Here, in this room, with our unique and take-charge visitors, there is nothing to shatter except my own presumptions. Ned smiles at me, a tender smile, a soft smile, the kind he keeps tucked away until just the right moments, the kind that makes me submit to the cruellest of his beatings, because I know they came from a loving place. His smile lights up the room, or maybe it just lights me up, I don’t care. But his smile grants me the permission I haven’t quite been able to grant myself, to welcome our guests with open arms. Or rather, open legs, as open as I can get them.
‘She’s beautiful,’ Brad says, whether to Ned, Natalie or me, I’m not sure. I’ve never thought much about Brad as a sexual being, to be perfectly honest. He’s got a reputation for being stiff, cold, aloof, tough-minded in his business dealings. He’s not the type to be seen at a bar, kicking back with his friends or co-workers. He keeps to himself, though maybe I’ve underestimated him. Maybe instead of getting hammered, he’s been hammering Natalie, or other women, I think as his eyes survey every inch of me.
‘Harder,’ he says as Natalie squeezes my nipples. I look from him down to where she’s got my pink buds trapped between her fingers. She’s been pressing them flat, but now she starts pulling and twisting them, harder than I’d have thought her capable. ‘Very good,’ her murmurs and kisses the back of her neck. There is something so beautiful in that gesture that I want to cry. Certainly, I have no idea when my husband last kissed me like that; softly, tenderly, a prelude rather than a demand. Even Ned’s kisses are so often rough, virile, demanding. They are about what comes after the kiss, rather than the kiss itself. I’m liking Brad more and more, especially when he rips open Natalie’s red blouse, tiny pearl buttons raining down onto the bed. He rips it slowly enough that I can see them fall, hear them come loose from the fabric. Her bra, like her nails and blouse, is bright red, plunging, giving me the barest hint of firm, hard nipple.
A moan escapes my lips. I no longer feel so trapped, even though I am. I’d gladly stay bound for ever if I could feast on beautiful breasts like hers. ‘Do you like Natalie’s tits?’ asks Brad. He peels down the cups and plays with her nipples; by now she’s stopped touching me, her hands dangling at her sides, her glossy red mouth slack, open.
‘Yes. Yes, I do. I’d love to suck on them,’ I say. It sounds a little silly, at first, rehearsed, almost. Ned and I have gone over this kind of scenario countless times, but when it’s actually going on, I forget all that. I say the first thing I think, clichés be damned. And when I really think about it, it doesn’t sound silly at all. I would love to suck on her nipples, especially since I can see so plainly that Natalie, head of a giant social networking company, is a woman after my own heart, one who can get off from nipple play. At first she tries to look calm, like she’s still in charge of me, and that, I suppose, she is, me being immobilized for the most part. But she’s not in charge of much else, not with Brad groping her, now with one hand at her throat, one alternating between her nipples.
Then Ned walks over to me and I think he’s going to do the same, but instead, he does something much worse: he slips a blindfold over my head. The traces of the ‘B’ of ‘But …’ linger on my lips. But I’m enjoying the show. But I need some of my senses. But it’s not fair. They all die before they’ve even begun, because there’s no ‘fair’ in our kind of kink. There’s him against me, and he always wins, and neither of us would have it any different. ‘Much better, yes?’ Ned asks the room. Brad chuckles and Natalie gets out a strangled yes. I hear fumbling, groping, kissing, and I don’t know who’s doing what, only that it’s not happening to me.
Then the doorbell rings again. ‘I’ll get it,’ Ned says suavely. Brad and Natalie tumble around next to me, a stray foot or elbow occasionally gliding over my skin. I rock myself to the side, my nipples straining to be near them. Natalie must sense my need because she turns and slides her knee between my parted legs, pressing against my wetness, then kisses me. I can hear Brad breathing close, and think the noise I hear might be him stroking her pussy. She bites my lower lip and I moan. I no longer care who’s at the door, who might see my bare ass, my utterly wanton positioning.
I know the voice before I hear it. This is taking things so far I don’t even know what to think: it’s the local tech reporter for the biggest paper in our area, an older man, probably in his early sixties, dapper, white hair, the kind who you’d expect to know next to nothing about our field, but who’s amazingly on target. ‘Welcome, Jason,’ says Ned. If Brad or Natalie are surprised or bothered, I don’t hear it. She keeps kissing and nudging me, and he keeps doing whatever he’s doing.
‘Say hello to Jason, darling,’ Ned instructs me. I smile graciously, like I’m hosting a tea, and he leans down and kisses me lustily. Now, if I’ve never thought about so much as undressing Brad, I’ve really never thought about Jason in this context. Isn’t he married? The ridiculousness of that thought almost makes me laugh, but then I feel Ned’s hands tangling in my hair. Or is it Jason tugging hard, pulling my neck back. A cock is placed against my open lips, and I know immediately: it’s not Ned’s. It’s thinner and longer and not being able to see it drives me mad. I love watching a man’s cock disappear down my throat, then slide back out as I ease off. It’s like a magic trick: now you see it, now you don’t.
Instead, I just have to acquaint myself with the dick of a man who once called me a ‘tech-world temptress’, and not in a good way, using only my lips. ‘Go deep; she likes that,’ says Ned. Soon Jason is straddling my face, and I’d never know he’s got at least twenty-five years on me. He’s fucking my face and I’m so wet from all of this I think I will soak the bed. I wish Ned were next to me, whispering in my ear like he does when he chokes me, when he beats me, when he makes me play with myself until I come. And then, again, like magic, there he is. ‘What a good girl you are. I told you you’d take any cock I brought here. I told Jason too. Who knows what he might do with that information?’
Tears of pleasure and panic spring to my eyes. Of course Ned is kidding, because should Jason ever go forward with what we’ve done, he’d be ruined. Ned is probably taping the whole thing as insurance against any blackmail attempts. But still, for a moment I wonder if my career, my life, would be ruined if this got out. Yet all that does is make my throat open wider and Jason is soon beating his dick against my outstretched tongue. ‘Come on her face; she likes that,’ Jason says. He’s right, I do, but the truth is, I really only like it when he does it. It’s our special thing. But maybe it’s like his come, but by proxy, I think. With the blindfold on, I have no idea that the hot drops of Jason’s cream are going to start landing on me when they do. I jerk away at first, but Ned shoves me back into place. By the time Jason’s done, the lower half of my face is dripping with come.
‘Thank you,’ I say, polite as ever.
‘My pleasure,’ says Jason.
Ned eases the blindfold off and pushes the come into my mouth. He unties me and I stretch, not sure if I want this freedom he’s granting me. I can see his cock is hard and suddenly, all I want is it inside me. Our visitors no longer matter as he climbs on top of me and in one motion, enters my pussy like he belongs there. Which he does, no question, as I welcome him. He kisses me, not caring about the other man’s come on my lips, or maybe even liking it. I look up at him, seeing Brad and Natalie out of the corner of my eyes. I smile at Ned, with my lips and my eyes, amazed that he’s managed to pull this off. My arms go back over my head, fingers circled around the opposite wrist, as he presses me into the bed, as he bites the tender lower half of my right cheek, a spot I’ve come to think of as his.
There had been a part of me that suspected that our affair was one that only worked because we shared a special connection, one only accessible to the two of us. I’d wondered, privately, if opening up our already complicated relationship would be a mistake. But as Ned lifts my legs onto his shoulders, filling me all the way, I look at our visitors a
nd realize they are simply a wonderful addition to our twosome. ‘You sure know how to throw a party, baby. You found the perfect guests,’ I say, right before my orgasm hits. The doorbell rings again, and I smile, knowing the party has just begun.
There’s a Cure for Almost Everything
by Chrissie Bentley
‘Poor baby. Can I get you anything at all?’
‘Yeah, a cigarette.’
I smiled. ‘Not until you’re out of here.’ Mark had been in hospital for a week now, ever since taking a tumble off his roof. And, no matter how many visitors he received, the only one he really wanted, ten minutes with Mr Nick O’Tine, was the one that he was forbidden. Not only did the hospital impose a strict non-smoking rule, but his room also seemed to double as a storeroom for every oxygen cylinder the ward might require.
I didn’t know how he did it. I quit smoking a couple of years back, and I can still remember the agonies I passed through – and I was doing it of my own free will. I couldn’t imagine lying there day after day, being forcibly deprived of my little fix. Still, at least they’d given him a patch. I went cold turkey. ‘Anything else?’
‘How about a hot nurse?’
I shook my head. ‘You’re really striking out today, aren’t you?’ I reached out, lay a hand on his as it rested in his lap, squeezed it … then squeezed it again. I hadn’t felt a boner like that in I don’t know how long.
His eyes flickered guiltily into mine. ‘Told you I needed a hot nurse.’
‘You need a hot something.’ Purposefully I left my hand where it lay, even after he eased his out from beneath mine, and clamped it instead on my wrist. It was a long time since Mark and I had been lovers … three years? Maybe four. But we’d remained friends ever since, and I think we’d both wondered what if , although what if what, I could no longer remember.
I squeezed him through the thin hospital blankets, and felt an answering twitch. ‘At least nothing broke down there,’ I whispered, casting an eye towards the door to his room. It wasn’t closed all the way, but the way the room was angled, I’d see someone walking in a few seconds before they saw me. But just to be on the safe side ...
My hand slipped beneath the blankets, groped for a moment, then touched hot, hard flesh. Mark groaned as my fingertips stroked him gently, and again as I tightened my grip around his shaft and began rolling the flesh back and forth, back and forth.
I loved the feel of him in my hand, marvelled at the way my mind seemed to leap back all those years to the days when I did this (and more … so much more) on a regular basis, remembering how far to pull back, how hard to push forward, when to rest and caress his balls, when to scrape a thumbnail across his helmet, and when to go hell for leather, pumping him harder as he started to come.
And come and come and come. It felt endless; a flood that I first felt flowing over my fist, as his cock spasmed in my hand and Mark let out a sigh like I’d never heard him utter before.
I reached for a Kleenex and pulled back the covers. ‘Wow, you must have needed that.’ I said quietly. I’d never seen a cock produce that much come, and there was still a dribble leaking out of it.
He laughed quietly. ‘It’s been like that for a couple of days now.’ He paused, then added, ‘I’ve had to take things in hand a few times, just to relieve the boredom.’
I wiped his stomach, and then my hand, marvelling at the thick drops that clung to my fingers and inched down my wrist. And there was something else. ‘You smell different as well.’ I didn’t mean to say it aloud, it just blurted out, but he simply smiled. ‘Must be the hospital food. Or the bed rest.’
‘Yeah, must be.’ I finished wiping up, tossed the tissues – half a dozen of them, all drenched in come – into the bin. ‘I’d better be off now. Need to hit the store before I go home. But I’ll be back tomorrow, if you like?’ I leaned over and kissed his forehead, laughed as he nodded eagerly, and made my way out of the hospital. I needed a cigarette.
Four years. I met Mark during my last year at college, but it was another year before we started dating – I was in a relationship before that, and he always seemed too crazy to start anything serious with. But we met up one afternoon in a bookstore downtown; and, this time, it just felt right. Maybe I needed a little craziness, and he didn’t disappoint. It brought us together and pushed us apart. After we started to drift away from each other, it was clear that I’d had enough eccentricity. Or maybe he’d had enough of my sanity. Regular dates became irregular phone calls, and when we did meet up, we always seemed to have other plans for that evening. Then, one night he introduced me to a cute redhead named Sara, and I could tell from the way the girl looked at him that it was her turn to take a ride on Mad Mark.
Since then, we’d settled into the comfortable routine that old lovers often do – occasional phone calls, and postcards from vacation, the odd unplanned meeting, a sporadic drink … and then came the news that he’d been rushed into hospital, with a suspected broken back. That, mercifully, hadn’t come to pass, but he was in a bad way all the same, and I was just thankful I got out of work so early every day. It meant I could spend time with him in the afternoons, before the rest of his friends and family descended.
And the handjob? Call it a helping hand. Call it Auld Lang Syne. Call it what you will but, as I lay in bed that night, I couldn’t get it out of my mind. The touch of his flesh, the strength and weight as it lay in my hand. And that was just for starters. The rivers of come. Where were they when we were dating?
The next afternoon could not arrive soon enough, although I didn’t have a clue what I was going to do. I had the archetypal one-track mind all morning at work; I only needed to look down at my right hand to go weak at the knees, yet the only workable fantasy that I could conceive of was one that I knew I could never go through with – to walk into his room and roll back his covers and say, ‘OK, Mr Carthy, it’s time for your afternoon jerk-off.’
And it’s just as well because his mother was there when I walked in, and though she insisted I sit and chat for a while, it was easier to lie and say I was only passing by, that I’d drop in again later, when I’d run a few errands. So that afternoon turned into evening and I swear, the thoughts that were going through my mind as I waited for the elevator the following day were enough to flood my panties there and then.
I heard his voice as I pushed open the door. ‘All clear!’ I walked in and sat, smiling as he apologized for his mother; ‘I really wasn’t expecting her. She usually comes in the evening.’
And you come in buckets. I couldn’t block the thought, and I smirked to myself. ‘No worries. I’m here now.’ I was also sitting at the end of his bed, as far from temptation as I could possibly be. He knew it as well. ‘It’s alright, I promise I don’t bite.’ He tried to raise his head, winced at the effort, then lay back again. ‘See, no reach.’
‘It’s not your biting I’m worried about,’ I said softly, as I moved to the chair by his bed. It’s mine. Hey, where did that come from? I didn’t think such thoughts were even in my vocabulary.
OK, time to come clean, if you’ll pardon the pun. One of the reasons why we drifted apart was because I don’t like giving head. I don’t like the taste, I don’t like the texture and I especially don’t like the fear that, for all his vows to the contrary, he’s still going to come in your mouth. So, long before I hooked up with Mark, I stopped doing it.
Mark, the angel, never said anything. A couple of guys I’ve been with have got quite aggressive on the subject: “Hey, I’ve been down on you enough times, it’s about time you repaid the favor.” Yeah, well stop doing it then. It’s not like you know what you’re doing down there. But not Mark. He never said a word. I know, though, that there’s only so many times a guy can try and angle his cock in the direction of your mouth, only to have you move away, before he starts to lose hope that it’ll ever happen. And once a guy loses hope, he los
es a lot of other things as well.
‘How you doing today?’ I tried to clear my head and, especially, not glance down at his lap.
‘Still want a cigarette.’
‘And a hot nurse?’
‘Oh, I’ve had one of them,’ he laughed and I felt a momentary pulse of jealousy. ‘Yeah, she was in here a couple of afternoons ago. Sorted me out like you wouldn’t believe.’
Relief made me laugh a little too loud. ‘Well, if you’re lucky, she may come back.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘I wondered if she might have just been passing through. Trying out a revolutionary new treatment, maybe.’
‘No, I think she’s still around,’ I chuckled. ‘Especially if she thinks the treatment worked.’
‘Oh, it worked alright. In fact, I’ve barely thought about anything else since she was here.’
I kissed him on the cheek; paused a moment, and then again on the mouth. His lips parted a little and our tongues touched. ‘I’d forgotten how great you taste,’ he murmured and I couldn’t help thinking, if he wasn’t almost completely immobile, right now is when he’d be throwing me onto my back, my legs wrapped around his neck, and diving down to discover where else I can be tasted. A shiver ran down my spine. Mark ate pussy like other men watch football games, throwing himself in heart and soul, and making it last all night. And I always hoped it would.
Well, he wouldn’t be doing that for a while; unless, of course … but no. I put that thought – you could always sit on his face – out of my head immediately. Instead, I broke the kiss and, checking once more for any unwelcome visitors, I pushed my hand under the covers. Contact.
Between the Sheets Page 2