Felicitys Basic Instinct

It would be an exaggeration to describe Flick -- Felicity Warren -- and I as 'close friends'; she's twenty years older than my husband Steve and I for a start. But Flick and her husband Terry live across the street from us and were the first of our neighbours to introduce themselves when we moved here six years ago. Since then I like to think we've been good neighbours to each other:

If ever I need a cup of sugar or some-such, Flick's the first person that I call, she or Terry will put out the garbage bins and keep an eye on the house if ever we're away and we do the same for them. Flick's also our first port of call whenever we need a babysitter to keep an eye on our kids; Flick and Terry's lads are now grown up and almost gone, but I've sat with them in the past too.

These events took place on a very ordinary Tuesday evening and probably all happened in less time than it will take you to read this tale; fifteen minutes tops! Though I suspect that it's far from 'over' and perhaps never will be:

Terry works shifts at a road-haulage distribution centre, so whenever he's got a week working the night-shift -- like this one -- Flick will come around on a couple of evenings, once I've got the kids tucked-up in bed and we'll put the world to rights over a bottle of wine.

It's company for me too: Steve's a graphic designer and while he has an office in town an ever increasing number of his clients seem to be from North and Central America. Steve flies out there for a few days each month, but for the most part everything's done on-line; which means that most evenings, he's in his home-office upstairs making zoom calls.

That's what had happened that evening, an evening just like many others; until Steve called down for me to make him a coffee and that too was 'just like always': Steve has a thing about watching the BBC's late evening News programme; he does have the TV set to record it just in case a zoom-call runs long, but his preference is to watch it live, with a fresh cup of coffee.

We heard Steve's shout at about 9:55 and I tapped the remote control to switch on the TV as I headed for the kitchen. I was almost at the door before I heard the TV's sound begin and turned back muttering "Damn, that must be channel 300 not 200 that I've got"

I was reaching for the remote again when Flick replied: "NO! Leave it!" Besides the volume of her appeal, it was the squawking tone of Flick's voice that stopped me dead in my tracks. I looked first toward Flick -- her eyes were riveted on the screen -- then over to the TV itself for a few seconds, before returning my gaze to the enthralled Flick.

During that second glance I saw beyond to Steve, who was now standing in the doorway from the hall and he too seemed to have been stopped in his tracks by Flick's outcry. Steve wouldn't have been able to see the TV screen from where he stood, but I could and after turning to it again for a few seconds, I signalled for Steve to stay where he was and keep quiet.

In response, Steve did a little more and silently stepped back into the shadows of the hallway; I'm guessing that he didn't know what was going on and thought it better to stay well out of it. I meanwhile, joined Flick in gazing at the TV screen; though for the most part I was actually watching Flick rather than the TV.

It was a section of a film that I'd watched many times before, so nothing new to see there; but Flick's body language... Now that was attention grabbing: Flick was leaning as far forward as she could, getting as close as possible to the TV screen without actually standing up; Flick's eyes were locked onto the screen, she was spellbound.

That in itself was attention grabbing, but then there were Flick's hands... The right one was across her chest, squeezing her left breast, while it's fingers pulled and twisted almost savagely at the nipple. The fingers on Flick's left hand meanwhile were balled tightly into a fist that she was grinding equally savagely into her groin. I doubt that Steve could see from the hallway, but I had a front row seat for Flick's display.

It wasn't for long, perhaps ninety-seconds, a couple of minutes at most before the film scene ended and Flick's hands ceased their torments. Flick's cheeks were flushed by then, but they turned an even deeper red when on returning to her senses, she remembered where she was and turned to meet my gaze: "Oh My God! I'm so sorry Sarah, I just... Well... that scene just does it for me... Probably the hottest thing I've ever seen."

"Don't sweat it Flick; I think it does a little of that for all of us... I'm guessing Terry's in for a good time when he gets back from work in the morning?"

"I wish... Terry would never do anything like that to me; though I can hardly complain, I've only myself to blame for that."

"How So?"

"Oh a week or so before I got married my mother and her pious bloody sister gave me the low down on what a wife should and shouldn't permit in the bedroom; I was daft enough to listen to them. By the time I saw through their bullshit, we'd three kids forever intruding and Terry had long since stopped asking; it's only ever been missionary for me and Terry"

"Then why didn't you suggest... Well, whatever you fancied, to Terry."

"Only a few years ago I know, but before the internet... Very different times back then Sarah, not the sort of thing a wife did."

"Well we're in the twenty-first century now Flick and the boys are out from under your feet... If there's something you want to try, just get him asked; I can't imagine Terry complaining."

A sorrowful expression settled on Flick's face: "Too late now, Terry was always a good few years older than me and since his cancer treatment a couple of years ago..." Flick was by then dangling and wiggling her little finger as she spoke.

I was beyond words and offered only a sympathetic smile and a nod of my head. Flick concluded our conversation, by leaping to her feet and announcing "Anyway, I really must got to the toilet" and heading for the door. I couldn't stop myself smiling at Flick's retreating back; she'd been to the toilet not fifteen minutes ago... it wasn't her bladder that needed relief.

As I heard the washroom door close, Steve stepped into the room, from wherever he'd been lurking; it seemed Flick hadn't seen him on her way to the toilet? "What was all the shouting about; what did Flick see on the TV to set her off?"

I nodded toward the TV screen, the film was still running. Steve watched it for perhaps ten seconds and posited "Whatsit Douglas... Basic Instinct?"

"Got it in one. I turned on the TV and Flick went Ape-shit at the thought of me turning it off. When Michael Douglas fucked Jeanne Tripplehorn from behind... Well, Flick just lost it completely, I thought she was going to orgasm on the couch."

Steve was grinning: "Maybe she's finishing it off in the toilet now."

That grin dropped and Steve went wide-eyed when I responded "I think you've got that one right too, Flick was still grinding a fist into her pussy as she walked out of here."

"Sounds like Terry's in for a busy night then... Or a busy morning when he gets back from work anyway."

"No, apparently Terry..." I stopped in my tracks; that information wasn't for passing on. But from that starting point my thoughts quickly spiralled, perhaps just as far out of control as Flick's had done at the sight of Jeanne Tripplehorn being fucked?

"What?... What were you going to say?"

"I was about to say that Terry's not going to be home soon enough... Flick needs fucking now; it's you that's in for a busy night."

"What?"

"You heard me. Stand over there, just inside the door; the moment that Flick comes back through it, you pin her against the wall and go for it."

"And then what?"

"Don't be bloody stupid, you know how the scene goes; you've watched it often enough... And played it out with me more than once. Just make like Michael Douglas... Force Flick onto the couch, rip her knickers off and fuck her brains out."

"You're kidding! That's... well, let's settle for mental; Flick will go bloody crazy."

"I think she will too; but not in the way that you mean... if I'm wrong, I'll pick-up the pieces and smooth things over with Flick, but I don't think I am... I think that's exactly what Flick wants and what she needs."

"And where are you going to be while I'm raping your friend; standing in the middle of the room watching me?"

"No. I'll be in the kitchen making us all a coffee... Well, watching through the door too." I was grinning as I said that and I'm sure that grin widened in the moment when I thought and then acted: I snatched Steve's phone from his shirt pocket, before moving away.

Steve was still wide-eyed and open-mouthed when we heard the lavatory flush. I was already backing toward the kitchen door as I again pointed to the far wall and hissed "Don't think, just do it! Think Jeanne Tripplehorn and Michael Douglas."

I was inside the kitchen and had turned off the light when Flick stepped through the door back into the lounge. Watching from the shadows, I saw a look of... confusion spread across Flick's face at finding the room apparently empty; she hadn't spotted Steve close beside the wall to her left. I'd already pressed the camera's video-record button by the time that Flick did.

Steve moved with the speed of a striking cobra; grabbing Flick's right wrist and jerking her towards him she almost lost her footing as she pirouetted around to bump against the lounge wall. Rather than a scream, Flick released a squealed yelp, the final notes of which were still floating in the air when Steve pressed forward to pin her against it.

Flick repeated that yelp when Steve's hands reached her breasts and then morphed into a wail which spoke of surprise and confusion more than anything else, in the moment Steve roughly tore open her blouse. A second wrench by Steve had Flick's blouse opened completely, the hem pulling free from the waistband of her skirt.

Flicks hadn't offered any resistance, her hands were still dangling by her sides, when Steve's hands returned to Flick's breasts and by then it was far too late. Steve wrenched Flick's bra upward and her breasts sprung free a moment later; their appearance drew a gasp from myself which was almost as loud as Steve's growl of... appreciation.

Flick's a very petite lady, or perhaps elfin might be the better adjective? Flick's raven black hair and eyes coupled with her slightly tawny colouring add to that... otherworldly appearance; I've never liked to enquire, but have long wondered if there might be a drop or two of middle-eastern or Mediterranean blood in her ancestry?

I'm not sure which it was that pulled that gasp from my lips? Flick's breasts were a surprise in themselves: A little larger and certainly much fuller and firmer than I'd envisaged; Flick's fifty two years old, I hope my own boobs look that good when I'm her age. Hell, I'd happily exchange tits with her today! But beyond those there were Flick's nipples to contemplate:

They were huge! There's no other word to describe them... And with both they and their surrounding areola seemingly almost as dark as Flick's hair and eyes, you really couldn't miss them. The bitch! Steve will forevermore be remembering and picturing those nipples when he looks at mine.

And they'd certainly caught Steve's attention; I was again reminded of the striking cobra as his hands grasped and roughly fondled Flick's breasts. Steve released another primal growl as he rolled Flicks nipples between fingers and thumbs, only falling silent when his right hand released Flick's left breast to make way for his mouth.

It was in the moment Steve's lips engulfed her left nipple that Flick finally managed a physical response to his assault and it didn't suggest resistance: Flick's hands flew up to grab Steve by his hair, but rather than trying to tear his mouth free from her breast, Flick unleashed a primal groan of her own and pulled him tighter against it.

Steve feasted upon Flick's left tit for several seconds before she eventually did wrench his lips clear of it, but when Flick did, it was only to meet Steve's lips with her own. That kiss was searching and passionate, I could see their tongues moving inside each others mouths and it lasted even longer - far longer! - than had Steve's suckling at her left breast.

When they did eventually separate it was at Flick's directive. Those hands in Steve's hair at work once again, but only for so long as it took Flick to guide his mouth to her right boob. It was now Steve who wasn't resisting and Flick who was issuing the primal groans, gasps and words of lewd encouragement; I'd guessed that Flick would capitulate, but hadn't envisaged this degree of... enthusiasm.

After another extended oral assault upon Flick's breast, Steve broke free of his own volition and with something of a wrench; while Flick released a cry that suggested both her surprise and more than a little disappointment. I surmised that Steve had finally managed to recall what was supposed to be happening; he was back on script.

Steve's hands were already at Flick's hips; they gripped more tightly as he whisked a squealing Flick from her feet, carried her a few feet across the room to tumble Flick roughly and face down across the back of the couch. The landing brought a gasp of escaping breath from Flick's lips and that lack of breath no doubt explained the frailty of the scream which followed.

That arrived as Steve's hands grasped the hem of Flick's skirt and dragged it roughly upward. Steve's left hand continued hoisting that to his satisfaction as his right grabbed Flick's panties and tried to tear them away. Neither that tug nor the next achieved Steve's intent and a squealing Flick was twice raised bodily from the couch before falling back with her knickers still intact.

Steve didn't try a third time, settling instead for pulling Flick's panties downward, beyond her knees. Steve's left hand was now between Flick's shoulder blades, pinning her down onto the couch, while his right began working at his belt and then his own pants. That might've been easier using both hands and from where I was standing, Steve's left hand looked pretty redundant:

Flick might have been wailing, gasping and wriggling, but none of those, most especially the wriggling were in any way aimed at making her escape: Flick's was writhing and squirming in an effort to divest herself of those knickers around her ankles! In the end Flick succeeded in freeing one foot and settled for that; her legs had parted by the time Steve's pants were down.

The action remained frenetic; Steve didn't spare the time to lay even a finger on Flick's pussy before grasping his cock -- Oh boy! Even by Steve's high standards that was standing tall! - and steering it between Flick's thighs. There was no prevarication once Steve found his target either; a slight stutter perhaps... Then BANG!

Steve slammed his cock into Flick's pussy and penetrated her so hard that Flick's feet were lifted clear of the floor. The speed and ease of that initial penetration, coupled with the almost bestial growl which it drew from Flick's lips suggested that Steve had been right: Flick didn't need any foreplay... She must've been absolutely dripping with anticipation.

For perhaps five or more seconds neither of them moved, then Steve pulled back and repeated that initial penetration, once again lifting Flick from her feet and drawing another of those bestial growls. And so it continued... thrust - pause -- repeat; it appeared savagely violent, but the moans, groans and encouragements Flick was voicing suggested she was loving it!

Steve's left hand soon transferred to Flick's hair; once entwined in that, he pulled on it like a horse's reins. Besides arching Flick's back, thus ensuring that she absorbed the full impact of each savage penetration, it raised her breasts clear of the couch, enabling Steve's right hand to maul those with equal brutality... And still Flick wailed her approval and called for more.

Their coitus didn't last long; the sheer ferocity of their coupling put paid to that. A dozen or fifteen thrusts saw Flick writhe her way through a powerful and vocal orgasm; an orgasm that'd barely begun when Steve drove into Flick for one final time. Steve remained deep inside Flick, with every muscle tense; I could see his buttocks shudder and twitch as he pumped his seed into Flick.

Only after he was spent, did Steve finally release his grip on Flick's hair; she slumped down onto the couch gasping for breath. By then I'd moved forward into the doorway; I was still filming the two of them when Steve turned in my direction wearing a 'what next?' expression on his face. By gesture and my own facial expression I gave Steve my instructions.

Without a word Steve stepped away from Flick and headed back upstairs to his office; I was halfway into the lounge before Steve reached the farther door. I still had Steve's phone-camera in my hand, the last few seconds of footage that I captured were of Flick's exhausted form draped over the couch, with her own and Steve's emissions trickling down the inside of her thighs.

It was a minute or so more before Flick showed signs of recovery. There was no rush, I was quite content watching those trickles on her still splayed thighs and the sight of Flick's ravaged pussy lips seeming to... flutter as Steve's come leaked from them; her cunt looked almost as if it too was gasping for breath.

Flick eventually levered herself upright from the couch; but I suspect that it was only when she turned around and saw me rather than Steve, that reality hit home. Flick's... satiated smile fell away in that instant, to be replaced by an expression of shamefaced mortification: "Oh God, what have I done... I'm so, so sorry Sarah."

"You've got nothing to apologise for Flick... From what I saw, you'd little choice in the matter."

"God No! Did you see what we did... Were you watching?"

"Better than that Flick..." I gave her a wave with Steve's phone "I was filming it... Your own personal Basic Instinct"

Flick didn't voice a reply, but the gamut of emotions crossing her face said it all: Shock, embarrassment, a split-second of... indecorous excitement and finally a look of horror as she glanced toward the TV screen, said all that needed saying.

"Don't worry Flick, I'll not be uploading it anywhere; I'll send a copy across to your phone and if you insist, I'll then delete it from mine... Though not until I've watched it a few times first." I was grinning when I delivered that addendum.

That grin perhaps relieved the last of Flick's concerns; she broke out in one of her own before enquiring "It was your idea rather than Steve's wasn't it; you primed him to rip my clothes off and fuck me like that."

"Isn't that what friends are for?... You certainly looked like you enjoyed it."

"Mmmmmm you can say that again. I've just had a thought though, the boys are forever borrowing my phone, Terry too for that matter; so that's the last place I want the video of me and Steve sending to."

"I'll tell you what: I'll get Steve to edit, sharpen and clean-up the video in the morning, he's good at stuff like that. Then you can come around here again tomorrow evening and we'll all watch it together... Blue-tooth it to the TV screen; you'll look like a real porn-star."

"I'm not sure that I'd be comfortable watching it with Steve here... You might get ideas about him making a sequel. Didn't I hear Steve saying earlier that he was going over to Oxford tomorrow? I'll come around in the afternoon an we'll watch it while he's out."

"And what about if you get horny watching the film; worse still, what if I do? I'm already itching for a fuck... You're going to be in my bad-book if Steve doesn't get it up again and screw me tonight too."