Friends For Dinner 1

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

At 17k this is a 1hr 10min read, but I've split it into three more or less equal parts, and there are a few climaxes to entertain you on the way to the big one. Some man-on-man action at the end (the first I've ever written!) just to warn those who might find that sort of thing a turn-off.

Enjoy!

BC

x

Shit, I'm gonna cum. I can't hold back any longer. It's too good, the fat lips slobbering on my tongue and the whimpers I lick from between. Damn, and that sucking is so tender. So eager it feels like a dozen mouths down there, and all loving it. The room is full of our slurps and happy humming. I don't know who's who. I'm definitely gonna cum. Quick. Think of something. Anything. Think. Think. Jesus. How the fuck did I get here?

WHEN ROZ CAME FOR DINNER

"There are way more blowjobs on TV than men going down on women." Roz swirled her wine in her glass, shaking her head. "If you were an alien trying to work out human sex habits from our dramas, you'd think only women licked women. You'd think only women liked giving head at all."

This was a remarkable conversation to have with a woman who wasn't my wife. From someone who up till five minutes ago had only talked TV with me. Kate, my actual wife, was working late but had invited her childhood friend for dinner, so I -- the unsociable half of the relationship -- was forced to entertain our guest alone.

Roz was an opinionated English rose and ex-hippy therapist. Think boho Kate Winslet possessed by Maggie Thatcher. I'd always found her annoying, yet our TV chat turned out to be surprisingly bonding. Maybe she'd steered the conversation this way because I was a set builder and movie buff, but we still clicked. We seemed to share a secret enjoyment of all the quirky sci-fi and zombie shows that our partners hated. And we hated the same shows too. We'd just slagged off the second season of White Lotus because it pretended to be woke, but it was just a new kind of camp patriarchal. I was using it as an example of the sort of TV that would put Kate and me in a mood for days after.

Roz nodded sagely. "Hmm. That blowjob scene." She grimaced. "Kate would've felt pressured by that. Y'know, the whole... swallowing thing?"

This rattled my head. "Wait, what? Kate feels pressured? I've never pressured her to suck me."

"Not suck. Swallow. She likes sucking you. It's swallowing she hates."

"Well, I'm glad to hear she likes sucking me. Every birthday. Because she's never told me that. And I don't know how she's learned to hate... the other thing, because she's never even tried."

Roz held up her hands. "Sorry. I'm out of line."

"I'd never ask her to do something she didn't like. As painful as it is for me." I think I even thumbed my chest. What a man. "I mean, she made it clear on our first date that she'd never... you know--"

"Swallow. Why can't you say it? This is half the issue with you two. How can you have physical intimacy without verbal intimacy? But hang on. Why did she feel the need to draw that line on your first date? Perhaps you were putting pressure on her without realising?"

"I was not pressuring her." Trying to calm my voice turned it cold and hissy. "I'd just told her how my ex always demanded she finish me orally, whatever the sex, because she found it less messy. It was an anecdote."

Roz's jaw dropped. "You said that on your first date?"

I wanted to chuck my wine over the cow's head. Which meant, of course, she was right. Shit. Actually, Kate and I did argue about this rather a lot. Whenever the issue came up--as it were--she liked to taunt me that she didn't share my "cum fetish."

Roz clasped her hands between her knees and winced. "Actually... I know she's never tried swallowing you." She held up her hand to stop my blathering questions. "We argued about it recently. You were being a pig, and it was clearly about her not giving you what you needed. I said I used to be squeamish at the thought of swallowing too, but learned to love it with Jake. She accused me of betraying women and their right to say no. I said that, first it's two-way. There are difficult things Jake has learned to do for me, that I never dreamt I'd find in a partner, and that's bonded us tighter than any wedding vow." Again, with the "shut up" hand. "But the main thing is that a relationship's rules should be allowed to change, especially in the long term. I said it's easy to box ourselves in sometimes, pushing back against pressure instead of addressing the original issue. In this case, for example, now you've been together for ten years and presumably value pleasing each other, perhaps swallowing is no longer the big deal it was. Maybe it's just been inflamed by conflict. I told her she should forget the automatic 'no' sometime, and try it, just once. I told her to imagine the look on your face!"

Now I wanted to hug her. My hero. "What did she say?"

"She didn't speak to me for days. Not until inviting me for dinner. Probably the reason she's not here now."

In my fevered state, I wondered if Kate, knowing what Roz and I were like, might have set us up to sort each other out. She'd been bitching about Roz's "perma-horn" recently. In fact, shamefully, my heart had kicked up a gear when Roz said she loved swallowing for her husband. It seemed she wanted me to know we shared more than a love of silly TV. That's when she changed the subject, pronouncing that men never go down on women on TV.

"Bridgerton?" I countered, relieved for the distraction. "Doesn't he go down on the girl in a library? Kept me awake, if I'm honest."

"It was good, wasn't it?" Roz narrowed her eyes. "A rare exception."

"I bet it's not. I bet there are more men licking women on TV than you realise. I mean, don't we tend to see things that support our insecurities?" I was dead proud of how psychological I sounded.

But Roz smirked. "So, I'm insecure about oral sex? Perhaps you think I'm oversensitive to it because I give but never get any?"

This is how I gave away what Kate had confided in me. Roz's husband, Jake, actively avoided licking or fucking but loved her head and was constantly bugging her for anal, so she was worried he was gay. The rest of the world had already decided Jake was far too fit, neat and fragrant to be straight.

She topped up my wine. "I take it K told you about Jake?"

"Her P.A. did." This was our in-joke--based on Kate's constant use of her P.A. to deliver bad news. It was also a feeble deflection.

Roz crossed her legs, making bells tinkle on the hem of her skirt. I kid you not. I wondered if Jake made her wear them like you might put a bell collar on a cat to warn birds. She shot a finger at me. "Well, her P.A. told me one of your secrets too."

She blatted big eyes at me as if to underline something we both knew, but she wouldn't say, but then blurted it anyway. "Every morning? That you pester her to let you lick her?" She tried to hide a "take that" expression with a glug of wine.

I didn't understand what I'd done wrong. I was a pest in the morning, it's true. I couldn't help it; my wife was irresistible. Think coppertop Jennifer Lawrence. But when she was sleepy-headed and naked--all strawberry blonde and creamy skin-- she was edible. Just as well because she only came when I ate her, and her orgasms made my day. Sometimes it seemed my entire self-esteem wobbled on the shaky foundations of climaxing a woman rarely interested in cumming. She always enjoyed it, eventually, but was never in the mood.

I shrugged. "I can't feel guilty about wanting to please my wife."

"Bollocks. You love sex, that's all. Especially oral. The rest is about giving her a guilt trip for not doing you." She scoffed. "Men are such dogs."

I doused a rise of anger with a glug of wine.

Roz leaned into my glower. "But you do know that's OK, don't you? Even though she can't reciprocate, K appreciates your... slavering devotion. She relies on it even. If it's any consolation, I always remind her how lucky she is. Some of us dream of waking up to find we're a hot hubby's full English."

A silence gobbled us up. Then we accidentally cleared our throats simultaneously and laughed too loud at the awkward synchronicity.

"How did we get here?" I went to top Roz up.

"Just..." She covered her glass. "Don't feel bitter with K for not sharing your needs."

"I'm not bitter."

"She feels that you are. As do I. Always trying to give her head when you know she doesn't want it, just because that's what you want, is passive-aggressive. You're behaving like a victim for not getting what you need from her, which you reinforce every morning by forcing her to reject you. Don't be a victim."

"Right." There was no point arguing. "I'll restrain my inner hound."

"Oh, don't do that. Just deal with it." She raised a finger. "Retrain, don't restrain. "

"What?"

"You know, just..." She waved a loose fist. "Do porn or something."

"That's what you do?"

I meant to embarrass her, but you can't embarrass a therapist. She shrugged. "Don't we all? Sometimes? To keep the peace? That's the deal. Occasionally, our partners offer us maintenance sex or let us make them cum. In return, we turn to self-care so we don't bother them. My fingers are way better than an unenthusiastic tongue anyway."

"That's quite a picture you're painting, Roz."

She blushed from cheeks to neck but chuckled. "Enjoy."

I made a pretence of picturing her and nodded approval. "Woof," I said. Wittily.

"Oh, stop!" She refilled her own glass.

"We've descended into porn."

She trumpeted a laugh. "Merde!" She put on a French accent for some reason. "I take off my knickers now, oui?"

"Mm, baby." I put on a sleazy accent of my own. "Bend over. I lick you long time."

"From behind? Racy." She squirmed in her chair. "Oh, Oui..." Her voice was small, like a leaked thought more than banter. It seemed to slip right through my skull.

Our eyes locked then, and hers, dark as a secret, swelled to fill the room. She bit her lip.

"Helloo!" Kate called from the hallway. "Babies, I'm ho-ome!"

Roz and I leapt to our feet.

BRUNCH FOR FOUR

We were invited to Roz and Jake's house for Sunday brunch a week later. I was morose because Kate's erection rejections had been getting particularly brutal, and we'd argued that morning because I asked her why she waxed if she wouldn't ever let me enjoy it. Our last sex had been on holiday weeks before when--without work to distract her--she got needy one night. She wanked me in the shower, then shaved my chin smooth as hers and sat on my face with the lights off. On top of it all, despite Roz's advice, I'd given up on porn too. It just made me hornier and inflamed my expectations. Also, I'd developed a habit of wondering what Roz would think, then perving on watching it with her. So let's say I was feeling overwrought.

Jake answered the door in an elegant fluster and a gravy-stained apron, juggling a pile of artisanal crockery. "Your fucking friend has been in the bath all morning, and now she's holed up in her shed. No use to anyone."

"Nice to see you too, babe." Kate pecked his cheek. "I'll go get her."

"God, no." He thrust the plates into her hands. "We'll never eat. You lay the table. Peter, will you tell her ladyship that her brunch is ready? Oh, and..." He grabbed my sleeve. "Maybe knock. She thinks I can't see her laptop screen."

I trod through their rambling garden to Roz's "shed"-- the tiny, cottage-like office I built for her to greet clients. I'd known Roz platonically for 10 years, so the thought of catching her "self-care" made my toes curl. But I can't lie; since she came for dinner, I'd had a few pleasurably toe-curling moments thinking about her enjoying my tongue. Her self-proclaimed "milkmaid figure" was inviting, and she had a biteable bum. She'd implied I was a hot hubby too. My wife didn't even do that.

I'd built her office from antique bricks, timber and slates rescued when the village post office was demolished to make way for luxury apartments. I'd re-used the old bow-windowed shopfront too, pleasingly out-of-scale for Roz's rabbit hutch. The couple's laissez-faire attitude to gardening meant the hotchpotch structure, including the window, was now overgrown with vines and wisteria. However, the foliage couldn't protect me from a flagrant glimpse of Roz at her desk. Or rather the wrinkled pads of her bare feet, propped either side of her laptop...

The sight had me flutter-blinking as if trying to scrub the vision from my eyes. I banged on her door.

"Fucksake, Jake," she responded. "I'm coming, OK? Or I would be if you--"

"It's me," I shout. "Peter."

There was this crackling, jittery kind of silence.

The door opened, and Roz's face appeared in the gap. Her cheeks looked slapped. "Peter."

"Yup," I said. "Food's ready."

"COULD YOU CHECK THIS LEAK FOR ME?" she bellowed--for our spouses' benefit, I guessed--and backed it up with a "come here" finger. It was glossy to the knuckle.

I stepped into the wood-panelled office and shut the door behind me. I wondered if I should lock it. The room was just big enough for her consultation couch, chair and desk--we'd propped an old dressing mirror along the back wall to make the space seem bigger. Her huge old desk was set against the window, overlooking the garden and the house.

Roz hugged me, pressing her vital little body hard to my front and standing on tip-toes to inhale the crook of my neck. "Fuck you smell lovely," she said. "You've scrubbed too this morning, hmm? Why's that?" She nudged her hips to mine. She was testing my hardness. Which hardened me. I resisted the urge to squeeze her bottom and released her. She stayed holding me, and I realised if Jake wasn't turned on by her, she probably never felt this secret proof of desire. I put my arms around her again.

"What's all this about a leak?" I said into our hug. "Have we descended into porn again? Should I inspect your pipes with my enormous tool?" As soon as I said this, I thought, A hug is one thing, but what am I doing, fanning her flames?

Roz put on her French accent as if we were picking up right where we left off. "It 'as been leaking all morning. Will you take a look?" She cast doe-eyes up at me. An old friend like Roz acting coquettish both turned my stomach and made me rigid. She was wearing a full-length kaftan dress and smelled of expensive bath oils. And something else, something a bit animal.

"Monsieur. I 'ope it is OK, but..." She wriggled her hips. "I 'ave no panties on?"

"Can we stop talking like this now?" I stepped out of her steamy aura.

She laughed like I'd made a brilliant joke, then stooped over her laptop, her bottom wobbling unfetteredly under the loose flowery cotton. Her fingertip trembled on the mousepad. "I have to show you this. It made me think of you."

The screen burst into lurid life: A naked couple. A musclebound bloke and a full-bootied woman enjoying a sixty-nine. They thrashed out a mutual orgasm, the bloke growling into the woman's sex, the woman humming over his.

"I'll leave you to your self-care," I said.

"Or..." She bumped her hip to mine.

I was literally a rabbit in the headlights of her desire. It'd been so long since someone blared such horn at me that I didn't know which way to jump. And suddenly, that overscaled bow window, looking back up the garden to the house where Jake and Kate were chatting in the kitchen, made me feel very exposed. Meanwhile, on-screen, between us and our spouses, the naked couple gobbled and writhed like a projection of our combined subconscious.

"What do you think?" Roz's voice was telepathically small again. "Want to watch with me? I mean, If we have to look after ourselves, we might as well do it together. No harm in that, hmm?"

I clamped my mouth shut for fear of betraying myself. Or my marriage. I didn't look at Roz or the laptop. Back in the house, Kate was distracted by her phone, Facetiming her P.A. probably, and Jake fussed out of the room. He slid from window to window, going upstairs.

"Come on." She shoulder-shoved me and made a show of reaching up her skirt. "Don't be a victim. Have some fun." She put her knee on her chair. "Sit here and watch me cum if you like. Close up. I'd fucking love that."

The porn played out messily, the woman squirting on the man's tongue while licking the cum from his pumping monster cock. The front of Roz's kaftan fidgeted. "Since we spoke, everything I watch, I wonder what you'd think. Especially this sort of thing. I know you find it as sexy as I do. I mean, look, they're eating each other like ice cream! So hot." She shuddered, then leaned against me as if to prove her heat. "Come on, get it out. Let's cum together. If you stand behind me, they won't see you, and I'm small enough that the laptop hides my cheekiness. You can cum on me if you like. Cum on my bum. Or..."

But her porno witterings dissolved under the banging of blood in my ears. In the kitchen, Kate looked about as if to check she was alone. She clearly didn't realise we could see her. She put a foot on a chair and hitched up her skirt, then pulled her lacy silk gusset aside and manoeuvred her phone between her legs.

I must've grunted or something because Roz looked up from the porn. "Oh." She removed her hand from under her skirt and sucked a finger. "Cheeky mare! Looks like you're about to get a fruity photo. It really is your lucky day, isn't it?"

I pulled out my phone, my heart dancing. I felt like I'd won the lottery. Maybe Kate was having one of her rare "urges". Or perhaps it was an apology for how she'd treated me recently. Or maybe she even sensed the frisson between Roz and me and thought I'd been too long getting her from the shed...

But my screen lay dead in my palm. Meanwhile, Kate's screen lit her up in every way. She laughed, apparently chatting to someone on it, shaking her head emphatically. Then she clawed her hair, bit her lip and propped her phone on the window sill. Hands freed, she reached up her skirt to slide her knickers half down her thighs. She lifted the front of her dress, showing off the freshly waxed folds I'd been denied this morning. She stirred them. She'd never done that for me.

"Oh, Peter, I'm sorry." Roz squeezed my hand.

I raised my phone, turned on the camera and started recording.

A door slammed shut somewhere. Maybe it was in me. My wife was not my wife anymore. She was porn: a beautiful, half-naked woman with vibrant red hair masturbating, not for me, the voyeur, but for someone else. She opened her cunt lips and tickled her clitoris for her lover.

And all the while, wedged to my left leg, holding my hand, was a friend who shone with a need. For me.

"Bend over," I said.

Roz all but flopped across her desk, positioning the laptop to hide her, tipping up her bottom, and planting her feet wide.

I knelt behind her.

"I can't see them," she jabbered."So they can't see us!"

That was a child's concept of hiding, but I figured let them see. Let them watch me lift the hem of this dress and drape it over these ready hips. Let them fucking film it.

This wasn't my wife. Roz's legs were short and sturdy with baby feet and a rear so full and round that when she jiggled to entice me--which Kate would never do--her bottom and cunt lips wobbled together. She was waxed smooth, not for phone sex with another lover, but for me. And unlike my wife, Roz wanted me to eat her. She stamped her foot when I took too long staring at the glistening tracks down the insides of her thighs, the drip dangling from her glistening slot and her inner labia poking out like a cheeky tongue.

Everything about this woman was not my wife. And this was everything.

I shoved my face into her slick marshmallow flesh and ate my heart out.

OUR FIRST CREAM TEA

Roz's legs were still wobbly as we walked back to the house. We couldn't meet each other's eyes, not out of shame, but because Roz kept giggling.