Birthday Boy

2021 Nellskitchen. All rights reserved. The essayist asserts her rights as the author of 'Birthday Boy.' This story or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner (except for brief quotations in a review) without the writer's express written permission. If this story appears on any website other than Literotica, it is a pirated copy absent the creator's permission. Note: All players in 'Birthday Boy' are over the age of eighteen.

Birthday Boy

By Nellskitchen

"I don't live at all when I'm not with you."

E. Hemingway - A Farewell To Arms

**

"Law Offices--Pace, Messina, and Sullivan, Helima, speaking. How may I direct your call?"

"Hi, Helima, it's Janet. Is Marco in?"

"Sure, Mrs. Messina, I'll put you through."

"Oh, Helima, no--wait. I need a few private phone minutes with him; what's on his calendar?"

A native Egyptian, Helima Sayed, from her influential position at the firm, occasionally found herself on the periphery of an adorable romance, the flirtation between her boss, attorney Marco Messina, and his wife, the ever-attentive Janet Treasure-Messina.

Today, via the radiant tone of Janet's voice, the office manager knew the loving wife was up to something special for her husband, a senior partner in the firm.

A top-flight manager, Helima projected Nefertiti-like beauty. With broad hips and a slim waist, her sphinxlike eyes hinted at the riddles of the mysterious land of her birth. Today, the beautiful woman wore her hair neatly but loose, its distinctive sheen highlighting equally black eyes, which flashed a subtle inner light against the backdrop of her perfect olive skin.

Helima was the most striking woman at the firm. Though she could be inviting with men, she kept her distance from the partners--except for Mr. Messina, her immediate superior. She also admired his wife for her devotedness and loyalty, qualities uncommon in New York marriages.

Given Janet's warm tone, Helima knew something special was happening. Was it risqué? She smiled at the thought and, glancing at her boss's calendar, said, "Mrs. Messina, right now, your husband has thirty minutes between meetings."

Janet, appreciative, added, "Oh, and Helima, one more thing; close his office door. I want absolute privacy." Helima complied, and unnoticed by her boss, she rose from her desk and quietly closed his door.

After thanking her friend, Janet hung up the landline and tapped Marco's cell number into her iPhone. He picked up but continued working; the sound of shuffling papers, a dead give-away.

"Hi, Jan; what's happening?"

"Is your door closed?"

"Ah, yes--well, no--ah, wait, yes, Helima just closed it. Why?"

"Good, then you're all mine."

"Of course I'm all yours, sweetheart, we're married, remember? Look, I have that meeting with Karl Warren in a few..."

"...it's not for another half hour, busy man. I already know..."

"...as usual, you're better informed about my schedule than I am," the mildly amused lawyer granted. "Now tell me, what's up?"

"You thought I forgot, didn't you." She said it with a hint of erotic suggestion, and exactly as planned, she had her husband's attention.

The Massenas had wed five years earlier. Both delighted in the fact that despite marital life's inevitably wearisome routines after their nuptial, romantic lightning bolts persisted.

"Well," Marco sheepishly observed, "you hadn't mentioned my birthday, so I kind of figured..."

"...you thought I forgot?" Janet asked mockingly. "Not likely, my litigious darling, anyway, happy birthday--almost. Sorry I missed you this morning. By the time I finished jogging, you had left. Why so early?"

"I had a breakfast meeting with the mayor. You know how he is; if I don't get to him early, forget it. Besides, I thought maybe you and I might grab lunch together."

Employing her signature Mae West twang, Janet coquettishly countered, "Grab? Is there something, in particular, you might like to grab?"

"You bet there is," he playfully answered. "It's all about those adorably grabable boobs, hon; a little something to hold onto in an uncertain world."

"A 'little' something?" She friskily taunted.

"What I meant was a LOT of something," Marco hurriedly corrected. "Anyway, now that you have my attention clue me in on what you're up to."

Janet was careful to dole out sexual innuendo sparingly, often venturing her innermost desires while Marco was preoccupied with some client's boring problems. The result was their broiling sex life--precisely what she intended.

"Marco," she said, growing more serious. "It's menu time. I need to take your order. Shall we begin?"

"You don't have to do this, Jan," Marco replied, "We've been married five years and..."

"...that's right gorgeous," she interjected. "I don't need to do anything. That's the fun of it. Do you know how much I love you? Do you know that our little ritual will continue until I'm too old to fuck your brains out?"

"Really? Well, I mean--I'll take it!"

"For a lawyer, you're pretty smart," she snapped. "Now listen, my handsome Sicilian; I'm your waitress; I'll be jotting down your order for the chef."

Janet referenced a game, one with which she entertained her husband on his birthday. Marco knew the routine and, playing along, said, "Waitress, clue me in about today's specials."

"Will do, Hon, and just so you know, I am standing in our kitchen, naked except for a tiny white apron and stiletto heels, the ones you like. I've sharpened my pencil and have my server book at the ready."

"OK, Jan," he answered. "But you know I'm terrible at this. I love you for it and can't wait to celebrate my birthday, but this 'on the phone' stuff is awkward."

"I do understand, which is why I'm upset that we missed each other this morning," she replied. "I would have played this out in person and with a sexy reward or two thrown in to make things interesting. I would have sucked your perfect anus between questions!"

"Next time I see the mayor, I'll mention how his busy schedule undercut my rectal celebration!"

"Don't you dare!" Janet exclaimed. "By the way, I had Helima shut your door; she didn't say anything about your birthday, did she?"

"Nope, but if I know her, she'll surprise me with a gift later on. She keeps the partners' birthdays on her calendar."

"It's more than that, baby; Helima knows what we're doing," Janet revealed.

"You told her?"

"She's always known," she curtly answered. "How do you think I pull off this kind of stunt in the midst of your busy schedule? She helps with my arrangements, thinks it's romantic." Marco, resigned to the fact that the two women connived for a good purpose, chuckled. "You lucked out when you hired her," Janet added. "She's loyal as well as beautiful. Hope she's not my competition, Hun."

"Janet, please! I only have eyes for you."

"Just making sure, sweetheart," she chided.

"Anyway, let's get down to business. What do you want for your birthday? New floor mats for your Mercedes? A trip to Cairo to see the pyramids? Tell me!"

"You know material things don't matter to me, Janet."

"What then? Sex? Tell me your secret desire; I'll do it for you. Remember the rule; you need to say it."

"You know I can't, Jan. When it's about sex, I turn self-conscious."

"I don't even believe this!" she cried. "A lawyer--at a loss for words under pressure; I bet you're blushing; admit it, you're blushing. Why do you make me cross-examine you to find out what to get you, birthday boy?"

She was right. To Marco, material things were just things. Janet knew he really wanted a memorable erotic adventure that she, through unmerciful questioning, needed to force him to divulge his sexual appetites. To complicate matters, his carnal tastes changed periodically and Janet, always looking to update her wifely database, needed to make sure her erotic definitions were current.

"All right," she murmured, conceding the point. "Have it your way. I'll ask quick and dirty questions; that way, when Friday rolls around, I'll be ready. Got it?"

"Got it," Marco answered boy-like.

A successful tax attorney, Marco, tall and slender, turned her on. The pair loved to hike and swim when Marco was not stuck pouring over the latest legalistic crud filtering from the State Assembly. Their relationship was one of love and trust.

Though the couple did not have children, they were working on it, taking temperatures, watching the calendar to be sure to fuck on the right day-- even at the proper hour. Sometimes, Janet would drop by the office for 'lunch' where she would tenderly siphon her man's precious seed in hopes of conceiving. To her, his black hair and blue eyes were perfection. Calm, rational, and learned, he worshiped her from the start--and she, him.

Janet first spotted Marco at a midtown pub, a hangout where he and his buds had stopped to carouse on his thirtieth birthday. Having a good old time--and oozing toxic masculinity--his crowd smugly prided itself for having arranged the evening's merriments around Etta, a dazzling, redheaded stripper. Dressed in white, the brazen-faced woman lazily snaked herself over Marco's overly receptive body.

Janet watched the provocative lap dancer who mussed her victim's hair and whispered sweet nothings into his ear. Whatever she said made Marco smile. Interested, Janet scanned the beautiful creature, waiting for the right moment to cut in, which she did, just happening to bump into Marco as he headed to the men's room. From then to now, her fixation was pleasing him.

Marco wanted children, and Janet was determined to give him a son--to start. She also wanted a girl to compete for daddy's affections. Only for this imagined she-creature would Janet ever cede a piece of him.

For married people, true intimacy subsists through the exotic dance of sex, where a wife exercises her God-given right to her husband's cum. Janet's birthday 'menu' fit the dance, within which she played the role of waitress, her task, to stitch together her husband's fantasies.

Once having completed the menu, Janet allowed her husband a single passionate kiss through the following twenty-four hours, withholding physical contact for the sake of setting the table for Aphrodite's banquet--a feast to commence promptly after office hours on Marco's birthday.

Marco did not freely speak about anything except law, so Janet forced him onto intimacy's witness chair, where, each year, she badgered him for answers. Men, she understood, hide obsessions, fantasies, sealed away from their wives. Like a mob boss run amuck, she obsessed over Marco's obsessions.

"Hon?" she pressed, "are you still with me?"

Yes, Jan, I'm here...just thinking, that's all."

"You're dragging your feet, counselor, and we're going to run out of time unless you open up."

"Yes, baby, I know," he replied. It was a familiar stall tactic, one at which the self-conscious lawyer was highly skilled. He used it so his wife might intuitively know his wants, thereby sidestepping her prickly questions.

"Relax and answer me," Janet insisted. "Number one: how do you want me dressed for your birthday? You can have me any way you like."

After thinking a moment, Marco nervously spoke the outrageous: "How about...how about you wear your wedding gown?"

More than a little shocked but generally amused, Janet scribbled the thought on her notepad, lending drama to the moment by allowing him to listen in as her crudely sharpened pencil scratched thought to paper.

"All right--wedding gown it is--that is, if I can still fit into it, sweetheart. I think I can."

Marco's choice was evidence of his mania for white, something his bride detected from observing his reaction to Etta, the stripper whose sexy attire had riveted his attention at the long-ago office party. She remembered the escort's snowy apparel, from her cutout stiletto sandals to the full arm-length satin gloves accommodating her aggressive fingers.

On their first date, Janet, thieving direction from the hooker's playbook, wore white. After that, retaining his interest meant fortifying her trousseau with anything white--panties, bras, slips, and blouses, all to please him.

Like any man's, Marco's mind concealed a prodigious databank of deviant images and embarrassing imaginings. When suitably prompted, he bared them but wrapped his desires in proper reluctance.

Still, she wondered why, after all this time, her carefully selected wedding dress, a slim one-piece gown with a lace-up closure, had unexpectedly re-taken center stage?

The long-ago bride thought it over, her feminine perceptions ratcheting into high gear. Was it the V-neckline, accentuating her 34C breasts, its intricate ruching in the top? Or was it the fact that it flowed gloriously into a circular skirt, which, when she turned, proclaimed the presence of a seductive back-baring corset?

It struck Janet as odd that a man would recollect such details, but she delighted in recalling his anticipatory grin as she approached the altar on their wedding day.

From time to time, he had mentioned the dress, even pointing out a detail or two. That he remembered, Janet treasured. Most men would stammer at the prospect of describing their wife's bridal gown five minutes after the wedding night's inevitable naked intimacy. Marco was different--Janet was thrilled he was thrilled.

"About the hair between my legs," she continued. "Shall I serve you like a fleecy '60s hippie girl? Shaved? What's your pleasure, pussy hair--or not?"

"I'll go with the hippie girl look, Jan. I like a woman's, I mean--your natural look."

The smiling wife, disregarding the minor faux pas, jotted the detail. Manipulating her body for his viewing pleasure was a pleasure. "Now, let's move on to my overall appearance," she added. "Do you fancy Cleopatra's eyes?"

"Mmm, I like that idea--a lot," he admitted.

Like an accountant balancing the books, Janet checked off the selection, then asked, "About my eye shadow, lavender, green? What appeals to you, man of my heart?"

"Lavender does it; I'm in a lavender mood."

"Of course," she acknowledged, placing an 'X' next to lavender. "How about lip gloss? Shall I match my eyeshadow?"

"Sure," he purred. "I like that too."

"Oh, and Marco, do you want to color me? I will be sure to have enough gloss on hand if you desire it."

"Yes, I like the idea," he said softly, his voice at first, tapering off. "Make extra colors available in case I...I decide to--get creative."

Janet thrilled over Marco's coloring fetish. She was especially fond of bending at the waist, grabbing her ankles, and fully exposing her tantalizing butt hole.

Applying ill-assorted lipstick shades, Marco enjoyed playing amateur cosmetologist. Highlighting his wife's perfect ass and tight rosebud, he smeared contrastingly colored lip-glosses to her white skin before stretching her opening and thrusting himself deeply into her bowels, resulting in his wife's signature anal gape. To Janet, his peculiar fondness though remaining hidden from her direct line of sight, empowered the man of her dreams to love her even more.

Afterward, he insisted--he always did--on a classic ass-to-mouth escapade, the result, a kaleidoscope of intermixed coloring spread over her chin, cheeks, tongue, and swollen lips, a clownish if endearing finale to the artistry of his backdoor fetish.

"Got it," she noted. "Now, my amatory darling, your next concern is my hair--the hair on my head, that is. Shall I wear it up or down?"

"Wear it up, in keeping with my Victorian inclinations." Janet, knowing there was still time to get her hair done, scrawled the preference. She visualized an evening style sported by women long ago, hair worn straight and pulled tightly into a braided bun at the crown of the head. "I'm into more elegant styles these days and picture you that way," he insisted.

Janet used her questions as lead-ins, prompts to loosen her husband's snug inhibitions. Sicilians are notoriously circumspect; relaxing their shyness is crucial to moving forward. Summing up, she said, "Let's check to see where this leaves us; wedding gown--heavy make-up--Cleopatra eyes--Gilded Age hair. It's an ambitious menu, mister; anything else?"

"Sounds about right," Marco declared.

With the subject of attire closed, Janet next moved to sex. "Let's talk setting," she began. "Where shall we fuck?"

"The Gramercy Park Hotel," Marco instantly suggested.

"We stayed there on our third anniversary," Janet reminded. "You walked me, a little proudly, as I recall, through the crowded bar with sperm on my face." Suddenly, the thought occurred to her, and she posed the central question: "Are you saying you want me to do another cum walk, this time, in my wedding gown? The risqué incident enthralled Marco. He hunched Janet might say yes, that a reprise highlighting her stranger-than-strange brand of exhibitionism aroused them as a couple.

Interrupting, Janet insisted on a less than modest variation. "Honey, you know I only do 'cum walks' in places where nobody knows us. I'm not about to change the rule, so don't even think about a repeat of tipping the guys from your office to lurk in the shadows as I amble through, jizz-faced!"

"Agreed, Jan," he said, laughing. "I won't do that to you again."

"Ahem, such a naughty boy," she tellingly remarked, frantically remembering how, with her face a sticky mess, his law partners had noisily applauded as she passed them by. "Now, stay focused; your meeting is in a few minutes, and I can't have my husband showing up with a bulging crotch."

Settling comfortably back in his chair, Marco unzipped his fly. Freeing his nearly erect cock and taking it in hand, he jerked himself. Janet sensed what he was up to. "Marco, are you doing what I think you're doing?" Just then, the attorney's office door cracked open and administrative assistant Helima Sayed, with a severe expression, returned the lawyer's attention to his crowded calendar. Glancing at his watch, he nodded to Helima but continued masturbating. "Jan," he said, "I'm out of time, and..."

"...I think I have what I need, lover boy," she assured him. "Just one more thing. In addition to jerking off on my face, will you have me eat your semen? Tell me now."

"Absolutely," Marco said. "Cum eating girls are high on my list."

Sticking with formality, Janet scrawled the detail onto her pad. "On my face--in my mouth," she repeated, her voice resolute. Marco, wholly erect and continuing to stroke himself, stared across the desk at the captivating Egyptian.

"Anything else?" Janet asked, interrupting.

"That about covers it," Marco assured her.

"Well then, that tidies up the menu. Do we have a date?"

"It's a date!" Marco said.

"Bye."

"Bye."

Ending their call, Janet tapped her phone, grinned a lover's grin, touched her swollen clit, and carefully skimmed her legal pad's handwritten scrawl. It was Wednesday. With the menu complete, she felt comfortable that her husband's birthday would be extra special.

As Marco hung up, the vigilant Helima, upon fully pushing open his office door, asked, "Are you ready for your meeting with Mr. Warren, Mr. Messina?" Helima's subtle fidget stated the obvious, that the attorney was running late due to the lengthy conversation with his doting wife.

"Yes, all set," Marco replied businesslike.

Quietly closing the door behind her, the woman breathed deeply and ogled Marco's gorgeous erection. "Since your birthday is this weekend, Mr. Messina, can I give you your present now?"

Fondling himself more steadily, he answered, saying, "That's perfect, Helima. I told Janet you wouldn't forget--you never do. What's on the menu for me this year?"

The petite, raven-haired beauty, wearing a white business suit and heels, looked every bit the professional as she strode behind the attorney's desk to where, though he remained seated, Marco had shoved his chair back, giving her room to play out whatever it was she had in mind.