In The Car, In The Kitchen - Strange Relationship

Kitchen looking like the morning after Glastonbury; check. Clothes strewn over chair in corner of bedroom; check. Caitlin wearing expensive perfume and even more expensive underwear, which remains indecently undisturbed; check. Caitlin wearing expression displaying equal parts sexual frustration and annoyance whilst staring into darkness; check. The clincher – is there medium tending towards heavy snuffling/snoring from somewhere to my right? Of course there is. Once all the above boxes have been ticked, the conclusion can only be that Richard is spending the night.

At first I was quite pleased. In fact, it would not be unfair to say that a month ago I would actually have been quite excited by the prospect of having my boyfriend stay over for the night; something about it making us seem like a real couple. However, in view of the events of the past week or so, I am rather underwhelmed by today’s events, and distinctly underwhelmed by tonight’s lack of events.

It was nice that he called me at work to say that he was unexpectedly free tonight and wanted to come round. I might even go so far as to say that it put me in a good mood for the rest of the day. However, once I saw him unpacking supermarket carrier bags I knew that things were not going to go quite as I would like.

You see, Richard likes to think of himself as a master chef, some sort of experimental kitchen whizzk**. The reality is that if there were such a program as ‘Vaguely Incompetent Chef’ Richard would be stood on that podium every time – it’s not that he’s bad, but his cooking technique relies on pairing unexpected ingredients and hoping that the results pass FDA guidelines on being fit for human consumption. Think Dr. Moreau’s island for food, and you’re somewhere close.

But that’s not the worst bit, bad as it sounds. I haven’t got to the bad bit yet, but I needed to go through that preamble so that you would understand why the bad bit is quite so bad, and what it is bad in relation to, because it sounds fairly innocuous. Richard likes to have a glass of wine while he cooks.

He’s quite a burly chap so he thinks he can take his drink. Because it takes him so long to do things (which is strange, seeing as everything about his cooking style seems so spontaneous) Richard can easily go through a whole bottle of red, and is usually into a second before he even sets the starter on the table. Then we have a bottle or two with the meal, and another couple of drinks when we’ve settled down afterwards. At one point, I swear to God, I looked up at Richard and the grim reaper was stood behind him. But he wasn’t wielding a scythe, he was waggling a crooked little finger at me and grinning, and I knew that the curse of brewer’s droop had already ended any chance of sex for me tonight.

Still, I tried. I managed to get him into bed at a relatively early hour, before he had chance to complain about being tired. The red set with black lace came out, as did the Chanel. My attempts at seduction were as futile as George Bush’s attempts at apelling. Richard was already in bed when I came out of the bathroom, and snuffling/snoring by the time I’d got into bed. And that’s a full recap of my day, starting with unexpected and welcome surprise, veering towards domestic anarchy, and ending up with equal amounts of predictability and monotony.

Until my phone beeped to say I had a text.

That someone had sent me a text was unusual in itself, and that someone had sent me a text at almost midnight was more so. Generally I remember to turn my phone off before I go to bed. Toying with notions of retrieving my phone from my bag on the other side of the bedroom, the factions in my head for and against the motion battled for supremacy. I checked the alarm clock, and was surprised to see it was only 11:03. When a second text arrived within a minute or two, it was enough to swing the contest.

It was a little chilly with the window open in my room, so I snatched my phone up and jumped back into bed. There seemed little chance of disturbing Richard – usually after red wine you could carve Adam Sandler’s head onto Mount Rushmore without waking him. Pulling the quilt back up, I rolled onto my front and flipped the phone open. The twice-sent text was from Ben:

Hey. What are you doing?

Strange question in itself really, plus a strange time to send it. At least it was the accepted form of the English language. Call me old-fashioned, call me anal if you must, but I hate and detest the language of the text message; textish, or whatever you may wish to call it. I’ve been known to ignore text messages until they came through properly spelt and correctly punctuated. I thought about not replying, what with having Ben’s father lying inches away from me, but curiosity already had his hands around the cat’s neck, and you know, it was Ben. Frowning slightly, and with one eye on the gently undulating mass of blubber at the side of me, I tapped out a quick reply.

Not sl**ping. What do you want?

Quickly, his reply came back. I set my phone to silent just in time.

Why can’t you sl**p?

Knowing but not wishing to divulge the true answer (“your father has alcohol-induced penile dysfunction”), I returned to him the slightly vague

I don’t know. Why are you still awake?

There was a slight pause this time before his answer came back to me.

Stressful day at work. Can’t seem to nod off.

Sympathising, I nodded. Richard’s gelatinous mass shuddered somewhere in the depths of the bedclothes but did not stir. Still light-headed from the wine I sent him a playful response.

Tried counting sheep?

If we had had videophones I still wouldn’t have been able to see is grin as clearly as I could picture it now.

Are you in bed?

Of course I am.

There was another brief pause. Rolling onto my left side, partly to make myself comfortable and in no way just so I would be hiding my phone from Richard if he should so happen to wake up, I awaited his response.

May I ask what one’s nightwear consists of?

I wasn’t really sure what to say. Obviously my intentions on entering the bedroom earlier did not number sl**ping amongst them, and even when I pulled back the quilt I still harboured some hope that I might rouse Richard in some way.

That’s for me to know…

Show me.

I wasn’t sure what he meant. Show him what? What I was wearing? Not bl**dy likely. And how? Send a photo message? That would mean lights, and lights would mean waking people up.

I don’t understand. How?

The response was as quick as it was surprising.

I’m parked outside your house.

A chill ran through me that had nothing to do with open windows. It might have been a shiver induced by the slight creepiness that Ben was outside my house, but the possibility existed that it was a feeling that owed a lot more to unsubscribed-to anticipation, the illicit tingle that the thought of Ben awoke in me. Of course, the other possibility was that he was just joking, and of course there was only one way to find out.

My house is just off the main road, on the left as you head up the hill. You have to turn left to go down the side of the hill to get to the new development that my house is part of, but the upshot of this hill-ography is that if you park halfway down the side road you can see straight into both bedrooms. That’s why I have thick, lined curtains as well as net curtains on my bedroom window.

It was to these curtains that I went, the soft pad-pad of bare feet on thick carpets seeming unexpectedly loud now that I was doing something wrong, something immoral; something exciting.

Trying to be both sly and clever, I used one hand to make the slightest gap in the curtains. The net curtain was too thick, so my subterfuge failed, and I was f***ed to draw back the curtains several inches in order to gain access to the nets, which I also needed to draw back as they were too thick to see through in the dark.

He saw me instantly of course, and flashed his sidelights once, briefly, to let me know he had. Caught out I raised one hand in a wave, before coming back to my senses and remembering I wasn’t wearing enough clothing to choke a small Chihuahua. Praying desperately that I hadn’t just flashed him-

Wow, what are you wearing?

Guess I had flashed him then. Working the slightest gap down the side of the net curtains, I tried to peer into the darkness of the car to see what he was doing. It was dark, and the half-moon did little to stop me from showing a little half-moon of my own.

Show me again!

I will most certainly not, I thought. I’m sure that if we were living in a matriarchal, pantheistic society where women ruled and were allowed to do exactly what they wanted there would be a goddess devoted to looking after women like me. She would wear underwear, perfume and high heels at all times, and her staff would be a five foot long vibrator (and she would be the goddess of wine), and moreover she would ensure that I would get away with an escapade such as that so recently and briefly outlined by my lover’s son. But we don’t, there isn’t and I wouldn’t. From behind the safety of the curtain I sent a reply to exactly that effect.

No way!

Once the delivered message popped up, I risked a peek through the window. There was just enough illumination from his phone to see his face, and for a moment there was a definite pang in the pit of my stomach. I stood outside the bathroom door for a moment and it passed, so whether it was down to Ben’s presence or his father’s cooking was a question best left to the philosophers. Looking outside the light from Ben’s phone was still visible, but I had no message on my phone, so what was he doing?

Suddenly the bedroom phone rang. I turned desperately to grab it before it woke Richard up. Barking my shin against the bedside table I managed to grab it before Richard stirred too much. Hitting the cancel button I hobbled back round to the window but did not open the curtains.

That was you? Why did you call?

To wake up my father. Come back to the window or I shall do it again.

I was about to ask how he knew Richard was here, until I realised Ben had parked behind his father’s car. Parting the curtains again I looked down at the car, waiting for another message. Its contents I could have guessed at.

Now show me.

Blackmailed into posing by a main road by my boyfriend’s son, whilst said boyfriend sl**ps but inches away. That same betraying thrill ran down my back. I don’t want to do this, I thought, knowing full well that I would. I would do it, and be aroused by it, and seemingly there was nothing to do about it. I slipped between the curtains, ensuring that they pulled shut behind me so there was no light to disturb Ben’s father. I couldn’t look up for a moment, but when I did Ben was stood outside the car, leaning on the bonnet with arms folded and legs crossed. I saw him flick open his clamshell phone, tap onto the keypad.

Thank you, it said simply.

My phone was still in my hand, and I tapped out the question what now?

Was that a smile I could see in the moon’s half-light?

Let’s go for a ride, came the reply.

Give me a second to get dressed.

No. Come as you are.

Leaning over Richard, I could see that he was sl**ping soundly and I could only pray that it would hold. I slipped on the heels I’d been wearing when I first put on this outfit, and, pulling the bedroom door quietly shut behind me, I made my way downstairs. At this time of night there was an outside chance that I might bump into one of the neighbours on their way back from the pub, but I imagine that had already occurred to Ben long ago. I snatched up a small purse – there wasn’t anywhere on this outfit that leant itself to storing my phone, door key etc. – and stole outside, turning they key slowly and silently. Looking round and listening intently, I could discern no sounds to indicate I was anything other than alone. There was no chance of running in these heels, nor did I want to walk across the slightly muddy grass in them, which meant I had to walk the long way round to get to the car.

Crossing my arms over my quarter-cup bra (why? Everything else was clearly on view) I walked as quickly as I could to the car, very aware of everything: the feel of the night air on my skin; the way the moon made my skin look pale, contrasting with the dark lingerie; the click-clacking of my shoes on the paving slabs; and the burning of Ben’s gaze on my body. When at last I arrived at the car, I slipped inside as quickly as I could whilst saying something c***dishly snotty about taking a picture, it would last longer.

“We’ll get to that in good time. I’ve been thinking we might go for a drive, Caitlin, would you like that?”

“Depends where we’re going,” I snapped, folding my arms against both the chill and my being near-naked. “And whether there’ll be something to wear when we get there.” His grin was predictable.

“That would rather spoil the mood, don’t you think?” Imagine a pack of hyenas. Statistically, the odds would suggest that one of their number would be a practical joker – the one amongst them who would play dead and then jump up and bite whomever tried first to bite them, for example. This was Ben’s smile; equal parts predator, joker and sadist, and his smile said exactly that. “It would rather spoil my mood, anyway.” So, no clothes then.

“Would you mind telling me where we’re going then? Or would that also spoil the mood?”

“Where is but a function following the form of what, and what it is is a surprise,” he said, paraphrasing a movie that I could remember neither the title nor point of. So, no point asking questions either. There was one obvious question to ask, and it lurched about in the back of the car being all huge and unspoken. I left it there for a while, until I tired of it kicking the back of my seat.

“What about your father?”

“I don’t think that lingerie would suit him quite as well, which is why I’d rather invite you, if that’s not a problem.”

“Invite me where?” There was a slight pause whilst Ben seemingly wrestled with how much to tell me. I wasn’t overly impressed with how the evening had gone and Ben was doing little to improve my mood. I guess this must have been visible on my face, because he relented a little.

“I have a friend I’d like you to meet.”

“Please, go on.”

“It’s someone I met through work, who I was rather hoping might be able to help you out with something. We’re almost there, I’d prefer to explain the rest when we’re together.” we drove in silence for a few more minutes. We were on the north side of the city in one of the, umm, less exclusive districts. Not somewhere I would normally go; and if I did I would usually be wearing clothes. And be inside my car. With the doors locked.

Ben slowed to a crawl in front of a row of terraced houses across from a short row of shops; a newsagents, an off-licence, a pizza joint, all illuminated by gaudy neon signs. Scanning the door numbers, he eventually brought the car to a stop, and, taking his mobile from the hands-free cradle, made a call.

“We’re here,” he said before a pause. “Will do. Two minutes.” He killed the call.

“We’re here?” I asked.

“We’re here,” he confirmed. He didn’t understand the subtext of the question – he is male – so I sat with arms even more robustly folded than before. “Are you coming?”

“No,” I answered. “Not like this.”

“Caitlin, look around you…” As bidden I surveyed the scene. There were a large number of women in groups of two or three and many of them were not wearing much more than me. They were rowdy, they approached the cars that slowed for the traffic lights (not all did slow down, even when the colours told them to), and one of them was administering oral sex to two men in a darkened doorway. “Do you think anyone will look twice? They’ll assume I’m a customer.”

More aggrieved than I could realistically verbalise that he’d even brought me to the city’s most notorious red light district, let alone the thought that someone might think I was a prostitute, I simply sat.

“Suit yourself,” he said, getting out of the car. “Let me know how much you make.” He had a point. I followed him out of the car and scurried behind him as he remotely locked the doors, taking his arm in mine and trying to hide behind him. I’m sure he walked more slowly than was necessary, but in truth no-one did look twice, even though I was sure my lingerie would be valued at more than most of the property in the street.

We nipped down the jennel between two houses and opened a gate into the backyard of the house to the left. Knocking twice he let himself in and I followed quickly, my mood and manner best described by any number of words beginning with un-.

There were two girls slouching at a table that woodworm wouldn’t touch. High, d***k or possibly aliens they were both wearing bras and mini skirts and drinking beer from bottles. Their make-up reflected the neon signs outside in being bright, gaudy, ostentatious and occasionally described as faulty. Removing the bottle and cigarette from her mouth long enough to nod in the vague direction of the stairs, the blonde whose roots had seen less recent maintenance than the Parthenon uttered one word which may have been ‘upstairs’. Ben returned her nod and, taking my hand, pulled me through the kitchen as the girls and I looked each other up and down. They were younger than I expected; very probably teenagers.

Treading carefully around shoes, clothing, ashtrays, beer bottles and a sl**ping (or dead) skinhead we conquered the stairs. The carpet was quite the dirtiest thing I had ever seen and I understood why they preferred to illuminate it by ambient light that came in through the un-curtained window. The walls were smeared with some substance so virulent that it defied attempts to identify it because it had attained basic motor skills and could simply get away. A shiver struck me, ran down my back; it took one look at the carpet and ran back up.

There was one door left ajar, emitting a diffused light via the gap, and it was to here we headed. Ben knocked, paused and pushed the door open gently. I wasn’t sure that I wanted to enter, but I didn’t think I could tackle the wall excrement on my own if it attacked me. Defeated without even entering into combat with the ooze, I followed him.

There were black curtains, and a black quilt cover; a single bulb to illuminate the room was enshrouded by a black lampshade; the ceiling, populated by self-adhesive, glow-in-the-dark stars, was black; the walls were clad with various d****s in various shades of black (although the walls themselves seemed to be a pale, baby-ish shade of pink); and whilst the young girl lounging on the bed had skin so white she might have been albino, her hair was raven-black and she displayed a predilection for black underwear of the sluttiest type. She had a number of tattoos in the form of coiled dragons, celtic symbols and Germanic script, and was reaching over to turn down the volume on the CD player.

“Liv,” said Ben, as though that syllable explained the evening thus far. She nodded and I’m afraid I may have curled my lip in distaste, an involuntary movement that neither she nor the decor seemed remotely surprised by. Struggling to think of a place I would rather be less than here (the hills of Afghanistan – the surface of Pluto – the Big b*****r house – all failed to replace this teenage Goth shag-den on the list) I faked a smile, but she seemed pre-occupied with chewing gum and did not return it. I clutched Ben’s arm tighter and grimaced.

Liv reached onto her bedside table and picked up a bottle without a label, of something clear that I could smell from across the room. Holding it with outstretched arm she offered us both a drink, which we both refused, before taking a swig herself. Wiping her mouth as she swivelled upright, she patted the bed beside her.

“Why don’t you come sit down honey,” she said in a surprisingly girly voice. I don’t know why but I’d expected her to speak like that shouty guy from Full Metal Jacket. “I’m not going to hurt you, and you know, some of us are punching a clock here.” I hugged Ben’s arm tighter and looked up at him.

“It’s okay Caitlin, Liv’s a professional.” That much I’d gathered for myself. Sensing his mistake he continued. “I mean, with other women. I’ve seen her in action and honestly, there’s no-one better.”

“What do you mean? Ben, what are we doing here?”

“You told Asok, in the shower, that if you went with another woman you’d want her to take the lead. That’s Liv’s particular kink. She likes to dominate other women.”

“So?”

“I like to watch her do it,” he said, pulling out his phone. “However, I can see you’re not that bothered and I made a mistake bringing you.” Ah, now we were getting somewhere. “So I’ll just phone my father to collect you. See you later,” he said, turning to go.

My choice made for me, I sat down on the bed, sighing. This would be even more difficult to explain than being caught with my hand round Christian’s cock, so what could I do?

Ben sat in the chair opposite, still fiddling with his phone. Liv put her hand on my thigh, patting it comfortingly.

“Hon, it won’t be all bad, trust me. First time you’ve been with another woman?” I nodded, feeling absurdly like a sulking c***d. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. That costs extra!” she laughed, a tinkling noise that actually made me feel a little better. “Ben and I have done this before, he knows I’ll look after you.” We both looked up at him, and I was sure I caught him shaking his head at Liv. What was that supposed to mean?

“Come sit here, let’s at least get a little more comfy.” She patted the bed beside her. “Do you want a drink?” Like a c***d on my first day at school I grudgingly allowed myself to be manoeuvred to my seat. Liv smiled at this little progress, and I realised she was actually quite pretty under all that coal dust. She moved to kneel behind me, and started to gently massage my shoulders.

“See? It’s not all that bad. Let Livvy give you a little massage, make you feel better,” she said. Ben took the one armchair and dragged it to the middle of the room, so he was directly facing us and only a foot or two beyond my reach. Settling into it he settled into his observing duties as Liv appended her massage with little kisses on my neck, nibbles of my earlobe. His arms were flat out on the stuffed arms of the chair, palms flat down.

Unable to help myself my head tilted to the left to allow Liv better access to my neck, and at this her hands glided down my front, stopping once they could cradle my boobs. My heart was hammering at such intimacy with another woman, whilst the fact that Ben was watching was another facet of the experience. Caught between a cock and a hot place, I wanted to excite Ben – a legacy of the growing feelings I was having for him – but Liv’s action were having an involuntary reaction on me, and I could already sense the twinges between my legs. Once she started to play with my boobs over the delicate little quarter-cup bra I was almost wearing, my nipples leapt into action with unnecessary fervour. Ben smiled, recognising that despite my clear distaste for lesbianism my body was telling another story altogether.

Liv’s right hand swooped gently south, fingertips delicately sliding across my tummy, circumnavigating my belly button and resting on the gathered waistband of my knickers. Clearly a woman with an agenda, I could at least appreciate that whatever I was to be subject to tonight would be over quickly thus minimising the chances of Richard awaking to discover my absence. Of course if I played along, participated rather than endured, my absence could be further hastened, but I still faced the issue that I was fundamentally uncomfortable having sex with this or any woman. Even now my hands itched to jump up and grab hers, but knowing Ben this would be counter-productive and only prolong Ben’s fun by incurring reprisals.

Passively I sat as one black fingernail sneaked under the elastic, f***ed its way into my knickers and was quickly joined by the rest of her hand. I felt her fingers snag on my pubic hair as she made for my traitorous pussy, which wept for loving attention. She massaged my pubic mound without making further move towards my hole, deflecting my attention from the fact that she was freeing my boobs from my bra by easing them up and out of the cups. Ben maintained a stolid expression but I knew that there was a swelling in his crotch that wasn’t there moments ago.

With breasts released and erect nipples exposed, all that Liv had to uncover to expose me completely to Ben was my vagina. She tapped the inside of my thighs, a sign to part my legs as far as I could, and followed this by extricating her hand from my pubic hair and dragging my gusset to one side. I was now open, on view for my gorgeous young lover whilst being caressed by this expert teenage hooker. Despite my reservations the sheer sleaziness of the situation was electrifying, even if my body was waiting for my mind to catch up.

Content to continue taking the lead Liv started to massage my pussy lips, gently but firmly, sliding her fingertips to and fro over the lubricated, swollen skin underneath. I could do nothing but sigh as my whole body heated up under her touch, and the power of Ben’s gaze. I knew I wanted to perform for him, but at the same time I felt like going along with his wishes here would make it too easy for him. If he seriously wanted to see me with another woman, I figured he would have to earn it.

She moved quickly but delicately to my clitoris, rolling it under the ball of her index finger. My stomach flip-flopped but I was determined I would not let him see how aroused I was. I could hide it, to some extent; he could not, and it was obvious to Liv and I that our little show was working. As much as I could I kept my eyes on his, but he could not match me for fear of missing out. By now Liv’s finger was slipping between my pussy lips as she rubbed up and down over my clit, making me thoroughly wet. She took hold of my chin and tilted my head back, and in an instant her tongue was in my mouth, seeking out my tongue.

We kissed for two or three minutes as she manipulated my clitoris and I struggled to concentrate on, well, anything really beyond the sensations between my legs. Through half-closed eyes I could see that not only were Liv’s wide open, but that they were clearly focussed on Ben and I wondered, not for the first time, if they had concocted some plan beforehand beyond what was already happening.

Liv broke from the kiss leaving me sucking fresh air and unable to either move or open my eyes. She had two fingers working their way in and out of my sopping wet vagina, and because of the angle she was coming from as she knelt behind me she couldn’t help but hit my clitoris on every stroke – something that was not, I was sure, an accident. I was floating, at that time, suspended in time and space on the cusp of the orgasmic plateau, my first induced by another woman and a bl**dy good orgasm at that! Of course, there was no chance that Ben could make it that simple for me… and once I opened my eyes and found him standing immediately in front of me I reasoned I might be about to discover what that was.

It was the sound of his zipper that returned me to wakefulness from my pre-orgasmic reverie. It was Liv, pulling down the zipper with her left hand as she continued to frig me with her right – how lucky I was to land an ambidextrous woman first time out – as Ben stood squarely in front of us, hands behind his back. Effortlessly she freed his member, taking it in hand and granting it several loving caresses, slowly peeling back the foreskin until the head was revealed, moist and scintillating by the light of the candle on the bedside table, almost close enough to lick. I’ll never understand why men think their penises are ugly or merely perfunctory; right now the one in front of me represented the ultimate in beauty, the beauty that elicits such desire that coherent thought becomes an impossibility.

Liv played with it, keeping it tantalizingly out of my yearning mouth’s reach, manipulating it in a gentle, almost romantic way in sharp contrast with the frantic, f***eful way men themselves masturbate. Her action made me want to think up new verbs – squoozing, for example. With each squooze she brought it almost undiscernibly closer to my mouth, and I was so entranced with the game that I had no power to compel my hands to take hold. She rubbed the head and slit with the ball of her thumb, massaging in the warm, clear liquid that leaked from his member, until she stuck her thumb out away from his cock as if thumbing a lift. I realised she wanted me to suck it, this miniature erection-substitute replete with genuine masculine taste and scent.

When, seemingly, my oral prowess satisfied Liv she granted me my prize, gently guiding Ben forward until I was allowed the chance to love him with my mouth. Slowly he entered me, until I realised Liv was guiding him and she wanted his wholeness in my mouth. Trying to relax I took as much of him in as I could, adjusting the angle of my head and neck to accommodate him, until the gag reflex was so strong I had to tap Liv’s thigh urgently, twice. There seemed little room for my tongue to operate so I sucked, hard, urging his essence to be released.

With this objective completed Liv renewed her acquaintance with my hole, hot and desperate, but that was too much. I couldn’t handle being masturbated so intently at both clitoris and now nipple while giving head, and in a minute or two I was making urgent noises asking to extricate myself. Of course Liv knew what I wanted but she was in a position to demand favours in order to see my release granted.

“Caitlin, if I let you free, are you going to be a good girl for me?” I made a gruff approximation of an affirmation. It sounded like ‘gwwwwwhhhhmmmmm’. “Caitlin, if I do let you free, I want you to lick my cunt. You have to suck my clitty, and give me a really good, deep tonguing. Do you think you can do that?” Despite my instinctive mental recoil from the C word, I made the same noise. It seemed to make her happy. “Good,” she said, “because if you don’t, I shall take that whip on the wall over there, and beat this peachy bum here until it bleeds. Do you believe me?” I made the noise to indicate that I believed her. I did, too.

While Liv removed her knickers (and I took in quite how many tattoos she had) Ben bundled me backwards onto the bed. When I was prone Liv clambered on, with excitement but without finesse, until her knees were either side of my head and her pussy literally dripped just an inch or two above my face. Having never been so close to another woman’s sex – and frankly having neither wished nor expected to – I was struck by the scent, tangy and musky, yet alluring. I wondered if she tasted the same and realised I was soon to discover.

I heard her say something to warn me, but I was lost in contemplation and by the time I worked out what it was I could already taste her. The immediate sensation was panic – induced by sudden darkness and claustrophobia, no doubt – but once I was calmed and had closed my eyes, I felt prepared to at least attempt to follow Liv’s instruction, lest her whip find my behind. Tentatively I stuck out my tongue and wiggled it, like a blind person’s stick, taking note of obstructions and landmarks until I’d built up a reasonable mental map of her vaginal landscape.

Unfortunately I seemed to be going a little bit too slow for Liv, who was by now urging me on with a number of rather descriptively crude comment. There was a sudden shift in the topography and I guessed that Liv had leaned forwards; a suspicion confirmed when I felt her starting to fiddle with me again, flicking my clitoris with a fingernail and expressing a wish to ‘do me like this you virgin bitch’ or some such nonsense.

Liv opened and stretched my lips, exposing my hole for the audience of one waiting at the foot of the bed. I felt him carefully insert one, then two fingers into my pussy and slowly work them in and out. I was soaking wet; even with a pair of earmuffs such as I had, and over the sound of my innocent slurpings, I could hear the noises that my vagina made in concert with Ben’s digits. That much I could handle but when Liv started flicking my clit again I started to moan, forsaking anything I was supposed to be doing.

Coarsely Liv started to slap my button, with outstretched tensed fingers, meaning that the staccato insults and derision at my oral technique streaming from her mouth barely registered. The contrast between Ben’s gentle, almost loving touches and Liv’s assault-like approach left me breathing in snatches (literally breathing in snatch! I thought, absurdly) and alternately moaning and squealing.

Just as I thought that I might be able to orgasm from their attentions, all ceased. Breathlessly I waited for something, anything to happen, to shuttle me back onto the path of bliss. I think I may even have wiggled my hips, slammed my pelvis back into the mattress to get them to start again. Of course, I couldn’t see anything with Liv’s vagina planted in my face and I was afraid of missing out, that they were doing something without including me. I could feel movements but the inconsistent quality of the mattress rendered them generic and I could discern no pattern to them.

Suddenly the fingers returned to my pussy and I sighed, normal service almost resumed. Again she held open my flower, tickling my clit teasingly, but this time it was not Ben’s finger that entered me. Liv stretched me so that I barely felt his erection until it was between my sugar walls. He continued pushing it until he was all the way home, and it felt so good I really thought I might cry. His weight was distributed lopsidedly as he accommodated Liv sitting on my face, and it was her voice I heard next.

“Caitlin? We give up, it’s clear you’re only happy with some dick inside you. Your loss, honey! But in order to get anything else, you gotta get back to work with your tongue, baby!” I understood finally and was now eager to comply. As I started to lick at Liv’s fanny, she manipulated my clit and in turn Ben started to fuck me. As my concentration wavered, she would slow down and Ben would do likewise, prompting me back into action.

We continued like this, Liv squirming at my improving technique, me gasping at her digital manipulation and groaning as Ben’s weapon thrust in, out, in, out, my moaning synchronising with the external stimuli. This was mutual, a****l fucking, and I knew that I could not keep going for long without an orgasm that would likely make me black out. When it came, I let out a squeal and exhaled forcibly into and over Liv’s clitoris. I felt her shudder, ripples firing through her body, as my lower body went into spasm and my muscles seized Ben’s cock. That was the encouragement he needed, and with a guttural grunt he too came, emptying himself into my vagina and causing me to thrill again.

Liv was already removing herself from me and settling back, seated upright against the wall with legs parted and outstretched. As Ben slowly withdrew, I propped myself up on my elbows to see what Liv was doing; surprisingly (to me, although Ben seemed unperturbed by it) she was furiously masturbating herself.

“You fucking virgins,” she opined between snatched breaths, “you fucking leave me hanging – EVERY – FUCKING – TIME!” Her syntax degenerated into stream of consciousness invective and cursing, and I could do little but watch in fascination as she brought herself off with brutal ferocity. Ben was getting dressed, but all I was fascinated by the sheer intensity of her self-love, and the need to relieve herself. Her eyes were on mine, but I couldn’t stop staring at her frantic fingering.

I was still trying to adjust my knickers as she ushered us quickly out of the room, claiming that she had a punter due any second. I was still very conscious of being almost naked, but in the afterglow of sex it seemed like something that was easier to handle. We drove in silence for several minutes, and for reasons I could not discern I felt the onus lay with me to initiate conversation, heaven knows why.

“Everything okay, Ben?” He checked his mirrors before glancing at me two or three times, as though unable to express his thoughts clearly.

“You didn’t enjoy that?” I wasn’t sure – how often that phrase seems to be part of my everyday experience just lately – to what that referred. Sex with him, with Liv, with both, being forcibly a*****ed in my skimpies at midnight – come on, be more specific!

“Well, it was – it was nice,” I erred cautiously. “I didn’t expect…” I trailed off, noting that most that had happened in the last few days would be described that way.

“I just thought that you might have been a little more enthusiastic,” he continued, as though I hadn’t spoken. “I thought that you seemed happy and willing to experiment and I thought that being with another woman was the next step, logically. I don’t know, maybe I was wrong about you, I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head in equal parts puzzlement and disappointment. He suddenly reminded me of a mad scientist in a B movie describing in his journal how his hideous experiment had gone wrong and the creature he’d created had been horribly disfigured. Mainly, he was talking as though I were not there. I didn’t like that, and I didn’t like being Benkenstein’s monster either. My feelings were rather hurt.

Silence reigned for the remainder of the journey. We pulled up behind his father’s car and he looked at me in a resigned way, sort of ‘oh well, if that’s the best you can do’ sort of way which made me both angry and desperately unhappy. Did he not appreciate how much I risked every time we did this?

It seemed easier to open the car door and leave than talk to him. I felt as though I should hate him, although I didn’t really want to, and that hurt too. I couldn’t even have the c***dish satisfaction of slamming the car door for the fear of waking my boyfriend, the one left hopefully sl**ping in my bed. I would have wanted to walk up my path with dignity, but I was upset and wearing only my underwear outdoors, so I ran instead.

The refrigerator contained solace, which I poured into a large glass. Kicking my heels off into the corner I slumped onto a chair at the kitchen table, illuminated only by the small lamp on the extractor fan hood. Taking a deep draught of wine, I thought about the bizarre end to the night. The subterfuge of the occasion was no doubt exciting; I would have preferred just Ben and I, but at least I’d not wimped out and run away when faced with another naked woman. Shame I couldn’t tell Jen and the girls, really, but they’d never believe me. But at least the night was over and I could go to bed.

“Caitlin?”

“Richard-”

“I’m so thirsty, I can’t tell you. What are you drinking?”

“It’s wine, I think there’s some left if you want?”

“No, think I’ve had quite enough!” He rustled through the fridge looking for juice. Wearing just his boxers (a small victory, getting him to abandon y-fronts) one could see quite what a huge bear of a man Richard was. He glugged down apple juice before turning back to me. “My, what have you got on?” Great. Now you notice.

“Well, I put them on earlier. I thought you might like them,” I said, with a delicate hint of indignance in my voice. “But you fell asl**p before I’d even finished putting them on,” I said with a sledgehammer of indignance resonating through the kitchen. He did have the good grace to look ashamed.

“Okay,” he said bashfully, “but I’m awake now! Let’s have a look.”

“What? Richard, I’m …” Careful Caitlin, what are you going to say here?

“Nonsense, you’re awake enough to get up in the middle of the night and drink wine,” he smiled, sweeping me up from my chair and holding my arm out. Taking in the full view, he looked me over for several seconds before pulling me close and kissing me. It was the kiss I was looking for earlier in the evening; unfortunately, since then, I’d already received that sort of kiss and was pretty much just looking forward to my bed (and the scratty grey flannel bedclothes that are so much more comfortable).

However, Richard did not seem to be in much of a mood to say no. Feeling a stirring in his shorts that seemed so unlikely earlier, he pulled me closer towards him with one massive paw on each of my bum cheeks. His tongue was in my mouth and his kisses contained far more passion and urgency than normal. Once again I found my body responding before my mind, realising that my pussy was juicing up way before my head was used to the idea.

“Cait… lin,” he gasped breathlessly between kisses, “suck me off…” He seemed unwilling to stop kissing despite issuing an order that appeared to countermand that. “Please baby… Let me put… my cock… in your mouth.”

With a gently firm hand on each should he pushed me down, barely giving me chance to sort myself out and get comfortable. He was fumbling with his shorts, so I slapped his hand to let him know I could manage fine. Perhaps there was a chance I could get him off before he got inside me. If I could make him come now, we’d go upstairs but he’d be asl**p before I’d changed out of these undies.

Through the flimsy cotton I rubbed his bulge. It seemed harder than I remember it getting previously, and it didn’t really need a lot of work to make it harder. Playfully I tugged at the two buttons on his shorts and popped them open, making the whole process take far longer than it needed to, then reached inside to take hold of his shaft. It was very warm, and being so stiff made it difficult to get through the opening to his shorts. That was just part of the fun for me, delaying the inevitable. If he was going to insist on this blowjob, it would be on my terms!

Once I had his erection freed, poking through the fly on his shorts, I opted for manual manipulation to began with, curling my fingers around the shaft and working them slowly along his full length. I knew he’d be looking down at me – he liked to make eye contact while I was going down on him, and vice versa – but I ignored him this time, keeping my attention focussed solely on his cock. With my other hand I started to very gently massage his sac (something he can get very tetchy about) and refusing to move it closer to my mouth.

“Please, Cait, suck me,” he moaned. Just using the shortened form of my name meant I would have to delay him just that little bit longer… Switching from massaging his balls I used my left hand to trace a line between his balls, right round to his buttocks, taking hold of their flesh and giving them a jiggle.

He knew my game, and I knew he knew. He indulged me for a short while, but once I felt the hand on the back of my head playtime was over. Simultaneously he pulled my head in and stuck his groin out, so there really was little room left to escape my fate. My lips were f***ed apart by the head of his cock, which was already starting to moisten of its own accord. There wasn’t even any way I could limit its ingress, with Richard holding my head in place he was pretty much just fucking my mouth and when I looked up quickly, his smile told me that he saw it that way too.

Obviously he liked being in control like this, because he seemed to drag out this blowjob much longer than he normally would. My mouth was starting to ache, my jaw muscles complaining at their unnatural pose – while my pussy seemed to be complaining that it wasn’t seeing any action.

Seemingly sensing my situation, Richard hauled me roughly to my feet. What little romance existed was expended, and I knew from bitter experience that all Richard wanted now was a quickie. As much as anything, I thought that the wine in his system that I could still smell on his breath was ample evidence of that. He spun me round and f***ed me face down over the table, breasts and tummy pressing against the cold wood, and f***ed my legs apart. His hand moved between my legs, and, when I felt four fingers curled upwards against my swollen little pussy, I gasped as I realised in horror that in all likelihood my knickers would still be wet from the terrific seeing-to I had received from his son just thirty minutes ago. Taking my gasps as evidence that he was doing something right rather than evidence I had been doing something terribly wrong, he continued stroking me through the material of my knickers. His attentions felt nice and I couldn’t help but squirm under his hand.

We continued like this for a minute or two and I was beginning to enjoy it. He wasn’t usually so bothered about foreplay, particularly when I could tell he wanted a quickie. His touches were firmer now, starting at my anus and continuing round until they ended with a particularly satisfying rub of my clitoris. I even found myself speculating upon when he might actually deign to enter me although I was having a fine time where I was and might even have got off through that.

Suddenly he stopped and, after a second’s pause, I was on the verge of twisting round to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing. I felt his fingers fumbling at my gusset then, with a noise that seemed inordinately loud in the midnight of the kitchen, he ripped the gusset of my knickers clean away. I couldn’t even gasp; I was simply so shocked at his actions. I didn’t even have time to compose myself for in the next instant his cock was at the entrance to my vagina, and mercilessly he pushed it home, forcing it into my (admittedly rather wet and willing) hole. Once he was sunk into me up to the hilt, he held himself there for a second, catching a breath.

Slowly he started to pump, and I do mean slowly. He would make it take several seconds to withdraw his full length and just when I thought he was going to pull completely out, when his glans was resting on the last pucker of my pussy lips, he would thrust back quickly and violently before starting the cycle again. This was all so different from the usual passionless, laboured lovemaking. Even his erection seemed fuller and harder than normal, and although it lagged behind my body, my mind soon found the right gear. Then, once the foul language started, I was lost completely. Usually I don’t like bad language – it’s one of the more prudish aspects of my character and one the girls find easiest to tease me about – but somehow the fact that Richard was being so crude, added to the fact that it was completely out of character, well it just put me into orbit.

“You’re wet tonight, your fuck-hole is so wet I can barely feel the sides,” he said in a low, gravelly voice quite unlike his own. There was a tinge of menace to it, which was dangerously erotic. “What have you been doing to make yourself so wet?”

“Just you,” I lied, because ‘your son just came in me’ would have spoiled the mood somewhat. “I was thinking about you,” I added.

“What about?” he demanded. Clearly this would have to be some on the spot improv. of the highest order.

“I was thinking about your c- your penis,” I stuttered. I’d never said ‘cock’ to Richard before, not in this or any sense and I felt strange doing so now. Frankly getting fucked from behind over the kitchen table by him felt strange.

“Say what you mean,” he demanded.

“What?”

“You were going to say ‘cock’,” he hissed. “If you mean ‘cock’, then fucking well say ‘cock’.” Every time he used the word, he accompanied it with a thrust of said appendage. “Say cock, Caitlin.”

“I don’t like to…” I whimpered, partly through advancing arousal and partly fear of this new, intimidating and inebriated Richard.

“Caitlin, say cock!” He was ramming his cock home hard now, faster, and it was beginning to become difficult to focus on his words. “Say it, you fucking bitch!”

“Cock,” I moaned, in a quiet voice that trailed off.

“Louder,” he insisted.

“Cock,” I said, doing about 5% of my best.

“Louder!” he shouted.

“Cock!” I said, adding a vocal exclamation point.

“Louder! Again!” he yelled as he slapped my bum a little bit too hard to be playful.

“Cock! Cock! Cock…” I managed. Dismayed by my efforts, or perhaps just to tease/annoy me, he pulled his cock right out with the dying echo of my last attempt. The sudden absence of his erection from my space was as shocking as its presence previously had been.

“Caitlin,” he said in little more than a gruff whisper, “you need to do better.” I started to twist, the better to remonstrate, but his hand on the side of my face pushed me back down to the table and f***ed me to stay stationary. I squirmed under his touch, wanting him to fuck me. He knew this. He wanted his fun first.

“Richard, please…” I whispered, despairingly. “Please?”

There was no reaction from behind me, no words or actions, no movements or noises. From somewhere inside the realisation struck that he was not content with talking dirty himself, nor simply making me do it; he wanted me to tell him what to do. Not quite begging, something much more subtle. I don’t know I’d managed to second-guess Richard’s semi-d***ken state of kinkiness, but somehow I just knew I was right and there was just one way to check.

“Richard, I want you to fuck me.” I whimpered, barely audible. “Please. Richard, please fuck me.” His smile was louder than my voice.

“Continue.” he said, authoritatively. I gulped, managing to muster a little more.

“I want you to fuck me. Put your cock in me, Richard.”

“Better,” he said. “Continue.”

“Put your cock in my pussy, Richard, fuck me with it. Fuck me, make me come, please!” Oops, that last made me sound a little desperate. It was about this point I realised I wasn’t terribly good at dirty talk, because I didn’t know many rude words! How shameful a thing to admit. Nevertheless Richard must have recognised the effort because I felt him nudging my hole with his penis.

“Caitlin, tell me what you’re thinking about when we’re fucking,” Richard suggested, helping me out of one spot and into another. Well just lately, Richard, I’ve been thinking about your son, his best friend, the physio, and a teenage female prostitute. I’ll save that one for later.

“I like the way your cock fills me up Richard, sometimes it feels so big it might split me in two,” I said, massaging his ego as he massaged my ass cheeks. Clearly my subterfuge worked because he slid back inside me effortlessly. I really was wet and starting to feel a little more comfortable with the potty talk game. “I like it when you play with my bum when we have sex, the way you tease my bum hole sometimes by slipping a finger just inside.”

“I’ve never done that,” he said simply as his pumping ceased abruptly.

Well, that’s the taste of panic again. If it wasn’t Richard then it must have been Ben. The thing is, I wasn’t even that keen on having my anus played with, not the hole itself, and I certainly wasn’t overly interested in having things pushed into it. I was simply getting carried away with the game.

“No, silly,” I lied shamefully but with a convincing amount of chutzpah, “but I’ve been thinking about it, and the thought of it gets me excited. Very excited, Richard.” He laughed, but did not resume fucking. Why was there no fucking?

“Well let’s see what we can do to make your fantasy happen,” he said, and I smiled, although the full import of what he meant did not immediately occur until he withdrew his cock. Looking back behind me I watched him bend over and gently spit on my bum-hole. I shuddered as he worked in his DIY lubricant, then closed my eyes as another mouthful landed in my bum-crack. The massaging felt nice as he worked it in, admittedly, but the thought of his spitting on my bum-hole frankly grossed me out.

“Ready?” he asked ominously. I opened my eyes suddenly, worried about what to be ready for-

Then he was at the entrance to my anus, slowly forcing in his erection. My mouth opened in sympathy with my anus, as slowly and gently he tried to f***e home his penis. If a thousand monkeys typed for a thousand years not one of them would come close to describing the way my bum felt at that point. His cock felt about a foot long and twice as wide, even though in reality he only had the first inch or so in. The noises I was making must have worried him, for he paused, and slowly I started to become habituated to the feeling of him stretching my anus so wide.

Continuing like this he would slowly work home another inch or two before allowing me time to recover. He made no attempt to thrust, no sudden or surprise movements, no fast movements of any type; in fact by the end he was waiting for me to nod my assent before continuing. He worked patiently until I tapped out on the table to indicate I didn’t think I could take any more of him in me.

“I didn’t think you were interested in anal play,” Richard said, “I just didn’t have you down as that sort of girl at all.”

“You’d be surprised at what I’ve got inside me,” I smiled, although that was probably the most truthful thing I’d said since the encounter started.

“How do you feel now?” he enquired with surprising tenderness.

“I’m okay,” I admitted, “you just… can’t go too fast.”

“Sorry,” he teased, “I might not be able to help myself. You look so fucking hot tonight Caitlin, I might even have to fund further shopping expeditions if this is what you’re going to buy.”

Well hallelujah! Even as my ass sung in pain, that sort of dirty talk was precisely what this girl wanted to hear during sex. Sensing that I was now slightly more relaxed, he reached around and started to tiptoe around my clit with his fingers; an unnecessary tease that I enjoyed nevertheless. Slowly he started thrusting, just an inch or two at first that produced the most incredible sensations in me, ones which inexorably brought the term peeling to mind. That was how it felt, like (particularly as he withdrew) my bum was being peeled open. It took several minutes of combined slow bum-fucking and clit-twiddling before I stopped tensing my sphincter with every stroke. I wouldn’t say that I was enjoying it yet because I was far too nervous and uncomfortable.

In contrast I knew Richard was loving this. I had no idea that he was interested in putting his cock in my poop-chute but I recognised the little twinges and twitches that told me his orgasm was much closer than mine. I decided I would try and help things along just a tad.

“Richard,” I purred (trying to be seductive but hoping he wouldn’t pick up on my audible winces), “How do you like this? How do you like doing me in the bum?”

“I’ve been fucking dying to do this to you,” he growled appreciatively as he continued with the deliciously long and slow thrusts that were nine-tenths frustration for him. “Did you know?”

“No honey, I was just thinking about it myself and I thought I’d take a chance and tell you. You like it, though, that’s the main thing!” He certainly did, despite lapsing into silence at this point. For a deliciously sinful couple of minutes I enjoyed the sensations of my first anal encounter, my face pressed hard into the table with the ripped remnants of my knickers hanging around my waist. I felt the familiar sensations as Richard’s orgasm approached and although he tried his hardest to remain restrained the last couple of thrusts really rammed home. His semen flooded my bum as for the second time in the night I was on the receiving end of a man’s orgasm.
96% (13/1)
 
Posted by ChrisTracy
4 years ago    Views: 894
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2 years ago
Love it keep going
2 years ago
Love it keep going
2 years ago
Love it keep going
Pantissy
retired
3 years ago
I love this story.