“Honey, it’s time.”

I’m sunken so fast into the screen in front of me that I barely hear her. At the back of my mind is a reminder that this is important, that she has something to impart to me. My eye picks her up, a flicker of movement at the corner of my vision. I tell her that I can turn my attention to her in just a moment.

A glance was all she needed, and now she has me. I see a mosaic of little details—the skin of her waist and thighs, the light sheen of her lingerie. The shape and curve of her hip, braced by an arm on one side in a gesture of mock patience. She wants me to see her like this, she knows that I want her like this. And I forget whatever it was that had me focused at my laptop just a moment ago.

She smiles, her teeth sparkling in the dimming light of the afternoon.

“It’s your birthday. Don’t you remember?”

Her hand is held out to me. Trepidation rises in my throat, and I idly wonder if I’ve gone still. I sit there, my eyes no doubt widening in the face of this vision in front of me. And still, she smiles.

A lungful of air comes to me, not sudden, not forced. I haven’t stopped breathing, I’ve just… forgot. And now she laughs, takes my hand in hers and helps me stand on shaking legs. She’s taking me somewhere, I remember. To the shower, was it? Or maybe she’s leading me to the bedroom. Does it matter? I’d follow her anywhere. My thoughts are adrift, and while I struggle for purchase, she leads me to the couch.

What are we doing here? I ask myself, my words trapped behind a limp tongue. The answer makes its way up to the forefront of my mind, but to me, it’s still a dark shape rising out of the depths, growing bigger with each passing second. I can make out its features now, and I feel the room around me darken as the realization draws ever closer.

She takes a seat on the couch, near the center. I hear her tell me through ringing ears that she wants me to take my clothes off. The light returns, and my eyes rest again on her, the suggestive glint in her eye and the lush promise of her breasts beckoning me as she leans in to meet my gaze.

I obey without thought, shucking off socks, shirt and pants. She stops me here. My briefs form the fine line between a man barely dressed and the naked male. The thin trousers are pulled taught, straining under my urge. I want her, now, this instant. She has taken me to this point, I leave it in her hands to take me over, those hands that now creep beneath tight elastic, those fingers that with wily mischief scratch my sides ever so lightly, take their grip and pull slowly downward.

A bead of liquid rests suspended at the end of my manhood. Waiting for what happens next. Waiting for her.

She looks up toward me, expecting. There’s something I’m supposed to be doing, but a wave of lust flows over me, scattering what I should be remembering, what I should be doing…

And from that, the dark shape takes from. And I remember.

I stand at the precipice, and she waits for me below. I take a breath and let go.

She catches me and guides me as I descend, laying me across her lap. Her thin hands caress my swollen ardour, guiding me into an embrace between her thighs. This unfamiliar intimacy in such a strange position warms me, and I’m suddenly consumed by the fear that I’ll come and this adventure will end, abruptly and messily. But it doesn’t, and I lay across her, fidgeting helplessly with an itch I don’t dare try to scratch.

She asks me if I’m ready. Between my teeth, I strain out the spit that dampens my words and tell her that I am.  My eyes clench shut.

Seconds pass. The air is still. Though I can feel the warmth of her legs cushioning me, she sits unmoving. Curiosity betrays me. I dare to open one eye and slowly turn my head.

She chooses that moment to strike. I barely feel the flat of her palm on my backside, the sensation drowned out by its suddenness and noise. The single crisp smack echoes off the nearby wall, leaving its mark in the air like a signature – like a handprint.

It takes another second before I feel it, a burst of heat absorbed into my skin. As if I brushed up against an oven. It lingers only for a moment, and is made dull in its disappearance.

She sits above me, judging my reaction. “You like that?” she asks.

I nod my verdict, and she completes the sentence. She brings her hand back up and crashes it down. I have the space of a blink to wonder where she’ll come down now and then it’s too late, I flinch as her palm finds its target with another blast of sound. A moan escapes the wall of noise, is that me?

I don’t have the time or concentration to wonder, as she comes back for another strike, and another. The burn they leave in my glutes has no time to dissipate, and joins together with its siblings.

I’d been steeling myself for the expected pain, but I’d reckoned without knowing how it felt as my skin was roasted and reddened – a bee sting, a sunburn in time-lapse, all behind the casual force of my lover’s hard hand. The heat flows out, coursing into my loins, and I’m squirming in her lap. If she imagines for a second that it’s agony that makes me wiggle and clench, then that notion is washed away as my arousal swells where it rests between her thighs.

“Ooh, you’re bad,” she chides me. Her childish tone doesn’t become of either one of us, but at this moment, my being stretched over her knee, it seems appropriate. And then she continues.

I manage to hold myself back as she lays in to my sore backside. Through the searing slaps and my rising lust, I can feel moisture against my nose, the first droplet of tears. I resolve there will be no others, but there is already too much composure to keep, too many banks at their brim. I’m pushed to the edge…

And then, as suddenly as she had begun, she relents. The battering on my flesh abates, and I slowly hear the little pops as she cracks her knuckles, tiny bubbles bursting after the rain.

“Happy birthday, honey.”

She brushes her fingers against my cleft, whistling at the heat that presses back. Mischievously, her touch reaches deeper. Caught off-guard, I yelp loudly, surprising even myself. She retreats with a giggle, but not far, placing her hands and attention on my blazing rear, massaging my cheeks with a touch both scorching and tender. I try to speak and only grunt as I’m drenched in waves of ambivalent pain and pleasure.

I fight to my feet, greeting her with my pulsing erection. She reaches out, lightly, kissing my head. Lips to foreskin, the touch is electric.

“You’re ready,” she whispers, “but I’m not. Yet.”

I get the hint. My backside still sore, I drop to my knees on the floor in front of her. My tongue pushes the thin fabric of her panties aside, only to discover that she lied. She’s already wet.

It doesn’t matter.

Drowning in passion, I shipwreck myself into her thighs. It’s my turn to catch her off-guard, and I hear my reward in a sudden, throaty gasp. I put myself to the task, soon she will be shaking from my own tender ministrations, and then, only then, will I finally slake myself. My blood roils, anticipating the tidal wave to come.

Happy birthday, indeed.