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Marisol nestled into the crook of Ken’s arm as they settled into a post-sex cuddle. The warm, 6pm summer sun streamed into their dorm room at an oblique angle, painting every surface with gold.

She should have been happy. She loved Ken, and Ken loved her, and the sex was great, and they were both care-free souls enjoying freshman year of school…but something was wrong. Instead of feeling happy, Marisol felt a melancholy wave run over her entire body, quenching any joy she should be feeling at this moment.

And she didn’t know why.

She tried to identify the feeling. It wasn’t sadness. It wasn’t longing. It was…nostalgia. Nostalgia for what? Everything in her life was perfect! And then it hit her:

_her relationship with Ken would end_

Of course it would. How many people married their freshman year boyfriend? Nobody. People grew, or drifted aside, or got bored, or _something_. They all broke up, eventually.

And that was terrible. Because Ken was actually her dream. He was handsome and sweet and clever and nerdy and bad and rough and gentle and she was over the moon for him.

_but their relationship would, inevitably, end_

“Sweetheart…” she said. Almost a whisper. “Why do you think people break up?”

Ken was not feeling the same things. He was basking in his post sex glow, after pumping his gorgeous 19 year old school girlfriend full of cum, a netflix _Office_ marathon turned spontaneous quickie. He was utterly unaware of Marisol’s melancholy. How could he, when just two minutes ago she was underneath him, quivering, digging her nails into his back and moaning _god, yes, god, yes_ as they came simultaneously.

“I don’t know babe” he said. “A bunch of reasons. Maybe they are incompatible. Maybe they should never have dated in the first place. Maybe they grow apart.”

“What about people that love each other. People that are great together. People that just meet too early.”

Ken was an intelligent guy, but the fact that his girlfriend was talking about their relationship went completely over his head.

“I don’t know babe. I guess people get bored. I dunno.”

Marisol sighed. Ken was perfect for her. And she knew she was perfect for him. But the truth of his words sank into her heart. He’d bore of her. Or she’d bore of him. And she’d never discover…no, _they_ would never discover—someone as perfect for each other.

But why though. No, seriously. _Why_. Why _did_ people have to get bored with each other.

Marisol let out a piercing laugh, almost manic. She flipped over, her naked, perfect sorority ass getting cold in the afternoon air.

“Babe. Ken. I never want you to get bored with me.”

Ken blinked, the realization of what his girl had been talking about sinking in.

“Sweets, I didn’t mean us, I’m never…”

“No, I’m serious. I mean, you’re right. People get bored with each other. But they don’t _have_ to. It only happens because people are prudes. Because they don’t talk. Because they aren’t open. Let’s make sure that never happens to us.”

Ken looked at her quizzically. What was she talking about.

Marisol had a sort of manic look on her face, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed and her breathing becoming quicker. She had a certain _passion_ for debate, for challenge—it was one of the things Ken loved about her—when she was on a roll she just wouldn’t stop.

“I’m seriously 100% serious” she said. “It’s just that people don’t talk to each other. They are afraid the other person will say ‘no’, or will be grossed out, or judgmental, or whatever. But what if that wasn’t the case? What if you knew, you really, really, _knew_, that the answer to anything was ‘yes’? I mean, if people love each other, _truly love each other_, they would say ‘yes’ to anything, right? RIGHT?!”

“uhhhh”

Marisol flipped onto her back and let out a deep sigh. She felt like she had somehow figured life out. Like she had uncovered the mysteries of the universe. Like she had solved world hunger.

“wha?” said Ken

“I’m saying, dorkatron” Marisol turned to her side and looked into Ken’s eyes. “That the answer to any reasonable request is ‘yes'”

***

It took Ken a few days to find out what Marisol meant. She had to coach him a bit. It confirmed her hypothesis: Ken had that closed-mindedness, that premature embarrassment, that fear of being judged, that she was referring to.

The next time she was giving him a blowjob, she looked up:

“would you prefer if I gave this to you on my knees?”

“uh…yes”

“then just say so, silly”

and she fell to the floor, looking up at him, as she sucked him.

***

A few days later they were coming back from a party, a bit tipsy. Ken was on top of her, missionary, lasting longer than usual because of the alcohol. Taking it easy.

Marisol looked at him. “Do you want to cum on my tits?”

“…whhhaa?” he said, incredulous, between thrusts.

“I said you can do anything babe. Anything.”

He pulled out and lasted not five seconds, and she fucking loved it.

***

Once he figured it out, they went down the kink list in record time. By the end of the next quarter he’d cum on her face. He’d cum on her glasses. She wore outfits: schoolgirl and nurse. They used handcuffs. He spanked her. She moaned.

And they learned more about each other. She discovered she _loved_ facials. She loved looking up at him, the lustful expression on his face, the twitch of his cock, how his hand would move more and more erratically until he came, and his cum fell on her face, ropes on youthful ropes.

She loved it because it felt good and because it was sexy. But she also loved it because every time he coated her nose and chin with semen she felt a bit closer to him, a bit more certain they’d never break up.

He discovered he loved fucking her from behind, he loved putting his fingers in her mouth as he fucked her, he loved calling her his “little slut” and talking dirty.

She begged him to spank her. He did. And they loved it.

They discovered that outfits and costumes were silly, but he fucked her brains out in cat-ears after a Halloween party.

***
Things slowed down a bit after the first few months, that initial orgy of “YES! Let’s!”. Every once in a while he’d get an idea and they’d do it, and some of them would become a part of their sex life (photos, yes please!) while others were never done more than twice (ropes? too much work).

And so the years passed. There were a few discrete phases. Junior year of school Ken was really into putting collars on her, and having her crawl on her hands and knees for him.

There was that Christmas where, on a whim, he’d called her “Mrs Claus” and it had ended up turning both of them on like crazy and they had fucked in slutty Santa outfits until February.

Oh, and Senior year, when they both realized that—even though Marisol was the highest GPA in the English department—Ken had developed a crush on a sorority girl and Marisol had decided to wear booty shorts that said ΚΔΓ on the ass and little crop tops and act like a total bimbo, and she’d suck Ken’s “athlete” dick while he told her increasingly outrageous lies which she pretended to believe. _That_ little era had peaked one night with Marisol on her knees in the middle of her dorm room, wearing a slutty sorority crop-top they had picked up at the campus store.

“I don’t know coach” she said, lips pouting, pretending to talk like a valley girl. “The Dean _really_ said that if I blow you we’re going to win the championship?”

“Mhmmm” said ken, jerking off furiously at the sight of his intellectual girlfriend transformed into a ditsy little slut. “In fact, if I cum on you he’ll make sure you get straight A’s too. All the girls here do it. There you go. Stick that tongue out for me.”

“Aaaaaaahhhhhhh”

***

But overall, they both realized that the range of things they liked was not that big, and they both liked mostly the same things, and even though they didn’t switch things up that often, they both knew that they _could_.

Marisol was right. They stayed together.

Marisol was right—their relationship was perfect.

***
And now they are in their mid 30s, and yuppies, and married, and none of their neighbors, friends, coworkers, or anyone in their life, really, suspected all the crazy kinky things they had done together. They seemed totally normal, totally pedestrian, totally boring. They had married their school sweethearts, ffs.

Then one day, as they cuddled by the couch watching _Mad Men_, Marisol felt that warmth between her legs, the nervousness in the pit of her stomach, that came along with…an idea.

“Hey babe?” she said.

“Mhm?”

“I kinda want you to say ‘yes’ to this…”

***
_Hope you enjoyed the set up! Like usual it’s light on smut and heavy on characters! I all the time make that mistake… If you have any ideas for where Part 2 of this might go please leave a opinion or hit me up!_

NSFW: yes

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