Cheyenne and her friends, Ashley, Auzia, and Latishia, dove into the box like treasure hunters, fingers grazing over Erin's intimate keepsakes. Larry's absence left them free to explore his late wife's cache, tucked away in the back of his closet. The air was thick with dust motes dancing in the slanting light; a silent testament to memories long untouched.
"Look at this," Cheyenne said, lifting silk scarves, their fabric whispering secrets of nights filled with passion.
Ashley reached deeper, her pixie-like features contorted with focus. Her fingertips brushed against an object that didn't match the texture of scarves or lingerie. She pulled it out, eyes widening—the strap-on dildo, bold and unapologetic, among the lace and silk.
"Wow," Auzia breathed, her eyes dancing between the silicone intruder and her friends.
Latishia cocked her head, her lips curving into a knowing smirk. "It looks like Erin was full of surprises," she mused, her fingers gesturing to the dildo.
A hush fell upon the room. The discovery, a tangible silent echo of bedroom whispers, hung heavy between them. Cheyenne, with her inquisitive eyes now wide with contemplation, felt a shiver trace her spine. Her mind raced, images unfurling—Larry, vulnerable and trusting, entwined with Erin in the throes of exploration.
“Do you think she had a woman lover?” Asked Ashley.
“Or do you think she was using this on Larry? I know I would tear his ass up!’ was Laticia’s reply.
"Nobody breathes a word," Cheyenne finally said, her voice steady yet soft, a leader asserting control over the girls and the situation. "Not until I talk to Larry."
The others nodded, a silent pact forming in the dimly lit room. The dildo, once hidden away, now kindled a flame of curiosity that flickered in the gaze of each girl—a flame that threatened to consume Cheyenne’s thoughts with the possibilities it represented. The girls giggled and commented about the strap-on as they continued their chore.
Azuia, Ashley, and Laticia left before Larry returned, dropping off the first load of boxes at the storage unit.
Cheyenne lingered in the kitchen doorway, her heart beating like a steady drum against her ribs. Larry sat at the kitchen table, the blue glow from the vintage ceiling light casting shadows over his hunched figure. A solitary beer bottle rested between his rough hands, condensation trickling down its sides like tears. The heavy air held a tinge of hops and barley, mingling with the earthy scent of sorrow that seemed to follow him.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward, her bare feet silent on the cool tile floor. Her fingers played with the strings from her cutoff shorts, an unconscious echo of the nervous energy coursing through her. She paused at the table's edge, close enough to feel the chill from Larry's bottle brush against her skin.
"Mind if I join you?" Cheyenne asked, her voice threading through the air, carrying a weight that seemed too much for the casual words.
Larry glanced up, his eyes connecting with hers for a fleeting moment before skittering away. He gave a short nod, gesturing toward the chair opposite him, but remained silent. The unspoken invitation hung there, fragile as cobwebs.
She pulled out the chair, the scrape of wooden legs against tile shattering the quiet. As she settled in, her gaze rested on the object of her internal turmoil, resting innocuously on the table—a forgotten relic from a previous life. The strap-on dildo, once hidden in the dark recesses of a closet, now burned bright in her mind, teasing the edges of comprehension and desire.
"About Erin's things..." she started, her tone gentle, "there was something...personal we found."
The words felt clumsy in her mouth, but she pressed on with the courage that usually came so easily to her. She watched as Larry looked at the strap-on and then stiffened, the line of his back rigid against the chair. His cheeks bloomed with color, a stark contrast to the pallor that grief had painted upon him. His gaze drifted to the half-empty bottle, as if seeking solace in the amber liquid.
A silence stretched between them, a vast desert that seemed impossible to cross. Cheyenne's pulse hammered in her ears, each beat marking the seconds of vulnerability they both shared. She could see the muscles in Larry's jaw clench, then relax, a war within him raging silently. The air grew heavy, charged with the unsaid, the uncovered secrets pressing down like the humid night outside.
It was in this space, this liminal moment of raw exposure, that Cheyenne saw beyond the facade of the grieving widower. She glimpsed the man who hungered for touch, for understanding, a man who bore his desires cloaked in shame. And in that glimpse, her resolve solidified; she would be the balm to soothe the ache of his confession, no matter how intimate the truth.
“Tell me Larry. I won’t judge.” Cheyenne told him as she reached and pulled his chin so the he was facing her. She could see the battle in his eyes, then the resignation.
Larry's hands fidgeted with the label on the beer bottle, peeling it back slowly as he found his voice. "Erin... she was always pushing boundaries, you know? Wanted to try everything," he started, his words trailing off into a whisper that seemed to carry the weight of both trepidation and longing.
"Go on," Cheyenne urged softly from across the table, her curiosity piqued, her own voice barely above a murmur.
He took a deep breath, the air shuddering out of him as if it were dragging the memories along with it. "The strap-on... it was different, rough and textured, as you can see, not like the smooth toys she usually preferred to use." He paused, swallowing hard. "It was... imposing. The size of it, the way she wielded it—it was intimidating but arousing at the same time."
Cheyenne leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders. She watched Larry's face, the flicker of shadows from the dim kitchen light playing across his features, revealing glimpses of vulnerability she'd never seen.
"Erin would take her time," Larry continued, his voice dropping lower. "She knew how to make me squirm, how to make me beg for it. When she finally—when she used it on me, it was like being claimed in a way I'd never imagined. It filled me completely, the sensation bordering on pain but drowned in pleasure. It would be painful when she first went in, but then the pain would go away and the pleasure…"
The intensity in Larry's gaze met Cheyenne's, a silent confession hanging in the air. Her heart raced, her body reacting to his words with a heat that spread through her veins. She could feel the dampness between her thighs, the primal urge that awakened at the thought of being the one to claim him now.
"Did it scare you?" Cheyenne asked, her voice husky with the arousal that tinged her words.
"Terrified me," he admitted, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "But Erin... she made it feel safe. Exciting. She knew exactly how to push me over the edge, to make me come undone under her touch."
“Was she soft and gentle, or was she ah, forceful?”
“She was always soft and easy, we made love, we didn’t fuck. Well, on occasion, we would, but most of the time it was soft and full of love.”
As Larry recounted the intimate details, Cheyenne's mind danced with images of their entwined bodies, the power dynamic shifting and flowing like a current. There was something intoxicating about the trust Larry had placed in Erin, a trust Cheyenne suddenly yearned to be the recipient of. Her pulse quickened at the thought, desire coiling within her, eager to explore the depths of Larry's surrender.
The silence stretched between them, a tangible thing, until Cheyenne leaned forward, her eyes soft and understanding. "Larry," she murmured, the word a caress in the dim kitchen light. "I can't pretend to know exactly how you felt, but I get it, the thrill of it all. It's okay, you know? To enjoy what you did." Her hand brushed his, a fleeting touch that spoke volumes. “To be honest, I enjoy anal myself. I don’t want it every time, mind you, but with the right person, the right stimulation, I do enjoy taking a cock in the ass. Please don’t ever share that with Mom and Dad though. I don’t think they would want to hear about their sweet daughter that way,” she finished with a giggle.
Larry looked up, his eyes meeting hers, searching for judgment and finding none. Encouraged, he exhaled, shoulders relaxing as he delved deeper into memories once locked away, his voice steadier now, laced with a wistful nostalgia.
*****
As night descended, curls of darkness wrapped around Cheyenne's room, her thoughts a whirlpool centered on Larry and Erin. The sheets tangled around her legs as she lay back, her mind replaying Larry's halting confession, each detail etching itself into her memory. A curious mix of admiration and lust swirled within her, the image of Larry, vulnerable yet fulfilled, igniting a fierce desire to discover those same hidden depths.
Fingers traced the contours of her body, slipping over sensitive skin, her breath hitching at the electric sensations sparked by her own touch. She imagined guiding Larry, teaching him that pleasure could be found anew, her whispers mingling with his moans. Her movements grew bolder, more insistent, as she pictured herself strapping on Erin's legacy, claiming Larry in a passionate reversal.
Heat coiled tight in her core, building, intensifying as she plunged into the fantasy, her fingers of one hand plunging into her sopping pussy while her other hand stroked her clit. And then, with a shuddering gasp, Cheyenne felt a rush unlike any before, her body convulsing in a powerful release that left her breathless, the sensation so intense it drew forth a gush of warmth from her, marking the first time she'd ever experienced a squirting climax. ‘fuck me, what happened?’ she thought to herself, trying to grasp the intensity of the climax.
In the aftermath, panting and awash with a novel satisfaction, Cheyenne knew she had crossed an invisible threshold. There was no going back, only forward—toward a horizon where pleasure and power intertwined, waiting for her and Larry to explore together. ‘I am going to fuck this man!’ her thought lingered.
*****
Sunlight dappled the path leading to Larry's house, casting a soft glow on Cheyenne's determined stride. She felt the weight of her intentions settle firmly in her chest as she approached the stoop, each step resonating with purpose. Her fingers brushed against the fabric of her halter top and she felt her hardened nipples, self-awareness mingling with anticipation.
Larry opened the door, his eyes registering a flicker of surprise that quickly melted into something softer at the sight of Cheyenne's playful smile. She crossed the threshold without hesitation, her presence filling the space between them like an unspoken invitation.
"Hey," she said, her voice light but threaded with an undercurrent of intent. As she passed by him, the subtle scent of her perfume lingered in the air, an aromatic whisper that teased at Larry's senses.
The kitchen was awash in the late morning light, and Cheyenne leaned against the counter, her gaze never leaving Larry. He stood a few feet away, the tension in his shoulders betraying his internal struggle. Yet there was a pull, an almost gravitational force that seemed to draw him toward her energy.
"Beautiful day, isn't it?" Cheyenne remarked, reaching for a glass in the cupboard. The movement stretched the fabric of her top across her body, outlining her frame in a way that was impossible to ignore. Larry swallowed hard, his eyes momentarily tracing the contours before he caught himself.
"Uh-huh," he managed, the words barely more than a rasp. Cheyenne filled the glass with water, her fingers brushing the cool surface before offering it to him. Their hands touched briefly, sending a jolt like static electricity through their skin.
"Thank you," Larry murmured, taking the glass. His fingers lingered a moment too long, his gaze finally meeting hers.
Cheyenne's heart thrummed with excitement, sensing the shift in him, however slight. "I was thinking about what we talked about," she said, her tone casual yet laced with deeper meaning. Stepping closer, she reached out to adjust the collar of his shirt, her fingertips grazing his neck.
Larry's breath hitched, the ghost of her touch sending a shiver down his spine. He was standing at the precipice, torn between the past he clung to and the future beckoning him forward. The memory of Erin was etched into every corner of his heart, but Cheyenne's proximity sparked a different kind of memory—one of warmth, connection, and the possibility of renewal.
"Cheyenne..." he began, but the words trailed off as he struggled to articulate the maelstrom of feelings inside him.
"Shh," she whispered, her finger pressing gently against his lips. There was no need for words—not now. Her eyes locked onto his, conveying everything her voice couldn't: understanding, desire, and an implicit promise of exploration without judgment.
Silently, she took his hand and led him toward the living room, where the morning light painted the walls in amber hues. Every step they took was charged with the unspoken question of how far they would allow themselves to go, how deeply they would delve into the realm of shared intimacy that awaited them.
As they settled onto the couch, the air between them vibrated with tension and longing. Cheyenne's hand rested on Larry's knee, her thumb tracing small circles through the fabric of his jeans. Each touch was a deliberate stroke on the canvas of his restraint, a gentle coaxing toward the pleasures that beckoned just beyond the veil of his mourning.
Larry's response was a dance of hesitation and yearning, his body leaning into her touch even as his thoughts grappled with loyalty to the past. But the heat emanating from Cheyenne's skin was a siren call, one that promised not to erase what had been, but to honor it through new experiences forged together.
His grief was a palpable shadow, but Cheyenne's spirited energy seemed to cast light into the corners of his sorrow. She moved closer to Larry, who tried to pull away a bit. Grabbing his arm, she held him in place, leaning in and whispering.
The warmth of Cheyenne's breath cascaded down the shell of Larry's ear, a whisper that tickled and teased, leaving ripples of desire in its wake. "Ever wonder what it would be like to let go again... just for a moment?" Her fingers danced along his forearm, each touch deliberate, tracing patterns into his skin that seemed to scorch a trail straight to his core.
Larry's heart pounded like a drum, echoing through the caverns of his chest. He was caught, snared by the web of conflicting emotions that tangled within him—grief entwined with yearning, sorrow laced with a hunger he'd long buried. Yet her gaze, bright and fearless, anchored him amidst the storm of his thoughts. In the quiet strength of her stare, he found a harbor.
"New experiences," she murmured, her voice a gentle nudge against the barricades of his past, "they don't erase what came before. They honor it. What would Erin have said to you if she had come into this house when I first did? Would she want to see you living like that? Would she want to see you depressed? I don’t think so! Let me help you live again, Larry. Let me treat you like the man Erin was in love with." Her words were a balm, soothing the raw edges of his memories, suggesting a tribute to the love he'd cherished rather than a betrayal.
In this intimate space, the language of bodies spoke louder than words ever could. Cheyenne's gaze never wavered, her eyes locked onto his—a silent promise of connection, an unspoken vow to guide him through the labyrinth of sensation that awaited. It was an invitation to feel, to awaken, to live in the breadth of a moment where the past didn't have to be a shackle, but rather a stepping stone towards something new, something healing, something profoundly alive.
Larry's resistance crumbled like the final walls of a long-sieged fortress, each exhale surrendering to Cheyenne's persistent patience. Her once idle hands now cradled his face with an intention that stripped him of any lingering doubt. The heat of her palms seared through the stubble lining his jaw, and when she leaned in, her lips claimed his with an urgency that resonated deep within his chest.
The world narrowed to the point of their connection; the couch, the room, the very fabric of reality seemed inconsequential. She straddled him, her weight a grounding force, as if anchoring him to the present. Her body's warmth bled through the thin fabric separating skin from skin, and it was that warmth he clung to—letting it pull him up from the depths of cold grief.
As their lips moved together with increasing fervor, Larry felt the slow stirrings of life within him, a delicate unfurling that had long been dormant. Cheyenne tasted like promise—a heady mix of courage and curiosity—and he drank her in, every brush and press of her mouth against his a testament to her boldness.
Her fingers danced with precision down the buttons of his shirt, undoing each one with a deftness that belied her eagerness. The fabric parted, cool air caressing his exposed chest, contrasting with the heat of her hands as they pressed against his skin—a touch both tender and insistent. The shirt slipped from his shoulders, and with its fall, so too did the shroud of his past—the garment laying discarded and forgotten, much like the man he'd been before Erin's departure from his life.
In this moment, under Cheyenne's expert touch, Larry was not the shadowed figure of sorrow he’d become; he was alive, nerves alight with electricity, yearning for the connection that pulsed between them—a raw need that consumed all else.
Larry could feel the last vestiges of his clothing slip away, the fabric pooling around his ankles. The room seemed to hold its breath as Cheyenne's dark hair spilled forward, a curtain of night framing her face as she descended before him. Her eyes burned with an intensity that was both unnerving and exhilarating, a silent promise spoken in the language of desire.
She wrapped her hand around his swollen cock, a surge of warmth against his cool flesh, and then her lips followed, encasing him in moist heat while never taking her eyes from his. Larry gasped, his fingers threading through her hair, guiding yet yielding to her movements. It was electric—the slick glide of her mouth, the deliberate press of tongue—sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body, each pulse driving him deeper into the throes of ecstasy.
"Fuck..." The word escaped Larry's lips, raw and unfiltered, as he watched himself disappear and reappear between those inviting lips. There was no room for thought, only sensation, a crescendo of need that spiraled tighter within him. It had been months since he had any sexual stirring, so deep was his depression. That is, until the last few days when this vixen had invaded his home.
With a skill that belied her youth, Cheyenne coaxed him to the edge, where light and darkness danced in an intimate tango. And when he spilled into her, it was with a sensation so profound, so all-consuming, that his world narrowed to the point of their connection, a singularity of release that tore a strangled cry from his chest. The orgasm was upon Larry so quickly that he didn’t have the time or the thought to warn Cheyenne. That did not seem to matter at all to her, as she swallowed every drop of cum he shot into her mouth.
She held him there, her gaze never faltering, even as she swallowed everything he had to give. Then, with a grace that seemed to carry the weight of the moment, Cheyenne rose, her hand reaching for his. Their fingers intertwined, a lifeline as she guided him up and led him towards the bedroom. The transition felt seamless, inevitable like the tide pulled by the moon—a natural progression of their shared hunger.
The soft glow of the bedroom embraced them, a sanctuary where whispered promises and unspoken wishes were about to unfold. Larry allowed himself to be drawn in, every step a surrender to the currents that Cheyenne stirred within him, every breath a pledge to the journey they embarked upon, together in the night's embrace.
The bedroom air, thick with the musk of arousal, wrapped around them like an illicit whisper. Cheyenne's confidence was a palpable force as she guided Larry to the edge of the bed, her fingertips a siren's call against his skin. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Larry watched as she untied the halter behind her back and pulled it over her head. Her C cup titties looked like a ski slope, the nipples sitting at the ends like a launch pad. Cheyenne walked over to Larry and placed a nipple at his lips, then pulled his head into her. His lips opened on their own accord and he took the nipple into his mouth and sucked.
“Oh fuck!” escaped from Cheyenne’s mouth. “Damn you do that well Larry. Don’t stop!”
Larry did stop, though, just long enough to move to her other nipple. Cheyenne looked down on him, his eyes closed, his lips surrounding her nipple, and his tongue flipping over it. ‘This is going to be so good,’ she thought.
Finally, she pulled away, kissed him on the lips, and took a step back. She reached for the top snap of her shorts, then lowered the zipper. She then lowered just the shorts and stepped out of them, leaving her in just a pale blue thong made of lace. Larry could make out her pussy, and he knew she was excited by the dark damp spot that had developed in the front.
Cheyenne turned, allowing Larry to see her ass. Like her legs, her ass was muscled, without a blemish. This was due to her years of running and playing soccer. As she turned back to him, he let out a breath, not realizing he had been holding it in. Again, Cheyenne smiled at Larry. “Do I look okay?”
“Just beautiful. Fuck, you are perfect!”
She knew before today, he had only had eyes for his wife. She was sure that if Erin was still around, Larry could not even tell you Cheyenne’s eye color. That changed today. He was looking at her like someone who had never seen a nude woman before. Inspecting every inch of her, and she was still not completely naked. She then placed her hands on her hips and instead of hooking her thumbs in her waistband and tugging off the thong, she gently rolled it down. This caused the crotch of the panties to slowly disappear and add to the anticipation for Larry.
Larry watched as the thong finally made it past her womanhood exposing a shaved pussy with swollen lips that showed her excitement just as much as the damp stain had. The thong fell to the ground, and once again Cheyenne turned, showing him all her charms.
She stepped towards him again, this time placing her hand on his chin, and pulled him in for a kiss. Then she moved to the other side of the bed and got on it. She lay on her back and reached an arm for him. Larry took her hand and let her guide him to her. “Make love to me, Larry. I want it all. Take your time and explore my body, do what you feel you want. I am here for you.”
Larry looked into her eyes, then began to kiss her face, moving to her neck and then down to her breasts again. He then kissed his way down her taut stomach and finally reached paradise. He kissed the inside of each thigh, then moved to the sweet spot. He started with her clit. As soon as his tongue touched it, she moaned and pushed into his face. He then licked the outside lips before moving to stab his tongue as deeply into her as he could.
Larry moved slightly up and took her clit into his mouth and sucked it. Keeping it in his mouth, he started flicking his tongue over it again while pushing two fingers inside her. Soon, Cheyenne cried out as her orgasm took control of her. Her neck stiffened, her hips raised, and she was only touching the bed at three points. Her two feet and her head. She grabbed Larry and held onto him as she came. For the second time in her life, she squirted.
When she had come down from her climax, Larry gently rolled her over and began kissing her shoulders, working his way down. He watched, entranced, as the dip of Cheyenne's spine became his canvas, his lips tracing a slow, worshipful path over the curve of her lower back. With every kiss, he tasted the salt of her skin, the unique essence that was undeniably her. She arched beneath him, a soft moan escaping her lips, punctuating the night with its raw honesty.
When he reached her ass, he kissed each cheek until he had covered them both with kisses, He then spread them apart and she stiffened before relaxing. He started at the top and placed kisses along each side of the crack and ran his tongue along the line. He reached her asshole, and once again she stiffened, causing her cheeks to clinch together. Larry waited patiently, and finally she relaxed enough that he could run his tongue over her starfish. When she moaned, he took his chance and speared his stiff tongue and began eating her ass. Slipping two fingers back into her cunt, he soon had her cumming again.
This time when she came back to reality, he rolled her onto her back and placed his stiff cock at her pussy entrance and pushed. He slid into her slowly, just because he had cum when she gave him the blowjob, did not mean he wasn’t on a hair trigger. It had been so long since he had been with a woman, and Cheyenne felt so smooth and warm as he stroked into her.
Their rhythm found its own language, a dialogue of caresses and sighs that needed no translation. His hands mapped the terrain of her body, memorizing each rise and valley with a cartographer's precision. He lingered at the crest of her breasts, his tongue swirling around a nipple that tightened at his touch, eliciting from her gasps that bounced off the walls.
Cheyenne's hips rose to meet Larry's thrusts, a seamless choreography that spoke of a hunger too long denied. Their bodies were a symphony of motion that rose to a peak and seemed to hold the world at bay.
At the climax, they shattered together, a release that felt like the breaking of a dam within them. The sounds of their union filled the room, a chorus of pleasure that resonated in the walls, the scent of their intimacy lingering in the air, a heady perfume.
In the afterglow, their bodies still a tangle of limbs and shared warmth, Cheyenne's hand slid away from the curve of Larry's hip, reaching for the strap-on that lay within arm's reach. The sight of it made Larry's pulse thrum in his ears, a mix of nerves and excitement causing his breath to hitch. She looked at him with arched eyebrows, the question unspoken but evident on her face. He gave a subtle nod, an unspoken consent that she read with ease.
She moved with a tenderness though she was very nervous to fuck him with the strap-on. She had used one before on a girlfriend she had lived with as a freshman in the dorms, but never a man. She did everything she could to keep her nervous below her confident exterior, fingers cool and slick with lube as they circled the rim of his ass. Larry tensed at first, the sensation had grown unfamiliar, yet it was not unwelcome. Her touch was patient, persuasive, circling, and pressing until he felt himself yielding, muscles relaxing under her careful ministrations.
"Relax," she murmured, her voice a soothing balm as one finger slipped inside him, slow and steady. He exhaled, a shudder running through him as she explored him, finding a rhythm that coaxed moans from his lips. There was no rush in her actions, only the methodical push and pull, in and out, stretching him gently, readying him for more. The lube covered his asshole, and as she worked her finger in and out, she would add a bit more.
"Good?" she asked, eyes locked on his face, searching for any sign of discomfort.
"Good," he managed to reply, his voice a hoarse whisper that seemed to please her.
Cheyenne added a second finger and allowed him to become used to it before finally adding a third. With each finger came more pressure to Larry, and she took her time to get him loosened well. He was on his back, his knees up to his chest, being held there by his own hands with his face to the side. Still, Cheyenne took her time, twisting her fingers while pulling them out and back in until she knew he was ready.
With each gentle thrust, something within Larry unfurled, a pleasure blooming deep inside that he hadn't known he could feel again. When she felt he was ready, she coated the strap-on with a generous layer of lube, her gaze never leaving his.
The head pressed against him, insistent but not forceful, as Cheyenne guided it in. Larry's breath caught, a sharp intake of air as he felt himself being filled, stretched in a way that was both intense, and exhilarating. She held still for a moment with just the glans of the dildo inside his ass, allowing him to adjust, to acclimate to the fullness.
"Okay?" she checked again, and Larry nodded, his body beginning to move of its own accord, pushing back against her.
She started with shallow thrusts, each one sending waves of pleasure radiating through him. Larry found himself chasing the sensation, the eroticism of the act mingling with the physical delight. Being filled again with the cock Erin had used on him felt wonderful.
Cheyenne set a pace, both deliberate and caring, ensuring that each movement was met with an eagerness that matched her own. Their bodies found a harmony, a dance that was as much about giving as it was about receiving, a testament to the trust and connection that had flourished between them.
It was raw and real, an exploration of boundaries and the rediscovery of pleasure, awakening something profound within Larry's soul.
Larry's world tilted on an axis of ecstasy as Cheyenne moved within him. Each thrust released a shiver that cascaded down his spine, a physical manifestation of the emotional walls crumbling. The room filled with the soft, rhythmic sounds of their bodies meeting, a carnal symphony that resonated with Larry's heartbeat.
Cheyenne's hands were everywhere, tracing the contours of his body with an artist's precision, mapping out areas of tension and replacing them with a sense of release. Her touch was both a comfort and a catalyst, guiding him towards a realization that life's beauty lay not just in its peaks but also in its valleys.
He gasped, fingers digging into the sheets as sensation upon sensation coiled tightly within him, ready to spring forth. With every stroke, he felt lighter, the grief that had clung like a second skin dissolving under the heat of their shared passion. It was as if Cheyenne's relentless energy and empathy were a flame, melting away the icy grip of his sorrow.
As Cheyenne fucked Larry, she would rub the fake cock over his prostate and the feeling of needing to cum grew strong. Larry grabbed his cock and started to stroke it in time with the fucking he was receiving. Cheyenne pulled his hand away and took over for him. “Let me do that, Larry, just enjoy all the pleasure you can from what I am doing. It’s okay. I know you missed this, and I am sure you need this.”
Larry grunted “Fuck, here it comes!” and shot a stream of cum up to his chest. Each spurt after was a little lower, covering him from his neck down to the top of his pelvis. After the last load was coaxed out of him by Cheyenne, he lay there, his breathing labored as he tried to relax.
Cheyenne pulled out of Larry and went to the bathroom, where she ran the sink full of hot water. She removed the dildo from the harness and dropped it into the water to soak, removed the harness and left it laying on the floor at the sink, she then returned to the bed where she began licking the cum off of Larry’s body. Once she had collected it all in her mouth, she raised and pulled Larry into a kiss, pushing the cum into his mouth.
Larry had never tasted his own cum before, but did not fight her. Instead, he took her offering, rolling it from his tongue to hers, and then he swallowed what remained.
The air was thick with the scent of sweat and sex, an olfactory testament to the barriers they had broken through together. In the stillness, Larry lay enveloped in Cheyenne's embrace, feeling her chest rise and fall against his chest. He closed his eyes, listening to the quiet hum of life outside the bedroom window, and found himself smiling for the first time in what felt like forever.
Gratitude swelled within him, warm and overwhelming. For the unexpected path that had led him back to himself, for the connection that had blossomed in the most unlikely of places, and for Cheyenne—the catalyst who had shown him that even in the aftermath of loss, there was a capacity for joy.
*****
Larry sagged into the armchair, the old springs groaning beneath him as if feeling the weight pressing down on his chest. Cheyenne sat close enough that each breath dragged the soft vanilla of her hair into his lungs, a slow, drugging sweetness that made the space between them feel unbearably small. Her voice skimmed across the room, threading stories of her friends — Auzia, Ashley, Latisha — their names slipping past his ears like a warning he couldn't quite grasp. He pictured them from Cheyenne’s teasing de***********ions: bold women, wild with laughter and heat, barreling toward his front door with the kind of energy that left no room for hesitation. His heart pounded harder, battered by the memory of Cheyenne's body against his and the promise of chaos just seconds away. He nodded numbly, the low thrum of need curling tighter in his gut, drowning out everything but the heavy, ticking silence, and the sharp edge of what might happen — or what might not — if he moved first.
The sharp slam of car doors jolted Larry upright, the sound cracking through the heavy air like a starter's pistol. Cheyenne bounced off the couch, her hair whipping behind her, a mischievous gleam flashing in her eyes.
His palms slicked against the worn armchair as footsteps closed in, fast and sure. No more time for nerves. They were here.
The door swung open hard enough to rattle the frame. Auzia strode in first, wrapped in red like a warning, her eyes catching Larry’s and holding, the slow curve of her smile sparking heat low in his gut. Ashley followed, a whirlwind of laughter and bright eyes, her body all quick movements and teasing glances as she spun into the room. Latisha came last, moving with a lazy, predatory grace, every step a slow draw of attention Larry couldn’t seem to wrench away from.
The room tightened the second they settled, the air thick with the heady mix of perfume, laughter, and something far more dangerous. They launched into stories — wild, reckless nights, whispered dares under flashing lights — their words painting scenes so vivid Larry could almost feel the heat of them. He laughed when they did, nodded when he caught enough to react, his skin prickling beneath their glances, each brush of their voices stoking the fire inside him. By the time the second bottle of wine was uncorked, he wasn't sure if the pounding in his chest was excitement or a slow, sweet kind of fear.
Amidst the laughter and banter, the doorbell rang, expecting a food delivery, and Larry went to answer it. He took the food to the kitchen and transferred it into bowls. He carried the food, plates, and utensils out for everyone to enjoy the Chinese food, steam rising from noodles and dumplings. As they ate, the conversation veered towards more explicit territories, leaving Larry feeling both shocked and intrigued.
“Let’s play truth or dare,” Cheyenne said, wanting to get the real party started. Eager to participate, the others agreed, and they began taking turns. What started as innocent questions quickly escalated. One of them, Ashley, perhaps, dared Cheyenne to go down on Auzia. Larry watched, his heart pounding, as Cheyenne knelt between Auzia's legs. She pushed up Auzia’s skirt, pulled her panties down and then bowed her head first touching her tongue to Auzia’s clit, then sucking in her pussy lips. Soon it was to much for Auzia, and she raised her ass off her seat can came. Cheyenne didn’t move away until Auzia pushed her, telling her, “No more!”
Latisha, her eyes gleaming with excitement, dared Ashley to remove her top. With a wicked grin, Ashley complied, revealing perky breasts capped by hard nipples. She tossed her shirt aside, completely unfazed by her own display.
Larry stared at Ashley's firm body, her skin glistening under the soft light. His gaze lingered on her erect nipples, and he felt his cock stirring in his pants.
Auzia turned her gaze towards Larry, her eyes locking onto his. "Alright, Larry," she said, her voice dripping with confidence. "Your turn. Have you ever been buttfucked?"
He swallowed hard, the question catching him off guard. After a moment of hesitation, he admitted that yes, Erin and Cheyenne had both fucked him in the ass before. Auzia's lips curled into a satisfied smile at his response.
“Well maybe you wouldn’t be opposed to me fucking you with this then,” Auzia said as she reached into her bag and pulled out a strap-on dildo. Little did Larry know, Cheyenne had told all three girls about their sexual adventure the night before. They had planned it out, so each girl would take a turn at Larry tonight if they could arrange it. Now it looked like it was going to happen.
Auzia led him to the bedroom, the others following close behind. Their eyes were filled with anticipation, their bodies radiating energy. Larry undressed and lay down on the bed, he felt a rush of vulnerability mixed with excitement.
In the bedroom, Auzia wasted no time. She took control, her bold presence filling the room. After applying lube to both the strap-on and to Larry’s ass, she guided the strap-on to his entrance, and paused. With one slow motion, she entered him, causing a gasp to escape Larry's lips. She did not stop her forward motion until she had buried all seven inches of her dildo in him.
The others watched, their excitement unable to be contained as they cheered Auzia on.
“That’s the way to take that ass,” Latisha said.
“Oh fuck, that is so sexy,” came from Asley.
“Watching is almost as fun as actually fucking him,” Cheyenne piped in.
Their cheers and expressions were a mix of awe and fascination, fueling Larry's desire.
Auzia's rhythm was relentless, her thrusts deep and hard. Each one pushed Larry closer to the edge, his body trembling with pleasure. He could feel every inch of her, the strap-on hitting all the right spots. His mind was a whirlwind of sensations, his thoughts consumed by the intensity of their encounter.
As Auzia reached her climax caused by the dildo and harness rubbing her clit, she pulled out, leaving Larry panting and wanting. Cheyenne didn't waste a moment. She knelt before him, her lips wrapping around his shaft. Her mouth moved in sync with her hands, her profanity-laced words urging him on.
Soon, Larry reached his peak, his release filling Cheyenne's mouth. She swallowed every drop. “Yummy,” she said after her mouth was empty.
Once Cheyenne finished, Ashley took over. She was wearing the strap-on that had belonged to Erin. Her approach was different, slower, and more deliberate. She made love to Larry, her soft kisses and words of fondness helping him relax.
Her rhythm was soothing, each thrust a gentle caress. She explored his body, her touch igniting a different kind of fire. This was more than just sex; it was an intimate exchange, a dance of desire and trust.
As they reached their climax, Larry felt a connection with Ashley. He didn’t know what it was, but her caring nature had caused something to stir in him. He was no longer the man weighed down by loss; he was a man rediscovering the joy of living.
The night was far from over, but Larry was already changed. He lay there, his body spent, his mind buzzing with the intensity of their encounters. As he looked at the four women around him, he felt a profound sense of gratitude.
They had pushed him, challenged him, and guided him. They had shown him a world beyond his grief, a world filled with pleasure, connection, and joy. He knew this was just the beginning of his journey.
Larry watched as Latisha stood up, her striking figure demanding attention. Her rebellious spirit and magnetic charm filled the room, creating a dynamic atmosphere that swept everyone in. She wore a confident smirk, and her eyes twinkled with mischief.
"Alright, Larry. It's my turn to play," Latisha declared, her voice bold and unapologetic. "Get on your hands and knees. I am about to make you my bitch"
Larry hesitated but complied, drawn out of his shell by Latisha's assertive nature. Cheyenne lay down before him, beckoning him to eat her pussy as he assumed the position. As he began to pleasure Cheyenne, he felt Latisha's hands on him, slapping his ass firmly.
"You gonna belong to me now, Larry," she growled, her fingers digging into his flesh.
Her words sent a jolt of exhilaration through him. No one had spoken to him like that before. He felt exposed, vulnerable, yet alive. And as Latisha entered him from behind, he couldn't help but submit to this newfound intensity.
"Faster, Lati!" Cheyenne urged between gasps, her body grinding against Larry's face.
The room echoed with their moans and sighs, blending into a symphony of pleasure and desire. Each thrust from Latisha was punctuated by profane words—a stark contrast to Ashley's soft whispers.
In the midst of this chaos, Larry found moments of clarity, reflecting on how far he had come. From the quiet despair of his mental darkness to this wild, liberating space, he owed it all to these women.
Latisha's grip tightened, pulling him deeper into the encounter. "Tell me, Larry. Who owns your ass?"
"You do, Latisha," he admitted, succumbing to her dominance.
Time seemed to stretch, each moment intensifying his connection with both Latisha and Cheyenne. Every sensation was amplified, fueling his exploration of self and sexuality under their guidance.
Cheyenne screamed as she climaxed on Larry’s tongue, holding his head as her hips rocked up and down causing his nose to rub her clit. When she released him, he noticed Latisha was no longer inside him. She had already removed the harness she was wearing, and she flipped Larry onto his back.
“Eat this black pussy,” she demanded as she sat on his face. “Oh god, right there, bitch.”
Larry placed his hands on her thighs and pulled her down onto his lips. Sucking, and licking he was showing her his skills as a pussy eater. He had never had a black woman before, and the contrast in skin, the bright pink inside her dark lips, was driving him crazy.
“Oh fuck, here I come, don’t you dare stop eating me. Ahhhh.” Latisha managed before collapsing beside Larry.
As they caught their breaths, no one spoke; there was nothing left to say. The power of their experience hung heavy in the air, leaving them wrapped in a web of anticipation for what lay ahead. For now, all they could do was bask in the glow of their transformations and the promise of more to come.
Larry couldn't help but feel a growing sense of liberation as the night wore on. The weight of his past grief seemed to dissipate with each shared story or action, replaced by a warmth that spread through his chest. These women had unlocked something within him - a desire for connection and exploration suppressed by his loss of Erin.
As they gathered their things and prepared to leave, Latisha pulled him aside. "You did good tonight, Larry," she said, her voice soft yet firm.
He nodded, understanding her unspoken message. He wouldn't forget. And while he knew there would be challenges ahead, he also knew he wasn't alone.
With one last round of goodbyes, the women left, leaving Larry alone in the quiet of his bedroom. As he drifted off to sleep, he couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation for what lay ahead. This was just the beginning.
*****
Larry prowled the length of his living room, a caged animal with nowhere to escape. His thoughts were relentless hounds on the chase, each loop around the coffee table marking another round of what-ifs and maybe-he-knows. The possibility of John discovering his trysts with Cheyenne sent ripples of panic through him, like pebbles dropped in the still waters of his once peaceful reclusion.
"Keep it together, Larry," he muttered, a mantra against the rising tide of worry. He couldn't afford to crumble now, not when things with Cheyenne had become so heated, so intoxicatingly alive. He had been dreading this moment since Cheyenne had told him her father was coming over to talk to him
.
With every tick of the clock, his hands betrayed him, fingers tapping an erratic rhythm against his thigh. A sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead, droplets threatening to betray the storm brewing within. He swiped at them with the back of his hand, cursing the warmth that spread across his brow as if he'd just finished a marathon instead of merely pacing his own home.
Larry closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, trying to picture Cheyenne's soothing touch. The way her fingers danced across his skin, light as feathers yet igniting fires that burned away the sorrow that had consumed him for so long. Her laughter echoed in his memory, a sound that could strip away the layers of grief clinging to his bones.
With an exhale that carried more weight than air, Larry opened his eyes. He straightened his spine, rolled his shoulders back, and planted his feet firmly on the ground. He could do this; he had to. For Cheyenne's sake, for the fragile connection they'd forged in whispered confessions and tangled sheets, he had to maintain the facade just a little longer.
"John doesn't know anything," he assured his reflection in the windowpane. "Just act normal." But even as he coached himself, the tremor in his hands persisted, the telltale sign of nerves he couldn't quite soothe.
The doorbell would ring soon, and Larry would have to face John with nothing but his wits and the hope that his secrets remained his own. Until then, he'd fight to keep the anxiety at bay, mustering every ounce of composure he possessed. It was all he could do. It was everything.
The chime of the doorbell cut through the stillness of the house like a verdict, and Larry's heart hammered against his ribcage. He drew in a shallow breath, steeling himself before his hand reached for the doorknob. The cool metal felt grounding under his clammy palm as he turned it slowly, opening the door to reveal John standing on the threshold, his salt-and-pepper hair slightly tousled by the breeze.
"Hey," Larry managed, his voice betraying the tightness coiled in his chest. He stepped aside, motioning for John to enter with a jerky nod, acutely aware of every nuance in his movements.
John crossed the threshold, his bulk momentarily filling the doorway, and he moved into the living room. An uneasy quiet descended. Larry closed the door with a soft click, the sound reverberating through the tension that hung between them. The ticking of the wall clock became a metronome to Larry's escalating pulse, each second stretching into an eternity as he grappled with the silence.
He watched John take in the surroundings—the subtle changes Cheyenne had brought to the once-dismal space. Larry's gaze flicked to the throw pillows, neatly fluffed, then to the photographs that now held pride of place on the mantle. Each touch a reminder of her presence, her influence, yet none revealing the intimate depths of their connection.
Larry tried to swallow the lump forming in his throat. His mind raced, scrambling for harmless topics, anything that could bridge the gap without betraying the truth of what Cheyenne meant to him. Yet the words clung to the inside of his mouth, stubbornly refusing to emerge.
John turned, his warm eyes searching Larry's face, and in that moment, Larry could almost feel the weight of unspoken questions hanging in the air, threatening to unravel the carefully woven threads of his composure.
Larry fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, the sound of John clearing his throat, a startling reminder that he was not alone. John's gaze swept the room, taking in the changes wrought by Cheyenne's touch, the once lifeless space now vibrant with color and warmth.
“I never thought I'd see the day," John began, his voice rich with sincerity, "this old house turned back into a home. How much of this was your doing, Larry?"
The question, unexpected and kind, cut through the silence like the first rays of dawn. Larry blinked, the surprise evident on his face as the tension ebbed away from his furrowed brows.
"Actually, it's all thanks to Cheyenne," he admitted, the edges of his lips curling into a cautious smile. "She's been... incredible."
John nodded, a soft chuckle escaping him. "That girl has a heart bigger than her sense of adventure. Seeing you come back to life, breaking free from the shadows—you have no idea how happy that makes me. She's done wonders for you, Larry."
Larry's chest swelled with a blend of relief and something akin to pride, his fears dissipating as he absorbed John's praise. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, the reflection showing a man slowly rebuilding from ruins, guided by the gentle hand of a caring soul.
"Cheyenne, she... she sees the best in people, doesn't she? Even when they can't see it themselves," Larry mused, a trace of wonder in his deep voice.
"Indeed, she does." John's eyes sparkled with affection for his daughter. "It's a rare gift, one she shares freely, expecting nothing in return. And look at this place—her good nature, it's infectious."
Larry nodded, the echo of Cheyenne’s laughter ringing in his ears, a sound that had become a beacon in his darkest hours. As John continued to speak, praise interwoven with anecdotes, Larry found comfort in the words, a reassurance, that maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance for new beginnings.
Larry's heart hammered in his chest, a cacophony that drowned out John’s words for a moment. He felt the warmth of gratitude spill from John like sunlight through open curtains, yet within, a shadow loomed—guilt, dark and unyielding. The smile Larry offered was brittle, threatening to shatter under the weight of his secret liaison with Cheyenne.
With each heartbeat, Larry's mind spiraled, struggling to balance on the tightrope between relief and remorse. Cheyenne's touch had ignited something within him, a flame that both saved and seared. Her presence was a balm to his grief-stricken existence, but the clandestine nature of their connection now prickled at his conscience like thorns.
John's gaze held steady, a lighthouse in the storm of Larry’s emotions. Larry forced himself to lock eyes with him, to drown in the sea of sincerity there rather than the tempest within. His hands, hidden from view, twisted together, betraying his inner turmoil.
"Your house, it's alive again," John said, gesturing towards the vibrant plants near the window—Cheyenne's doing. "It's like she brought the outside in."
Larry nodded, his throat tight. Each word John uttered was like a stepping stone across a river of confession. The innocence in John's praise made Larry's next breath harder to take; the truth sat at the edge of his tongue, eager to leap off.
He could almost feel Cheyenne's presence, memories flashed before him: the contrast of her supple form beneath his calloused hands, whispered profanities filling the space between gasps and moans, the way her halter top had fallen away like petals from a blooming flower.
"Her spirit, it's infectious," John continued, unaware of the vivid images dancing behind Larry's eyes. "Makes you want to be better, doesn't it?"
"Absolutely," Larry managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper. A bead of sweat trailed down his temple, and he wiped it away, hoping it seemed nothing more than a response to the warm afternoon.
John smiled, oblivious to the conflict raging within Larry, and moved closer, placing a reassuring hand on Larry's shoulder. Larry tensed, the touch a jarring reminder of the physical connection he'd shared with Cheyenne, how different it was from this simple gesture of camaraderie.
"Seeing you two together, how she's helped you find your way back... It's been a blessing." John's tone was rich with emotion, his belief in human connection resonating in the room. “We are so proud of her.”
Larry swallowed hard, John’s hand now a weight upon him. The distance between truth and deception is measured in breaths and heartbeats. As John spoke of blessings, Larry grappled with his own desires, temptations cloaked in darkness, yearning for the light of day.
“By the way, Larry, the missus and I would like to invite you over for dinner tomorrow night if you will come. We know you haven’t been very social as of late, but we would really like for you to come over. We can rekindle the friendship we have. Don’t say no, you don’t want me to send Lori over, she will browbeat you until you say yes. Make it easy and just tell me.”
“Sure, John, I would be glad to come over. What can I bring?”
“Nothing, we got it covered.”
“Well, I will at least pick up some flowers for Lori, just don’t tell her please.”
“That will be great Larry, and no, I won’t tell her. See you tomorrow at six,” John said as he let himself out of the door, smiling at the way his friend and the house had come alive again under Cheyenne’s care. If only he knew the extent of that care, he might not be smiling.