I cycle back like an eager maniac.
My pushover Manager believed my headache complaints, the story about dizziness. Pretty soon I'd secured the afternoon off work as sick leave.
Truth is my brain is awash with fantasies of my home-alone girlfriend Kelly. My sore cock keeps beginning to harden as countless memories of her mouth consuming my dick, the weight of her head in my lap. Such impressions revisit me every other minute. Concentrating on work is a lost cause. I crave her attentions now. Desperately. Leaking pre-cum into the cotton of my pants all morning, it is apparent to me the frequency of Kelly's blowjobs has suspended my mind and body in a state of constant sexual arousal. If I close my eyes there she is, her blue gaze as she feeds on me. It is unbearable. I couldn't stop the lies to get out of work.
Lungs burning I pedal the last hundred meters uphill to her house, where I've spent the last two months almost constantly. From the driveway I catch music, techno thudding from the lounge. The curtains are pulled though it is not long past midday.
My fingers tangle with the keys and with urgent impatience I chuck my bike in her garage, lock up then ram the spare she has given me in the latch. The music rushes out as I step into the hallway and close the front door behind me.
Something isn't right. I find myself creeping to the open lounge door. To the edge of the raging noise on heavy legs.
They're both groaning.
The sight slaps me hard and for a moment all I register is their immaculate flesh.
My brain reels. Kelly's creamy form. Jakki's honey skin. The fucking bitch has her face buried between my girlfriend's thighs. In her cunt.
They haven't noticed me. Why should they? I stand perpendicular, a few meters from Kelly's writhing fit, her overpowering pleasure. I look on, disbelieving as kneeling Jakki dares to shake her head in Kelly's thighs to provide my girlfriend's clit with a thorough tongue lashing. Kelly's body goes into spasms on the white sofa.
I'm devastated, glued as Kelly sits back, forwards, then back again. She's lost control. Her mouth gapes as she clutches Jakki's hair and fidgets through another sweaty orgasm. Their quivering bodies are absolutely bathed in sweat. Beads of it. The air is thick, heavy with the pungent musk of cunt. Four sopping dildos lie at Kelly's feet. Lace underwear, long forgotten, is discarded on the other sofa.
This is no quick fondle. They've been at it hours. Kelly twitches toward another orgasm.
I storm away, charge up the stairs, banging through the door into Kelly's bedroom. I pace back and forth fighting an adrenaline hell. That backstabbing tart Jakki has beguiled her. Never before have I seen Kelly so worked up, drowning in such utter ecstasy. By comparison my efforts to please my girlfriend seem suddenly paltry.
The wail that fills the house, meshing with the techno racket, is of an order I've never elicited from Kelly. In it I hear sexual bliss found through another. My pride is wrecked. By the eighth of ninth time that sound tortures me I am pacing in rage. This is what happens when my back is turned is it? I stare into the mirrored wardrobe at my jealous grimace.
Another long wail from downstairs ruptures into a succession of sobbing pants. Then a glorious cry lifts from Kelly as she revels in her girlfriend's expertise. I recoil from my reflection.
I keep telling myself to get out but I can't think where to go. In my clumsy anger I accidentally brush past the bedside lamp and it thuds heavily to the carpet.
Right above the lounge.
The techno vanishes. Urgent whispers downstairs. I'm frozen, breath caught. This is just about to get worse.
The sharp clack of high heels on laminate flooring. Then thumping up the stairs. I can't move.
Kelly, naked except white stilletoes, pulls up short, mid-gasp. Her shock turns into realisation. She sees my hurt. Her eyebrows crease with sympathy and she half-covers her horrified mouth with manicured fingers. Her long legs eat up the last two meters and she enfolds me in a tight hug, face nestled into my shoulder.
"Oh Chris," she mews against me. "I couldn't help myself."
My palms push her ribs and she steps back, arms sliding from my neck. Her tits sway slightly, nipples like bullets. Miserable apprehension clouds her expression. I notice her flat belly, subtle tremours with each breath. After-quakes. Her shaven pussy and groins are glossy with saliva, her thighs reddened with a host of suck-marks. Evidence of Jakki's skillful tonguing. "I'm at work while you're getting your muff eaten by bloody Jakki. This isn't the first time is it?" Kelly turns her cheek, lowers her naked butt to sit on the end of the bed. Legs together, protective. Her silence confirms my worst fears. "When did this start?" I growl. Kelly looks at the floor. "I want to know how long you two have been fucking each other." Her blue eyes bore up at me. "Two weeks ago. Look Chris, just think of it as a massage-" "Massage?" I shout incredulously. "What she was doing to you..." I can't finish.
Another pair of high heels tap across the lounge, stab up the stairs. Jakki arrives with knickers on and an open-mouth. She freezes at the threshold of Kelly's bedroom, sees me and ducks back. "Oh shit," she mumbles out on the landing.
Kelly's eyes are turning watery. I make my decision, head for the door. "I'm going." Something catches my shirt, pulls me to a standstill. "Wait." I look down at Kelly grasping my shirt hem. "Wait," she pleads. "Lie down. Here." Her palm slides over the silk sheets. "I can't. Not after..." The breath sags out of me. I yank my shirt from her grip; dump myself on the edge of the bed to sit beside her.
Jakki is lurking out of sight, still on the landing. Kelly calls her in. "Jakki, we're going to make it up to him. Chris and I are staying together. It's just..." "What?" I say. "Jakki's very accomplished." "What's that supposed to mean?" I snap. Jakki flashes me a conciliatory smile. She slides her knickers down and steps out of them.
Kelly oozes her hand over my thigh to cup my inner leg. "The way she licks me." Kelly's whisper teases my ear. She looks down shyly, as does Jakki.
I feel small, foolish.
"We were just having fun," Kelly has the audacity to tell me. That knotted ball of anger in my torso tightens another notch.
"We'll make it up to you. Now."
Kelly pushes my chest and I lay back, simmering with envy. I let them undress me, arching my back or lifting my legs when their hands prompt me. I lie with only boxer shorts remaining.
My limp cock is a pathetic bulge in my silver-stained, sweat-damp underwear. I stare at the ceiling, still on the verge of jumping up, grabbing my clothes and walking out.
A hand engulfs my lump, strokes me. Slow fingers. I glance down.
The bitch. Jakki is knelt there, my shriveled member beneath her hand, rubbing it through the fabric. I want to refuse this woman but already it is too late. The slut has stirred a spark in my tummy. I'm too easy, I realise. She gropes my softness and stares at her working hand, its contents, ignoring my face.
Stiffening long fingers she palm-grinds my dough, rolling the underside up and down. I lift my head to watch. Her nails begin to tease a wondrous itch through the cotton into my meager length. My boxers temper her hard slides and I am able to enjoy her nails, free from grazing.
I am silenced by her treatment of me.
The glide of her lovely claws is like a metaphor; she can - has - hurt me, but now she chooses to cause me pleasure.
Kelly crawls onto the firm bed, gathers an armful of pillows and props them under my shoulders and head. I sink into the soft pile and not for the first time witness myself in the mirrored wardrobe doors just beyond the foot of Kelly's double bed. From this angle I see my face, my foreshortened body and my boxer shorts, just beneath my chin.
I feel a pulsation generated by Jakki's scoring caresses. A ripple that trickles down into my balls, climbs the glands of my dick's head. A throaty sigh issues from me like surrender.
I stare lustfully now at Jakki, this tall girl knelt at my side and drink in the beautiful cruelty of her pucker lips, a mouth that has stolen orgasm after orgasm from my girlfriend's snatch behind my back. I eye her tanned skin and long svelte limbs, her firm buttocks and neat cunt reflected back at me, her shoulders draped in luxurious blonde hair.
How I love to be done to.
I respond to her fingers hooking under my shorts and lift my sorry arse. She whisks the boxers down my thighs, over my knees and lets them drop to my ankles, out of sight.
There I am. Exposed, still soft, a tear of pre-cum pooled at the entrance of my foreskin. With the underwear gone the mirror displays to me my ball-sack, hairy thighs and flattened bum cheeks. I kick away the boxers, spread my legs wider to the cool air. Very deliberately Jakki washes her hands up my balls to cup my noodle then proceeds to twist and flop my manhood about. Kelly's lips part as her friend, lover, girlfriend - whatever - kneads me to semi-solidity with an array of different grips and rubs. Jakki holds my malleable cock between finger and thumb. Her silken hair descends, cascades into my lap. Her wet gob absorbs me and I feel the roof of her mouth. In her other hand she scrunches together my balls and in it all goes, the whole of my genitalia stuffed in her mouth, teeth lightly enclosing the base.
Every part of my softness, captured so sweetly, with just a hint of threat. I gasp under her as she breathes in my lap and holds. Her mouth makes me tense as it pulls off me, a mixture of hard and soft, my entirety spit-drizzled. She takes me in her fist and starts to wank me, speeding up, tightening her hold. Her friction cooks my sausage, pulling harder, veins throbbing in a grip that blurs on me.
"Tell him Jakki," drawls Kelly. "Tell him you're going to make him shiny and stiff."
