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The latest UPS guy had red hair and very white skin, and if she spanked him, his butt would be bright pink and … just, no.
She put her hand on Steve’s thigh. “I think you’re focusing on the wrong part of this story.”
“I don’t know. This part’s pretty interesting.”
“You’re supposed to be focusing on the masturbation part.” She slid her hand a little higher. Moved her fingers closer to the part of him that she hoped was getting interested.
“I was going to get back to that.” He covered her hand with his own, preventing her from exploring further.
“Were you?”
“I was. I was going to ask if you wanted to show me.”
“Show you how I masturbate when my husband’s not home?”
“Yes.”
“No!”
“No?” He sounded disappointed.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t think I could do it with you watching.”
“You could close your eyes,” he said.
His voice was all low and rumbly, the way it got when he was turned on. His hand pressed hers a little higher. A little farther over. Pushing her toward his erection, though he seemed reluctant to let her arrive there.
“I’d do it if you closed your eyes,” she offered.
“No way.”
“Well, then. We’re stuck.”
He drank his wine, watching her.
He pressed her hand an inch more to the side, right over his erection.
His cock.
She had to admit, she’d kind of gone off cocks the last few years. Sharing a house with four of them would do that to a girl. Back when she met Tony, she’d been so inexperienced that his cock had seemed like this miraculous thing, but lately she just wanted every penis in the house put away. She didn’t want to hear about them, look at them, think about them. Didn’t want to know when they were stiff or itchy or getting slammed in drawers. Basically, she had days when she never wanted to encounter another penis so long as she breathed.
Which is why it was something of a surprise to find she was kind of into Steve’s. Maybe because it was Steve’s and not Tony’s.
Or because Steve was more forward than Tony had been in ages. Tony certainly didn’t say things like “Do you show your husband how you fuck yourself? Later, in bed, after he comes home?”
The wine was fogging up her brain now, or his eyes were. All sex-drugged, his lids at half-mast, his cock so hard under her hand she thought it must be hurting.
“No,” she whispered.
“You should,” he said. “He’d like it. So much.”
He reached out and plucked at her nipple, right through her dress, and her eyes closed, pressed hard shut so that she could enjoy the zing of it. The pinching pain. The warm wash of pleasure.
She was a mess between her legs. Her labia swollen, still stinging a bit from yesterday and starting to feel slick now. The slickness was different without pubic hair. It spread more easily—she could tell that already. She felt messy and hot, like one touch could set her off.
