Tell Me More

by Janet Mullany

  He groaned. “You’re a cock-tease. So you got dressed, had a cup of coffee and polite conversation and then went home?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Well?”

  “Okay.” I relented. “As you may remember, I was busy flashing Jake and Willis. And you know I’d told you there was a collection of dildos on the coffee table?”

  I told Jake he could send me a copy of the contract and allowed my legs to part a little more, leaning back onto my hands.

  Cathy, who’d been sitting next to Jake, wriggled forward to take a look, too. “She’s being a naughty girl, don’t you think, honey?”

  “Yeah. Nice girls keep their legs together.”

  “Then I can’t be a nice girl.”

  Jake moved to my side and ran his hand along my collarbone. “Okay?” he said, very quietly, without any of his former crudeness, and I realized he was asking permission to kiss me; and he was asking Willis, too.

  Willis, sprawled on the couch, nodded.

  I turned my face to Jake’s and his tongue slid along my lips, prompting me to open. Someone—I wasn’t sure if it was Willis or Cathy—untied the bathrobe and pushed it back from my body, touching my nipples lightly in passing.

  Jake’s arm supported me as our kiss deepened and our breathing became quicker and uneven. His mouth moved to my collarbone and breast. My head fell back. Someone else stroked my belly and thighs and I felt something hard and slick nudge my pussy.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Willis muttered. “Oh, damn, yes.”

  But it wasn’t flesh that pushed into me, stretching me. Something buzzed gently and I almost jumped out of my skin as the buzz became something more than a sound. I opened my eyes to see Cathy pushing a dildo inside me, while with her other hand she’d fixed a small, lipstick-size vibrator against my clitoris. I wasn’t entirely surprised but at the same time I wasn’t shocked, or not much. And there was such a feeling of luxury to be the center of attention, to be the one who was being done, fucked, pleasured, with no demands made that I reciprocate.

  “Is that nice, honey?” she asked. “I love it when Jake does that to my breasts.”

  Jake’s fingers stroked and pinched my nipples, moving from one breast to the other with a delicious sense of timing; he knew exactly when to make the switch, when to bring one nipple to a painful intensity of feeling as the other demanded equal attention.

  Willis sat on the couch, his underwear pushed down, cock in his hand, stroking himself.

  “I want to see you come,” I told him. I was getting very close, watching Jake’s hand on my breasts and Cathy’s manipulation of the dildo and vibrator—my legs were spread wide and raised now, and as I watched she pulled out the silicone cock, gleaming with lube and my juices, and rubbed the head on my clit, briefly replacing the vibrator, then drove it back inside me.

  Willis’s face was flushed, and his hand moved faster. “I’m going to come,” he panted. His legs flexed, his face set and driven.

  “Wait for Jo, honey,” Cathy said. “Grab a towel.” The towel instruction made me snort with laughter but in no way diminished my increasing excitement.

  “Oh, Christ,” said Willis. An arc of semen splashed onto the coffee table.

  “Oh, Willis,” Cathy said as though she were June Cleaver and he’d trodden mud over a clean kitchen floor. More semen looped and splashed, this time onto the towel he’d managed to grab, and he groaned loudly, semen dribbling from his cock onto his fist.

  “You’re so gorgeous,” Cathy whispered. She bent her lips to the nipple that was awaiting its turn and sucked, hard, and I came, in a great lurching rush that doubled me up, and left me gasping for breath.

  As the spasms subsided I sagged back against Jake’s arm. Cathy slid the dildo into me more gently now, and I reached down to push away the vibrator, which was almost painful post-orgasm. Things felt very wet down below, with the lube and my juices, and I was glad Cathy’s upholstery was protected by terrycloth.

  “Okay, Jo?” Willis was now ready for round three, erect again in record time. I wasn’t sure that I was. My legs were like jelly and I was trembling still from the intensity of my orgasm. My mouth was dry from all the gasping and I could barely move.

  “Great,” I managed to say, and rolled off the ottoman onto the floor in an undignified heap. I decided I’d watch this round. I managed to stagger to the bar for some more wine and settled into a huge, oversize armchair. Was it my social duty to masturbate? I really didn’t have the energy and I knew that after the mindless buzz of the vibrator I’d be pretty numb. No, this was time-out.

  Cathy was on Jake’s lap again, her bathrobe discarded, kissing him. He kissed well, I’d found, even if I didn’t like him particularly (little lady!), and I found myself grateful for his gentleness and expertise. Would Cathy get the same sort of experience?

  Apparently not. She giggled as the two guys conferred over the basket of silicone goodies. “Not that one! I won’t be able to go to the bathroom for a week!”

  “Pretty little pink one?” Willis dangled one of the smaller butt-plugs between two fingers.

  “Oh, okay.” She stood and bent over, spreading her butt cheeks. “Make sure the lube is warmed up. I—ooh!”

  “Gorgeous,” Jake said, staring at the invasion of his wife’s butt. “Hot damn, girl.”

  He stood and dropped his underwear.

  It was sexy and funny at the same time, the two guys jostling together for a better look at the bright pink projection in Cathy’s ass, their cocks bobbing in the air. It made me uncomfortable, too, in a particularly squirmy sort of way that was partly curiosity and repulsion, and yes, a bit of desire in the mix. I’d never gone in for any sort of anal play, other than a discreet, nicely lubed forefinger (and only up to the first knuckle—Hugh had large hands). Cathy, from her flushed face and parted lips, seemed to be enjoying herself immensely as Jake kneaded her (or possibly his) birthday presents, a far cry from his subtle manipulations of my breasts. She was sitting on Willis’s lap and shifted onto his penis with a small whimper—oh, yes, she’d feel stretched and doubly invaded now. She and Jake kissed deeply.

  I held my breath. Who would deal with Jake’s erect cock? Willis’s hands were on Cathy’s hips, guiding her, and he could easily reach Jake. But Cathy broke the kiss and slid Jake’s dark shiny cock into her mouth. All three of them swayed together, Cathy pleasuring Jake and moving on Willis’s cock while he rested against the back of the sofa, eyes closed. They produced a symphony of murmurs and groans, the quiet slap of flesh, three people whose relationship I could barely attempt to understand. I envied them their closeness at that moment, the trust between them, their unselfconsciousness.

  Willis reached forward to stroke Cathy’s hair and she removed her mouth from Jake’s cock to turn and smile at him. There was a brief, silent exchange between them, a moment of yearning from Willis, a glimpse into something private and painful on his part, which Cathy responded to with regretful, apologetic affection.

  I sipped my wine and wondered about risks I hadn’t really considered before. Not the physical risks of sexual encounters but the possibility that love might come sneaking up on you, taking you unawares and leaving you powerless.

  My clothes lay strewn on the floor near the bar and I moved quietly to retrieve them. I dressed at the bottom of the stairs leading to the first floor of the house; they wouldn’t be able to see me if they even cared where I was. Shoes in hand, I tiptoed up the stairs and found my jacket and purse in a closet.

  A magazine and some mail lay on a shelf in the hall and I found the address and called for a cab. I didn’t think they even noticed that I had left.

  “Are you busy?”

  Jo hovered at Patrick’s doorway, a large envelope in one hand and a plate of cookies in the other.

  “No. Come on in.”

  She peered around him as though looking at a dragon’s den. “It’s just that Kimberly said you were a lawyer, and…”

  “I’m sort o
f a lawyer.”

  “Oh. What is a sort of a lawyer? Could you take a sort of look at something for me?”

  “Sure. I passed the bar and couldn’t find a job. I’d put myself through law school doing web design and not sleeping, so I kept on doing it.”

  “Does not sleeping pay well?” She wandered in and gazed at his panoply of computers. She was barefooted, in jeans and a sweater with a hole in one elbow, her hair on end. As though suddenly remembering the cookies, she thrust the plate at him. “For you.”

  “Thanks. You didn’t have to—”

  “I’ll pay you, of course. These are a gift. It’s okay, I didn’t make them.”

  He took a bite of one. “They’re good. Can’t you make cookies?”

  She shook her head. “Whenever the recipe says to drop them onto the sheet, they stay in little lumps. I think it might be the altitude.” The cat strolled into his apartment through the open door, and she scooped him up. “I’ll put him outside.”

  “He’s okay.”

  As he cleared some papers from a chair for her his cell rang. He glanced at it and shut it off. She raised her eyebrows. “One of my clients has forgotten her password. She always updates on Monday afternoons and she always forgets her password. So, what is this you want me to look at?”

  She handed him a contract for something called the Rockies Investment Association and sat quietly while he read, the cat on her lap purring and digging his claws into her denim-clad thighs.

  “Okay,” he said. “You know this is a bunch of pretentious crap, don’t you?”

  She smiled. “Yeah.”

  “It seems an odd sort of thing for an investment club to have. All this emphasis on confidentiality.”

  Her hand moved to stroke the cat’s chin. His eyes closed, the purring getting louder. “Oh, there was some hassle with insider trading a few years back.”

  “And this bothers me. Look.” He pointed at a paragraph. “You’re being asked to agree to the rules of the club but there isn’t an addendum with the rules on it. So essentially you’re agreeing to something unknown. And they don’t spell out the penalties for leaving the club without thirty days’ notice.”

  “That’s all they sent.”

  And sent by courier, too. “Well, an investment club. It’s not like they’re going to ask you to swing naked from the chandeliers or anything.”

  A quick flash of something in her eyes and the cat uncoiled and dropped to the floor with a thud. “So how legally binding is this?”

  He grinned. “As legally binding as anything with your signature. But as I said, it’s legalistic crap. It’s meant to intimidate you, make you think you’re getting into something special.” He took another bite of cookie and brushed crumbs from the paper. “Don’t put in any more than the initial one hundred they ask for until you see how your money does, and cross out a few things for the heck of it. This is a contract. It’s the start of a negotiation, not the Ten Commandments. And keep a copy.”

  “Thanks.” She smiled. “I should pay you for your time.”

  I’ll take a blow job, please.

  Where in God’s name did that come from, with Kimberly depleting his sperm stock every night? He almost choked on his cookie.

  She regarded him with mild concern. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine, fine.” A pen and some other small items cascaded from his desk as the cat sauntered across it with a fine disregard of property and settled on the windowsill.

  She rose. “Bad cat. Come here.”

  “He’s fine. No, for God’s sake, you don’t have to pay me. You’d figured out this was crap on your own. Thanks for the cookies.”

  She tucked the contract under her arm and scooped the cat from the windowsill. “You’ve been very helpful. Thanks.”

  She went back into the house, leaving him unsettled. He suspected the Rockies Investment Association was not all that it might seem on paper, but ultimately it was her business, her decision. If his relationship with Elise had taught him anything, it was to think twice before jumping in to protect someone when they didn’t need or want rescue.

  Even when every instinct you had told you that you were right.

  “And so I’m invited to lunch with some sort of committee tomorrow,” I told Mr. D.

  “A committee. Lunch.”

  “Do you think they’re going to screw me on a pristine white tablecloth in the private room of some tasteful, discreet restaurant?”

  “You have a way of filling my mind with the most shocking images. Tell me more.”

  So I told him that naturally I wouldn’t wear panties. I’d wear stockings and a garter belt and a severe black suit with a skirt at knee level, the jacket showing just a hint of cleavage and red lace that matched my lipstick. No bra, just a silk camisole, and the jacket thin enough to show my erect nipples.

  “Lipstick?”

  “Oh, yeah. Bright red lipstick, my best bitch lipstick.”

  Imagine it, I tell him…

  We’ve had a careful lunch served by a pair of deferential, respectful waiters who nevertheless exchanged glances that they thought I didn’t see. So this is the latest one… Or maybe they hoped I would see. The food was delicious and sensual, a salad of beets and goat cheese and greens that tasted of spring and sunlight, nuts scattered over all. Steak, rare, that left a smear of bloody juice on the plate. Wine, of course, something pale and expensive and complex.

  For dessert, a chocolate mousse served in a martini glass with a saucy curl of dark chocolate peeking over the edge, and coffee served in exquisite, tiny porcelain cups. A plate of tiny sweet strawberries in case anyone needed an extra little nibble.

  Willis and Jake were there, observing me, watching my tongue and lips as I ate, and the Chairman, a middle-aged man in a beautiful suit that had the drape of silk and the heft of a fine wool. He was handsome, powerful, his dark hair sprinkled with gray, features chiseled and masculine, with piercing, deep-set brown eyes.

  “You, Mr. D.”

  “My dear, you flatter me. I’m not nearly so good-looking.”

  “So you see, Miss Hutchinson, trust is absolute. You do understand.”

  I dabbed at my lips with the fine linen napkin. “Of course.”

  “Well, then, how about—shall we say, Wednesday night? We’ll send a limo for you.”

  I nodded in agreement. “Thank you for the delicious lunch.”

  “My pleasure. But before you go, Miss Hutchinson, there’s one more thing.” He beckoned to one of the waiters, who stepped forward. “A gesture of good faith, if you will.”

  I stood. I knew what he wanted. The waiter was quite young, probably a college kid putting himself through school, dark-haired, with small gold-rimmed glasses, a gold ring in one ear. He stepped past me with a word of apology and cleared the table. I took my lipstick from my purse and reapplied it. Jake nodded at me and I removed the jacket, revealing the silk and my hard, excited nipples.

  The waiter brushed crumbs from the tablecloth with a small silver-handled brush into a cute little silver dustpan, then stepped aside.

  “Pretty, isn’t she?” the Chairman said to the waiter. “Would you like to fuck her?”

  He blinked and stared at the Chairman and then at my nipples.

  “Go on. Touch them.”

  I smiled at him encouragingly. He wore a long white apron and black pants, but a sizable bulge showed in the apron now. His hand drifted across my nipples.

  “Continue.” The Chairman beckoned to the other waiter, who brought brandy and glasses for the three men, the spectators, and then a small silver tray with a condom on it. He returned to his station on the opposite side of the room, watching.

  I pulled my skirt above my hips, feeling cool air caress my thighs and butt. I leaned against the table, supporting myself on my hands.

  “I did mention I was wearing high heels, didn’t I?”

  “Oh, God. Go on.”

  The table edge pressed into my pussy. I parted my legs, steadying mys
elf.

  Behind me the waiter untied his apron; I heard the rustle of linen, followed by the small sound of a button releasing, the hiss of a zipper. His hands grasped my hips. One hand dipped between my thighs and lingered on the wetness, dabbling, preparing me.

  His finger slid into me. I watched the faces of the three men around the table, who, despite their languid poses and their glasses of brandy, radiated tension. The Chairman raised one eyebrow; he had detected a change of stance, a shift in my position.

  “Is all well, Miss Hutchinson? Will you share with us what Ben is doing?”

  “His finger is inside me. Now two. Three.” I moaned a little.

  “I assure you his cock is bigger than that. Isn’t it, Ben?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Show us, Ben. Miss Hutchinson, stay where you are, please.”

  The waiter stepped back a little and his feet shuffled on the carpet. I loved this, although I couldn’t see it, the display of his erect penis to the others. Across the room the other waiter watched. He shifted and lowered his hand to his crotch, in the unselfconscious way men will when dealing with a troublesome erection. Was it Ben’s display that excited him, or the prospect of the fucking that was to follow?

  “Very workmanlike,” the Chairman commented. “Yes, I think that will do. What do you think, gentleman? Uncut, you will notice.”

  The tear and snap of a condom and then something hard and slick rubbed against my butt. I caught my breath. My camisole gaped open, revealing my breasts and erect nipples to the men at the table and the waiter opposite. I raised a hand to pinch them into still harder peaks.

  Small motions of their shoulders and hands below the tablecloth told me that Jake and Willis were masturbating. The Chairman, however, sat motionless, both hands on the surface of the table.

  Ben continued to rub his cock against my butt for a while, occasionally dipping it between my legs. He reached one hand to pinch my nipples as I had done, his gesture bringing the faint scent of a kitchen, the aromas of oil and meat and onion and smoke to my nostrils. His fingers were faintly dusted with black hair.