Interlewd (Cyndi Stories 04)

I woke up because I was sweltering under the blankets. The fire had burned low, with just glowing coals remaining, so it was much colder outside the blankets. I carefully slipped out from behind Cyndi, hoping I wouldn't wake her, and knelt by the fireplace in my boxers. I carefully, quietly placed a couple of small, dry logs onto the embers to get it going again. I could smell dying woodsmoke, her hair, and the sharp, musky scent of sex we left on the blankets. One arm was tucked under her pillow, the other where my chest had been under the blankets. Her breathing remained thankfully slow and even. She was so beautiful, even during and after our angry session. It was killing me, because I fall in love way too easily - something I think from my parents divorcing in my teenage years, maybe. It had to happen, but it was still tough.

The bark on the new logs crackled quietly as the coals caught onto it. I stayed a minute longer, watching the flames climb - the red, orange, yellow, and an occasional low blue slowly darkening the new wood - letting the heat from it push away the chill that was creeping silently across the floorboards like a mouse looking for food.

I crossed to the kitchen window. It was pitch black outside. No lights, just stars and snow. The snow erased everything, a new slate for a new day. A smooth, white slope rose all the way to the middle of the window. The snow pounded us as hard as I pounded her, I thought to myself, chuckling at the little quip.

The wine bottle was no longer on the floor. Instead, it had been moved to the kitchen table, bright firelight from the hearth glinting off its green, reflective surface. It was nearly empty now. Maybe I'd knocked it over by accident in my sleep, and maybe Cyndi cleaned it up. I'm not sure. Maybe the idea that her husband was cheating on her was more than she bargained for last night. I couldn't blame her.

I padded quietly over to the cold, dark front door. I tried it just to check, but it was jammed solid. We were officially snowed in, which could be dangerous when there wasn't a store for miles, but we had picked up quite a few groceries, and I imagined the snow would only last a few days at most - it was still early, and autumn rarely forgets the heat, even if it brings cold, bitter winds sometimes. We at least were certainly not going anywhere today, and probably not tomorrow, which suited me just fine. More time to have sex with the woman of my dreams. More time to recover from the breakup, and for her to recover from last night's awful revelations. I felt so bad for her.

The pressure on my bladder finally won over my other priorities. I took care of it in the restroom, moving entirely on autopilot, but stood in front of the mirror silently, my hands and arms providing support on the sink. I looked older than 20 at the time. Perhaps it was the thought of my dad passing away from alcoholism at such an early age. Perhaps it was the thought of my parents divorcing for the same reason when I was just a teenager. I'm not sure now. But life felt heavier after last night, harder.

When I came back out, I paused at the foot of the blankets we'd spread on the floor, a blessedly large number of them being very soft and thick - the floor was damned hard otherwise. Cyndi had shifted slightly onto her back, head to the side a tiny bit, peace on her wonderful face finally. The firelight touched the curve of Cyndi's belly, and her hip and leg, which she'd kicked free of the blankets. The soft skin of her stomach was exposed where her robe had fallen open in the night. She seemed smaller, younger like this. Not fragile, but unguarded, not on edge and ready to bolt. No, not fragile, but resilient. I knew she could beat this.

I added a few more logs to the fire while it was starting to regain heat momentum, to ensure that it would last until the morning proper.

Then I slid in beside her again, careful not to touch her before I'd warmed up considerably. For a while I just lay there, listening to the fire and the almost inaudible sound of snow settling against the cabin roof and walls. The isolation should have felt like pressure, but it didn't, not to me anyway. It felt more like someone saying, "You have business together. Make sure to complete it." Like the world gave us a sealed room and told us to figure our shit out.

I thought about her voice in the kitchen, when she realized what the broken glass meant, her voice breaking as painfully as the glass itself. I was glad she turned to someone she could control to try to alleviate that pain and stress, and was even happier that it was me, it was us. I couldn't be the only person she depended on, which I knew could be a problem for people, but being one person among many that she's not afraid to come to just to talk, or to do more, that was perfection. That was what she needed, I thought. Surprising wisdom for a boy of 20, but learned from hard lessons in my life directly.

She made a small sound in her sleep and pulled the blanket higher over us. I reached over and made sure to cover up her leg and stomach better, so she didn't get cold. I stayed very still until her breathing evened out again afterward. Then I let my eyes close, one now-warm hand resting on her hip, my body turned toward her, head resting on my pillow.

Outside, the snow continued its relentless fall.

*****

I guess waking up to pee at 3 in the morning disrupted my sleep more than I thought it would, because I was totally exhausted upon waking. But food was cooking again, and coffee was brewing, and the stomach called.

I got up silently and snuck over to the kitchen. "Good morning, beautiful. Where have you been all my life?" I said to Cyndi's back.

"Oh! You scared me, young man!" She turned around and smiled at me, eyes wild, then put her arms around me and planted a kiss on me. I mmmed into her. "You ready for food?"

"I yam!" I pronounced it as if it was spelled that way. "But I need to wash my face first. I'm really tired, don't feel as if I slept at all." I went into the bathroom to throw some water on my face, and to the bedroom to grab my robe. When I came back, there were two plates of a sausage, egg, and potato hash on the table, black pepper and chives pleasantly atop, and two large mugs of coffee. She was eating this morning, real food, not just man-meat. That was good, and I was hopeful, even though the wine bottle was in the garbage (presumably) now.

"My brain feels like it's sloshing around. Oof. This will help, thank you so much Cyndi." I took a long draught of the coffee, blessedly black, so rich it tasted like a massive espresso. I stared at my food for a minute, and somehow managed to find the energy to shove a few forkfuls into my mouth. After methodically chewing and swallowing the food - I was pretty disappointed at the time, not because the food wasn't good, it was amazing, but because my headache/brain was not allowing me to really enjoy it - I decided to bring up the wine.

"Cyndi, my sweet."

"Kyle, my man." She said with a smile.

"I'm so exhausted. I don't know what's going on. I woke up really early - like 3 AM or something, seems like we're snowed in. I saw the wine bottle - did I...knock that over or something while asleep?"

"No. I ended up finishing it, wasn't quite ready for bed yet when we laid down, went into the bedroom to read and then came back out."

It sounded reasonable. "Oh okay. Can I make a request? I know it's not really my place, but at least I'd like to talk about it."

"You think I drink too much," she said as I took a couple more bites. I glanced up at her as she said it.

"Yes. That's what I was going to say," I said around the food. I swallowed it all. "Sorry, shouldn't talk with my mouth open. You heard me." I smiled.

"I know sweetie, and you're right. I also thought about that. I realized it's tied to my husband - for him and me to interact at all with civility or romance, we basically both have to be at least a little drunk, and it's been like that for over 10 years. I'm not happy about it."

I let a moment of quiet pass before speaking up again. "I don't think you'd have ever met my parents, or my mom and her new husband. When they divorced, my dad took it pretty hard. He was already a regular drinker, they both were at the time, but he went the opposite route my mom did. My dad took to the grape much harder, and to be honest, not to suggest you're anything like this, I know you're not as I've seen you, he drank himself to death. The way his relationships and stuff were affected and he became isolated due to his anger issues, it was not pretty. Even I, among my family members who still had some respect for him, had trouble maintaining contact with him, not because I didn't want to try, but because he just didn't allow himself to think about things like that. It was all about when he could get drunk, and if not, then what even was the point? Do you follow?"

"Yeah, that makes sense. I promise I'm not like that."

"I know! I know sweetie, I know. I promise you I don't think of you anything like that, because even though it's been only a few days since our relationship has started, I've watched. I'm sure you noticed." I stood up and started walking around, which always helped me think. She joined me, leaning against the counter.

"Yes, you are a very pretty nag." She smiled.

"Sorry, I know I am. A nag anyway. In any case, my dad died pretty young, only 50, when I was 10. They separated when I was eight, divorced when I was nine, and he was dead by 10. My mom stopped drinking at that time. She wanted to regain her independence from him, and part of that was ensuring that she could feel when the relationship with her boyfriend - now husband - started. She didn't want to miss any part of it, not even just by accidentally having a little too much 'to get tipsy'. She loves him so much, more than she even loved my dad - or maybe differently from how she loved him - because she doesn't need the alcohol to numb the pain of the rest of the problems in her life. She deals with them head on, or there are no problems at all."

"Okay. That sounds...kinda similar to my current situation." She said.

I replied, "Yeah, I know. I'm not just making this up, happy to have you talk to her if you want. But in any case, all I'm saying is that I would love for you to be able to really feel the feelings that you have with me, good or bad. I fully understand your situation is different from what my parents were going through, and that you are nothing like my dad, but I care about you deeply, and I care FOR you deeply. I want you to care about you, too. God damnit, I sound like a bad 80s commercial. This is your brain on drugs. Any questions?"

She laughed, and surprisingly, my brain woke up. I continued. "I'm so sorry, my brain only just woke up. I take everything back, you are fine."

"Oh my sweet man, you do not need to apologize. You're not wrong - you're really not. No, I take that back: you're absolutely right. I realized that myself, unfortunately, after I finished that bottle. It made me sick to think about it - I got rid of a bunch of it in the sink. I grew up among wine vineyards, and we used to drink as teens a lot. When the troubles started building up with my husband, who had been my high school sweetheart, I took up drinking more seriously. It was easier just to forget that we even had an argument, than to figure out why we really had the argument."

"From this point forward, I will slow down, and I will eventually stop. I promise you that. I want to feel every inch of you, your happiness, your anger, your cute ass, huge cock, everything. And I don't want to forget it. If we have an argument, we'll work it out. I'm so sorry about your dad. I won't subject you to anything like that again."

I perked up, "Mind you, I actually don't mind if you have a drink occasionally. I know people enjoy it for good reasons. It's just something I can never enjoy, and even despite our age difference, I do actually want to have a...long-term relationship with you, if you'll have me."

"That's still something we have to discuss - I'm not saying no, just...I think you really should still be with someone your age, and if you're a crutch for me as I work through my husband issues, that could take forever, and I don't want you to be beholden to silly old me for the wrong reasons. I mean I will surely need friends and I won't sleep with anyone else if you don't want me to, but you really should have others more appropriate to your age."

"I will be whatever you want me to be, and you already are and continue to be what I need and want, so I love that." I put my hand on her head and petted her hair backward. I kissed her deep, but then broke it. "I know I've said a lot about what I need. Let me ask you: what do you feel you need right now?"

She moved her hands down to my butt and gave me a pinch, but didn't say anything, just smiled. She pulled herself closer, put her arms under my robe, and started rubbing my butt.

"Okay, I think I get the hint. Do you think it's really a need?"

"Yes. Right now, yes. You said I needed to reclaim my power. I thought about it more this morning after I'd sobered up, and realized I also need to reclaim this space. And I have just the way to do it - you, I mean. I have just the way to do you to help me reclaim both at once."

"Ohh, okay. Well, I'm okay with that. Do you want me to shower first? I'm a little...ripe." I asked.

She said, "We need to start in the bathroom anyway, so yes, we'll shower together. Have you seen it yet? It was the one requirement I had when we got this place: a huge, comfy bathroom with an at-least-two-person shower."

"We need to...start there?" I was not sure what to expect. She just smiled.

She took me by the hand, and I quickly chugged my now-cooled coffee as we moved to the bathroom, placing the empty mug on the couch on the way.

This was the first time I really looked, while not groggy, at the bathroom. She was right, it was beautiful. There were huge, wide windows that proved the snow was very high right now, probably up to my waist. There was a toilet with a bidet built into it, old fashioned and fun. The sink had one of those "waterfall" like faucets on it, and I noticed a bottle of lube on it next to the hand soap. The shower was huge, a walk-in shower with a glass door that closed shut pretty tight. It was sealed on top and bottom and on the non-sliding side, which was nice, so it wouldn't flood the nice wood of the bathroom floor regularly. There was almost two feet of clearance above me inside the shower, with a double-shower-head setup, one on each side of the shower, so neither person had to be in the cold while the other was cleaning themselves.

"Okay, before we get into the shower, I need you to do something. I need you to clean yourself out. I can help, but it's really just manual. What you'll do is sit on the toilet and turn on the bidet. You can control the temperature with the dial on the side there, warmer or colder depending on what you prefer. The bidet has some strength, but you can change it by turning the other knob more or less. I suggest starting slow just to get a feel for it, and then you can kind of figure out how to relax yourself so that when you turn it up more, it is able to go into you."

I asked, "Okay, and we're sure this is necessary? I don't mind, I just don't really know the mechanics of whatever we're doing."

"Yes. Basically, when you have something put into your butt, if there's anything in there, it can cause some discomfort. It's better to at least clean out the immediate area, and sometimes even higher up, depending on what you like. I understand most men prefer it just right near the entrance, so I'm not going to do anything extreme to begin with, until and unless you tell me it's okay and to be adventurous."

"Interesting, alright. Well, no time like the present." I sat down and turned it on, to warmer. I wasn't really sure what I'd prefer, since it's not a feeling I've had any real experience with before, but warm seemed safe enough. Unfortunately, I turned the other knob the wrong way and it automatically aimed for my vagina, which I didn't have, so it just hit me straight in the nutters, some of it splashing out and splashing onto Cyndi's leg. I laughed. "Whoops!" I turned it back the other way for the strength, and that was better. I could feel it tickling my butt.

I decided to kind of "flex" my butt to see what that made it feel like, before continuing to a higher pressure. I started to make faces and Cyndi laughed. She said, "You're very expressive with your face, I love that. Helps me see if what I'm doing is really working or not, erection or no. Do you want to try a little harder now?" Her teeth gleamed in the dim light coming through the window, and from the overhead, recessed lights. She looked...hungry again.

I turned it up higher, and it seemed I did figure out how to relax at least a little bit. The water went in and I could feel it starting to feel really interesting in me. I turned it off for the time being, and pushed a little. It came out immediately, and not very much, but it was effective. I was a tad embarrassed, not used to doing this type of thing when the woman I'm fucking is in the room, but she was fascinated.

So fascinated that she reached out and grabbed between my legs for my penis and balls. She pulled them up and held them, and turned the knob on again for me, to a little more than where I had it. She was stroking me to hardness, then grabbed the bottle of lube, applied some to her hand, and started using that. When I had gotten fully hard, the water no longer could get into me.

"We're going to work on this. I don't know if it actually helps, like I said I'm not that experienced, but I've read that if the man can have an enema going in and out of him while he's still hard, it will make the actual sex better for him, more enjoyable so he can remain hard with anything in him."

I'm still not sure if this was one of her little jokes or not, but, in hindsight, it didn't feel wrong?

She turned the knob for the pressure higher, and higher again, constantly pulling on my cock, trying to look underneath to make sure it was going in. "Is that working?"

I quickly responded, "Yes, I'm getting very full."

She turned it off instantly. "Okay, let it out. I know the smell isn't great, sorry, but I really want this. We'll only do this a few more times."

When I was finally done pushing that one out of me, I flushed - the toilet, and the color in my face due to some embarrassment - and she turned it back on up to where it was before, forcing more water into me. It started to feel pretty loose and good, not like what I was expecting at all. But my belly was starting to feel full in a way. It wasn't uncomfortable, but also not exactly comfortable. When I started pushing this one out, she kept the water running and the water streams fought a battle, which I won for a little bit, then the bidet did, then I did again. Finally, she turned it to a lighter setting, and made sure it stayed on for a while to actually clean my bottom, as I continued to stream out the rest.

"That was...incredible. Suffice it to say, that was a new experience for me." I said, breathing heavy. She was still stroking me, but I was able to get a lot harder now that everything was out of me. And I mean everything.

"Yeah, isn't it? I love it too, myself. Now, let's take a shower and get you a little looser. Also, please tell me if anything is too much, don't want you to die of embarrassment."

"Aw okay. I appreciate it. Do you want to do it now also for afterward?" I asked.

"I certainly can, but just so you know, you're going to cum by the time I'm done with you. A lot. More than you ever have before. I can pretty much guarantee that. And we're going to paint this cabin white on the inside, just like it is on the outside right now, so I can feel like I've reclaimed it for myself. Is that okay?"