“Paint me with your cocks and cum,” I asked of Logan and Tim, and in our freshly painted living room they did just that, and in our freshly painted guest bedroom they did just that, and it was all so unbelievably good, the strokes covering every surface, every corner, every niche and nook of me, coat after coat of exquisite love. An hour or so later, my skin flushed cunt pink, I lay beneath the dining room table bathed in bliss. For all I cared Logan and Tim could be ice fishing in Antarctica.

An hour or so later still, I roused myself. I used the bathroom, eschewed a shower for now, and journeyed lead-footed to the kitchen. Tim, naked still, stood over the stove brewing coffee. “Logan’s out getting bagels and cream cheese,” he informed me. “Meanwhile want a cup?”

I sat myself at the kitchen table, and Tim got down a mug and poured a stream of black steaming coffee into it.

“Smells good,” I said, “but you know what?”

“You want sugar? Cream? Tea? Whiskey? Mango juice?”

I laughed. Baby laughed with me. Tim too.

“The color’s wrong,” I said.

“The color of the coffee?” he asked innocently.

“The color of the kitchen. It clashes with my china.” I indicated the mug.

“You’re kidding,” he said.

“Would I kid about a thing like that? I’m afraid you’ll have to redo it.”

“Redo it!” he exclaimed. “Couldn’t you just get new china?”

“No way!” I declared. “This china holds a special place in my heart.”

Tim’s face fell. “Wait a second,” he said, his brow furled. “It was you picked out this color.”

“I know,” I said, shrugging. “So spank me. Spank my bottom til it’s rose red. But you’ll have to catch me first.” I grinned.

Tim got the idea. But he had to set the coffee pot down first, giving me a good head start. He didn’t catch me until I was in the bedroom. I leaned over the armchair, bracing myself, offering my bottom.

“Or you could fuck me,” I offered.

He made the right choice.