Page 11 of Boo-ty Calls

Eleven

Sloane

It’s been over five months since that horrible night, and things still hurt, but I’ve swamped myself in work.

The anniversary card I found in the kitchen after the night it happened is in my top drawer. I forced myself to stop sleeping with a square piece of cardstock. Archer’s words meant everything to me, and it was a morbid memento of what we had.

After getting back Archer’s ashes, I decided to make something with some of them. He sits in my office in a black box. An urn would have been better, but I felt the black box could come in handy in the future.

Most people I’ve read online turn their loved one's ashes into jewellery or something for their house. I turned a portion of Archer into something fucking epic.

Once the postman rings the bell, I grab the packages and scurry into the house.

Settling onto the couch, I sort through the mail. PR and author books go in one pile, which I bring to my office and head back.

The box sitting on the coffee table is what has become of Archer, along with some extra packages I ordered recently to decorate him.

Undoing the tape, I reach through the packing peanuts to a smaller box. Setting the black package on my lap I open it carefully, brushing through the grass and grabbing the glass dildo.

“Had to get a bigger one than you, because I wasn’t about to put a cock sleeve on it, although sometimes that might be fun,” I say into the room. Not sure I believe in ghosts, but I like to think Archer is still here.

I clean the mess from the packaging and open the other things before heading up to the bedroom, putting them away in the drawer before walking to my office.

Grabbing Archer, I bring the box to the bedroom, wondering if I should bring him to the bathroom with me. He’s technically in plastic in the dark box, but I decide against it.

“Be unfortunate if the moisture turns you into clay. Would it be clay?”

Why I ask him questions is beyond me, and when I’m angry I shake him for fun because I can’t punish him for being so fucking stupid.

Running the water, I head to the closet and pull out a black nightie. My effort has gone downhill, but it is what it is.

Mason is supposed to come over tonight. It’ll be my first time with anyone since Archer, and the first time alone in fucking forever, but I thought a familiar dick would be better than a rando.

“You were so good at putting up my hair and helping me not spiral in the water. Sometimes I really fucking hate you.”

I fight the urge to give him a little shake and stalk to the bathroom before stepping into the shower stream.

I haven’t taken as many baths and stick to the opposite of everything that was before, because I don’t want to feel like my heart is breaking every time I’m reminded of him. I tried to get them to give me his tattoos, but they wouldn’t let me. It’s been depressing.

Friends are something I should have made. I've gone to a few grief groups, but no one has a sense of humour, and I can only cry so much.

After washing my hair, I shave my legs and wash the rest of me before turning off the water.

Grabbing a towel, I wrap it around myself and plug in my hair dryer. Lying on the bed, I sigh and enjoy the cool air from the window. I have a ton of chores I have to look into doing because Archer isn’t here to take care of everything.

“Fellow. Add leaf bags to my grocery list,” I call out to the electronic aid device I got to help me remember literally anything.

It’s fucking weird calling out Fellow all the time, but something should be able to keep track of the things I forget.

Hauling myself off the bed, I make my way to the bathroom and blow-dry my hair. I put it into pigtails and apply a little eyeliner.

Moving Archer’s box to the side of the bed, I slip into the nightie and pull on thigh-high stockings. Reaching into the drawer, I unwrap the plastic and attach the googly eyes to his urn.

“You should be the one to get me ready, but I’ll be nice and let you watch,” I tell him.

Patting the box, I move the comforter off the bed and let out a muffled growl mixed with a yell. This isn’t how my life was supposed to fucking happen.

Anger is the top of grief, but it’s easier to deal with. God, I have to stop listening to my new therapist. She says all the quiet parts loud as fuck.

Running downstairs, I head to the kitchen, which I now hate, and grab an energy drink. After I drink half of it, there’s another water bottle on the floor, and I know it wasn’t near the edge. It’s been happening almost every time I grab a drink, and it’s annoying.

A knock on the door turns me away from this problem.

“Sloane, baby girl. I missed you,” Mason says, and picks me up into a huge hug.

“Mason, thank you.” I nuzzle into his neck, enjoying the embrace.

He puts me down, and I look into his eyes. The sorrowful look of pity changes to lust as his gaze sweeps over my body. “So, are things looking better?”

“Things are going to hell in a handbasket, but it’s life, eh? Can you do me a favour and see if my fridge is uneven?”

He stares at me for a moment and strokes his jaw, but nods.

We walk to the kitchen, and I sit on a stool while he kneels in front of the fridge and checks it all over. “It’s fine. What’s wrong with it?”

“Water bottles keep falling out. I’m tired of it, but whatever. Let’s go upstairs.” I bounce off the stool and head to the stairs with him behind me. He caresses my ass, and I roll my eyes before turning to him. “Don’t treat me like glass.”

Mason grips the back of my neck and directs me into the bedroom. He pushes me onto the bed and stares at me before glancing around the room. Laughter takes me out of my lustful thoughts.

“He’s watching even now.” Mason continues to hoot, and I roll over to look at the box.

“Archer has been a good boy, and he can watch tonight. Too bad he won’t be able to help. It’s unfortunate.” Grief tightens my throat, and I think about the accessories I got for his box and giggle along with Mason.

“Alright, you’ve likely been bad, but I’ll go under the assumption you’ve been good,” he says and undoes his belt before ripping it off.

I wriggle out of my nightie and wait for him. “So you’re ready to make an ass out of you and I?”

Mason strips off his jeans and straddles me on the bed. Lifting the hem of his shirt, he takes it off and I drink in his body.

“I’ll take your ass right now, I could do so much with it.” He winks, and I roll my eyes. His grip wraps around my chin, and he tilts his head. “Rolling your eyes at me, baby girl?”

“Dead boyfriend card?” I raise an eyebrow. Honestly, at this rate, it’s a habit. It turned Archer on when I rolled my eyes, and I haven’t been dominated in a long time.

“You can only pull that one time a night.” He moves his hand away from my chin and trails it over my skin to my nipples. Lowering his head, he kisses my body and hitches my legs over his shoulders.

“Beg,” he growls.

I grip my tits and arch my hips towards his mouth, but he moves back. “Please, sir, make me cum all over your tongue.”

Mason chuckles but pushes his way between my thighs, and he licks me with a quickness before shoving his fingers inside of me. I’m reminded I’ll never find someone like Archer who worshipped my pussy.

Focusing on the pleasure he’s providing, I melt into the bed as his mouth sucks my clit, and he fucks me with his fingers. My muscles tense as his suction increases, and I scream out as I shake from the orgasm.

“That’s such a good girl, now you’re ready for my big cock.”

I whimper as I come off from the orgasm. Mason moves away from the bed and strokes his cock.

“Get down on your knees, baby girl.”

Scrambling off the mattress, I kneel before him, wrapping my hand around the base of his dick. He throbs beneath my fingers, and I stroke him slowly, licking the tip with a light pressure before sucking and removing him with an audible pop sound.

“Mason, will you fuck me hard?” I ask, staring into his eyes.

He growls and threads his fingers into my hair. “If you don’t stop teasing me, I’m not gonna give you fucking anything.”

I run my tongue over my bottom lip and smirk. Mason raises an eyebrow and forces my head closer to him before sliding his cock into my throat.

Becoming his fuck toy makes all my thoughts disappear as I focus on pleasing him and not choking.

“You take me so well when you drop the fucking attitude.”

Bobbing on his length, he loosens his grip until I regain control and am able to use my own pace. He pulls out and strokes his cock with my spit.

“My attitude is your favourite part,” I say.

“Show me your new toy, let him be a part of this in more ways than one.”

I swallow and get up from the floor to retrieve the glass dildo, lying back on the bed, before Mason takes it from my hand. He thrusts it into me, gasping around the cool temperature. “I didn’t get it to size.”

“No shit, but it’s like he could pretend he’s fulfilling you after death.” He laughs and pulls it out of me, hitching my leg over his hip.

He thrusts into me, filling me with his hard cock. I dig my nails into his shoulder as he strokes in and out, bliss filling me at the girth my pussy clings to.

“Open,” Mason grunts. He slides the glass dildo into my mouth, and carefully I suck my arousal off of it. He takes it away once it’s clean and slips it under my pillow.

Gripping my hips, he slams into me harder and rubs my clit as I spiral toward orgasm, holding on to him closer. Everything tenses, and I meet his thrusts as ecstasy takes over my body. Pushing him out, I squirt over his cock, and Mason groans as he jerks off onto my chest.

“Baby, you were amazing.” He lies beside me for a few minutes before heading into the bathroom and returning with a washcloth.

Cleaning me, he presses a kiss to my forehead. This isn’t our normal dynamic, and I wonder how to apply aftercare to myself.

“Thanks, Mason, I needed that.” Getting off the bed, I slip on a large tee.

He walks toward me and wraps his hand around my shoulders. “Lie down, come on.”

“What?” I look at him, and his dark eyes stare back.

“Not leaving you without a cuddle. Things are different now.”

We lie on the bed, and I cling to his chest as he pulls out my pigtails and strokes my hair. It’s not who I want to do this with, but the consolation prize is alright.

“I’ve gotta go out of town for a while, but I’ll be back next month. We’ll work something out, cool?”

“Yep,” I whisper.

The entire thing is awkward and weird right now, and I don’t know how to feel. Pulling away first, I watch him get dressed and walk him out of the room after I turn off the light.

“We can work on the aftercare part, whatever you need from me. I know I’m not him, maybe you could find a new sub?” He puts on his boots, and I wrap my arm around my middle.

“I’m not about to train someone new. Have a good night, Mason.”

He kisses the top of my head before leaving. I lock up and hear a thunk in the kitchen. I roll my eyes and get the water bottle off the floor before heading to the bedroom.

Pulling the comforter as I get into bed, I notice a spray of neon blue on the fabric.

It looks like jizz, but Mason came on me. He’s also not spouting glow-in-the-dark spunk. Running my fingers over it, it’s almost dry and has no smell.

Taking my meds, I flop back, trying to make a logical connection. When there is none, I pass out from exhaustion.