The Couple Next Door

Chris has drifted through the day, sometimes reading, sometimes making notes for her novel, but mostly enjoying her leisure. The house is clean and tidy, and all is as it should be. She and Pat have developed habits that guarantee the maintenance of order in their lives, at minimal effort.

It is nearing five. In an hour, Pat will be home. Therefore, it is time to make herself ready. Pat is very particular about how Chris is to present herself after a day's work.

She treats herself to a hot bath, luxuriating in the warmth and allowing it to lull her further into languor. Before drying, she shaves her armpits, legs and crotch with meticulous care, even though she last did so only two days ago. Pat is neither amused nor aroused by stubble. Yet it is not a chore; the touch of the razor gliding over her skin, lubricated by fine bath oil, is merely an additional sensation through which to anticipate the evening to come.

When she has patted herself completely dry, she applies moisturizing body lotion to her skin, checking as she does so for rough spots and calluses. There is the beginning of a callus on her left foot, on the outside surface of her littlest toe. Careful work with a pumice stone and a mirror leaves it as smooth as the rest of her.

Her long brown hair shimmers with red highlights as she brushes it. When it is tangle-free, she clips it back, away from her face with a simple barrette from the collection in her vanity. She smiles in satisfaction at the simple freshness of her appearance, taking a moment to preen.

Her face is neither young nor old, but is suspended in the timelessness of healthy maturity: the condition that arrives when one knows what one has become, and approves. Her figure is trim, her breasts are high and full, her legs long and trim. Not long before she'd met Pat, she'd verged on the gelatinous. Properly balanced nutrition and exercise, among other things, have worked wonders. Of course, the motivation Pat provides has been essential.

She dons a white lace garterbelt, a pair of stockings, and white high heeled pumps, taking care not to snag, crease, or wrinkle anything. A short, white silk kimono goes over all. The gentle friction of the silk against her nipples quickly brings them erect, causing her to quiver down the length of her body. It is her favorite combination of fabrics, and it always brings out her best for Pat.

She saunters back to the living room, practicing her sultriest walk. She sits in her recliner, cants it back all the way, and stretches her legs elaborately, both to remove any kinks from her thigh and calf muscles and to present her figure to its best advantage. Pat will be here any minute. She tilts her head back, closes her eyes, and automatically her mouth curves into a relaxed, sensuous smile.

***

It was always the same, and always different. Certainly Pat knows Chris as well as one human being could know another. But there was in Chris a subtle inventiveness that could transform even the mundane act of entering the house into an adventure to be recounted to the diary, to be read over and over.

As Pat pulls into their garage, the memory of first meeting Chris floods back. How shy Chris had been, and how uncomfortable with their obvious and immediate response to one another! It has been...seven years? Yes, seven years and a few weeks since they paired. Life apart is unthinkable for them both, now. Pat is certain that neither of them suffers any itch for others; their life together, their ongoing erotic explorations, are too rich and vivid.

As always, the briefcase is left beside the kitchen table, to await the morning. Off comes the suit jacket, to be thrown over the back of a dinette chair. Apparently, Chris has chosen to wait in the living room or bedroom this time.

Pat rounds the corner into the living room with a light tread, and grows suddenly short of breath when Chris comes into view. Apparently Chris hears the gasp and catch in Pat's chest, for she opens her eyes lazily, the sensuous smile fluttering through a trill of invitation.

Moving slowly, savoring the sight of her beloved, Pat kneels before Chris and begins to caress her, starting at the ankles and moving upward with swirling, teasing strokes. When the breath in Chris's chest has come as short as Pat's own, Pat begins to kiss her lover's inner thighs, running a pointed tongue along the pelvic creases at the tops of Chris's legs. Chris's back arches to the full as she shivers in pleasure.

Presently, Chris says, "Is it time?"

Pat looks up from her oral ministrations and smiles.

"After you, dear."

***

Pat's beauty is not like Chris's. She is short, elfin-featured, and firmly muscled. Her breasts are small and very firm. Her arms and legs are smooth, but the strength of her muscles is unmistakable. Her hands and feet are small and graceful. She wears her blonde hair in a short, caplike style, a concession to the practicalities of the workaday world that nonetheless becomes her perfectly.

Chris loves to watch her lover disrobe, loves to savor the progressive revelation of that perfect body so unlike her own. Pat is without artifice; she does not draw out her undressing either to tease or to savor it. Even so, to Chris, who watches through eyes of love and devotion, the act is mesmeric in its simplicity.

When Pat is nude, she approaches Chris, who is lying on their bed much as she had in their living room only a minute before, and resumes her caresses. Eyes slowly drawing closed, Chris reaches out to take her lover's head between her hands, to guide it down to her body. She drifts in erotic reverie as Pat's lips and tongue trace her contours.

Pat indicates to Chris that she should turn over, and Chris complies silently. Pat's tongue work continues on Chris's back, her buttocks, the backs of her thighs, and then back up to the crevice between them. Chris begins to moan; she protrudes her rump toward Pat a little further with each stroke from her lover's tongue. Waves of tension pass over her, reaching ever higher peaks.

Pat parts Chris's buttocks and flicks her tongue over her lover's anus. The quick, teasing strokes quickly raise Chris's emotional temperature to its limits. Her anus begins to expand and contract in a matching rhythm. Little convulsions cause her pelvis to pulse up and down, alternately retreating from and pressing into Pat's face. When Pat suddenly drives the whole length of her tongue into Chris's anus, it is all she can do not to scream.

Presently Pat's voice comes to her.

"Do you want it?"

It is an invariant part of their love ritual. Chris smiles into her pillow.

"You know I do."

It is the signal for Pat to bring out the bonds. Quickly but carefully, she spread-eagles Chris face down on the bed and ties her snugly, with a pillow under her pelvis to elevate it.

"Don't forget the gag."

"I never do."

Chris knows it is true.

The gag is large and penis-shaped; it fills Chris's mouth completely. Pat pulls the straps tight behind Chris's head, and buckles them. When she is gagged this way, Chris can whimper, but nothing else. Nothing else will be required of her.

Pat dons her dildo, taking care to keep the support straps smooth and unkinked. After filming it with a light coating of lubricant, she presses the tip against Chris's still pulsing anus. Keeping as much in rhythm with Chris's surges as she can, Pat slowly presses the dildo into Chris's anus. When she has accomplished a full insertion of the prosthetic, they hold still for a long, silent moment. Pat begins to stroke, slowly and gently.

Chris is in delirium as her point of release approaches, at a level of intensity she cannot remember experiencing before. With her lover's gentle hands caressing her from shoulders to hips as the dildo moves in and out of her anus, she shrieks against the gag and collapses into a blinding climax.

***

They lie together, spoon-fashion, recovering themselves in the cool of the evening. Chris loves to feel Pat's form against her back. She wriggles her shoulders slightly, the better to feel Pat's nipples scrape against her skin.

When Pat's hand leaves Chris's hip and travels downward to her crotch, Chris arches back and cants her hips to allow her lover better access. Chris's heart surges in her chest as her lover's hand closes around her penis, still gently caressing, as always.

"Do you think you would have gone the whole way if we hadn't met?"

Chris smiles in the dark. Another of their love rituals has begun.

"Probably. What use would I have had for it, without you?"

"Seems to me you could have gotten some use out of it." Pat's caressing hand strokes Chris to a smooth, hard erection. "I think we're about to get some use out of it now."

Chris turns toward her lover, sees Pat's blue eyes shining in the dark.

"I'd lose it, if that's what would please you."

Pat slowly shakes her head.

"Nothing could please me more than the way that you are, and that you're that way for me." She has not let go of Chris's penis, and the smooth hard organ seems to gleam between them. "This belongs to us both."

Her excitement building again, Chris reaches out to touch her lover's mound. It is warm and wet. Pat arches her back and lets out a long sigh as Chris's fingers probe the folds of her vagina, settling lightly against her clitoris.

"I think it's your turn."

-- The End --