Page 310 of Devil’s Disciples

“You’d get sick of me,” I replied.

She swung her hand toward me in a joking manner. I flinched, and when I did, her hand smacked me dead in the nuts.

I folded up like a cheap suit as pain shot from my groin to my stomach. I writhed in pain from side-to-side, eventually coming to a rest with my eyes fixed on hers.

“Son-of-a-bitch,” I howled.

“I’m so F-ing sorry,” she huffed. “Oh my God.”

She nodded toward my crotch, which was currently being protected by my hands. “Get your dick out, please. I want to apologize to him.”

“He’s broken.”

“I want to fix him.”

With slight reluctance, I pushed my shorts past my knees, exposing my shriveled, and very sore, manhood.

She looked at my shorts and let out a sigh. “Toss ‘em on the floor.”

I grinned. “Sure thing, sweetheart.”

I did as she asked and tossed my shorts beside the bed. After fluffing her pillow, she lowered herself onto her back. Then, with her eyes fixed on the television, she blindly searched for my cock until she found it.

She gripped it lightly. A slow, predictable stroke followed. In seconds, I’d recovered fully from the nut-punch, and was as hard as the diamond ring that remained in the left front pocket of my jeans.

I studied her as she stroked my rigid shaft. Her eyes were fixed on the television, squinted into a smile. A slight grin gave hint to the satisfaction she obtained from either what she was watching or what she was doing.

Abby lived her life without excuses. She didn’t need them. She was an old soul with the heart of a princess and the imagination of a budding teen. I’d always seen beauty as something that masked one’s faults.

Part of Abby’s beauty was that she didn’t conceal her faults. She handed them to me on a silver platter, giving me the freedom to inspect them thoroughly. Knowing Abby allowed me to accept her for who she truly was. I respected her for being genuine, and true to herself.

For several moments’ time, I admired her as she lay at my side, smiling. Meeting her had changed my life completely. We now had an open book ahead of us, limited by nothing more than our imaginations and the sixty years of time we were sure to spend together.

While she continued to slowly stroke me while she was focused on the television, I reached over the edge of the bed and fumbled to find my jeans. It was the perfect time for me to propose. Later, when we were asked when and where the proposal came, we wouldn’t be able to tell the truth.

We’d have to make up something, all the while knowing when and where it really happened. It would be the imperfect proposal for two imperfectly perfect people.

My jeans were six inches out of my reach. I stretched as far as I could, nearly reaching them, only to have Abby respond by yanking on my root and reminding me of my obligations.

“What the F are you doing?” she asked.

“I was--”

“You’re not going anywhere,” she whispered. “Relax. I want to ride my little friend and show him how much I love him.”

We embraced in a passionate kiss. Kissing Abby took my mind to a place where only we existed, and it was there that we remained until long after the kissing stopped.

When our mouths parted, she looked at me and smiled. “I’m going to climb you like a tree, ” she said in a playfully sultry voice.

I found the remark out of context. “I’m flat on my back,” I argued. “You’re not going to climb--”

“Fine,” she snapped. “I’ll ride you like a pony.”

“Horse,” I said. “I’m not a pony, I’m a horse.”

“Pogo stick.” She straddled me and glanced over her shoulder. “I’m going to ride this dick like a pogo stick.”

With her back facing me, she positioned herself over my rigid shaft. After a few test runs of grinding her wet mound all over the tip, I was ready to explode. I placed my hand on the small of her back, gripping her lightly as she slowly guided me into her.