by K T Morrison
There were a few more grumbled snatches of Finn’s voice that took their attention. Sometimes Libby would do one of those quiet squeaky Yeahs, like she was telling Finn she enjoyed the movie or something else. Like the way he was rubbing her feet. That simple thought sickened him. Those pasty little tootsies were his alone to rub. He could feel their damp cool in his palms’ imagination, longed for this to be done and for Libby to be home with him where they could be reunited on the couch and he would assume the wonderful task of rubbing her pretty feet.
Feet bouncing on the floor, a manic energy took over his legs. He listened intently, but his brain grew afraid to hear something he could never un-hear. A gasp as she was penetrated. A moan. Libby’s soft voice groaning Finn’s name...
He wanted to scream, burst out laughing, grab the phone, run quick to his back deck and launch it up into the night. Chelsea would come out screaming That’s my god damn phone, you idiot! and he would cackle and collapse on the deck in cushy relief.
“Look, Chelsea, we should—”
She stopped him short. “Listen.” It was spoken as a hissed command, urgent and dire. Like an angler who’d got his first nibble after a long biteless afternoon in a boat.
Ben got close to the phone, strained to listen. “I don’t hear anything,” he said, not really even trying to. Afraid to.
“Listen,” Chelsea said again and got closer, a smile wanting to form on her pretty mouth.
“Oh, God,” he muttered, and she shushed him again.
Both of them got very near, their faces turned toward each other and close enough to feel one another’s breath, their ears hovering above the screen of her phone. Chelsea asked him: “Is that kissing?—you hear it?”
“No,” he said, almost a whimper.
He could hear something. Soft wet mouth noises. Lips smacking, sucking, a low moan.
Now, outrageously, he grew hard in his pants. He gripped and tugged at the fabric of his fly, angry with himself. He clenched his jaw tight, made a wincing face and wasn’t afraid to let Chelsea see his pain.
Chelsea nodded, that smile spreading. “They’re kissing, Ben...”
27
A loud smack now, a mouth sound, two mouths. They both darted ears closer to the phone. Someone was moving. Fabric on leather, that embarrassing flatulent sound. Ruffled clothing. Then Finn’s voice: “Where you going?”
Libby, voice high and tense but still airy soft: “I have to go.”
Finn said, “Don’t go, Lib...”
Lib: “It’s late...”
More sounds of movement, and now Finn and Libby were coming closer to the microphone, their voices getting louder. Like Finn had placed the phone on a table right behind the couch, and now they were standing beside it.
There was a soft squeaking sound, more cotton blurting against leather. Finn said, “Hey, come here,” kindly and encouraging.
Libby said, “I’ve got to go...” Her voice was quiet and sullen and not as insistent or demanding as Ben would like her to be.
Finn said, “You can go, Lib, if you want, but would you come here first, please?...” There was a hand-patting sound like Finn had encouraged Lib to come by clapping a hand on his thigh. Ben could picture them now, maybe Finn sitting on a stool, very near the side table where his phone sat, Libby with her lips pouted, her brow lowered, both hands tucked into her armpits. His heart ached for her. The struggle she must feel, the conflict, the trauma… the lure...
There was another sound of moving fabric, and Finn said, “I had so much fun with you today, Libby...”
Then, almost equidistant, Libby’s voice: “I had fun too.”
Their voices were close together—Libby had joined Finn at his demand. They’d been kissing, she knew she had to go, but Finn could lure her back. Ben could picture Finn on that stool, his knees out, Libby standing huddled and afraid between his thighs. Maybe Finn would put a hand on her back…
“God,” he hissed, and straightened on the couch, writhing in pain as though he had a cramp.
“It’s getting good, get back here,” Chelsea urged him.
“I need to turn it off,” he insisted quietly. But again, he made no move to extinguish the bad news coming across 4G.
Finn said to Libby, “I’m so glad you came with me this weekend.”
Lib took a long moment before answering. “Thank you for everything you did, Finn.”
“You made it fun, I would’ve been bored out of my mind if you weren’t here with me.”
“I’m glad.”
A soft sound, lips on skin. Finn kissing Libby’s neck? Libby made a soft sound in her throat, a complaint, but not an insistent one. Now there was a stroking sound, hand on an arm maybe. Finn: “Don’t go.”
There was another muttered complaint from Libby, this one more decided than the first. But still not final.
Finn said, “I’m sorry... I can’t help myself...”
“It’s okay,” Libby squeaked.
Finn, lower and slower: “I think about you so much.”
“No, you don’t...”
“You’re so awesome, Lib...”
“Don’t...”
More movement, a smoothing of flesh over flesh—Finn’s hand stroking Lib’s upper arm?
Finn’s voice, practically a whisper: “I loved dancing with you.”
“It was fun.”
Another long dreadful silence, then Finn confessed: “I think about you... Do you ever think about me?”
Libby didn’t answer, but there was a blubbering noise.
Finn said hopefully: “You do?”
No words, but Ben could picture Libby nodding her chin as unnoticeably as she could.
“You make me so hard,” Finn said.
Libby made a soft sort of gasping noise.
“You do. You’re so hot...”
“I am?”
“You’ve been driving me crazy this last week, I’ve been going out of my mind...”
“For me?”
Rustling fabric (an embrace?), then Finn said, “I couldn’t wait to be alone with you this weekend...”
“Oh, God...”
“Alone with you tonight...”
Lib’s breathy protest: “We can’t...”
“Sorry, Lib, I can’t help how you make me feel...”
Another blubbering noise, farther away, Libby had retreated. Ben was at once happy and forlorn.
Finn said, “Come back, Libby, come here, please...”
Libby’s words were timid and faltering, but she pronounced clearly: “I... thought... about... you...”
“I swear, Lib, I couldn’t wait for this weekend, for tonight, the whole time you were on my bike and you had your arms around me I was dying...”
Libby whimpered.
Finn continued, “You drive me crazy, you make me so wild...”
“I’m married...”
“God,” Finn said, surprised almost, like he was talking to himself rather than Lib, “just talking like this, letting it out... I’d do anything for you, to be with you...”
“No...”
A sharp brisk sound of fabric (Did Finn clutch himself to her?) Finn’s voice was low, a grumble, a masculine and proud proclamation: “Libby, you make me so, so hard...”
Another gasp. Bright and surprised air whisking over Lib’s palette into her cheery pink and innocent lungs. A man presenting to Libby the status of his sexual arousal was an affront of the highest order. Ben raised his shoulders to protect his ears in anticipation of the harsh wet smack that would be delivered across Finn’s cheek. How dare you, Libby would roar, I have no need to know the state of your genitalia...
Libby said something soft, but her mouth was thick with saliva. She was filled with emotions, Ben could hear it.
When Lib said nothing more, Finn prompted her. “It is, Lib. It’s so hard for you right now.”
Way too much, Finn, this doesn’t work on my Libby...
Chelsea’s eyes widened, waiting for every juicy word no
w that things had got good.
More rustling fabric and it enraged him because he wanted to hear more words.
A soft smack, a kiss. Finn kissing Lib’s neck? Breaths came heavier now, and Ben could hear Libby’s passion deepening. It made his brow crease, and a tortured expression pinched his features. “No...”
“Oh, yes, Ben, it’s happening,” Chelsea said, poking his upper arm.
A popping mouth sound now, a sucking preemptively pulled free. The fabric sound ceased, the moment went quiet, and it drew Ben and Chelsea closer.
Libby’s timid voice now: “What... Wait, what is that?—it’s not...?”
“My dick...”
Chelsea gasped and clutched Ben’s knee and he jumped.
“No, no, no,” Ben whispered, “shut it off, shut it off...”
Libby said, “That’s not your dick...”
Finn, reassuring: “Sure it is.”
“No...”
A quiet moment, then Finn, quieter: “You want to touch it?”
Libby’s breathy gasp: “No...”
Chelsea dug her nails into his knee with an attempt to control her boiling-over excitement. She triumphantly whispered, “He’s showing her his dick, Ben!” Her lips had peeled back from her teeth.
28
Finn said, “Do you want to see it?”
Chelsea exhaled, “Ho, come on, come on...”
Libby was confused: “But... it’s not, it can’t be...”
Chelsea’s face was wide with joy, and she clutched her hair, wide-eyeing him, saying, “This is too good, this is too good...”
Finn asked Lib: “Because it’s big?”
Libby in a quick chuckling exhale: “It’s really big.”
Finn asked her: “You’ve never been with a man who has a large penis?”
Chelsea collapsed into the couch in exaltation, but rebounded quickly, stomping back into place next to Ben, hunched over and listening.
Libby said, “I’ve only been with Ben.”
Chelsea whispered, “Bullshit.”
Finn asked Libby, “In your whole life, only with Ben?”
Libby agreed, “Uh-huh.”
“And his isn’t like this?”
Ben had begun to hyperventilate, and he clutched his chest. He caught Chelsea watching his look of pain and she laughed at him silently.
Libby said, “No...”
Chelsea shot him a sympathetic look, acknowledging how these words must affect him.
Finn asked Libby, “How much bigger is mine?”
Chelsea cupped a hand over her mouth, her eyes alive with jollity.
Libby, falteringly: “I don’t know...”
Ben made to grab Chelsea’s phone, wishing he’d earlier launched it up into orbit and avoided details he didn’t want to know. Chelsea was quicker, grabbing at his hands and digging her nails into his skin. She hissed near his ear: “I will fucking kill you, Ben.”
“I don’t want to hear anymore.” His voice was high and warbling with pain and sadness.
Chelsea wrestled the phone from him and set it back on the table. “Plug your ears or go upstairs,” she said, looking him in the eye. “I want to hear this.”
Ben buried his face in his hands but stayed put. He hunched forward like he had a stomachache.
Finn said now, “Can I take it out?”
“What?—no,” Libby laughed, which was the answer he wanted to hear, but it still hurt that she hadn’t fled Finn’s hotel room altogether.
Libby said, “I don’t want to see it.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Chelsea ran her tongue over her lip, easing closer.
Finn asked, “Is Ben’s, like, this long?...”
“No.”
Ben reached for the phone again and Chelsea grabbed his wrist hard, holding him with a surprising grip.
Finn asked, “Shorter?”
“Ah, fuck,” Ben hissed, bewildered how voices heard on a phone could provoke real and powerful pain in him.
Libby said, “Yes.”
Chelsea’s face peeled back in a silent gleeful howl, her mouth shaped in an O.
Finn asked, “Like this?”
Libby: “I don’t know...”
“Show me with your finger, Lib. Show me where Ben’s stops.”
Chelsea drew a short quick breath and patted his arm rapidly. There was still time to flee, time to escape what would be hurtful, but he remained in place, practically hugging his knees now, head lowered near the table.
There was a long silence, and he thought maybe the call had been disconnected, but then could still faintly hear the TV, though it sounded like someone had turned its volume down. Chelsea got close with him, showing him a puzzled face as they both wondered what was happening. There was movement now, the sound of something against denim.
Finn said, “There?”
Libby: “Uh-huh.”
Then more silence that got Ben and Chelsea straining, getting low. There was swishing fabric sound again. It continued for a few moments but no one said anything. Finn and Lib’s breaths were deep and slow.
Finn said in luxurious pleasure, “That feels good...”
Ben clutched his thighs together, found a surprising hardness between his legs. Chelsea got in his face and silently mouthed: She’s fucking jerking him off...
Libby said, “I should go,” and the sounds stopped.
Finn said, “No, no, put your hand back...”
“I can’t.”
The silence was ripped in two by the obvious dragging sound of Finn’s fly being drawn down.
“Here it comes,” Chelsea said, biting her lower lip and staring at him.
“Stop, stop, I can’t take it,” he said, put his hands near his ears as if he would cover them, but wouldn’t commit.
“He’s taking his dick out for her, Ben,” Chelsea said. “He’s going to fuck her right here...”
“Shut up, Chelsea,” he said.
There was movement in Barrie, sounds of fabric, maybe the phone being jostled. He could imagine Finn snatching it up so he could bring it to the bedroom so he and Chelsea could listen in while he fucked Libby with his big dick.
Chelsea almost squealed with glee, sitting upright, raising her knees up for a moment, whispering, “It’s happening, Ben, it... is... happening…”
Finn had said something but Chelsea’s glee had drowned it out; and Libby had made a high sound, too...
“Shut up, Chelsea,” he hissed, his face pinched in a tight scowl as his eyes burned on this evil device on the table. “I missed what she said. What did she say?...”
“I think her mouth was full.”
“Shut up,” he said again, more urgent this time. He leaned closer, turned his ear toward the phone. There was silence. No TV noise, no nothing. “I don’t hear anything.”
Chelsea got close, said, “What’s happening?”
“You fucking talked over them,” he scolded her.
“Oh, Ben, it is totally happening, totally, totally happening...” She seemed excited, her eyes bright, voice breathy.
“Oh, my God,” he said, and clutched at the hair above his ears. He squatted lower, his face just inches away from the phone. His ears strained to pick up the slightest sound but there was nothing. “What do you think’s happening?” he said to Chelsea, turning his eyes up. The instant look of strange compassion on her face made him realize how pathetic he must look now: Hovered over her phone, listening to his wife cheat on him. He was on the verge of crying, could feel his eyes swelling out of their sockets. His heart went off in his chest like a staccato machine gun. This was what he wanted and now he was getting it. Somehow, somewhere along the way, he’d been convinced this would be what saved his marriage…
He looked at that face smiling down on him, this evil Mother Teresa reaching out now to stroke his shoulder. “You fucking did this,” he said.
“It’s all you, Ben,” she said, her tone even, almost kind.
“I can’t believe it,” he said, sitting back from the phone. He stayed near, his forearms over his knees. It was hard to breathe. His cock was like a steel bar in his pants.
“They must’ve gone to the bedroom,” Chelsea said now, getting close.
She stayed there, her ear hovered over the phone, her eyes moving around, sometimes meeting his for a second, the corner of her mouth curled in an expectant smile, waiting to hear a gasp of pleasure as Finn sunk his large cock inside Libby.
“Can I still stop it?” His voice was dry and timid, one spark could set a forest fire.
“Why, Ben?—it’s done. It was a lot harder to get here than I thought, but we’re here now.”
He touched the tip of his tongue to the top of his lip, trying to form the command: Tell her not to do it...
...then he jolted as a fast-busy signal buzzed loud from Chelsea’s phone. The call had been disconnected. Chelsea winced and darted her head back. She swept up her phone and closed it off.
Phone tossed behind her, Chelsea slunk her lean body against his. She purred, “Right now your wife is taking Finn’s cock.” She gripped his knee.
He licked his lips, stared across the room. “It’s big?”
“Oh, Ben,” she laughed. “The biggest. Why do you think all my friends want to sleep with him?”
“My Libby...”
“She’s having the night of her life right now, Ben, I can guaran-fucking-tee it. She’s got those short little legs up around my husband’s hips and he is giving her the deep-dick-thrill of a lifetime, lucky Libby.”
“How big?”
She gave him a firm karate chop in the middle of his thigh, proclaimed, “Big, my friend,” then got close and nibbled on his earlobe. “It’s done, Ben. Shouldn’t you be thanking me?”
“This is a big mistake.”
“Are you sure?” Chelsea’s hand drifted up the inside of his pant leg, settled between his thighs. He didn’t resist her, could feel the heel of her wrist grinding against the belly of his rock hard erection. He groaned and humped his hips against her.
“This is a whole new day, Ben, a whole new day.” Her fingers fumbled around, she worked down his zipper.
“I can’t believe Libby’s doing this.”
“We got her to the stream, all she had to do was drink.” Chelsea had both hands now undoing the top button of his shorts, yanking open his fly. She got close, reminding him in a breathy imitation of his wife, “Oh my goodness, Finn, you have such a big cock...”
