After closing time at the bar where they had watched the match, Dave had invited his friends back for a few more drinks. He didn't phone ahead or message Claire to let her know, and when they all walked in she had given him a look that he knew meant there were going to be words exchanged at a later point! Claire had been in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil so she could make herself a coffee. She was just out of the shower, with the sheen of moisturiser visible on her skin, and her wet hair thrown up into a scruffy pony tail. Her white vest-top was heroically undersized, with the thinnest straps and a neckline that plunged deeply between her breasts. As a result of having made only a half-hearted effort at getting dry, combined with the water dripping from her hair, the vest had been about half a glass short of belonging in a wet t-shirt competition. It clung to the lower curve of her breasts and seemed perilously close to becoming translucent where it pulled tight over her nipples. None of Dave's friends had even tried, or at least tried convincingly, to hide the fact their eyes savouring every inch of her body, imagining her naked, always returning to focus on her breasts.
She didn't entirely hate the ways those eyes traversed her body. Claire knew full-well that the guys all swapped comments about each others' wives. In fact, they swapped more than comments. One night last year, she had gone with Dave to Phil's house, for his birthday party. Phil let a few secrets slip out. She had always flirted with him, enough that on one occasion his girlfriend noticed and caused a scene. Of course he always started it, and Claire typically wouldn't start to play along until she was three-four drinks in. When she stopped their game depended on how much there was to drink, and how much tolerance Dave was prepared to exercise.
At Phil's she had been a good six-seven drinks in when she found herself chatting to him in the kitchen. In a move that seemed pre-planned, he had asked her to grab him a beer from the fridge and then, as soon as she opened the door and felt the chill on her face, he moved close behind her. Under the vague pretence of having realised she wouldn't know which brand of beer he was drinking, he slid his right hand up her arm, taking her hand and guiding it towards a particular bottle. His left hand, with much less chivalry, slipped underneath her loose top and his palm had rested on her flat stomach for a moment, perhaps seeing if there would be any immediate reaction.
As he told her that he thought she looked gorgeous, but not as good as in the photos Dave had shared with him, Phil's hand had found its way to her left breast, where his fingers traced the thin lace of her bra. From the detail of his description she knew exactly the photos he was referring to, and which he explained had been circulated amongst all the guys to facilitate a vote on which wife or girlfriend was the most "fuckable".
Whenever she thought back to what had happened next, she was never certain whether she was conscious of the movement of his hand, but by the time he had finished explaining that every one of Dave's friends voted for her, he had been able to discern that her pussy was completely shaven, and the index finger of his left hand had completed a few laps of her clit and slid inside her. He had her back so closely pressed against his chest that she was able to let her head fall back onto his shoulder, eyes closed. Although it seemed recklessly long, as she remembered it Phil fingered her for there for thirty seconds, maybe even a minute, telling her how often he thought about them being in bed together, and asking her whether she ever imagined him fucking her. At the very moment he stepped back, her mouth had just formed the word "yes" but hadn't spoken it.
When she and Dave let the party, as she hugged Phil goodbye, and one of his hands squeezed her ass, she whispered the answer in his ear.
Claire had seen Phil again since that night at the fridge, but he had never seen as much of her as he and the rest of the guys were able to see when they barged into the kitchen. The evening turned into a bit of party. She got dragged downstairs to play pool on the table in their basement. When she bent over to take a shot, half of Dave's friends seemed to be stood behind her looking at her ass, the other half were in front looking down her top. Dave didn't seem remotely concerned, not even when Phil told about a porn film he liked where someone's wife got gangbanged on a pool table in a bar. She had noticed heads turning to look at her when his story finished, so she rolled her eyes and joked that she hadn't had enough beers.
When she left the basement pool-game, Phil had followed her upstairs, without being particularly discreet about it at all. With no one else to hear him, he had said that if all it would take to get her naked on the pool-table was is a couple more beers he would go on and get her one straight away. She just rolled her eyes and in the end he got them both got a drink. They ended up chatting for a while on the couch in the living room. He told Claire he liked her outfit and when she explained she had been in the shower his quick reply was that he wished they had gotten back a few minutes earlier so he could have helped her with the soap. Knowing perfectly well she shouldn't play along, shouldn't entertain him, Claire couldn't help herself, and with a shrug told him she was sure Dave would send him some photos if Phil asked him nicely.
