Tell You All About It

Tell You All About It

© kate7891

Thanks

to bluejay for your thorough and enthusiastic beta read.

* * * *

Since they were nine years old, Freya and Ethan were best friends. He and his family had moved to the neighbouring farm and Freya, being an only child, made herself a permanent fixture at Kimball Wines, relishing her friendship with Ethan and his siblings, people her own age.

Freya was almost eighteen when she knew she'd never be able to return Ethan's love for her in any form other than friendship. Growing up, both had heard the jokes and off-hand comments. Best friends were destined to fall in love, right?

"I'm so sorry, Ethan," she'd sobbed the night he'd built up the bravery to kiss her. "I've tried. In my head I've tried to go to that place you're in. But I just can't." She'd rested her forehead against his, her hands rubbing his forearms in comfort, tears streaming silently down her cheeks.

Ethan knew then he'd do anything to never see tormented heartache twist her facial features again. Anything just to make her happy. Even if it meant locking away his heart.

Now, fifteen years to the day after they met -- and living only six tram-stops apart in Melbourne -- they met up for their regular Sunday brunch date.

"Ethan, hi!" Freya beamed, her long blond hair a melody of gold, pale scented honey and butter caramel, wispy waves framing her warm brown eyes that radiated genuine love.

Platonic, but love nonetheless.

Ethan stood and she wrapped him in a tight embrace -- as she did every week, as though it were months between meetings, not days -- her hair a silken sunrise tickling his nose. She squeezed him once, hard, before stepping back. Her eyes glowed, brown velvet, and she was flushed.

Ethan's heartrate accelerated; he was excited, but couldn't exactly pinpoint why.

"Sorry I'm late," she rushed and sat down, combing her fingertips through the front of her hair, detangling the luscious locks. She picked up the water Ethan had poured and took a sip.

"It's okay." He scrutinised her face. "Everything

is

okay?"

Freya's smile split her face. "I think I'm

really

seeing someone." She slowly exhaled, reached out to rub Ethan's forearm in silent apology. "I'm sorry. I'm just so excited. He really excites me."

Ethan shifted in his seat, picked up the menu -- even though he ordered the same thing every time -- needing a prop to help him speak. "Is this the same guy you told me about? The one who --" he leaned forward to whisper "-- fucked you in the alleyway?"

Freya flushed scarlet and nodded, crossing her legs, feeling an ache deep in her cunt from that morning's scene with Shaw.

"You thought it was just gonna be a one-weekend thing," Ethan said, rubbing a hand over his floppy brown hair. He always fancied it was a similar shade to Freya's eyes.

"Well, yeah. He's like, seventeen years older than me. So sophisticated. And fuck, he's sexy. The things he says..." She bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes. Ethan's cock strained in his pants. "The things he does. I think I'm a ruined woman." She grinned, opened her eyes, and saw the lust in Ethan's. She sighed, softly smiled another apology and beckoned a waitress over.

"Ready to order?" Freya asked gently, giving him the kindness of distraction.

Freya had always wondered at her friendship with Ethan. On paper, they shouldn't work. She was assertive yet carefree; pragmatic but fun. He was essentially a wallflower; awkward in large groups, but wonderful in more intimate settings. Full of secrets. The pang of guilt she felt at not being able to love him the way he wanted was quickly absorbed. A familiar feeling.

"And for you?" the waitress asked.

Freya pressed a hand to her jittery stomach, unable to fathom an appetite. "Ah, I'll just have a milkshake, thanks. Strawberry."

Ethan sighed. Strawberry milk was Freya's only tell.

She was stoned.

He knew she got up to no good when she was high.

Her spontaneity drove him mad.

"Got much on for the rest of your day?" he asked, quickly absorbing the pang of guilt at making her feel bad for not loving him. A familiar feeling.

Freya changed the crossing of her legs, knowing the minute she arrived home, she'd masturbate away the ache Shaw had left raging in her cunt. She was becoming hornier, hyper aware of her bodily sensations each hour spent in Shaw's arms.

In his bed.

In his dungeon.

His tutelage in BDSM was a significant sexual awakening for Freya, one to which she responded with authentic enthusiasm and genuine curiosity. Over the last month, her body had become more responsive; curling to a whispered word, a soft touch. Something filthy whispered in gentle and seductive tones.

She always felt on the verge of an orgasm. That the slightest, most nonsensical thing would set her off.

She took a deep breath and smiled at Ethan.

"How are your brothers? Your folks?"

"Everyone's great. I'm sure your mum knows more than me about the goings on at KW," Ethan replied, settling into the familiar topic. "Tommy's girlfriend's pregnant."

Freya sat up straight. "Fuck. Tommy's barely twenty-one. Is it... happy news?"

Ethan smiled. "Yeah, it's happiest news. Him and Emma have been together three years now. Pretty normal progression." Then he saw Freya's brow crease slightly and shrugged. "For some people," he amended softly, not sure if she heard.

She smiled when the waitress delivered their drinks. She sucked up thick strawberry sweetness through a metallic straw, the ice extra cold having travelled through the silver tube.

"Did you want to come over for dinner tonight?" she asked. "Give the lovebirds some space. Your roommate's girlfriend flies in from Perth today, right?"

"That'd be handy. Appreciate it."

Freya slurped more thick strawberry milk, swallowed and said with a chilly breath, "Come over after we're done here if you like. Had no plans to go into the studio today --" she was a potter "-- just to work on some sketches; can do that while we watch a movie or if you just wanna read or whatever."

"Sounds good."

But when Ethan pulled up behind Freya's Vespa, he saw a man darkening her doorway. Freya removed her helmet and Ethan knew the moment she made eye-contact with the man. The air all but snapped.

So, he thought. This is Shaw.

Freya wedged her helmet under her arm and approached the driver's window.

"So, ah, change of plans," she said, leaning down, resting her forearm on the frame, eyes flickering toward Shaw.

Ethan cleared his throat, disguised his sudden arousal with a teasing grin. "Clearly."

Freya beamed, reached into her back pocket to retrieve her wallet. She took out her credit card and handed it to him. "Go enjoy your Sunday. Hit the mall. Go to the movies. Rent a room at the casino. My treat."

Ethan grinned, snatching her card up. "Don't have to tell me twice."

She leaned in further and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. "Will tell you all about it after," she said on impulse. "Promise."

She turned and skipped up to Shaw, his arm snaking around her and pulling her in for a hungry kiss, while Ethan sat, mouth agape, her words echoing in his ear.

Will tell you all about it after

.

Tell you all about it.

Promise.

* * * *

"Who's the kid?" Shaw mumbled some time later, his lips pressed against Freya's hair, his nostrils sweetened by her fragrance.

"Hmm?" she mumbled, half turning her languid body towards him, sleepy arousal as she slowly came awake.

"The scruffy guy in the ute. You kissed him."

With closed eyes, Freya smiled, breathy laughter escaping through her nose.

"'Kid'?" she chuckled. "Ethan. He's my best friend. We grew up together on the Peninsula. Neighbouring farms." She shifted to press her nose into the hollow of his throat, the fourth time she'd done so since they'd met. Shaw frowned having just realised he was keeping count.

"Did you tell him about me?" Shaw asked, fingertips combing through her hair, watching the strands slide through, somehow shimmering in the dim bedroom light. He brought a lock to his mouth, tickling the shape of his lips, running the threads between them. Freya shuddered, and he smiled.

"He knows I'm seeing someone," she said, lips tickling the fuzz at the base of Shaw's throat. She tilted her head back and saw him running her hair over his lips and nose, and her breath caught. She could feel it in her toes.

"Is he the sort of protective-big-brother kind of friend, or the friendly friend kind?"

Freya's tension dissolved on a chuckle as she tried to picture Ethan defending her honour. She couldn't help but recall him dressed as a mutation of the red Ninja Turtle -- she could never keep their names straight -- and Batman at her eleventh birthday. Her laughter bubbled out. "No. He's Ethan. Best friend kind of friend. I broke his heart and he's still my friend. We look out for each other, get stoned together, holiday together. I tell him everything. But I haven't told him much about you other than..." she trailed off, blushing.

"The alleyway," Shaw finished for her, ribboned fingertips pressing under her chin, forcing her to meet his dark blue gaze.

"The alleyway," she whispered, her voice somehow dripping down her core to curl around her cunt.

"I'm want you again," he said, his palm covering her swollen gash.

Freya sucked in a breath, hips tilting to his touch. "Yes," she gasped, following him into the darkness. "Yes."

* * * *

Just after 2AM, Ethan's phone chimed with a message from Freya.

F:

coffee @ studio before work if you find the time 

For over an hour, Ethan stared at his screen, eyes almost unblinking, squeezing his painfully stiff erection between his thighs, heart tattooing an erratic beat inside his chest.

* * * *

Five and a half hours later, Ethan chained his bike to the rack outside the narrow brownstone that held Freya's wares. He unlocked the shopfront, wandered through the dim display and out the back to her studio. He liked to watch her throw clay.

Soft morning light filtered through the small shed she'd renovated. She'd removed an entire wall and replaced it with glass for natural light. Lamps and indoor lighting was sporadic, but strategic. Shelving on the back wall held her tools, bags of clay, drying projects -- everything from clay cutlery to erotic pieces of art that fetched for hundreds of dollars -- and the paints she used to stain her creations.

Potted plants hung from the ceiling or sprouted tall near benches and in corners. And a small kitchenette he knew she kept well stocked for the days she worked late. Shoved against the far wall behind a mirrored divider -- to reflect the light and to check angles -- was a forever rumpled futon for the nights she worked later.

It was almost hypnotic, Ethan thought, watching her delicate fingertips dip a sponge into the water, bringing moisture to the clay, moulding it smooth under her gently spinning touch. She frowned as she narrowed the base, squeezing it in, before wetting the sponge again and shaping the top.

The turning wheel, the softly shifting shape and her hands -- oh, her hands -- were mesmerising. They always were. Ethan remembered when they were fourteen and her discovering a wheel at a country flea market. He remembered her asking what it was, but looking at it as if she already knew how to use it.

Then she looked up, pinned him under her direct chocolate gaze, and he blushed at having being caught staring.

Freya noted the blush and her sensitive aching cunt clenched. Her straddled position behind the wheel made her acutely aware of her naked and tender pussy lips beneath well-worn denim overalls. The white singlet she wore beneath it made her acutely aware of her unfettered breasts, her sore nipples.

She frowned. She'd never reacted like this to Ethan's stares before.

She cleared her throat before jerking her head to the window wall. "Put in a coffee order next door already," she said, referring to the neighbouring café. The shared outdoor space was mutually beneficial; on the sunny summer days Freya worked the wheel, was up and about to the kiln, she attracted diners to her shop. And vice versa: casual browsers or serious art collectors were often aromatically lured next door.

Returning with two coffees, Ethan saw the wheel had stopped to slowing and she was sculpting a pattern along the rim of the vase. The intertwining lines looked like soundwaves forming. Then she released the pedal and pushed back, wiping her hands on a hand towel as she stood, dropping it on the floor before reaching for her coffee.

"Thanks," she said, taking a sip before placing it on her stool and lifting her arms up, leaning over each side, stretching out her back. She stifled a yawn before smiling at Ethan.

"How was your Sunday?"

Ethan grinned and sat on the futon. Then his nose twitched at the scent of sex on the sheets, and Freya hid her smile in her coffee as she sat on her stool, facing him. The backs of her hands were splattered with clay and sometime in the last twenty hours, she'd painted her fingernails black.

"Ah, my Sunday was good. Hit the casino day spa. Got myself pampered, so thanks for that." Ethan lifted a hip and took her credit card from his pocket. "Here you go," he said, holding it out.

Freya sucked in a breath as she leaned over -- her somewhat squatted position tilting her pelvis up -- her pussy aching at the angle, and took the card. She regained her composure as she straightened, smiled and asked, "Got yourself a rub and tug, did you?"

Ethan chuckled, "Yeah, can you imagine?"

"I can actually," she murmured, taking another sip of coffee.

Ethan blushed, shifted his hips and cleared his throat. "H-how was your Sunday?" he stuttered.

Freya watched curiously as Ethan's Adam's apple bobbed heavily in his throat; she knew he was aroused. He nearly always was around her. She knew the dry throat feeling of lust well; knew his tongue felt thick at the back of his throat; knew that desperate feeling of thirst.

And then it came to her in a blinding flash.

He reacted to her in the same she way she reacted to Shaw.

Submissively.

This insight made Freya pause. Reflect. If she were a kinder woman she would have severed ties ten years ago when his mooneyes started. But it was like he was her other half; the quiet pensive half, the one who was anchored in reality, not at all fanciful.

Ethan licked his lips, But this was different, Freya thought. This was also a desire for Shaw. To be him or worship him, she didn't know, but Freya instinctively knew Ethan didn't just want to see her cunt. He wanted to see her

used

cunt. Her alleyway cunt.

"Do you want me to tell you?" she asked softly.

"Well," Ethan stuttered, clearing his throat, deciding not to pretend he didn't know what she meant. "You did promise."

Freya smiled her secret smile. "I did, didn't I?" She stood and unbuckled one strap of her overalls, the bib falling open, showing Ethan the bottom of her ribcage, for her singlet was cropped at her waist. Her nipple was hard beneath the fabric, sitting pert and proud on her demure breast.

Ethan squirmed again, his eyes darting from her face to her wheel, to her foot to the window, to the juncture of her thighs -- making her clench -- and to her face again. Her own heart accelerated with nerves, and she rubbed her forearms.

"Fuck." She sucked in a breath, brown eyes swirling, anguished at his nerves. She knew that feeling, too. "I don't want to hurt you, Ethan. I can't talk to my girlfriends about Shaw. I can't talk about the..." she flushed, ashamed arousal a heady mix, "alleyway. But fuck, Ethan," she continued, firmer now, lifting her eyes, "I feel like I'm losing myself. And you know me better than anyone. If I tell you, you can keep me from floating away. Please Ethan," she sobbed, clearly wanting to cover her face, but unable to do so, her clay claws floundering.

Ethan stood and placed his hands on her forearms, stilling her, calming her. His sorrowful eyes reflecting her pain, hating that her inability to love him back hurt her so.

"Shh," he soothed. "It's okay. Nothing can ruin our friendship, okay? Nothing."

She nodded, flexed her forearms under his hands. He let go and sat back down, adjusting himself beneath the seam of his trousers.

"Whenever you want me to stop, just say, and I'll stop. Okay?"

Ethan nodded, quite lost for words.

Freya unbuckled the other clip, and her overalls fell with a clang to the floor. Ethan's eyes goggled at the bruises on her hips, the welts on her thighs. The bold letter S drawn by a black marker on the crease of her mons.

"Fuck," he breathed.

"Do you want to see?" she asked softly, tears drying on her cheeks, but her head swum with a heady sense of power.

Ethan arched his hips a little and nodded. She sat -- knees higher than hips on the stool -- and spread her thighs.

His eyes all but boggled from his head.

Her pussy was bald bare, save for a trimmed umber thatch, her delicate skin folded very much like the pattern on her vase. His mind swirled like her spinning wheel at the sight of her used flesh. She was softly swollen, bright pink with darker shades promised in her ravine.

"What...?" he breathed, eyes finally flickering up to her face.

Her eyes were fierce, darker than he'd ever seen them, rich coffee bean, hard but not bitter. He felt pinned under her gaze, unable to move, scarcely able to breathe.

"Shaw takes me to dark places," she said, clay-spotted hands rubbing circles inside her thighs.

"The alleyway," he breathed, hands resting softly on his knees, fingertips tingling to curl into hard fists, eyes flickering back down to her well-used cunt.

"Yes," Freya said, her forefingers pressing along the seam of her inner thighs, opening her pussy before gliding over the dark S, tracing its curves. Ethan bit his lip, following her movements. A slow smile then spreads across her face as she brought her knees together, obstructing his view but appeasing her ache, and playfully asked, "Are you sure?"

Again, Ethan nodded, squirming, wanting to pull his cock out and stroke himself to completion, but lacking the courage. He rubbed the palm of his hand over his crotch a moment, then blushed and cleared his throat.

"I'm sure," he said clearly. "I want to see how he used your cunt."

Freya sucked in a breath, not expecting anything so bold from him. But then she reflected upon her own recent behaviour and grinned. Ethan was lost in his lust for her. A yet-to-be-discovered persona was in charge, and she wanted to help Ethan discover it.

She knew he wanted to feast upon her. Knew he wanted it even more so now, knowing she'd been taken so recently.

Freya slowly ran her hands along her inner thighs, from knee to crease, thumbs pressing into her fleshy labia, rolling up to the apex, pressing pressure to her pubic bone, her clitoris aching, her cunt clenching the remnants of Shaw's seed. The cool morning air puckered her nipples, pebbled her skin, iced fire coursing through her veins. She let out a shaky breath, the sun's slant changing as the morning wore on.

Her senses were heighted, overwhelming her. Which did she focus on?

Shaw, her mind whispered, and she squeezed her eyes shut tight, squeezing the imprint of his cock, squeezing his seed. Shaw. She let out a controlled breath, lifted her eyes and again squashed Ethan under her gaze.

She had transformed before him. Into someone he didn't know.

Someone

she

didn't quite know.

Freya continued to run her hands along her taut inner thighs, transferring clay from hands to skin, fingers stretched so the webbing between her thumb and forefinger parted her labia. Ethan swallowed audibly, the sight of that grey earth on her pink and bruised skin, forefinger pressed against the... fuck.