One from the drafts folder; this was originally going to be my Smut Marathon Round 7 entry, but I wasn’t sure if it was close enough to the prompt, so I held it back.
“We met when she broke into my house!” Rob jokingly tells people. “I had to teach him to pick locks, or he’d spend most of his life on the front step” counters Maggie, laughing.
It’s been two years since Maggie answered the emergency callout and found a young man stranded outside his front door with an epic hangover and no keys; an expression of sheepish apology on his hawkish features. “Fancy buying me brunch instead?” she’d suggested when he’d tried to pay her for the five minutes’ work required to coax the old lock open. Over Eggs Royale, she’d beguiled him with the sensuality of lockcraft; its delicate probing and stroking, the satisfaction of release when the tumblers align and the barrel slips free. “Teach me, please” begged Rob. Since they moved in together, his skills have improved; only once has she needed to rescue him from the other side of their high-security new door.
“Happy Valentine’s Day”
The package she hands him is small, square; wrapped in scarlet paper and tied with a neat silver bow, it rests with surprising weight on the palm of Rob’s hand.
“Open it then” urges Maggie, bouncing on the sofa cushion beside him, expectant mirth twinkling in her dark-brown eyes.
He slides one finger under the sticky tape, his movements teasingly slow. Within the paper nestles a cardboard box, beneath the lid is-
Rob catches his breath. The bronze padlock gleams in the lamplight; a model he doesn’t recognise but is confident he can defeat. Even if he weren’t, the pair of shining silver rings locked around the haft is all the incentive he’d need. “Pick me?” says the engraving in swirling cursive text on the padlock’s face.
He raises his eyes to hers. She’s still now, watching him nervously, hopefully. “Fancy having a go?” she asks, a tremor of uncertainty in her voice. Rob takes her hand, kisses the finger where her ring- once he frees it – will reside. “Without a doubt. But I need to make sure I do it properly. Want to talk me through it?“
“I can do better than that,” Maggie hooks her fingers beneath the hem of her tight red dress, drawing it upwards “How about a hands-on demo?”
He tracks the hemline’s ascent with a raptor’s concentration.
“Okay. First of all, we start with a thorough inspection of the device.” Off comes the dress, rumpling Maggie’s unruly black curls as she tugs it over her head and lobs it to one side. “Note any unusual features” She kneels up on the cushions, unclasps her bra with an effortless one-handed twist. “What have you got?”
“Well, let’s see. Keyhole, haft, solid casing, no obvious catches or inexplicable widgets”
He’s holding the padlock up to his eyes with one hand, tracing the outline of Maggie’s left breast with the other, attention divided but no less intense.
“Now select the right tools for the job” she purrs, reaching for and unzipping his flies. Her touch is satin-light against the bulging denim.
“Tools. Right.” Slightly breathless, Rob turns his focus to the extraction of suitable tools from their cloth-wrapped home on the coffee table.
“Okay. Find the first binding pin”. Maggie liberates Rob’s swelling cock from his pants, clasping it gently to illustrate the advice. She licks her lips as he probes inside the keyhole with the delicate hook, holding a steady pressure on the tension bar. She taught him well. That same steady pressure drives her wild when applied to her clit; this reminder and his deft movements spark blooms of electricity within her now-slippery cleft. “Mmmm, good moves” she breathes, admiring his dexterous fingers seeking out the pins one by one to lift them gently past the shear line.
“Aha” he gloats when the barrel turns, his gleeful crowing turning to a groan of pleasure when Maggie lowers her head and encloses his now-rigid cock in her mouth. ”Well done” she murmurs with her mouth full of him, her muffled words humming against his skin.
“Great teacher-“ he gasps, and lifts the padlock’s haft to slide the rings out of the gap, temporarily distracted when her tongue strokes the length of his shaft, circles the taut, sensitive head. A pleading whimper escapes him as she pauses and looks up.
“Achievement unlocked” she whispers, slipping the silver rings onto their fingers.
“Next level” agrees Rob.