Chet & Im

Chet was where he was nearly every Wednesday, enjoying draft ale during happy hour awaiting his nearly lifelong friend Mark. The pair had taken disparate paths from their high school and college days but their ritualistic Wednesdays at the Tufted Duck persevered and had become an important part of the week for both men even beyond its basic intent of allowing each to enjoy the other's company.

"Beat you this week!" he called from the bar as Mark walked in. More often his friend arrived first because Mark's office was just two blocks away.

"Yeah," Mark explained. "Sorry I took so long. I was on the phone with Carol. The baby's not feeling well. Nothing serious, but she needed some handholding."

"Holding hands again?" Chet asked with a laugh. "Things are looking up!"

"Very funny!" Mark said before ordering his usual IPA. But Chet already sensed that this week would be different.

"Take a look at these," he said, handing Mark the photos.

"So?" Mark asked. "Looks like typical Internet stuff.

"Yes," Chet responded, "except this is not Internet stuff. This is my stuff. Want to see for yourself? I didn't want to ruin our Wednesday night out, but I'm due at her place in about a half hour."

Mark got one of those do-I-dare-believe-you? looks in his eyes, but by the time their glasses were drained and they were in Chet's car on the way to Kim's apartment, as Paul Harvey used to say, he knew the rest of the story.

"Perfect," Chet thought. Mark was nice looking and about as sex-hungry as any married man who hadn't been touched by his wife in over a year. And Kim had to be ready for the second act of the scenario he was projecting.

The man at the concierge desk announced only him, which was just as well, Chet thought, since he had not alerted Kim that he was bringing a friend along, but she seemed unfazed when she opened the door to her 17th floor apartment and the two of them entered.

He quickly explained that he'd shared Kim's glossies with Mark, whose firm dealt with a number of production agencies in the city's fast-developing film industry, and that Mark was so impressed when he learned Chet planned to drop a set off at her place mark asked if he could tag along to meet Kim in person

Kim turned on her stereo and then produced a corkscrew and three wine glasses for the local red Chet had brought to toast Kim's budding career prospects. Within minutes they were sitting in her living room, chatting, Chet and Kim on the sofa and Mark across from them on an armchair. She was in her work outfit -- different skirt and sweater this time, but similar in style -- and seemed very at ease even when Chet absently put his arm around her should.

"Wonderful view," Chet said and when Kim got up to point out the mountains by name he followed behind her and said, "I meant you, silly, not the scenery" reaching to turn her toward him in an embrace that led to a gentle kiss that Kim broke off apparently remembering there was someone else was in the room.

Chet never missed a beat, continuing his grasp of Kim and calling over to Mark, "Was I wrong about Kim? Isn't she beautiful? Your people will love her, won't they?"

"Well," Mark said, picking up on the thread just as they had discussed in the car, "I know you aid you had some photos you could show me, but I like to see for myself if that's okay."

"OK by me," Chet said, then turning to Kim, "can we show Mark a little something? He'll be very discreet. I promise."

He really did not wait for an answer, ushering her back to the sofa as he nuzzled her ear. His right arm was still around her and he gently pulled back the skirt, revealing those shapely legs and, this time, not the cotton panties but a lacy pair that might have come right from the Victoria's Secret catalogue. It was clear she had been prepared for an encounter with at least one gentleman caller.

"You're embarrassing me, Chet," she said at last, not sounding all that convincing. They were her first words since their kiss.

"You should be proud, not embarrassed, Kim," he answered in a reassuring if slightly condescending tone. Then turning toward Mark, he asked, "Do you think those people you told me about at Galaxy International could use n actress like Kim? To paraphrase an old cliché, she undresses up very well, doesn't she? Show him, sweetie. This is no time for modesty."

Kim seemed a tad confused. Through all of their conversations Chet had never abandoned the pretense that he could advance her film career even though he was obviously interested in a personal relationship as well. That's why she figured she had nothing to lose by inviting him to drop her set of print by. But where did Mark fit in? For all her sexual adventures she had never felt this exposed to two men at once before.

"I've seen the women they have signed over at Global. Mark" Chet continued. "None of them are close to this."

He pulled Kim's sweater up, though not over her head.

"Hey, baby, help a little, OK? Unhook your bra? I promise, Mark knows what a girl looks like. I just think he need to see how good you look."

The tone left little room for anything but cooperation if not submission and she complied.

In an armchair just a few feet away, Mark was little short of stunned. He knew his lifelong friend lived the good bachelor life but this seemed unbelievable. Kim was in a virtually hypnotic state sitting there with her skirt at her waist, her sweater at her neck and now those two voluptuous breasts utterly unencumbered. And Chet was beyond cool, sitting at her side, almost clinically assessing her virtues and all the while stroking her here and there with a reassuring hand.

"Don't be shy, sweetie," he told her. "Mark who do they have over there with better than this," and, by god, one of his hands was cupping her right breast and the other was playing with her nipple, which sprung to attention as he worked her over.

"Good girl" he whispered and then, to Mark, "would you like to see her move a little? Kim can you dance a little for Mark."

She nodded and as she rose from the sofa her skirt fell back into place. She looked back at Chet as if for further instruction.

You don't need this, he told her, rising with her and pulling the sweater and bra away. As she began to sway to the music on the stereo he winked at mark and refilled their wine glasses.

"Do it Kim," Chet encouraged, "show us how good you are on your feet and make those beautiful boobs swing and sway."

Her shoes off now, eyes half closed, she moved to the music for quite a while before Chet asked if he had seen enough but did not wait for an answer. Instead he came up behind her and started playing with both breasts, whispering to her all the while.

Kim was clearly aroused, but also aware of Mark's presence.

"Chet," she said, her breath shortening, "the other night was wonderful but is this a good idea?"

"Mark," he said between breaths into her ear and nibbles at her neck, his hand continuing on her very exposed and highly aroused breasts, "Kim seems a little embarrassed for you. You don't mind this, do you?"

As if on cue, Mark rose and walked toward them.

"Kim, it's OK," he said as he reached them, clasping both her hands and squeezing them solicitously. With Chet behind her, she was sandwiched between them.

Picking up on Chet's soothing, reassuring tone, he nuzzled her cheek gently and said, "You are a very sweet girl and your openness is an asset."

With that he unclasped her hands and reached under her skirt to cup her derriere, practically meeting Chet's hands headed in the opposite direction the vortex of her thighs.

In a matter of seconds, Kim had gone from mild protest to complete buy in, moaning and even coaxing.

"Time to shift gears, podnuh," Chet said from over her shoulder.

"Bedroom?" Mark asked.

"Not yet," Chet said motioning toward the dining nook." get her up on that oak table and do some exploring.

"Please," Kim said in a plaintive voice Chet knew very well and Mark would learn in the hours ahead.

• • •

The moment he entered Kim's apartment, Chet took note of the impressive oak dining table. Judging from laptop computer and papers one onside, she used it as a desk as well. Now it was time to put it to even better use. They half walked, half carried her over to it and Chet motioned Mark to clear the table. Then, as gently as they could, they lifted Kim up and onto the table on her back. Her feet dangled over one side at first, but Chet reached under to undo the hooks and pull the top apart, creating space where extender leaves would normally fit.

"That will come in handy in more ways than one," he said with a laugh. "Almost time to play, but I want to run down to the car for a sec. Can you keep her interested for a few minutes when I'm gone? Don't let her come. Maybe give her a little taste of Marky Mark? She likes that."

In college they'd developed codes for each other's cocks -- Chet the Jet and Marky Mark. Mark just shook his as Chet extricated Kim's house keys from her purse and left. Were they breaking any laws? She had invited them in and had not screamed or demanded that they leave. Looking at her, lying there, his excitement was tempered by compassion. He leaned over and brushed his lips against hers. It morphed into a tender, almost innocent kiss and, instinctively, she reached up from her position on the table and encircled his neck with her arms. Totally out of place in these outrageous circumstances? Maybe not, he thought. Obviously on some level she wanted, even needed and possibly craved all this. Whatever Chet had in mind for her, maybe Mark could establish a level of caring and trust to signal Kim that he, at least, would look out for her, not let things get out of hand, and make sure she understood how much he enjoyed being there.

As that first kiss lingered, Mark reached down, undid Kim's skirt and put it under her head. "Comfortable?" he asked. She showed no signs of trying to escape, if that was the right word. There were only those lace panties now and as he half stood half kneeled at the edge of the table, cradling her head with his left arm, he reached under it with right hand and found her pussy through the separation he and Chet had created when they extended it. Kim sighed and stiffened then moaned, "yes..please, yes...you feel so good. I love it."

Then Mark remembered Chet's admonition and suggestion. He stopped diddling her, stood up, returned to the head of the table, and, fully erect in more ways than one, undid his fly. He separated her lips with his fingers, then gently raised her head up. The table height was perfect. Kim opened her lips to accept his penis and engorged it, sucking and sucking and sucking as he continued to stroke her in every erogenous spot he could reach, gauging the effectiveness of each new find by the heightened enthusiasm her tongue and lips expressed. It was just as well that Chet returned just then. Mark had waited a long time for this. He did not want to come too soon either.

"Well now," Chet said, "this looks like a keeper. Say cheese."

He had his camera and Mark began to shield his face from the lens before his friend reassured him that only Kim would be identifiable in the photos. He snapped a couple off, then let the camera dangled form his neck and went to work with the other item he'd retrieved from the car, some stretchable tie-downs. In short order, tethering Kim's wrists were tethered to the corner legs of the table and after the panties came down without a struggle, one ankle was tied to the other by a length of the elastic rope stretched under the table to spread her wide. Now she was just about as Mark remembered her from the photos he had seen in the bar barely an hour earlier except for the expanse of the separated tabletop that the well-formed globes of her ass were suspended over.

"Want to see the height of adaptation?" Chet said. "Watch this?"

He scooted under the table and emerged through the opening and between Kim's thighs, perfectly situated to begin the next round of play.

"Feel free to give her another taste of Marky Mark?" he suggested. "I'm going to work down here for a while and give her just enough to make her want a little more, right baby?"

Somehow hearing herself referred to in the third person probably underscored the idea that Kim had little or no choice in of this. She only moaned as the two of them went to work, if that was the word, touching, stroking, nibbling and prodding her everywhere and anywhere, slowly, ever so slowly, bringing her desires to higher and higher levels that were accompanied by a corresponding wantonness that Mark had seen only in bad movies. All along he kept whispering to her and, when her mouth was not otherwise occupied and she could respond, asking her to tell them what she would like them to do.

"Fuck me," she said, barely audibly.

"All in good time," Mark whispered back, wiping the sweat from her forehead. "We need to get you ready first."

"I'm ready," she said.

"Be patient," he counseled, moving his fingertips back to her breasts and softly, slowly, flicking the nipple to full attention as she started to moan and to writhe as much as the tie-downs would allow. "If you're good girl I might even suck your titties."

Down below, Chet was slowly moving his own hands up the down the inside her thighs, ever so often allowing the labia to feel the flick of his tongue just long enough to grow ever more desperate for a deeper, more extended visit. When he'd done this the first time at his place, Chet thought, it was effective enough, but the two of them toying with her together, sometimes in tandem, at times independently was much better. They could go on like this half the night, he thought, though he knew at some point he had to start Mark on his way back home.

"Having fun?" he asked his friend.

"What do you think?" Mark asked back.

"Well better call your wife and say we decided to have dinner and make it a late night.

"I'll text her," Mark said. "Less of a complicated conversation that way. Not a problem."

As he did that, Chet too, walked away from the table.

"You look like you can use a little break, Kim You're getting all sweaty."

"I hate you," she said in frustration, instantly regretting it when he added, "That'll buy you an extra five minutes of quiet time. Pleading is one thing. But we didn't come hear to be abused!"

"Bastard," she whispered but not low enough. She burst into tears. Chet pivoted and said, "We will have no tears here, young lady"

"Oh no, no. no..." she said as he went to work on the soles of her feet. "Ticklish, too?" Chet laughed. "My cup runneth over.'

She just about convulsed against the restraints as he tickled her feet.

"This is a good exercise, Kim," he said impassively. "It will allow you to demonstrate your self-discipline. Nobody has to be ticklish. It's psychological. We'll overcome this together. Just try a little harder"

"I'll try," she said, "but please stop."

"Do you really hate me?" Kim, he asked, still working her vulnerable soles.

"No," she said. "You know I don't hate you."

"And how to do you feel about Mark?"

"He's very nice."

"Good," Chet said. "I'll stop tickling you, but you know there is a price to be paid for your insolence, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," she said. It was the first time she had called him sir.

"All part of your training, Kim," he said, unstrapping her. "Now go get your vibrator and some lubrication and come back in here."

She headed off.

"This," Chet said to Mark, "should really be fun."

• • •

After that first night at Chet's apartment, Kim had thought of little else and the vibrator she now extricated from the bottom drawer of her bedroom bureau had been a handy accomplice in several efforts to recreate the mixture of denial and exhilaration that left her simultaneously satisfied and in need of more. Thus when Chet called to say he would drop by this evening, she immediately fell victim, if that was the word, to a state of excited anticipation. Big Ernie (her personification of the pet vibrator) might be able to approximate the wanton feeling he'd brought out in her but not the ironic sense of liberation she'd experienced after allowing him to tie her up and take total control.

Then, when the door opened and both Chet and Mark appeared, Kim flashed back to events on another night, in college, one she'd told herself at the time she would never allow again. The five of them, her roommate and three nice guys at one of the less raucous fraternities, had downed a few beers during a study group session and started to fool around a little, mostly cute teasing stuff. But when the roommate departed to get some sleep before an early class the next morning, Kim decided to stay behind for a while. She had no class until the afternoon and she was having a good time, especially enjoying the impact of a hash-laced brownie.

Kim hadn't exactly dated any of the three guys, but had danced much of the night at a party once with one, a pre-med major named Chris, leading to a very sweet make-out session on the walk back to her dorm. So when he snuggled up to her in the room at the frat house, it felt comfortable and familiar and, no doubt operating with hash-reduced inhibition, paid little heed to the fact that two other guys were right there. By the time she and Chris came up for air, another round of beers had been opened and, in her high from the alcohol and drugs mixed with her advanced sexual arousal to render Kim absolutely euphoric. So when after a time she felt three mouths and six hands kissing and caressing and undoing her clothes, it only seemed to add to the moment.

She was returning Chris's passionate kiss and reacting to his fingers on her breasts when she felt someone unbuckle her jeans and start pulling them down. It was his roommate, Bill, and he wasted little time, diving into her muff. God, if he didn't know just what to do, too! Even today, Kim could not quite reconstruct exactly how and when the third guy -- was his name Roger? -- made it a ménage a quatre. But she could recall with equal parts excitement and shame where that led. In seconds Chris's dick was in her mouth and Bill's was between her legs — and she was giving No. 3 the hand job of his young life. Hands were everywhere on, under and in her as well.

Kim found out a number of things about herself that night, principal among them that once aroused and engaged she could outlast three virile males. That was all to the good, actually, because before she left she warned them, "If I hear that any of you breathed a word about this outside this room I will let the entire campus and half the Western world know that all three of petered out on me, do you understand? I have a reputation to protect — and so do you!"

So, these years later the concept of taking on more than one man at a time was not new or even shocking, but part of Kim still felt outraged and betrayed by Chet's move. Couldn't he have at least broached the subject before showing up with Mark in tow?

Chet must have sensed as much because he followed her into the bedroom.

"Hey, I'm sorry, sweetie,' he said, putting his hands on her bare shoulders." I hope you don't mind that I brought Mark along. I know I should have called but you should have seen the look on his face when saw the photos. He hasn't gotten near his wife in months. I'll be extra good to you if you're nice to him, babe. Promise."

"How nice?" she asked in a husky voice, turning toward him.

"This nice," he said, taking her into his arms and kissing her. "After I drop Mark off would you like me to come back and stay the night?"

Kim nodded and for the first time Chet knew that she was his in any and every way he wanted. She held the vibrator in her right hand and a tube of lubricant in her left. They'd come in handy soon, but first there was some unfinished business.