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Part 5
Ben was working on his laptop, trying to pin down an elusive bug from the comfort of the empty house, when he heard the key turning in the lock. He looked up from his code, losing his focus as the front door swung open.
Lee had gone to meet Mark last night. Ben was used to it by this point, as they met regularly. But last night was different. It was special. Lee had been raving about it for days. The big yearly gathering Mark hosted for everybody in The Scene. Lee hadn’t shared many details, only saying that it was a significant event, one they all eagerly anticipated each year. Before she left, she had given him a quick kiss and told him not to wait up – these gatherings often stretched long into the morning.
And now she was back. Lee stood in the frame, looking ragged, Exhausted, almost asleep on her feet, barely clutching her purse and keys. Her hair was a sticky mess, plastered to her temples and cheeks with a substance Ben was pretty sure he recognized. Her eye makeup was smudged, blacks and grays bleeding down her face. The black lace top she’d worn hung oddly on her frame, one strap nearly severed. She leaned heavily against the door frame, her eyes barely staying open from exhaustion.
He was on his feet in an instant, his chair rolling back and hitting the bookcase. He crossed the room in three long steps, his hands coming up to cradle her arms before she’d fall over. She leaned into his chest with a weight that was more a collapse than an embrace, her own arms slack at her sides.
“Hey,” he whispered, his voice low and steady. “I’ve got you.” He held her then, letting her lean on him. “Are you okay?”
She looked confused, not sure what he was asking. She was surprised at the concern in his voice. Then she realized how it might look to an outsider. “Yes, yes. I’m fine. I’m great. It was a great night. I’m just tired. I haven’t slept in forever,” she managed to explain. “I’m happy to be home. I need to sleep,” she added. Then, after a few seconds, she suddenly let out a frustrated grunt, annoyance momentarily clouding her features. “God, I’m filthy. I can’t go to bed like this. I have to shower. But I’m so tired.“
He gently tilted her chin up. Her eyes slowly opened, trying to focus on him with obvious effort. He placed a feather-light kiss on her lips. They tasted faintly of salt and something metallic. He didn’t flinch.
“May I help?” he asked, the question simple, granting her agency even in her half sleep state.
She looked at him, a lazy smile appearing on her face, reaching her eyes. She gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod, her eyes closing again in a show of trust.
He gently pried the bag and keys from her stiff fingers, placing them with care on the table by the door. Then, he half guided half carried her down the hall to the bathroom, holding her firmly around her waist. She moved like a sleepwalker, each step small, shuffling against the floor.
In the soft light of the bathroom, he worked with a ritualistic tenderness, almost like he too was in a dream. He helped her out of the ruined top, her torn fishnets, and everything else she wore. Each article of clothing told a story he could only imagine. When she was ready to enter the shower, he took off his own clothes so he could be in there with her, help her clean.
He turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature until steam began to fill the air around them. He guided her under the spray, his body a shield between her and the water. He reached for the soft sea-sponge, lathered it with her shower gel she loved, and began to wash her.
It was a silent cleansing. Methodical, almost a meditation in a way. He started with her hair, his fingers working through the sticky mess, rinsing away the remnants of her adventure. The water at their feet ran murky for a moment, but he continued until it cleared up. He soaped her back, her shoulders, her arms. And that’s when he saw them: the precise red lines crisscrossing the pale skin of her biceps and the backs of her thighs. The marks of tight bindings. They weren’t brutal, but they were clear and deep. He saw the thin red whip marks on and below her back, some breaking the skin.
He worked his way down, kneeling before her as the water cascaded over them both. He saw more evidence as he went on. A bite mark on her left breast, and another on her inner thigh. Bruising and swelling on her sex, a result of thorough use. He didn’t pause. He didn’t ask. He just continued his task, rinsing her clean, the sponge moving with a gentle touch. He turned his attention to her backside, cleaning her with the same care, helping to erase the evidence of the night’s activities from her body. Throughout it all, he made sure to keep contact with her body at all time, so she’d always know where he was even with her eyes closed in her half-sleeping state. A hand on her hip. A kiss on her shoulder. A forehead pressed against her damp spine. A constant, silent reassurance that he, Ben, was here.
When the last of the grime and stickiness was gone, he turned off the water and wrapped her in a huge towel. He dried her with the same care, patting her skin dry rather than rubbing. In the bedroom, he dressed her in her comfort clothes: simple cotton panties, loose comfortable sweatpants, and a soft, non-wired bra. She was pliant, a doll relying entirely on him to care for her.
He pulled back the duvet and tucked her in. He noticed how the faint marks on her skin contrasted with the white sheets. He sat on the edge of the bed, one hand gently stroking her hair, watching as the deep sleep of utter exhaustion began to claim her. Her breathing evened out, the tension leaving her face.
After a few minutes, certain she was asleep, he slowly rose to leave. He needed to get back to his work. He needed to let her rest.
As his hand left her hair and he turned to go, a whisper, so faint it was almost a thought, came from her lips.
“I love you.”
He stopped. He turned back. Her eyes were still closed, already lost in dreams. He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear.
“I love you, too,” he murmured in the quiet room.
He clicked off the lamp and closed the blinds, and pulled the door closed until only a crack was left. He stood there for a moment, branding the image of her – cleaned, cared for, and finally safe in her own bed – into his mind. The quiet of the apartment felt different now, changed by intimacy of what had just happened. He took a slow, deep breath and walked back toward the living room. He wanted to turn around, to join her in bed, but he knew she had to sleep. And he had to work – he had a meeting scheduled soon, some boring virtual weekly group meeting dividing work for the next sprint. He could still feel her cool skin under his fingertips, still smell the soap on her body. He was going to be useless for the rest of the day…
Part 6
The deep, dreamless sleep of her exhaustion finally lifted, and Lee awoke to the hazy glow of evening light filtering through her bedroom blinds. She stretched, feeling the aches and tender spots all across her body. She could feel the previous night’s exertions in every move she made. She walked in a slow waddle to the bathroom, and then continued towards the kitchen, pulled by the inviting aroma of garlic and sesame oil.
There he was. Ben, his back to her, focused on the sizzling wok on her stove. The sight was so domestic, so fundamentally normal, that it made her chest ache. She padded towards him, her bare feet making no sound, and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, pressing her cheek against the his solid back. She placed a soft kiss just below his shoulder blade.
He stilled for a moment, one hand pausing mid-stir. His free hand came up to cover her arms, his thumb stroking her skin. It was a brief, anchoring touch before he gently released her to return to the food. “I almost set this on fire,” he murmured, a slight smile in his voice.
“What’s all this?” she asked, her voice still sleepy.
“Fried rice. With the extra-firm tofu you like, and that spicy chili crisp.” He gave the wok a practiced flip. “How are you feeling?”
“Great,” she said, resting her chin on his back again, watching him work. “Just… sore. All over. And it’s kinda hard to walk because…”
She paused. The old instinct was to cloak the truth in some vague term, to protect this fragile normality from the shadow of her other life. But he had cleaned cum from her hair. He had tucked her in. He had said he loved her. Maybe it wasn’t so fragile. The trust he had built felt like a solid floor beneath her feet. She took a small, testing step onto it.
“…because someone really went to town on my ass,” she blurted, the words rushed. She felt him go very still again. Emboldened, she added, her voice quieter, more embarrassed, “More than just one someone, actually. And… more than just my ass.”
His response was immediate. He turned the burner off, moved the wok to a cool part of the stove, and turned in her arms. He didn’t ask for details. He didn’t flinch. He just wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a firm hug, his chin resting on the top of her head. It was an embrace that acknowledged everything. The confession. The trust. Her.
“Go find us something truly terrible to watch,” he said softly into her hair. “I’ll bring the food when it’s ready.”
She nodded against his chest, a wave of relief washing through her, and went to the living room.
Minutes later, they were nestled on the couch, two bowls of perfectly cooked fried rice on the coffee table. Ben sat slouching, and Lee lay on her side, her head a comfortable weight on his stomach, her body curled toward the TV. Some cheesy sci-fi movie was playing, about an alien woman who came to destroy the earth but somehow discovered what love is. Neither of them was really watching.
A new, different kind of tension began to grow alongside the contentment. It was a conscious thought for Lee, a decision. He had given her safety, care, unconditional acceptance. Now, she wanted to give him this. To bridge the gap between the care he provided and the pleasure she knew he, too, must want.
Her hand, which had been resting idly on his lower stomach, began to move. Slowly, her fingers trailed down, tracing the soft fabric of his sweatpants until she found the firm outline of his cock beneath. She felt him take a sharp, quiet breath, but he didn’t move, his eyes fixed on the screen.
Her fingers curled around him, a gentle pressure. He was already half-hard, and he grew fuller under her touch. With a deliberate slowness that felt incredibly bold, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of his sweats and his boxers beneath, tugging them down just enough to let a bit of his cock peek out. She left it like this, the waistband pressing on his shaft.
She shifted her position, moving her head closer to the exposed tip. Her eyes were still on the alien woman trying to reconcile her mission with these unknown feelings she has developed towards the male scientist. But Lee’s entire world had narrowed to the space between his legs. She dipped her head, her lips parting.
The first touch of her mouth on him was electric. For both of them. He was warm and smooth against her lips. She didn’t take him in deeply. She pursed her lips around the very tip, the flushed head of his cock, and began to suckle gently, rhythmically. Like a pacifier. The analogy in her mind was both innocent and deeply erotic.
A low groan escaped him, a sound she felt vibrate through his body into her own. His hand, which had been resting on the couch, came down and his fingers threaded through her hair. Not guiding, not forcing. Just holding. A point of contact. An anchor.
She continued her soft, sucking motions. On screen, the moment of jeopardy arrived. The alien woman discovered the scientist man engineered their meeting in an attempt to stop her from destroying the earth. She was hurt, and angry, and stormed out of his house. In the dim light of the television, Lee kept her rhythm, her mouth warm and wet on the most intimate part of him. One of Ben’s hands continued to play with her hair, the other caressed her back. They stayed like this, enjoying each other, until the credits began to roll.
(The movie is sort of My Step Mother is an Alien. I can’t really recommend it, but it is sort of fun in a bad sort of way)