by Selena Kitt
She grabbed his ears and shoved her hips up, moaning loudly as she began to grind her hips in circles. She was imagining it—her hands wrapped up in her friend’s long, red hair, Daphne’s tongue mashed against Carrie’s wet pussy, their breath hot, nipples hard, pussies soaking wet. Carrie imagined Daphne sitting on her face, the soft grind of her hips, the taste of pussy, oh, God, that taste in her mouth, down her throat...
“Make me come, Daphne!” she cried, bucking up against the lash of Doc’s tongue, all the while imagining her friend’s mouth against her clit. “Oh, fuck, make me come for you!”
Her orgasm hit like a bolt of lightning, the convulsions little shockwaves, her pussy clamping down against the thrust of his fingers again and again. She rode her climax off the edge of the bed, shivering and collapsing onto the floor next to her husband, letting him enfold her, kiss her, caress her, as she came back to reality.
“Such a good girl.” He kissed her cheek, her chin, getting up and lifting her onto the bed. “Why do you always deny yourself? You can have everything you want.”
She closed her eyes, shook her head, but he was kissing her open, his tongue probing, his cock hard against her hip. Somewhere along the way, his trousers had come off.
“You can’t have everything,” she murmured, letting him lift her dress over her head. “No one can have everything.”
“You can,” he assured her, taking her nipple into his mouth. The feeling sent heated waves of pleasure all through her body. “I’d give you anything. You know I would.”
She worked the buttons on his shirt—his suit coat and tie had disappeared, too, lost somewhere on the floor with his pants and boxers, she imagined—spreading it open so she could run her hands over his chest. He was so nicely built, and the fact that he took advantage of the gym at the hospital whenever he got a break—to relax, he said—didn’t hurt.
That made her remember what Daphne said about already finding the best husband in the world. The fact was, she had. But he was perfect for her, not for everyone else. And did she really want to share him?
“You could make it happen, you know.” He peeled his shirt off and moved to her other nipple, tracing lazy circles.
She let her fingers glide through his dark curls. “You mean... me and Daphne?”
“You and Daphne,” he agreed, nipping at her, making her squeak in high-pitched surprise. “You, me and Daphne. Whatever you wanted.”
She looked at him thoughtfully. “What if I don’t want it?”
“I think you do.” He reminded her by spreading her legs and sliding his cock against her soaked cleft, her cum still wetting her thighs where she’d been imagining her best friend getting her off just moments before.
“It’s a nice fantasy, I admit.” She smiled, feeling his cock swelling, the head of it pressed against her opening. “But reality might be disappointing. Look what happened with Maureen.”
He shifted his hips and slid inside her. “We had a good time until she decided to get religion.”
“She made a commitment to her husband, remember?” She wrapped her legs and arms around him, going for an easy, gentle ride as he began to move.
“But if her husband had said, hey, it’s okay if you and your girlfriend play around, what then?” he asked, his breathing coming faster in her ear.
“The real world doesn’t work that way.”
He poised himself above her, his eyes searching hers. “We get to define the real world. Our world. Any way we want.”
“I’m just scared of what might happen,” she confessed, rocking up against his cock.
“Then we don’t have to do anything.” He kissed the tip of her nose, beginning to fuck her again. “We can just fantasize about it. Which is almost as much fun.”
She smiled, closing her eyes. “Almost.”
“Where do you want her?” He pushed her legs back, kneeling up between them. “How about down here, licking your little clit?”
“I want her straddling my face.” Carrie threw her arms over her head, giving into the fantasy, no longer as threatened by the possible dangers of reality. “I want to wrap my arms around her hips and bury my face in her wet little pussy.”
“Mmmm that’s my girl.” He moved faster, driving his cock in to the hilt. “I’d love to watch you eat her out.”
“And you could kiss her,” she offered, opening her eyes to look at him, imagining it all—her friend’s hips rocking on her face, Doc’s hands on Daphne’s big breasts, thumbing her nipples, sucking her tongue into his mouth. “And touch her and play...”
“Oh, God.” He groaned, just as into the fantasy as she was. “I want to suck those gorgeous tits.”
“After I made her come all over my face...” She smiled at her husband’s expression. Just the thought of Daphne’s climax had him going. “She could put her pussy down by mine,” she suggested, her fingers moving to her clit, the ache there growing unbearable again. “Lay on top of me, so you could play with her tits while you fucked me...”
“Yeah, oh, yeah!” His hand found her breast, squeezing hard, his cock making wet noises in her pussy as he fucked her.
“And then you could fuck her, too,” she whispered, her fingers brushing the base of his cock as he plunged deep inside. “Her, then me, then her... which one of us feels better?”
He groaned, shaking his head, already torn at the thought of making such an impossible decision.
“I want you to come all over us, Doc,” she insisted, her pussy blooming with pleasure. “Come all over our hot... pink... wet... cunts.”
He gave up, growling and reaching down to grab his cock, tearing it out of her and pumping it in his fist against her frantically rubbing fingers.
“Yeah! Yeah! Oh, fuck yeah!” He gritted his teeth and thrust one last time, cum exploding from his cock, all over her clit. She came the instant she felt the first fiery blast, felt it flooding her pussy, dripping down her crevice. Her climax shook them both, her thighs quivering as she came, her hips bucking up to catch more of his cum, the second eruption rising over her belly, splashing her navel.
She smiled dreamily, reaching down and running a finger through his cum, then lifting it to her mouth, sucking it off. He watched her with dark, lustful eyes.
“If that was Daphne’s belly, I’d get down and lick her all clean,” she informed him, smiling as he collapsed next to her on the bed with a tortured moan.
“Enough, I can’t take anymore.” He threw a leg over hers and pulled her close. “You’re killing me.”
She knew just what he wanted, what he liked. And he wanted Daphne—maybe more than she did. Maybe. But she knew better than to open Pandora’s box. The fantasy was good.
Just as good.
Almost as good.
That was enough.
Wasn’t it?
* * * *
“Hewwo?” Carrie’s tongue felt too big for her mouth as she grabbed for and answered the phone, head throbbing. She closed her eyes against the brightness of the sun slanting through the blinds, turning toward the wall and taking the phone with her.
“Carrie? Is that you?”
She tried to gather saliva in her mouth so she could speak more clearly. “Hi Nan.”
It was her mother-in-law.
Of course it was.
“Are you sick, dear?”
Ah, the perfect excuse. “Just a little bug.”
“I’m sorry to wake you, but I thought noon would be late enough to call.”
“It’s fine, I was just napping.” Sleeping like the dead was more like it, but why quibble?
Doc snored beside her and she nudged him, shushing his groan as he opened his eyes.
“Your mother,” she mouthed.
“I was just calling about Christmas,” Nan went on.
“Mmm-hmm.” It was safer not to try and use any vowels.
“Chuck and I sent you tickets. I just want to make sure they don’t get lost in the mail. I overnighted them.”
“O
h.” Carrie rubbed her aching eyes. They had talked about Key West, but they hadn’t made any decisions. Apparently, Nan had made the decision for them.
“Is Stephen there?” Nan was the only one who ever called Doc by his given name. Even his father called him “Doc.”
“Hold on.” It was far easier to hand Nan over to her son.
He tried to push the phone away, but Carrie wouldn’t let him, forcing it to his ear.
“Hi, Mom.” His voice was far clearer than her own. “What’s up?”
Carrie pulled her pillow over her head, listening to him “mm-hmm” his mother until the end of the conversation.
“Okay, Mom, sounds good. Love you, too. Bye.” Doc dropped the phone on the bed with a groan and Carrie scrambled for it, hanging it up before her mother-in-law could listen in on their conversation. She loved Nan, but she knew better than to share everything with her. Hangovers didn’t go over too well with parents, even when the children were technically adults.
“Let me guess.” Carrie shoved her head back under her pillow. “We’re going to Key West?”
“Don’t you want to go?”
She sighed. “Oh, I don’t know...”
“I think it will be good for us.” Doc’s hand moved over his wife’s lower back, massaging.
She poked her head out, opening one eye. “Do you?”
“We need a vacation.” He smiled, sliding his hand over the curve of her behind. “Maybe we can recharge our batteries.”
“Are yours so weak?” she teased.
“Let’s find out.” He slipped his hand between her legs, seeking heat.
She scissored her legs closed, groaning. “Oh, God, no, I can’t even think about it. My head is swimming.”
Doc chuckled. “You can thank the tequila.”
“I’m going to stay in bed all day.” She grabbed for the comforter, curling onto her side and settling in.
“Can’t,” Doc said regretfully. “We promised Wilson we would go get a tattoo with him today, remember?”
“Today!” She covered her eyes with her hand, shaking her head, which was a mistake, because her brain rattled around inside her skull, sending sharp pains down her neck.
He laughed, getting out of bed. “Well I didn’t know you were going to be hung over, or I’d have rescheduled.”
“Oh, God, Doc, I can’t possibly.” She peeked out at him, pleading.
“I’ll make you my hangover special.” He sat next to her on the edge and kissed her cheek.
“It will make me puke.”
“Yep.” He grinned. “You’ll either puke or be cured. Either way, you’ll feel better.”
* * * *
“Chicken.” Doc poked Carrie in the ribs but she shook her head stubbornly, crossing her arms and watching as Wilson’s left bicep bloomed with blood and ink. The image was taking form, a serpent wrapping around his arm, over his shoulder, and across his back. He’d had work done on it before and this was the final visit.
“So I changed my mind. It’s a woman’s prerogative, isn’t it?”
She sat on one of the stools, too tired to keep standing. Her head had finally cleared, after Doc made her drink a horrible concoction—whiskey, coffee, Tabasco sauce, a raw egg and cracked pepper, mixed in a glass of orange juice—and as she’d predicted, she had thrown it up. But then she’d felt a little better, especially after four Advil and about a gallon of water. But she still had that residual kind of haze in her head, like it was wrapped in gauze.
“You said you were gonna get my name tattooed over your heart.” Doc poked her again, this time in the chest, and Carrie stuck her tongue out at him.
“A tattoo is forever,” Wilson reminded them, smiling at their banter.
“Which is why it’s not such a good idea to get anyone’s name tattooed anywhere.” The tattoo artist had clearly gone against his own advice—he had three names in a connecting heart on his forearm. But he explained that away almost immediately. “Unless it’s your kids, of course.” He pointed to his arm. “Three girls.”
“Well I know I’ll be yours forever.” Doc wrapped his arms around Carrie’s waist and kissed her cheek. “I have no qualms about getting your name tattooed on my body.”
“You could get it tattooed on your dick,” Wilson joked. “Then no one would ever see it but Carrie. In theory, anyway.”
Carrie’s eyes widened as she glanced back at her husband. “I’d better be the only one to see it!”
“I’ve done cock tattoos,” the tattoo artist said, smiling up at her. His name was Brad and he was far more tattooed than Wilson, tendrils of black tribal marks snaking up his neck under his black t-shirt. At least you couldn’t see Wilson’s when he had street clothes on.
Carrie stared at him, a little shocked. “But... don’t they have to... you know... have an erection...?”
“At the beginning, yeah.” Brad winked at her, rubbing his chin with the back of his gloved hand. “We put a stencil on when it’s erect and then we can stretch the skin after that. Although the closer we get to the head of the cock, the more likely a guy is to stay hard.”
She blinked at him, his meaning finally dawning on her. “It feels... good?”
“Yeah.” Wilson nodded, agreeing. “It hurts soooo good.”
“You’re kidding me.” Carrie turned to him, her mouth agape.
Doc laughed. “You’ve got a tattoo on your dick?”
“What is it of?” Carrie couldn’t help asking.
“You wanna see?” Wilson reached for his belt buckle.
“Whoa there!” Doc punched him lightly on the shoulder. “We just crossed the line into too much information.”
Wilson settled back in his chair and Brad went back to work, but Carrie couldn’t help sneaking glances down at the zipper on his jeans, far too curious for her own good.
“So what are you gonna get, Doc?” Wilson looked back over his shoulder at the job the tattoo artist was doing.
“I don’t know for sure.” Doc shrugged, glancing at her. “I was thinking about—”
Carrie made a face when his beeper went off. That was never a good thing, never.
Doc swore, checking the number. He looked at her regretfully. “Babe...”
She sighed. “When is the emergency rotation over again?”
“After Christmas.”
“You should be on-call like I am for the OB rotation.” Wilson rolled his eyes. “It’s actually worse. I spent seventy-two hours at the hospital last week, and I think I slept about three of those.”
Doc nodded. “That’s next semester.”
“Great,” Carrie remarked sarcastically. “Something to look forward to.”
Doc was already pulling on his coat. “Hey, can you take Carrie home for me?”
“Sure,” his friend agreed. “No problem.”
“How long will you be?” Carrie put her arms around her husband for a kiss.
He gave her what she was looking for, far too briefly. “I’ll call you.”
She pouted. “We were supposed to have dinner.”
“You can still have Mexican delivered. Save some for me.” He kissed her again and then let her go. When he got to the door, he turned back and called out, as if just remembering, “And hey—no showing off cock tattoos.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “Maybe I’ll get a vulva tattoo.”
“No you won’t.” He laughed. “Chicken.”
“Call me!” She waved as he pushed the door open.
“I will.” The bell tinkled as the door closed behind him.
Carrie sighed and took a seat next to the tattoo artist, watching his progress. They were the only ones in the shop.
Wilson saw the look on her face and nudged her with the tip of his combat boots. “Well, Tonto, I guess it’s just you and me.”
She smiled wanly. “Heigh-ho, Silver.”
They hadn’t spent much time together without Doc, so it was a little awkward at first, but by the time his tattoo was finished and B
rad was greasing it up with Vaseline, they were talking everything from tattoos to their favorite television shows and laughing like old friends. She was surprised how easy he was to talk to.
“Are you suuuuure you don’t want to get a tattoo?” Wilson nudged her as he pulled out his wallet to pay for his new body art. “Last chance. You could get a lower back tattoo. Doc would love it.”
“Nope.” Carrie shook her head, adamant. “Not me. If they could do it without needles, I’d be all in, but I’m not into that pain thing.”
“You can do a temporary, see what it looks like. Just try it out.” Brad reached under the counter, pulling out a stack of temporary tattoos. “Look through, see if you find anything you like.”
Carrie frowned, pawing through them. “How do they go on?”
“Just warm water and a washcloth,” Wilson reassured her.
“No needles,” Brad agreed. “That one would look hot on your lower back.”
It was a Celtic knot design, twisty and winding and sexy. She imagined Doc’s reaction when she showed it to him—pretending, of course, that it was real, that she’d been brave enough to go through with it. It would be a fantastic joke.
“Okay, I’ll do it. How much?”
“For you?” Brad glanced at Wilson and smirked. “Free. Come here.”
Brad came around behind the counter and led her to the back, Wilson following behind. He wet a washcloth with hot water, instructing Carrie to lie down on what looked like a massage table.
“Undo your pants,” he instructed.
She looked back at him, wide-eyed.
“You want it on your lower back, right?”
Wilson grinned, watching as Carrie undid her jeans, inching them down her hips so they could both see the black triangle of the thong she was wearing.
“Perfect.” Brad pressed the temporary tattoo to her back, applying the warm washcloth, which actually felt really good. “Now just hold still for a few minutes.”
“How long before it wears off?” She twisted, trying to see, but it was no use.
“A few days.” Brad lifted the edge to check it. “If you want it to come off before then, just rub it down with baby oil or vegetable oil.”
“Oh, man, Doc is going to have a fabulous time doing that,” Wilson muttered, his gaze never leaving her ass.