Honey, sugar, sweetie those were her preferred names for me. When she said them they sounded sweet, like candy, like her kisses.
"Open up sugar" said the man standing over me, his thick hairy dick inches from my face.
"Honey" she said, her voice still sweet to me, "just a little kiss."
Her toes rubbed against my balls "he just sees you the way I do."
Tentatively I pressed my purple lips against the tip of his dick. I felt his hand on my head pressing me forward and her toes running along my own hard cock. I opened my mouth. That was when it was over. I felt his dick hit the back of my throat and heard her squeal of joy and felt my own cum spurt out over her toes.
I’d met Honey barely 18 months ago. At a little dive bar in town.
We were the only two under thirty in the place. Her with her Daisy Dukes and tied off button up, playing at a sexed up southern belle. Me with a white workshirt and jeans playing at Bob Dylan.
I thought I was tough then. I worked shifts hauling furniture for a friends moving business and sometimes picked up odd jobs doing house repair. So, being in the working class bar that played classic rock, drinking cheap beer, made me feel less like I was squandering my $40k degree in Communications as I fell further behind on student loan payments. It made me feel manly. It made me feel authentic.
The drinking helped too and I'd been doing a lot of it. More so after she'd rolled in, to build up my courage.
I'm good looking and I'd hooked up with other college girls who liked to drink at the other dive bars I also liked to drink in, so I was keeping my cool when she swayed her way over to me as Bryan Adams sang "standing on your mother's porch, you told me you would wait forever."
She was holding two citrus yellow shots she'd gotten from the bar. Maybe she was younger than I thought, she had the bubbly atmosphere of a college girl just let off the leash.
"So you're like what, 35?" she said jokingly.
"26, are you sure they won't check your fake id?"
She gave my arm that half hearted little punch that girls do when they want you to think they are weaker than they are; to trigger that protective male instinct. It was working. Instincts were triggering. Her flowery smell was intoxicating. The Summer of 69 wound down in the background and my heartrate was taking off.
She leaned in close to speak into my ear, "You can call me Honey"
"Oh wow is that a line? I’m stealing that. 'You can call me honey.'"
I was a little bit drunk and still laughing. She just knocked back her shot, and then smiled, the kind with her sharp incisors, the kind with a little bit of danger.
“Ok ‘honey’, but that is my name and if you want to get any further tonight you’ll call me by it.” I felt her hand touch on my thigh and I felt adrenaline like lightning knock the alcohol out of my head, choking sputtering on a laugh, trying to swallow it.
"Do you need CPR? Trying to get some mouth to mouth action? You don't need to be so dramatic." She winked at me sliding her hand away.
By the time I’d caught my breath she was almost out the door, her long legs weaving in a barely walk. No rush, each step kicking her cowboy boots across the ground playfully, little curves of soft brown skin showing under her jean shorts. Everything about her was performative, this wasn't an outfit but a costume, tailored to a specific purpose.
I like to imagine I was more composed, but I bolted then, clattering out of the bar stool before doubling back to throw a $10, $20, whatever onto the counter and dash after her.
I took her back to my place, or she took me, she was always in the lead even when following. Once we were through the glass doors of the apartment she was in front: tugging my arm as we drunkenly stumbled up the stairs, fishing her slender fingers around my jean pocket for the keys, pulling open my bedside drawer confidently to grab a condom, and pulling me deep into her.
It was the best sex I've ever had. I'd never been with someone so completely into it, so natural, and so uninhibited. It rubbed off in confidence on me. I thrust more forcefully, grabbed her hips and adjusted her roughly into a better position to reach deeper inside her. In the past I'd always hesitated, asking too often “is this alright?”. My love making style would have been most kindly described as sweet. This wasn't that, this was primal, this was masculine, this was animal. We fucked three times that night before the alcohol and exhaustion got the better of us and we slept in a sweaty tangle of blankets.
In the morning, she was gone from the bed and I thought that might be it. Just a good, no, a great, a once in a lifetime, one night stand. Then I smelled the bacon.
"Rise and shine, honey"
I found her in the little kitchenette, wearing one of my button ups, the white fabric just draping over her small yellow panties. I realized then how tall she was, her legs slender lengths of smooth light walnut skin.
She tilted the pan, sliding two strips of bacon and scrambled eggs onto a second plate.
"Your name is really Honey?" I asked dumbfounded from my absolute luck.
"You keep asking. Yes, yes, and yes. Wasn't last night enough to convince you how sweet I am?"
She winked at me as she brought the plates to the little folding table.
"I mean you certainly spent enough time down there, so you must have liked the taste."
I blushed and let out a half chuckle, remembering then how I 69ed her. How eagerly I had licked her pussy lips between our rounds of thrusting.
"In fact," she said with that coy smile with a hint of incisor, "maybe you should earn your breakfast."
She pulled the plates back from the table holding them up in the air like a waitress passing through a diner. The action lifted the white shirt higher showing off a bit of belly and hip.
I hesitated still surprised by this whirlwind of a woman.
"Hurry up, or breakfast will get cold. If you do a good job I'm sure I can think of some way to reward you." and she looked coyly off to the side as she licked her lips.
I took a step towards her and then lowered to my knees. The scent of sex and sweat hit me as I pulled down her panties. I buried my face in her thighs, her manicured bush brushing against my thin beard. She was salty, either from the sweat or more likely me, I'd came inside her several times and the rich smell told me she'd not yet showered.
"Mmmm, an excellent start."
I pushed on licking and thrusting hungrily with my tongue and after a few minutes I felt her leg shiver against my check and looked up to she her struggling to put the plates on the table as she laughed and shivered.
"Ok you've definitely earned breakfast, and something more." fingers lacing along my boxer seam.
After that we would see each other on and off. It was usually her texting, "I'm at the Tavern, come down." or "I'm on the Southside hitting clubs, pick me up after?" and I would, why wouldn't I, she was amazing.
We weren't dating dating. I was sleeping with other people and I'm pretty sure she was too. Still, she did start leaving things in my apartment: a pair of panties, a carton of the soy milk she prefers, bought on a morning we were out of milk, an extra toothbrush, a particular sour apple vodka bottle, even a couple file folders of boring report paperwork from a time we hooked up on her midday lunch break.
Over time, I stopped picking up college girls. I reasoned that I was too long out of college and that the age gap was getting gross. Plus who wants to deal with that inexperience. But it would have been obvious to any outside observer that the real reason was Honey.
It was the fifth night in a row where we ordered Chinese food, watched Netflix, and fucked like rabbits that she raised the question.
"Are you mine?"
"What?"
"Are we, like, a couple?"
I hadn't really even verbalized the idea to myself. What we had was just so sexually driven, so out of my idea of relationships that I hadn't even thought dating was a real option.
I thought for a bit just sort of processing the idea of it. Why wouldn't I want this? Want her?
"Yeah, I'm yours"
"Aw, honey", she said with that intentionally light punch, and then leaned on my shoulder as we watched the whales migrate across the majestic ocean being lulled to sleep by David Attenborough’s rhythmic narration.
I got healthier, that was the first side effect of going steady with Honey. We ate less meat, not quite vegetarian but something just shy. Fish once a week, chicken on a salad, a cheat day burger maybe once a month. It was a far cry from how I used to eat. And the soy milk. We cut out all dairy and cheese. Switched to whole wheat bread and even that we ate sparingly.
The sex helped too. Eating lean, burning calories every night. No more drinking in dive bars.
I dropped my gut and, since I was feeling better about myself, I ended up going to the gym more. A lot more. Isn’t it weird how our brains so easily lean into dopamine feedback loops? The workouts, the sex, the praise--it all swirled in my brain reinforcing eachother: I needed more. More of all of it.
Every time Honey would catch me coming out of the shower she’d crack the towel at my butt, faking a deep sporty voice “Looking good champ. Nice tight ass.” I’d chase after her. She'd run laughing and panting but still trying to keep up her impression, “Real football boy ass.” Her legs disappering into the bedroom. “Good to slap inbetween plays,” she barely got out as I tackled her into bed, the last word collapsing into giggles under my tickling.
We’d fuck then too. God I don’t even have any shame about how things went when I remember those days. She was Honey to me. I couldn’t get enough of her sweetness.
I remember a day, sometime in April I think, Honey standing by the mirror. Dressing slowly before heading to work. She had on a short jean skirt and I could see flowery yellow panties peaking out from under the hem, her long brown legs shining in the soft warm light on her bedroom dresser.
She hadn’t put on a shirt yet and her two small breasts pressed into a matching a yellow bra a half size too small. She smiled her teeth bright white but a bit crooked and two sharp incisors that sometimes made her look like a carnivorous animal in the right light. But not now, now her smile was soft, sweet. Her eyes were wet and the two dark brown pools glistened in the light.
“Come’ere sweetie”, she coo’d collapsing into the bed next to me.
I leaned forward crawling towards her.
She leaned in and kissed me. Then I felt a sharp crack on my ass as she slapped it and pulled away giggling.
“You’re butt is so cute. Nice and tight.”
I laughed too at the trick, at how easily I was taken in by her acting. She caressed my ass where she had hit me, bent down and kissed me. I think maybe then was my first idea of how deep in I was. She could do anything to me and I'd go along with it. All it would take was a caress, a kiss, a sweet word.
I didn’t know then that she had been adding estrogen to the fruit shakes she would blend up. She said my cum tasted best with a bit of pineapple. They were tasty, a key part of my daily routine. I know now and haven’t stopped drinking them. Can’t stop, I’m addicted to her.
That was around when she started going to the gym with me.
“I love spending time with you, I figured if you’re into hitting the gym, I can be a sporty girlfriend too.”
She preferred the treadmill, the elliptical, the leg press, and pilates to the exercises I usually did. I suggested we split up but she insisted if we were going to do the gym together we should be together. So overtime I did less pull ups and push ups and more stretching and running.
I lost a little muscle in my arms and chest but I still felt strong and fit. My legs were strong, my stomach was flat, and my butt was tight the way she liked it.
The best part was spending even more time with her. She’d run a commentary on the looks of the other girls: who was cute vs who was too buff to be a girl, who had her yoga pants game on point, and who was definitely sleeping with her trainer. She’d tease me for looking too long when she described in great detail the best qualities of a particular girls tight ass and thighs. She would joke that I might pop a boner in my work out shorts thinking about so many sexy ladies.
I’d started to wonder to myself about the fact that I hadn’t gotten many boners at all lately. I was becoming nervous about certain shrinkages.
But she was so funny I’d push those thoughts away; I'd laugh as she did a voice for a man lifting weights across the gym: “I’m a muscle man, love my muscles, just gonna - hrnnnn - lift this and show how muscly I am, just a big dumb muscle man - ahhhh - oh lifting these weights is better than sex - hrrrrnn - My biceps are so big I can’t reach my dick to jack off - ugggghhh - all I have are these giant manly biceps - hurggggh - I’m so alone.” We’d have to bury our faces in towels to keep from laughing so hard that we would tip everyone off to how hard we were judging them.
It was the end of May when I first started having dysfunction. It would take me awhile to get hard and, when I managed it, I was shorter and softer than I used to be.
Honey was sweet about it. She’d say “size isn’t what matters” as I desperately pushed inside her trying to hit the spots I’d hit before. She’d say “I’m not with you for the size of your dick” as she helped stroke me to completion. She’d say, “see it even fits better in my mouth” as she kneeled in front of me naked, gently bobbing and taking my whole cock in her mouth down to the base.
For my part I felt guilty each time she overcame my sexual inadequacy to bring me to completion, so I found myself offering more and more oral sex. Spooning her and finger her instead of entering her. Using more of her toys: dildos, vibrators, clamps, cuffs, wax. Anything to distract her from my dick which I had become certain was shrinking and was sure would lead to her leaving me.
By June I’d lost two whole inches and it’d been weeks since we’d had penetrative sex. I’d added premature ejaculation to my list of anxieties since I’d found my less frequently used dick now would get overstimulated upon entering her and let loose its sad dribble of watery cum right away.
I begged her to let me lick her. My cum was no problem. She deserved to feel as good as I had. She knew she had me, must’ve. How sweet for her to have her little victim begging to worship at the alter of his torturer. She let me of course, after a few “oh you don’t have to”s and a couple “it doesn’t bother me”s, she let me “make it up to her”.
She brought her playfulness to this too. She let me pick things from her toy box to spice it up. It didn’t have to be me groveling to lick her pussy. No no no, it could be me binding her with leather to the bed, blindfolded, as I tormented her with my tongue, licking fast and then slow, drawing my fingers along her labia, dripping an ice cube across her perfect stomach, plunging the vibrator into her while bitting her nipple.
It was effective. She taught me sex didn’t need to involve my penis. Not cruelly at all. That it could be fun, physical, and gratifying even if my dick hung more and more limply between my legs.
And when my dick was involved, oh... I’m feeling the sensations even now. She said I needed to build up a resistance to sensation to counter my prematurity. Her “cunt”, she lovingly teased, “was of course too much a piece of sweet heaven” and so we’d need something gentler, say a low vibration egg strapped to the base of my cock and a very disciplined instructor to bring me repeatedly to the edge.
Like all things, Honey loved playing this role. She postured. Dressed for the occasion in a strict teachers outfit: pencil skirt, blazer, and heels no teacher I’ve ever known would wear. She tapped my dick with a cane when it started to throb, scolding it. Cutting off the vibration to let me calm down. Then slipping off the heel and running her stockinged toes around the tip of my penis in little Os saying “you better not come sugar” and “this is for you’re own good, my naughty little student”
By the end I was electric with tension waiting release. That’s when she introduced the video lesson: “we have to acclimate you to holding your cum until the completion of the mating ritual” she said in a prim mock British accent. She had put on a porn video of a man fucking what the title claimed was his step daughter and I could see the run time of 15 minutes. “Just hold out a bit longer, sweetie. Remember what we are training you up for” and she winked, letting her legs spread and showing me the wet spot on her panties. I could barely hold on 10 minutes. My cum spurted out over her toes as she ran them under my dick.
“My teachings were of course effective, but I can see this little student will be a hard case, who needs lots of special attention.” I spurted agains as she pushed on my cock to emphasize “attention”.
With that we fell into a new sexual routine, Honey training my endurance, as we watched porn videos that trended more away from the average missonary thrustfest and more and more towards muscly bears taking other mens' submissive wives in rougher and more humiliating sex.
