From anyone else, it would have been bitchy, but from her it was totally sweet. Peter forced a smile and managed a half-shrug.
‘I’m fine. Sarah’s just cutting back the codeine, that’s all.’
‘And how is the lovely Sarah tonight,’ Ben asked, setting a bag of Chinese take-out on the neatly organised desk.
Peter scanned Michaela’s body from the lovely peaks of her breasts to the extravagant length of her legs while Ben moved to stand beside her with his hip against her chair. Suddenly, Peter felt the whisper of something he hadn’t felt in months. Not so much a stirring, but the hint of a stirring. It was enough to make it worth the risk.
Michaela cleared her throat as Peter eyed the curve of her collarbone. ‘Peter? You there? Ben just asked about Sarah ...’
Peter shook his head and found Michaela’s face.
‘Sarah ... right. It’s Sarah’s night off. She said she was going out.’
‘That’s too bad. She’s pretty,’ she said with a wink. Ben rolled his eyes.
‘Come on, like you haven’t noticed. If Peter weren’t recovering, you two would be waging war.’
Ben shook his head. ‘Pretty though she is, she’s not my type.’
‘Since when do you have a type?’
‘Since now.’
Ben pushed off her chair and prowled around the room while Michaela shook loose her hair. Her fingers combing those long, dark waves and Ben’s obvious restlessness brought the whisper back to Peter’s groin, a little stronger this time. He listened to them banter, watched their physical ease, appreciated, not for the first time, how unusually good-looking they were. Remembering what Dr Bradley had said, Peter opened his mouth. He had no idea what he was going to say, he just knew he had to say it before he changed his mind.
‘Hey, guys? I have a request.’
Michaela smiled. ‘Sure – you’re the guy stuck in bed. Just don’t ask to borrow my underwear again.’
An awkward silence followed as Peter tried to figure out what he wanted to say. Finally, Ben rolled his shoulders and leant against the desk.
‘Seriously, Pete. What is it?’ he said. ‘Do you need a kidney? Because I’m sure Michaela would loan you one ...’
‘No,’ Peter said, ‘it’s nothing like that. This is just going to sound really ... odd.’
Michaela, who had a surprisingly tender heart for someone who looked like a Russian spy, leant over and took his hand.
‘Just tell us, Peter. It can’t be that bad ...’
Peter took a breath. ‘OK. I need you to fuck each other. And I need you to let me watch.’
Michaela opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Ben tactfully stepped in.
‘I’m sorry, you need us to what?’
Peter almost wished he could take the words back, but the looks on their faces clearly said there was nothing to do but press on. ‘I need you to fuck each other, and I need you to let me watch.’
Michaela cleared her throat. ‘And why would we do that?’
Peter recognised her tone, the incredibly reasonable tone that preceded her getting incredibly mad.
‘Wait. Just hear me out.’
Michaela crossed her arms as Ben lounged in a chair, but not, Peter noticed, before his eyes ran up Michaela’s long, long legs. Maybe there was some hope.
‘Since the accident, I haven’t ... my sex drive has dropped to zero. It’s not just that I can’t get it up, it’s that I don’t even want to.’ Peter paused, both humiliated and relieved to finally tell his friends. ‘I’ve tried everything and nothing’s worked – porn, fantasies; I can’t even jack off. But I remembered that night in college, and now, watching the two of you together ... it’s the first time I’ve felt anything in months. I just need to see if I’m ... if I’m ever going to get it back.’
‘I’m sorry, Peter,’ Michaela said. ‘I had no idea.’
Peter looked at Michaela, instinctively aware that Ben hadn’t taken his eyes off her. Finally, Ben spoke up. ‘I understand what you’re saying, but I need to talk to Michaela alone.’
Peter nodded. ‘Of course.’
Ben stood up and waited for Michaela at the door. Then they slipped out of the room. Peter knew they could refuse his request. He knew they probably should – what he’d asked them to do crossed about two dozen lines – lines that had kept the three of them close and uncomplicated for nearly 15 years. Still, he had to hope. The whisper of interest that had quickened his groin became something close to a hum. Peter strained his ears. He’d just managed to catch murmurs from the other room when the murmurs suddenly stopped. A long moment later, Ben and Michaela came back in.
Ben looked serious. Michaela looked flushed but calm. Then without saying anything, Ben pulled Michaela into his arms. He kissed her, lightly, playfully at first. Then his tongue slipped into her mouth and she sank her body into his. Peter tensed, floored by the fact that they were going to do what he’d asked.
Ben’s hands skimmed the length of her body, settling just beneath her breasts, just close enough to brush the undersides with his thumbs. Michaela arched her back, a subtle, instinctive response that had Ben wrapping his hands in her hair. Peter watched them move as if it was what they were meant to do, as if all the years of their friendship should have been spent like that. When Michaela began to sway against Ben, Peter was very officially on his way to his first erection in months.
Ben lifted his head and unzipped her dress, dropping hot, wet kisses down her neck along the way. Michaela tugged at his shirt, but he stayed focused on her face, watching her dark, hungry eyes as her dress slipped to the floor to reveal her gauzy bra and gauzier panties and just about everything else. She’d only just gotten Ben’s shirt off when his hand dipped below her lacy waistline and began to stroke her sex. She gripped his neck and moaned.
Peter watched, fascinated, as Ben brought Michaela right up to the edge, cradling her close as she moved against his hand. Suddenly, she cried out and Ben lowered his head, swallowing the sound with a kiss. A moment later, she opened her eyes. Peter watched Michaela look up at Ben as a profoundly sweet softness lit up her face. Then she gave him a drowsy smile and sank down to her knees.
Ben leant back, bracing his weight against the desk as she worked him out of his jeans. Then Michaela angled her neck, giving Peter an unobstructed view as she kissed the pearly drops of moisture from Ben’s fully hardened cock. Both men held their breaths. Then, with a distinctly feline smile, she took him down her throat.
Peter knew that his cock was hard – really hard – and that he was stroking it like a friend. He didn’t, however, know that Sarah had come home until she was standing near the bed.
‘Here, let me.’
Peter looked up and flushed. He hadn’t heard her come in (apparently, neither had Ben and Michaela, or if they had they didn’t care). Peter’s hand slowed to a stop. He was about to start apologising, when Sarah shook her head.
‘Don’t,’ she whispered. ‘You don’t need to explain.’
After warming a bit of lotion in her lovely hands, Sarah stroked him once, from base to tip as Peter groaned. Then she expertly went to work. Meanwhile, Ben, who’d been testing the limits of his control, dragged Michaela into his arms.
He laid the long, lush length of her down across the desk, as bottles, papers and a bag of take-out abruptly hit the floor. Peter, caught between Sarah’s glorious hands and the sheer hotness of his friends, watched Michaela wrap her legs around Ben’s waist and press her body into his. Sarah murmured something he couldn’t quite hear, as she looked appreciatively on.
The muscles in Ben’s back tensed and bunched as he lowered his mouth to Michaela’s breast, sucking hard at the nipple through the barrier of her bra. She moaned and threw back her head, as if the sounds were getting pulled from somewhere deep within her lungs. She was panting by the time Ben raised her hips and slid off her panties.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Ben ground out. ‘Tell me you’ve got condoms somewhere in this room.’
‘Here,’ Sarah said, tossing him one from the bedside drawer without losing the rhythm with her hand. Ben caught it, barely registering Sarah’s presence as Michaela tore open the wrapper and took the length of him in her hand.
‘Ben, hurry. Please,’ she whispered, arching her hips after quickly sliding it on. Ben kissed her, and thrust in.
Peter listened with half an ear as Ben’s breathing went ragged and Michaela mewled in relief. Then Ben began to move, thrusting deep. Sarah watched them for a moment, then matched her pace to his. Peter’s own hips, immobile for so long, began to move.
‘Careful, Peter,’ Sarah whispered. ‘Not too much. I’ll take care of you.’
‘Sarah, I need to feel you,’ he said, barely hearing himself over the rush of his pulse.
‘All right,’ Sarah said with a smile. ‘Just hold on a sec.’ Then she leant over and kissed Peter gently on the mouth before stepping away. He watched her strip out of her winter coat and her boots and practical tights, before she climbed carefully onto the bed.
‘You can touch me, Peter, but anything more will have to wait.’
Peter, who would have sacrificed an arm just to feel her creamy skin, nodded his assent. When her delicious weight had pinned him, he pushed her skirt up around her hips, revealing her thatch of auburn curls. She reached for the lotion, pressing her sex against his cock. She gasped and nearly dropped the bottle when he found her heat and stroked.
On the desk, Ben and Michaela drove into each other as Sarah gently cradled Peter’s balls, never wavering once with the motion of her hand. Peter closed his eyes. He was harder than he could ever remember being, absolutely ready to come, but she was drawing it out, letting him enjoy, waiting for Ben and Michaela to come. But Peter, now intensely focused on Sarah, wanted to see her come first.
He placed one hand on her hip to steady her. Then he slid his fingers into the heat of her slick, ready cunt. She arched her back and sighed. Peter paused and let her get used to him before he began to move, stroking the internal length of her clit while his thumb circled the swollen nub. She whimpered and jerked her hips, but even as she toppled over the edge, she stroked his cock, matching her movements to his. Peter grit his teeth as Sarah’s body clenched around his hand. He wanted to wait for Ben and Michaela. Luckily, he didn’t have to wait long.
Moments later, Michaela cried out, clutching hard at Ben’s back. The second she started to climax, Ben let himself go and followed her over the edge. Then, as if she’d known what he’d wanted all along, Sarah pressed the base of Peter’s cock, gently massaging his prostate through his thin, sensitive skin. Peter closed his eyes and came in one massive gush.
When Peter opened his eyes, Ben held Michaela in his arms.
‘Hello, Sarah,’ Michaela said, as if they were meeting each other for tea. ‘How’ve you been?’
‘Not bad. How are you?’
Peter looked up at Sarah’s pretty, flushed face and manfully cleared his throat. ‘Sarah came home early.’
Ben lifted a brow, managing, somehow, to look both sleek and ridiculous, bent naked, over a desk.
‘Yes. Lucky for you that she did.’
‘Lucky for us both.’ Sarah leant in and gave Peter a scorching kiss. ‘I’ve been wanting to get my hands on him for ages.’
Michaela grinned.
‘I think we should probably go.’
Peter watched Ben help Michaela down, then draw her close. Even rumpled and post-coital, they looked absolutely hot.
‘Satisfied, Pete?’ Michaela asked.
Peter looked at Ben and Michaela, then at Sarah, who had folded herself up on the bed. ‘Yes. I’m satisfied.’
‘Good. Always glad to help. Ben, will you drive me home?’
Ben looked down at her, a thousand things playing over his face. ‘I don’t know ...’ he said, softly.
‘Ben, will you drive me home so we can do unspeakable things all night?’
‘Well, then yes. Of course.’
Ben and Michaela gathered their things and dressed in under five minutes, stopping only long enough to pick the food up off the floor.
‘Here you two – dinner ... maybe for later,’ Michaela said, as Sarah pressed her adorable mouth down the length of Peter’s throat. Peter waved and watched them leave. Then he settled down to thanking Sarah for helping him to recover.
Saturday Night Takeaway
by Josephine Myles
It was a Saturday night in a dingy pub in Bristol when I first realised my boyfriend had the hots for another man.
It was our new local, and we didn’t know many people in Bristol yet. That’s why I’d been thrilled to see Rob returning from the bar with a bloke in tow. He doesn’t usually make friends as easily as I do, see, so it was wonderful to see him chatting so merrily. I admit, I couldn’t follow exactly what they were on about as I had no idea who this Isherwood fella was, but I nodded, smiled, and amused myself studying Phil. He’d said, in his sexy, rumbling voice, that he was an English teacher at the sixth-form college. You wouldn’t think it to look at him, all kitted out in leather and studs, with a ring through his nose, but I reckon his students must have loved him. He had twinkling eyes and a wicked smile, and Rob seemed to be hanging on his every word.
It was when I returned from a trip to the bar, clutching my three pints, that I realised what was going on. Rob and Phil were both sitting on the same bench, talking. Not so suspicious, I hear you say, but it was that daft expression on Rob’s face that gave him away. It’s the same one he uses on me when he’s had a few too many and he wants to get into my knickers. I don’t put up much of a fight, mind you, but then I’ve never seen the point in playing hard to get. I’ve always been a straightforward sort of girl, and if I want something, I ask for it; you know?
Take Rob, for instance. I’d first met him when he was a regular customer in the café where I used to work. It took me a couple of weeks to realise that the bashful Waterstones employee was a real cutie, all dark hair, trim goatee, big brown eyes and soulful gazes. OK, so he had his head buried in a book most of the time, but I caught him checking me out when he thought I couldn’t see him. Bless; he never did figure out that I was watching him in the mirrors. I loved the way he pronounced my name when he ordered as well, sounding out each syllable in Bethany like it was something special, and not just some weird, old-fashioned name I inherited from my great grandmother.
I began to wonder if it was the tattoos and Goth clothing that were scaring him off, but I certainly wasn’t willing to change my style for anyone, no matter how much I fancied them. In the end, I figured it would have to be me who struck up a conversation, so I asked him what he was reading. I reckon he was pretty shocked I’d even heard of George Orwell, let alone read Animal Farm, but like I told him, I was taking an English Lit module as part of my Access to Higher Education evening classes. I was going to get to uni if it fucking well killed me. He laughed when I said that, a warm, mellow sound that made me want to kiss him there and then. Instead, I asked him to meet me for a drink after work; and the rest, as they say, is history.
There we were, then; 18 months later, having moved to Bristol so I could take my degree in social work. Rob still hadn’t found himself a job in publishing like he wanted to, but he was working in another bookshop – an independent this time – so he was pretty happy with his lot. We had this nice little flat over the shops in Montpelier and things were going great. They were even getting better in the sack. Rob had worked up the courage to tell me what he really wanted in bed, and I’m telling you, you’d never think it to look at him, but that boy’s a kinky bugger. Had me tie him to the bedstead and peg him with a strap-on the week before, and he’d been in fucking ecstasies. I practically creamed myself just watching him thrashing and moaning beneath me. It was after that that he told me he thought he was bisexual. Fair play to him, I thought. Would never have guessed he might want to do something about it, though.
So, as you can imagine, I wasn’t exactly pi
ssed off when I saw Phil’s gaze lingering on Rob’s arse as he got up to go to the gents. No, I was more ... shall we say, intrigued? Oh, and excited. Definitely excited. Yeah, I figured this was a situation with potential. I mean, let’s face it, what red-blooded woman wouldn’t want to end up in bed with two gorgeous men?
I plonked the pints down on the table as gracefully as I was able, and flashed Phil a mischievous grin. He shifted uncomfortably and gave me a wary smile. I think he must have known I’d seen him flirting with my boyfriend, and was probably wondering why I was grinning like a madwoman. I sat next to him and slid closer, purring into his ear as I squeezed his thigh.
‘So, Phil, do you fancy coming back to our place later? We could get to know each other better.’
I had to stop myself laughing when he choked on his beer. Well, there’s nothing like the direct approach, is there? To his credit, he recovered pretty quickly, and gave me this searching gaze like he was trying to figure out exactly what my game was.
‘Bethany, darling, you do know I’m a friend of Dorothy, don’t you?’
I guessed she must be his girlfriend or something, but she wasn’t here, was she? ‘Well, I’m a generous girl and I’m willing to share Rob so long as I get to watch. I’m sure Dorothy can share you for one night.’
Phil stared at me for a moment then burst out in laughter. ‘I like the way you think, sweetheart. Well, maybe we can work something out, if Rob’s interested.’
‘Oh yeah, I can tell he is. He’s never been with a bloke, though, so we might have to persuade him.’
Phil licked his lips, and I watched the moisture glisten there.
‘Sounds good to me.’ His voice was rough, a little hoarse, and I wasn’t sure if it was an after-effect of the choking until I looked at his lap and saw a distinct bulge in his leather jeans.
Rob looked puzzled to find us sitting so closely together. I wondered for a moment if it was jealousy, but which one of us would he be feeling jealous of? I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, so I slid over on the bench and made room for him between me and Phil. Not much room, as it was a short bench, but that just made things extra cosy and interesting. Rob gave me a quizzical stare as he sat down, but I just smirked, and he got the same when he looked over at Phil. To be honest, I don’t blame the poor sod for gulping his pint down like he was dying of thirst; it wasn’t fair, having me and Phil ganging up on him like that.
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