They say if you put a frog in a pot of cool water, put it on a stove, and turn the eye on, the frog will boil to death rather than jump out.
Some nineteenth century frog-torturers did this and said that it works, because that's the type of shit you could do in the nineteenth century and still call yourself a scientist, but modern biologists largely agree that it is just a metaphor. The frog, getting hot enough, will jump out of the pot and go about its business.1 If frogs are indeed capable of complex thought, they may note this day as their epic escape from a kitchen full of enemies, or just a weird hot tub malfunction. Alas, we may never know their perspective, as there are more frog-torturers than frog-interviewers.
You might have noticed that Newton Pulsifer is not a frog. You would be correct; his vertical leap is unimpressive, and he is rarely slick to the touch. That is, indeed, the point. Unlike a frog, when he found himself in a situation that got hotter and hotter, he stayed put.
"Breathe," is the only instruction he gets as the tip of the dildo starts to breach him. He's almost too wound up to do it, but he manages, trying to relax as Anathema pushes inside of him. It's not the first time; she likes to play with him, and so far he hasn't refused her once. This one is just particularly big, the biggest he's taken by kind of a lot.
"Steady," Anathema says, putting a hand on his hip as he tries to push back against her. "Let me do the work for now."
"Yes, ma'am," Newt says, letting his head hang. He can't see anything when he does it, the angle wrong to catch sight of Anathema's cock entering him. He can feel it though, inch by inch, sliding in slickly. It feels like it's splitting him open, like it's too much by far. It also feels intoxicating, so satisfying in a way he doesn't have words for.
"How's that?" she says, as her hips come to rest against his ass, her cock all the way inside of him. He feels like he's being stretched impossibly wide, like there's no way he should be able to take it.
"Ohh," he says, unable to express himself entirely.
"Good oh?" she asks.
"Mmm," he says.
She laughs, and he groans as she pulls back and thrusts in, a slow drag that feels unspeakably good. His hands fist in the sheets as Anathema rocks into him, setting a steady rhythm. She can be demanding and capricious in bed, two things that make his sex life harder but exhilarating, but for now she's taking her time, wanting nothing from him but to hold still and let her do this to him.
It occurs to him that a lot of what she does to him involves him just staying still. She doesn't really care about tying him up; she'd rather him sit there and take it just because she wants him to, just to prove that she has the power to make him do whatever she wants. He just stays still as she pours hot wax onto him, building it in slow patterns until he's covered in a radiant, almost soothing warmth; he just stays still as she decorates him with clothespins, leaving them in rows and circles that she yanks off, feeling like a line of fire is left in their wake.
It's not all staying still; he can't just stay still if he's going to eat her out, and he does that at least once a day. When he's doing that, she wants him everywhere, taking the initiative to please her, devouring her in exactly the way she wants to be devoured. This is the case even if she wants to do it with her straddling him; he has to do the work and let her enjoy it.
Newt has not realized yet that all of it is building, building and building and building, all these things she wants from him adding up, the water reaching a boil. He's too bewildered to notice, too overtaken by her, too enamoured of his good luck. And this is where it has gotten him, with her all the way inside of him; she'll keep him there until his muscles are shaking, until she wrings the pleasure out of him.
Newt goes down on his elbows as she starts to fuck him, keeping his hips lifted like he's presenting himself to her. That's exactly what he's doing, offering whatever he has for her to take, grasp, snatch; she likes that about him. He certainly likes the way she's moving inside of him, long slides where she presses all the way in. His body parts easily for her, lets her in without even a protest. That's how he wants it; he wants more than anything to be hers as she wants him to be, to put up no resistance to her. He's lucky, so lucky, and he doesn't want to lose what he has. It's also entirely selfish, the way he wants to please her; the more he gives, the more she takes, and it's simply marvelous.
"Oh, love," he says, because it's the only thing she'll let him call her when it's like this part from ma'am. Ma'am has its benefits, but he really wants to express himself better than that, wants her to know how deep he already is just from her fucking him.
"My sweet boy," she says, and she tousles his hair. "Having fun?"
"Oh yes," he says, feeling a little better at expressing himself now that he's gotten accustomed to it. "I just- if you would-"
"Faster?" she suggests, and she speeds up.
"Yes," he moans, putting his forehead down against the bed. "Yes, please."
"You're so sweet, you know that?" she says, stroking his back before she wraps both her hands around his hips, pulling him back onto her cock. He's bigger than her by a lot, but he loves the way she can just move him, like he's small and safe with her.
There will be more after this; she will ask more and more of him. She will demand what she wants, and she won't leave him a choice in the matter. But he will always give it to her, always find a way to take and take until she's satisfied with him. Nothing sounds better, when it's like this, than the idea that she will undo him entirely, take him until he's completely taken up, completely used. If he thought about it rationally, maybe this would scare him. It doesn't really matter, because he's never thought about it rationally and he never will. Unlike with so many things, it hasn't even occurred to him yet that he should be afraid, so he isn't.
This isn't because he's an idiot, or because he's brave. This is because he's too satisfied to question any of it. Anathema is his first, and if he has anything to say about it, she'll be his last. He has never wanted anyone like he wants her; he has never been wanted by anyone like she wants him. He has no interest whatsoever in finding out if there is some kind of other option, something outside this that might appeal, because what he has is so perfect that the idea that something might surpass it is practically nonsense.
"Harder," he pants, unable to stop himself from saying it. "Please, ma'am, do it harder."
Anathema laughs, a bright, pure sound of pleasure. "I knew you'd take it for me," she says, and her voice is light, delighted. "I knew you'd love it if you let me do it."
"I do," Newt pants. "Oh, I do, I love it, please give me more."
"Shh," she says. "I'm going to give you everything, sweetheart, and you're going to take it."
"Yes," he gasps, as she starts fucking him harder. He feels stretched to his absolute limit, and it feels so impossibly good. He knows he's big, though not quite this big, and he wonders selfishly if this is how it makes her feel when she lets him fuck her, complete in a way he can experience but not describe. If it is, he understands why she likes to ride him so much. It's a very nice feeling.
Over the sound of their bodies meeting, over the sensation, he can hear Anathema's breathing picking up. One of the things that makes him very lucky is that she gets off easily; the dildo she's fucking him with has a part that goes inside of her, linking their bodies, and he knows it's enough to bring her off. She'll probably do it more than once before she lets him come, and it turns him on like mad, the idea that this is another way she can take her pleasure from his body.
"You make me feel so good," he manages to say, pushing the words out, because she loves his voice, loves to hear what she's doing to him. "I want you so much."
"Oh?" Anathema pants, and he knows she's on the hook.
"Yes," Newt sighs. "Oh yes, please take me as hard as you want, ma'am, I love being yours." She snaps her hips forward, pressing into him deep, and he breaks off to gasp. "I- I want you so much," he says unsteadily. "Please, love, give me everything, I want to hear you come so badly."
"You little sneak," she says, sounding turned on and impressed, which perks up his ego just a bit.
"Please fuck me harder," he says, and it's getting easier as he goes on, easier to bare it for her, to push her onwards. "I love how you feel inside me, I never want to give it up." He pushes back against her. "I want you to fuck me until you come, I want you to use me, please, please take me-"
Anathema lets out a cry, her hips stuttering, rhythm lost; Newt picks it up, keeps going, makes sure her end of the dildo keeps moving as she comes, drawing it out. She makes the most amazing sounds when she comes, like it's overwhelming, a shock, and Newt drinks them in greedily, just like he always does.
"S-stop," she says finally, putting a hand on his back. She sounds winded, maybe a little bit wrecked, and he tries not to gloat about it too much. He does stop, sliding forward a bit to get comfortable. "You're something else, do you know that?"
"Thank you," he says, not sure if it's a compliment but feeling that way anyway.
She sighs heavily. "Give me a second, okay?"
"As long as you need," he says, and he reaches back; all he can get his hand on is her thigh, so he strokes it soothingly, trying to give her another point of connection, a reassurance. He knows what it's like when it's too much, and he wants to help her through it, calm her down. He'll stay like this as long as she wants, even though he wants more and more; her comfort is more important than his need.
And Newt does what he, unlike a frog, has gotten very good at.
He stays put.
1 The behavior of the frog when the lid has been placed on the pot is a separate issue and not germane, though much more easily predicted. ↩