Girls Book Club

[Author's Note: This is an edited version of the story that corrects several errors in the original version. I thank those who pointed out the mistakes

politely

. -Cyanlot]

Girls' Book Club - Part I: Vivian's Complaint

I swear to God,

I was screaming inside my head,

if I hear one more complaint like this from one of these cackling hens, I'll slash my wrists!

No, I wouldn't slash my wrists.

I

wasn't the problem. It was these privileged, entitled bitches. If I heard more complaints from them about their husbands, I'd do something to

them

. But I wasn't sure what.

I hadn't always thought of these women as bitches and cackling hens. They weren't close friends but they were neighbors and for the last two years, the five of us had been in a book club. Like most such clubs, it was mostly a "drink wine, talk about a book a little, and then talk about just about anything" club.

The books were always romance novels—bodice rippers aimed at frustrated women who, for some reason, hadn't found what they wanted in their personal relationships and, so, sought it in crappy fiction.

I had always found the group a bit tedious. But it was a distraction from other things and a way of connecting with some of my neighbors. So I continued to participate.

My attitude toward the group began to change when my husband, Cliff, passed away. It was quite sudden and unexpected. He was only 42 and seemed to be in perfect health. No one knew that there was a time bomb in his head, an aneurysm that could have burst disastrously at any time and finally did. One minute he appeared to be a picture of health; the next, he had flatlined in an ambulance on the way to the hospital.

It's possible—likely, really—that the complaints shared by the women in our "Girls' Book Club" hadn't changed at all. But my reaction to them changed dramatically after Cliff died.

All they did was bitch about their husbands. Oh, and they had lots of complaints.

Their husbands didn't do enough of the housework. (Right! Audrey and Theresa didn't even have jobs. They could do their own freaking housework if they weren't shopping and watching TV so much.) Their husbands spent too much time watching sports on TV, didn't take them out to dinner often enough, ... blah, blah, blah,

ad infinitum

.

But the complaints that irritated me the most now that I was sleeping alone every night were the complaints about their husbands "unreasonable" expectations about sex. Every time this topic came up, I had to bite my tongue. These ungrateful bitches had no idea what it was like to lose their partner, the man they'd expected to spend the rest of their life with.

So, he wants to try something that's new? That's not completely vanilla? So what? So, it's not something that

you

fantasize about? Big deal! Get over yourself!

After our sessions, I'd go home seething—thinking,

Sheeze, Audrey, Steve wants a blowjob in the car. I don't know why. Maybe it reminds him of when he was a teenager. Who cares? Give him a fucking blowjob in the car if that's what he wants. I'd do anything to be able to give Cliff a blowjob—in bed, in a car, in a fucking crowd of people!

Or, I'd be fuming,

So Ted wants to give you a facial, Melissa? What's the big deal? Oh, you find it disgusting, do you? Who cares? Just let him do it. Big fucking deal! Cum wipes off. Wouldn't it be nice,

I'd be thinking,

if, just one more time, I could wipe Cliff's cum off my face.

Sometimes,

Damnit, Theresa ... so Brad wants to try anal. It's not a big deal. You think it's not safe? Bullshit! Do some research. You think it will hurt? Learn how to do it so it won't. This shouldn't be a point of conflict. Of course it's your body and, so, your choice. But make a better choice. If Cliff were here, he could fuck me in any hole he wanted.

Maybe Brenda had the most legitimate complaint. Her husband, Evan, wanted a three-way with another woman. I'm not entirely sure what I would have said if Cliff had asked for that when he was alive. But now, all I could think was:

For God's sake, Brenda, if Evan wants a three-way, do it! It's not like that's an uncommon fantasy and it doesn't mean he doesn't love you or he isn't attracted to you.

And, now that I was without Cliff, I was sure I would agree to a three-way if I could have him back and that's what he wanted.

And, on one of these nights, after the book club meeting and I'd had more wine than I really should have drunk, it struck me. I couldn't do these things with Cliff, but I could with these women's husbands. That would be doubly good. In the first place, their husbands would get their fantasies fulfilled. And, secondly, I'd feel some satisfaction from giving these selfish women's husbands what they wanted behind the women's backs.

As I thought about it—really imagined doing these things—it almost felt like some sort of revenge. But it wasn't, of course. These women hadn't done anything to me, at least not more than just making me listen to their tedious, selfish, ungrateful complaints about their husbands. And it's not as if I'd be teaching them a lesson. They would never find out what I'd done (I hoped!). Still, I felt the anticipation of some sort of satisfaction that was akin to revenge or having taught someone a well-deserved lesson.

Girls' Book Club - Part II: Audrey's Complaint

Audrey had a number of complaints about Steve's sexual desires. But she kept coming back to him wanting a blowjob in the car. I really didn't get that. It seems like such a little thing.

It wasn't a little thing to figure out how I was going to be able to do for Steve what Audrey denied him. I could have just asked him if I could give him a blowjob in a car. I'm pretty attractive and he's a guy. So he would have said 'yes'. In fact, he's a guy so even if I weren't very attractive, he would have said 'yes'. But approaching things that directly is really not my style.

I solved the problem, though. I remembered that Steve had to work late in the city every Thursday night. Audrey had complained about that often enough. It's about a half-hour drive, most of it freeway, from our neighborhood to downtown, where Steve worked. Though Cliff and I had normally had our cars serviced at a dealer not too far from us, there was another dealer downtown. So, I scheduled the car to get some regular maintenance on a Friday.

I called Audrey and told her I needed to drop our car off in town on Thursday evening and asked if she thought Steve would give me a ride back home. "Of course," she said, cheerily.

Audrey had Steve email me to confirm and see where he needed to pick me up. I told him the dealership would drop me off near his office and I'd get a drink at the bar in a restaurant right next to his building. That would be nicer, I said, than waiting for him at the dealership. He could meet me at the restaurant when he was ready to go.

I really didn't care where I waited, but I figured I could lure him into a drink when he came to get me by saying that I'd just ordered a second drink myself and hoping he'd join me so I didn't have to gulp my drink down or waste it. That would get things started off in a friendly way.

The plan worked perfectly, I had a full glass of wine when Steve walked in and I apologized profusely, saying I hadn't realized it had gotten so late. I asked if I could buy him a drink and he agreed, letting me know that Audrey didn't wait on him for dinner on Thursdays anyway, so it didn't really matter if he was a little late getting home.

We talked and laughed over our drink. Steve asked how I was doing with Cliff being gone. I answered, truthfully, that I was doing okay but it was really hard sometimes. I got lonely. I missed Cliff in so many ways.

The drive home started innocently enough. I didn't want to initiate anything until we were out of city traffic. When we hit the freeway, I told Steve how much I appreciated him giving me a ride and that I really enjoyed the chance for just the two of us to talk over drinks.

As I said this, I put my hand on his thigh. I felt him twitch just a bit, but he didn't pull away or look uncomfortable. So I left my hand there while I continued to thank him over his protests that "it's really nothing."

"No," I said, "it's just so nice to be able to talk with someone over a drink—with a man, I mean. I talk with Audrey and the others in the Girls' Book Club, but that's different."

I began moving my hand, almost imperceptibly at first, stroking the inside of his thigh. Steve was definitely okay with this. I saw his eyebrow rise in surprise, but he was smiling and, if anything, moved his thighs apart slightly more.

"I mean, sometimes I just get so lonely and I find myself craving a human touch." With this, I ran my hand up close to his crotch. Steve inhaled sharply. Still, he tried to continue the conversation.

"I'll bet it's hard," he said, sympathetically.

"It is," I replied as I moved my hand over his crotch, feeling his cock tenting up his pants,"really hard!"

I'm not certain that he got my little double entendre—not that it was all that clever. But he was a little distracted, so he might have missed it.

I massaged his hardening cock through his pants for a while, all the time monitoring him to see if there was any resistance. There wasn't. So I turned toward him to allow me to use both hands and began unzipping his fly. I wrestled his cock out of his pants and just held it gently in my hand for a few moments, just enjoying the feeling of a hard cock.

Now Steve's cock was fully erect and I began stroking it gently. It was obvious that Steve was enjoying this but I was surprised by how much I was, and not just for the pleasure I'd anticipated by "getting back at" Audrey (though I realize that is a ridiculous way to frame what was happening).

I don't think I'd fully appreciated how true what I had said to Steve earlier about missing the feel of another human being—in particular a man—was. Steve's cock was hard and throbbed with energy as stroked it. I felt a surge of power holding his hard shaft in my hand.

It was clear that Steve was driving fine despite the distraction so I leaned down toward his cock, bringing my lips just inches from his cock and then, stopped and sat back up.

"I'm sorry," I said, as if I'd sort of lost control of myself. "Is it okay ...?" I dropped the end of the sentence.

"Oh, God, yes!" Steve said.

"You sure?"

"Yes, yes, of course!"

I leaned down again and brought my lips to the head of his beautiful cock. First, I just kissed the tip gently. Then I began running my tongue around the helmet, mixing my saliva with the precum that was already seeping from his cock.

The velvety texture and the intoxicating scent of a man's cock filled my senses. I was in heaven as I took Steve's cock deep into my mouth.

More to tease him than really to check up on him, I pulled off his cock and said, "Are you okay driving? I don't want to cause an accident."

"Yeah, I'm doing fine, despite the serious distraction you're causing," he said and I could hear the smile in his voice.

I went back to my work on his cock. Well, 'work' isn't the right word. It was pleasure, for sure.

His cock was so hard and yet the skin so soft and smooth. I loved the feeling of it sliding in and out of my mouth.

This felt wonderful to me and I could have kept it up (so to speak) for a long time. But, unless Steve started driving in circles, that wasn't going to be possible. So I decided to bring things to a climax.

I began pumping furiously on the base of Steve's shaft with my hand as I sucked hard and moved my lips rapidly over the head of his cock. I could tell that he was close to exploding when he started saying, "Oh, my God!" over and over.

And then, with surprising force, Steve's cock erupted into my mouth. I felt pulse after pulse shooting up his urethra, past my lips that were tightly encircling his cock. I felt them blast deep in my mouth and I swallowed his seed in gulps as he filled my mouth.

When Steve had finished spewing his cum into my mouth, I sat up, very pleased with myself, and kept my hand around his cock, just gently stroking it.

"Wow!" I said. "That was fun! Thank you."

I like thanking guys after I've made them cum in my mouth. It's ironic, of course, because they're the ones that should be doing the thanking. But I think guys really like the fantasy that they've done you a favor by cuming in your mouth. And, to tell the truth, it often felt that way to me. I like giving head; I like the feeling of power it gives me.

The rest of the way home, I kept Steve's cock out of his pants and my hand around it. I was careful not to stroke it because I know that a man's cock can be too sensitive right after he cums. But I liked the feeling of Steve's cock in my hand.

When we pulled into my driveway and Steve put the car in park, I leaned down again to take his cock in my mouth.

"I don't think I can cum again," Steve said as if he needed to apologize. "You pretty much drained me of all I had."

"That's fine. I like knowing I drained you," I smiled. "I just wanted to feel your cock in my mouth again for a little bit." I looked up at him. "Is that okay?"

Is that okay?! ... What guy ever said, "No, I'd rather you didn't suck my cock"?

Steve nodded and I filled my mouth with his cock. It was soft but no less exciting to feel between my lips.

When I sat up, Steve said, "Audrey ..." and it trailed off.

"Oh, Steve, this is just between us. And it always will be."

"Can we do it again sometime?"

"You don't think it was a mistake?" I asked.

"No, I thought it was wonderful."

"Then, yes, we can do it again."

As I walked into my house, all I could think was,

What the hell's wrong with Audrey? That was terrific!

——————————-

The next Girls' Book Club meeting, just a few days later, was completely different for me. To an observer, it would have seemed just the same: lots of wine drinking, a little bit of talk about the book, and a lot of "girl talk" that included familiar complaints about husbands, including about their sexual demands.

But this time, when Theresa asked Audrey if Steve was still pushing for a blow job in the car and Audrey nodded and said, "And he's still not getting it," they all laughed. I did, too, but for a different reason.

"I once gave a guy a blow job in a car when he was driving on the freeway," I said.

"Oooh, so why haven't we heard about this before?" Melissa asked.

"Yeah, tell us more," Audrey said.

"There's not much to tell. He wasn't a guy I was dating—just a friend who was doing me a favor."

"So you did him a favor back, huh?" Brenda said with a smirk.

"Not really. I mean, it wasn't like it was repayment. I just did it on a lark. It was sort of like the famed "zipless fuck" except I knew the guy. I just thought it would be fun to do."

"And was it?"

"Yes ... God yes! I mean it was so naughty. Giving a guy a blow job out of the blue, doing it when he's driving and has to keep some of his attention on the road. Yeah, it was fun, and exciting." I realized that the experience I'd related fit right in with the cheesy, bodice-ripping novels the club read.

I debated telling the group that he was a married man. I figured that no one would suspect I was talking about anyone they knew and certainly not Steve. I mean, who would be brazen enough to talk about blowing a woman's husband right in front of the woman? But I decided not to because even if they assumed, as they surely would, that it was some stranger, they might judge me poorly for having sucked off a married man.

Audrey asked, "So, did this lead to anything more?"

"No," I replied. "It was a one-time thing." But, in my mind, I added,

so far!

These book club meetings were going to be a lot more interesting now that I had my private, secret game to play at them.

Girls' Book Club - Part III: Melissa's Complaint

My experience with Steve—fulfilling the fantasy that Audrey denied him—gave me confidence that I could carry out my plan with the other husbands.

Melissa's complaint was that Ted wanted to give her a facial. She found the idea disgusting—something she expressed like a middle school girl by just saying, "Eeewwww!" and making a sour face. The other women would chime in to support Melissa's reaction.

No doubt, Ted wanted to do this after seeing so many facial shots in porn he was certainly watching. (Did I mention that Ted is a man! Here's the syllogism: Men watch porn; Ted is a man; therefore ... draw the obvious conclusion.)

I'm not sure I really understand the attraction for the guy. I always thought, and Cliff certainly confirmed, that it felt best when a guy cums in your mouth, cunt, or ass. I get why it works in porn to show the "money shot", but I don't get how it's a great way for a guy to cum. It seems weird to pull out of a warm mouth to shoot your cum on the girl's face or to just masturbate on her face. So, I don't really get it. But, so what? It's a fantasy for a lot of guys.

I decided that, with Ted, I could use a variant of the tactic I'd used with Steve—appealing to his male chivalry.

Of all the husbands, Ted was the best with his hands. I mean, he was a do-it-yourselfer who could fix just about anything. Whether he was good with his hands where it really counted, I didn't know ... yet. And, of course, everyone has sympathy for a widow, suddenly tasked with maintaining a house she was ill-equipped to manage.

So, all it took was a little "damsel in distress" scenario. Of course, I wanted to route the request through Melissa. Somehow it pleased me to have the wives say, "sure, my husband can help you out."

When I mentioned to Melissa that I had a leaky faucet and was worried that it would cost over a hundred dollars to have a plumber come out to fix it, she volunteered Ted. (I'm not sure why so many wives seem to think that their husbands are their own, personal assets to be loaned out as they see fit.) I protested that I didn't want to impose or take advantage of Ted but Melissa insisted. "Oh, Vivian, you know Ted would be happy to help you out in any way he can." Well, what could I do but accept?

Ted came over on a Thursday evening. I had to spend a little time on Thursday taking apart the bathroom faucet and scraping up the washer in a way that could look like normal wear and tear. I made sure we had a replacement first because I didn't want Ted to have to leave to go to the hardware store. I'd just tell him that Cliff had a bunch of stuff in the basement, play dumb about what was there, but be sure the replacement washer was easy for Ted to find.

Ted got the faucet apart right away and found the problem. When he showed it to me, I said I thought Cliff had things that looked like that in a chest by his workbench in the basement. Ted found the correct washer right away and as he was putting it back together, I looked over his shoulder, very closely.

"I want to see how you do this," I said. "With Cliff gone, I need to learn how to do these things." Leaning over his shoulder allowed me to press my body, and most importantly my breasts, against his back. I wasn't wearing a bra under my blouse. Ted seemed not to mind the contact.

When he finished putting the valve together, I pulled back, pretending that I hadn't noticed that I'd been pressing my breasts against his back. "Ooops. Sorry!" I said, pulling back. Ted blushed and assured me that it was okay.

I told him I'd get down under the sink to turn the water back on. "It's good for me to know how to do these things."

On my hands and knees, I was making something of a show of this, sure that my skirt was hiked up enough to give him a great view of my thighs and thoughts of what was above them. When I got the water turned on, Ted told me the faucet was working fine now.