Tell Me More

by Janet Mullany

  Cathy made a cute face at me, the females in exile from sports, and provided the guys with beers from a bar at one end of the basement, and poured white wine for me.

  “You have a lovely home,” I said, since we seemed to be deep in a suburban dream rather than any sort of naked sweaty activities.

  Naturally she beamed and offered to show me the rest of the house and I admired the master bathroom with the his-and-hers sinks and listened to the story of how the marble countertop had arrived cracked and the hassle of getting a replacement. The bedroom featured a huge bed with a velvet cover. Cathy darted forward, giggling, and whisked something from the bedside table and into a drawer—I think it might have been a vibrator, but I wasn’t sure.

  “Where do you keep your books?” I asked.

  “Books? Oh, some over there—” she gestured at a cabinet that held knickknacks and a couple of books “—and some in the study.” She gave me an odd look.

  Several rooms later—after viewing bathrooms, spare bedrooms, a study (housing a scant half-dozen more books but many sports trophies), family room and dining room—we ended up in the kitchen, a masterpiece of granite counters, stainless-steel appliances and a beautifully polished hardwood floor, a room I truly envied. She bent to retrieve a tray of crudités from the refrigerator, treating me to an impressive display of cleavage.

  As she straightened up she caught me looking and grinned. “Aren’t they great? Jake’s birthday present for me, but I think they’re a present for him.”

  What was she talking about? She giggled and placed the tray on the counter. “Boob job,” she explained, and hoisted up her T-shirt.

  I stared at her breasts, round and solid with large pink nipples. I’d thought she was wearing a bra, but they were a masterpiece of technology, needing no support.

  “Great,” I said. “Were they really small before?”

  “About your size,” she said. “Willis is really into boobs. He’ll probably want you to get yours done.”

  “We haven’t known each other that long,” I said, wanting to cross my arms protectively over my small and untouched breasts.

  “It’s so worth it. Jake loves them and it makes me feel so sexy.” She pulled her top back over her breasts and opened the dishwasher door. At that point I realized I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. She unloaded a handful of brightly colored dildos and butt-plugs into a plastic bowl—I was relieved to see they were the only items in the dishwasher, and that I wouldn’t have to ditch my wineglass and switch to beer.

  “Can I do anything?” I asked and immediately regretted my question. What if she asked me to get busy with a dildo?

  Fortunately she took my offer at face value and set me to work arranging chips on a serving tray while she scooped various dips into bowls. Then we took the snacks down to the basement, and so far, other than the breast display and the dildos rattling around in the plastic bowl on Cathy’s tray, it was just any weekend afternoon in suburbia.

  “Oh, that’s gross, guys,” Cathy said.

  The game had ended and the guys sprawled on the couch, beer bottles in hand, while on the screen a blonde with breasts even bigger and more rigid than Cathy’s divided her time between sucking a huge torpedo of a penis and glancing flirtatiously at the camera. The owner of the penis was a large hairy guy with a slight potbelly.

  “That is so unreal,” Cathy said, grabbing the remote from Jake and switching the set off. “Jake, this is Jo. I showed her my boobs.”

  “Hi,” I said.

  Jake, a bulkier version of Willis—clean-cut, middle-class—lurched to his feet and leered. “Hey, little lady. Does my wife have great tits, or what?”

  I was so dumbfounded at being addressed as “little lady” I only managed to mutter something along the lines of “Yes, she sure does,” before gulping the remains of my wine.

  Willis ambled over and put his arm over my shoulders, letting his fingers fall onto my breast. “Jo’s are pretty nice, too. Small, though.”

  “Show us your tits, honey,” Jake said to me.

  “What’s the magic word?” I snapped at him and shook Willis’s hand and arm away.

  Jake stared at me.

  “Oh, honey, you are such a big, bad boy,” Cathy cooed and placed a hand on her husband’s arm. “Where are your manners?”

  Jake grinned in a way that might have been irresistibly boyish and mischievous and mumbled something apologetic in my direction. He then stuck his hand down his wife’s top.

  I marched over to the bar and poured myself another glass of wine. I was feeling very Puritan and uptight, instead of sexually liberated and daring, and I didn’t like it. And now I could see how this room was set up for what was about to happen: the bowl of condoms on the low table near the television, another on the bar along with the dildos, a pile of soft towels, tubes of lube, the sturdy sofa, a collection of ottomans for various positions.

  Willis followed me over to the bar. “You okay, Jo?”

  “Yeah. Fine.” I was not being the life and soul of the party, that was for sure. I glanced over at the sofa where Jake and Cathy sat, he now nuzzling between her breasts, her T-shirt up to her chin. She gave me an encouraging smile. I wondered if Jake was concerned that her breasts could snap back and injure his nose when he emerged.

  “Hey,” Willis said in a whisper. He kissed me, wet and tender. “You don’t have to do this. Like I said, you seem an adventurous sort of woman and you have a lot of confidence in your body and I thought you might get off on it. No pressure. If you’re not comfortable, well…” He stopped to leer at Cathy’s breasts.

  “Jerk,” I said, half-meaning it, and pulled my T-shirt off.

  Willis’s attention shot back to my breasts as I’d intended. He examined the red satin and black lace—one of my sluttier bras—but from the expression on his face it worked. Jake withdrew his face from Cathy’s cleavage without evident injury and took a good look.

  “My panties match,” I said.

  “Right on,” said Jake. He leaned back on the sofa and Cathy wriggled between his legs. I found myself staring at them, and had to remind myself that that was why I was here; we were audience, for the moment, Willis and I, but soon we’d be participants. Cathy undid Jake’s pants and hoisted his semi-erect penis out, but he was looking at me, and at Willis’s hands, which now moved to unfasten my bra and toss it aside.

  Jake licked his lips. Cathy, her hand moving up and down his cock, looked over and smiled. “Cute,” she said.

  Willis took one of my nipples into his mouth and I watched Cathy bend to Jake’s cock and run her tongue from balls to tip. He rolled his head back, his hands in her hair, while she deftly removed her jeans. Underneath she wore a thong—I could see it disappear into the crack of her ass.

  “I want you naked,” Willis said. I couldn’t figure out the undercurrent here. I had a strong sense that the men had some sort of competition going—the biggest tits, the best underwear, the most compliant woman. I wasn’t really sure what it was. I liked being on display, being watched, and moaned when Willis fingered the crotch of my underwear, and liked it even more when both Jake and Cathy paused to assess my half-naked state.

  She released Jake’s cock, shiny from her saliva, and sat back on her heels, thighs spread. The thong was tiny and sequined and she appeared to have no pubic hair.

  She smiled as she saw me looking and stood to slide her thong down. A narrow strip of pubic hair, trimmed close, remained, her pubis smooth and curved.

  “Didn’t that hurt?” I blurted out.

  “Jake likes it. So do I.” She ran her hands down her belly, and passed them lightly over her crotch. Of course, everything to please Jake. “It makes me very sensitive while we’re fucking.”

  She was naked now, and Jake sat admiring his penis and her while she turned slowly, arms raised and hands behind her head.

  “Damn, you’re hot,” Willis said. I don’t think he said it to me. He rubbed one of my nipples between his finger and thumb, but his a
ttention was mostly on Cathy.

  “Aren’t you boys overdressed?” I asked, partly in revenge for the “little lady” crack earlier, and partly because I wanted to see the two men together, to compare erections and physique.

  A flurry of undressing occurred as soon as I’d spoken, shirts and jeans and underpants dropped onto the floor, both men kicking their clothes away, and grinning. Willis was erect, his penis curved up, longer and more slender than Jake’s, which, like his physique, was broad and powerful. Jake had more body hair; next to him Willis looked boyish and pretty.

  It seemed, by some unspoken agreement, that Cathy and Jake were to perform first. I wondered if their scant collections of books included one on orgy etiquette and this is what good hosts did.

  I was interested. I’d never seen people fuck before, or seen a couple so absorbed in each other and at the same time so absorbed in the impression they made. Willis stood behind me, caressing my breasts, his cock rubbing against my butt. He lowered one hand to slide down my belly and into my panties. “I’m going to make you come,” he whispered.

  Jake sat on the sofa, Cathy astride him, both facing us. She ground herself against his cock, while his hands pinched and squeezed her breasts. I could see her pussy shine wet with excitement, her clitoris swelled erect, everything revealed beneath that little strip of fur.

  She raised herself to slide down onto his cock, steadying herself with her hands on his knees, sliding. She took Jake’s fingers into her mouth and then lowered his wet hand to rub her clit. Both of them moaned.

  I wondered if they’d rehearsed the routine that followed, a seamless switch from one position to another, moving from floor to sofa, from kneeling to standing, and back. They employed subtle variations of speed and intensity, both of them beautiful and absorbed, performing. They ended up on the sofa in their initial position, a nice touch, and looked at me and Willis, challenging us.

  I wanted to hold up a scorecard.

  “Lie down,” I said to Willis.

  I flexed my legs a little and kicked my panties aside as Willis eased a condom onto his penis, from the bowl our hosts had provided on the bar. When he was on the floor, I performed for them, sliding into the splits, impaling myself.

  “Damn,” said Jake.

  Willis moaned.

  I steadied myself with my hands. I couldn’t really move, and neither could he; it was all for show. I bent one leg forward and planted my foot near his shoulder. I had some leverage now, some slide, all the control.

  Cathy and Jake were moving faster now, noisy, their faces red.

  Willis and I went into an urgent scramble, separating briefly, and then he arranged me on all fours on an ottoman so we could watch the other couple, he standing behind me, his hands on my hips. This was not performance now, this was fucking, hot and urgent, his hips slapping against mine, his balls rolling at my inner thighs, both of us groaning.

  Cathy and Jake were oblivious of us now, his cock sliding in and out of her pussy, his legs flexing with each thrust. If the moment had not been so erotically charged their posture and expressions would have been comic; but they were at that point where all that mattered was the climb, the pursuit. I saw her come—I’d never seen another woman come, but I heard her voice rise and saw her strain and gasp and then go still, her mouth open, her expression far away. Jake pumped hard into her and the slickness of their joined parts became creamy with his semen as he groaned and the two of them subsided, and she slumped on his lap, her eyes sleepy and satisfied.

  But not that satisfied. She pleasured herself as she watched us, smiling gently, one manicured finger circling her clit. I wanted that, too. It was our moment, me and Cathy, as we both came, me frantic against Willis’s thrusting, she languid and amused, taking a lazy climax. This time she came quietly with a slow shudder, her mouth open, eyes closed, and my pussy clenched and spasmed against Willis’s thrusts.

  “Damn,” Willis said and sagged onto me. “Oh, damn, that was good.”

  He released me and I collapsed onto the floor in a heap, then rolled over onto my back, my legs splayed apart. “I like you, Willis.”

  He shook his head. “Hey, you like my dick and Cathy’s pussy, but I’m not complaining.”

  “Of course I like her pussy. It’s a work of art.”

  “Maybe you girls can put on a show,” Jake said. He’d tipped Cathy to one side and was investigating the chips and dip. “What is this?”

  “Eggplant,” Cathy said. She reached for a piece of celery. “Can I get anyone a beer? More wine, Jo?”

  I stifled a giggle. We’d gone straight from X-rated to snacks with barely a pause.

  Cathy strolled naked across the room to one of the trunk-style ottomans and lifted the lid. She offered us terry robes, one of which I took, although both of the men refused, preferring their discarded underwear. She put on a robe and fussed around a little, providing us with drinks and urging us to help ourselves to the snacks. What happened next? Bridge? Scrabble?

  Willis kissed me. “You did good, babe. I knew you would. Enjoy it?”

  I nodded and sipped my wine. We made some conversation about careers—Jake worked in IT and Cathy was the office manager for a construction company. I told them I worked in media.

  Jake looked longingly at the remote but Cathy snatched it away and stored it in one of the ottomans. I wondered if she’d scoot the ottomans around the room later to frustrate Jake when he started looking for it. She perched on his knee and he put his hand on her thigh where the robe fell away.

  “So, what do you think?” Willis asked Jake.

  “Nice,” he said. He put his beer bottle on the table. “Jo, do me a favor, honey? Come on over here.”

  I looked at Willis. He gave me an encouraging smile.

  I walked over to the sofa and stood in front of Jake and Cathy.

  Jake reached out and tugged at the belt of the terrycloth robe. It fell open, revealing me to them. There was a pause as Jake and Cathy assessed me. Their scrutiny hardly felt sexual. I was being judged, found worthy, regarded as a specimen.

  Jake nodded and Willis came forward to lift the robe from my shoulders.

  “Great muscle tone and flexibility,” Jake said as though he was choosing me for his team. Maybe he was. He rested his elbows on his knees. “Needs some cosmetic work.”

  “I’m not getting my tits done,” I said.

  He grinned. “Not that, honey. Your bush.” He touched me, then, his forefinger stirring my pubic hair.

  “Heck, it suits her,” Cathy said. “She’s a nature girl, right?”

  His finger slid down, resting on my clitoris, then scooted sideways to where hair curled at the top of my thighs. “You could get this waxed, maybe. I think that would do.”

  “Do for what?” They were talking about me as if I were a thing, an object, but all I was aware of was the tickle of his finger as he explored my intimate areas.

  “Do you think she could hold her own with the others?” Willis asked. “Most of them are younger.”

  “Yeah. How old are you, honey?”

  “Twenty-nine.”

  “You’re so lucky!” Cathy cried. “You’ll always look younger than your real age. I bet you get carded.”

  “Sometimes.” I shifted my legs apart a little, hoping I wasn’t being too blatant. “What are you talking about?”

  Cathy stroked my side, from rib cage to hip. “You have lovely skin. What do you use?”

  “Nothing in particular. Cocoa butter.”

  Jake was definitely paying attention to my clit now, his finger sliding and circling. “Sweet little pussy,” he murmured, “under all that hair. Gets real wet.”

  Willis joined them on the sofa to get a better view of what was going on. “You gonna make her come, man?”

  “Sure,” Jake said. “Baby, you like that?”

  That consisted of his thumb sliding inside me while Cathy fondled my breasts.

  “Wait!” I said and wrenched myself away from them. “L
ook, you’re working me up so I’ll agree to something, right? I won’t do anything involving drugs or prostitution. Or anything else illegal.”

  “Hey, this girl’s sharp. Okay. You want to come first or after?”

  I laughed, despite my aroused state, and reached for the bathrobe. I sat a little distance away from them on an ottoman. Both Jake and Willis had erections poking the fabric of their underwear and I leaned back, hands on the edges of the ottoman and parted my legs, just a little. Just enough for them to get a good view of my pussy. I wasn’t sure what they wanted, but they’d played dirty pool.

  Jake and Willis exchanged a glance. “You tell her, man,” Jake said.

  8

  “WELL, NOW, THAT IS VERY INTERESTING,” MR. D. said.

  “I think it’s sensible if you want to fool around with more than one person. That’s why the club was formed, apparently, so that people could feel safe in a discreet environment. The way they described it was odd, though—as if the whole structure and all the Baroque rules were a joke, yet in a way they believed in them.”

  “So you signed on the dotted line?”

  “Not yet. The contract looks rather more serious than I thought it would. I’m going to get someone to take a look at it.”

  “Very wise.” He cleared his throat. “You’re an amazing woman.”

  “Does that mean you want to know what happened next?” I was a little disappointed. Here I was about to sign away my soul—in a sense—and Mr. D. wanted the end of the story. I guess this was what Scheherazade felt like when she’d had a bad day in the harem or the eunuchs had been particularly annoying.

  So I told him.

  I teased him a little, making him think we’d abandoned the fooling around and sat down for a serious discussion on the Rockies Investment Association, or as they affectionately called it, the Getting Your Rocks Off Association. No pressure, they assured me, and even though there was a written agreement it was all based on trust and mutual respect.

  “I can’t tell you any more,” I said to Mr. D. “It’s confidential.”