The Red Dragon is, I suppose, my local, in that it’s the closest pub to my house. Saying that it’s not actually terribly close, being about a fifteen-minute walk away, and I didn’t frequent it a great deal. Richard loved the place though, being equidistant from his house in the opposite direction, and hence we spent a few Sunday lunches there followed by a walk back to his house. I wasn’t all that keen on eating there, what with owning my own restaurant anyway, and I always felt a little put out that Richard knew all the other patrons so well, whilst I often felt like an arm-adornment. I’d arranged to meet Richard – well, it had been arranged by Richard for me to meet – there.
Swirling the ice cubes around my diet coke, I waited for the inevitable text message to say that Richard would be late. Even the text message was late this time. When it did come through – at 8:45 it arrived fifteen minutes after Richard himself should have – I merely glanced through for an indication of when he would be here, not bothering with the excuses. Sighing to myself, I smoothed down my dress and prepared for the wait.(Adult Stories)
“What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” came a cheeky voice from behind me. “No, that one won’t work on you. How about, call heaven quick, there’s an angel missing? No, wait, I’ll get it in a minute. Get your coat, you’ve pulled? What’s a worm do? Any of them likely to let me buy you a drink?”
He was tall and athletic, not bronzed exactly but with a weathered look, the sort of tan you only get from working outdoors, and I had a vision of him digging holes in roads for the council which instantly made him less attractive. Still in muddy shorts, so probably a stray from the boisterous group of young men that had obviously just finished football training (although I suppose it could have been rugby. Wasn’t cricket though, I could tell that much). Nice smile and cheerful eyes. Reasonably gorgeous, actually, but a little too pretty for my liking. Listen to me, I sound like a connoisseur of young men already.
“You could have just said, ‘may I buy you a drink’, and then you wouldn’t have had to stand there and sound quite so stupid.” Ouch. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but you’ll appreciate that this is not a normal period in my life. I’m still dealing with the aftershock of cheating on the aforementioned absent boyfriend.
“Okay, okay, I take the hint,” he said, turning to go. What the hell, I figured, I’ll only be sat on my own for another half an hour.
“You don’t want to go back to your friends having completely crashed and burned, do you? Mine’s a vodka and diet coke.” I motioned to the stool beside me at the bar. “Best make it a double. You don’t have a chance, by the way, but a little company would be nice seeing as my date is going to be late. Just wanted to clear that up.” I don’t know whether he was as stunned as I was by the authority I managed to project into my voice, but there it was. He ordered the drink and set it down beside my other.
“What makes you think I care?” I replied, haughtily, with a questioning stare at him over the rim of my glass before sipping demurely. I don’t know whether it was guilt going sour in my system like unused adrenaline, or the fading of the buzz the encounter had given me, but something had certainly put me on one.
“So what’s with the noisy boys over there?”
“It’s er, we are, uh, I’m-”
“Jesus, do you need a bib or something? Are you trying to chat me up or do you intend to stutter and dribble your way into my knickers?”
“Let me ask you; do you find this the most effective way to approach women? What sort of success rate do you anticipate when you set out of an evening, intending to employ this approach?” I let him sit there in silence, manifesting both confidence and disdain that I didn’t really feel. “Is this a routine that would normally find success with ladies of your own age? Or perhaps this is not your normal approach, but rather one of your rugby chums over there put you up to this, sent you on a dare, as it were.” Placing my glass down gently on the bar, I swung my foot gently whilst humming a completely different tune from the one on the sound system. He was silent for a moment, and I let the silence hang between us. I was only having a little fun with him after all. His despondence was almost tangible, and when he turned his head and made to have another go, I looked up and opened my mouth to let him have another broadside, but he was no longer looking at me. Richard was standing beside him.
“Hello Caitlin, sorry I’m late,” he flustered, pecking me on the cheek. He turned to the young man beside me and smiled.
“It’s okay Ben, I think I can take it from here.”
“You two know each other then?” I asked, too surprised to worry about the blindingly obvious answer to the question.
“You could say that, yes,” said Richard, in his slightly slimy, patronising-students voice. “Since he was about, ooh, so high,” indicating with his hand. I have to admit I was starting to panic a little, despite the fact that there was absolutely nothing to panic over. Knowing my luck, this young man would turn out to be the son that Richard is always talking about and that I have yet to meet. In fact, did he not just call him Ben?
“I take it you’ve had a match tonight?” enquired Richard.
“Sorry,” I interrupted, “I was just wondering how you two gentlemen know each other.” Disturbingly, they glance at each other for a second before breaking out into an ‘all-lads-together’ laugh.
“Well, you could say we go way back!” laughed Richard. So this must Ben. Terrific, I mused, even different generations of Richard’s f****y find me attractive. I must be cursed. Thinking so, and musing on the possibilities of breaking said curse and the part that silver bullets and moonlit cemeteries might play in this process, Richard finally put me out of my misery.
“So where is my son?” he asked, and suddenly everything was sunshine and swallows and half-price summer sales.
“Ummm, he’s around somewhere, surprised he’s not over here actually, trying to get round one of the barmaids (further conspiratorial chuckling). Maybe he’s in the loo. Shall I have a look for him?”
“Caitlin, seeing as I finally have Ben here, would you mind if we said hi? If you don’t feel up to this, we can do it another time. We’ve spoken on the phone but I haven’t seen him lately. Is that okay?”
“Sure, whatever,” I huffed, indignant at not actually receiving even a perfunctory apology for his being late. Glancing over at said noisy boys, I wondered which one was Richard’s son. There was one that would soon need a comb-over, he was a contender; a portly fellow, stout of tum and sure of fetlock, was another; and there was one who was clearly slightly older and displayed the same genetic oddities that a mobile phone salesmen I’d encountered had. He was practically dripping with sleaze, self-importance and sweat. I almost shouted him over there and then. Summing up, there was a fat chap who I assumed was the goal minder, or whatever they’re called, someone with legs like a giraffe, a wheezy youngster sucking on an inhaler, my new friend Roger ‘Skipper’ Thornhill whose semen had splashed across my boobs just so recently, and a tall coloured man whose laugh was so deep it sent seismologists into a panic.
Trying hard not to do a slapstick comedy double take, complete with incongruous cartoon klaxon noise, I looked at him again; the beautiful stranger, who’d played havoc with my imagination since I last saw him, was here now. You know the cliché about panic tasting like steel? Actually, it’s true. It’s a hard-edged, metallic taste, which rises from the depths of your stomach was devastating speed whilst simultaneously draining the bl**d from your legs. To encounter him again was difficult enough, after the way we’d parted. To encounter him whilst I was with my partner was indescribable. When they manage to come up with a word to describe how I felt after seeing him again while I was with my partner, and his son, and after being hit on by one of his mates, I’ll let you know. Leave me your email address or something.
“Ben? Ben!” shouted Richard. I tried hard to look disinterested at which of the young men replied. Had I been standing, my knees would have buckled with relief when comb-over stood up and came over to us.
“Ben, it’s my round. What do you want?”
“Same again Smithy, cheers. Will you get Ben one as well, he was in our round.” The newcomer looked over to the group, proclaiming to Ben that he had got the next one in. The man whose tongue had been in my bum-hole straightened up and acknowledged the shout with a wave of his empty pint glass. Then, with a look of cheery recognition, he saw Richard and ambled over.
“Hi Dad!” Honestly, you couldn’t make this stuff up. “Who’s this?” he queried innocently, flashing me a toned down version of the same smile that dazzled me before. I opened my mouth to respond, but his father cut me off.
“Ben, this is Caitlin. Caitlin, my son Ben.” I tried to return the similarly downplayed smile whilst hiding my indignation at not being allowed to speak for myself, the level of which was matched only matched by my confusion. This is the famous Ben? What about the name I saw, Roger Thornhill, in the wallet? Whoever he was, he extended the same hand from which the waitress had licked his spunk a few days ago, which I shook limply although I assume he’d washed it since then. He kept smiling at me.
“Hello Caitlin, how are you? Dad has told me so much about you, blah blah blah.” I managed a polite laugh at his almost-a-joke. Terrifyingly, he then followed up with the seemingly innocent “I’m sorry, this sounds very trite, but don’t I know you from somewhere? Do you think we’ve met before?”
Apparently, in Australia, they don’t have the saying about rabbits caught in headlights. They apply the cliché to kangaroos, who are seemingly similarly certain to stand statuesque as oblivion hurtles headlong towards them. I imagine that had they been there, or indeed had they actually existed, the Royal Society for the Preservation of Clichés would have been f***ed to drop clauses involving rabbits and kangaroos for all time and replaced it with the far more poetic ‘caught like Caitlin in a clinch’ or something like that, in honour of my reaction at that point. Rabbits would bow before me, kangaroos would doff their caps. My bl**d congealed, my synapses ceased firing, and indeed time as Stephen Hawking and I understood it failed to have any significance. ‘Don’t I know you from somewhere?’ Why didn’t he just say ‘don’t you think my cock is a lot bigger than my Dad’s?’ and to hell with it?
The question hung between us. Very slowly, it seemed, Richard turned his head to face me. It was an action loaded with malice, like when the little girl does it in The Exorcist. Still caught in slow motion, I could see Ben opening his mouth with a follow-up as my life and the few men in it rippled past my eyes.
“On the tram! With the blonde with the loud laugh! Of course, I’ve seen you all getting off the tram at West Street, haven’t I?”
“Yes! You catch the tram with the blonde girl, the one with the really loud laugh! You should tell her discreetly to tone it down a touch.”
“She can be a little loud, don’t you think? Very pretty though!” and again, they all laughed the boy’s own club laugh.
“Caitlin, Ben and Ben have been friends since they were toddlers. They became friends because they both had the same name. Played in the same football teams together their whole lives,” smarmed Richard.
“Caitlin, whatever is wrong?” he asked.
“Sorry,” I stuttered, shaking my head a little. “I was thinking about who you mean. Jenny, obviously, the other two are reasonably normal.”
“I haven’t offended you, have I? I never thought, I mean obviously they’re your friends, I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No, no, it’s quite okay. Not a problem. We all tell her she’s too loud anyway, but that’s just how she is. You, er, do you work on West Street?” Subtle, Caitlin.
“Yes, well, just off it actually.”
“Ben’s a social worker,” his obviously proud Dad interjected.
“Really?” I offered, actually quite interested. “Unusual choice of job for a man, wouldn’t you say?” I said, stereotyping him nicely.
“Not at all. I did psych and sociology at uni, this just seems like a natural progression. I enjoy the job a great deal.”
“Doesn’t it get you down though? You don’t find you end up taking the job home with you, as it were?”
“Ah!” interrupted the hitherto forgotten other Ben. “That would be where we come in. He comes and kicks seven shades of shit out of us, and he’s all sweetness and light after that. Or rats and snails and puppy-dog tails, whichever it is.” We all sort of stared at him for a minute wondering what the hell this last was all about, and he gratefully resumed his forgotten role before eventually wandering off.
“Well, it does sound very interesting,” I smarmed, doing a very passable impression of Richard. “You must tell me all about it some time.”
“Of course he should,” said Richard excitedly. “You practically work around the corner from each other, you should have lunch one day! You can keep Ben out of trouble!” he laughed, as Ben looked dutifully bashful. “What do you say? Look, I have to nip to the loo. I’ll leave you to discuss it!” Obviously, I was looking for an awkward opportunity to be on my own with him. I decided to be upfront about it.
“What happened to Roger Thornhill?”
“Who the devil is Roger Thornhill?”
“I thought that was your name, I thought… I saw the name in your name in your wallet.” He looked puzzled.
“Sorry, must be a case of mistaken identity.” A pause, then a light bulb flashed on suddenly above his head. The bar manager returned the lighting to the previous dim setting, and a eureka look crossed Ben’s face. “Oh, you mean the wallet I found at the restaurant! It was left on the seat where I sat. I was trying to return it to the waitress before she hurled orange juice at me.”
“About that morning, in the-” He cut me off with a laugh.
“Yes, that was rather good fun! Cute little thing, wasn’t she?”
“Did you know her?” I asked, regretting such a naïve question the instant I’d spoken it.
“Of course not. We were just talking-”
“Yes, I saw you ‘just talking’ beforehand!” Early barbed comment dispatched, I moved onto the main question. Err, except I didn’t really know how to phrase it.
“You’re wondering about the fact that you’ve slept with both father and son, and what’s going to become of it.”
“I was, except of course nothing will come of it. I’m with your father, and despite what happened between you and I-”
“And Asok, I love your father. What happened, happened and I can’t deny that, but your father must never know.” I was never happier than at that moment to be rescued by Richard’s return from his ablutions.
“So how are you two getting on? Planning to meet up for a sandwich or something?”
“Well, I don’t mind if Caitlin doesn’t?”
“Ah, no, that would be very nice…” I soothed. What else could I say?
“Well then, that’s great. I suppose the nearest place to us is the burger joint on West Street-”, he said, trying not too hard not to grin.
“I think I know which you mean.” Oh, but he’s good. The f***e is strong in this one all right.
“Shall I give you a call?”
“Ummm, I’m not always the easiest to get hold of,” I murmured in a placating tone. “Why don’t you drop me an email instead?” Emails are far easier to ignore, I thought, fishing a business card out of my purse for him. It seemed the most painless way to fob him off. He took it from me and looked it over, turning it over between his fingers two or three times.
“An email it is then. Say Dad, Christian is about somewhere, mind if I take this young lady off your hands for a moment to introduce them?”
“Not at all, I’ll see you later.”
“Come on then!” his grin made you think he was the boy who spent most of his school days standing in the corridor, banished from the lesson. “Hey, do you think I could call you mum yet?” he laughed, winking at his dad. They both laughed, and we left him talking to Ben.
“Only if you want a stiletto heel through you eye socket,” I grimaced, as he took my hand and dragged me to the far end of the bar where a sullen looking young man was drinking alone, away from the masses in a dark corner, his elbows resting on the bar with a cigarette in one hand and a tumbler of clear liquid in the other.
“Caitlin, this is Christian, my best friend. Chris, parle-tu bonjour a Caitlin, s’il te plait,” Ben chided. The young man reluctantly spun his bar stool to face me. Shaven-headed, his face was tanned and his eyes were exactly the right distance apart. He extended an arm, tightly packed with muscle that represented the rest of his body well, and I was left with an impression that this boy could be both the start and end of a lot of trouble.
“Caitlin,” he said with a French accent that made him sound, bizarrely, tougher and somehow schizophrenic. “Irish name?” I nodded, and he continued. “Fucked an Irish girl once. Wouldn’t let me come in her ass,” he laughed slyly. I ignored his attempts to rile me.
“Ignore him, he has a hang-over and he’s sulking because he’s been watching me play football and he hates it. He’s a rugby man. Prefers more male contact, I think!” Ben dodges a punch, laughing. It’s clearly a well-rehearsed routine. I attempt to be pleasant and sociable, which is more than Christian did, spinning his stool back to the bar so he could resume his slouch whilst watching the barmaids.
“Where did you two become friends?” I ask, aware that it makes me sound what I am, roughly the sum of their combined ages. It’s a feeling I’m getting a lot lately.
“At University-” Ben started to say, but Christian interrupted. His voice was quiet but carried an unmistakeable menace that Ben seemed oblivious to.
“Ben and I like to fuck the same girls,” Christian explained, as though he were discussing the weather. His nonchalant attitude to coarse language in the presence of a stranger bothered me. Ben and I both made to say something, but Christian carried on without stopping. “That’s how it was, non?”
“Well actually,” Ben said with awkwardness, “yes, that’s how it was.” I looked back at Christian, who was looking at me the same way as I imagine lions look at wildebeest, for an explanation.
“Ben and I were both seeing the same girl, though we didn’t know. By chance we found out, a mutual friend confessed they had known all along,” Christian explained. I was surprised, I thought that would make them enemies and said as much.
“We wanted to make sure, oui, confront her about it? I arranged to be with her, in her room. I would leave the door open, and Ben would come in and catch us.” I could see Ben looked a little uncomfortable, but he made no move to stay the story’s telling. “The time comes and I am set. The mademoiselle in question is eager for some action, but I am unsure as I know Ben will arrive. She grew more eager, so in the end I though, what the fuck? We may as well have one last fuck while we are waiting for Ben to come.”
“So what happened?” I asked, finding the story more compelling than it should have been.
“Ben had already come!” Christian laughed. With furrowed brow I indicated that I didn’t follow. This piqued Christian’s attention, and he spun his stool round to face us again. “You do not know mon ami Benjamin’s ’special interest’? How long have you two been together?”
“Ben and I are not together, and we only met recently – earlier,” I falsely corrected myself. “I am in a relationship with Ben’s father.” Christian actually threw his head back, laughing. It wasn’t an unpleasant sound and made me warm to him. “Madame, I am sorry, I assumed that you and Ben were fucking.” Nervous glances on my part; nothing registered on Ben’s face. In a conspiratorial way Christian leaned forward to elucidate.
“I thought Ben was late, arriving in the girl’s room. In fact, he was already there. He’d already had his little confrontation and made his demands known, and our hot little friend went along willingly.” I still wasn’t quite sure I understood but Christian had no intention of leaving the story there. “Ben was in the closet, watching us fuck! This is Ben’s little…” he stopped to look at Ben, whispered a word to him in French. Ben, translating, whispered back. “Peccadillo, merci. Ben’s little peccadillo! He likes to watch.” That tied in with what little I knew of Ben, which is why I said-
“That’s why you let Asok have me first-” oh no. Oh no no no no no.
Christian looked at me, at Ben, then back at me, a sly smile dissolving the hangover scowl. Oh what I wouldn’t do to wind back time just the few seconds necessary to stop myself. Panicking everso slightly I glanced at Ben, who was by now sharing his friend’s smile.
“Ben, have you been doing someone you shouldn’t?” Christian laughed, as Ben just continued to smile. It infuriated me; why wasn’t he blindsided by panic, like me? I’m his father’s girlfriend, for heaven’s sake!
“We fucked in the changing rooms at football the other day. Asok was with us. I’d be inclined to say we had a good time, wouldn’t you, Caitlin? A terrific way to get to know my future stepmother! No secrets between us now.”
“Is she good? She has a nice derriere, I’d love to fuck her from behind. Beautiful tits too.”
“Excuse me,” I snorted indignantly.
“Christian, her boobs are just delicious. I wanked off all over them, and I could do it again right now. In fact, her whole body is terrific, curvy and sexy, like a real woman.” Whilst I wasn’t averse to his compliments, I wasn’t happy about, well, everything else. The less people that knew I’d had sex with Skipper – with Ben, as I would have to get used to calling him – the better, and I wasn’t comfortable with the way they were discussing me either. Yet they carried on as though I were just not there.
“Maybe one day you and I can fuck too, non? I can come all over your tits too?” That was too much. I had to say something.
“Ben, you cannot talk about me this way with your friends. From now on I am your father’s girlfriend and we should conduct ourselves appropriately.”
“We’ll conduct ourselves in whatever why seems most appropriate at the time. Right now, my friend is complimenting your boobs. I think that’s it’s only fair you should allow him to see them.” Was he serious? Had I heard him correctly? I couldn’t have, Christian seemed nonplussed by the conversation.
“Ben, if your father knew what you were asking me to do…”
“Are you threatening me? Perhaps if I told him how you sucked my friend’s cock while I had two fingers up your bum he might well reassess the whole situation. He’d forgive me for my part, I had no idea who you were. But you told me you were in a relationship and you still fucked my friend and I.”
“That’s rubbish. You wouldn’t…” Only, I really believed he would.
“My friend wants to see your boobs. It’s out of the way in this corner, you’ll get away with a quick flash.” Christian, impassive, sat with his drink and paid little attention to the power struggle. “Do it now before I decide to call my father over.” I had to make my stand.
“No. I won’t do it.”
“Dad!” He shouted across the bar in a serious voice, then had to repeat it to gain his father’s attention. I didn’t believe he had done it, but the evidence was incontrovertible. I was apoplectic with a mixture of rage and panic.
“Please Ben, don’t tell him,” I whispered. He looked down at me haughtily.
“You’ll do as asked?” What choice was there? I nodded, deflated, and he smiled before turning back to hail his father again. “I’m getting Caitlin a drink. Do you want the same again?” He received his father’s answer and motioned to a barmaid before turning back to me. “You’re a good sport Caitlin, I’m sure we’ll have a lot of fun.” By which I assume he meant that flashing my boobs wouldn’t be the last thing he made me do.
Christian tapped me on the arm and furtively I looked around, gauging who was closest. Ben was right, there wasn’t really anyone that close. If I pulled down the front of my dress, quickly, I could flash my bra and no one would see. I hopped onto the stool by Christian’s side, with my back to the room. After one last glance round, I leaned forward and lowered my dress. Luckily the lingerie I had on was a nice set, all in black and very lacy. He took in the sights and nodded appreciatively.
“Knickers to match?” he asked, gruffly. I nodded. “Let’s see them.”
I didn’t want to do this. The episode the other day made me feel both wanton and wanted. Being so desired drove me to depravity I didn’t know I could feel. This here was simply sleazy, it was cheap, and I didn’t like feeling this way. Unfortunately my alternatives were none. Perversely it was easier to flash my knickers, my dress being short enough to wiggle further up, so I did that. When I looked up Christian wasn’t even looking, he was merely holding a hand out. I looked at Ben for guidance.
“He doesn’t just want to look at them,” Ben said, as though talking to a moron. Sighing, I looked around again apprehensively. No one was paying us any attention, and Richard was now holding court, talking to the landlord and his wife and a couple of regulars. Quickly I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my knickers, and by rocking from cheek to cheek I inched them down to the hem of my dress.
From that point it was a little more difficult. I tried to be quick, pull them down, but only succeeded in dropping them to the floor as they slid down my calves and over my shoes. Ben was the first to bend and retrieve them, returning them to me with a nod and a smile. He was a curious mix of a proper gentleman and sex-obsessed pervert. I returned the smile, although the lingerie I had to pass to Christian.
I heard the laughter from the other side of the room trail off and was glad to see Richard approaching. Christian was still fondling my knickers although I was vaguely sure no-one would recognise the silky garment for what it was, least of all Richard – even his son would have a better idea of my lingerie than he would. As his father drew close Ben took a step towards him, and as Richard installed his elbow on the bar to get comfortable Ben was between us, also leaning at the bar. This meant Ben obscured his father from me, and although I couldn’t think of one I was sure there was a downside. Spinning my stool to face the bar I could lean forward to see Richard, which was enough.
Ben and his father started chatting, amiable but dull stuff. My head was still spinning at the evening’s events and for once I was actually glad Richard was ignoring me. It gave me time to think. They were both leaning forward on the bar now, elbows on the bar and one foot on the rail, u*********sly mimicking one another. They were happy ignoring me, I was happy being ignored. Christian was neither of these: he was also bored and horny. He hissed at me and I inclined my hear to the left, the better to hear him.
“I’ve got a hard-on for you,” he whispered, nonchalantly. At first what he’d said didn’t register. When I realised the import of his words I looked at him. He wasn’t grinning, he looked serious.
“Let’s go somewhere and fuck,” he suggested. I swallowed hard, looking round at Richard. He did not know I was there. Without turning to face Christian I shook my head, discreetly but definitely. He reached over and grabbed my left wrist, which previously had been lying on my knee and not complaining about it. I tried to snatch it back but he squeezed it, and it hurt. Looking all the while at Richard I tried to extricate my hand, but Christian was strong and the more I struggled the more it hurt. I gave in. He started to rub his crotch with my hand.
“You,” he hissed savagely. There was no chance of Richard or Ben observing what Christian was forcing me to do from their current position, but if Ben moved Richard would see my hand between Christian’s legs. As bidden I began to rub, feeling his organ start to swell almost immediately.
“Take it out,” was the next instruction. I paused, because this was dangerous. We were near a wall so technically there was no reason for anyone to walk past, but someone approaching from the right wrong angle would see everything. He squeezed my wrist again in impatience so quickly and with nervous hands I unbuttoned his fly and took out his semi-erection. It seemed shorter than any of those I had recently been intimately acquainted with, but once I started to masturbate him and the bl**d flowed to his member there was a noticeable increase in size. In fact his was the biggest I’d had hold of all week, length matched by girth.
I employed the technique that had only recently served Asok so well, although the confines of space under the bar overhang made things harder. Additionally we were at least partly protected by the hang of Christian’s jacket and I was anxious to preserve that particular status quo. Christian’s face remained impassive, although his erection spoke for him and secretly I was just a little pleased at my technique and its effect.
There was a blur in Christian’s lap and it took a moment for me to realise he’d thrown my knickers back into my lap. I was surprised, for this was a gentlemanly move I had not expected. Unfortunately my instincts were well attuned, as through a mixture of Gallic mime and lip-reading I came to understand that Christian wanted me to wrap my knickers around his erection and wank him off using them. With a well-timed fake laugh I made Richard think that I was paying attention to him, as I wrapped my knickers around my left hand. I resumed masturbating Ben’s friend, ensuring that the expensive material was sandwiched between my hand and Christian’s erection. My action was slower now, allowing Christian to focus on the exquisite friction created by the lacy material, and even I was f***ed to mentally concede that the sensations were enjoyable.
As my fist passed over the head of Christian’s cock, I became aware of the growing dampness. To his credit his face never changed, and he remained looking as surly and miserable as when we were first introduced. My arm was starting to get tired, and I needed to bring this to a resolution and hopefully convince Richard to leave. Squeezing a little tighter I accelerated the movement of my hand too, and I think I saw Christian flinch just a little. I rolled his foreskin to and fro, from shaft to glans and back again, and I found I was imagining the feel of his cock in my mouth; the heat and taste, the intricate patterns formed by skin, vein and muscle. Realising that that was perhaps a little unhealthy in the current situation, I decided to risk an extra effort to bring Christian off. The extra speed and effort I employed made Christian strain, the signs evident in his face and demeanour. I knew I could not keep up that pace for two much longer in the position we were in, although surprisingly enough Christian seemed quite happy.
“Caitlin?” asked Richard, leaning forward to see past his son whilst I (after the immediate split-second rush of panic had subsided) slowed my pace down so as not to look too strained. There was a grunt from my left; I assume either Christian was annoyed with me for slowing down as his orgasm approached, or expressing his amusement that my boyfriend was talking to me whilst I wanked off another man. Either way I was happy that Richard couldn’t see what I was up to from that angle. “Can I get you anything?”
“I’m fine thank you,” I indicated, holding up my wine glass to indicate it was half-full. Now my masturbating technique had to slow to its most leisurely in order not to make the red liquid slop over the side of the glass. This was simply Richard remembering I existed and paying attention; within seconds he was talking to Ben again, which really pissed me off. It almost made me want to look after Christian properly…
Safely forgotten I resumed wanking Christian, but with extra vigour. Christian raised an eyebrow and I smiled at him demurely whilst I tried to sip my wine. The heat from Christian’s penis was evident even through the material of my knickers; if they had still been fulfilling their original function they’d still have been covering aroused, excited sex organs. It was almost as though my little interaction here with Christian was a way of getting revenge on Richard for being ignored, and therefore I could overcome my initial reluctance and distaste for what I was being made to do and where I was doing it.
My enthusiasm must have been reflected in my performance, because it was less than a minute later that Christian started to look very intense and made low guttural noises while exhaling. I knew that his orgasm must be close and it suddenly struck me that this had taken Christian by surprise, partly because he never expected to be getting a hand job, and partly because he didn’t expect such a polished performance. I could see a dark, wet patch in the material stretched taut over the head of Christian’s cock, and, smiling, determined to look Christian in the eye whilst he came, just to let him know that I was not a woman to be underestimated. I couldn’t tell whether his expression was a sneer, or just a grimace as he attained the plateau where he would find his orgasm. He grunted, once, and I could feel the ripple of muscles and veins as the sperm shot through his penis and out through the slit, only to be constrained by the flimsy material of my black lace knickers. Christian did his best not to fold double and I wanted to continue wanking him, only for him to grab my wrist as his penis reached that point of sensitivity that makes men want to be left alone. I felt my knickers pulse as though alive as Christian’s spunk bubbled up inside the material. Unable to touch him I simply held the material in place in so the semen did not escape. The whole time I kept smiling at Christian who eventually folded, unable to meet my gaze.
Withdrawing my hand I picked up my glass and drained it, tapping my son-in-law to be on the arm to indicate that I wished my drink to be refreshed. Glancing quickly at his friend’s lap as I saw him smirk, an expression that grew into a grin as their eyes accidentally met with Christian looking just a little sheepish. Richard excused himself to visit the WC and I smiled at Ben, feeling surprisingly pleased with myself. Christian caught this look and threw my knickers at me, acting annoyed that a woman had somehow bested him.
“Do something with these,” he harrumphed. I laughed and made to stash them into my purse, making a mental note to be rather more careful mounting and dismounting stools. Before I could do that Ben gently but firmly took hold of my hand.
“You’ll need to be careful, if you’re going to parade about with no panties on underneath a dress that short,” he cautioned.
“I don’t intend to parade about,” I announced, indignantly, “but all the same I thank you for trying to look after me.” Unfortunately I had misread Ben’s intentions. He wasn’t looking out for me; he was simply siding with his friend.
“I think that perhaps it would be safer if you put your knickers back on, rather than ran the risk of unintentionally flashing your private parts.” He looked perfectly serious.
“I can’t wear them now, they’re…” I paused, not really wanting to say out loud what the problem was. “They’re dirty.”
“Caitlin, put them back on,” he commanded, as Christian sat smirking behind me. I didn’t want to and my expression said as much. “You will put them back on, Caitlin. My father will be back from the bathroom shortly. Do you really want to be caught pulling your knickers up when he returns?” There was a look on his face, pleasant yet undeniably stern, which made me think whether I should really be arguing with him. Without breaking free from his stare I found I was untangling my knickers, conscious of the sticky, warm fluid dripping free onto my hand. I leant forward, putting my right foot in first, then my left. I pulled them up as far as I could from a sitting position, then shuffled forwards off the stool and dropped to my feet so I could complete the job.
“Pull them up tight,” Ben commanded. I could feel Christian’s semen squelching in my knickers, as obviously was Ben’s intention. The schoolboy grin replaced the headmaster gaze and he took a step towards me. Our chests were just touching as his right hand started to gather up the material of my short dress, until Ben’s fingertips brushed lightly against my knickers. Letting the material drop, he walked his fingers up to the waistband of my knickers and took hold of it, making sure my knickers were pulled up as far as they could be, which they were. My eyes inexplicably dropped to the floor as he started to rub me through my knickers, exploring my exposed lips, touching my aroused and tender clitoris, all of them now coated with Christian’s spunk. His intentions were not to arouse me, or bring me to climax; he simply wanted to enf***e the humiliation I felt at this moment.
Seeing his father emerge from the WC Ben removed his hand and took a step back so it merely looked as though we were in conversation. I’d been crowing mentally at being able to bring Christian off so quickly, and now I felt like a naughty schoolgirl. I wanted to leave now, get away from these two. I looked up at Richard as he approached, a frown breaking across my face.
“Richard, I have a headache,” I whimpered, taking his hand in mine before hurriedly replacing it with the other as I realised it was the hand that still had dips of Christian’s sperm on it. “Do you think it would be okay if we left?”
“I don’t mind, in fact I’m quite hungry. Would you mind if we picked up something to eat along the way?” I didn’t mind at all, as long as we just left quickly. “So how are you two getting on?”
“Oh, Caitlin’s just a treasure! Far too good for you, Dad,” he laughed.
“Well, I’m glad you’re getting along. I hope you’ll be able to meet up and get to know each other a little better?”
“Dad, I won’t be thinking about anything else!” he laughed.