Just Desserts

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It was late and my red snapper had gone cold.

Ben, John’s friend from high school, was in town from New York, and in addition to reconnecting with a childhood buddy, John was insistent on introducing me. Presently, John was supposedly at the airport picking up Ben, then the two were supposed to come to my place for dinner. However, his plane had been scheduled to arrive at seven; it was after eleven with no update from either of them.

Impressing Ben was obviously important to John, so I put on my Giada-pants to cook dinner. After obsessing over recipes, I’d spent the evening preparing lemon herb red snapper and mushroom risotto, and toasted bruschetta with a tomato and mozzarella salad for an app. I’d set three plates for dinner at eight thirty; three glasses sat empty beside an opened bottle of grenache blanc. The floating candles in the water-filled centerpiece had burned down below half-length, and the bruschetta had gotten cold and limp. Sipping a glass of water, I scrunched my nose and frowned at the advancing clock.

I paced restlessly to the bedroom. Nervously stopping to check my appearance in the full-length mirror, I tidied my bright red lipstick, then smoothed the thin, powder blue button-up cardigan to my stomach. Arranging the sides of the deep V-neck that met just above the swell of my D-cups, I fidgeted anxiously with the buttons of the sweater. Flattening the thin fabric as it rounded the dramatic curves of my bust, I readjusted the inter-button gaps to stop the hints of my black lace bra from peeking through. My short black skirt flirted playfully at the middle of my thighs, its pleats leading the eye down to the black nylons that encased my legs. Whirling abruptly at the sound of my front door opening, my shiny black high heels clicked smartly on the wood floor as I swept out of the bedroom and down the hall to the entry.

The smell of Jameson wafted from the doorway ahead of the two men. John wobbled visibly as he grappled with his overcoat. Ben watched him without offering assistance, holding his own coat folded in the crook of his elbow, as though expecting someone to appear to take it from him. He was good looking, several inches taller than John and still stood with a jock’s cocky posture. His hair looked like he’d walked into a Manhattan salon and simply told them “Give me the Patrick Bateman.” Under his quarter-zip sweater, his body had the look of a former athlete; sharp lines of youthful muscle, papered over with an accumulation of expense account lunches and late nights at the bar.

As I watched from a few paces down the hall, Ben finally noticed my presence and thrust his jacket at me with a silent, arrogant grin. His teeth were uniformly straight and stunningly white, a predator’s smile. Before I could respond, John, freed from his own coat, rushed forward and snatched the jacket from his friend. Blotting a hasty, whiskey-tasting kiss on my lips, John slipped an arm around my waist and turned toward our guest.

“Sarah,” he extended the arm holding the coats toward the other man, “this is Ben. He was my best friend in high school. When I switched from public school to St. Mark’s halfway through freshman year, he took me under his wing when I didn’t know who to hang out with, and showed me how to fit in.”

I smiled at John’s affinity for his friend, mulling that I might have misjudged him on my flash-first impression. My aggravation at the wasted dinner passed; they hadn’t been deliberately inconsiderate, they had simply lost track of time while catching up. “Well, it’s wonderful that you two have stayed in touch. Welcome back to town, Ben.”

I stepped forward and extended my hand to shake, and found it eclipsed in Ben’s large mitt. He stooped and planted a wet, lingering kiss on the back of my hand; his lips pressed against my skin long enough that I cleared my throat to get John’s attention.

“Hey now… that’s enough, you ol’ smoothie.” John reluctantly intervened. Ben straightened, finally releasing my hand from his grip as he blatantly looked me over from head to toe.

“Holy shit, John!” He exclaimed; his gaze fixated on my rack. “Where’d a dud like you pick up a prime piece like her?!” Smiling uneasily, I retreated a hasty step back and retracted my arm, holding it crooked at my side as I rubbed the slick of drool from the back of my hand with my other palm. John laughed nervously as his friend advanced to close the distance I had gained, continuing his teasing.

“No, seriously, are her rates reasonable and does she have any available dates later in the week?” I shot a glance at John to see if he’d step in, but he smiled yieldingly. Ben turned to direct his joke-maker right at me. “Do you take Black Card? How will this show up on my expense report; something discreet, right?” He guffawed at his own hilarity.

John laughed along as he casually tried to intervene. “Okay, that’s about enough of tha-” but Ben wasn’t done with his comedy routine.

“Hey, are you guys having a meeting while I’m in town? I’d love to meet some of the other members.” escort ataşehir His eyes were still buried in my rack, but I was confused and misdirected by his question.

“Meeting… what meeting?” I asked, immediately regretting it.

“A meeting of The Tig Ol’ Bitty Society! You must be president of the local chapter!” Another roar of laughter blasted from his mouth, while his eyes kept drooling at my chest. My face flushed in mortification as I crossed my arms defensively over my bust. John tried to grab his elbow to guide him into the living room, but Ben shook him off. “Come on, you don’t have to be such a killjoy! Just introduce me… a-round!” His hands outlined twin globes in the air between us.

Ben finally relented and allowed John to guide him down the hall to sit down. Avoiding my eye contact as they passed, John draped the coats over my arm without comment as he shepherded his friend.

Pausing to catch my breath after the boorish display, I allowed the two of them to pass into the living room. From down the hall, I heard Ben loudly reacting to my well-appointed apartment. “Man, a nice set of milkbags can buy you a fancy place in this town.” The oaf joked. I rolled my eyes in contempt as I opened the closet and hung their coats. I delayed another moment, then relented and returned to my guests.

The guys were slumped lazily at either end of my navy-blue sofa, talking and laughing loudly. I paused upon entering the room, clasping my hands uncertainly before my waist; the couch was built for three people, but it didn’t look like there was enough space for me between their spreading knees. Settling into a chair perpendicular to them with my back to the kitchen, I crossed my legs primly, folded my arms across my tummy, and tried to follow the banter. Names I didn’t know in places I’d never been doing things that were hilarious, but “you had to be there.”

Sick of being sidelined in my own home and determined to show Ben that I wouldn’t let a creep run roughshod over me, I forced myself into the conversation.

“So, Ben, how was your flight?” I blurted out, nearly shouting to be heard. Both men turned in mild surprise. Ben quickly resumed his swagger, eager at the opportunity to brag.

“It was sweet! Flew first-class, free drinks, stewardess was a prime piece of tail; I could tell she was into me. Anyway, I’m platinum status across-the-board, so I always fly first. Back in economy, you got like babies crying and loose chickens running up and down the aisles and shit. Not for me, man; I didn’t go to business school to fly with a bunch of paupers.”

“Sarah flew first-class last summer!” John tried to keep me in the conversation. “She got upgraded when she was coming home from her granddad’s birthday party.”

The vivid memories of the trip – my lucky first-class upgrade, my gregarious seatmate, John’s no-show to pick me up at the airport – filled my mind. I stared at the coffee table between our group, recalling how after getting a ride home from my seatmate I had repaid the favor by sucking his cock while on my hands and knees on that same table. Blushing, I remembered myself in the spot on the couch where John sat now, riding that same stranger’s hard dick, and filling the quiet midday apartment with my blissful screams.

Moist warmth blossomed between my clamped thighs as my mind wandered lustily. My thoughts had detached and drifted adequately that I stared off into space for a moment before realizing that the room had fallen silent after I’d been addressed. I cocked my head inquisitively at John and Ben, who stared at me expectantly.

“Sorry? I wasn’t paying attention.” I uncrossed my arms, raising a hand to cover what felt like an incriminating grin.

Ben found this immensely amusing. “John, your little lady’s blonde roots are showing!” My eyes narrowed into slits and my mouth tensed into a thin line.

“Hey… Come on, man, lay off her.” John pushed back weakly against his friend.

“Wh-tsch!” Ben directed a whip crack motion and sound effect at John, then turned to me and slowly repeated his request. “I said: Why don’t you fetch us some beers.” Each painstakingly enunciated syllable struck like a bullying slap to my face.

In my periphery, at the far end of the couch, John shifted in his seat and laughed uneasily, but Ben’s pompous smirk dominated my field of vision. A fiery torrent of rage was ready to flow out of me, but I stifled my retort. Considering Ben’s importance to John, I agreed to be a good girlfriend. Swallowing my angry words, I stood, then gave a theatrical curtsy before spinning on my heel and sashaying to the kitchen.

I felt Ben’s eyes follow me as I clicked through the room atop my heels, knowing that the hem of this skirt danced flirtatiously up my hamstrings when I walked.

“Goddamn, John!” I knew his gaze hadn’t shifted from my ass as he addressed my boyfriend. “Are your parents richer than you let on? Cause I’ve seen you in the shower, man; no way is a smasher like that sticking around for your kadıköy escort trouser tyke.”

Opening the fridge, I recognized that the door opened away from the living room, denying me the cover of the door while I bent to retrieve the beers from the bottom shelf. I took a deep breath, whispering “Just get it over with,” to myself as I sank and reached. My skirt rode up my thighs as I squatted betraying the band of scalloped lace at the elastic top of my black nylons. I quickly snatched two bottles and stood, re-concealing my thigh-high secret. Glancing over my shoulder at the room, Ben’s calculating eye-contact betrayed what he had observed. I turned away as I closed the fridge.

Setting the beers on the counter, I dug through a drawer searching for the opener. As I closed my fingers around the gadget, I remembered the glasses I’d left in the freezer to chill. Cool steam billowed out as I opened the freezer door, wafting weightlessly against my face and the bare skin above my sweater’s “V”. I shivered slightly as I reached to the back of the icebox to retrieve the glasses, but the cold air helped ease the incriminating flush caused by my wandering mind. Goosebumps were still flashed across my exposed flesh as I shut the door and shook off the last of the cold.

Prying open and pouring the beers, I paused to let the foam settle into a one-inch crown. As I emptied the remainder of the bottles, I watched lines of condensation trickle down the frosted glass surface and pool on the marble counter. Thinking of my wooden coffee table, I tilted my head back and called to the living room, “John, put some coasters out on the table.”

“Wh-tsch!” Ben whip-snapped again. “Those tits have got you well trained, huh, buddy? Can’t blame you, I’d be hypnotized by them, too… I mean, if I were you.” Ben hesitated, and I perceived the caress of his eyes crawling up my stockinged legs, over my ass, then up to my jugs. He exhaled with a low whistle, “You probably haven’t bagged a chick this hot since Dana Kensington… senior year, right?”

“Uh, I never hooked up with Dana.” John self-consciously spoke the name of the other woman from years ago. Ben made a noise of dispute, but John persisted. “No, I never did. She and I were going to go to prom – you pestered me into asking her… then you slept with her the week before the dance.” Ben cackled as his friend recalled his long-forgotten conquest. “That was the night of my birthday… you, uh, banged her at my party, in my bed.” I winced in pity for high school John, as well as for the freshly humiliated man on my couch. Ben howled mirthfully, and I heard a series of fleshy impacts as he pounded at John’s arm to join in the joke. I grabbed their beers and hurried back to the living room.

Tittering uncomfortably under the ongoing teasing, John plunked the cork discs on the table as I approached. I passed wide to the opposite side of the table, then bent over the wood as I set the perfectly-poured beers on the coasters.

Still stooped over the table, my hands on my knees, I turned my face toward my boyfriend. “Thank you, John.” I puckered my lips in an air-kiss, making an affectionate show of my appreciation. But deep down, I was uncertain if I meant to boost John’s standing through my show, or to bully him in my own way. He reddened with embarrassment as his friend sniggered.

The buttoned front of my cardigan dipped dangerously low as I lingered over the table. Behind the sagging rim of pale blue wool, my breasts dangled ripely in their black lace trap. Peering at Ben, his confident eyes now failed to meet my gaze. For all his boasting, he was evidently mesmerized by the show beneath my blouse, as well. I spoke to break the trance.

“Ben… Ben!” I repeated louder, flattening and extending the “e” with a mocking tone.

He blinked quickly as if startled. “Wh-… um, yeah.” He blinked again and raised his eyes to mine.

I curled my lips into a saccharine smile. “Is there anything more I can do for you?” He shook his head ‘no’, but I saw disappointment flash behind his eyes as I straightened and ended the show.

Leaning forward to grab his beer, he returned to a reclined position on my couch. A visible recalibration passed through Ben’s face as his arrogant demeanor was restored. Smirking at the glass in his hand, he sneered, “Mmm… I knew from looking at you that you gave perfect head.” His harrying joke caught John mid-sip, and a puff of foam flew from John’s glass as he snorted through his nose.

Settling back into my ‘good girlfriend’ role, I resumed my seat on the sideline of the living room, demurely crossing my legs and gazing across the room at the ruined dinner. While my chest had momentarily tamed the bully, his ego had broken free and was running amuck once more. The boys picked up their discussion of inside jokes from high school. Catching myself detaching again, I pushed myself back into the discussion.

I loudly cleared my throat to clear a conversational opening; both mouths paused as the attached faces turned towards maltepe escort bayan me again. “So, you guys were on the soccer team together?”

“Oh yeah! Ben was team captain, three years all-state, lead the state in goals senior year, played at Vanderbilt on scholarship…” stars glowed in John’s eyes as he rattled off his friend’s accolades. Ben feigned modesty, waving a casually dismissive hand, and unconvincingly gesturing for him to stop the flattering resume recitation.

Swallowing a gulp of beer, Ben set his glass down on the table, beside the coaster. Propping his arms atop the back of the couch, he returned the favor for John. “Well, sure, but I couldn’t have done it without John.” He changed his mind, leaning forward to pick up his beer for another large swig. “If it hadn’t been for John, I wouldn’t have been hydrated enough to score all those goals.”

I cocked an eyebrow at the oddly phrased acclaim. John’s expression sank as Ben continued.

“Oh yeah, he was great at getting cups of water to the players as we came off the field,” he sipped again as if demonstrating. “Totally vital! And he always made sure our uniforms were clean for games; yeah, John was the best team manager we had!” He looked from my perplexed expression to John’s growing embarrassment, then back to me. “Oh,” he snorted, then sipped again, “You thought he *played* on the team?!”

Ben pitched his head back in uproarious laughter, pounding his large band onto John’s back. John doubled over under the force of Ben’s thumping. When he finally lifted his face, my boyfriend’s crestfallen expression simultaneously evoked sympathy and contempt in me.

I pursed my lips, reflecting on John’s dumb lie about his high school soccer career. Ben had already moved on to describing his vacation at an expensive ski chalet in Aspen. John tried to let go, but the anguish of his friend’s disclosure lingered in his eyes.

Ben was concluding a lengthy narrative of the dining experience on his trip. “God, I gotta tell you, that personal chef, he was just on another level. I mean, I don’t swing that way,” he forcefully elbowed John in the ribs, “but, bro, his roast duck deserved a blowjob. For real!”

Ben drained the last of his beer and held up his glass, silently ordering a refill. I stood and tried to take the glass from his hand, but Ben retained his grasp, chuckling as we struggled. “Ooooh! We got a feisty one here!” Beneath my sweater, my breasts jiggled and shook despite their underwire restraints as I wrestled with Ben for the glass. The wide smile he wore as he relented divulged that he had observed my quaking mounds. I held out my free hand for John’s glass, staring impatiently at an empty spot on the sofa between the two men while I waited for him to finish his beer. Taking his empty, I spun and marched back to the kitchen.

I tossed the empty bottles from the counter into the recycling pail with a noisy clatter, then quickly stooped into the fridge to retrieve replacement beers. As I poured two fresh pints, Ben raised the topic of dinner. I heard John desperately shushing him, obviously concerned that my teetering patience might collapse, but Ben was oblivious to his pleas.

Returning to the living room with the two full glasses, Ben’s demanding eyes contacted my own. “When we were at the bar, John said that you were making dinner.” Without bending over – no free show this time, buddy! – I handed Ben both beers while wordlessly jutting my chin at the table, indicating the wasted dinner setting. As Ben turned to look, one of the floating candles in the centerpiece burned through the last of its wax and died with a fizzle in the water-filled bowl. He looked away from the table and gulped uneasily.

John rushed in to play peacemaker, “Sarah’s an awesome chef! Over Thanksgiving there was a blizzard that crippled travel, and she made dinner for a group of stranded neighbors while I was stuck out west!”

I blushed and covered my mouth to conceal my gasp, picturing how that snowy holiday dinner with John out of town had quickly gone off track. My pussy moistened again, recalling how my innocent ‘Friendsgiving’ gathering had lapsed into a depraved afternoon of group sex. “Mmmm,” I hummed subconsciously, remembering my three guests taking turns fucking each of my three holes, and how I had come back for ‘seconds’.

Imperceptive, John continued singing my praises. “We really screwed up missing out on her risotto… and that fish recipe – red snapper – looked so good!”

“Red snapper, huh?” Ben’s eyes crackled with juvenile mirth. “I thought I smelled fish when we got here, but I thought she was just happy to see me!”

John timidly tried to lay a restraining hand on his larger friend’s shoulder. “Dude… dude, please, you’re gonna take things too far.” He begged.

Hysterical tears welled in Ben’s eyes as he shoved John’s hand away, pinballing his own body against the arm and back of the couch amidst his peals of laughter. “I can’t believe you were going to let us taste your ‘red snapper’ and we blew it!” He collapsed in a spasm of garbled hooting. John helplessly sipped his beer, still holding up his other hand, now as a cautious barrier between himself and his misbehaving friend. My sympathy for John as a victim of his friend’s bullying was reaching a low point.

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