Part 1 is [here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/8isbor/an_evening_in_napa_part_1_ff/)
Aside from my phone, the only things in my backpack were toiletries, a flask of cheap bourbon, a dress I’d planned to wear to the party and then never had time to change into, an old t-shirt for sleeping in, and clean underwear.
It was silent except for the sound of Sigur Rós still playing down the hall, so I quickly slipped my panties on under the robe, then swapped it for the T-shirt, which had a picture of Johnny Cash on the front and was so large it fit me like a small nightdress. I took a swig from the flask because drunk is sometimes an acceptable substitute for tired, then shouldered the backpack and headed back upstairs.
Darkness and silence in Laura’s room. I took a second drink from the flask, set it down on the bedside table, and got back into bed.
I lay listening to the rhythm of her breathing, remembering her undressing by the hot tub. I pictured her doing the same for Jake, imagined him laying naked on his couch, idly stroking his cock until she took over for him, getting him fully hard with her warm, skilled hands, then straddling him, bracing herself against his chest, pushing with her hips.
I ran my own hands over my belly, smoothing my soft skin, pushing my shirt up, feeling the ridges of my ribs and then the swell of my breasts. My nipples were hard, tips standing erect, and touching them made me remember how she’d trapped them between her fingers.
One hand lingered there, the other made its way down, beneath the loose waistband of my panties, the tickle of my neatly trimmed pubic hair on my fingertips, then between my thighs, exploring the slippery heat of my cunt. I spread my legs a little, mindful of the sleeping woman beside, exhaling quietly as I nudged my clit with my fingertips, teasing it gently.
“Fuck,” I whispered into the silence.
Jake was still on the couch when I returned to the living room.
“Hey,” he said, taking in my change of outfit. “I see you found your stuff. I thought you went to bed.”
“I did.”
“Couldn’t sleep?”
“Something like that. I guess I was wracked with guilt about earlier, so…” I crossed my arms over my front and stripped off my T-shirt.
“Oh, shit.”
I’ve always been pretty confident about my body. At 20, I was a little on the skinny side, and I sometimes wished for larger breasts, but I was happy with how everything looked and reactions like Jake’s certainly didn’t do my ego any harm.
He sat up and swung his legs off the couch, the magazine falling to the floor with a slap. He didn’t seem to know what to do as I approached, and seeing his unflappable act so easily disarmed made me smile. I pushed his knees apart and knelt down between them, maintaining eye contact as I unbuckled his belt and opened the front of his jeans. I pulled them down around his thighs, then did the same with his underwear, freeing his rapidly swelling cock.
“You weren’t kidding,” I said.
Having never actually taken a tape measure to a penis, I couldn’t give you an accurate measurement, but Jake had the biggest cock I’d seen at that point in my life, in length and thickness. He was cut and curved slightly to one side, hair neatly trimmed short, even on his balls. This was a guy expecting to get laid.
“You are surprising the hell out of me right now,” he said.
“Yeah?”
I gripped the base of his shaft and took as much of him in my mouth as I dared, until I felt the first tickle of my gag reflex. Then I lifted my head and let saliva drip out of my mouth, working my hand up and down his glistening length. I was touching myself with my other hand, fingers pushing and rubbing my throbbing pussy through my panties. I was aching for his cock.
“You should…probably keep surprising me.” His voice was low, breath slightly labored.
I pushed up into a squat, pulled down my panties, then got to my feet and stepped out of them. He reached up for me and I grabbed his hands and pushed them back, pinning them to the couch as I straddled him, pressing my weight down on the head of his cock. I was so wet that he slid easily into me despite his size, and I moaned aloud, closing my eyes at the feel of him, his thick shaft stretching me.
He could have pushed me off easily, of course, but that was probably less fun than a girl half his weight and half his age holding him down and riding his cock as hard as she was able. I was so horny by then that I wasn’t thinking about his pleasure at all, pushing myself to that point where I knew I could come, where I was just teetering right on the edge of my orgasm, knowing that I wasn’t going to get there without touching myself and resisting it, staying in that place as long as I could stand it, until my arms and legs were trembling and my mouth was dry from vocalizing my pleasure.
I released him and sat back, resting one hand on his knee to stop myself falling, using the other to pull his to my crotch, my hand on top, showing him exactly where I wanted to be touched. He got it fast, thumb pressing my clit as I moved my hips.
“I’m coming. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my fucking god…”
I was grinding on him, my whole body trembling, and then I was there, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood, pushing down on him as hard as I could, wanting every inch of him in me, and then it was done, and I had my face buried between his neck and shoulder, soaked with sweat, my breath coming in gulps, like I was crying.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he murmured.
He kissed my forehead and stroked my back. I could feel him softening inside me, and I liked him all the more for letting me fuck him to get myself off and then let me recover without worrying about himself.
I sat up and began unbuttoning his shirt.
“Tell me what you want,” I said.
“What are my options?”
“I had my way with you, I guess it’s only fair I let you do what you want.”
“Alright. Come with me.”
We gathered up our clothes and I followed him through the kitchen and out another door that led into yet another hallway.
“How fucking big is this place?”
“A little under three and a half thousand square feet. Six bedrooms. It’s not a mansion or anything, just a really big house. Here.” He opened the door into another bedroom. “Dump your clothes over there, then I want you bent over the side of the bed, feet on the floor.”
I did as he asked, resting on my elbows.
“Arms behind your back, head and chest on the bed. Good. Stay there.”
I could hear him opening the closet, but I had no idea what he was doing until I felt cool metal against my wrist. My heart immediately started beating faster.
“Ooh boy,” I said, and my voice was unsteady.
He cuffed my arms behind my back without responding, then put an arm around my waist and lifted me enough to slide some sort of cushion under my belly.
I had an idea what he was up to. An impressive percentage of the time, telling a man he can do whatever he wants means anal, and while the handcuffs were a (not unwelcome) surprise, suddenly feeling his fingers, warm and slick with lube of some kind, circling and then penetrating my asshole was not. I stiffened. It was hard not to. I was fifteen years from learning to enjoy the actual sensation of anal play, and the context in which I enjoyed it at all was entirely mental and entirely this kind of situation. *Use me*. *Use all my holes*.
Two fingers inside me, working back and forth. I tried to relax, but I was remembering how big he was.
And then he reminded me. Despite the restraints and the orders, he was gentle. He used a lot of lube, loosened me up a little first, and he took it slow. He spread me wide, pressed the head of his cock against my reluctant muscles until his persistence won out, then pushed a little way in and pulled out. Then a little way further. Then further. I buried my face in the blankets. It hurt a little, and it was umcomfortable, but that was part of it. I felt degraded, and it was turning me on.
As he began to fuck me, he pulled on the chain between the cuffs. With his other hand, he grabbed a fistful of my hair, lifting me off the bed, pulling me back against his thrusts. He felt huge inside me.
It didn’t take long. A couple of minutes, maybe a little more and I felt him losing his rhythm, pulling harder at my hair, breathing hard, every third or fourth a groan. He shoved me face down onto the bed, his hands moving to my shoulders, holding me down that way, driving so hard into me that I yelped into the blankets each time. I felt his cock pulsing, the heat of his come inside me, and then he was still, breathing hard, his elbows to each side of my body, keeping his weight off me.
“Are you okay?” He asked.
I turned my head toward him and nodded. “Are you?”
“I am now. Give me a sec and I’ll get those off you.”
“That’s very kind.”
He smiled and shook his head. “You are something else.”
He got up off the bed and unlocked the handcuffs. I rolled onto my side.
“Is there a shower?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s over there.”
And so I took my third shower in 24 hours, cleaning myself thoroughly. I was finally feeling the weight of the long drive and my physical evening. My thighs ached. The orgasm with Jake had left me sated. I just wanted to sleep.
This was a sentiment he shared; when I emerged from the bathroom, he was passed out naked on the bed, snoring softly. I dressed quietly, pecked him on the cheek, and – after a couple of wrong turns – retrieved my backpack and made my way once again to Laura’s room, where I was asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.
It was after eleven when I awoke, and the bed was empty. Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the blinds and the smell of food made my stomach growl. My back, legs, and arms all ached, my body gently chastizing me for the exertions of the previous day.
The clothes I’d been wearing when I arrived were neatly folded on a hamper in the corner. I dressed, brushed my teeth, tied my frizzy mess of hair back, and headed downstairs.
Breakfast was apparently just ending, and by the way everybody looked up at me when I entered the room, I gathered stories had been exchanged.
“The guest of honor,” Jake said, with a broad smile.
“Please tell me there’s still food. I feel like I haven’t eaten in days.”
“There’s still food,” Paul said. “Sit down.”
“Someone went adventuring last night,” Laura said.
I felt myself blush.
“She wasn’t the only one,” Kelly said. “Leave her be.”
“I’m just kidding. I’m glad. Everybody should spend a little time with your husband.”
“That was not your attitude last night,” Jake said.
“I wanted the same thing you did last night, apparently.”
“She came to me!’
“I feel like your warm up act now.”
“Children, children.” Paul set a plate of eggs, bacon, sausage, and mushrooms in front of me.
“Thank you.”
I hadn’t eaten in almost 24 hours. Besides that, I could sense a tension that hadn’t been there before. It was easy to be a different generation and a different class when it was all about the physical side, when there was booze and lust to drive out other concerns. The morning after was a little more awkward. I wolfed down my breakfast.
“I’ve got a long drive,” I said, when I was done. “Thanks. For breakfast and…ah…having me.”
Everybody laughed. There were hugs and suggestive remarks and a kiss on the mouth from Laura that reminded me how she tasted and made me want her all over again.
*Another time*, I told myself, and headed out to my car. That long drive wasn’t just an excuse; I had about 600 more miles to cover to get to my next adventure.
I never did get intimate with Laura again. We saw each other at Starbucks, but I got the sense that she’d gotten what she wanted and we were done. She was as friendly as ever, but that extra edge, the flirtatious, was gone. And after a couple of months, so was I, on to another job.
Jake got hold of my number and we texted one another through that summer and fall. A little before Christmas, he was nearby on business, and we got together, got extraordinarily drunk, and I spent the night in his hotel room. We saw each other occasionally for quite a few years after that. Eighteen years on, he still texts me on my birthday.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/8knia2/an_evening_in_napa_part_2_fm