A St. Patrick’s Day Treasure Hunt

For a lot of people, St. Patrick’s Day is all about luck… but not for me!  I’ve forgotten to wear green almost every year.  And you know what happens when you don’t wear green.  People are allowed to pinch you.  I had sort of hoped that little tradition would end with college, but something told me it wouldn’t.  Over the last couple of weeks, the campus had started getting plastered with bright green fliers and little shamrock decorations, and I was starting to think everyone at State took it pretty seriously.  Like most holidays, the school spirit was strong, and I had made a promise to myself not to forget to wear green… just in case.

I woke up in my dorm late, rolling over to look at the desk calendar.  St. Patrick’s Day was circled with a green marker.  I realized blearily that, even though I’d marked the day down, I had completely forgotten to do my laundry.

Sometimes I think if it weren’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have any luck at all!

But the desk calendar, and the day circled on it, wasn’t the only thing on my desk.  Next to it was a small pot of shamrocks and a little green post-it with a note on it.  That definitely hadn’t been there before.  I sat up in confusion, wondering where it had come from, and reached over to read it.

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Oh, Geena! I thought.  I shouldn’t have expected her to go easy on me.  Geena loves giving me gifts but, usually, she expects me to earn them.  Most of the time, earning them is as much of a gift as the reward itself.

I flipped the note over; there was an address on the back.

I went to my dresser to try to find a clean, green shirt, but came up empty-handed.  I had no idea how long Geena’s treasure hunt would take, so I gave up.  I didn’t want to keep her waiting, and I was intrigued by her mysterious message.  I dragged a comb through my hair, brushed my teeth, and set off toward the address on the post-it.

The apartment building was just off campus, in a nice neighborhood lined with small boutiques.  I knocked on the door of unit #6, expecting whoever was inside to have the next clue.  But when the door opened, the person inside was empty-handed.

It was Geena’s friend Rachel.  She was wearing a verdant pant suit that made her already-imposing figure look even more dominant.  She reached out without hesitation, her nails long and painted emerald, and pinched my arm.  Hard.

“Ow!” I exclaimed, jerking back.

“You’re supposed to be wearing green,” she said disapprovingly.

I rubbed my arm; the pinch had left a little red mark.  “Well, I didn’t have a clean shirt.”

Rachel smiled smugly down at me.  “Makes sense.  You seem like a dirty boy, Mike.”

“…Geena sent me here to get a clue for a treasure hunt,” I said, trying to ignore her comment.

“She said you’d come soon.  …speaking of coming soon, why don’t you come in for a bit?  I don’t want to be rude.  Let me offer you a drink.”

I hesitated, but reluctantly stepped over the threshold, into Rachel’s apartment.  It was a neat space, a little more severe and organized than Geena’s place.  Geena always had a book or two on her coffee table, and sometimes a mug of coffee or hot chocolate on the kitchenette counter.  Rachel’s place was spotless, like something out of a magazine.  I have a suspicion she’s got a small army of boy maids who come to dust it for her; it’s the sort of thing she’d do.  Rachel’s apartment was spacious and most of its accents were white, making Rachel’s lush emerald outfit pop brightly.

“So, Mike,” purred Rachel, putting her hands on the counter and thrusting her hips out.  “You said you didn’t have a clue?”  She gave her eyes a little roll.

“I’m here for a clue,” I said stubbornly. 

“Are you willing to earn it?”

I weighed my options.  I could say no, get kicked out, and disappoint Geena.  Or I could play Rachel’s game.  Since Geena was the one who had sent me here, I figured that she’d probably given Rachel some boundaries.  Rachel can be slightly terrifying, but I know she and Geena respect each other.

“Yes,” I said, after a moment of debate.

Rachel grinned like the Cheshire cat.  “Great.  Then why don’t you take off those clothes for me?”

I obediently pulled off my shirt and dropped my jeans.  Rachel smiled, crossing her arms, staring at me hard.  She was trying to make me uncomfortable, and it was working.  I felt like a bug in a jar.  I stared at her bright green nails to avoid looking at her face, trying not to blush.

“I see why Geena keeps you around,” she said as she appraised my body.  “…haven’t you forgotten something?”

Of course.

I pulled down my underwear, freeing my cock.  Rachel stared at it hungrily and I resisted the urge to cover myself with my hands, knowing if I did, she’d comment on it and maybe punish me.

“Grip it,” she said.

“What?” I asked.

“You heard me.  Grip your shaft and stroke your dick for me, Mike.  Geena made it very clear that she didn’t want you to get too stimulated on this hunt.  Your reward is at the end, and you have to earn it.  So jerk off now, because you won’t get the opportunity to do so later.”

I cuffed my shaft, working it, trying to find something to look at in the spotlessly sterile apartment.  My eyes kept getting dragged back to Rachel’s acid-green nails. 

“Faster,” she commanded.

I pumped myself faster, hunching my shoulders a little.  I was getting hard thinking about Geena and Rachel discussing this over coffee; I could imagine Geena telling Rachel what she had in store for me.  I was excited to find out.

“Slower.”

I groaned.  “But–”

“Slower!”

I slowed down, squeezing my erection longingly.

“That’s it.  I see a little precum… rub it in… get it nice and slick,” commanded Rachel.

I rolled my thumb over the head, dragging a slippery bead of precum down the length and shivering at the way my hand glided around my cock.

Rachel turned and opened a cabinet, plucking a red Solo cup out of it.  She walked over to me, hips swaying seductively, and thrust the cup at me.  “Take this.  I don’t want you making a mess in my apartment.”

I took the cup in my left hand, my right still stroking my erection lazily.

“Now faster.  Come on.  Hurry up, I don’t have all morning!  Point that pecker into the cup and drain yourself.”

I quickened my pace, furiously rubbing my cock; I put the cup over it and when I came, I was mortified at the loud sound of my cum hitting the bottom.  The empty cup amplified the noise, making it clear that I was ejaculating, right there in the middle of Rachel’s living room!

She watched approvingly, nodding.  “Keep stroking it.  Make sure you get every last drop,” she purred as I jerked myself off into the cup.  I continued rubbing myself, milking my waning erection while she watched.  “Good, good.  Now, empty the cup.”

I stepped toward the kitchenette; Rachel side-stepped, blocking me.  “Ah-ah-ah!” she admonished.

I looked around the room, trying to figure out if she meant I was supposed to rinse the cup in the bathroom.

Rachel rolled her eyes.  “I said I would offer you a drink.  Bottoms up, Mike.”

I looked down at the cup in my hand, and the thick, glistening evidence of my orgasm in the bottom of it.  Before I could overthink it, I brought the cup to my lips and tilted it, letting my cum slide back into my throat, gulping it down.

Rachel seemed delighted.  “Very good!” she exclaimed, clapping like I was a poodle that had just learned to sit up and beg.  “Now, I have some presents for you.  Don’t move.”

I stood there holding the empty cup, the tang of my semen still on my tongue, as she went to the bedroom.  She returned with a small paper bag; she set it on the coffee table and pulled a metal cock cage from it.  “This is to make sure you behave for the rest of the hunt.  We don’t want you to get distracted!” she chirped, reaching between my legs. 

My balls tightened at her touch, but she was professional, almost clinical, as she eased my flaccid member into the smooth, cold metal bars of the cage and eased my balls into the locking ring.  It fit me like a glove; I heard it click closed and I was silently grateful she’d had me cum first.  Wearing the cage while on the hunt, wondering what Geena had in store for me, would have been torture.  At least the girls had given me a little bit of relief, first!

She gave the cage a little dangle, weighing it in her hand.  “Perfect,” she said.  “And now…”

She reached into the bag and pulled out a pair of green briefs.  “Since you don’t own anything green,” she explained.

“Great.  Thanks,” I said, hurriedly pulling them on, still gripping the cup hard enough to dent it a little.  The cage filled out the front of the underwear with a hefty bulge; it was flattering, I have to admit.

“And your clue,” she concluded, taking another green post-it note from the bag.  She offered it to me and dusted off her hands.  “Now shoo!”

I was already putting my shirt on as best as I could with the cup and the note in my hands; I left the apartment, eager to see what was next.  It was only after the door slammed behind me that I realized I was still holding the empty cup. 

Oh, well.  I could find a trash bin on the way. 

I read the note:

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I knew Wendy from Geena’s art class… and from some of her, um, artistic projects.  She was tiny but a real fire-cracker.

I loped off toward the west side of campus, the cock cage heavy between my legs.  I had thought that getting to cum at Rachel’s was a blessing, but it turned out it didn’t matter much; the thought of finishing Geena’s treasure hunt was too exciting, and the weight of the cock cage made it impossible for me to ignore how sensitive my cock was.  I was aware of every inch of skin as I walked across campus; I’m sure my face was bright red.  A few people gave me glances; I hoped it was because I wasn’t wearing green and not because of the way I was walking!

When I came to Wendy’s apartment, I suddenly grew worried she might be in her art studio in a building across campus.  I rang her bell nervously, not looking forward to another walk, but to my relief, Wendy pulled open the door.  She was wearing a pair of olive overalls, the legs cuffed up to the knee, and no shirt underneath; the overalls were too big, hanging down so that I could see the freckles across her chest.

She immediately pinched me.

“Ow!  Wendy, I’m wearing green!” I cried, rubbing my arm.  Her mark was just above Rachel’s.

“No you’re not,” she said.

“I am!” I said with frustration, pulling the waistband of the briefs up a little so she could see my underwear.

“Oh, whoops.  Well, you really ought to be wearing something more visible than that!  Come on in, Mike,” she said, stepping aside.

I entered her apartment.  It was an artist’s dream, as messy as Rachel’s was clean.  There were sketchbooks, easels, paint palettes, and charcoal sticks all over the place.  It looked like a tornado had hit.

“Geena’s last clue said you needed help with– um– something,” I said, reddening.

Wendy smiled.  “I do!  Geena said you could help.  She’s so generous, isn’t she?  In fact, she knew you didn’t own anything green, so she made sure to give me an outfit for you to wear!”  She plucked a little green gift bag from a pile of art supplies and held it out to me.  I accepted it.

Peeking into the bag, I discovered a huge green hat with a gold buckle and a pair of bright candy-apple green short-shorts.  It looked like something a go-go dancer would wear!  I guessed it was the uniform for my next stop.  The next clue was probably in the hat.

“Thanks,” I said, turning toward the door.

“Mike, you didn’t get your next clue.”

“It’s in the hat, isn’t it?”

“No.  It’s in my pocket, and you don’t get it until you put on the outfit.”  She patted the front of her overalls.

“Now?” I asked, thinking of the metal cage between my legs.

“Yes, now!  What, do you want to wait ‘til next St. Patrick’s Day?  Don’t be silly, Mike.”

I hesitated, hyper-aware of the cock cage.  It had gotten tighter; I couldn’t help it.  I kept getting glimpses of Wendy’s pert little pink nipples every time her baggy overalls shifted.  “Can I use your bathroom?” I asked meekly, already knowing the answer.

“Don’t be silly, Mike.  I love the human body.  Go ahead and change here.”  Wendy dropped into a low, comfortable-looking armchair, smiling up at me, brushing a lock of her red hair to the side.  A constellation of freckles was speckled across her nose and there was a smudge of pale mint paint on one of her cheeks.  I felt like a giant towering over her.

Slowly, I pulled off my shirt and then my pants.  Wendy leaned forward, smiling even more broadly.  I could see down her overalls at her pale, bare torso.  “Wow.  What a package!  You can leave those briefs here; the shorts are pretty tight, and I don’t think the underwear will fit under them.

She was right.  I took a deep, steadying breath and pulled down the briefs, feeling the cage tighten on my shaft as it strained.

“Aww, Mike.  Looks like you’re in a frustrating situation.  I know how it is; I’ve been frustrated too, lately,” said Wendy, reaching up to unhook one of the buttons of her overalls.  The strap fell loose, exposing one of her breasts.  They were smaller than Geena’s, less rounded, the nipples pointed.

I cupped the cage.  “Is the reward the key?” I asked.

“Maybe, maybe not.  You’ll have to finish the treasure hunt to find out, won’t you?” said Wendy, unhooking the other strap.  The bib of the overalls flopped down to her waist and she wiggled out of it, kicking it away.  She was completely naked underneath; unlike me, she didn’t seem a bit self-conscious.  I guess she really did appreciate the human form! 

She spread her legs and slouched down in the chair a little, bringing her hips to the edge.  “Kneel,” she said.

I knelt.

“Do you know about the Blarney Stone?” she purred.

“…no,” I admitted.

“They say if you kiss it, you get the gift of gab.  Unfortunately, it’s in Ireland.  But I have something else you can kiss.”  She wiggled herself at me, and I understood exactly what Geena’s last limerick had meant.

I scooted forward on my knees, getting between her legs.  Her pussy was completely bare, the lips puffy and inviting, her cunt pink and already moist.  I closed my eyes and leaned in, pressing my lips to her clit softly. 

She moaned and arched into my mouth.  “That’s it.  Lick it, Mike; taste the rainbow,” she groaned.

“Mmmm,” I agreed, lapping softly at her warm, slick folds.  I felt her put her hands on the back of my head.  My cock was aching but there was nothing I could do, except continue to run my tongue through Wendy’s slit, feeling her body slicking up from my attention.  Her taste was sweet and fresh, and I buried my face into her, tonguing her hole and sucking on her clit, feeling her flex under me and tense as she got closer and closer.

“Oh, Mike… so close… so close…!” she whimpered.

I dragged my tongue over her soft, warm cunt and she shuddered with a high-pitch cry of release, pressing herself into my mouth and cumming right against my lips!

For a moment she kept her hands on my head, just enjoying the wet union of my mouth and her slit, before she eased off me and let me lean back to catch my breath.

“Geena’s one lucky gal,” she panted.

“I think I’m the lucky one,” I said, clutching my caged cock; it was leaking a little, struggling to get hard even though the cage wouldn’t allow it to.

Wendy giggled and pointed to the overalls.  “Your next clue is in the front pocket.  No peeking ‘til you get on your festive little outfit, though!”

I obediently rose to struggle into the shorts.  The material was stretchy, gripping my ass and thighs and leaving nothing to the imagination.  I tugged on the hat, low over my ears, the floppy brim obscuring my eyes.  “I have to wear this to the next stop?” I asked dizzily.

“It’s cute!  It’ll make everyone on campus happy to see a real-life leprechaun on St. Patrick’s Day!” said Wendy, giggling and flinging a leg over the arm of her chair, spreading herself out as if to cool down her pussy.  It was gleaming with wetness.  Wendy seemed satisfied.  I wish I could have said the same for myself!

Wearing the impossibly tight go-go shorts and the hat, I reached into her still-warm overalls and pulled out the next sticky note.

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You should be looking as green as the Emerald City.

Your next stop is to show a friend how you look so pretty!

He’s a total male harlot,

Who’ll color you scarlet.

(Thanks for helping Wendy with her kitty!) 

😉

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“Emerald City…” I read slowly.  “She must mean I’m supposed to go to Oz!”

I bowed to pick my shirt up off the floor; Wendy threw a paintbrush at me lightly.

“No shirt!  Geena made it really clear she wants you to wear only what was in the bag!” said Wendy.

“I guess at least I’m wearing green,” I said, looking down at myself.  The bulge in the shorts looked enormous.

“It’s like you’re packing an entire pot of gold in there,” observed Wendy with another giggle, reaching down to stroke herself softly.  “Better hurry along, or I’m going to ask for another round… and I don’t want to be greedy.  I know Geena’s waiting for you!”

I tugged my hat a little lower and walked over to the door, preparing myself to dash across campus in the ridiculous outfit.  “You’re sure she said I had to wear this?” I asked.  I clutched the sticky notes nervously in my hand.  The shorts didn’t have pockets.

“Don’t worry, no one’s gonna be looking at your face with your ass looking like that!” said Wendy.  I think she was trying to be reassuring, but it only made me blush harder as I pulled open the door and stepped outside.

It was a warm, sunny day and the sunshine was warm on my skin as I left Wendy’s studio.  I felt utterly silly; the only consolation was that I couldn’t get an erection in the shorts.  I was on display, but the display was dampened a little due to the cock cage; I couldn’t get fully hard in the tiny little shorts.

I scrambled across the quad; several people laughed and whistled at me in approval as I hurried across the wide, open lawns.

“Hey, if I catch you, can I get three wishes?” called one girl teasingly; her two friends cracked up, all grinning as I jogged past them.

I made it to Oz’s place in record time, praying that he might have something for me to wear… or better yet, the key to the cage!  Giving Wendy a thorough tongue-bathing had reignited my arousal and cage on my cock was aching.  By the time I was pounding on Oz’s door, there was a small wet spot in the middle of my shorts, like a bullseye that was pointing to my body’s desperate need for relief.

Oz pulled open the door in a bright, verdant jersey and a fake red beard

“Oh, look, it’s Paddy O’ Hot-Pants” he greeted me in a fake Irish accent, grinning.

“Let me in, Oz,” I hissed.  On the street, several students were pointing at me and giggling at my outfit.

“Is Paddy here for his paddle session?” asked Oz, still faking the accent.

“Let me in!”

I practically threw myself into his apartment.

“Hey, Mike, you don’t need to be shy.  I bet you made a bunch of people’s day, running around in that little number!” said Oz reassuringly, pulling off his fake beard.  “You want a Guinness?” he offered, gesturing to a six-pack in front of the couch.  I could see a thick, wooden paddle on the cushion; there was a shamrock carved onto it.

“I had no idea Geena liked St. Patrick’s Day this much,” I said, shaking my head.  The hat wobbled like a giant soufflé.

“I think Geena likes any excuse for fun.  Who doesn’t?” said Oz jovially, sitting down on the middle of the couch and reaching for one of the already-opened cans of beer.  He patted his knee.  “C’mere, short-shorts.  Geena says I’ve got to corn your beef before I can give you the final clue.”

“The final clue?” I repeated eagerly, my cock jumping with excitement in its confinement.  “Oh, thank goodness, this thing is killing me.”

“It looks great on you.  Pull the shorts down and lemme see,” asked Oz easily, taking a swig of beer.

His chill, casual attitude gave me a little more confidence; I pulled down the shorts, the cage bouncing out, my length trapped inside.  Oz nodded approvingly.  “Looks like you’re almost ready to go.”

“I was ready an hour ago,” I said.  “Let’s just get this over with.”  My mind was full of imagining Geena at home, holding my salvation in her hand in the form of a small, silver key.

I laid my bare body over Oz’s lap.  Oz patted my ass gently and then reached across me for the paddle, knocking off my hat.

“Whoops,” he said.  He pinched my arm.  “No green.”

“Ow!  Oz, that’s not fair!” I protested, rubbing the third mark on my arm vigorously.  The first pinch, from Rachel, was blooming into a little purple bruise.

Oz laughed and swiped the hat off the floor, popping it back onto my head haphazardly.  “There you go.  Alright, Mike, let’s do it!”

“I’m ready,” I agreed, trying not to grind myself into his couch.  I could feel the fabric rubbing against my length through the bars of the cage; the teasing was agony!  I couldn’t wait to get to Geena.

Oz lifted the paddle above me and brought it down with a thwack!  My body jolted at the impact; I gripped the brim of the hat, pulling it down over my hair.  Oz’s body was a solid scaffold under me, his muscles firm as he smacked my ass with the carved oar.  The wood was smooth but I swear I could feel the shamrock design imprinting itself into my flesh as he brought it down precisely onto my cheeks, igniting my skin with a delicious burning.

I groaned, rutting my helpless, caged length against the couch and the side of Oz’s thigh.  It was embarrassing but Oz didn’t seem to mind; I heard him chuckle as he brought the paddle down, over and over. 

Whack!  Whack!  Whack!

Each new thump left my ass feeling more and more tender, until soon my whole backside was numb and tingling.

“You oughta look, Mike,” said Oz, rubbing the mounds of my butt with the end of the paddle.  “You’re as red as a lobster back here.”

I peeked over my shoulder.  Both of my cheeks were glowing; in the center of each one was a luminously white shamrock stamp.  I laughed a little, mostly in surprise.

“Think Geena will like this?” I asked weakly.

“Definitely,” said Oz.  “One more, for good luck!”  He smacked the paddle across my left cheek one final time, for good measure.

I rose, my ass aching; I didn’t know whether to rub it or to cling to the painful pressure built up between my legs.

“Have a Guinness,” repeated Oz.

“I really just want to get to Geena,” I said.

“Have a Guinness,” insisted Oz, pointing.  I looked down; right there in front of me, on one of the cans of beer, there was a green sticky note!

I snatched it up eagerly, ignoring the beer.  There was only one thing on my mind by then!

---

It’s not Christmas, but you’re red and green,

What a colorful and charming mid-March scene!

You’re near the end of the rainbow

It’s time for the main show…

Are you ready for a reward that’s a bit obscene?

---

I was never so ready for anything in my life!

I stumbled as I crammed myself back into the shorts, jumping around Oz’s apartment to get them on, while he watched with an amused smile, the well-used paddle resting across his lap.

“Happy St. Patrick’s Day, Mike.  Have fun,” he said with a lazy wave.

“You, too, Oz.  Maybe I’ll come back later for that Guinness,” I said.

I left Oz’s apartment in the goofy green hat and the shorts, running south through the campus toward Geena’s building.  More whistles greeted me and a few girls clapped.  My face probably turned as red as my ass!  It was embarrassing but in a strangely flattering way.

The small pile of green notes in my hands were pretty crumpled, but I clutched them tightly, proud of myself for getting through Geena’s treasure hunt and ready for my reward.

I took the stairs up to Geena’s apartment two at a time, every step jostling my constricted member.  It was straining against the thin shorts, desperate to get out!

I knocked on Geena’s door.

“Come in!” she called.

I tried the door; it was unlocked.  I stepped inside, thrusting my fist into the air triumphantly, holding all of the green sticky notes.  “I did it!” I announced proudly.

Geena was standing naked at the kitchen counter, her back to me.  Her pale, curvy body was like that of a Greek goddess; her dark hair cascaded down her back in a sheet of gentle waves.  I could see a pair of black straps over the tops of her thighs, which gave her thick ass a little bit of a flirty lift. 

“Hey.  You’re not wearing green!” I exclaimed, raising my other hand and pinching my thumb and finger together with anticipation.

“Aren’t I?” asked Geena, turning around, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Between her legs was the biggest green dildo I have ever seen!

I dropped the sticky notes and they fluttered to the floor like confetti.

Geena tossed back her head and laughed.  “Great job, Mike,” she said, walking over to me, her strap-on bobbing thickly with every step.  It was already lubed up, shiny and ready for me.

She reached between my legs to cradle my bulge.  “You got through the treasure hunt in record time.  I see your lucky charms are all locked up nicely.  Did you have fun?”

“…yes,” I admitted shyly as I pushed my hat back a little so I could kiss her.  “I only got pinched three times this year.”  I showed her my arm and the three little marks there from Rachel, Wendy, and Oz.  Geena lifted my arm to her lips and kissed each one softly, then put her hands on me to turn me around.

She pulled down my shorts and kneaded the globes of my ass approvingly.

“You know, Mike, the Irish flag is green, white, and orange.  Not red,” she teased, tracing the outline of the shamrock.  One of her hands slid between my legs and I opened them for her, letting her play with the cage.  The bars pressed into my skin, my length as hard as it could get within its little cell.

“Can you let me out?” I begged.

“First, you’ll have to let me in,” she purred.  “Take off those shorts and the hat.  Don’t worry, I won’t pinch you… I’ll make sure you have something green on you… or in you!”  She pressed her thick, womanly body against my back, her breasts pressing against me and the slick dildo sliding smoothly between my cheeks.

I tossed the hat off and kicked away the shorts, bending over for her.  I didn’t need told twice!

She teased my hole with the tip, gently stretching it before she eased the strap-on in.  I closed my eyes in bliss as she found my sweet spot, the tip of the kelly-green member tapping on my prostate and offering me some of the relief I had been so desperately seeking ever since Rachel had clamped on the cage.

“Oh, Geena,” I moaned.

“Mike,” she replied simply, running her hand seductively down my back.  I relaxed as she began to rhythmically hump me, sliding the dildo in and out, the new toy rapping on my prostate with little bursts of pleasure.  I gripped the chair I was bent over, wiggling back into it as Geena expertly massaged me from the inside with her strap-on.  Every time the head glided into me and found that secret little spot inside me, I swear I saw gold stars.  The metal cock cage was warm from my arousal and it bounced in front of me, tapping against the fronts of my thighs.  I felt myself getting warmer and warmer, the rubbing of Geena’s appendage teasing me to greater and greater heights.

With a final, determined push, Geena buried the entire dildo inside me, locking our bodies together, and I felt myself cum despite the cage.  I wasn’t even fully hard, but my body released itself, my prostate doing all the work; a stream of thick cum dripped out of the cage and I went limp, sinking into the chair with a grateful moan, one of Geena’s powerful, protective arms encircling my stomach.

“Want me to unlock your lucky charms now?” she asked gently.

“In a second.  Right now I just want to rest,” I said blissfully.

She leaned over me, her soft hair brushing my skin.  “…happy St. Patrick’s Day, Mike,” she murmured.  “…remember how you told me you always forgot?  I hope this experience will help jog your memory next time!”  She shimmied her hips a little, wiggling the dildo inside of me so I could feel its girth, giving me a little after-jolt of pleasure.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget it again,” I said with a laugh.  “I’ve got to hand it to you, Geena… you sure do make me feel like a lucky guy!”