The Irishman: Naughty To Do List

by Mariah V Fox

  “Come with me,” he manages, fighting for air as he lifts my hips from him.

  There is no way to describe the absence I feel when his magic wand is no longer inside me. It’s a void that has my nether regions thumping. Luckily, Finn helps me pull up my jeans before practically dragging me to the restroom right behind us.

  “Out,” he hollers, causing a room full of men to scramble what feels like mid-stream as he rips my bodysuit off over my head. He stares at my breasts as he struggles to unzip his jeans over his massive erection, watching them heave with need.

  I have never wanted anything so badly in my life, still, I’m unable to move to do anything to help him in this endeavor. I might as well be frozen in place. I can’t fumble with my own zipper, or pull his cock from his, I just stand here like a deer caught in the headlights.

  I’m panting, I can hear myself wheezing as I stand here silently not moving. I can’t feel my feet. Or my hands. Or any part of my body that isn’t between my legs. I’m numb as I watch the Irishman drop trou and see his manhood bounce to a stop in front of me.

  As if making up for lost time, my mind snaps to attention and I move at warp speed, stepping out of my heels and jeans before I’ve even realized that I’ve pulled them down. He doesn’t give me a chance to remove them completely before he tugs me into a stall, not bothering to close the door, even though we both know it will only be a matter of seconds before we have an audience of 200. We don’t have time for that.

  He slides into me with such ease that I have to wonder if I removed my panties with my pants. I don’t remember doing it but… Wait, no. There they are, digging into my hip. He pushed them to the side. He was so fucking hasty in needing to get inside me that he simply moved my underwear to the side so he could enter me.

  “Fuck.” I hear it come out like a squeak as he pounds me against the side of the stall, hands fumbling for the top of the metal divider as I try to keep my balance around him.

  I squeal when my hands make contact with something, another hand, and a wedding ring. Elliot’s hand. I grip it tight, holding on for dear life as Finn punishes my pussy.

  “You are the god damn hottest woman I have ever met, Brooke. Fuck. You are a bloody good time.”

  I don’t answer, instead choosing to use my last bits of energy to grip my thighs around him, jeans dangling from my left ankle and bouncing around wildly.

  His dick eases in and out of me with the wetness he created, head of his fat cock rubbing deliciously off spots that make my eyes roll back in my head.

  I’m seeing stars, all sounds muffled like I’m going to faint at any second. Wouldn’t that be a sight? People would get the wrong idea, Finn would be arrested and I’d have no choice but to bail him out and fly with him to Vancouver, then apologize to Aaron Callahan myself. The two of them would have absolutely no chance at resisting me and I’d end up spit roasted between their massive cocks while Elliot videotapes the whole thing. Too dramatic? I don’t think so.

  “I’m going to cum again,” I whimper, both hands slung over the stall, fingers clutching Elliot’s left hand. I can’t see him but I’m certain I know what his right hand is doing. If he hasn’t already showered his side of the stall in white pudding, he’s going to at any second.

  Finn doesn’t let up, balls slapping off me with every punishing thrust.

  “Seriously, I’m going to blow at any second here, Finn. Any second.”

  He doesn’t stop, knowing he can keep going as long as he wants to prolong it.

  This is too hot. If I were the man in this encounter, I would have blown three loads by now and been wheezing on the ground. Instead, Finn has the sexual stamina of a boy who pulls on his winkie too much and can’t get off unless it’s his hand doing the deed.

  Out of nowhere he growls, hands gripping my ass so tight that it’s going to hurt to sit.

  “I want him to watch you cum,” he grunts in this menacing tone that finally lets on to how overstimulated he is. I know him just well enough to know that he’s a pretty easygoing guy, likes to laugh and have a good time. He doesn’t get aggressive but that’s exactly what he is right now. “I want him to see you come apart on my flute. He needs to see how fucking sexy you are right now.”

  Finn doesn’t look surprised when Elliot appears outside the stall we’re occupying, not bothering to put his dick back in his pants. It would be useless anyway, those babies are so skintight that there is no way they’d be able to envelop the erection that is so hard it’s pointed higher than straight out.

  My husband has never been more turned on. Not just hearing us but seeing us, feeling my hand over the divider as every inch of my body starts to clam up. It’s been a long time since Elliot and I fucked in a bar bathroom. We’ve christened every inch of our apartment, all seats in our SUV, every car on the T late at night, but never a grungy bathroom with a flickering overhead light and mountains of paper towels overflowing the trash can.

  “Your wife is so fucking hot. How do you ever let her out of your sight?”

  Impossibly, his dick grows harder inside me, I can feel it filling even more of me as he fights to hold me upright. It’s suddenly hard to keep our balance on his shaky knees and I feel myself sliding down the stall wall.

  “I would be fucking her all day and night. She’d never be able to walk upright.” He grunts as he pulls my legs higher around him. I’m growing impatient with this slow pace, slow enough the imminent danger of me cumming has passed. I think that was his intention, but it doesn’t make me particularly happy to say the least.

  “I’m gonna need you to fuck me now, Finn. You want him to see me cum then you better make me.”

  He slams me against the wall just outside of the stall door, grinding me against it until the bricks rub my skin raw. I don’t care. With every last ounce of energy I have, I grip one knee to my chest, making the already tight fit in my pussy even tighter.

  “That’s what I’m talking about. Shit, Finn. Oh my God. You feel so good. Mmmmm. Mmmm.” I get louder and louder, unable to control myself as he pounds me. “Fuck me harder,” I scream. “Shit, Finn.”

  There’s a banging on the door but it’s overpowered by the sound of the trash can below my foot getting rammed every time Finn pounds into me.

  “More,” I shriek. “I fucking want more. Make me cum.”

  The pounding grows more urgent, both at the door and inside my pussy. I’m not going to last much longer and there’s no better feeling in the world than knowing that two men’s pleasure depends on mine.

  Elliot hasn’t removed his eyes from me as I take the thrashing of my life. It’s invigorating and draining at the same time. I’m going to sleep like a baby tonight, spent, wasted, unable to pull myself out of this daydream long enough to be able to do anything other than crash under my blankies. I’ll be lucky if I can get my clothes off before I fall asleep.

  My tits have fallen out of my bra at this point and I can’t help but go for them as both men look on. They can’t actually see each other and it’s a good thing, judging by the mutual look of satisfaction spread across their faces. They would laugh if they could see how identical they look, even with their completely opposite physical features. Elliot is more soft, rounded, small eyes and baby face under his ever present five o’clock shadow. Finn, on the other hand is hard and chiseled, strong jawline, light eyes and mussed up inky hair that constantly looks like it’s had a hand run through it.

  No one is surprised when my knee slips from my grasp and I once again find myself wrapping it around Finn’s slim waist. He doesn’t seem to mind as he runs his ribs along my smooth inner thighs, pressing deeper into me with each groan out of his mouth.

  “I’m gonna cum,” I declare, fighting to be heard over the banging on the door. “Elliot, I’m going to cum.”

  Neither man knows how to take it when my husband’s name slips out of my mouth. It’s a reflex but I would be lying if I said that I didn’t do it intentionally, even though it’s not him who is cur
rently fucking me to within an inch of my life.

  “Let go, Brooksey,” comes my husband’s holler from across the room. “Let him make you cum.”

  That’s all the encouragement I need and I feel a wave of pleasure drowning my every inch.

  I’m gasping for air as my body convulses, slipping down the wall where my feet are not enough to support me. My body is like a vat of gelatin and no amount of willful urging is going to get it to cooperate enough to hold me up.

  Finn has no choice but to set me on the ground, pulling his impressive length from inside me with a disappointed groan. I fall to the floor, knees banging off the tile as my pants dangle behind me.

  My pussy is still out of my panties, lips swollen after the beating they took at the hands of Finn McCue. Okay, maybe hands is the wrong word in this case because it definitely wasn’t his hands that stretched my hole so wide that I can feel a breeze infiltrating my insides.

  With a sudden burst of energy that rushes over me, I do the only thing my mind can think of at a time like this and wrap both hands around Finn’s cock. It’s impossibly hard, firmer than I’ve ever felt. I tug on him, realizing, throughout this entire encounter, this is the first time I’ve been in control. This is the first time I laid eyes on his cock at all. It’s been buried deep inside me this whole time and I never got to marvel at how deliciously beautiful it is.

  I can’t help but bring it to my lips, pressing it against my closed mouth as I make him work to get it inside me. He needs the tight fit, needs it to feel as if he’s slipping it into my warm, wet pussy. I want that for him.

  I stare at him, mesmerized both by the size and the impressive hardness of the particular cock in my hand. How is it that my meat eater is still quivering and it’s been literal minutes since he’s been inside me? So long that the intense pounding on the door has subsided even though I still feel it in my kitty.

  “Are you… You’re uncut, aren’t you?” I ask shyly, making sure to catch his eyes as I blush. “I’ve never been with an uncircumcised guy before.”

  My Jewish husband giggles like a schoolboy.

  “How do I even do this?”

  Honestly, it doesn’t look much different. I’ve always heard that it’s pretty much impossible to tell when a dong is erect but, if you look closely enough, you can see the slight difference. I want to make sure I know what I’m doing before I dive in, given that I only have one chance to do this.

  He doesn’t have a chance to answer before I spout off at the mouth again. “Show me how to do it. Teach me.”

  I swear I see him quiver before me, knees shaking as I get as sweetly innocent as I can get. I give off that vibe anyway, I’m told. Big blue eyes, sweet innocent face. If it weren’t for the cup size I’m sporting under, and if we’re being honest here, over, this bright green bra I’m wearing, I would always be mistaken for an underage girl. Not in a pervy way, just stating facts. I look like I could be asking him to prom after I’m done fellating him and that’s precisely how I’m feeling right now.

  I’m completely out of my element. I can’t say I’ve had to ask for instructions on anything like this before, between a man and a woman. When I lost my virginity I just sort of knew what to do, despite being so sheltered that I legitimately thought a Ziploc bag would stand in for an actual condom. Of course, I’ve grown out of that phase. Ask any of the dozen dicks I’ve taken in the past nine months and they would happily tell you that I was, wait, well, don’t ask the dick itself, those don’t talk, you’d have to ask its owner, but they’d definitely tell you I was competent in the sack. More than competent. That makes me sound like I’m average when we know damn well that I am highly above average. If there was an honor roll of sex, I’d be on it.

  “Trust me, Brooke,” Finn says, pulling me out of my trance, “you do not need any teaching. But I can show you how I like it, if you’d like.”

  He’s suddenly shy, feeling exposed as two sets of eyes look on. Elliot’s not actively tugging on his winkie but God knows he will be as soon as the action starts back up again. I know him, it would be impossible for him not to.

  Finn wraps my hair on the nape of my neck between his hands, gently pulling me towards his erection. Pulling me so close to him that I miss his cock altogether and my head rests on his thigh.

  I can’t stop myself from rubbing my face along him, the whisper of his dick on my cheeks as I slide my skin up him so hard that my mouth pulls open. I don’t hold back when I want to press my tongue to his most sensitive spot, applying the gentlest pressure I can muster for the split second he allows me to. It’s quick but I see the reaction I bring out of him.

  His knees quake as he uses my face to caress himself. It’s sexy as hell, that the simple touch of my skin on his groin can make him feel this way, that he can use my body in a way it was never intended to bring him pleasure.

  He mutters obscenities when he draws my lips to him.

  I taste myself as I finally get him past my lips, salty and sweet all at once, almost overpowered by his musk. For the rest of the night, this bathroom is going to have the overpowering scent of sex etched in the air. No matter how far open the windows are thrown and how many cans of air freshener are sprayed, it’s still going to smell like the mix of Finn and me, a tinge of Elliot’s natural fragrance as well. It’s an insane thought, one that I can’t shake from my head as his dick slips deeper past my tongue.

  Truth be told, it’s not much different to please him than it is with any other guy. He’s gentler, keeping my lips focused on the tip rather than making me choke on him. I’m grateful. I probably already look a mess, and everyone is going to know what happened when they finally get past the locked and barricaded door, but at least I’ll come out looking good. There won’t be mascara streaked down my cheeks or lipstick halfway across my face.

  I turn my head to face my husband, crooking my finger and beckoning him to me. He looks surprised, both of them do. I didn’t expect it to be going down this way either. And I do mean going down, quite literally.

  “Right here,” I say, motioning to the sliver of space between the tiny window and the open stall.

  Elliot obeys my order. Hands still on his johnson, like he can’t stop himself from tugging it.

  “My turn?”

  “Mmmhmm, just for a second. Warn me before you let go.”

  With my left hand I stroke Finn’s impressive manhood, wedding rings sparkling under the fluorescent lights of this downtown bar bathroom. My right hand is busy gripping my husband’s balls while my mouth is wrapped around the tip.

  “Shit, Brooksey, that feels too good, I’m gonna…”

  “Already?” I flirt, pulling him from my mouth to place my lips back on Finn, turning my cheek to receive my husband’s load on my face.

  The Irishman isn’t far behind. The warm, salty liquid of his release filling my mouth without warning. Both men’s deposits seeping down my skin as I revel in it, like sunscreen in the desert. Or frosting on a wedding cake. Holy smokes have I been frosted.

  The looks on their faces say it all, they can’t believe this happened any more than I can. What the hell was I thinking? And why am I liking it so much?

  “Jesus Christ, woman, you’re positively covered in spunk. You like it that way, don’t you?”

  I nod and feel the globules land on my tits. “You bet I do.”

  With one swipe of my flattened palm, I’ve collected all the remnants of this encounter, dropping it back in my mouth, where it belongs.

  “Mmmm,” I sing through my smile, “they’re magically delicious.”

  A key turns in the lock and I find myself pulling up my pants as an almost reflex. Let’s face it, none of me is currently covered by these panties. The trash can that Elliot used as a barricade grinds against the floor as Finn tosses me his graphic tee. He noticed before I did that my poor lace bodysuit is now covered in the splooj of one or both of them.

  Looking in the mirror, I wipe the last of this St. Patrick’s Day’s fes
tivities off my face, twisting Finn’s oversized tee into a knot at my belly button. To any bystander, I’m just a woman fixing her makeup in the men’s room, both guys redressed and emerging from separate stalls like nothing happened, although one of them is now in a white tanktop undershirt. For all anyone knows, nothing did. I guess it will stay between me, my husband and the hung Irishman, Finn McCue.

  AVAILABLE NOW

  The Husband

  Chapter 1

  God, has he always smelled this good? His scent is exactly like it was in college so I know it’s not cologne or the fruity shampoo he keeps stealing from my side of the tub. It’s his skin, this warm, almost cinnamon spice that is distinctly Elliot. It makes me want a hot mug of apple cider even though it’s approximately two hundred degrees in this hot box apartment. And not just because Elliot’s making me all hot and bothered. Oh my God, who says that? Something must be wrong with me.

  Even before I see any sign of him, I know he’s in the apartment. My apartment, I guess. It’s strange thinking about it as mine and not ours. I miss his body next to me in the morning, the way he’d always roll over with a smile on his face and run his hands up my leg before he’d even uttered a word to me. The way his face scrunched up when he took his first sip of his pretentious pour over coffee. I swear he likes it more than when I hum It’s A Small World while squeezing both of his testicles in my mouth at once. The small world part is in reference to my mouth and not what goes in it though, I assure you.

  He’s sitting on the edge of the tub, separating his shampoo from my shampoo, his deodorant, still fully sealed, resting on his thigh. Do not even think about stealing my tuity fruity shampooie. I will sneak in through the bathroom window of your little studio mancave and… repossess… my…