Chapter 2 3 A REGULAR BORING WEEK and THOMAS THE BRUNETTE TWINK
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Sometimes he'd give her a lift home. They didn’t work at the same place, but once a week he’d be in that part of town on business and he’d see her waiting at the bus stop, the one on the high street outside the bank where she worked.
His Merc would be parked outside our house when I arrived home, and I’d pull up by its side and see the pair of them sitting in the front, windows down and Frank smoking. Talking, she said. They were forever talking.
And then there were the times we were out as a foursome: Frank and Carol, Ruth and I. He’d say stuff to Ruth, like what a gorgeous girl she was, and how he wanted to make love to her. He would say it even with Carol sitting next to her — Carol, his extraordinarily pretty wife. Then he'd make out like he was just joking, but we all knew he wasn't, that he could not be more serious.
I began thinking he was saying those things just to get a reaction from me. I never gave him the satisfaction, though. I kept my peace. After all, he was a brute of a guy, had a reputation around our way.
It was like they had this cliquey thing going on — you know, all glances, secret smiles, and innuendos. I began to feel I was an irrelevance.
One time we’d been in a bar in town, and he’d said he’d love to get Ruth into bed with Carol, said how they both wanted to share her, make a fuss of her. I was right there, next to Ruth, and he asked her outright if she would like to join them. And Carol was no better. She looked so excited when he said that stuff to Ruth. I watched Carol eyeing my Ruth with unabashed interest, the bloom of excitement burning electric in her shockingly blue eyes.
Frank didn’t let it drop either, just kept going on about it, pushing Ruth for an answer. Ruth turned and looked at me, and when she saw my hurt, she took my hand and smiled this sort-of pitying smile before turning to face Frank, saying, "If I were a single girl, maybe I would. But I could never be unfaithful to Paul. I love him too much — look how sweet he is."
Frank grinned, and said, "Yeah, proper little twink is your Paul."
But that wasn't the end of it. He wouldn’t take no for an answer, kept banging on about it, but Carol saw how it hurt me and told him to leave off, to get a round of drinks. He didn't like that, but went to the bar, pushing brusquely through the crush. A guy and his mate said something to him when he caused a spillage but they backed off when Frank turned on them, told them what treatment they'd need in A&E. He could do that could Frank, face up to anyone. The guy had no fear.
Some weekday evenings he’d drop Carol off at her mother's house and then come over to ours, a ten-minute drive away. I’d know when he was coming because on those nights Ruth would dress differently than she usually did after getting in from work. She'd go upstairs and shower, come down half-an-hour later wearing something short or low-cut, or maybe her yoga pants, the ones that clung like pantyhose. She'd do her hair and put on makeup, which she never wore unless we were going out for the evening. But not so much you'd think she’d made an effort.
We'd talk, and often we'd stream the latest movies, the ones not even out on DVD. Other times we’d play cards, and I’d catch them looking at each other when I was working out my hand. Later, Ruth would go into the kitchen and warm up a pizza, throw together a salad. He’d make an excuse to go to her, and I’d give them a few minutes and then go on through. Only ever talking; talking, always talking.
One time I asked her, “Would you ever, with the two of them?”
I could see her having to think before she answered. “Carol’s my oldest friend. It would spoil everything.”
“What about him? Just him?”
“You know how much he wants to,” she said.
“Does he ask when you've alone together?”
“Every time.”
"Really?"
"Yes, really."
"Doesn't it bother you?"
“Why should it bother me? I like it; the attention, that is. There's nothing else going on. Carol is gorgeous, and yet he's got this thing about me. Carol was always the one to get the best looking lad."
“But, if you had the opportunity... would you?”
“I’d never betray you, Paul.”
“So, when was the last time he said he’d like to fuck you?"
“Please, Paul, don't be crude. Frank never uses words like that when we're alone."
"Okay. So, when did Gentleman Frank last say he'd like to get it on with you?"
Last Wednesday when we were in the kitchen. As I said, he’s always saying it. And do you know something, Paul? I love it when he does ask me to sleep with him. It makes me feel desired. Special.”
"Don't I make you feel special?"
"Yes. But differently."
"Differently? How?"
"Like I'm precious."
“You wouldn't be so precious if he had his way. What else does he say?”
“That he’d like to have us in bed together.”
“So would I.”
“Not Carol.”
“No? Who then?”
“Us."
"Who's us?"
"You and me."
“You and me? He said that? Just came right out with it?”
“Sure.”
“What did you say?”
“That you were straight.”
“I am.”
“That’s what I told him.”
“What’d he say.”
“You only thought you were.”
“What else?”
“He said you’re a twink and that I’m gorgeous, and that we are such a hot couple and he’d love for us to take turns sucking his cock.”
Then there was the house party. Despite what she’d said about not letting him fuck her, Ruth and Frank had this drunken Christmas snog on the sofa at Carl and Karen’s Boxing Night do. Everyone tried not to stare when she sat on his knee and let him push the hem of her party dress way up her thigh. Talk about offering it to him on a plate.
To be fair, they were both dead drunk — and crap happens when you’ve necked that much vodka. I’d half expected it, from the looks they’d been throwing each other all night. It was like his lust for her ratcheted up a notch, something demonic flared in his eyes. All evening he'd had this drunken swagger that said fuck you all.
So, after those looks, it was not the big surprise it might have seemed. In fact, I loved knowing Ruth could make a man want her so much, and I couldn’t help watching as they went at each other as if auditioning for porn. It made my blood seethe — yet my cock thought differently. They just kept kissing and kissing, his hand up her skirt on the outside of her thigh. She had on sheer tights, so he couldn’t get to her pussy without being obvious. But everyone could see the haze of her white panties.
Carol was next to them and I thought she might put a stop to it, but she just kept talking to her sister, Karen, who sat opposite them. On and on they went, interminable tittle-tattle about some stupid prat of a neighbour that Frank was going to give a good hiding.
A part of me kept saying to tell him to pack it in, leave her alone, to piss off. But I’d got this massive hard-on, so I didn’t. Eventually, they realised they were starting to make some of the others uncomfortable, so Ruth made some excuse and went through to the kitchen to get a drink. The guys watched as she left the room, all ogling the snatch of her panties where her skirt had snagged and failed to hang. Sensing a room full of eyes on her butt, she quickly smoothed down the hem as she went through the door.
Later, I told her how it had made me feel to see her with him.
She said, “When he comes over again, I’ll let him go all the way — if you like?” She looked at me with such intensity, then continued, “Is that what you want? To watch Frank and me? Is it, Paul? Is that what you want to see? Just tell me if it is.”
I said I would think about it some more.
After that, we talked about it a lot, and the talking and imaging became part of our sexual sharing.
Over the next few weeks, she told me about the other men in her life, those she’d had before me. We'd fuck like newlyweds after she told me all that stuff. And when I asked her if there was anyone besides Frank she’d like to have.... well, it turned out there weren’t many she wouldn’t.
The night it first happened I hadn’t expected it — at least not the way it did happen, or just when it did.
She’d said she was going out with the girls from work. And I am sure that was her intention when she set out for the evening, because Julie picked her up from our house and gave her the ticket to the country club fund-raiser. Handed it to her, right there in front of me. And, later that week, to prove that at first she'd been out with the girls, and hadn’t planned it, she showed me the photos. Ten girls all dolled-up in their clubbing best, partying around the table on which they'd earlier shared a meal. I can still see that photo: all those young women with their short dresses, bare arms and bracelets, their raucous glances challenging the camera, defying it to forget them.
Whether a Christmas party, birthday, or charity event, I'd welcome her back, cuddle and kiss her while inhaling the scent of all those girls she had embraced during their comings and goings, or those girls against whom she had slouched in drunken carelessness. And when I inhaled her like that, I would imbibe the redolence of her evening that clung to her hair and clothing; the essential tincture of the human female as a herd animal.
But it wasn’t one of the girls she brought home that night.
I never discovered where or how she found him. Or, perhaps he found her, knew all along where she would be, and tracked her down, chose his moment.
I was in bed when she got home. It was two in the morning, and I’d emptied a bottle of red while watching bands on Youtube. I was on the border of sleep when the bang of the front door slamming shut jerked me awake. I heard her drunken laughter. Then a man’s voice, not the words themselves, only the oppressive darkness of his tone. And then the creak of feet on stairs, the slow and measured thumps of feet ascending.
The light of the landing beamed into the bedroom when they opened the door. Two silhouettes with arms around each other, conjoined in shadows on the threshold of our room.
“Look, darling... Look who I ran into,” she said, slurring. "And I’ve brought him home to fuck me . You are going to fuck me, aren't you Frank?” she said, gazing up at him.
"It's what I promised you, babe. I never break my promises," Frank said.
"Darling, don't you think Frank was so very, very clever to find me among all those women? You do think Frank's clever, don't you, darling?"
They tumbled into the room laughing.
I sat up in bed and saw the state of her. "Frank, mate, I think Ruth has had too much so I'll see to her now." My heart racing, I reached and clicked on a bedside lamp. "Thanks for bringing her home. We're both really grateful."
When she saw I was about to come to her and take her in hand, she flung her arms around Frank and held on tight, crying. “No, no! I want Frank to see to me tonight. He promised — didn't you, Frank? You promised me you would." She cowered from me like a child from the bogeyman. Then, seeing my distaste, she said, "Oh, babe, don't be such a spoilsport. You can watch, you know. You said you wanted to watch, didn't you? It's what you wanted. Remember?"
“Yeah, twink, don't be a spoilsport. You might learn something too," Frank said.
They began kissing, and I lay down on the bed again, already hard as granite, shitting myself with nerves too. Will I be able to stand to see this? I started to worry about things getting out of hand and not being able to cope. What if I wanted him to stop doing stuff to her, and he wouldn’t? How would I make him stop? I’m fit, slim and toned, but Frank’s in a different league: a big guy, at least at six-two. Muscular, but not absurdly so; the kind of body I would have liked to have for my own. I knew I wouldn't be able to take him out with my bare hands. Then I remembered the knife by the side of the bed, the one I keep there in case of burglars. The thought of its ten-inch steel blade reassured me.
I tried to relax, told myself this is what I wanted. After all, it had been my fantasy for weeks. I assured myself Ruth was doing this for me as much as for herself.
I remember it in Ultra-HD: her arms going up and Frank pulling her dress up over them, Ruth shaking her head when she was free of it, hair wild for a moment then falling back into place. He was mad for her, his hand deep in her panties. Not gentle either, her entire body shaking as he rubbed her mons with a frenzied thrash metal strum. Her reaction to his touch was a blow to my pride. She began panting like a sprinter, gasped out loud from his manipulations, let fly outrageous sounds of satisfaction.
Her head drooped, her body a ragdoll's. Her piteous slightness supported by his beef and brawn while his palms traversed her flesh. At one point, she looked up and opened her eyes and saw me staring. And, just as I thought she might hold my gaze, acknowledge me in some small way, in that split-second of our eyes meeting she winced in discomfort, and then I knew his fingers had breached her cunt. He brought her to a climax like that, his fingers coming and going, strumming and piercing, his other hand on her breast, pinching and twisting each nipple in turn. When she came, her entire body shook. No, not shook, convulsed. Her legs gave way and he had to support her weight as she writhed.
Given no time to collect herself, he let her slide to the floor and arranged her brusquely so that she knelt before him. Then, quickly undoing his zipper, he unleashed the thing she wanted, brought it out into the lamplight for us both to see. I thought, God, I would be rock hard if I were him, practically ready to cum. But he was a man barely aroused. Yet, what she took in her mouth would grow soon enough. Her mouth barely accommodated the swollen bulk of it, but she was so hungry for him, she drew it quickly to the back of her mouth, her head moving back and forth. I remember thinking how false her moans of pleasure, the ones she gave to please him.
And, as she took him deep into her throat, released him, took him in again, Frank would look over at me with defiant eyes that said, 'That's right, dickhead, this is your beautiful wife giving me head; willingly, beautifully, she is mine whenever I choose her to be'.
The sight of her naked and kneeling before him with her mouth full of his cock while his eyes focused on me was heartwrenching. To be a witness to that was the epitome of male humiliation. But, also, I was elated, then damned, finally blessed.
He coaxed her to her feet. When fully standing, he lifted her off the floor in one seamless movement, carried her to the bed and deposited her right next to where I lay, my head propped on the one hand resting on a pillow. He didn’t bother to take off his clothes, just pulled his jeans down off his hips, left them bunched around his knees. He readied himself. His cock became an outrageous affront to my masculinity.
He spread Ruth’s legs, positioned and arched her knees, kneeled and rubbed his jutting cock against the outside of her cunt. Then he fell on on her like a carnivore, all his bulk lending weight to his initial thrust. Soon his mass covered her torso so that her limbs and head were all there was to see. He gave a deep grunt of satisfaction and I knew he'd penetrated her. Because I had seen his cock, seen the length and girth of it, and because my Ruth was so tight down there, I thought perhaps he might cause her pain.
At his first surge, Ruth cried out, “Oh, god, Frank! Oh god, oh god, oh god."
I turned on my side to watch them fuck, my face just a foot away from theirs. He became a machine; a thing set running without thought to consequence. The bed shook like a quake-rocked highrise as he pushed himself up on muscular arms, pillars to steady himself midst the power-thrusts of his loins. I saw her profile, gazing at Frank with wonder in her eyes — at least, that is what I told myself I saw in her eyes, and that it was not love I saw there.
His pace shifted to slow and deep. And then as his cock came and went, his buttocks rising and falling smoothly in determined undulations, Ruth turned her head sideways and we were face-to-face. I scanned her eyes for a glimmer of acknowledgement. I needed her reassurance, a reaffirmation of what we were as a couple. But her thoughts were elsewhere, and when he altered his pace again, initiated a rhythm tender, slow, and fulfilling, she turned from me and closed her eyes, raised her arms and caressed his biceps and shoulders, ran her fingers across the cropped dome of his skull.
The scent of his manliness, fresh sweat beneath deodorant and aftershave, coalescing with Channel No 5 — a gift from me to her for her twenty-first, Paris last May. That fusing of sweat and Channel, it mingled with those perfume traces that clung even to her bare flesh, traces of the girlfriends and colleagues she'd embraced earlier, or just brushed against during her night out. Such a sickly pungency, the brew of it was in the air all about us. It washed over me, contaminated me with its heart-aching uniqueness.
In years to come, many times I would try to conjure the memory of its cloying musk, how it settled about the three us unseen, a tangible sex-stench miasma. Its molecules contaminated my hair and skin, fell on the bedding as the essence of erotic intensity. I knew even then that circumstance would never again conjure such a moment. The residue of that night lingered in the room for weeks after, seeping into my dream, deranging my days.
She turned her head to face me and saw the disbelief and excitement in my eyes, smiled the smile of one who has utterly triumphed. She turned away and looked up at Frank, and I saw her eyes beg for his kiss. And as he kissed her, she raised her feet and wrapped her legs around his back and held onto him with both arms as if her they were high on a ledge and she might plummet.
Shifting gear, notching up into overdrive, his thrusts became brutish, relentless, and again I wondered if he might damage her. Then in a flash he withdrew, shifted position to straddle her torso, calling out, "Suck it, suck it."
She raised herself to take his cock into her mouth. But, as her lips brushed its tip, he pushed her back down and said, " Not you." Still rubbing his cock, he told me, "Suck it, twink. Put it in your fucking mouth. Now!”
I just stared and stared at the massiveness of it, how it glistened in the lamplight from the lustre of Ruth's cunt-cum.
He grunted as if in pain, still rubbing himself while straddling Ruth, all the while edging his way up her torso, over her tits until he was high on her chest, his buttocks flattening her breasts, his body twisting so that his cock loomed over me.
Then his jizz splattered my face. A preposterous fibrillating heartbeat of cum sent jets of the stuff over my face, into my eyes mainly. It was glutenous, redolent of Chlorax. I could not move, the shock of it an absolute I had never envisaged. No longer able to think, I could not even wipe away his filth, and so what he bestowed was left to cool where it settled.
He reached out with his left hand and ran his fingers across my cheek, down to the corner of my lips, smearing jizz as he did so. His look of glee shone down on me. "You make a good girl, twink. I knew that's what you've always wanted."
Then he was on his feet in one bound, his trousers quickly back in place, zipper up in one swift pull, his belt buckled tight. “Got to go," he said, and headed for the bedroom door. "Carol will be wondering where I am. See you guys next week — Wednesday?”
And he was gone.
“How was it for you?” Ruth said, now standing, her arms raised and pulling her nightdress on over her head.
I didn’t answer.
The following Wednesday I got home to find Frank’s car parked outside our house. It was empty, no sign of him or Ruth.
I knew they’d be in the bedroom, so I went straight up. Neither even acknowledged me when I entered the room, and I said nothing in return. I walked to the chair in the far corner and sat down. The pair had, apparently ,only just arrived. Ruth was still in the uniform she wore for work at the Bank.
They were standing at the foot of the bed. He began undoing the buttons of her blouse. I watch in silence as he unpacked my Ruth from her work clothes. Everything was different from the other night. He removed each item of her clothing with studied care, savouring each newly revealed area of flesh.
For a moment, she stood there in just her seven-denier tan tights, pulled high over white panties, her feet still shod in flats. I imagined her moist warmth beneath her tights from her long day behind the counter. He spent time with her like that and then wrapped her in his arms, occasionally running his hands down her back and to the curve of her hose-clad thighs. He sank to his knees at one point, kissing her abdomen as he peeled her hose away, his mouth following in their wake as flesh became exposed. All down her legs his mouth followed, to her feet, removing her shoes and kissing her toes on each foot, then helping her balance as she stepped out of the skein of tangled micromesh.
When she was naked, she helped him undress and her fingers scrambled to extract his cock. She held it in her hand before being enfolded in his muscular arms again. Seeing how securely he held her to him scared me. I imagined him bundling her away as his captive, and me never seeing her again. Ruth is only five-two, so when he pulled her to him, his hard cock would have pressed almost between her breasts. If she had bent her head and stooped slightly, she could have taken him in her mouth. But I could not see his cock because they were squashed tight together, kissing.
My cock was a neglected pressure cooker left on full heat. I feared I might not cum but rupture. I gently rubbed it. Not too hard, just enough to alleviate some tension.
On the bed , they kissed until Frank whispered to her and she looked over at me and called out, “Frank wants you to suck his cock, darling.”
He lay back with hands behind his head, and I realised he was waiting for me. A shock of fear, I froze in my chair. She got up and came over to me and took my hand, encouraged me to stand. Then she led me to him and intimated with her eyes that I was to touch his cock. I hesitated, unable to deal with the proximity of eight inches of raw, blood engorged need.
“Hey, twink, hope you’re going to take your kit off before you join us.”
Speechless, I let her undress me, helping when required, but my mind reeling. Oh god!
My clothes scattered on the floor, she again took my hand and encouraged me onto to the bed. She guided my hand with hers, laying my fingers flat on his cock, then ran her nails down its length from tip to base, brushing the back of my hand when they passed over.
My hand would not move. “It won’t bite you,” Ruth said. But still I could not move, so she manipulated my digits individually, closing each tight about his girth, pressing them in place. And, when she removed her hand from mine, I began the slow movements that I had only used on myself.
“That’s the way, twink,” Frank said. And he took my hand and began moving it up and down, indicating the pace and amount of pressure he wanted.
Ruth licked his balls while I ran my hand up and down the stem of his cock. No longer guided, I began to appreciate the silk and plump, sumptuously hardness of it.
“Lick it,” Ruth said.
“Yeah, twink. Be a good girl and lick it.”
And so Ruth and I shared his cock, passed it to and fro from each other's mouth. When he ejaculated, I took the brunt and desperately tried to swallow, but Ruth was greedy, vied with me for his semen, our lips slipping and sliding all about his cum-greased cock.
And, when he had done with us, the enormity of what I had allowed washed over me. I became disgusted, pulled away, leaving Ruth to clean him with her lips and tongue. How could I have...
I left the room without a word and went to shower. When clean, the taste of cum purged with antiseptic wash, I returned to the bedroom to get my clothes. The sounds of their passion, a wave that rolled across the room, greeted me when I opened the door.
He had her on her belly, ramming at her without consideration. Once again he was the Rolls-Royce fuck-engine. The bat-bat-bat of the headboard against the wall marked time with each thrust.
I stood mesmerised, in awe of his physique, his vitality, his endless stores of lust. With one hand he had Ruth's fine, blonde hair tight in a ponytail and yanked back her head at an improbable angle. She had to support herself on her arms to alleviate the pain his stricture most surely inflict on her scalp.
I gathered my clothes while trying to shut out his voice asking how she liked his cock inside her and, "How does it feel to have a man come round to fuck you ?"
I could take it no more. I left the room. But ,before I was even out of the door, my cock stood firm in protest. Downstairs, I jerked-off by imagining his cock going fast and hard, in and out of Ruth’s cunt.
I put on my coat and went out into the night and walked. It was another two hours before I mustered courage to face them. By the time I got home, Frank had gone.
“You did well," Ruth said, handing me a tumbler of vodka and ice.
"Oh, thanks," I said from the depths of my self-pity, taking the glass from her hand.
“Don't be like that, Paul. You might like it better next time."
"There's never going to be a next time."
"Really? That's a shame because Frank says he’ll bring Carol for you next time."
"His Carol?"
"Is there another Carol?"
"Why would he do that for me? I've seen him threaten to break a guy's arm for just looking at his precious Carol."
"He says he wants to fuck you properly — like a girl — and that you'd let him if you had Carol's pretty face to look at while he did you.”
I thought of Ruth on her belly, Frank looming over her. I tried to picture myself waiting for his cock to rupture me.
As I imagined Frank and myself as lovers, Ruth came and sat on my lap. She was naked beneath her silk kimono, and as she settled herself, the silky material slid open and I saw fresh indentations across both her breasts, the teeth marks bequeathed by Frank.
And I remember what an animal he was, how he used her. My passion flared up again, and we kissed like we did when we were new to each other. Between our kissing, she whispered, “Make love to me, Paul. Fuck me while Frank’s cum is still inside me.”
And I thought, 'Next week, will I be saying the same to her'.
*****************
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Maybe this will be continued. Let me know if it's worth keeping this going
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