by Cara McKenna
She was secretly pleased when he didn’t ask her to strip naked or do the job himself. Instead he stood, took her face in his hands, and kissed her. A deep kiss, a handful of sensual, needy laps that did the job of twenty minutes’ foreplay.
The room seemed to spin as he stepped back, his mischievous smile returning. She admired his body as he stroked her hair, neck, shoulders. What’s Mike wanting to see? she wondered, curious if Bern was wondering the same thing. If either of them could guess, it was her.
She sat on the mattress, tugging Bern close by his belt. He smiled down at her, running a hand across his hard belly. The hand slipped lower, over his buckle, then lower still to cup his straining erection.
“Show me.” She tugged at the waist of his jeans, her eagerness no act.
“You wanna see?”
“Yes.”
He rubbed his bulge with a slow, lazy rhythm. “Say please.”
“Please.”
“Say it again.”
“Please. Let me see.”
He unbuckled his belt with a practiced motion, freed his button, and lowered his zipper. For a taunting minute he kneaded himself through the dark cotton of his underwear, the long, explicit strokes showing her that yes, he was as big as they’d hoped for.
“Please. Show me.”
First he showed her a smile, dripping with cockiness. Then he pushed his waistband down and let her see him, bare and hard and thick, his head flushed, his scent potent and exciting.
For a long moment she merely stared, frozen in the knowledge that she was being presented with a cock that didn’t belong to the man she’d married. Then Bern spoke, breaking the spell.
He gave himself one slow, thorough pull. “That big enough?”
“That’s plenty.” Above and beyond. Bigger than her husband. Bigger than any man she’d had before him, for that matter.
Did Mike like what he saw? Had this man’s cock given him that pleasurable punch in the gut he craved, a gulp of that scary-strong cocktail of jealousy and lust? Did it get him five times drunker than their dirty talk about other men’s dicks could ever hope to?
“Touch me,” Bern said.
She grazed the underside of his length with her fingertips, then again. She measured his girth with her fist, squeezed to feel how stiff he was. As she explored him, she imagined that hard thickness pushing inside her. Mike might be in the room for that moment, or pretend to walk in. She swallowed, overcome – turned on, undeniably, but overwhelmed as well.
“I love it,” she said, remembering her role. Worship him, dum-dum.
“This what you’ve been missing?”
She admired him with a greedy stroke. “It’s perfect.”
“Maybe you want to suck me,” he said.
“I do.” Her reply was automatic, but chased by a worry – was it too soon? Though when would going down on a new man not feel like a leap? Now was as good a time as any.
“Here.” He took her hand and coaxed her from the bed, having her kneel before him on the carpet, the two of them still in profile to their unseen audience.
He murmured a long, pained “Yeah” as she spoiled him with strokes meant to rouse all three of them.
Bern played his part well, with the calculated calm of a career philanderer. But this close, she felt the tension in his body, the energy practically vibrating from him. Two men were having their fantasies realized tonight, and she wondered what Bern was most tuned into – the nearness of her lips or the presence of her husband’s eyes.
She brought her face close, letting her breath steam the dark, taut skin of his head. Her other hand she dropped to his hip, lest she obscure Mike’s view. A shiver enveloped her as Bern combed her hair aside with his fingers, drawing it into a sloppy ponytail. The weight of his hands urged, edging her lips closer.
“Taste me.”
She let her lower lip brush him and his cock twitched. A firmer order from his guiding hands and she took his crown in her mouth, closing her lips around his heat.
“Good.”
She imagined it was Mike who’d uttered that happy syllable, approval whispered from the dark of the bathroom. Another inch slipped between her lips, another. When he was slick with her spit, she sought a rhythm. Don’t service – worship, she reminded herself, and let her mouth do the job of her eyes and hands and words, handling him like the lust object he’d been cast as.
“Fuck.”
His sensuality gave way to a darker tone – she felt the shift in the way his fingers gripped her hair and urged her motions. His sounds were as hot as any other detail about him – guttural, muttered nonwords, grunts and sharp inhalations. She longed for different ones, the kind that would echo the tempo of his hips as he fucked her. If he fucked her. Jesus, please let him fuck her.
That final thought struck her, woke her up.
I really do want this. Every bit as much as Mike wants it for himself.
“Fuck, that’s good. Nice and deep.”
She moaned around him, and she wasn’t acting anymore.
“You’re so hungry for me, I can feel it. What’s wrong – he can’t stay this hard for you? Or you just want a nice big mouthful?”
Rhetorical questions, resounding accusations to stab holes in Mike’s ego.
“You like that,” Bern said, stroking her hair. “You like sucking that fat cock.”
She did. It wasn’t a hardship, moaning like a porn star around him, but as exciting as he felt, it was incidental. Size mattered only as a novelty and for how hot it might be getting Mike. It was the power that had her high – the knowledge that she held the keys to two men’s deepest desires.
“More.” It was a statement, not a request – Bern’s hips had begun making demands. He took her mouth only deeply enough to intimidate, not to gag. He slid a hand between his thighs to fondle his balls and she could see his wrist and arm trembling faintly. She nudged his hand aside to do the job for him.
“Yeah.”
She gazed up at his flexing abdomen, his tight chest, the shadows of his strong arms. He swallowed, then their eyes met. His mouth dropped open with a silent moan, and for a moment, she owned him.
Watch him and he’s yours, she mused. And she kept her attention on his face for the rest of the act, until he eased her fingers away and slid from her mouth, panting.
Bern took a seat on the edge of the bed and she moved her attention to his thighs, memorizing his skin and muscle while he collected his wits. At length, he let out a long, delirious sigh.
“Were you close?” she asked, looking up to meet his eyes.
He grinned. “I can go all fucking night. But I like variety.”
Liar, she thought. He’d been closer than he wanted to admit. But she liked the fib. She liked knowing how hot her mouth or Mike’s gaze had gotten him.
“Bet you like variety, too, huh?” he asked.
She smiled. “You have no idea how much.” Neither did she – but she was learning fast.
“Well, you’ve got me, tonight.”
“That I do.”
“Why don’t you tell me all the things you’re dying to do with me?”
“Where to start?” She weighed him in her hand. “Let me just enjoy you. Stand up.”
He did, and she lavished him with hungry touches – enough to tease but not to torture – fascinated to explore his new, beautiful body. Mike’s was just as wonderful. Better in many ways, as she knew it so well, how to please it, and felt assured that it knew how to please hers in return. But Bern was a thrilling new toy.
She stroked his belly and hips, backside. His skin was warm and taut, the hair sprinkled across his chest and down his abdomen darker and denser than Mike’s. Between his legs it was darker still, but shot through with the same silvery gray that decorated his temples. Sam wasn’t sure why she found that so appealing, but it turned her on, undeniably. She ran her fingers through the curls and his cock tensed in reply.
Not wanting to be cruel, she gave his length a couple
of gentle pulls, keeping him stoked, then moved her touch lower, cupping his balls again. He responded with a sucking breath and a grunt, and his hand came to rest softly on the back of her head once more. Sam had never heard a single one of her girlfriends ever express any enthusiasm for this bit of the male anatomy, but she had to say, Bern had a great set, as balls went. Tight and heavy, compact.
“I love how you smell,” she said.
“More than how I taste?”
Pretending to have forgotten that flavor, she gave the beading head of his cock a slow lap. “I like both,” she decided.
“Maybe someday I’ll let you find out how my come tastes.” His words were confident but the tone beneath them strained. His words tightened her, too, and Mike, surely.
She smiled up at him. “I hope so.”
“Maybe you’ll let me find out what you taste like,” he added.
“You only have to ask. You can have anything you want.”
But he didn’t ask. He simply slid her fingers from his cock, took her hands, and urged her to trade places. He dropped to his knees on the floor, nudging her thighs wide. His hand slid under her butt, coaxing her closer to the edge, and she had to lie back to keep from slipping off. Unwilling to be robbed of a good show, she propped herself on her elbows, watching the concentration tense his features as he slid her panties from her legs and took her in. He brought his face closer, closer. She imagined Mike in the dark bathroom, standing if he wasn’t already, not wanting his view obscured by Sam’s thigh.
A warm breath heated her lips. She’d been aching for ages, her clit untouched all that time he’d spent being spoiled by her hands and mouth. His nose glanced her, sending a shock of pleasure up her body.
“Yeah.” Another nuzzle, and she held her breath at the sensation. His tongue traced her lightly, drawing a sigh from her lungs. She lay back against the mattress, letting her arms trail above her head as she surrendered to whatever he was going to do to her.
The head he gave was nothing like Mike’s. Her husband’s tongue was fast and ingenious, mastered at teasing her clit with rapid, fluttering flicks, and he knew how much pressure she liked from years of getting her off.
Bern was the opposite. He gave her folds deep, firm, languid kisses, punctuating every few laps with a nip at her clit. He was as slow and decadent as caramel, and though the contact didn’t stimulate her in the expert, efficient way Mike could, the sheer dirtiness of those penetrating strokes of his tongue had her toes curling.
“Wow,” she murmured. He wasn’t better or worse than Mike, only different, but that wasn’t the message she was supposed to be conveying. “You’re so good.”
His mouth left her so he could speak. “Better than your husband?”
“I never knew how good this could feel.”
She felt him penetrating – his fingers, not his tongue this time. He moaned. “You taste so sweet. When we fuck I want to eat you for an hour, until you’re screaming for my dick. Begging.”
“I’m close to begging now.”
“That’s what you think.” He added a third finger, filling her with a hot, curious ache, a need to know how his cock would feel, how fast or rough he might fuck. “You have no idea how bad I’ll make you want it.”
She made a little noise, a cross between a sigh and a laugh. “I love your threats.”
“Not threats. Promises.”
“Even better.”
He lowered his mouth once more as his fourth finger slid inside, offering the first taste of that pleasurable, stretching pressure. He closed his lips over her clit, the contact hot and hungry. Sam snaked a hand over her belly and ribs to cup her breast, letting her wedding band scrape across the tightening peak of her nipple through the satin. She teased herself as Bern pleasured her between her legs, hoping maybe she could come. Everything felt good, but it was so different as well, too distracting in its newness. She had a noisy, analytical brain, and she couldn’t get off unless she was truly relaxed, so she couldn’t say if it was in the cards for tonight. But Mike needn’t know that.
She let Bern spoil her for another five minutes or more, let his muffled moans and grunts fill her ears and tried to let fantasies about him fill her head. She tried to relax enough to climax, but it wasn’t to be. Her orgasm would have to be as manufactured as her contempt for her supposedly inept husband.
“Yeah,” she muttered, threading her fingers through Bern’s messy hair. She let her leg muscles flutter, rubbed his back and shoulders with her feet, curled her spine, mewled and whimpered. “Keep going.” She said it again and again, then his name. The latter fell strangely from her lips, feeling like a shoe slipped on the wrong foot, but she repeated it over and over for both sets of eager ears. “Bern. Bern.”
It was a finely faked orgasm, complete with clenching and writhing and twitching and a homely, authentic guttural moan at the crescendo. An award-winning performance, she thought as she pretended to unfurl from her release, chest rising and falling with hitching breaths. Bern gave her clit a final lap, and she bucked, no need to feign oversensitivity. She’d never thought any time was an appropriate one to fake an orgasm, but this circumstance seemed a legit exception to the rule.
Bern slid his fingers from her, and a hot pang shot through her as he licked them clean.
“Good?” he asked.
She grinned. “I think you could have guessed that for yourself.”
“What’s my reward?” He climbed onto the bed, pushing her legs together and straddling them as he scooted closer, finally kneeling astride her thighs. She watched his fingers curl around his cock, clit pounding with frustration.
“Just about anything you want,” she said.
As his fist tightened and began to stroke, his gaze jumped all over her body. “Take your bra off.”
She did as instructed.
“Nice. Lemme watch you play with them.”
Sam ignored a pang of self-consciousness, focusing on the show he was offering her as she kneaded her breasts for him. The tendons in his forearm stood out as he masturbated, and she imagined him doing this every lonely night since Saturday, thinking about her, or merely thinking about being seen.
“You look good,” she murmured.
“Yeah. You like watching me?”
“I do.” She couldn’t decide which she liked more – watching or listening. His voice and body were tied when it came to rousing her. “I can’t wait to watch you fuck.” And hear it. Maybe she had a kink of her own, after all. She wanted to listen, as surely as Bern wanted to be watched, it would seem. Wanted to know what he’d say as he got close, or as he took her, and how he’d say it. Wanted that voice right at her ear as she got there herself, next time.
And she could admit, she wanted a next time.
Her words did something unmistakable to him, sinking him into a deeper level of arousal. His hand sped alongside his racing breaths.
“Let me see your hips move,” she said.
He knew what she was asking for, keeping his fist still and thrusting his cock into the grip. Sam wished she had Mike’s view, wanting to see the flex of his side and back and ass. She suddenly adopted Bern’s mirror fetish.
Before her eyes, he reached the end of his rope. Wild moans spilled from his throat and she imagined those sounds even closer, right by her ear as he came apart, inside her.
“Where do you want it?” he panted, his meaning clear.
She pondered her options, fevered from the change in his voice – that smooth, sugary accent had gone from sultry to filthy. His body only seemed stronger, the more turned on he got, but his voice… She sensed weakness there, surrender, and felt powerful in turn.
As for his question, Mike was a hips-and-legs man, so let Bern desanctify that territory. “Right here,” she said, stroking her upper thigh, just below the crease.
He edged back a few inches. His hand sped and she admired his face, his expression reckless, cheeks flushed. A desperate man is the most fascinating creature in the
world, she decided, watching this strong alpha male torn to pieces from wanting.
“I wish my husband could see this,” she said. “Show him exactly what I’m missing.”
“This,” Bern mumbled, strokes harsh and graceless.
“Yeah. That cock.”
“Oh…” He dropped forward, bracing his weight on one arm as his hand pumped. His release arrived with a strangled sound, hot come lashing her skin, slipping down her hip. Three spasms, four, and he was gone, a strong man all at once limp and reeling. Marvelous.
