Saturday - Lucky's first Ride

We drove in silence for a moment. His hand stayed where it was. My breathing had changed - shallower, faster - and from the slight curve of his mouth, he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Did you try the dildo yet?"

The question landed like a stone in still water. I felt my cheeks flush. "Not yet. And I hate calling it 'the dildo.' Sounds so ... clinical."

"What would you call it?"

I thought about it. The sleek egg shape, the flexible tail, the way it had looked nestled in its velvet cradle at the boutique. "Maybe 'Lucky.'"

Simon laughed - a real laugh, surprised and delighted. "Lucky?"

"Yes. Like in 'lucky to be there' ... you know ..."

"I love you."

"I know."

Home. The house was empty in that particular way that made every sound echo - the click of the front door, our footsteps on the hardwood, the rustle of the shopping bag as I retrieved the box.

We sat on the bed together, our shoulders touching. The box was white, minimal, with a single image of the toy on the front. I lifted the lid.

Lucky was smaller than I'd expected. An egg-shaped body made of soft silicone in a shade of pale pink, with a flexible tail about five inches long that curved like a question mark. The surface was smooth, almost silky, and when I picked it up it was cool against my palm.

"Cute," Simon said.

"It really is."

He took the box, scanning the instructions. "QR code for the app." His phone was already out. "I'll download it."

While he tapped through the setup, I examined the toy more closely. A small switch near the base of the tail. I pressed it - a red LED blinked to life, faint but steady. The instructions said something about pairing mode, Bluetooth range, battery life. I didn't care about any of that.

"App's ready," Simon said. His screen showed a clean interface with a circular touchpad and several preset buttons. "Want to test it?"

I handed him Lucky.

He pressed the center of the touchpad. Nothing happened. "It says not connected."

"Try now." I'd found the pairing button, a small indentation near the LED. The light flashed faster, then held steady. "There."

"Got it."

His finger traced the touchpad. Lucky buzzed in his hand - a low, steady vibration that made the silicone shiver. He slid his finger up. The buzzing intensified, faster, harder. Down. Softer, almost a purr.

"There are presets," he said, almost to himself. "Rhythmic patterns."

"Show me."

He cycled through them. One pulsed like a heartbeat - two quick, then a pause, then two quick again. Another rose and fell like breathing. A third was erratic, unpredictable, starting and stopping in patterns my brain couldn't anticipate.

My mouth had gone dry. "I want to try it."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

I stood. My shorts came off first, then my panties. The air in the bedroom was cool against my bare skin. I sat on the edge of the bed, legs apart, and took Lucky from Simon's hand.

The silicone was warm now from his palm.

"Watch," I said.

He watched.

I positioned the egg between my legs, pressing it against my folds. Already slick. The anticipation had done that, the vibration in his hand, the look in his eyes. I pushed gently and Lucky slid inside - the egg first, settling deep against my G-spot, then the tail following until it hung down between my thighs. The red LED pulsed faintly through the silicone, a tiny heartbeat visible beneath my skin.

"Ready," I said.

Simon's finger touched his phone screen.

The vibration hit like a current. Not gentle - Lucky was small but powerful, and the egg was pressed exactly where it needed to be. I gasped, my hips jerking, my hands gripping the sheets.

"Okay?"

"Don't ..." I couldn't finish. The vibration changed - faster, then slower, then that unpredictable pattern that made my legs shake. "Oh my god."

He was watching me with an expression I'd never seen before. Hungry. Focused. His thumb traced circles on the touchpad and I felt every movement inside me.

The heat built with shocking speed. Usually it took time, patience, the right rhythm sustained long enough for my body to catch up. But this - this was relentless. The egg pressed and buzzed and I couldn't escape it, couldn't shift away, couldn't do anything but feel it happen.

"Simon ..."

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to ..." My voice broke. The vibration changed again, ramping higher, and the words dissolved into sounds that weren't words at all. My hips bucked. My thighs clamped together around my own hand, holding Lucky in place. The orgasm rose up from somewhere deeper than I'd ever reached before - not just my clit, not just my pussy, but somewhere behind my pubic bone, a place I'd only glimpsed in fleeting moments.

It broke.

I cried out - loud, louder than I'd meant to, the sound echoing off the bedroom walls. My spine arched off the mattress. My fingers clawed at the sheets. Everything tightened - my stomach, my thighs, the muscles deep inside me clenching around Lucky in pulses that went on and on. Colors swirled behind my closed eyes. Time stretched and compressed and stretched again.

When it finally, finally subsided, I lay trembling. Every bone in my body felt liquefied. I couldn't move my legs. Couldn't feel my toes.

"Renée."

I opened my eyes. Simon was still holding his phone, his knuckles white.

"That," I said, my voice hoarse, "was ... fantastic. I never ... I didn't expect ... " I swallowed. "I've never had an orgasm like that."

"Good?"

"Good doesn't cover it." I reached for him. "Come here."

He set the phone aside. His hand found the tail of Lucky, still hanging between my thighs, and he pulled - slowly, carefully, the egg sliding out of me with a wet sound that made me shiver. The silicone was slick, glistening, the red LED still pulsing.

He set it on the nightstand.

Then he undressed with an urgency that made my spent body stir again. His shirt was off in one motion, his shorts and boxers following in a single push. He was hard - achingly hard, the head of his cock already wet. I reached for him, my fingers wrapping around his length, feeling the heat and weight of him.

"I need to be inside you," he said.

"Then be."

He positioned himself between my legs and entered me in one long stroke. I was still sensitive from the orgasm, still swollen, and the sensation of him filling me made me gasp. He paused there, buried to the hilt, his forehead pressed to mine.

"Okay?"

"More than okay."

He moved - slow at first, deliberate, his hips rolling in a rhythm that let me feel every inch of him. My legs wrapped around his waist. My hands found his back, fingers tracing the muscles that flexed with each thrust. The bed creaked beneath us. The afternoon light filtered through the curtains, golden and soft.

I breathed. "I want to ride you."

He pulled out and rolled onto his back without a word. I straddled him, positioning myself over his cock, and lowered myself until he was fully sheathed. The angle was perfect - him so deep, my clit pressed against the base of him, every nerve ending still hypersensitive from Lucky's work.

I moved. Slowly at first, my hips circling, my hands braced on his chest. His fingers dug into my thighs. His eyes were on my face, watching every flicker of pleasure that crossed it.

"You're gorgeous," he said.

"You're inside me."

"That helps."

I laughed - a breathless sound that turned into a moan as he thrust up into me. The rhythm built, faster now, harder. His hands moved to my ass, gripping, guiding. I leaned forward, changing the angle, and the new pressure made lights pop behind my eyes.

"I'm close." I moaned.

"Then come."

I bore down on him, gripping with every muscle I had, and he thrust up into me with a groan that vibrated through my chest. We came together - his release hot inside me, mine clenching around him in waves that made my vision blur. I collapsed onto his chest, breathing hard, feeling his heart hammer against my ribs.

We lay there for a long moment. His hand traced lazy patterns on my back. My fingers found his hair, still damp from the pool.

"I love it when your cum drips out of me," I murmured against his skin.

He kissed the top of my head. "We have to pick up the kids."

"I know."

"In about twenty minutes."

"I know."

"Want to just lie here for eighteen of them?"

"Yes. Absolutely yes."

---

Sunday arrived soft and slow, the kind of morning that begged for coffee on the terrace and nowhere to be. The kids were in the garden with Simon, their laughter drifting through the open doors. I was in the kitchen, measuring coffee grounds, when the doorbell rang.

Linda stood on the porch, sunglasses pushed up into her blonde ponytail, a smile spreading across her face that said she had news.

"Have a coffee for me?"

"Always."

We settled on the terrace, two mugs steaming between us. Linda crossed her legs, uncrossed them, leaned forward like she was about to burst.

"I have to tell you," she said.

"About Friday night?"

"How did you know?"

"Because you postponed Jamal for a reason. And you've got that look."

Linda's cheeks flushed - that telltale pink that always gave her away. "It was ..." She shook her head. "I don't even know where to start."

"Start at the beginning."

"The beginning was my flat. After we left your place." She took a sip of coffee, her eyes distant. "Jamal came in. I offered him a beer. He said yes. We sat on my couch and talked for about five minutes before I couldn't take it anymore."

"Take what?"

"The way he was looking at me. Like he knew exactly what I wanted and was just waiting for me to admit it." She set down her mug. "So I kissed him."

"And?"

"And he kissed me back. Jesus, Renée, the way he kisses. Slow. Like he's got all the time in the world and he's going to use every second of it." Her voice had gone lower, rougher. "He had me undressed before I even realized it was happening. Just - efficient. His hands were everywhere. My back, my hips, my ..." She glanced toward the garden, where Simon was pushing the kids on the swing. "You know."

"I know."

"He laid me out on the couch and went down on me for - I'm not exaggerating - twenty minutes. Minimum. And he was good at it. Not just going through the motions. He paid attention. Found what worked and kept doing it until I was literally begging him to fuck me."

The word hung in the air between us. Linda had never been shy, but this was different. This wasn't a story about an anonymous stranger through a wall. This was about Jamal - tall, lean, six feet of handyman who'd fixed my terrace lock in ten minutes.

"And then?" I prompted.

"Then he fucked me." Linda's smile was almost smug. "And it was incredible. His stamina, Renée. We went for hours. Different positions - missionary, doggy, me on top, him behind while I held onto the kitchen counter. He just ... didn't stop. Every time I thought he was done, he'd touch me somewhere new and I'd be ready again."

"Hours?"

"Hours. We finally collapsed around two in the morning. Slept until ten the next day." She bit her lip. "And then we woke up. And he was hard again. And we ... yeah."

"That's why he postponed."

"That's why he postponed. I couldn't exactly send him over to paint your ceiling when we were still ..." She gestured vaguely. "Occupied."

"So are you a couple now?"

Linda laughed, but it wasn't entirely happy. "No. We talked about it. He was honest - said he wasn't looking for anything serious. He probably has other girls." She shrugged, but I saw the flicker in her eyes. "With that body? That cock? Of course he does."

"Linda."

"What? It's fine. Really. We're just ... fun partners. That's what he called it. Fun partners."

"And that's enough for you?"

She looked at me then, and for a moment the bravado dropped away. "It has to be, doesn't it? I need what I need. And he gives it to me. I'm not going to pretend I don't want more, but ..." She picked up her coffee. "For now, it's enough. It's what I have."

"How old is he?"

Linda's flush deepened. "Young."

"How young?"

"Twenty-nine."

I did the math. "That's thirteen years younger than you."

"I am aware." She was grinning now, the earlier vulnerability tucked away. "But let me tell you, that youth is not wasted. The energy. The recovery time. The sheer ..." She shook her head. "I'm not complaining."

"I can tell."

A comfortable silence settled between us. In the garden, Simon was pushing both kids on the swing now, one with each hand, his laughter mingling with theirs. Linda watched them for a moment.

"You're lucky, you know," she said quietly.

"I know."

"What time Wednesday? For the ceiling?"

"Here at ten?"

Linda nodded. "Jamal and I will be here. Fully dressed. Ready to work." She paused. "Probably."

"Linda ... !"

"What?"

I shook my head, but I was smiling. "Get out of here. Go enjoy your Sunday."

She stood, stretching in that exaggerated way she had. "Wednesday. Ten o'clock. Don't be surprised if I'm still walking funny."