. How incredibly inappropriate. He must have sensed that awkwardness too, because though he kept his hand on my shoulder, he dropped to his knees behind my chair, his mouth coming to rest by my left ear, just above the other shoulder.

"How thoughtful of you," he rumbled slowly. There was something in his voice that made me turn to face him, and for a fleeting moment I wondered whether being that close to his crotch might not have been more appropriate after all. I felt him exhale slowly and would have taken in his breath if I could remember to breathe at all. Then his fingers trailed slowly down my opposite arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake, until they briefly encircled my wrist, and then grasped the box.

I drew a shaky breath. Nobody had held my wrist like that since Wyatt died, but I remembered telling Drew on one of my worse nights how I missed the way he held my wrists when we made love. I flushed, thinking of coupling with my husband while surrounded completely by his best friend.

I scrambled to recover some modicum of normality in the interaction, moving my face a few inches back from his, though this had the unfortunate effect of putting me more firmly in the embrace of his arm. "D-do you really like it and plan to put it up? It was just a silly gesture." Yes, just like the way his hand caressed my arm was probably just a silly gesture to him.

He rolled his bottom lip between his teeth before answering darkly, "It's going in my bedroom. I like the thought of having something of yours in my most intimate space, Elaine."

I blanched. That was wrong, so wrong. We weren't intimate. He was my dead husband's best friend, for God's sake! A husband I loved with every fiber of my being, whose sudden loss in a senseless mugging had left me barely keeping a grasp on reality for months. Drew was the one who kept me afloat in the early days, and I loved him dearly for it. But it was friendly love, surely.

There were two men to whom I owed complete and utter loyalty - Uncle Rick, who took me in after my parents died in a car crash. He raised me for nearly a decade and I wanted for nothing from the day I stepped into his home to the day he passed on from a heart attack while I was out at college. And Wyatt, sweet Wyatt, the street urchin that Uncle Rick had taken a chance on, who respected my uncle so much that he never looked at another woman for half a decade after being told that my future, once I graduated from college, was entrusted to him.

That night after fleeing, I held my wrist in my own hand, teeming with guilt. Drew's hands were smooth, having lived a life of comfort since birth, whereas Wyatt lived a rough life until Uncle Rick took him in at fourteen. I was five years his junior, and even though I couldn't quite understand what my uncle saw in him, I was impressed by how well he took to responsibility. By the time I came to live with Uncle Rick, Wyatt was already keeping my uncle's accounts and delivering newspapers at the crack of dawn every day for pocket change in addition to catching up on the studies he missed while he was out on the streets.

I'm so lost in the memories that I jump when the bedroom door opens. Master comes in with a tray of food. I tilt my head at him questioningly. Though we both cook, he hasn't brought me food in bed since the first time he took me on the table, when I was too sore to move after not having that sex in years.

"I thought since we're starting something new today, we could mark it with a celebratory breakfast. We'll eat and then you'll complete your first minute of pleasure for me."

I swallow and nod slowly. The omelets smell delicious; I can tell he took the care to put vegetables in mine just as I like them.

"I'll just use the washroom and be back," I say, and head in to relieve myself and brush. It's an odd feeling, brushing out just my morning breath, rather than the taste of Master's pleasure. On my way out, I wrap a robe loosely around myself. I'm not ashamed to show myself to my master, but he has also pulled on sweatpants, and I feel a bit silly sharing breakfast with him naked.

He has already set up the tray in the middle of his bed, but something tells me the hunger in his eyes as he watches me climb on is for me and not for the food. Still, he proclaims, "Dig in!" And we do, eating in companionable silence until we are both satisfied. As I chew on the last bite of my omelet, he puts down his utensils and looks at me.

"I know I said you'd continue to follow your usual routine, and then I went and messed it up the next morning. I could tell when I walked in that it stressed you out, so I'm sorry for that."

I smile, warmed that he caught the uncertainty in my posture. "We'll go back to the routine now, though," he continues, "as it seems I don't quite feel myself in the mornings until I've been in your mouth. I spilled the orange juice twice and had to spend a good ten minutes picking shells out of the eggs." He smirks.

"Once you've topped off your breakfast with my cum, I'll watch you take your first minute of pleasure for me. We'll start it off easy. I know that having me in your mouth will make you sufficiently wet, so the first task is just to use your fingers."

"Yes, Master," I acquiesce, finishing up the aforementioned orange juice and taking a few sips of water to clear my mouth before moving off the bed and setting the tray on the dresser. I'm still processing my instructions as he shifts on the bed so his back is half supported by the headboard.

Normally, he's still asleep when I begin his morning blowjob so having him watching me will be a somewhat new experience. It's clear that watching is his intention though, when he murmurs "robe" as he slides off his pants to reveal his member, already somewhat stiff.

I comply, sliding the robe off my shoulders, and feel my skin pebble and nipples harden with a combination of cold and anticipation as it pools around my feet at the foot of the bed. Placing first my hands and then my knees on the bed, I crawl to him and delight in the desire in Master's eyes. I can see his cock twitching as I cross the last few feet toward it.

Making full use of the opportunity, I lock eyes with Master as I slowly lower my head to lick just under his head. I'm rewarded with a sharp exhale which morphs into a moan as I slowly circle the head with my tongue a few times. By the time I lick up the underside of his impressive length from root to tip, he is fully hard.

Normally I get to play a little longer to get to this point, as Master is still mostly asleep. He generally comes awake as I take him into my mouth, which I do now. Pausing with his cock down my throat, I see him bunch the bedsheets in his fists and feel his thighs tense. I moan around him, lowering and stretching my body as I settle in for the ride, now propped up only be my elbows resting on the intside of his muscular thighs.

After a few seconds, I begin to really move. He grunts rhythmically, keeping time with my head as it bobs up and down on his hard shaft. I moan once again, looking up to meet his eyes and I feel myself moistening at what I see - Master on the edge of being undone, his muscles taut from holding back from taking over and instead letting me pleasure him as he has taught me.

I increase the suction, hollowing out my cheeks on the upswings and I know he's close when his jaw goes slack and I hear him begin to gasp. Eyes still firmly on his, I pause with his slick, straining member as far down my throat as I can take it and swallow, and in response I immediately feel him begin to pulse.

Now, finally, he loses control, grunting and stiffening further. His knees bent for leverage, he thrusts short and sharp into my mouth, watching as I swallow the evidence of his morning pleasure, breaking eye contact only when the stream of cum ceases to shoot down my waiting throat. His shoulders relax, eyes closed and head finally hanging back on a long and guttural groan, and I think that he may be watching our morning routine more often from now on.

As he softens in my mouth, I lick him clean of his semen and my spit. Too spent to talk, he points at the floor. Swirling my tongue around my mouth to get the last of his cum, I climb off the bed and stand where he indicated. Slowly, he sits up.

"Lovely, pet. Now, on your heels and knees, spread wide. Take a look at the clock and touch yourself for me for one minute."

I nod and trail my hand down my stomach, pausing for a few seconds until the second hand on the clock I gave him reaches twelve, then running two fingers along my lips. I am more than moist from the joy of having Master in my mouth. I enjoy the gentle tingles my fingers send up my spine with each stroke for a few seconds, then add a third so that my middle finger brushes against my clit. Just the lightest touch is enough to make me moan, and I look up at my master as I do it.

His sated expression gone, he is appraising me now as he does his work - with a focus in his light green eyes that stops just short of desire. I continue to stroke, slowing my breaths as I glance to the clock and see that forty seconds are already past. I'm getting wetter now, but with only a few seconds left to pleasure myself for the whole day, I dare not deepen my touch. It's all I can do to keep my hips from grinding back against my hand.

And suddenly, Master is there with me, his hand encircling my wrist, holding my fingers tighter against my heat. My breath flees and I shudder at the feel of his fingers around the throbbing veins of my wrist as he stares deeply into my now wide eyes.

Time slows as my universe narrows to a few tiny points - the ticking of the clock, his hot breath on my neck, his clarity of his eyes, and the feel of his thumb on my wrist and my middle finger on my clit. Then three, two, one seconds tick by and he slowly draws my hand from the slick apex of my thighs.

Instead of dropping it, he continues to bring it up to his mouth, and I'm mortified when he slowly takes each wet finger into his mouth in turn, sucking it clean. I can't help but moan soft and low, more turned on by his gesture than I had been by my own fingers.

Then he rises, pulling me up with that same light touch at my wrist. When we are both standing, just a few inches apart but touching nowhere except that one finger and thumb around my wrist, he reminds me, "And that's it, pet. No more touching, no more teasing, no more pleasure for you today."

He bends to kiss me softly, almost chastely, then leaves me standing there as he goes to the bathroom to get ready for the day.