Sunday, May 9, 2010

“Strike, dear mistress…”

It had been quite awhile since Stella had any action from anything other than the vibrator Punk Mother gave her for Xmas. And while she didn’t see this as particularly tragic, Cannes and Clay began to feel really sorry for her. Especially upon realizing that their own coital activities were providing the soundtrack for Stella’s solitary fantasies.

At any rate, they decided she needed someone who would be more of a man than Jarvis ever could hope to be. So with that, it is my great pleasure to introduce a groovy new character to this story. Ladies & Gentlemen and anything in between, I give you….Dylan Martinelli.

Dylan Martinelli was a pastry chef who was contracted with the Bauhaus Café to keep the counter and the deli case stocked with all manner of carbohydrate-encrusted desserts; Biscotti, Scones, Muffins, Cookies, Cheesecakes, Blintzes, Abelskivers, Tortes, and Shortbreads. At first Cannes was adamantly opposed to hooking him up with Stella, but Clay assured her that Dylan could – upon request – easily conjure up some equally delectable sugar free low carb desserts for her. In fact, diabetes-friendly cuisine was his true specialty.

Y’see Dylan had been strongly encouraged by his mother to attend cooking school and pursue a career in catering. His mom and dad both have diabetes, and being proactive, she was determined to make diabetes management a family affair. And like Fergie Mum-Mum, she can be awfully demanding.

Luckily, she and Dylan were often on the same page.

It’s not always so with his father, tho. He often demanded the kind of food that would cause a spike in his blood sugar: Pizza, chow mein, double cheeseburgers and fries, bisquits and gravy, fried chicken and mashed potatoes, that sort of thing. These requests, which in a healthy person would not be too unreasonable in the least, were often met with the reminder of how very close he came to having his toes amputated, how fortunate he was not be dependent on a kidney dialysis unit, and how very lucky he was not to have dropped dead from heart failure like Tom Burke did at his brother’s wedding.

“That’s to say nothing of how lucky we are that you didn’t go bi-polar on us!” Dylan would point out as well.

“You’re such a mama’s boy, Dylan…you really are.” His father would often grumble.

At one point, Dylan got annoyed with Antonio Martinelli’s obstinate attitude, and shouted to his mother, “Hey Ma!”


“How is it that you and dad stayed together long enough to have conceived me, anyway?”

Regina, his “mama mia,” responded, “Is he giving you shit again?”

“He’s bent out of shape coz he wants pizza instead of having cioppino with the rest of us!”

“’Atsa his tough shit!”

“I had seafood for lunch, already!” Antonio retorted. “I had a fish and chips for my lunch break!”

“Too much fat for one day already! You wanna give yourself a heart attack? I’m not gonna drag you offa the floor; I’m a sick woman myself!”

“My point is I’ve had enough seafood for one day, y’understand? Enough!!” Antonio declared yet again with an air of finality.

“That may well be, papa,” Dylan retorted with his arms placed firmly on his hips. “But Mama would like seafood tonight, too, and so would I. And neither of us got to satisfy our seafood cravings. Anyway it wouldn’t kill you to have a little more. Therefore, we’re having cioppino tonight…end of discussion.”

With that Dylan folded his arms across his chest and with his nose pointed heavenwards, he headed back to the kitchen to prepare the family meal.

Now, as much as Dylan was willing to help his dear mama in her endeavors to keep the entire family healthy, he felt a little bit bad that it often ended up with him raising his voice and talking back to his father like that. Coz he really loves and respects his papa…at least enough to want to help postpone an untimely death a little while longer. This is perhaps why he doesn’t mind being the submissive to Stella’s dominatrix from time to time. Much more on that shortly.

This isn’t to say that he doesn’t have minor disagreements with his mom. Like the time when the three of them went to Tuscany for a family vacation.

“C’mon, take offa your shirt. Let some sunlight touch your bare skin for a change.”

“But ma…”

“You want the ladies to go blind, do you? Now off with the shirt already.” She said, pulling off his tank top. “You look like a fucking ghost.”

Then she saw the welts on his back.

“Dio mia! What is alla this onna you backside? Who did this to you??” Regina was aghast!

“Ma, it’s alright! I consent to this.”

“Consent? What are you talking about, Dylan?? Consent to this??? Consent to being flogged?!?!? Are you outta you mind, sonny?? Why in the name of all things sacred would you let anyone do this to you?? Is our family not dysfunctional enough for you???” Regina wailed.

“Look ma, I feel bad that I have to raise my voice to my father when all we’re trying to do is save his life. I deserve to be punished for such insolence, don’t you see?”

“That is sucha nonsense, my son! If your father wants to kill himself that bad, he can go and shoot himself. I will not have my son made an accessory to that!!” Regina retorted. “Antonio!!!”

Often Regina would follow that with a blue streak of Italian profanities, which I would love to write down for you but unfortunately, gentle reader, I don’t speak the language. Besides, I’m probably guilty of stereotyping the Italians – along with a few other nationalities in this book – as it is. My apologies to you all.

“Hey!! How’mi supposed to relax and enjoy myself with all this racket coming out of that black hole you call your mouth, woman!!!” Antonio shouted.

“Papa!!! Now that was rude!!” Dylan shouted back. He hated talking back to him like that, but dammit, that was rude!!

Regina wasn’t paying any notice. “Do you see this? Do you see what you drive our son to do? Our own flesh and blood, Antonio!!! Look how scarred up he is. He goes to the whores and pays them to flog him!!!”

“Oho! So that’s what you’re into, eh?” Antonio chuckled and smacked Dylan hard on his bare back with the palm of his hand…affectionately, but hard!!!

“Yeeeouch!” Dylan screeched.

“You should’ve told me sooner about this. I’d be happy to give you a good sound thrashing for free. Save you from squandering your money on those whores of yours.”

“Antonio, No! I will not stand for that…” Regina began, and the parents would get into some ridiculous Italian shouting match. Dylan, on that note, grabbed his surfboard and made his escape to hit the waves.

“T’chuh! I suppose he’ll tell us he’s gay, next!” his father muttered to himself in amusement.

Dylan’s bi-curious, actually, but that’s beside the point. His family is crazy!!!

Holy Shit!!

Well, anyway it turns out that Dylan has had his eye on Stella for some time, and wanted one day to go out with her in the hopes that the two of them would really hit it off, and that maybe he could turn her on to some things. So this was as much a favor to him as it was to Stella that Clay would hook them up.

It was obvious even to Clay that Dylan was a card carrying S&M, B&D enthusiast. I don’t need to tell you that this entails the use of whips and chains, ball gags and hot wax, feather dusters and paddles, handcuffs and rubber suits, dominatrixes and submissives, verbal abuse and safety words…and on occasion duct tape. In some extreme cases even wire hangers were used copiously. All of this activity would take place in dungeon like rooms usually painted black, red and purple inside.

Dylan would participate freely in this activity, usually playing the submissive to the dominatrixes whose services he employed on his time off. In time the mistresses came to trust Dylan. Whenever anyone was interested in learning the fine art of meting out punishment to a deserving worm, Dylan got the additional treat of acting as a teacher’s assistant – or teacher’s pet if you must. And he would accept any punishment that the mistresses would dish out in the great name of atonement for pleasure. And there would even be times when Dylan played the cruel master and dole out some kind of punishment himself to some “filthy whore” who would declare her unworthiness.

In any case, as he did make regular deliveries of his baked goods to The Bauhaus Coffeehouse, it would be no problem getting the two of them together. All he needed was the nerve to ask her out on a date and for her to say yes. That was not the easiest thing for one who in the world of normality was quite shy and reserved.

With encouragement from Clay, Dylan did ask Stella for her cell phone number during a night when she and Kent shared the night shift as usual. To his good fortune, Stella – finding Kent to be particularly obnoxious in his attempt to be Mr. funny guy – (He tries too hard, Mary!) gladly agreed to his request and they exchanged numbers. She hoped he’d be the one.

Stella’s idea of a good night out was often a dinner first – which gave her a chance to settle her glucose levels. First she’d take a shot of insulin, usually as soon as the meal was brought to her so that she wouldn’t immediately have a reaction. Usually she’d excuse herself to the ladies room to medicate, but then Dylan pointed out that since her medication is legally prescribed she shouldn’t have to closet herself in the toilet like a junkie.

As much as Stella would’ve preferred the privacy, she was thoroughly enjoying Dylan’s company. So she filled her syringe and gave herself a shot.

Dylan and Stella were at the Naked Lunch café. The two of them were seated at a booth, Stella was enjoying a chicken caesar’s salad with roasted free range chicken and Dylan had a buffalo burger. And between them split a basket of homemade baked whole wheat pita chips dipped in hummus. The two of them began talking.

“I imagine people made fun of your name a lot when you were in school.” Dylan commented.

“What do you mean? Like did I get peeps in my grill all yelling ‘Hey, Stellaaaa!!’ like Marlon Brando did in the movies?” Stella chuckled. “I got that a lot. I thought it was funny!”

“Well, I meant your last name; Yossarian. I bet you got called ‘Yo-Yo’ a lot, dincha.”

“Yeah,” Stella replied between mouthfuls of salad. “I got ‘Yo-Yo’ too. I thought it was because I was a Yossarian at first. But then after the doctor put me on insulin and then had all these glucose swings, I think the kids noticed that and started calling me ‘Yo-Yo’ instead of going ‘Hey Stella!’ So now I’m not sure anymore whether it’s from my last name or the effects that these fluctuations were having on my emotional state. Always going from being highly irate over the pettiest crap one minute to que-sera-sera the next.

“I am part Armenian, with some cherokee – coz granddad on my dad’s side married a cherokee woman. And the rest of me is scotch-irish from my mom’s side of the family. So I’m quite the mongrel.”

“So obviously you’re no relation to that Yossarian guy in Catch 22, then.” Dylan observed.

“Why would I be related to a fictional character?”

“And what would be wrong with that? I think that’d be pretty cool.”

“I don’t mean to imply anything wrong with it. I’m just not, that’s all. All I really know is that granddad was a drill instructor in the Marines. And there was a lot of animosity between my dad and his dad until the day he died.

“He had a stroke that put him in a coma, and Dad visited him in the hospital. He told me how hard he fought to keep from losing control emotionally, from screaming every dirty name in the book and telling him he hoped he’d burn in Hell for all eternity. But his mom Joleen was right beside him, warning him that the spirits of unconscious people, like those of the dead, can hear every word. And so if you don’t speak ill of the dead, she believed, then the dead won’t speak ill of you to God.”

“Interesting.” Dylan was wide eyed.

“Dad realized that grampa was gonna die, so he didn’t say anything. He started crying. It was just such an overwhelming mix of pent-up emotions that needed release somehow. That was the only way he could get it out of his system with his Mom by his side. Anyway, as much as Dad wanted to tell him off right then and there, with no threat of physical repercussions coming to him, he’s glad he kept his filter on and didn’t screw up his karma that way.”

Dylan reached for another pita chip, and dipping it into the hummus, could only say, “Well, it’s not really fair to kick a man when he’s down anyway. That would’ve been cowardly and mean, to say the least.”

“Dad may be a bad-ass, but he’s not at all into stopping beneath anyone’s level in the great name of bad-ass-dom. If he ever tells you off, it would be because you deserve it…just as a fair warning to you, Dylan. And even then it only reminds him of how much he and granddad have in common.”

The two of them sat in silence, eating some more. Then to lighten the mood, Dylan returned to his original subject.

“So now did Cannes get called ‘Yo-Yo’ as well?. I mean, they must’ve teased her about her name and the fact that you two are sisters.”

“Not for very long. Cannes was such a bully. My ex-lover called her ‘Candy-Yo’ once…and only once. She’s not one you want to mess with. Did Clay ever tell you about the time that she raped Jarvis?”

Dylan nearly choked on his burger. “Are you kidding me right now???”

“You’re gonna love this. At first, he tried to rape her! Jarvis had her cornered behind the dumpsters at Magmaville High School, and he had a knife at her temple. Anyway, she saw the blade flash in the corner of her eye, and realized that Jarvis wanted her to be paralyzed by fear so that he could bully her around. He wanted to punish her for always interfering every time he tried to bully my granola bar away from me. So she played the terrified victim card and let him have the upper hand…only for the moment.

“Soon she began to pretend that she was hella turned on, and started stroking him. And then he got so into the moment that he didn’t realize when he dropped the knife and she picked it up…until after she snatched it and then shoved him off of her!

“She held the knife to his package and pounced on him, and then began to rape him!!! She said he was in tears, he was so humiliated. I think it messed him up real bad, because he started drinking heavily after that. He didn’t get any sympathy from the rest of us, either. He shouldn’t’ve messed with her in the first place.”

After dinner the two of them caught a movie. Stella and Dylan went to The Magmaville Multiplex Cinema to see Black Snake Moan. Both were grateful that neither one of them were into those cutesy chick flicks anyway.

Then they went to The Bauhaus Café for some dancing and a night cap. As an employee, it was no big deal for her to do her test at the table, before she and Dylan hit the dance floor to move to their favorite gothic tunes. She really wanted for Kent to see the two of them together…just to piss Kent off (coz he’s been trying to seduce her, without success). Well, he was pissed off all right, mostly at Clay for having hooked the two of them up in the first place. So he was giving Clay major attitude, which only served to make him feel that he did Stella a huge favor.

Then they drove over to his place.

Stella didn’t consider herself to be the type to put out on a first date, but it had been awhile since the last time she had any physical contact with another human being apart from friendship hugs. Dylan was attractive enough to really turn her on, and she secretly hoped she’d get very lucky tonight.

Then he said to her, as he wrote a very short note to her, “If this freaks you out, I’ll understand…completely.” Stella braced herself, all kinds of thoughts running through her mind in a split second. Maybe the night didn’t go as well as she thought…maybe he was a psychopath and her greatest fear – being raped at knifepoint – would come true right now…or maybe he was actually gay and needed a female best friend. Who knows?

He handed her the note. She unfolded it and read, “Strike, dear mistress…”

“…And cure his heart.” Stella finished the verse. “So you’re a huge fan of the Velvet Underground, too!” She added with a sly smile. She was instantly intrigued. She was already aroused. She’d fantasized about doing those kinds of things, especially to Jarvis and Kent.

“This I gotta see.”

With that the two of them went inside.

Dylan found himself deriving inspiration from the fact that both his parents had diabetes when he created some of the games he had in mind for Stella. “First things first. Have you been a really been a good girl all day long?” He had a way of getting in a blood glucose reading before the games began.

“I have, actually, been very good.”

“Have you been fine and dandy?”

“Just like sugar candy.” She replied seductively.

“A likely story. Well, we’ll just see won’t we.” With that he ushered her to his bedroom. He had two pairs of handcuffs, one attached to each post. He cuffed her to the bedposts, and satisfied that she was going nowhere, he went into the bathroom to fetch the spare glucose meter he nicked from his parents’ bedroom.

It wasn’t long before the lancet was loaded and the strip was fed to the meter. Dylan set the lancet setting to 5, the longest setting, and pressed the tip of it against her left index finger. And with a push of the release button, Stella emitted a high pitched grunt through her teeth in agony. Sometimes those tiny lancets hurt and sometimes she doesn’t notice any pain at all. This time it really hurt. “I’m sure he got a kick out of that one,” She thought.

He squeezed a tiny drop of blood out of the wound and set the tip of the strip on the top to soak it up. That got a reading of 106. Dylan decided not to punish her this time, after all this was their first date, but felt she could do with a slight boost.

A Mars bar to be exact…

He started by unwrapping one end, exposing about half of it. That end he proceeded to press against the skin of her breasts. And then when the chocolate coating started to melt onto her skin, he would draw chocolate spirals and circles on her breasts, spiralling in on her nipples, coating them. He would then move the candy bar away from her body and begin to lick the spirals off her body until he ended up licking her ample breasts like they were ice cream cones. If there was one thing that really turned Stella on, it’s the feel of warm human breath and a soft, wet tongue caressing her skin. And she’d desperately want to reach for the back of his head to press him closer to her. But her wrists were cuffed to the bedposts, so she couldn’t do that much less reach down to her pubes – I just love the word pubes, it’s sooo erotic! >:-D – in response to the increasing arousal she felt there.

Dylan would then cease his tongue caresses and began to unwrap the rest of the Mars bar, offering her the end he painted her body with. She took a bite out of it, and when she finished chewing that first mouthful, she put her mouth around the end she bit and simulated fellatio with it. When she had that end secured in her mouth, Dylan took a bite off the other end, finish his mouthful, and proceed to simulate fellatio on his end. From then on the two of them alternated between eating and giving the mars bar a blow job until there was nothing left of it save for what was in their mouths. As the two of them fed off the candy bar, Dylan’s hand moved down her body all the way to her pubic mound. And then his capable fingers would fondle and caress the curls covering her flooding snatch. She could only squirm as his gentle touch.

He’d feel his own arousal increasing throughout all of this, so that by the time Stella’s own tulmultuous, aching desire became too much for her, he would be sooo ready to just dive in the minute Stella started pleading, “Please Dylan fuck me pleasepleaseplease fuck me please…”

You know how this is gonna end up, with his cock diving in and out of her, and the two of them gyrating madly and desperately…hoping their dams wouldn’t burst too soon.

After the two of them had climaxed, he decided to take her home. Upon their arrival, Stella decided it was his turn to be punished for being the kind of naughty boy he was.

In other words, she was hungry for more.

She let Dylan up to the attic where she slept, and after sharing a very passionate kiss with him, pushed him backwards onto the bed. Somehow she found a bit of rope with which she tied his wrists to the bedposts. Then she went to the bathroom to run yet another glucose check. The results were a level of 85, not really all that dangerous, but it should be attended to nevertheless.

So she went to the kitchen and grabbed a plastic bear shaped honey container. This she brought back upstairs and proceeded to open Dylan’s shirt and pants. Then she squeezed the container of honey and drizzled it all over Dylan’s body from his neck to the very bottom of his belly. Once she felt there was a sufficient amount of honey all over him, she proceeded to lick every last drop off of his body. She started slowly at his neck and then gradually made her way down his chest, lapping all that sticky sweetness off of his nipples and his belly. Lower and lower she maneauvered her tongue until she reached the very top of his pubic line, just stopping before she reached the area where his curls have sprouted.

That just drove Dylan crazy…by then he hoped that she’d take his throbbing, aching cock inside of her mouth.

And maybe she would, and maybe she wouldn’t

Coz sometimes it takes more than honey to get Stella as high as she needs to be. >:-D

Of course Stella met with Dylan again…and she had a new thing she wanted to try out.

She’s been a huge fan of the movie Henry & June. She was particularly turned on by the moment when Fred Ward and Maria de Medeiros, who played Henry Miller and Anaïs Nin, acted out a scene where the two authors made love standing up under some random bridge in Paris. Stella loved that kind of “frenchiness.” She wanted to recreate that kind of scenario. She could never do that with Jarvis at all. She hoped she could try it out with Dylan. He seemed kinky enough.

He met her at the Bauhaus Café at the end of her shift. Kent’s nose was still bent out of shape over the two of them being together, but he tried not to show it. Instead, he harrassed some random customer over bandwidth usage on one of the computers. Dylan could only shake his head at the sight of him making a complete arse of himself.

“Beh, this is just typical of him. He’s always been a huge control freak. Punk Mother told me once, ‘Well, that’s a Virgo for you.”

“Oy God…” Dylan rolled his eyes upwards. “An uber-virgo. That’s all anyone needs, yet another hyper-corrective anal clamp!” Stella busted up laughing at the last couple of words; anal clamp. Only a bondage enthusiast could conjure up that one.

“That’s hilarious!” she thought.

“As if the world ain’t replete with such monsters already!! C’mon, m’dear…let’s bugger off!”

The two of them only yards from her place when Stella began to make her move. She had Dylan pinned against the vine-covered brick wall that marked the boundaries of her home. With that she wrapped her left leg around his right leg. She gently declared into his right ear, “Just so you know, I like regular fucking too.”

On that note she kissed him hard, her tongue caressing his. She was wearing a red velvet midi-skirt under her red, white, and black paisley patterned camisole tank top. The garter belt she wore underneath her skirt held up her black fishnet stockings. Beyond that she wore little else.

“For someone who just told me she likes regular sex, the location you chose is highly irregular.”
Dylan commented between kisses.

“Hmmm, I know; that’s the point.” Stella replied. And then she resumed kissing him. Her hands groped around his toned body, running up both sides of his back and his buttocks. He returned the caresses. This went on for almost what seemed like forever, until the churning and tingling in their groins became too much to bear. She then reached her left hand down to touch her bare pubes, to run her fingers through that soft nest of tiny curls and … Oh God, she was soooo ready. She reached for his fly and opened it. Dylan just stood there and enjoyed it, letting her get her dirrrty little hands on his swollen cock and savored every stroke. He could tell by the way she wriggled her hips that she was getting real desperate to straddle him. So he boosted her up by her buttocks and felt himself slide inside her very easily…

It felt good to fuck Stella. No wonder Kent was bent out of shape. For that matter, no wonder Jarvis didn’t want to let go of her…

After awhile, Richard Yossarian was just arriving home when he caught the two of them going at it against the brick wall. As he slowly passed by on his Harley, he bellowed, “For Fuck’s Sake, you two!!! Get inside the house before someone videotapes you and uploads it to YouTube!”

Clearly the two of them were becoming an item in this town, so much so that many of the denizens of Magmaville felt that Cannes and Clay were slipping as the it couple and needed to step up their game.

But that didn’t matter to Stella and Dylan, really.

Now, due to having to play the caretaker and personal chef to both his parents, Dylan has somehow gotten into the habit of carrying a fully stocked glucose meter kit everywhere he goes. He knows too many people with one type of diabetes or another.

And he knows how to use it

One particularly gloomy day, he took Stella on a Xmas shopping spree. After all, even if they end up purchasing absolutely nothing at all, he figured that all the grokking on the yuletide glam would at least lift his own spirits.

“Coz that’s what the true spirit of christmas was all about, really.” He thought to himself. “All about the glitter and the glam.”

Anyway, the two of them must’ve been browsing through the shops for at least a couple of hours…at least…trying to find something to purchase for some of their friends. But nothing seemed to say “yes” to either one of them at all. This reality seemed to add to Stella’s depression. But then again, knowing Stella’s medical history, it was possible that hypoglycemia was very slowly sneaking up on her. In any case it was evident that she could feel a mild yet persistent feeling of discomfort in her brain – a very dull pain. It wasn’t so severe that she could easily assume it to be a slow descent into low blood sugar hell, but it did feel pretty lousy.

Dylan was a lot like Milo in that he could also spot a potential hypoglycemic episode a mile away. Of course one of the subconscious signals Stella was sending – her left hand covering one eye in an effort to ward off whatever discomfort she felt in her head – was a dead giveaway. So he led her out of the shop they were browsing in to a nearby sidewalk bench.

“You look like you might be in dire need of a huge piece of fruit right about now.” He said as he prepared the lancer and meter for a glucose test.

“That’s awfully presumptuous of you, Dylan, I must say.” Stella grumbled as she cradled her forehead in her palm of her right hand.

“Oh…is it?” Dylan retorted, arcing one eyebrow and casting a sideways glance at her. “We’ll just see about that, won’t we my dear.” He was ready to test her, the strip in the meter and everything. “Now then…let’s have it. Give me your finger, sister!”

She gave him the finger all right. lol (^)

Dylan rolled his eyes. “Fine, be that way, then!” After all, it didn’t matter at this point which finger got the jab. He wasted no time lancing that finger. With a press of the release button, the lancet gave Stella a good sharp jab in the fingertip. “Serves her right for her attitude.” Dylan thought as she let out a quiet yelp in pain. A small drop of blood was fed to the strip in his trusty meter. In 5 seconds he got a reading of 69.

“Oh honey…” he remarked as he showed her the reading. “Your blood has the dirrtiest mind yet!!” With that he wasted no time shoving about 3 grape flavored glucose tablets into her mouth. Enough to tide her over for a little bit till they got to The Naked Lunch café…which was the closest café they could get to from where they were at the moment.

By Stella’s calculations it must have been at least 5 hours since she and Dylan had eaten anything. The glucose tablets helped a little bit, but there was quite a line inside the Naked Lunch Café, which would only add to the wait for the next meal. There’d been a slow and gradual drop in her blood stream, which doesn’t really feel quite like desperate measures needed to be taken immediately…


“Hey Dylan, have you ever felt so damned ravenous that it gives you a hard-on (Stella loves asking such blunt questions like that in public; it’s a bit of a turn-on) or gets you really desperately horny?”

Dylan understood exactly what Stella was talking about. “The ole hunger boner.” He murmured to answer her question. He felt one coming on pretty quick himself, in fact.

Stella was starving!! She needed to eat so badly her cunt stung and was practically weeping. One bite of anything would make her cum on the spot, she just knew it.

Learning this, Dylan – being the S&M enthusiast he was – made a mental note to hold off getting a meal for the two of them as often as it was safe to. He had to admit for all the discomfort he felt in his belly and his groin, he does get off on being aroused in that way, and suspected that Stella kinda did a little bit too. And with that came the increased likelihood of indulging in a good, long, luxuriously wet boffing once the two of them were finished wining and dining.

God, he was looking forward to it.

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