Randy enjoys getting me all amped up and then leaving me hanging—well, not totally. I always get to come, but he won’t, and I don’t like the inequity in that. I’m already close though, so I’ll make it work until we have the opportunity to do this naked. With more privacy. Just as the tingles begin to spread, Randy backs off. I groan and grab for his belt buckle, but he breaks the kiss and puts one wide palm on the center of my chest, urging me to lie back on the bench.

“What’re you doing? I was almost there.” I’m snappy. It makes him smile.

“I said I was gonna use my fingers.” He pushes them under the elastic of my leotard and skims the hot, damp skin between my legs, still barred by a pair of tights and panties. The palm on my chest moves lower, his fingertips gliding over my left breast and down my stomach. When he reaches the leg hole, he slips that hand under as well.

Finding the waistband of my tights, he yanks them roughly over my hips, pulling them down until they reach the crotch of my skating outfit. Then he goes back for my panties and does the same.

“Do you have any idea how often I think about fucking you like this?”

Randy has a thing for my skating outfits, as evidenced by our current situation. We’ve had sex while I’m wearing one of my competition leotards—the kind with all the sequins and decorative crap. There weren’t any panties or tights to get in the way, though. It was just a matter of moving the crotch to the side and getting in there. That sex was insane.

“I assume it’s a daily thing,” I say snarkily.

“You assume correctly.” He shifts the material so he can access my Vagina Emporium. Threads strain and snap.

“Careful.” I don’t want my outfit totally stretched out in the name of an orgasm.

“I’ll buy you a new one when I wreck this.”

I note there’s no if. “I don’t have a spare here.”

Randy is either too focused on getting his fingers where he wants them, or he’s ignoring me. I assume it’s a combination of the two. He caresses my clit with the back of his fingers as he tries to make room for his hand. I gasp and bite my lip to stifle my moan. The walls in here are cinderblock and great for acoustics, not so great for covert orgasms.

He fumbles around in his back pocket, producing his phone.

I prop myself up on an elbow. “Seriously? You need to do that right now?”

“You actually need to ask that question? This is like…” A few facial tics follow, and he opens and closes his mouth before the words finally come. “If they actually made figure-skating porn, I’d have a real problem.”

“I think you already have a real problem.”

Randy disregards my sassitude and hits the record button. “This woman right here is my number-one fantasy, and she’s all mine.” He maneuvers his hand in the limited space between my panties and tights, which are cutting into my thighs, they’re stretched so tight.

“But only for the next ten minutes,” I add.

He pushes two fingers inside and offers a low “fuck, yeah.”

I bow up off the bench; the loud tearing sound should concern me, but he does the finger curl. Then he drops his head and suctions himself to my clit. This is fairly atypical behavior for Randy. Usually he’s a tongue-only kind of tease with the eating out, so he must be going for maximum effect. I honestly try not to come right away, but he has all the control over my body, so I freefall into orgasm heaven. I bang my head on the bench and bring my hand to my mouth, biting the side of it to muffle my moans.

Randy doesn’t stop sucking even after I’ve come. Instead he keeps going, aware he’ll be able to make me come a second time with minimal effort. Usually he gives me a short reprieve, though, allowing me to come down from the high before he sets me off again. Not so this time.

Tears pool and run down my temples at the pleasure-pain. My entire body jerks and trembles as orgasm number two bitch-slaps me. When my motor function returns, I shove my fingers in his hair and yank, disconnecting his mouth from my oversensitive clit.

He makes this low sound, kind of a growl, like he’s pissed that I’ve stopped him.

“Jesus, Randy, what’s gotten into you?” A full-body tremor—like a legitimate aftershock—makes me lose my grip on his hair.

His expression softens and then becomes panicked. “Lily? Shit.”

The fullness of his fingers inside me disappears. My muscles contract around nothing and an odd, soft sob gets caught in my throat. He reaches out as if to caress my cheek, but realizes my orgasm is still all over his fingers, so he wipes his hand on his shirt. At least it’s white.

He leans over me, sweeping shaky fingers across my temple. His eyes are wide, his thick swallow audible. “Did I hurt you? Are you okay? I didn’t mean to get carried away. I just wanted to make you feel good.”

I still his hands. “You didn’t hurt me.”

“But you’re crying. I made you cry. That’s not supposed to happen.”

“You wouldn’t let me stop coming. It was intense.” I motion to my face. “These aren’t pain tears, they’re overwhelmed-by-sensation tears.”

“Oh.” His relief leaves him on an exhale. “I didn’t know that was a thing. So you’re telling me you can come so hard you cry?”

I’m actually surprised this has never happened to him before. His orgasm missions, along with his former reputation with the bunnies, are legendary.

There’s something going on with Randy. He’s been extra needy lately. Only once this week have we not had sex multiple times a day. Maybe he’s stocking up in preparation for being on the road again once the new season starts. I’m not complaining; I just think there’s more to it than him being horny. The alarm on my phone goes off. It’s my final warning.

“Oh, God. I need to fix myself and get out there!”

“Told you I could get you off before you went on the ice.” The smug tone is there, but he’s missing the usual smirky smirk.

My legs are wobbly as I stand and adjust my panties, then my stretched-out tights. The waistband on both are shot. They’ll have to go in the garbage after this. Also, a huge snag runs from waist to thigh on my right leg. I don’t have an extra pair of tights with me, so I’ll have to deal. The crotch of my leotard is loose now, too, which definitely isn’t optimal—especially since I’m about to teach pairs. I haven’t done pairs in years, so I’m relearning a bit as I’m teaching.