Lake House Rules: Edge Before You Cum

I had the cabin quiet and the lake black-green beyond the dock when Desmond’s tires found the gravel. Forty-two, two years divorced, running an interior-design firm that finally paid me in vacations instead of panic, and I was wet before he killed the engine.

He was twenty-two. Fresh diploma. Former neighbor. The wanting had not started while he was a boy. I had been strict with myself about that. It started the August he turned eighteen, home between orientation and his first semester, suddenly broad through the shoulders, laughing in the driveway with a duffel on his back. I looked over the fence and my cunt clenched. Four years of polite waves after that. Four years of locking my office door and coming with his name bitten into my wrist.

He stepped out in a faded T-shirt and shorts, sun on the line of his throat. “Petra. Damn. A whole lake and nobody for miles.”

“That’s the point,” I said. “Come here.”

The navy bikini cut high on my hips and did almost nothing for my tits. I’m a voluptuous blonde. I stopped apologizing years ago for the weight of my breasts and the soft curve of my stomach. Desmond stared. His eyes stuck on the crease under my breasts and the swell of my ass when I turned and let him have it.

“You’re staring,” I said, teasing.

Color climbed his throat. “Yeah. I’ve wanted you since I was eighteen. That summer. I never said it. You were married, then you weren’t, and I was gone at college. I figured you’d laugh me off the property.”

“I wouldn’t have laughed.” I stepped in until my nipples nearly brushed his shirt. “Same clock. Since you were eighteen and a man in the yard next door. I invited you because I was done swallowing it. House rule, Desmond. You don’t get to come until you’ve edged for me first. You can look. You can ache. You can beg. That cock stays full until I say otherwise.”

“I understand,” he said, wrecked already. “I want that. I want you. All weekend. Whatever you want.”

“Good.” I kissed the corner of his mouth and felt him shake. “Bag inside. We don’t rush tonight. I want you ruined by tomorrow.”

Morning came hot and bright. I walked out in a white cover-up that wasn’t buttoned, bikini top tied loose, and found him already in the water, trying to swim the ache out of his body. It wasn’t working. I could see it in the way he wouldn’t quite look at me until I made him.

“Out,” I said. “Towel. Sit.”

He hauled himself onto the dock, water streaming off a chest that had filled out at college, cock half-hard in his trunks and not hiding it. I sat on the lounge beside him and dragged one nail down his sternum, slow, proprietary. “You slept?”

“Barely.”

“Good. Stroke yourself. Slow. Over the fabric first. Don’t you dare finish.”

His hand went to himself like he’d been waiting for the order. I watched the shape of him thicken under his palm and felt my own pulse kick between my legs. I leaned in, mouth at his ear, and kept my voice filthy and even. “That’s it. Just the head. Squeeze. I want to see how much you leak for a woman who knows exactly what she’s doing to you.”

“Petra.”

“Slower.” I let the cover-up slip off one shoulder. A strap followed, deliberate, so one heavy breast swayed free, nipple tight in the sun. His hand stuttered. “Eyes on me. Keep going. If you speed up, I stop you and we start over.”

We swam after that, if you could call it swimming. In the shallows I pressed my ass into his lap and rolled once, just enough to feel him jump against me, then slipped away laughing when he grabbed for my hips. On the lounge I lay on my stomach and untied the top so my back was bare. When he oiled my shoulders his fingers shook so hard he spilled it. I made him do my thighs. I made him stop at the edge of the bikini and sit there breathing like he’d run.

“Say what you want,” I told him, low.

“I want to fuck you,” he said. “I want to come in you. I’ve wanted it since I was eighteen and I’m losing my mind.”

“Not yet.” I kissed his jaw, filthy and brief. “Hands on the wood. Don’t touch your cock until I say.”

By midafternoon he was flushed and glassy. I had him in the shade of the deck, trunks shoved down, cock in his fist, thick and flushed dark, a bead of precome shining at the slit. “Slow strokes,” I said. “Count them. Twenty. Then stop. Hands off.”

He counted. His voice broke on fourteen. On twenty he froze, fist tight at the base, hips twitching, a wrecked sound tearing out of him. I watched his balls draw up and made him wait until the almost passed.

“Please,” he said. “Petra, please, I’ve been good, I need—”

“Beg better than that.”

“Please let me come. Or touch me. Fuck, I’ll do anything. I can’t think. Please.”

I went to my knees on the warm boards between his feet. The confession came out easy, because it was true and because his cock was right there, pretty and leaking for me. “I’ve wanted this cock for years,” I said, looking up so he could see I meant it. “Since you were eighteen. Since you became a man I was allowed to want. I used to imagine getting on my knees while you were home from college and swallowing you until you cried. So beg again. Then I’ll taste you. You still don’t get to come.”

“Please taste me,” he rasped. “Please, Petra. I’m begging.”

I took the head into my mouth and sucked once, slow, salty, then pulled off while he swore. “Deck,” I said. “On your back. I’m not done tormenting you, and I want this where the sun can see it.”

He stretched out on the wide boards, chest heaving, cock standing flushed and wet against his stomach. I shucked the bikini and stood over him a second so he could look. Forty-two, soft in the places I like, tits heavy, cunt already slick down my thighs from a day of denying us both. His eyes went wide and hungry. I turned, straddled his hips facing the lake, and reached back to line him up.

“Inside,” I said. “But you hold it. You feel me and you do not come.”

I sank down in one long glide and the stretch punched a sound out of both of us. He was thick, hot, young in the way that made my cunt flutter and grip. Reverse, I could brace my hands on his thighs and ride him at the pace I wanted, ass spread for the open air, lake wind cooling the sweat on my back. I took him deep and stayed there, circling my hips, letting him throb.

“Don’t move,” I warned. “If you thrust, I get off and you watch me finish alone.”

“I’m trying,” he gritted. “You feel—fuck, Petra, you’re so wet.”

“I know.” I lifted until only the head stayed in, then dropped, slow, mean, again and again. Every time his hips jumped I stopped and clenched around him until he whimpered. Edging him from the inside was better than I’d pictured. I could feel the moment he got close, the way he swelled, the helpless pulse. I’d freeze, reach down, and squeeze the base of him while I stayed stuffed full, talking him back from it.

“Not yet. Breathe. Good boy. Stay hard for me. That’s all you get to be right now. A hard cock I use.”

“Yes. God. Yes.”

I rode him like that until my own thighs shook, grinding my clit against nothing but the angle, taking my pleasure in shallow rolls that kept him right on the knife. Precome and my slick made a wet sound every time I sank. He was babbling, hands fisted at his sides because I’d told him not to grab. When I felt him crest again I pulled off entirely, and the loss dragged a broken shout out of him. His cock slapped his stomach, shining, angry-red, twitching in the air.

I turned, crawled up his body, and took him into my mouth as deep as I could. Deepthroat has always been a point of pride. I relaxed, swallowed, and let him bump the back of my throat, then further, nose against the heat of him, spit slicking my chin. He shouted my name. I bobbed slow, filthy, one hand rolling his balls, the other pinning his hip so he couldn’t fuck up into me and finish. He tasted like me and like need. I pulled off to gasp, strings of spit connecting my lips to his cock, then went down again until my eyes watered and he was shaking apart under my palms.

“Petra—I’m gonna—stop, I’m right there, I can’t—”

I came off with a wet pop and squeezed him hard at the root. He arched, a stripe of precome pulsing out over my fingers, not quite the real thing, ruined and panting and still desperately hard. “Almost,” I said, hoarse. “Not quite. Look at you. Desperate little thing. Years of wanting and you still come only when I allow it.”

“Please,” he sobbed. “Please, I need your cunt, I need to come, I’ll do anything.”

“You’ll lick me first.”

I swung a leg over his head and settled my soaked pussy on his mouth. He groaned into me like a man starved. I ground down, unashamed, smearing myself over his tongue, his nose, his chin. “Flatten it. Yes. Right there. Suck my clit. I’ve been dripping for you since you stared at this bikini, and you’re going to clean up what you caused.”

He obeyed like worship. Tongue broad, then pointed, then sucking, hands finally allowed up to grip my ass and pull me harder onto his face. I rode his mouth without mercy, tits bouncing, one hand in his hair, the other braced on the deck. The lake glittered. Somewhere a bird called. None of it mattered next to the hot slide of his tongue and the way he moaned every time I clenched. I came like that, sudden and bright, flooding his mouth, grinding through it while he drank me and didn’t stop until I twitched and shoved his forehead back.

“Enough,” I gasped. “Enough. On your back. Stay.”

I crawled down his body and lay under him, pulling him over me. Missionary, simple, filthy, exactly what I wanted for the end of the rule. I hooked my legs around his waist and locked my ankles at the small of his back. His cock nudged my entrance, soaked from my mouth and my cunt, and I looked him in the eye.

“Now you fuck me. Hard. You’ve edged enough. I want you to fill me. Don’t pull out. Come inside me while I come on your cock. That’s the rule breaking. That’s your reward.”

“Yes,” he said, and drove in.

The first thrust punched the air out of me. He was past careful, past polite, fucking me the way four years of not-touching demanded. Deep, heavy, the slap of his hips against my ass loud on the open deck. I clung to him, nails in his shoulders, legs tight, taking every inch and demanding more. “Harder. Don’t you dare slow down. Fill me. I want to feel it. I want you dripping out of me on this dock.”

“Petra—fuck—I’m—”

“Do it. Come with me. Now.”

I tipped over as he slammed deep and stayed there. My cunt seized around him in hard, milking pulses, and he broke with a raw shout, flooding me in hot spurts I felt all the way up. We shook together, sweaty, stuck, his forehead against mine, my heels digging into his back to keep him buried while he emptied himself. I kept coming in smaller waves, clenching on every throb, greedy for all of it, whispering filth into his mouth until the last jerk left him trembling and spent inside me.

We stayed locked a moment, breathing wrecked, his weight sweet and heavy, my legs still wrapped because I wasn’t ready to let the fullness go.

When I could move I eased my ankles free and let him slip out, a warm spill following. I didn’t go far. I curled against his chest on the dock, ear over his heartbeat, the sun mild on my bare back. The weekend had only begun, and my body knew it. I traced lazy circles on the sweat-damp plane of his abs and felt his cock give a tired twitch against my thigh.

“Listen,” I purred, already smiling. “New rule for the morning. You wake me by licking me until I come. Every morning we’re here. You don’t get to fuck me again until you’ve done it. Nod if you understand.”

His hand spread over my ass, possessive, sure. “I understand,” he said, voice hoarse and happy. “I’ll wake you with my mouth. Then I’ll fuck you however you want.”

“Good boy,” I murmured, and closed my eyes against his skin while the lake lapped the pilings and the ache in me started, sweetly, all over again.