Provocation Ch. 02

You should know, this whole series is a story about swinging. But it is a series by Publius68, so if you want or simply expect a lot of drama, revenge, and broken relationships, move on now. You won't enjoy this, and I don't want to waste your time. And as usual, it would be better to start with chapter one.

Oh, and if you hate slow burns, it might not be the series for you, either. The whole thing is one long, slow burn. But because it is also a story about contradictions, there is plenty of sex amidst all the slow burning...

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Provocation - Two

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Bro advice to men in relationships: Do not use a fictional honey-do list as an excuse to get out early from a social evening.

The night before, I had pled the need for sleep and avoiding a hangover to justify Gwen's and my intense need to ditch our friends almost two hours earlier than usual on a club night, so we could go home and boink each other's brains out.

Yes, we so boinked. In one of the most intense series of acts since we first became a couple, no less. We fucked repeatedly, and creatively for over an hour before we both fell asleep, so tired that we forgot to brush out teeth.

When we woke on Sunday morning, we noted the rather disastrous consequences of that omission on each other's breath, but we still immediately fell back into sex anyway.

Gwen laughed as I shied away after a quick kiss, but I didn't care. The great thing about boobies is, they can neither produce, nor sense morning breath. I bent lower over my love's delicious breasts, grasping my favorite, the left, and squeezing its firm handful to thrust up the nipple toward my face. I took but a moment to admire that splendid button, round, proud, and wrinkled at its base with desire, in full flower but a moment after we awoke. Then I clamped my lips around it and nursed hungrily.

I did not even have time to fully enjoy the first breast, much less start to devour the second, before she had pulled me over atop her and guided my cock into her depths. Sure, I had serious morning wood like I hadn't sported in a good while, but she was also already more than ready to take me, and that usually took more than I had done so far. What's the female equivalent of morning wood? Daybreak Damp?

When we finally crawled out of bed and dragged our weary asses to the kitchen for breakfast, Gwen suddenly laughed, "Nice ploy, claiming you had chores to do today to get us out of there last night."

"I thought so."

"It was unnecessary, though," she giggled. "Those three all knew exactly why we were so in a rush to get home!"

I started to object, but nah, it had been pretty obvious. Instead, I shrugged and ate some more eggs. "So, assuming your genitals need some recuperation time like mine, what do you want to do this afternoon?" I asked idly. "The new adventure film is out..."

"Sounds fun," Gwen replied, "but we can't. You have that whole honey-do list to get to work on, remember?"

"Huh? I do not have any projects on tap," I said firmly. "That is what made it such a great ploy."

Gwen laughed prettily. "Darling, when are you going to learn? I always have a honey-do list. I just don't always choose to bring it up." She smiled at me cutely. "Since your day is supposedly heavily scheduled with chores, you can start with cleaning the downspouts and getting the ranunculus bed we discussed planted."

"All that?" I yelped. "We haven't even bought the fucking ranunculus... es, ranunculi? that you want to plant, you know," I temporized.

"I know!" Gwen said, horrifyingly happily. "You get a free trip to Home Depot out of it. You always love that."

This was unfair. I do love going to Home Depot.

What?

I'm a suburban commando. Shut up.

"I don't have time to do all that today," I tried.

"Come on, baby," Gwen said, sliding into my lap and simultaneously biting into her English Muffin. "You can do it. If you do," she said, leaning in to croon in my ear, "when it is cocktail time tonight, I'll forego mine and just drink your cum while you have your Manhattan..."

There is a reason honey-do lists get done...

That said, had we had this conversation the week before, even with her dangling that reward, I'd have fought for the movie. There is a good chance that I'd have won.

But after the shit Gwen and I got up to to rile each other up last night? And the results of that riling since? She could have asked me to clean out the Augean Stables, and I'd have given it a go.

*

At 5:30, after some very brief cleansing of the day's dirt and sweat, I sank into my chair in our living room, a cold, pristine Manhattan on the table beside.

Instantly, Gwen came into the room, smiling. "See? You got it all done."

"I did," I smirked. Then I grumbled, "But I had to keep things brief at Home Depot to pull it off. I did not get nearly as much tool browsing time as I wanted."

"It didn't keep you from buying that... what was that green thing?"

"It's a multi-tool," I said haughtily. "You use it to... cut multiple things," I finished swiftly, not wanting to get into the various uses for a multi-tool, none of which I was that clear on. Gwen just smiled at me skeptically. "It uses the same batteries I already have for the saw and the drill," I added hotly. "That saves a lot of money."

"Regardless," she said, letting me off the hook, "I am soooo glad you succeeded, so I get to suck your cock."

"If I had failed, you could have chosen to console me," I tried.

"Oh, darling. It doesn't work like that. Once I lay down a marker, I have to stick to it every time. Precedent lives forever." Gwen is a paralegal...

I rolled my eyes. I also observed inwardly that my cock was not currently being sucked.

She saw my thought and laughed. "Well, I am very glad that precedent has been satisfied, so I can get my reward."

With that, she tugged her dark green, cotton knit shell up over her head. Nice. Even nicer, she had at some point ditched the bra that I had seen her put on that morning. Gwen's tits are not as big as I sometimes selfishly wish they were, but I don't wish that often because, damn, are they great as is.

For me, there is no better look for boobs than when a woman is pulling her shirt off, up over her head...

They still looked awesome as she swept her hands downward while sinking to her knees before me. Looking up, she crooned, "Enjoy your cocktail..." Her warm tits pressed against my bare knees as she made short work of the fly of my shorts. But instead of pulling them down, she just left them wide open, and tugged the waistband of my underwear down only enough to tuck it under my balls.

My cock waved free and firm, and I reflected how smart I had been to sponge around down there after I got done, before calling cocktail hour.

Gwen stroked my dick for a moment, idly intense. Then she looked up at my drink. "Let me just have a sip," she said.

I held my drink away and looked at her suspiciously. "You are going to drink half my cocktail, aren't you?" I asked.

She just looked at me, and I relented, lowering my hand so she could reach it. Gwen took a single, dainty sip and handed it back to me. "I have a different beverage in mind," she said, and started to lick my member.

Cocktail head was not a new or unique thing, though in the past it had been the result of me actually doing something major like helping a friend of hers move, or the time I had agreed to get up at 3:30 am to take her to the airport for a golf weekend with her friends to which I was not invited.

I loved the current state of affairs. I loved it even more as Gwen began to wrestle my cock with her tongue inside her mouth. My only tiny fret was whether this newly elevated state of horniness would be sustainable...

My lady shifted around on the floor between my legs, moving into a languid, comfy position, her lips never quite leaving my cock. Her breast rubbed electrically against my calf. She tugged my cock gently, and shifted it to point directly into her mouth in her new, relaxed posture. Then she stuck out her tongue and rolled it around my head slowly. After a brief clasp of her lips upon my tip, she proceeded to drag that agile tasting appendage up and around my length in the most agonizingly wonderful way.

I was just taking a sip of my cocktail when she suddenly lavished a firm, wet stroke of her tongue against my frenulum, and I gasped. I had to cough as I sucked a trace of the Manhattan down the wrong pipe.

Do not breathe high-proof cocktails.

But I controlled the cough swiftly. The wink she gave me, along with how she then maintained eye contact and slid me deep between her lips, made even my stinging throat forget about its problems.

Honestly, Gwen acted as if the whole, magnificent blowjob was for her enjoyment, not mine. When she was done, I did not even have the chance to offer to make her a Manhattan of her own and return the favor before she had headed off to the kitchen to make dinner.

I did eventually get my head between her thighs, after dessert. And once I was well into things, I can assure you that I was likewise down there for my own enjoyment!

*

On Wednesday, we got a call from Sammy. He had a date for Saturday and was begging off clubbing for the week. When we found out on Thursday that Deidre's mom had decided to extend her visit through the weekend, we called off things for the week as a group.

"On the one hand, we can go back to the jazz club on our own, without any bitching" I said. "A week off from hearing loss sounds wonderful." I paused for a moment. "On the other hand, I'd been kind of thinking about the chance to recharge the, um, provocations."

Gwen laughed, but bit her lip at me. "I, um, had kind of started thinking the same thing. But I wasn't sure."

"You know I wasn't mad, just motivated," I reassured her.

"I noticed," she chortled, and we both blushed a little. "No, I was worried about Sammy. He struck out last week, and I was feeling like he better score this time, or I'd be blue-balling my co-worker two weeks in a row!"

I stared at her with amused outrage, and she broke down laughing.

I started to open my mouth to tell her that with just a bit more effort and enjoyment on her part out there, Sammy would have had a laundry problem, not a blue ball problem. But I didn't. I didn't want to make Gwen uncomfortable with any of this.

And if she managed to cause that laundry problem in the future, it would be hi-fucking-larious.

So, instead of putting my foot in my mouth, I changed the subject. "Well, we don't have to worry about that this week. We do need to worry about my prep for Friday's dinner with Ron and Cathy."

"Your prep? You are not cooking dinner. I am."

"Gwen, you cooked the first time," I said. "My turn. I'm thinking of doing fresh pasta for my lasagna."

"You will be thinking nothing of the sort," Gwen said firmly. "This whole month is supposed to be a moving fancy feast. Cathy served us pheasant last week, for chrissakes! We are not offering lasagna in return. I. Am. Cooking."

"But..."

"Darling," Gwen rode over me. "I am reminded of late that you have an enormous number of wonderful talents," she winked. "I can't imagine what brings that to mind..." She caressed my cheek with feather-light fingertips, ending by a brush over my lips that yanked away before I could suck them in. "But haute cuisine is not among your talents. I cook. You assist."

"I like my lasagna," I grumbled.

"Honey, it's just not what is called for this time. Next time they come over for a movie, you can do your lasagna and knock Ron's socks off," I was reassured.

We don't usually get together with them every week, and when we do, it is often not at one of our homes. They are our show buddies, be it movies, plays, concerts, or other events. Maybe half the time we get together at one home or the other for a drink after. But this movable feast was something Cathy had gotten from one of the old-time books on entertaining she was into lately. I grimly determined that the next time we got together at our house after this month, I was going to damn well use the excuse to finally buy a pasta roller. I was also grimly determined that we would eat popcorn (and lasagna) and finally watch Pirates of the Caribbean like Ron and I had been pushing for.

But this week, since Gwen's firm had a big trial, I would be the one grocery shopping for whatever topper of a meal she was going to try to deploy.

*

Gwen went for Asian. We offered up a giant Pupu platter, featuring the oversized, round hibachi grill we had gotten as a housewarming gift and had never yet used. When she first told me her plan, I was prepared to be mulish, wondering how beef skewers and egg rolls were better than my fresh pasta lasagna, even if it did feature a flaming cast iron grill on our dining room table.

When she showed me the actual menu, I had to shut up. By the time we started prepping everything Thursday night, I was fully on board. I was left only with the complaint, "Really, though? Finger food doesn't exactly say fancy to me."

"It's fancy food, not fancy dress. Finger food goes back a little ways in human history, you know," I was told. "We will all be wearing tennis clothes because of the heat, for crying out loud!"

Fine.

But as we got dressed for the evening, I had to snark, "That isn't quite how you usually dress for the courts, is it?"

Gwen continued to fasten up the really nice, delicate white lace bra she was putting on. It matched the spiffy thong panties she sported below. "We are not actually playing tennis tonight! I'm not stretching, bending, and jumping, so I don't need those sweaty modesty shorts. And I sure as hell am not strapping down the girls for no reason!" She winked and shook her lace-covered confections in my direction saucily. "I want them looking their best! Especially with Cathy and her bazoombas in the picture," she added almost sullenly.

I rolled my eyes reassuringly at Gwen. She has great tits, and they look a damn sight better in this lacy bra than the sports bras she wears on court.

That said...

I admit to being a fan of big tits. Sorry, it's true. The Bazzombas In The Room are always a nice bonus when we see Cathy and Ron. Just Cathy, actually. Ron is in as good a shape as I am, but neither of us does enough chest work to have bazoombas...

Before Gwen could reach for her skirt or shirt, I stepped up to her, wrapped an arm around her, and slid my hands down her back, over the warm bare cheek of her ass, and finally on down between her legs.

She squirmed instantly. "If you do that any longer, I am going to come like a banshee," she warned as my fingertips probed.

"Mmmm," I said, probing some more.

"And immediately after that," she said, trying to twist away from me, "I will hit you. Because I would have to change these panties. That would mean I have to change the bra as well."

"We could take the panties off first," I offered, tugging at the slender crotch of the thong, though mostly just to work my fingers into her.

"I would also have to do my makeup again," she snapped.

I let her go. I knew how long she had spent on her makeup already. I didn't want to have to entertain Ron and Cathy all by myself for that long.

She smiled. "But I appreciate the sentiment," she said. Then she grabbed my cock through the loose fabric of my shorts. As she had expected, I was half-hard. She twitched her grip, then released me to slide on her skirt.

"The things I'm going to do to you once they leave," I said, as if to myself.

She smiled as she slid the tunic over her head. "I have that waterproof silicone lube we got online," she said slyly. "I'm thinking it might be time to try again to finally fuck in the hot tub."

"I'll call Ron and explain to him how we tragically burnt everything, and he and Cathy should just go to Olive Garden or something tonight," I said.

I was struck by one of our pillows.

*

"A giant, elevated Pu-Pu platter?" exclaimed Cathy as we went into the dining room after a round of fairly large cocktails. "That is so awesome!" she burbled on, green-eyed with ill-concealed jealousy. I suppose it is easy for her to look jealous, as her eyes are green full-time.

"It does look good," Ron put in, less enthusiastically. He looked around at the absence of chairs or silverware at the table. "Ummm..."

"It's finger food, Ron," my lady teased. She picked up one of the slightly sticky meatballs with her fingers and popped it in her mouth. She chewed and swallowed swiftly while she still had his attention, then licked her fingers clean... slowly, making a production of the process for him. By the time she was done, she had no trouble keeping his attention. Or mine. "There are no chairs because that will make it easier for us all to reach for things," she went on briskly. "No napkins either," she added, sucking her index finger extra clean.

I laughed at her echo of our Saturday shenanigans and let her have her fun. If she did to Ron what she'd done to Sammy the week before, poor Ron would probably die. There is no manual for that sort of shenanigans in 1960s entertainment guides, or even in modern insurance commercials.

Cathy laughed, but asked, "Nice. But really, no napkins?"

Gwen rolled her eyes dramatically. "I'm so sorry about your husband's blindness. Can't you see the roll of paper towels right there on the table, Ron? There's a wastebasket underneath, too."

I laughed quietly to myself that Cathy had also been so busy watching Gwen suck her fingers in Ron's general direction that she'd missed the roll, too.

And we dug happily in, sticky fingers and all, while Cathy regaled us with an hilarious story from the police blotter that her newspaper's editor was refusing to publish, 'because we are a family paper!' We had unconsciously arranged ourselves in Boy-Girl-Boy-Girl fashion around the table, as Cathy and Ron had insisted on the week before, leaving Ron and me facing each other with our respective ladies to our left.

In the pause that followed Cathy's story, Gwen scolded Ron. "You left that half-eaten," she said, pointing at the Crab Rangoon in question. We had all, despite the plate-less nature of the event, laid out for ourselves a paper towel in front of where we stood, like Americans who instinctively could not handle a communal, finger food meal.

"I'll get back to it," Ron promised, not convincingly. "Crab Rangoon is not my favorite."

"You didn't use any of the sauce. It needs the sauce," Gwen insisted. She seized another rangoon and dunked it liberally in the sauce she'd come up with that was, honestly, fucking amazing. She held out the sauced-up dumpling thingy to Ron. When he hesitated just a fraction, Gwen took a single step closer and offered it right to his lips. His eyes flared wide, but he opened his mouth in self-defense before she jammed it in there anyway.

He bit down and then stiffened in surprise. "Mmmph! Dish loog," he managed with his mouth full.

"You know better than to doubt my cooking," Gwen growled playfully. But she did not remove the rest of the rangoon from in front of his face.

Ron swallowed, then smirked and snapped his mouth at the second half, catching Gwen's fingers between his lips for a moment.

Cathy giggled. "Careful! Ron gets a little dangerous if you actually manage to get him to try something new!"

I took her word for it. I'd never seen Ron try anything new since I'd known the guy. Quality dude, but not the adventurous type. I shook my head in amusement. Actuarials...

But Gwen caught my eye, which had been trained on her the whole time. She hadn't been able to resist provoking me a little. I just thought of the hot tub later.

Well, mostly I thought about the hot tub later. But after another minute or so, I realized that the paper-wrapped shrimp was all the way over in front of Gwen, and Cathy had not had any yet.

"You should try the Goong Hor," I said to Cathy, casually picking up a shrimp by the tail. Making sure Gwen was paying at least some attention to what I was doing in the midst of her explanation of the grill to Ron, I extended the shrimp to Cathy, holding it higher than would be natural for her to take in her own hand. Right about at mouth level...

I saw her eyes dart to the side as I extended the long, tasty shrimp towards her. I thought at first she was looking at Ron, but she was looking at Gwen. Made sense, Ron had just had his finger in Gwen's mouth, however fleetingly. Her ignoring him would have just highlighted his hypocrisy if he got upset when... Cathy opened her mouth and let me slide more than half the shrimp in before she bit down. Even better, she chewed with the rest of the Goong Hor still between her lips.

I should have pulled it away, but Gwen was looking. If she was going to try to provoke me here, now, with these friends, I thought it was wise to make her consider the consequences of my provoking right back.

Cathy bit the rest off, a lot more perfunctorily, chickening out. Good. We didn't want these two getting all upset about our less-than-conservative mischief!

Gwen shot me a look that told me the intended provoking had provoked...

Then we all got caught up in heating the beef and chicken skewers over the little hibachi on the table.

Gwen wanted to go on and on about the right way to reheat meat on a stick. Both Ron and I rolled our eyes and scoffed, "Man-Fire-Food! Teach Cathy. We don't need instructions on heating flesh on a grill!"

After I had burnt my first chicken skewer, and Ron had burnt his skewer and his fingertips, we made some minor inquiries about technique...

I am a huge fan of beef, but the marinade Gwen had found for the chicken was divine.

There was a brief flare-up of politics, but since we all hate the same terrible people, the subject safely died away.

I realized that Cathy was looking at the spring rolls, the platter of which had migrated over between me and Gwen. "Want another roll?" I asked her, reaching for the platter.

"I'm filling up. I'll just take one."

I realized that she was looking at me with a good-naturedly daring timidity.

Fuck it. I kicked Gwen's foot to get her attention, and picked up one of the little, two-inch veggie rolls. As I turned toward Cathy, our friend smilingly opened her mouth wide.

Definitely fuck it.

I slid the mini-roll right past her lips, along with my index finger right alongside it. She must have felt my finger sliding in with the food, because when she closed her mouth, it was really only her lips, not her teeth. If she hadn't seen my finger, the brush of her tongue against it certainly clued her in.

Chickening out, I slowly slid my finger free, her tongue remaining pressed against it. My digit made a quiet popping sound as her lips reluctantly released it.

I realized that I could only hear the popping sound because all four of us had shut up.

I shot another glance at Ron. He was giving me an arch look that was not that angry in appearance. More importantly, I saw nothing from him but a narrow-eyed smile directed toward Cathy.

Then I looked at Gwen.

Oh yeah. I was getting blown and fucked in the hot tub, once we divested ourselves of Ron and Cathy.

Trying to conceal my smugness, I waited to naturally rejoin the resuming conversation. Things finally settled down.

Then Ron, Ron fucking Brown, Treadway Insurance's Employee of the Month, Mister Putting Sauce On My Rangoon Is A Major Personal Growth Event, turned toward my lady, picked up a Crab Rangoon himself, and said to her, "Gwen, you conned me into liking these Rangoon, but I haven't seen you having one yourself. Can I give you one before I eat them all?"

Really? Ron?

Gwen looked as surprised as I was, but then she smiled and pointedly did not look at me. "Please."

"Plenty of sauce, right?" Ron asked, outright plunging the rangoon into the sauce.

"Mm-Hmm!"

He lifted the utterly dripping dumpling up toward my wife, and she leaned forward sweetly, hands behind her back.

He extended the yummy toward her, and she opened her mouth wide.

He almost chickened out. I saw it. But I also saw him not chicken out. Ron extended the rangoon to Gwen's lips and pressed it between them.

Yes, his finger and thumb both went along for the ride. Gwen closed her lips with aplomb and made a savoring face. I saw Ron jump. Gwen must be licking his fingers along with the rangoon and all that sauce. Not all the sauce--Ron had dunked so hard that some extra was running down my lady's chin on both sides.

I waited until he finally lost his nerve and started to pull back.

"You got sauce all over her chin, Ron," I said, looking away absently, like it was nothing. "Grab her a paper towel, would you?"

Gwen flashed me the most fleeting of glimpses, then grabbed both her current beef and chicken skewers from the hibachi. She indicated her full hands and mumbled something through her closed mouth. She stuck her chin toward Ron.

He blanched and looked at me. He should have looked at Cathy, but his funeral. I just kept on building up a little Mu Shu pancake with pork. He tore off a towel, leaned in to dab my woman's face until it was clean, then hastily tucked the sticky towel under in the trash can.

"Thanks," I said absently, like he had saved me the trouble.

Gwen looked pleasantly outraged at my behavior. My behavior? She was the one sucking on Ron's fingers and having him clean her face!

We were cooperatively provoking each other.

We would be lucky if I didn't go run and grab that bottle of lube before they even left...

But Gwen and I knew this had to have been a bit much for Ron and Cathy, and we both slowed our roll. We all polished off the rest, tragically leaving me no leftovers for the weekend. Then we enjoyed green tea mochi ice cream balls. Thankfully, those were from the Asian market, not from scratch. If Gwen had made those fucking things herself, my culinary ego would have been permanently broken.

Cathy and Ron did not hang out as long after dinner as usual, heading out less than half an hour after we cleared the table.

As it was happening, I worried that we had been more than a bit too much. But the thought fled once they were out the door. The hot tub beckoned.

I even swiftly forgot the image of Cathy's impressive bazoombas, on proud display throughout the evening in her widely scooped tennis dress. I even forgot about the feel of her tongue along my fingers.

Mostly.

We had never used lube before. Never needed it. But we had bought it when we saw something about how it made aqua-copulation possible. We had bought that tub back in the spring that we bought the house, and after immediately trying to christen it, Gwen and I both laughed derisively every time we saw a sex scene in water.

Guess what?

Silicone lube works...

I never got my blowjob though. We put the lube on too soon, and Gwen did not like the taste.

So I got fucked twice instead. Wonderfully. It almost completely made me forget about Cathy's bazoombas, and how, probably because she was pissed at Ron, or Gwen, or maybe even me, our friend had kept her back ramrod straight all evening, which just make them stand out all the more... outstandingly. I hoped she wasn't actually pissed.

Like I said, almost. It was only during the recovery period after cowgirl underwater, but before doggie right at the surface that my mind strayed back to the whole dress-stretching tit display.

Pro-tip: Reapply lube liberally between rounds... to both partners.

You are welcome.

We slept in the next morning since there was so little cleanup. This whole eating with fingers thing was great for limiting dishes in the aftermath. It was not until Tuesday that I found the sticky patch on the carpet under the table. It was where Ron had been standing. The bastard was sloppy, I thought as I scrubbed away. Or maybe the drips were between where Ron and Gwen had been standing...

But on that Saturday morning, when we did finally wake up, we cuddled together in bed. Nothing sexual. Mostly nothing sexual. I barely grabbed Gwen's tits at all. Hardly. I mean, I seldom had more than one hand on a breast at any given time.

"That was fun last night," she murmured into my shoulder.

"I'll say," I laughed, then made silly, repeating, splooshing and splashing noises.

"That too," she laughed back. "But I meant the getting there..."

"Hmmm," I mused. "Yeah. It might have been better than the first time, since we both knew what we were doing, and what it was going to do."

"Oh, it did it all right," she nodded. Then she shifted uncomfortably. "But I think we might have made a problem."

Yeah. That was a possibility.

"I mean, Sammy, Deidre, and friggin' Zoe are all full-time randy anyway." True, though not with us. "And more importantly, they are free agents, all. But we kind of drafted Cathy and Ron without their consent, right?" she asked slowly.

"Yeah," I admitted sourly. Then I quirked my mouth. "While I think there is no way Ron did not enjoy your fingers in his mouth, and even less chance he did not enjoy his fingers in yours, I do worry about him and Cathy. I mean our reactions have to be kinda idiosyncratic, right?"

"Yeah. A big part of me just wants to sort of pretend it didn't happen and hope it goes away," she said slowly. "We can provoke each other more than enough with Sammy, Zoe, and Deidre. But..."

I looked at her and sighed. "Yeah, we should call them and kinda apologize."

"Maybe. We need to at least figure out if they need us to apologize," Gwen said. "And we probably need to stick with the club crowd if we go psycho like this again at some point. Honestly, Ron is too tempting."

I looked at her in surprise. She almost giggled.

"Ron? Really? Compared to Sammy?"

"Sammy is built," she said. "Ron is good-looking." She paused. "Listen. You know how I admitted that the fun with grinding on Sammy was not all about provoking you? Some of my fun sure came from the actual grinding on Sammy?" I nodded. "Well, let me tell you, the fun from sticking my fingers in Ron's mouth, and especially from his fingers in my mouth, came mostly from the act, and only a little from thinking about you. Sorry!" she said with a little cringe.

"Fair dues," I shrugged. "I will admit that I enjoyed doing the finger thing, too. But more to the point, all the situation had me staring at Cathy tits like an eye chart all night. And I definitely enjoyed that."

"Really? I must have been too focused on Ron to see that last night," Gwen said sheepishly. "I usually notice when you are surveying the mountain range."

"Huh? I don't..." I sputtered.

Gwen put her hands on my arm. "Easy there, my love. I know it isn't a fixation. But I also see you stare at her tits. Every guy stares at Cathy's tits. Hell, I do too, in horrified fascination."

"Well, it was damned near a fixation last night," I admitted.

"So we are fine?" Gwen asked. I nodded firmly. "Then all we have to worry about is our innocent victims."

And so I called Ron at work Monday morning.

"Ron Brown."

"Dude, how are you?" I said as casually as I could muster.

"Carl!" Ron said, a smile in his voice. Then he hesitated silently.

Uh oh. Ron was a great conversationalist in person, but on the phone, he always runs his mouth. He was not running his mouth now.

"Hey! Friday was the best meal yet," he said, getting his accelerator unstuck. "We both had a great time eating with our fingers."

I laughed and made shlurping sounds like the ones we had made mid-meal as we had all really finally let ourselves get into eating an elaborate meal with our hands.

"Exactly! And listen, I'm not about to try making Rangoons from scratch. We'll get those frozen. But I'm really hoping Gwen will give us that sauce recipe."

Typical Ron. Terrified to try anything new, but if he did, and he liked it, he was stupidly all-in on repeating the experiment. He had happily never been to Disneyland before he was 30. But once Cathy dragged him there on his birthday, they have to Mouse it up every year, at least.

"I'll tell Gwen to send it to you. You know she is always generous with her recipes."

"She is?"

Of course. To know that, Ron would have had to have ever wanted to try anything new before...

Time to face the music.

"Listen, Ron," I said, uncomfortably.

As soon as that sounded in my voice, Ron almost yelped. "Hey dude, I just, we just, I just want to say I got a little out of line. I know that you and Gwen were just enjoying the meal, but I don't know, I just got a little carried away. Cathy thinks she did too. Sorry."

Really?

"Dude," I said slowly. "I just called to check if you guys were upset by us."

"Us? Um, no," he said, as if it had not occurred to him in his own worry. "Huh," he said almost to himself, as if surprised that he was not upset. "Yeah," he went on. "Really, dude, we were not freaked out by you." He stopped again. Quiet pauses on the phone with Ron were almost creepy. "And not freaked out with each other, really."

I let out a sigh.

"To be honest," he went on, and I could practically hear him looking around him in his office, right over the voice call. "We were really good with each other this weekend. As in... all over each other like back when we were newlyweds," he finished in a manly whisper.

"So, you too?" I asked in surprise.

"You were all hot and bothered after, like us?" Ron asked back, equally surprised.

"Yeah, we..." I took a breath. "Look, full honesty here. We knew going in what doing that shit was going to do to us. The Saturday before, we both got a little drunk while out with Sammy and the girls. We each went a little over the line while the other was watching." I took a deep breath. "Best oral ever when we got home. And that was before the main event!"

"Damn! Lucky you," Ron sighed.

"Apparently, lucky you," I retorted.

"Yeah," he agreed, but there was a trace of unhappy uncertainty there...

Before I could even think, I asked. "Come on. Of course. It's not like you'd rather have my girl over yours... right?" I finished. By the time I got to the end, I realized I actually meant the question.

Suddenly, I was the one with a trace of unhappy uncertainty. And it wasn't just about Ron's feelings. Considering my occasional fascination with Cathy's rack, I needed to check my own.

"Come on!" Ron retorted, his own voice strengthening naturally. "Obviously not," he said, his voice meaning that literally and matter-of-factly, not making an attempt at reassurance. "But still..." he stopped again, swallowing whatever he was trying to say.

"What?" I laughed.

"Nothing!"

"Dude," I said firmly.

There was yet another silence on the line.

"Dude," I repeated, my voice filled with the kind of friendly threat guys make to their friends when one of them won't shut up when you are trying to putt.

"Look, Carl, your... Gwen is just really hot," he began.

"I've noticed," I chuckled. I am a lucky man.

"I've always noticed, too. Just like I've noticed the sky is blue, sort of thing," Ron said.

I'd never really considered whether Ron thought Gwen was attractive. But again, he has eyes, so, duh.

"But last night," he said slowly, "despite getting hornier for Cathy than I have been in a hot minute, a horniness I started acting on before we even made it to the car, there were a few points Friday night where I just about ached to, I don't know, outright devour your lady. I'm sorry, man!"

I sighed. Ron didn't like the sigh. I could tell. I spoke quickly. "I don't think you should be sorry, dude. I mean, I was definitely developing a list of things I intended to do to Gwen the whole evening, a list where I eventually checked every item off, in some cases multiple times, all starting from the second our door closed behind you guys." I did not let myself hesitate this time, or I might have stopped. "But dude, if you think I wasn't also pondering the potential awesomeness of flat out burying my face in your wife's chest, you are naive."

Ron laughed. "They are magnetic, aren't they?"

"They are awesome, but I'll take your word on magnetic. I've never gotten my face or hands close enough to feel any actual magnetic pull..." I nerd-joked.

"So you and I are good?" Ron asked, as if he wasn't done.

"Before you ask, Gwen is good, too. Fully good, and in all the same ways you and I were with everything," I forestalled him.

"Good," Ron sighed.

"Actually, you should be smug," I added, not sure why I was saying this next bit. "She even told me she thinks you are better-looking than Sammy."

"What? I thought she had taste."

"Me too. But don't get a swelled head. She specifically said that she thinks he's way hotter than you, you just were more handsome."

"I think I'll take it either way," Ron admitted.

"You should. She's picky. She picked me," I said smugly. "But Ron, I still have concerns. Um... Cathy. You haven't said anything about how she handled things. I'm still worried that us all getting carried away like that was..."

"Relax. She handled it better than me. I'll be honest and say it actually took me a minute when I first woke up to organize my mental shit Saturday morning, worrying about her. Then I thought back and realized that she had enjoyed it as much as I did. Then I felt obliged to be jealous that she had enjoyed herself. Then I got over that and laughed a little at me being so hypocritical as to be jealous. When I got my shit together and was only worrying about you guys and the inevitability of this conversation, I finally woke Cathy up."

"How'd that go?" I asked, grinning, despite it being a voice call with no video.

"Dude," Ron said, half delighted, half shell-shocked. "The night before? When we finally got home? It was so sweet, and loving, and slow, and amazing. That morning was... we ripped a sheet."

I laughed in final relief. "So no one is mad about anything?"

"I am in trouble for the sheet."

"Ha! Sucks to be you. Though apparently not really."

"Heh. No, not really. She sure wasn't holding it against me for several awesome hours here and there all weekend."

"Good," I said. I liked what this whole dynamic was doing for me and Gwen. "Then are you going to be okay when I flirt with your wife again next week when we are back at your place for the last of these gourmet dinner nights?" I challenged.

"I say enjoy yourself," Ron answered. "She will. Just know I will hit on Gwen, too!"

"If you didn't, I think she'd beat the hell out of you, and then probably me."

"Good, I guess! So I will report back to Cathy that she can stop worrying about you guys."

"And I'll say the same to Gwen. Then we can all relax," I concluded.

There was a brief silence between us.

"I am betting the two of them are on the phone with each other right now," I realized.

"You are probably right. I'm betting that the second Cathy got to her desk at work, which would be the first free minute she wasn't around me since Friday, she called Gwen," Ron said, with the vague unease that husbands feel when they realize that the women are talking about them. I'm not technically a husband, but I still experienced the sensation along with Ron.

"Well," I said briskly. "I am assuming that they will come to the same general conclusions. Assuming they do, I'm looking forward to dinner at yours, Friday. What are you making?"

"I haven't been told. But I think the Pu-Pu challenged Cathy. I will have so much shit to do to help her pull off whatever she decides on," Ron grumbled.

"Cool. See you Friday," I replied heartlessly.

I was about to hang up when I stopped.

"Wait! Before you got into your car? What kind of shit did you two get up to in my front yard, Ron?"

*

It was a very busy day at work, leaving me with precious little time to think about the conversation, and even less to think about how to describe it to Gwen. But I used every minute I did have to think about those things. Mostly, I thought about the conversation itself. I was beginning to sense that I did not need to be as incredibly cautious in talking with Gwen about it as common sense was loudly trying to dictate...

I had currently given up my space in the garage to work on a project, so I parked in the driveway and came in through the front door. I was greeted with loud music. Gwen's Indigo Girls playlist was blaring from every speaker in the house. Why my wife leans into lesbian folk rock when she is in a good mood, I will never know. But if she had talked to Cathy today as well, then this good mood was very reassuring.

She did not hear me come in over the blasting tunes of Closer to Fine. I paused as I saw her in the kitchen, bending over the dishwasher.

With that visage as my first view of her, any thoughts of a calm discussion were swept away. Jesus, I was hot for my woman lately!

When I approached, she was moving her hips to the music and trying to detangle some forks that were caught in the silverware basket, probably because I refuse to load them properly. Her first indication I was there was my hands landing softly on her ass.

"Honey, I'm home," I purred.

"You loaded the utensils wrong again," she growled, not turning around.

"I can see," I agreed. "I am devastated," I added in a not-devastated voice. I caressed her ass, which was clearly not objected to.

Fuck it. I grabbed the zipper in the back and pulled it down.

"Really?" Gwen asked slyly. She still did not stand or turn around, instead straightening just enough to turn and lean on the counter beside the dishwasher. "The second you get in the house?"

"Well, I could hardly have done it any earlier," I went on smoothly, pushing both her slacks and the pale pink work panties with just that touch of lace I like down her legs. I left them pooled around her ankles. I was fixated.

When I then caressed her bare ass happily with one hand and began unzipping myself with the other, I got a somewhat more surprised, "Really? Already ready to go?" she went on, still not turning toward me.

My cock was ready as hell, but I could tell, as my hands slid under her ass between her legs, that she was not quite yet. The smoothly shaven skin of her pussy felt wonderful as always, but it was not slick, and I felt only a hint of moisture.

I stroked my finger gently along her outer labia, still clenched tightly together over the treasure within, and Gwen's twerking to the music became writhing to my touch. "Ohhh, Carl. You are going to have me ready to go too..."

"That's the plan," I said, barely loud enough for her to hear over, 'To seek solace in a bottle, or possibly a friend.'

Suddenly, my finger slid between her folds, and I felt more moisture. I could have worked my dick into her at this point, and that seemed to be what she wanted me to do, but I was too eager to be impatient. My finger delved deeper into her heat and bathed itself in the fluids of her depth. She groaned at the intruder. I slid it free and ran my now slick digit around her clit in lazy, exploratory circles.

"There's more than one answer to these questions," Gwen sang along with the music. My lady does not have the best singing voice, and she knows it. But I guess she likes the Indigo Girls so much because she always manages to sound pretty good when trying to harmonize with them.

My finger plunged into her once more, wetting itself again, then I withdrew it to paint her opening in fluids. Her singing voice might not sound the best, but Gwen looked, felt, and, at that moment, overwhelmed me with her aroma. I felt my nostrils flaring wide as I drank in the sudden flood of needful redolence.

My cock practically shoved my finger aside as I drove myself into Gwen, my eagerness teaming up with my impatience. Yeah, she was more than ready now, and I delved to my full depth in a single stroke.

"Oh, fuck," Gwen gasped, pushing her hips back against me.

I like to start slow when screwing. It always draws us closer.

But not this afternoon. I was instantly seized by some kind of primal urge, and was driving into her in long, hard strokes as fast as I could. My cock was almost instantly screaming in delight as it passed in and out of Gwen's hot, moist folds.

"Do it!" Gwen encouraged, karaoke forgotten instantly. "Give it to me! Give it to meeee!"

I went after her like an animal, and she shrieked back like one. Each stroke felt amazing. My love for this woman was there, in a deep layer, like it always was, but this fuck was mostly just Need. Need for release. Need for her. It wasn't lust. Well, it certainly was, but it was a special lust, a distinctly unique lust for just this woman.

I was, even in the moment, honestly surprised that I didn't lose it and come immediately. But I am blessed with the characteristic of not being able to come easily. I have never been quick on the trigger in my life, even when as stoked as I was at that moment. I was able to just keep thrusting.

Usually, I pay close attention to how my efforts are affecting Gwen as we screw, making sure I'm hitting her in the best ways possible. But such considerations were absent from my mind now. I just had to fuck my woman. Fortunately, even though taking her from behind over the kitchen counter was not a usual configuration for us, my muscle memory's best practices were serving Gwen well, because she was shrieking in delight.

She does not have any difficulty coming, not when she is really into it...

I felt her insides clenching down on me as her ass rammed back against me suddenly, and she found new hights of volume. I slowed as the wave passed, and she gasped in relief.

But I never stopped. And when she caught her breath, I resumed my frantic, hungry push into her depths. Stroke after stroke, my cock caroled in delight as it passed through her folds. My fingers tingled with the sensation of grasping the perfection that was Gwen's flexing backside.

Gwen happily rode the wave for a while before I felt her getting tense again. This was incredible. How many times could I make her come?

But while the tension in her rose and rose, she did not come again. I had barely noticed this when Gwen growled, "Fuck, I just can't come! I need you to man up and jizz me, Carl. I need that so I can come!"

The woman had still not actually set eyes on me the entire time since I had entered the house, and she still kept her head facing away, taking me like I were a force, not a being.

I could do that for her. I relaxed and welcomed my own release. It still took its time, but since, while we were waiting for me to come, Gwen and I were enjoying some seriously electric copulation, the wait was hardly a burden. And then, without any real warning, I erupted. My knees almost collapsed and I groaned mightily as I was suddenly throbbing with each gush of cum that poured into Gwen.

And yeah, she was able to come then. Louder even than before. She banged on the counter, making the oil bottle jump on our lazy susan.

"That was fucking nuts," I gasped, slowing but taking my time about stopping.

"Oh, God, yes!"

I finally slowed to a stop, half inside her and my cock already softening.

"Pull out," Gwen whispered.

I did, and she spun to face me. Her eye sparkled with delight... and exhaustion. We kissed, long, slow, and deep. It wasn't, amazingly, after all that, a lusty kiss. It was a loving one, companionable and bonding.

"How was work today, darling?"

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Thanks for reading. Again, all the usual YouTuber BS: Please vote. Follow me so you will be notified that the next installment is up. That sort of stuff. And do comment, please. This story is an experiment, and I have not finished it, even remotely, at the time this chapter posts. I'd appreciate your insights. To be clear, it is going where it is going, but the details are still way hazy...