The doorbell rings, but I already saw him walking up the steps. I open the door. “Thanks for coming out to have dinner with us. I know it’s a bit of a drive.”
“It’s no trouble.” He hands me the rolls he brought, “Thank you for the invitation.”
“My spouse just put the steaks on. How do you like yours?” I ask.
“Medium.”
“Perfect.” I gesture toward the table, “Please, sit down. I’m almost finished.” I poke my head out the back and let my spouse know how he likes his steak and then resume cooking, “Can I get you a drink?”
“Water’s great for now,” and he sips from the cup in front of him.
I walk to the stove and turn on the burner. He’s making me so hot. I take off my apron, but it’s not enough. So, I slip off my shoes and socks, remove my cardigan and take off my shirt.
He’s come up behind me, hands on my waist and is nuzzling my neck. This is definitely not helping, but I love it. I turn to kiss him…
The vegetables are severely streamy now and I snap back. I turn off the burner, transfer them to a bowl and toss with a homemade dressing.
I remove my apron and take the side I’ve prepared to the table. My spouse walks in, well-timed, with the steaks ready. We all sit down to eat.
The food is delicious and the conversation starts slowly as we savor our food. My spouse talks about his work, clinical and droll, while we each gnaw at the meat on our plate, glancing past my spouse to each other, a wanton smile sidling on each of our mouths when our glances connect.
My hand falls across the table and his joins mine, massaging licentiously. My spouse is absorbed in his story and we are absorbed in each other, forks and knives resting, eyes locked. We’re each in our respective worlds, my spouse and I, I at least have company in mine.
As he continues to massage, his eyes narrow in concentration and his lips purse slightly with desire. I close my eyes and allow his wantings to flow up my arm and course through my body, ultimately concentrating at my groin. Savoring this moment, I let out an audible hum of pleasure, a direct response to the energy coursing through my body.
He’s devouring his meal, hands fully engaged with fork and knife to cut his steak. I look down from his smile and cut deep into my steak, focusing on the grain as I slice, watching the juice pour from within the tissues. I cut my desire into the meat, and chew with furtive wanting. The tension is building inside me, and although everything is playing out in my mind, my body responds with veracity.
After we finish our plates I take them, overrun juice swirling, to the sink and rinse them with cold water. I take a deep breath and return to the table.
He begins to talk about his adventures, traveling from city to city, offering his talents in each city. It sounds so exotic, so adventurous. He goes over the details of travel and his future endeavors. He talks about his wife, a badass that’s encouraged him to pursue this nomadic life. My spouse engages him regarding the details of his life, knowing that I want the same for myself.
As they discuss the ins and outs of his business, I’m slightly distracted by his fidgeting. There’s a placemat in front of him, thin slits of bamboo woven together into a mat that rolls together into a tight bat. He rolls it with his hands, in and out pressing firmly on the roll.
He picks up the rolled-up mat and taps me playfully with it. I smile, squinting my face, and flinch, pulling away slightly in mock reaction. This prompts a second tap and I grab the end of the roll this time. First, I hold it, fixed on his reaction, a wicked smile. I pull on the end and bring him closer to me. We kiss, soft and short, our lips supple at first. Then we take in simultaneous sharp breaths and collide, firm lips and hot breath. We drop the mat on the floor and his hands come to my shoulders, repeating the same rolled pressing on my arms. Standing, I pull his waist into mine and feel his organ bulge into me.
I hear the mat slap once more onto the table as he describes how other professionals maintain a consistent diet while traveling, and I spin into a world of figuring out how to cost-effectively mail my essential kitchen supplies to wherever I might travel.
I stand and push in my chair, grabbing the empty drink glasses, retreating toward the counter. I open the pantry and pull out the booze. “Drink?” They both respond in the affirmative. “Any preference, I can make a few different cocktails?”
“Why don’t you make us your specialty?” my spouse answers. Turning to our guest, he says, “It’s really good, trust me.”
“Great, I’ll give it a try.”
I mix the vodka, club soda, and various flavorings. I carry the drinks over to the table and serve our guest first. When I turn to my spouse, I accidentally spill some drink into his lap. “Shit!” I say. “Sorry, let me get a towel.”
My spouse gets up, “Well, the bonus of being at home is I can just go change.” He strolls up the stairs and he and I are left alone.
I set down the drink and rush to his lap, sitting straddling him and hold his face. I kiss him hard. He encircles me with his muscular arms and presses his fingers into the muscles along my spine. My hands move down his neck, stop and squeeze the place between his neck and shoulders, then continue down his front at a steady pace to the top of his pants. My slim hands and wrists slide easily into them and finally rest on his manhood. I can feel it respond in short pulses to my touch and my body responds with tingling. His hands fall and he grips my ass, pulling me closer to him.
My spouse gets up and takes the towel from my hand and dabs up the drink. He then takes his seat again. I return to mine, and the conversation continues.
“This is really good,” he compliments the drink I’ve given him.
“Yeah, it’s refreshing without being too sweet,” my spouse adds.
“Indeed,” he agrees.
As they are finishing their drinks, I get up and prepare the dessert. I dish the homemade blueberry sorbet into dishes and serve them up. We three become quiet again, enjoying the sweet as we spoon it up, commenting occasionally on the flavor and texture.
The song “Sway” begins to play through the speaker across the room. My body naturally moves to the beat. He watches me move and I stand, allowing my entire body to flow with the music.
He joins me, placing his hands on my hips and we move together, closer and closer until our bodies are one, pressed into each other. I hear the words, “Other dancers may be on the floor
Dear, but my eyes will see only you.” I do only see him; my spouse is invisible.
Our hands move up and down each other, exploring the soft and hard. I can feel his breath, fast and warm from his nostrils, on my neck. I gently kiss his neck and he nuzzles mine. Our bodies pulse together, hips connecting and grinding slowly. I moan softly in his ear, utter his name and pull him close to me.
I hear my name, my spouse is talking to me. I notice the sorbet in my spoon is sitting there, completely melted. “Are you finished?” He asks.
I look down at my half-eaten pile of blue. I look back to my spouse and nod. He takes the dish away and rinses the blue residue down the disposal.
Once the dishes are resting, we all head to the living room for more comfortable seating. My spouse sits in the rocker, and he sits on one end of the couch. I sit opposite him on the couch.
My spouse dominates the conversation now. There’s a lot from the past to share, and we mostly listen.
He’s attentive to my talking spouse, who is sitting just past me. Every once in a while, he shifts his gaze to me.
“I have a funny story about a girl teaching me a bit of Spanish,” my spouse transitions to one of his favorite stories.
I slide along the couch to him, and, when I reach him, I rest my hands on his shoulders. He switches his full attention to me. “Here we are,” he says.
I nod gently and repeat the same back to him. I shift and sit in his lap. I run my hands up his shoulders to his head and mess up his curly hair a bit.
Then, he snatches me, wrapping his arms around my back and kissing away the tension that’s been between us. He shifts his legs onto the couch and I’m laying fully on the length of him. My hands fall to his chest. I unbutton the top of his plaid shirt and feel his pecks. Then I bend over his chest and kiss it soft and wanton. Exploring, I find his nipples first with my fingers, circling them with the cold tips of my fingers. They’re prepped by the cold for my warm, wet mouth and he convulses as my tongue explores around the node.
“Oh god,” he whispers. I pause and smile up at him. He runs his hands up and down my back, pressing into the small of it. My pelvis presses into his. They separate just enough for us to handle our own zippers and remove our pants just enough for the joining between us to be complete.
I slide up to my knees to allow him to slide inside me. My pelvis moves with aptitude, grinding into him and guiding him into the places that make me feel the most because I want to feel him them most.
Unable to contain ourselves any longer, we both expel utterances of ecstasy and release.
“And she couldn’t say it out loud, so she drew it, ‘my squiggly line is very big,'” my spouse is laughing at his own story. “Mi pipa es muy gordo. I thought I was saying ‘my stomach is full.’ She was so mortified.”
We both laugh from our respective sides of the couch, but not as heartily as the story deserved. We’re both lost in a world within our separate minds, but somehow it feels like we’re together.
It’s late now, and he wraps up the last conversation saying he needs to head out. My spouse and I stand to say goodbye. My spouse shakes his hand and pats him on the back. Then he comes in for a hug, placing his head to the side of mine away from my spouse. He kisses me on the cheek and whispers in my ear, “I had a wonderful time this evening with you.” Then he quickly seals another kiss, sensuously on my neck and I shudder. I pull away and look him in the eyes, “Me too.” I say
After the front door closes behind him, my spouse asks, “Me too, what?”
“Oh, just that he had a really nice evening chatting with us.”
As I watch him walk to his car through our front window, I reminisce in my thoughts and realize that they weren’t just in my head.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/fjn26y/the_guest