Bennysarchive - Tumblr Posts
The Remote:
The salesman had told you to use the remote sparingly. “It’s pretty powerful, even on the lowest setting!” he’d said as he put it in the bag and handed it over to you. “If I were you, I’d start one or two clicks at a time, to be as precise as possible. You wouldn’t want to bring her down so much that she can’t complete basic tasks.” he chuckled. You gave him a reserved smile, taking the unmarked bag and exiting the store, hurrying to your car, almost as if you were worried that someone you knew would see you exiting a sex shop. Those chances were slim. You’d had to drive way out of town to find one that carried the remote.
When you got home, your girlfriend was standing at the kitchen counter with her back to you and a Bluetooth in her ear, nearly shouting on a work call. She didn’t seem to even notice that you’d entered the apartment. You sat at the breakfast bar facing her, while she commanded, “No, it was supposed to be handed in by Tuesday, so I guess that I, or anyone else on the team for that matter, won’t be clocking out until it’s done!” She continues chopping onions and you can hear chatter coming through her end of the Bluetooth. Curiously, still not fully believing it’ll work, you take the remote out of the bag, point it at her back, and give it a single conservative *click*.
When the chatter on the other end of the call stops, she replies, sounding quite annoyed, “Yes, it is a big deal, because the budget for our entire next quarter depends on the report-” You tune out the work chatter and head to the bedroom, holding the remote up and inspecting it. Had it been a rip off? A simple silver rectangle with a red button in the center that said the word “down” on it. Maybe it was a clever scam, or maybe you just hadn’t been that clever yourself. You flipped it over to search for a slot to insert batteries or plug in a charger, but no such luck. You probably should’ve noticed that in the store, huh?
A few minutes later, your girlfriend comes into the bedroom, and as she does, you slip the remote under your pillow to get it out of sight. “Hey honey, I didn’t see you come in!” she says, sounding tired, as she plugs her earpiece into the charger on her nightstand. “I’m cooking dinner now, should be done in a few minutes.” You smile and say that sounds good, and change into more comfortable clothes as she heads back to the kitchen. You follow soon after, slipping the remote into your pocket, plopping down comfortably on the couch, and turning on the TV. Once again, your curiosity gets the better of you, and while your girlfriend is standing by the fridge, pulling out a few more ingredients, you point the remote at her back and give it a swift *click click*
You wait to see any type of reaction, and when she doesn’t seem to show any signs of a change, you ask, “Hey sweetheart? What’s 4 times 4?” She turns to face you, a look of confusion on her face, and says, “Honey, if you need me, or a calculator, to answer 4 times 4, you’ve got bigger problems than I can help you with.” with a dry chuckle. You smile back politely at her joke, and feel perplexed. You’d been told by a friend at work that it was the real deal, and he’d had no reason to lie. Was the button stuck? Maybe it was because your girlfriend was a lot smarter than average as it is, so it was going to take more to make a difference. You waited for her to go back to cooking, before, as a last ditch effort, pointing it at her and giving it a generous *click click click click click*
She immediately stopped seasoning the chicken and seemed to sway back and forth slightly on her feet, as if she’s just taken one shot too many. “Sweetheart?” You ask, feeling confident that something has happened this time. “Mmm…yeah?” She replies, in a voice slightly-higher pitched than the one you’re used to hearing, slightly less sure-of itself. “You feeling okay?” She turns halfway around to look at you, a smile beaming on her face, and says, “Of course, silly! Why wouldn’t I be?” “Oh, uhh, just checking!” you answer. You’re shocked, but there was definitely an effect. You watched as she returned to cooking. Was it just you, or was she taking a moment to look at each ingredient she picked up, as if she needed a second or two to process exactly what it was, and what she was supposed to do with it?
She turned on the stove and tossed the chicken into a pan, washing her hands of all the bread crumbs and seasoning, and grabbing a bottle of wine out of the cabinet. As she fumbled around in the silverware drawer looking for the bottle-opener, you thought, “Maybe just a bit more for good measure.” *click click*
She pulled the bottle opener from the drawer, and you watched closely as she held it up to the bottle, before pulling her hand back away. She looked like she was going to try to put it on again, moving the opener around the top of the bottle at a few different angles, before asking, “Uhm…honey? Can you…help me with this?” She seemed slightly concerned at the realization that she couldn’t figure out how to uncork a bottle of wine, something she’d done at least once a week for years now, but the concern seemed to be somewhere far away, certainly not at the front of her mind. You left the remote sitting on the arm of the couch, and got up to go help her.
You twisted the opener into the cork, but before you had time to pop it out, your girlfriend made a sound something along the lines of, “Nnnghhhhh…” and her knees buckled. You put your hands on her hips to hold her up, and turned your head towards the couch to see your cat resting on the arm of the chair where the remote had been sitting. “Shit!” you exclaimed, and tossed a sponge sitting by the sink at him, sending him scurrying, and you could see that the remote had been under him. He must’ve been sitting on the remote for 10, maybe 15 seconds straight! You turned back to your girlfriend, and asked, “Sweetheart, you doing okay?”
There was a trail of drool making its way down her chin, glistening on her face and neck under the bright lights of the kitchen. “Mmm…nnnnnggghhhhmmm” she said from somewhere deep in her throat. The sound seemed to be both a moan and a whine at the same time. You felt one of her arms moving against the one you were using to hold her up, and saw that she was slowly, lazily rubbing herself through her shorts. You began to harden in your own sweatpants, and you loosened your grip on her hips, allowing her to fall to her knees in front of you.
She stopped rubbing herself for a moment to fumble with the knot on your pants, trying clumsily to untie it but having no luck, before pushing one hand under her shorts and rubbing herself desperately, looking up at you with a mouth covered in drool and pleading eyes. “Nnn…nnn…nnn” she moaned at you, as a wet spot formed and began spreading rapidly on the front of her shorts. You dropped your sweatpants, and before they could even hit the floor she’s taken the full length of your cock down her throat. Her mouth was soaking wet already, and strands of drool hung from your shaft as she bobbed up and down from your head to your balls. She’d never been this enthusiastic before, and her throat was so tight and warm you had to grip the counter to stay on your feet. She slurped and sucked, moaning onto your dick as she fingered herself below you. When you finally came, she pushed her face all the way down to the base and let all your cum spill deep down your throat. She held it for as long as she could before pulling off with a gasp, her face covered in tears and spit and the last of the cum that had shot out just as she’d pulled off, and looked up at you with adoration.
You jumped a bit as the smoke alarm went off, a loud, shrill screech blasting through the entire apartment. Your girlfriend didn’t react at all, as if she didn’t even hear it. She was still staring adoringly at your cock. The chicken in the pan was sizzling next to you, burned and blackened now, and as you turned the burner off, you felt her mouth on you again. “Mmm…mmm…nnghhh…” she continued groaning below you as she lazily, messily sucked on one of your balls, her fingers slowly but steadily pumping in and out of herself as a puddle of her own cum formed below her on the tile floor. You felt yourself beginning to harden again as the metallic glint of the remote sitting on the couch caught your eye. Maybe…maybe just one of two more…
Soon Enough:
I lightly grasp her chin and remind her to maintain eye contact with me. She does, and by now there’s a desperate look in her eye, pleading, knowing that no matter how much she begs, my answer won’t change.
Her movements are growing uneven now, the slow, steady roll of her hips devolving into haphazard grinding, her breathing shallow and unsteady, biting her lower lip in a failing attempt to suppress a high-pitched whine from deep in her throat. “That’s it baby, keep going. You can cum this way, it’ll just take a while. Don’t worry…we’ve got all the time in the world.”
She moans greedily in response and pushes herself down harder and harder against my knee, her eyes rolling back and her mouth hanging open. There’s spit on her lips, making its way down her chin, and glistening on her throat. I can hear the slap of her ass colliding with my leg rhythmically over and over again as she soaks my thigh, her nails digging into my skin as she desperately tries to push herself over the edge. Her perky, round tits bounce sporadically, inches from my face, and she arches her back and throws her hair over her shoulder, breathing faster and faster now, all the while stealing glances at my rock hard cock with an expression that’s more than desire, or even hunger, just complete, unfiltered need. “P…mmmhh…p….nnghhh…puh….” she murmurs, trying so hard to push out a word that she can’t quite grasp. “Shhh, just focus. You’ll get there. Don’t rush it. It’ll come soon enough.”
Redirecting Your Focus:
You’re sitting in the armchair in your living room, idly aware of the sounds of the TV in the background as you read your novel. It’s an 800 page brick of non-fiction covering a small period of French history that you’ve been tearing into since you got it at the beginning of the week, after you’d finished another massive tome on the Ottoman Empire. Sometimes you could get so lost in your books, that you forgot all about the world around you. But that hunger for knowledge, the absolute need to simply absorb every piece of information about history, or anthropology, or philosophical theory you could was something you’d carried with you from a young age and never been able to shake, even if it did get in the way of nearly everything else in your life a whole lot of the time.
The sound of a soft clink on the accent table next to you brings you back to reality, and you see your boyfriend, quietly setting down a cup of tea for you before lying down on the couch next to your chair and beginning to flip through channels. He’s so understanding, never begrudging you for spending hours upon hours, or even an entire night sometimes engrossed in a book. Not like your old boyfriends, who complained about you not wanting to go out enough, or trying to feel you up while you were trying to learn something new. No, he’s happy just to bring you a cup of tea, and occupy himself quietly in your company. You couldn’t have asked for any better, really.
You take a quick sip of the tea, eyes not budging from your page, and idly notice that it’s noticeably sweet, almost floral, not like the chamomile or earl grey you typically keep stocked in the cabinet. Had he gone out and bought his own? You don’t wonder for long, your train of thought carried away following line after line of small-print text.
As you sit there in your chair, trying to process and memorize the countless names and dates in your reading materiel, you feel yourself getting hotter and hotter, quickly brought to the point of nearly sweating. You pull off your sweater and tie your hair back into a ponytail to keep it off of your shoulders, and try to go back to focusing on the book. After a few more pages, a drop of liquid hits the page, smudging the ink, causing the letters to bleed into one another. Are you sweating so much that you’re literally dripping onto your book? No…suddenly you’re aware that your mouth is hanging open, and a slow, thin stream of drool is trickling off of your lips and down your chin. Another drip hits the page, causing the ink to bleed, blurring a few more words together, and you find that even the dry parts of the page are starting to look a little bit blurry too. Your…your head feels blurry. Your thoughts feel blurry. Muffled and far away, your boyfriend’s voice calls out to you, “More tea, honey?”
You don’t even really process what he’d said, but your body responds, and your hands, feeling somewhat numb and not totally your own, reach over and pick up the teacup, putting it to your lips. You take a deeper drink of the tea this time, and its floral notes feel potent somehow, intoxicating even. As you gently place the teacup back onto the table, you feel the drool leaking from your mouth like a faucet, covering your breasts and leaving them glistening in the lamplight. What…what’s happening? You glance over to your boyfriend, slightly alarmed at the state you’re suddenly in, but he’s not looking at you, he’s watching the TV, and when you try to speak up to get his attention, the sound that comes out is far from words, instead a whiney, high pitched, “Nnnghhhh”. You’re alarmed by how petulant you sound, like a child begging for a toy at the store, not a tone you’d ever normally use for anything. But the panic at your inability to form words seems overpowered by a need, a hunger even, coming from somewhere deep in your mind, to fill your mouth with something. Something big. Something warm.
Your heavy book clatters to the floor, and you follow it soon after, dropping to your knees, your entire body shaking with need and desire. Spit trickles to the hardwood floor below you, and you crawl towards the couch, small, soft whines escaping your lips every few seconds. It feels like agony, your wet, warm mouth being so empty, all your spit going to waste all over the floor. Your boyfriend looks down at you, a calm smile on his face, and begins to unbuckle his pants. You need his cock to fill your empty, empty mouth, more than anything, and you need what’s inside his cock to flood your empty, empty throat. You need the sensation of his hand on your head, guiding you, to fill your aching, empty mind. You can feel that you’ve soaked through your panties and are beginning to leak through your leggings now too, they’re sticking to you as you rub your wet, warm thighs together, desperate for any friction at all to alleviate the absolute ache between your legs. As his cock springs free from his boxers, you moan out loud, the mere sight of it enough to lessen the begging in your mind, and cause the wet warmth between your legs to grow hotter and more intense. You can wait no longer, you engulf his cock into your mouth, absorbing his length down your throat, soaking it in your spit and wrapping it in your warmth. You feel full, you feel good, you feel content. You let an idle hand drift between your legs, and your leggings are so thin and wet that you can rub yourself straight through them. You moan onto the cock filling your mouth, filling your throat, filling your mind, a steady, “Mmmm….mmmmm…..mmmm” as you bob up and down, strands of spit soaking your neck and your tits, lubricating your entire body for the cock that’s fucking the thoughts right out of your head.
No thoughts left, just a warm, wet ache that sends a warm, numb pleasure shivering through your entire body when you satisfy it by pushing your master’s warm, throbbing cock further and further down your warm, wet throat. A voice getting further and further away know that there’ll be no going back once you suck out all of his thick, warm cum. You can only let out a muffled moan onto the thick, warm cock throbbing and twitching between your lips, a moan that confirms that to be unable to go back is all you could hope for. “Nnnnghhhhh…..mmmmmm…..nnnnnggghh”