Provocation

I'm just going to say, the main action in this chapter was not in my initial outline, but as I started writing, it just sort of happened... Shrug.

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Provocation - Four

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"Sucks to be you!" I heard Gwen whooping, excitement in her voice.

"Damn," I growled, struggling. I had made a mistake, and now I was paying for it. I wrenched my shoulders and stared desperately at Gwen's tail, almost twenty feet away from where I sat. She was over there, hot, sweaty, and having the time of her life, leaving me behind while I struggled against the wall.

I wrenched the wheel again, and it finally moved. I stomped on the accelerator, and my go-kart leapt away from the pile of tires I had wedged myself against while trying to pass Gwen on Kart-O-Rama's Advanced Track. Her whooping had faded as she left me behind, but I assumed she had resumed concentrating on her driving anyway.

She would need to, I thought grimly. It had been almost immediately apparent that for this race, I had lucked into a much faster kart. It had a noticeably higher top speed than the one Gwen had grabbed. She'd chosen hers based on the fact that it was purple and she is a sucker for purple.

Unfortunately for me, we had also chosen to finally try the advanced track for this race. Gone were the two long straightaways and the wide, sweeping turns my kart would have eaten up over on the GT Track. GT Track was a fancy name for the easy track... More unfortunately for me, the closer, tighter turns on our current route meant that driving skill meant more than the speed of the vehicle.

And my lady just might be a better kart driver than I. This was not something to consider, and I dismissed it, concentrating on using my vehicle's speed, now that I was in the clear, to try to catch up on her lead. I was a better driver on the road in a real car, right? That's why I was always the one who drove when we went anywhere together. I'd driven here, for crying out loud. Because I was the better driver.

Even if it was a cast iron bitch to get past her, despite my better kart.

My kart really was faster, and I caught all the way back up to Gwen by halfway through our last lap. But then I stayed there for the remainder of our race. She simply took better lines through turn after turn than I could manage, gaining just enough edge to hold me off on the few short straights. I wasn't going to try to pass on another turn. Sliding into the tires actually hurt a little.

I grumbled to myself that the view of that kart's backside was infinitely inferior to a view of Gwen's.

She sped over the finish and whooped again. She drove over and parked her go-kart in the ostentatiously labeled Victory Lane. It wasn't victory lane. I got to park there too, right behind her, and I, as I was sure to be reminded of for weeks, had not been victorious. Gwen popped up lithely in her kart and yanked her helmet off, tossing her long auburn hair as it flowed free, barely the worse for wear after all those energetic trips around the track. She danced a little victory dance.

Shit. When I pulled my own helmet off, I instantly knew my hair was a mess!

I could not help but grin as Gwen celebrated, despite my own frustrations. I always loved watching her have fun. Going kart racing was a new way to see her on an adrenaline rush, and it was both less expensive and more fun for me personally than hitting up an amusement park to ride some roller coasters. Even if I had lost most of our races.

I'm not the biggest fan of most kinds of roller coasters, and had always mostly avoided the big ones growing up. But then I met Gwen... she loves them, and riding a big one with her always ends up being sexy as hell. So I've ridden a lot of coasters that I sort of hate inside, but that are totally worth it to feel her freaking out beside me.

"How'd my dust taste, Carl?" Gwen teased as we walked over to turn in our helmets.

"Fortunately, the rest of you tastes amazing," I leered casually. This had been the last of our package of races, and I was focused on taking her home. The excited smile on her face had my mind full of visions of her naked back bent over before me as I thrust into her, a vision I now urgently intended to make real within a couple of minutes of getting back to our house.

Recent events had crystallized for me how turned on I always got when Gwen had an exciting time. I love her, and I always feel both especially randy and extra close to her when she gets a rush. And it works the other way around. I love getting kicks in the water; jet-skiing, surfing, and especially old-school waterskiing. Can't get enough. None of it is Gwen's favorite, but she loves seeing the smile on my face when we get out on the water. But recent events had made it obvious that boats and rollercoasters did not do the arousing job as well as something like the other night at Ron and Cathy's, where I had the chance to watch her flat out making out with Ron. My boy did a great job driving her to hormonal distraction, and I kinda found that I had loved that. I had loved it while it was happening, and loved it a whole lot more later.

I had also definitely loved Cathy and I driving each other to similar upheaval.

And Gwen had loved that, during and after.

My lady and I had about worn my dick down to a nub that night when we made it home. And several nights thereafter.

I snorted to myself as we handed in our helmets. Thinking of seeing Gwen grooving to Ron's hands all over her chest was turning the eagerness I already had over her gleeful racing into a sort of urgency. I steered us well clear of the snack bar on our way out. We had plenty to eat at home, and the line for popcorn would delay us getting to what I was suddenly seeing as the highlight of the evening.

Gwen kissed me on the cheek, then the lips, right there in the lobby, next to the vintage Donkey Kong machine. I narrowly resisted grabbing her ass in response. There were kids everywhere.

It occurred to me, as I thought on the images that were flashing through my mind to feed my arousal, that memories of my face full-on buried in Cathy's tits, while very enjoyable, were not still feeding my arousal now. Playing with her body had fed the fuck out of my arousal at the time, to be sure, but the physical play with her wasn't still driving me. What was still driving me, a week later, was the way I could feel sucking on Cathy's tits had provoked Gwen.

And what was even more visceral was the way her inhaling Ron's tongue had provoked me.

We kept leaning into that word: provocation. I think it was because it was not any number of other words that conventional wisdom and common sense demanded should be our mental state, but which were not.

I should have been shocked. I should have been scandalized. And obviously, I should have been jealous. But I wasn't. I could feel echoes of jealousy, or something adjacent to it, but not really. Because I felt not the slightest trace of threat to my own position with Gwen.

The real crux of the matter was, I should have felt ashamed. I should have felt belittled. But I did not. I felt teased, sure, but nothing was working its way into cracks in my mental state, because I felt no cracks. In fact, I felt like everything going on was just reinforcing my mental state.

So... provoked.

From what little Gwen and I had talked about, and the vastly larger amount that we communicated to each other without words, I figured her mind was virtually identical, just the other way around.

All that said, right now her mind was just as focused on how to fuck me when we got home as mine was on fucking her.

Life's a hardship, isn't it?

Well, there was one hardship.

We tumbled through the door to our house and into our living room. I grabbed Gwen from behind and steered her toward the back of our couch. "Bend over," I growled, pushing her between the shoulder blades.

But she resisted. "Nuh uh, buster," She growled back. "I need you to drop those jeans and lie on your back right here!"

"In a minute," I said silkily, stroking one hand across her tight ass, while still pushing her forward over the couch.

But she spun out of my grasp. "Nope!" she crowed. "Winners get to fuck the losers the way they want," she went on brattily. She tugged at the snap of my jeans and it popped free. "Now drop trou and lie down, loser!"

I made a show of being cowed as I obeyed. Gwen was impatiently upon me before I could even get my jeans completely free of both ankles, straddling me right there on the carpet. How she had gotten out of her own, much tighter jeans so fast was a fleeting mystery, swiftly discarded. In moments, her silken cleft was devouring my cock. I gasped happily and let my head flop back on the floor. My lady rose and fell along my shaft in a languid, relaxed manner that managed to last at least 30 seconds before she was riding me like mad.

Well, she had gotten on top like this because she had driven so well. I was utterly unsurprised that she was still driving amazingly.

For the first time that evening since a couple of our early races, I finished first, which was in no way a win. I gritted my teeth in competitive frustration as Gwen milked a truly prodigious blast from my cock, dimming my vision happily. She shrieked in delight as she felt me unload in her, but she was not quite there herself. And I had to struggle beneath her as she wildly rode my freshly orgasmed cock, which shrieked itself in that weird post-orgasmic experience of sensual overload that is almost painful after a powerful orgasm. Okay, not painful. Just mind-bending.

But as hardships go, I found I could endure it...

When Gwen finally collapsed atop me, still shivering from the explosions I had felt ripping through her insides, I cradled her to me.

Then we both struggled to our feet and stumbled to the kitchen for a snack. We returned to the living room, each having grabbed something to our liking, and divested ourselves finally of our tops. Gwen then aided me in recovering from my 'ordeal' by standing naked in front of me as I sat on the couch. I was not allowed to touch myself or her, so I sat there, eating my blue cheese-flavored popcorn while Gwen gave a spectacular blowjob to a Creamsicle.

Then I finally fucked her hard over the back of the couch, just like I had wanted to begin with, and had still been thinking about a little, even while she had been fucking me on the floor...

It was a fun, exhausting, rewarding Friday night for the two of us. We had laughed a ton, gotten sweaty in multiple ways, had great sex, and later, slept like babies.

But I still kind of thought in the back of my mind that it would have been even better if we had hung out again with Ron and Cathy, but they had been in Houston all weekend for some God-forsaken family thing.

Is there any reason that is not God-forsaken, if it forces you to be in Houston in July?

*

"Really, Zoe?" Gwen exclaimed, looking at her phone as we sat at our kitchen table, eating Lucky Charms for breakfast like nine year-olds.

I examined my woman. Whatever had her rolling her eyes also had her conflicted. The love of my life can be transparent about her feelings, much of the time.

"What?" I asked, already amused by whatever it was going to be.

"She wants it to be Vein again tonight. Deidre is already in."

"Vein?" I objected. "That place is..." I shook my head.

We shared a companionable look of superiority. As dance clubs went, Vein was anything but childish... but it was kind of childish.

"The two of us are grown-ass adults, you know," Gwen announced to the universe. "We do not, in fact, have to go out to a nightclub every time our single friends beckon."

"Which they do most every weekend," I added superiorly. "Freaking party animals."

We looked at each other again, quite happy just with each other. We did not need to go out to that... silly club.

"So, what time do we meet them there?" I asked.

"Nine. We are on our own for dinner this week. The girls have late volleyball, and Sammy is going to take the opportunity to shoot hoops."

"We could just do their sports with them, instead of going to ridiculous dance clubs and watching idiots do mating dances on the floor," I observed.

"Please," Gwen snorted. "Even though it's just a rec league, you'd still ride the pine, given the dudes Sammy tries to keep up with," she said, hanging a lantern on the obvious. She then stroked the single least appealing feature of her entire body absently. "And this broken nose in high school convinced me that volleyball is a sport best left to psychos." She munched a spoonful of cereal. In fairness, even before it had been broken, my love's nose was... a big target.

I might have been insulted by her bench jockey remark, but in this case, the truth did not, in fact, hurt. I am only 5'10" and my 6'4" buddy Sammy goes by 'Shorty' with his teammates. Actually playing with those guys is what would have hurt.

"And I do love Vein," Gwen admitted, spooning around for the green clovers she likes so much.

"Wearing The White Dress?" I asked.

"Duh. That thing is the reason I love Vein!"

*

Vein really is ridiculous. They do exclusively electronica dance vibes, and they mercifully keep the volume down just enough that you don't have to shout everything. But you need your hearing because you cannot see a fucking thing in there. Seriously, there is almost no light. At the bar, the only light comes from the beer coolers and the screens of the cash registers, and in the seating area around the perimeter, the only illumination comes from patrons' cell phones.

The floor is liberally sprinkled with little pin lights that make for safe footing. Other than that... nothing.

The only well-lit area, if you can call it that, is the central dance floor itself, which is illuminated with 100% UV black lights. The dancers, depending on the material of their clothing, are either damn near invisible, or come off as glowing disembodied clothing, dancing in mid-air.

Oh, and teeth. There are so many grinning, free-floating teeth in the darkness.

But the comparatively bright fluorescence of white and bright colored clothing collected together in the center of the room sheds no light out into the rest of the club, and only makes everything else seem even more like inky blackness.

As Gwen and I entered the club, not late for once, we headed immediately to the edge of the dance floor, into the field of the black lights. This was the easiest way to see our friends in the club, or have them see us, more accurately. But it also let Gwen spin around a time or two and show off The White Dress.

It had a flowing knee-length skirt that rose and flared when she turned quickly. She had to be careful because if she spun around hard enough, it would flare out into a flat disc at her waist, showing off her underwear to all and sundry.

At least the panties she wore tonight were black, and would not fluoresce when I inevitably spun her hard enough at some point...

The top of The White Dress was a halter, with a high collar band resting tight around her throat. Gwen has lovely, though hardly generous, breasts, but a touch of side-boob always makes things look more impressive.

A lot of male patrons at Vein just wear white teeshirts for the glow. I am a boring, middle-class, 30 year-old, might-as-well-be-married man, so I can't be doing that. My outfits always pale against The White Dress when we go to Vein, so I don't bother to try, and just dress for a normal night out. Often, I am one of those black holes out on the dance floor, among the disembodied neon outfits. But tonight I was delighted to find, as we approached the floor, that the pink stripes on the new multi-color button-down I was wearing unexpectedly glowed under the UV! None of the other colors did, but the pink ones glowed in spades!

Gwen was delighted to see it and kissed me excitedly.

A hand tapped me on the shoulder. "Yo! Looking good, guys," Sammy said from behind me. He wore white pants and a tight neon green turtleneck that showed off his physique. He always wore shit like this when we went to Vein. I had called him out the last time, telling him that only a black dude could dress like that at a club and not look ridiculous. All he had said was, "It ain't because I'm black. It's 'cause I got style!"

What he meant was, these were his golf clothes, and I had better not tell any of the women that.

"We got a table over against the wall," Sammy went on, beckoning.

"Wow, you must have gotten here early," Gwen said, following Sammy and swatting my hand away from her ass. The White Dress's only downside is that it is not form-fitting over Gwen's premium backside, but I still get enchanted by its swaying suggestion beneath the skirt.

The tables against the wall at Vein are always popular, despite it being almost pitch black back there. Or perhaps because of that, especially since each high-top was tucked into a little scallop alcove on its own. There are also no chairs around the ones against the wall. We had grumbled about this in the past, but had come to the conclusion that there were no seats around the darkest tables to discourage patrons, in the effective privacy of the location and the darkness, from just fucking right there in the club.

We had been coming to Vein occasionally for a year now, since it had opened. When walking, stumbling mostly, near the wall in the past, I had seen the suggestion of movements in the blackness that told me the club's anti-copulation plans were not always wholly successful...

We got to the table and Gwen shared hello kisses with Deidre, then Zoe. Then Zoe kissed my cheek quite extravagantly, hanging a bell on her drunken, over-the-line dancing the last time we had gotten together.

Gwen just grabbed my ass in the darkness. I made no move to swat her hand away...

There was a liter bottle of fucking Belvedere on the table, with ice, glasses, and mixers.

"You got fucking

Bottle Service

?" I asked Sammy incredulously. It was expensive here. Bottle service was expensive everywhere, but especially at Vein.

"Not me," Sammy laughed, pouring a round of shots. "Moneybags there popped for it," he shrugged in Deidre's direction.

"I sold two houses this week!" she said excitedly. "I figured karma would want me to share the wealth."

Looked like we'd once more all be getting drunker than usual tonight.

Gwen and I peered at each other speculatively in the dark as we both let that thought sink in.

We hadn't really talked about how our new... game might go on with these guys. Or even if having it go on would be appropriate. We had barely talked much about what we might really let happen with Ron and Cathy, either.

I got the feeling that we both liked not really talking it out. It made things more...interesting.

"I have a bucket of beers coming too," Sammy added. "So we can slow things down and not just drink vodka all night."

"You mean so we can get even drunker than we would off of seven ounces of pure vodka each?" I asked.

Even this far from the blacklights, I could see Sammy's teeth. He was obsessive about them, and I swear they glow in the dark without UV...

It took but two shots before Gwen and I were on the dance floor. She looked sensational out there, and I even got a "Nice shirt!" from a very voluptuous girl in a glowing platinum blonde wig that she must have bought for this club. The wig was striking. It held my gaze for several of the thirty seconds she was dancing near us. The rest of that time, my gaze was held by her swaying bosom in her low-cut tight orange top. She had found some glitter that glowed in the UV and sprinkled it all over the exposed flesh of her tits, especially deep down between. She looked like some kind of fairy hooker, which I was certain had been her intent.