“Looking good, babe,” I say, eyeing Lauren up and down. I lean in close and whisper, my lips brushing her ear, “Looking sexy.” Her black dress hugs her slender frame, shows off the flat belly I know she’s proud of preserving. She’s turning forty-three next month, and even after six years of marriage, she still turns me on.
“I’m not supposed to be sexy, Dane,” she rolls her eyes and grins, “I’m supposed to be nice. It’s a nice dinner with my friend.”
“You’re always sexy.” My hands find her tight little ass, squeezing it as I pull her into me. We kiss. “Anyway,” I say, “What’s taking her so long?”
Lauren leans away from me. “Kate?” she calls. The guest bedroom is just off the foyer, and the door is closed. We can see movement in the shadows bouncing through the gap between the door and the carpet, muffled and hushed voices accompanying.
“Just a sec!” Kate says through the door. Kate and Lauren go way back, friends since childhood. Even though their lives diverged after high school — Kate having a child young, while my wife went off in pursuit of college and grad school and business leadership — and even though they once had a patch where they went two or three years without talking — they’re still good friends today.
Lauren eyes me warily and with a hushed tone says, “It’s not been too bad, right? My friend staying here, not getting a hotel?”
“Nah,” I shake my head, add a smile to reassure her, “Kate’s great. Low maintenance. Welcome back anytime. And I’m just happy someone’s using the guest room. Except…” I trail off.
“Except what?”
I frown. “Cara. She’s a cute enough kid. But why again did Kate bring her? She sure doesn’t seem happy to be here.” Bitterness curls the edges of my speech.
“Kate doesn’t want her home alone.”
“Why not? She gotta be practically an adult by now.”
“She’s totally an adult,” Lauren hisses, “She’s twenty-two. Kate still won’t leave her, though. She’s had some trust issues.”
“Geeze. Why not–” I make a kicking gesture, “–to the curb?”
“Her own daughter? You’re cruel.”
I shrug. “What’d Cara even do?”
“She just doesn’t, I dunno, take life very seriously, I guess. Parties all the time, drugs too, she suspects. Kate doesn’t really like saying, I think she’s embarrassed. You ask me, Kate blames herself, thinking she didn’t do a better job raising her, single mom and all. You didn’t know her when she was younger, but Cara’s always been something of a wild child.”
“Wild child? No way. She’s a wet blanket. Has to be dragged to everything. Probably could use some distance from her mother, if anything, learn some independence. She barely takes her damn headphones out or looks up from her phone.”
“You should be thankful for that. She used to be so much worse.”
“She did say some weird stuff to me, now that I think about it,” I say, “The other day, when I was tightening my bike chain? You and Kate were out back, I think. Anyway, Cara came out to the garage, started asking me these kinda, like, personal questions.”
Lauren looks at me quizzically. “Like what?”
Before I can answer, the guest bedroom door opens and Kate comes out. Lauren and I turn as one, all smiles, like we weren’t gossiping about them. But Lauren’s friend doesn’t notice. She’s distracted, with her hand to her temple, sighing.
Lauren asks, “What’s wrong?”
Kate waves vaguely back at the room. Through the half-open door I spy a mountain of clothing topping the bed, an overflowing suitcase beyond, skewed crooked on the little hotel-style luggage stand I bought. The guest room itself is nice — a full en-suite, with a private bathroom and wet bar — with digs like that, I wouldn’t bother with a hotel either — I just wish they’d show it the respect it deserves.
“It’s Cara,” Kate says, “She’s not feeling well.”
“No surprise there,” I mutter under my breath.
Lauren frowns. “Nothing too serious, I hope?”
“No, no. It’s probably just cramps, to be honest. But she’s insisting, and … well, when she gets this way, I just don’t know what to do. I can’t take another fight. I should probably just skip the dinner. But you two should go, enjoy yourself–”
Lauren’s not having it. “What? And have you spend your last night here alone, staying in? Absolutely not! Can’t you just leave her for a few hours?”
“No,” Kate says, “I know it sounds ridiculous, but I really shouldn’t. She’s…” she shakes her head, changes tacks. “Take-out will be fine. I promise.”
“We’re too old and classy for that, Kate.” Lauren takes her friend’s hand. “I have a better idea. Just you and me should go. Girl’s night. Dane can stay here with Cara, can’t you Dane?”
“What?” I bark.
“Yeah,” Lauren grins mischievously at me, “You were just telling me you’d be happy to give Kate some time off from her daughter, right?”
Kate looks at me with wide eyes. “Uhhh–”
“Plus,” Lauren lays it on thick, “You’d be doing me such a big favor. And how hard could it be? Cara’s sick, after all, she’s not going to get up to anything. Please, dear? You could make her that fennel pasta you always make for me when I’m cramping.”
I start, “I don’t–”
“Thank you, Dane,” Kate cuts me off, “That’s so kind of you. I really appreciate it.”
I grit my teeth. Lauren’s treachery is one thing — she’s just fucking with me, knowing there’s absolutely no way I’d volunteer to skip out on a nice dinner to babysit some delinquent — but Kate seems to have missed the mocking nuance in Lauren’s tone. I have been betrayed.
And then, Lauren doubles down, giving me the ole puppy-dog eyes. “You’re so good to me, honey. You know I’ll make it up to you. I’ll bring you that marsala that you love.”
I glare at her. “It’s piccata. Veal picatta.”
Her eyes sparkle in victory. “Don’t wait up, though. You’ll have to eat your picatta for lunch tomorrow. We’ll probably go to The Rose after dinner, get some drinks.” The Rose is this swanky lounge Lauren’s a big fan of.
I glance at Kate. She’s putting on her coat, oblivious to what just happened.
“Fine,” I sigh, “Fine.” The truth is, I always give in, Lauren always wins. And it’s easier when I get my defeat over with quickly.
“You’re a babe,” Lauren gives me a peck on the cheek, her designer handbag swinging from her wrist.
Kate calls towards the guest room. “Hey, Cara. Come here.”
“What?” the girl’s voice echoes out, distant and airy.
“Come here!”
“Alright already, geeze. You don’t have to yell.” Cara stomps up to the door, rolling her eyes at her mother as she takes her earbuds out. “What? Where are you going?”
“We’re leaving,” Kate says.
Her daughter frowns. “What happened to not trusting me by myself?”
“Dane — Mr Klein — is staying with you. Don’t embarrass me. Treat him nice. And if you ask politely, he may even make you dinner.”
Cara doesn’t even spare me a glance. “Whatever.”
“Ok,” Lauren says.
“Well then,” says Kate.
“I guess we’re off. Bye, babe.” Lauren waves me goodbye.
Kate gives her daughter a look. “I expect a good report.”
“Have fun, you two.” I close the front door behind them and turn around. Cara’s watching me.
She could be a cute girl, with her long, blonde hair tied up into twin pigtails. But she’s wearing this baggy t-shirt that nearly reaches her knees, with fuzzy pink-and-white striped socks below. The look suits someone a decade younger than she is. Knowing that she’s twenty-two, I’m unimpressed.
“So–”
“Thank fuck,” she cuts me off, “I thought they’d never leave.”
I’m caught off-guard. “What?”
“I’m not actually sick, obviously.”
All at once, my eyebrows raise, my eyes roll, and I sigh. “Obviously,” I agree sardonically. I rub my face. “Whatever. I’m going to go… it doesn’t matter. Don’t cause problems, and I’ll stay out of your way.” I turn, head to the grand staircase, towards upstairs and Lauren’s and my master suite.
“What’d she tell you about me?” To my annoyance, Cara follows me up the stairs. “That she doesn’t know what do with me? It’s bullshit. I’m just putting up with her rules until I can afford my own place.”
“Fascinating.” I make my sarcasm bare.
She clicks her tongue. “Whatever. Can I ask you something, Dane?”
I sigh again. “Sure.”
“What do you do all day?”
With a narrow gaze, I search her expression, working to decipher what it is that she’s getting at. But I can’t reckon it. I resort to asking. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, obviously I know what Lauren does. She’s a boss bitch, makes hella cash. Mom’s always telling me, thinks Lauren should be my role model or whatever. But what I want to know is, how do you fit into it all? Do you just sit around, do housework?”
“I’m a writer. I write.”
She considers this. “What have you written?”
“Well…” my sentence falters, then I shake my head. “Look, that’s not the point. I’m not some kept man, like you seem to be implying. Now, if you don’t mind, this is my private bedroom and I’m going to go inside and close the door and change out of this suit. Ok?”
“So, you’ve written nothing then.” She laughs at me. “Whatever.”
In my closet, safe from her criticism, I pull the jacket and slacks and shirt and tie off me and slip into my workout clothes — some basketball shorts and a t-shirt. Involuntarily, my conversation with Cara replays. I shake my head. The gall of that girl, trying to belittle me in my own home. I resolve to not put up with any more of it.
I emerge from the master bedroom and make it to the top of the stairs when I hear Cara’s voice ring out behind me. “Is this where you write?”
My desk is tucked into a cozy corner of the upstairs lounge, a wide open area with couches and a TV at the top of the stairs. In the the back, where the slope of the roof comes close to the floor and the windows give a view of the thicket of trees along the hillside, sits my little spot. The skylights above are dark, and with the lamps off, Cara’s in the shadows. When I squint I realize she’s flipping through my papers.
“C’mon, man,” I say, stalking over, “That’s my stuff…”
She giggles. “I’m just curious to see what a trophy husband writes about.”
“I’m not a–” I stop myself, “Could you please not–”
“Relax,” she cuts me off, “I’m not messing anything up.” She looks me up and down. “Although, you’re looking pretty relaxed already. You really did a one-eighty from that suit. It was looking sharp on you. Now, you’re… uh…” her grin spreads, “Let’s say, ‘laid back.’”
“Mighty big words for someone in their pajamas.”
She looks down at her baggy shirt and bursts into laughter. “Fair point. Anyway. I wasn’t complaining. Despite all your writing, you obviously have enough time to spend a lot of it working out.”
My teeth clench, and I have to breathe deeply to make them release. “We have a home gym.”
“Of course you do. Show me.”
“Why? Whatever. I was headed there anyway. It’s in the basement.” I lead her down the grand staircase, and then down the much smaller flight underground. “Why’s it such a big deal to you, our situation? Does it really bug you that my wife’s more financially successful than me? It doesn’t bother us. Lauren and I are equal partners in our marriage, I promise you.”
“Sure, sure,” she waves it off, distracted by the small collection of machines and free weights. She walks across the thick padding on the floor, examining the bike like it’s the first exercise equipment she’s ever seen. “You do, right? Spend a lot of time here?”
I shake my head, say, “Yeah. A few hours a day, I guess.”
“But Lauren doesn’t?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just saying… she’s skinny and all. But you’re, like, fit. You must want the same in your women, right?”
“Lauren’s… oh my god, I’m not talking about this.”
Without warning, Cara pulls her t-shirt up and over her head. The baggy heather fabric and blue-and-gold print stretch and distort as they slide across her face. She tosses it onto a bench and strikes a pose. “See?” she says, “I know fitness.”
And she does know fitness. Like they’re painted on, a thin green sportsbra and thin gray workout shorts cling to her skin. Tucked beneath them she’s got a firm, tight build. Thick hips and a full and heavy chest complete her hourglass figure.
“My tits are bigger than hers, too, aren’t they?” Cara pushes her shoulders back. Her nipples poke through the thin fabric.
“What the fuck…” I mutter. “How the fuck…?” The questions hang uncompleted. What does she think she’s doing? Why is she showing off for me? What does she think I’m going to do about it? How had I been oblivious to it? What does she look like when she’s– I stop myself. “Cara, I–”
But she giggles and cuts me off, pinching her legs together and twisting to the side, giving me her profile view. “I’ve got a pretty nice ass, too. In case you were wondering.”
A fat and juicy rump stretches her shorts out, pushing the springy material to its limits. “Fuck…” I stare, I cannot help myself.
“You like it, don’t you?” Her grin is ear-to-ear. “Maybe we should do our own little workout, just you and me.”
“What?!” I take a step back, bump into the treadmill.
“Oh yeah,” she says, “I’ve been waiting this whole time, trying to get you alone. I think you’ll be fun to fuck. My mom did say I should be nice to you, and what’s nicer than slobbering all over your cock? Plus, I’ve never been with a married guy before, let alone a trophy husband.”
“I’m– I’m not going to have sex with you!”
“You sure?” She takes a step forward. “You’re already undressing me with your eyes, wondering what it’s like to have my tits in your hands. Well, stop wondering and find out.” She arches her back further, and … I have to admit, her breasts look fucking magnificent — not just big, but perky and perfectly round.
My hand reaches forward, closer, closer– “No!” I say, forcing my arm down. “Look. Cara. You’re a very, very, very pretty girl, but I’m not– I’m not a cheater. That’s not me.”
“So don’t cheat. Just touch me. Fondle me a little. Then when your wife comes home, surprise her with your massive boner and fuck her brains out.”
I whimper.
“And when you’re fucking her,” she continues, “Think about me, all alone, no man to suck on my sexy nipples or finger my tight pussy.” She slides her hand under her shorts and strokes her sex. “You’ll be getting your dick wet while I’m down here masturbating over and over again, dreaming about all the things you could have done to me. All the places you could have … stuck it.” She moans.
My cock twitches. I grit my teeth, willing my erection back down, but it has made up its mind. Blood rushes to my crotch.
“Oh, look,” she mocks innocence, tucking her chin, shooting me wide eyes, all the while still rubbing her crotch, “What’s that hard thing growing in your pants? Is that … for me?” She steps closer, until we’re practically touching. She’s half a head shorter than me, looking up at me in twisted mimicry of youthful chastity.
Her tits– they’re so fucking big. Looking down at her cleavage, at the way her bra squeezes her breasts against one another, at their flawless skin and immaculate form, I pant. I cup them through the green fabric, a tit in each hand, bouncing them, feeling their weight. Her smile grows eager, ambitious…
Fuck. What am I doing? “No… I can’t,” I hiss.
“But you are.” Her hand slides between my thighs. Fingers press through my shorts and wrap around my balls. She flicks her eyebrows. “Oh, so you’ve still got them.”
I push her away as I pinch my eyes closed. “This, this can’t happen.”
“Why not? We’re just having some fun.” Cara pushes back, pressing her body into mine. “Tell me the truth. Lauren’s nice and all, but after all these years does she still get you hard this easily?”
Her words puff hot against my cheek, and as I breathe in her arousal, my head swims. “You’re– you’re relentless,” I whine, grabbing her by the hips, picking her up and moving her back, out of my personal space.
“Hey!” she yelps.
But I’m already stalking towards the stairs, away from her, out of the basement, my plan for working out forgotten. “I need a drink,” I mutter to myself.
Our home has a full bar in the living room, but to get behind the bar you enter from the kitchen. I select a glass off the rails above and kneel down to peer into the minifridge below. I find what I’m looking for — a Trappist ale — and rise back up.
Cara’s sitting across the bar, wearing an impish smile. My glass is between her fingers. “What’re we drinking?”
“I’m having a beer,” I say, taking my glass back, “You’re having nothing.”
“That’s not very nice,” she pouts.
I pour the bottle slowly, letting it run down the inside of the glass. “Who says I’m nice?”
She clicks her tongue and shakes her head, then slips off the barstool and moseys into the living room. With her back to me, I stare brazenly at her ass, watching it swing side to side as she walks.
She turns her head over her shoulder and sees me ogling her, but I’m past caring. She winks and saunters up to a glass cabinet. It’s shelves are filled with porcelain dolls that Lauren collects, and Cara bends over to inspect them. Her ass is pointed right at me, and I know it’s intentional. It doesn’t matter. As I sip my beer, the malt rich against my lips, it’s for nothing. I’m too distracted by her butt to focus on the drink. Those shorts — she might as well be naked for all they hide. Her gloriously toned glutes are on full display, the outline of her pussy visible between them. My cock twitches as I imagine what it’d be like to stand behind her, to shove my dick inside her.
“What are these?” she says, picking one of the figures up, a pale sculpture of a girl in Victorian dress, pastel flowers in her grasp.
“They’re fragile is what they are!” I say, “Put that down. Eyes only.”
“Expensive?” She smirks as our eyes meet.
“More than you can imagine.”
She spins the figure in her hand. “You must not think much of my imagination. Will it break if I ‘accidentally’ drop it?”
Lauren warned me about the ‘wild child’ — I can’t fail to protect our stuff from Cara. I frantically look back and forth for the quickest way into the living room, trying to plot how best to jump over the bar. It’s high and covered with glassware, but if I leap to the left, maybe…
“Oh!” Cara says. She’s placed the figure back, and now heads to a large, ornate vase. “Now, that looks really pricey!”
“Cara!” I fume.
“Oh?” she turns, “Were you going to fix me that drink, then?”
I glower at her. “Fine.” Anger steams from my nose as I exhale. “What are you having?”
“Something stiff.” She sits down on the stool, back where she’d been a minute ago.
“Ha ha,” I say, “Very funny.”
“Let me have some or your beer.”
“I’m not sure I have any more of this bottle, but I’ve got some other Trappists–”
“No,” she cuts me off, “I want your beer, the beer in your hand right now.”
I glare at her, then sigh. “Fine, we’ll share it.” I slide the glass across the bar.
Her gaze fixed on mine, she raises the cup to sip and opens her mouth. Her tongue rolls out like a red carpet, deliberate and inviting, her meaning clear. “Wow,” she says, “This beer ain’t fucking around.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Your rejection stings me, you know,” she says, “It really does. Why don’t you like me?”
I take her measure, searching her cute features for earnestness, and to my surprise, finding it. Her blue eyes hold mine, and she sips again from the beer, suddenly serious and mature.
“Look, Cara,” I start, “You’re obviously beautiful–”
“You think so?” She smiles genuinely, guilelessly, and passes the glass back to me.
“You don’t need me to tell you that. But you need to find someone your own age, preferably someone who’s not married.”
“I already found that guy,” she says, “He dumped me two months ago.”
“You got dumped?” I feel a pang of empathy, and pass her the beer.
“I know, right? The gall! Anyway, I’m just trying to get back in the game, have some meaningless sex. And then what falls in my lap? A trophy husband! If you’re not a good lay, you wouldn’t be here.”
“Could you stop calling me–”
She passes the beer back and continues, “And anyway, don’t be so worried about cheating. It’s not like I’m going to tell. You can do whatever you want to me, and nobody will ever find out. What do you like? What’s your favorite thing that Lauren won’t let you do? Getting your cock sucked until you cum all over my face? Or pounding it out in my ass, fucking me like the slut I am? Or do you want to stick your dick between my tits, something I know Lauren can’t do even if she wanted to?”
I put the beer down. “Cara–”
She takes the glass, tilts it to her mouth and drains the entire rest of its contents in one gulp. She swallows and smiles at me. “So, do you wanna fuck me?”
“No.”
“Then can you at least make me that dinner I was promised?”
Thirty minutes later, Cara’s back upstairs in the lounge area, perched on the chaise, sitting criss-cross with a bowl of salad on her lap. “This is good,” she says, taking another forkful to her mouth, “Although, I guess being good in the kitchen is what I’d expect from a trophy husband.”
I sigh.
“Whatchu working on?” she presses.
I’m at my desk, tapping through the feed on my laptop. “Nothing.”
“Fine, don’t tell me.” She turns, pushes the button for the TV. And as her attention turns to some mindless home renovation show, I get a reprieve from her scrutiny.
A bit later, when I glance back over, she’s finished with her dinner and stretching out on the chaise, chin resting on her arms as she watches the show. Laying prone, it draws out her hourglass figure, tucking her narrow waist in while pushing her ass out, glorious and round. The back of her sportsbra is two thin crossing straps, leaving her back otherwise bare.
I stand, not entirely admitting to myself what it is I’m doing. I head towards her dinner bowl, pretending to myself that I’m taking the dirty dishes down to the kitchen. Of course I don’t, and instead I find myself stopping, taking the couch seat next to the chaise. The spot affords me an especially good view of Cara’s ass, of her firm thighs, of the gap between them, the thin fabric stretched tight over her crotch.
I glance at the TV, but the show’s boring, nothing compared to the view I’m getting. She wiggles, pushing her butt out even more, and I suck down a breath.
“What type of stuff do you write?” She’s turned her head, our eyes meeting.
“It’s a novel.”
“What about?”
It strikes me, right then, that Lauren’s never asked that question. “It’s kind of autobiographical. I used to travel a lot, working for this NGO. I saw some things… crazy things…”
“This was before you met Lauren?”
“Yeah.” I don’t know why, exactly, but I rest my hand on Cara’s lower leg, stroking her soft, toned skin.
She lifts an eyebrow. “And she’s, what, three years older than you?”
“Err, four, but yeah.” Her calf is smooth and silky, and I brush my fingers along its contours, exploring its perfection. “She came along after I stepped back from all this.”
“But the experiences had a profound effect on you.”
I nod. “There’s whole other worlds out there, so far removed from all this luxury we’ve got here. People live in ways you wouldn’t believe. Seeing that — experiencing that — it helps me not take all this–” I gesture at my house, at my life, “–for granted.”
“And you want to share that wisdom with others?”
“Exactly!” My hand glides up her leg, finding the creamy, delicate skin of her thighs. I stroke and massage her, saying, “That sounds lofty, calling it ‘wisdom.’ But a novel’s I think the best way of telling those stories. It gives me freedom to be flexible with the details, put the reader into the center of action when in reality I was just an observer, to take the chaos of real life and put it into a coherent narrative–”
“Huh,” she moans, biting her lip. “Where were you? I mean, what country?” It’s absurd, having this conversation while I caress her thigh, exploring this young woman’s beauty while I confess to her my dreams. Strangely, she seems happy about it, interested as much in what I’m doing to her as what I’m telling her. It’s almost affectionate.
But only almost. My cock surges, the first stages of an erection, and desire floods through me, seeping it’s into the corners of my consciousness, taking me in it’s grasp. I find myself staring at her crotch, inching myself closer to her, reaching up to fondle her ass through her shorts. “It was, uh…” I grab her cheek, my fingers digging in to her muscles. I salivate. “It was… um…”
She sucks a breath. “You want me, don’t you?”
I don’t answer. Instead, I skate my hand down her crack, teasing past her asshole, until I’m rubbing her pussy through the gray fabric. My fingers trace a gentle circular motion, toying with her sex. I can smell her arousal, can sense her heat. I brush the material up against her opening, feel it grow damp. “Fuck, girl,” I mutter.
“What are you going to do?”
My voice is low and breathy. “You’re fucking beautiful.” My thumb returns to her asshole, orbiting around her pucker.
She groans and shudders.
I am so hard. I slide down off the couch and kneel by her side. Laid out on the chaise before me, she breathes fast and deep, chest heaving, as I touch her and bask in her beauty. With my free hand, I swirl my fingertips across her shoulders and stroke her spine.
She cries out wordlessly, her whole body opening up, inviting more touch. And I am completely infatuated, completely under her spell.
“What changed?” Cara moans.
“Changed what?” My finger pushes the thin fabric of her shorts up into her sex, others massage her clit, toy with her ass. And I rub her back.
“Earlier, I begged you to fuck me, and you barely looked at me,” she gasps and writhes, “But now…? Oh, fuck, you’re going to make me cum…”
I flick her clit, not too harsh, not too gentle, watching her toes curl and limbs shudder. Her pigtails bounce side to side, her back arches. Her question turns over in my mind. “I guess you came on too hard. It’s subtlety that gets you places.”
Her moans grow frantic and desperate, my fondling grows dogged and ferocious. It’s not enough for her, and she presses her crotch into my hand, eager for the bliss of orgasm. “Fuck you!” she growls, “Don’t be such a fucking softie.”
I yank my hand away, returning it only to spank her ass.
“No!” she cries, “Why’d you stop? I’m so close!”
I spank her again. “I like you desperate,” I say, spanking her yet again, “Dependent.”
“You asshole!” Her chest heaves. “Finish what you started. You can’t leave me like this.”
Another spank. “Take off your shorts,” I say, “Sit on my face.”
She blinks. “What?”
“C’mon. You want to know what a trophy husband’s good for? Get over here, ride my fucking face!”
And then I’m in heaven, her thighs around my ears, her pussy on my mouth. She’s sopping wet, and with my grip on her waist, I lick her down, getting drunk on her nectar. Our eyes meet, her cheeks flushed and her lips glistening. I suck on her clit. Each of her breaths brings a moan, her shudders grinding her pussy into my jaw.
“Holy fuck!” she whimpers as I lap at her, “I can’t fucking believe you.” Her tits bounce as she twitches and spasms. “You won’t stick your dick in me, but you’ll do this?” She throws her head back, runs her fingers through my scalp.
Her legs pinch my head and her hips buck. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” her ecstatic moans arrive muffled but none the less glorious for the fact. She pulls my hair, crying and twitching as I give her the bliss of orgasm. She rides it long, and my tongue’s tireless, driving wave after wave of pleasure into her.
The release courses through her, and I stop only when she relaxes her grip on my hair and rolls off me. She collapses in a heap on the couch, panting as she looks at me in awe. “How’d you–”
We’re interrupted by the sound of a key in the lock of the front door.
“Quick,” I point, “Go! There’s another bathroom at the end of this hall.”
Cara pulls herself up, and, holding her shorts in her hand, walks in a daze in the direction I said. Her ass is bare, and I steal a glance before walking up to the top of the stairs, hiding my erection behind the banister.
“Welcome back, ladies,” I call down, feigning nonchalance, “How’d it go?”
“Oh, hello up there!” Kate giggles, sticking her hand to her brow, “We’re tipsy!”
“Kate can’t hold her liquor,” Lauren says, “Not like me.” She hiccups.
The women burst into laughter.
As she takes off her jacket, Kate spins, then catches herself. “I need… to get to bed.”
“You do that.” Lauren takes her friend’s coat and puts it on the rack next to hers. It slips off and falls to the ground. Neither woman notices. She turns, makes her way up the stairs towards me. “Good night, Kate,” she calls, then says to me, “What’re you doing hiding up here?”
“Waiting for you,” I grin, sliding my hand around her waist.
“What’s that smell? You smell like…” Her eyes widen when she sees the bulge in my shorts. “Oh! Did you miss me?”
“You know it.” I wink at her and quickly guide her into our bedroom before she can put the clues together. I strip naked — knowing she likes to watch — before helping her out of her dress.
She stares at my dick in delight. “You’re really fucking hard tonight.”
“I know.” I push her onto the bed and crawl up between her legs, burying my face in her crotch, licking her thighs.
She moans. “Ohhh… oh… I forgot your marsala, babe. Sorry.”
I pull my face back from her pussy. “It’s ok,” I say, not able to help myself, “I got plenty to eat.” I dive back in.
Lauren groans. “Oh fuck, you’re really feeling it, aren’t you?”
I suck her clit between my lips.
She rolls her head back and gasps. “How’d it go babysitting Cara?” she says, “Not too horrid, I hope?”
I slide a finger inside her. “Not too horrid.” And then another.
“That’s… good… so good… unggg…” Lauren moans, climaxing.
I kneel beneath her legs, folding them back and fucking her missionary. She moans as I penetrate her, but I know her well enough to know she’s by this point done, that she’s only in this part for my sake. Which is a problem, because even fucking her hard as I am, my orgasm eludes me.
I pull out. “Hell.”
“Do you want to try from behind?”
“No, it’s…” What is it? “It’s not you, babe,” I say, “It’s alright. Get some sleep.”
“But you’re still so hard…” She shoots me an apologetic look, but she’s tired and drunk, and when she reaches her pillow, she passes out near instantly.
I sigh, frustrated. Confused. Guilty. What the fuck have I done to myself? Why did I let myself give in to that girl’s wanton impulses? I need a drink. I put my shorts on, over my erection, and slip out of the room, headed downstairs.
A voice rings out of the dark. “How’d it go?”
I jump, then I realize. “Cara!” I hiss, “What are you still doing here?” She’s in the back of the lounge, sitting at my desk. I approach.
“Waiting for you.” An impish grin rests on her face. “Lauren take care of your dick for you?”
“That’s– that’s none of your business.”
“Ah,” she giggles, “Couldn’t cum, could you?”
“I didn’t say that.” I shouldn’t let her, but when she reaches out and grabs my crotch, I stand still and let her fondle me. It’s all manner of bad idea, but my balls are blue and my cock is hard. Cara’s grasp is electric.
“You don’t have to say it,” she grins, “I know you’re craving my tight little pussy, that nothing else’s good enough.”
“That’s not–”
“You know you’ve just given me the best oral I’ve ever had, that there’s no way after that I’m letting you get away without at least a blowjob.”
My dick throbs.
“There it is!”
She pulls my shorts down and eyes my cock. “Of course you’re fuckin’ huge.” She guides my erection to her mouth. With her hand, she cups my balls as she licks the tip of my dick. “This Lauren’s pussy I’m tasting?”
“Yes.” My voice is a squeak.
“Hot,” Cara says. She licks up the other side, nuzzling my dick, making my already-hard shaft surge even stiffer. She slides her mouth down, sucking as she pumps me with her fist.
It’s incredible, and a groan escapes through my clenched teeth.
She makes a pleased hum, working up her speed, pumping and sucking, stretching her lips wide around my girth.
I reach down and yank up her bra. Her big tits spill out, and I grab one, playing with her nipple. Between that and her squeezing my balls and her expert sucking, I know I won’t last.
I pull away from her.
“What the hell?” she gasps.
I spin her around, bending her over my desk, ass up. My papers scatter, my laptop careens against the wall.
“Oh.” She pushes her ass out.
My erection is stiff and powerful, and I pull Cara’s shorts down. “I’m going to fuck you raw,” I growl.
“Yes!” she whimpers, “Cum in me! I’m your slut!” She slides her knees apart, her fingers slipping over her mound, spreading her sex open for me.
My cock is offensively hard and thick and long, and as I shove it into her she gasps. Her pussy grips me so tight, so hot, so perfect. I give it to her slow but steady, skewering her with my entire length. My cock dominates her, and I hold it there, basking in the moment, in the way she’s mounted on my erection.
I shove my thumb up into her ass, making her squirm, and it’s fucking fantastic. Much as I want to, I can’t stay that way for long, and I pull out of her, only to then thrust back in anew. Her pussy’s clutch on my cock is incredible, and her sex stretches wide as I pump away. I drive her into my desk with a powerful rhythm.
“Fuck!” she whimpers, “You’re so fucking deep. You’re gonna make me cum again…”
“That’s right,” I hiss through clenched teeth, “Just one taste, already you’re addicted to my fat cock. Tell me you want my cum.”
“I need it!” she pleads, “I need it so bad. Drain your balls in me!”
I reach down, wrap an arm around her chest and pull her up into me, filling my grip with a handful of tit. Her blonde hair splays in my face as I pinch her nipple. My pace is ruthless, slamming into her ass over and over again, a growing fervor to my lust.
I take her chin in my fingers, pull her face towards mine. I kiss her, and she kisses back, her tongue frantic and sweet against mine. I groan into her mouth, my balls tensing, and shove her down with my dick, once again holding it in place, fully inside her. My shaft throbs and cum bursts from it. I fill Cara with my spunk as she climaxes on my cock. Pulse after pulse of my seed shoot deep in her pussy, giving her the heavy load she deserves.
“Fuckin’ hell,” I grunt, pulling out of her. I stagger backwards and sit down on the ottoman. She follows me, unsteady and on weak knees, crashing into my side. Her arms wrap around me, and then mine her.
“That was so hot,” she pants, “You came so hard.”
“I shouldn’t have done that.”
“No, no,” she says, “Don’t say that. We both needed it.” She’s warm against my side, her skin flush and sticky with sweat. It mixes with my own as we hold onto one another.
A month passes. I’m sitting on a recliner by a window, high in a tower, looking out at the streets and buildings below. I hold my phone to my ear, Lauren’s voice echoing through, tinny despite the fidelity. “Kate won’t stop thanking me, you know,” she’s saying, “And I know I’ve said it before, but it’s really a great thing you’re doing.”
“No, no,” I say, “It’s nothing. It’s Bob and my other connections you should be thanking, that they still remember who I am.”
“Of course your old boss remembers you, honey. You’re amazing. Plus we always support their fundraisers. When’re you meeting them?”
“First thing tomorrow morning.”
“And Cara’s behaving herself?”
“Oh yeah, no problems there.”
“That’s so sweet, honey. I never would’ve expected you two to have such a connection, that you’d be the one to help her find some direction. Kate says she’s never seen her so excited for something.”
“Well, you know…” I trail off bashfully, “I think she just needed the right motivation.”
“Yeah, yeah. Anyway. My assistant’s here, I’m going to let you go now.”
“Bye babe, love you.”
“Love you too.” The call disconnects.
“You’re such a romantic,” Cara says, looking up at me, kneeling in front of me.
I stroke her cheek. “You think so?”
“Telling her that you love her, calling her ‘babe.’” Cara shakes her head. “I believe you neglected to tell her that we’re sharing a hotel room.”
I shrug sarcastically. “Just to keep the costs down.”
She laughs. “Now why don’t you give me some more of that ‘motivation’ you mentioned.” She kisses my dick, half-erect between my legs and slick with her spit. She runs her tongue up its underside.
“It’s not enough for you?” I nod at her tits.
She swirls her fingers through the cum dripping down their sides. “You kidding? This is me just getting you warmed up. We have the whole night ahead of us, and then tomorrow, too.”
I frown. “You are going to take the interview seriously, though, right? Because the position’s yours for the losing, basically.”
Cara rolls her eyes. “Yes of course. I really do want it, you sold me on the whole NGO thing. But I also really want to fuck your brains out.” She grabs my hand, pulls me to the bed. “Now lay down and get ready to eat pussy.”
My mouth waters.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/10xovfa/my_wife_and_her_friend_are_oblivious_that_im
Awesome
Fantastic!