[Note: This story is entered in the
750 Word Project 2025
. Votes and comments are appreciated. The precisely 750 words begin immediately below this note, none involving characters under 18 years old. All rights reserved by the author, copyright 2025.]
"So tonight'll be...normal?"
"Sure, Liz. Whatever. You break up with me but insist we hide it from our friends."
"Just tonight! I'm not ready to see Kristi's boobs all over you."
After seven years, she should know he wasn't especially into big tits. Her insecurities were showing.
The door opened.
"ElizaBen!" Liz got Kristi's first hug, exchanging air kisses.
His ex (god, that sounded weird) glared when artificially perfect breasts were squeezed against him.
Liz shared a quick embrace with the other hostess, Janette, wandered off. Ben's turn.
Unlike a petite firecracker wielding oversized knockers in a tight dress, Janette didn't threaten Liz. She favored loose shirts, baggy pants.
Ben stopped himself from stepping toward this welcoming hug. They clung to each other longer, closer than the others. Under the bulky clothes, Ben felt an athlete's body. Not model-thin like Liz. Fit. Strong.
Janette left him with a near inaudible purr in his ear. He headed in search of a beer, glimpsed Liz, joint in hand. She always looked like she was holding a diamond cigarette holder instead of twisted pot and paper.
Janette's arms found him again. "Benny Ben, the bestest man."
She sounded a little drunk.
"I like you." She rose, brushed her nose to his.
"I like you too."
"No." Serious, hand on his chest. "I - really - like you."
Did she feel the leap his heart made?
Voices, not quite angry, deeper in the house.
"Fudgeknuckles. Gotta hostess. Stay here? Please?"
A familiar laugh reached him. Carlo was back?
Carlo had the best weed and a crush on Liz, was seriously full of bullshit.
"Hi." Sultry. Liz. So frail compared to Jannette. Flawless, braless breasts pressed to his chest. "I'm sorry."
"For?"
"My stupid idea. Us not to tell." Fingers played with his collar. "I was wrong."
Her kiss was open, offering. She whimpered at a cupping hand, teased nipple. They found shadows under the stairs. Weed made her eager, adventurous. Less fucking uptight.
He worked her skirt up, found familiar slickness, trembling, another whimper.
Hands grabbed his wrist, shoved high between her thighs. "Once more. Then no more secrets."
Ben hated her knowing him so well.
His back against the wall, she backed against him. His grip on her waist would leave marks. He felt cheap, dirty, when her quick whining climax triggered his own. He growled, flooding her, pinning slim hips to him. Breaths slowed; they separated. Nothing needed said.
He watched her exit, smoothing her skirt, covering a trail of wet inside one thigh.
"What'd her majesty want?" Janette, behind him. "Wait. Did you just fuck under my stairs?"
He turned, pulled her close. "When you say 'her majesty,' you mean my ex?"
God, that sounded good.
"Your...Ex?" A squeal. "As in...."
Her voice trailed off.
