Pussy Pact

I don’t always drink. In fact, I only drink on special occasions, like weddings, funerals, reunions, bridal showers, birthday parties, picnics, barbecues, New Years Eve, Groundhog day, summer solstice, or any occasion where every gossiping aunt, redneck uncle and third cousin twice-removed converge to tell you how you’ve aged, how much weight you’ve gained, and generally how much better off they are than you. Tonight’s occasion happened to be a bachelorette party for my friend Bambi. Her name is really Barbara but we call her Bambi because she could be Playboy’s playmate of the year. She is gorgeous in a young Elizabeth Taylor kind of way. She has great hair, great skin, a great body, and a great smile, and her hobbies include making balloon animals and solving world hunger. By all rights I should hate her, except she’s the nicest girl you’d ever want to meet. She’d finally found Mr. Right, so it was a good cause for a celebration.

When I left home earlier and said goodbye to my husband, I had no idea just how celebratory we would get. I’d told John that Jenny had arranged for a stripper and I was responsible for getting everyone smashed. With the combination of booze and a mostly naked man, the promise of decadence was nearly guaranteed, but I don’t think any of us knew how far things would go.

Like I said, I’m not a drinker, but I’d found a recipe for a drink called, “Code Blue” which sounded perfect for our group. It was part every clear liquor in the cabinet, part Blue Curraco (for color) and a dash of soda to slightly temper its proof percentage. After two drinks, everyone was feeling pretty good, by the time we’d hit four, we were numb. I don’t remember if anyone had a fifth. Afterwards, none of us were fit to drive, including me, so we’d called a cab to escort us home. I was the last one on the route. The driver, Beelzebub, as I affectionately penned him, seemed overly grateful to be finished with this call. I’d barely stumbled from his cab before he screeched away.

I looked around just to make sure it was my driveway. It was late and very dark, but I recognized the flowerpot by my front door. It stood like a centurion, guarding my house in a colorful, perfumery sort of way.

I serpentined my way up the lawn, avoiding dangerous sprinklers and threatening landscaping before heading for the flowerpot. It seemed as good a focal point as any. Unfortunately, when I approached, it charged me, and I tripped. My keys went flying out of my hand. It must have been a guardian angel that directed them to the porch. I quickly apologized to the flowerpot and found my way to the front door. I fumbled with the keys, which were intolerably loud, and I “shushed” them several times. The damn key just wouldn’t fit properly in the hole. “Don’t you hate when it won’t fit in the hole?” I said to the centurion flowerpot and then sniggered. Exasperated, I tried the doorknob; it was blessedly unlocked. I offered up a silent prayer to John, “Thank-you husband for being so wise and brave and for having the foresight to leave the door unlocked.”

My mouth was dry and my head was starting to ache. I found my way into the kitchen and grabbed the aspirin out of the cabinet. The bottle must have been magnetized because it brought down every other pill bottle in the cabinet along with it. After three swallows, the bitter taste of soggy aspirin stuck in the back of my throat like sludge in a clogged drain. If only I had another Code Blue to take the taste away!

In stealth mode, I tiptoed back to the bedroom. I wrestled with my blouse a couple of minutes, grunting as I tried to get it over my head. I had forgotten it was a button-down, but I finally won the battle and tossed it in the direction of the chair. I unsnapped my bra with mild success, success being gauged by uttering, “Oh, fuck,” only once. I threw it in the same general direction as the blouse. Next, I wiggled out of my jeans, letting them lie in a heap at my feet. Stepping out of them was an achievement I should have gotten a plaque for: “And now presenting to Kathy Jacoby for effort beyond human capability...” I slapped my hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh.

I slipped under the cool sheets, let my head fall back against the pillow, and sighed a sigh of great accomplishment.

“So, how was the party?”

I jerked up in a panic. “Oh shit, John! I thought you were sleeping.”

“Darling, I would have to be in a coma to still be sleeping at this point.”

“I was being quiet,” I said with the confidence only a drunk could muster.

“Kath, honey, kids at a carnival would have been quieter.” John leaned over and switched the lamp on. As he stretched towards the lamp, I stared at his naked back, preoccupied by the little dip above his ass, in the small of his back. He lay back too quickly for me to see if he was completely naked.

I rested on my elbow. The sheet had fallen down around my waist, or maybe I had pushed it down. I couldn’t be sure which, I was burning up, and my cognitive powers weren’t exactly at peak performance. John smiled at me and let his gaze slide down my bare chest. Milliseconds before he spoke, I saw the look of horror come over his face.

John’s eyes bulged and his mouth gaped open like he’d just swallowed a jar of jalapenos, as he stared at my left breast. “What the hell is on your tit?” He didn’t sound angry, though I did recognize a proprietary edge to his voice. I had forgotten about the bite.

“Uh, it’s nothing, honey. Thor just bit me.” I fingered the bite mark; he had actually broken the skin. I remembered it hurting when his mouth clamped down, but I hadn’t suspected a real wound.

“Thor? Who the hell is Thor?” John bellowed before relaxing just a little. I suppose the idea of being a snack for a Norse God wasn’t as threatening as being mauled by a simple man.

“Thor is the name of the stripper.”

John smirked. “He really called himself Thor?”

“Uh, huh!” I burst into a fit of giggles. John carefully tried to keep a straight face but a crack of a smile teased at the corner of his mouth.

“I’m not sure I like a stripper named Thor biting my wife’s tit!” The proprietary edge was back. I kind of liked it. I fell back to the bed and reached out to pat him, missing him by only two inches.

“No need to get all caveman on me, Johnny. It wasn’t a sexual bite. I think he was trying to punish me.” I giggled again, remembering Thor’s arrival to the party. “He rode up on a Harley. He was dressed in black leather with silver chains going up his legs, and blond hair down to his waist. And not a single tattoo.”

“I’m not feeling better about this, Kath.” John tried to look serious, attempting a real furrowed brow. He reminded me of an elementary teacher that had found me sitting on top of the stalls in the girls bathroom; when she’d asked me what I thought I was doing, I’d told her I was mastering peeing from the second floor. She’d had that same look of attempting to be stern but not quite pulling it off. I was laughing hysterically as I tried to explain.

“John, it was so funny. He brought his own boom box. I happened to be sitting by the table when he set it down.” I tried to keep from laughing but I couldn’t get the picture of buffed up Thor struggling with a portable tape player as if it held the mysteries of the world within its depths. I went on. “He didn’t know how to turn the damn thing on. He turned it every which way, looking for the on switch. I finally had to show him.”

“So he bit you?”

“Well not til later. But I think he bit me because of what I said.”

“What did you say?”

“I told him I hoped he was better at turning

us

on with his strip act than he was at turning on small appliances. Can you imagine, John, he didn’t think it was funny at all? Of course I can’t be sure he understood what I meant, he did have the look of a five-year-old when asked to explain Quantum Physics. I thought it was hysterical,” then and now. I was still giggling.

John leaned over and touched the bite mark, then slid his finger down to my nipple. He circled it slowly and traced back up to the mark. He idly repeated this trail several times, waiting for me to go on with the story. I couldn’t think about talking just yet. I was thoroughly aroused from the evening, and John was managing to stoke the fire that was smoldering. I lay back, cerebrally urging John to keep it up, and hoping he understood my mental telepathy. My mind wandered as his fingers kept up their diligent effort. When he pinched my nipple, it reminded me what Jenny had shown us tonight.

“Do you know Jenny has a pierced nipple?

“Jenny Baker? Mike’s wife?”

“Uh-huh, she showed it to me and a couple of others. It was sexy as hell, John. I think I might get it done.”

“Could you wait until you’re sober to make a decision like that? Besides it might get in my way when I want to do things like this...” John clamped his mouth down over my left nipple and sucked it hard into his mouth. His tongue managed to fold itself around the tip as he sucked. I thought I would die, it felt so good. When I moaned, he let loose and grabbed my right breast, repeating the same sucking feat.

“Tell me more about the party,” he mumbled around my nipple, vibrating the tip as he spoke.

“God, John, I don’t want to talk.”

“Tell me or I’ll quit.” John pulled his mouth away to emphasize his threat.

“OK, OK, only don’t stop, Johnny. Suck my titties, please?” It was when I said the word ‘titties’ that I knew John was naked. His penis bounded up against my thigh, on full alert, in case we reached Defcon 5. John liked it when I used dirty words, and they came easy to me whenever I drank.

“You talk, I’ll suck.” He latched on to a nipple again and gingerly began to suck, nice little tugs that were just enough to keep my nipples stiff, while I tried to tell him about the party.

“Well, Thor didn’t arrive until nearly everyone was plastered from the Code Blue’s. Great drinks by the way.” John grunted. I went on. “We sat around the room in a ceremonial-sacrificial kind of way with Bambi in a chair in the middle. He started his act, with the canned stripper music. Of course we egged him on. Thor was gyrating, and thrusting his crotch into Bambi’s face. He would remove a piece of clothing and then straddle her again. You know those stripper’s sure are flexible.”

John’s tongue was pleasantly torturing my nipples and I was having a terrible time keeping my mind on track. But when I stopped talking, he stopped sucking and licking. So I kept on.

“Finally, he was down to just a G-string. He pushed away from Bambi and made his way around the room, so that everyone could put money in the string. That’s when he came over to me, straddled me, did a little lap dance, bent over, peeked down my blouse, and bit me.”

“Like this?” John clamped down and bit. Enough electricity shot through me, that I could have single-handedly solved California’s blackouts.

“Damn, John, Damn, that feels so good, do it again. Do it again!” I begged. I couldn’t believe how incredible a little pain mixed with pleasure felt. “Oh, it didn’t feel like

this

when he did it.” I was nearly panting.

“Don’t stop now, baby, tell me the rest.” I loved it when John called me baby.

“I-I, where was I? Oh yeah, um, well, Thor went back to Bambi, um, did I tell you that Bambi was really drunk by then too? Well, she was. Um, so then...” I was wrestling with the idea of telling John the truth. With his mouth giving its fine performance, I decided to go for excitement, and forged ahead. “Thor managed to unbutton Bambi’s blouse...” I started to giggle. “Don’t you think it sounds like a pornographic Disney story, Thor and Bambi?”

“Don’t you dare change the subject now, Kathy,” John demanded. His cock was hard and digging into my leg. I suddenly imagined a coal miner with a helmet and a light digging for treasure. I couldn’t wait to tell him the rest, just to see his reaction, when he hit pay dirt. He licked down my stomach and twirled his tongue in my belly button, and I forgot all about the coal miner image. He nudged me to continue.

“Uh, let’s see, oh yeah, Thor managed to get Bambi’s blouse completely off and then he rubbed his G-string covered cock against her cleavage.” John climbed between my legs and yanked my panties down. He teased all around my exposed mound with his lips before finally sticking his tongue between the folds of my pussy. I continued my tale like a kind of weird sexual chant.

“Bambi managed to get her hands behind Thor, and she slipped his G-string down. His very hard dick popped out and fell against her cleavage. Thor leaned up against her and his cock slipped between her tits. The next thing we knew he had reached around and unsnapped her bra and flung it over his shoulder.”

John’s head popped up like a Jack-in-the-Box that had been wound to the point of exploding. “What? Are you telling me she was topless?”

“Uh-huh. She titty-fucked him right there in front of all of us. And damn was it hot!”

“No wonder you’re so slopping wet.” John knows just how much of a voyeur I am. He’d taken advantage of that fact on many occasions, like the time we sat in a restaurant, and John picked out a particularly amorous couple. He made up a whole story about how they fucked. With the help of the couple, who couldn’t keep their hands off of each other, I envisioned the whole thing. John knew I was wet, but found his way under the table to find out for sure.

“Ooh, John I remembered every detail just so I could tell you. Bambi has huge tits, of course you knew that, but I bet you didn’t know she’s got the largest nipples I’ve ever seen. Her areolas are as big as the palm of my hand.” I held up my hand, showed my palm to John, then brought it to my mouth and licked it suggestively.

John gulped and was speechless. I knew I had him now, so I went on.

“Thor slid his dick up and down, so you could see it pop up between her tits and then slip down, hidden between them again, over and over. With our encouragement, Bambi finally bent her head down and caught his cock in her mouth every time it came up.”

John was stunned. He just stared up at me, propped up on his extended arms. I could see his engorged cock bobbing up and down between our bodies. He finally found his voice.

“She gave him a blow-job?”

“Yep, right there in front of God and everybody.”

“Well, I’ll be damned! What do you think the groom is going to say about that?”

“We weren’t thinking about that right at that moment, Oh, but John, you can’t tell him. You can’t tell anyone I told you anything. We made a pact.”

“What kind of a pact?”

“We called it a pussy pact.” I could see John’s wheels turning. He was so aroused the vein in his forehead throbbed. In the recesses of his mind, I was sure he had flashes of old “B” movies with Amazon tribes and the sacrificing of virgins.

“What is a pussy pact?” He could barely get the words out.

“Um, are you sure you want to know, Johnny?” He gurgled in response, like a man choking on a sexual milkshake and thankful for its creaminess. I lifted my hips up in a pretense to get comfortable and let my pubic hair tease at his chin before I continued.

“We had to reach down our pants and swipe at our pussies. If we were wet, which everybody was, we had to bring our finger out soaked, and then we interlocked our fingers with one another, and swore we would never tell a soul.”

John stared at me in shock. He couldn’t talk, but he didn’t need to- his penis was talking for him. It knocked at my leg, like a panicked Avon lady trying to make a sell. My inner thigh was slathered with his pre-cum. I waited for him to say something, but he kept staring. He stared until I couldn’t take it anymore, and I burst into laughter. I laughed and looked at John and then laughed some more. Finally, he spoke.

“Oh my god, you were lying.” He shook his head and laughed with me. “I can’t believe it! You really had me going. I oughta smack your ass for that!”

John grabbed my hips as if to turn me over, but instead he slid his hands over my thighs and spread me open wide. He rose up further. I watched as he grabbed his penis, stroking it once for good measure. He guided it to my hole and smacked the phallic head against my swollen clitoris before thrusting in hard. My pussy was sopping wet and sap spurt out around his cock when he jammed inside. He pulled out and then slammed back in. The sound of slapping bodies and saturated sex echoed in the room. Neither of us needed much to climax. I had been wet all evening and he was hard as stone from my story. I wound my legs up around his hips and he ground down against me. We moved together in a perfect fuck.

When it was over, he lay down on me, and we rubbed our slippery pudenda together, enjoying the gooey mess that was ours. Minutes ticked by before John whispered.

“You

were

lying, weren’t you Kath?”

I just laughed.