Chad was coming! I knew he was: the message was there on my phone. “On my way.” I had half an hour. C, as always, was helping prepare, both for the evening and me. He looked across to me and said, “Go on, get going, I’ll finish up here.” And with that he started to set the table while I whisked upstairs.
You know how it is when it’s a play date. You check all the strategic places. One more wipe with the Venus razor, washing and scenting where flesh meets flesh, a quick check on your teeth, grazing the lips, and eyes, and cheeks to make sure they’re all perfect. I test again between my legs, wet again! And it’s just seconds since I’d dabbed it dry. Clearly someone was really looking forward to looking after Chad this evening. I slipped on the special item I would wear this evening, took another tissue to dab my sex, again, and noticed I was pouting. Whoops!
C called up. A car had pulled up. It was him.
C answered the door. I stood by the dining table. C had laid it out beautifully. There were curls of smoked salmon, perfectly peeled prawns in a chilli-based sauce, and thin slices of brown bread. There were just the two places laid. One for Chad, one for C. I had been told, I was to find my refreshment between Chad’s legs, with C as my dessert. God, I was feeling ravenous...
Chad’s eyes found me standing fiddling with the tiny white frilly apron, which was all I had been allowed to wear. With a tiny tilt of his head, he called me to him. As I leant into his body, he pulled me in to him. He was ready for the meal, both meals, that was easy to tell.
With easy grace he and C talked together, ignoring me, but talking about me. I stood by Chad’s chair. I could feel my excitement slide like oil down my thigh. He was idly tracing patterns behind my knee, and I knew he could feel me trembling slightly. He was enjoying it. They snacked on the small pieces of fish on their plates, sipping water. The table had a glass top. I could see them both stretch out their legs and adjust themselves as they finished the final crumbs.
Chad’s fingers moved up and inside my thigh, stopping momentarily when he met the evidence of my building pleasure, and then more swiftly swept up into my sex and let his fingers whip quickly against my swollen lips. As I staggered a little, he turned to C and asked, “Is she always this wet?” I’m sure C gave a clever answer, but I couldn’t hear too well just then.
With his free hand Chad eased the zip of his trousers down. I knew that signal. I dropped to my knees and crawled under the table, my tiny apron hanging vertically down. Nothing hidden, nothing safe, no obstacle to eye or touch. His belt resisted a moment and then fell free, the button popped and out sprang his phallus. I just love it when it does that – firm, its commanding presence demanding the touch of a lip, a tongue, a cheek.
My dinner was ready. As they lay back in their chairs chatting, and no doubt watching me through the table – I worshiped Chad’s cock. First the kiss: its burgeoning head, warm with its blood, slick with its own signs of pleasure to come. Sliding my tongue, just the tip, down the shaft, savouring each bump and bulge of the clever vessels holding it stiff, holding it firm and yet with a tiny quiver. Stopping just above the sac, flattening my tongue, and using all of it to sweep around and up, catching the weight of one of his balls and letting it fall back. Rushing back up to the top to curl my tongue around the cushion swelling at its base. Squatting back with my head ducked I hefted the sac and trickled my nails towards my lips that even then encircled him, and then – but no a girl has to have some secrets!
I knew when the dinner gong had been rung, I could feel the pulse twitch in his heavy orbs and I accepted his gift, gifts, I’m sure it was seven. I kept him in my mouth as he relaxed, and I glanced up towards C. I knew that smile too yet another signal. I turned slowly holding Chad in my right hand as I inched my way to where C’s legs were laying spread, ready.
You know, I really am a lucky girl.
