Dungeons and Dicks Ch. 03

This is the third part of a four part series. They should all post quickly, one after another, and I make no effort at catching readers up. You would do best to start with Chapter One.

As always, please remember that I am not aiming for deep truth here. I craft my stories to be plausibly ridiculous.

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Dungeons and Dicks: Chapter Three--The New Expansion Set

"We'll take the checks, please," I said.

"Just to be sure, how are we splitting them again?" our round-faced, overly-tattooed, and obviously not very observant server asked.

"My lady and me," Martin said, pointing back and forth between himself and Penny, "and the two of them."

"Unless you'd rather do it the other way," Martin smirked at me as the server headed off.

"No deal," I said. "Tess didn't have desert."

We all shared a more enthusiastic laugh than the jokes merited, but a second bottle of Malbec will do that.

"Listen," Martin went on, "It has been great getting to know you guys better without sports blaring in the background and twenty other people pressing against us. Our house is pretty much on the way home for you. Can we talk you into stopping by for one more drink... one that doesn't cost 78 bucks a bottle?"

"I'm good with that," I said. "How about you, Tess?"

My lovely wife pursed her lips in consideration. "I'm already planning on sleeping in a little tomorrow... Let's do it. I'd love to see your house," she added to Penny.

"You'll love it..." Penny replied, smiling, "in about another six months. We have been slow to furnish the place, so there is a lot of old IKEA stuff being put to use."

"Ha!" Tess snorted. "Our IKEA couch in our living room is five years old."

"See? I told you we don't need a new couch," Martin said almost peevishly.

Oops. We had hit one of those little, sensitive nerves in everybody's marriages. Hopefully their car ride home would not put them in a bad mood...

In the car, Tess said, "I like them, actually. It has been a while since we met anybody new worth hanging out with."

"I'm honestly happy with the various groups of friends we have now," I shrugged, "but I agree. They both make me smile, and there is something to be said for some people to hang out with who aren't part of one group or another."

"Yes, and we are starting to need some replacements here or there," Tess added. "Rob and Alice have gone radio-silent. And what about Claude and Tanisha? We haven't played tennis with them since their baby either. It's been two years at least."

"If we ever run out of friends, we can just have a baby of our own and join the playdate social circle," I laughed.

"Yeah, well, in order to keep our options open, I say we make some new friends," Tess said firmly.

"Done," I said. We fist-bumped as I drove.

I had punched their address into the GPS, but I still tried to follow Penny as she drove them back to their house. I thought I had lost her once, but I caught back up at a light. The house we pulled up to was on the same lines as ours, same basic size, same level of neighborhood, same kind of middle-suburban location. It wasn't quite 'on the way home' to our house, but it was close enough.

We had first met Martin and Penny, our potential social circle expansions, by accident at a crowded sportsbar, when we and they had simultaneously dove for the same open end of a communal table that had just become unoccupied. In the uncomfortable stand-off, I had suggested that we let the ladies have the two open stools, and we guys could stand. I was just trying to settle the tiny conflict, and had not intended to open up a conversation with them, but while Martin and I were watching different baseball games on the leventy-seven various TVs in the joint, Penny and Tess had started talking. Eventually, they dragged us into the conversation as well.

Three beers, a plate of nachos that were an utter fail, and a tragic ninth-inning loss for the Cubbies later, we had possibly found some new friends. Martin and I were in the same basic industry, but working for non-competitors. It was nice to be able to talk shop without actually talking shop. Penny and Tess discovered that they both worked out at the same Orange Theory fitness center. At some point, while I was watching five runs in the ninth ruin my evening, Tess persuaded Penny to try changing her workout time to join the class Tess religiously attended.

Tess loved that class because the instructor, Ted, was 'a dish', and 'hot as fuck', and she tended to want every female she encountered who exercised to take his classes. She was an evangelist. Not a worshiper of Ted, let me stress, just an evangelist.

Since that night where we first all met, Penny had also become a fan of Ted, and friends with Tess.

I'd seen Ted. He deserved his fan base. I hoped he made good money off it.

*

Oddly, it had been Ted who had been the spark for my one discrete crisis of confidence in our early days of LARPing with our closest friends. Tess and I tend to process our doubts, insecurities, and puzzles in life differently. I usually work out my thoughts in more or less real time. I deal with them as they happen, deciding to accept or reject events or opportunities as they present themselves, and figuring out how in general to do that as I go. The thing is, I try not to let issues build up. Tess is usually much more 'in the moment,' ready to take risks or opportunities as they present themselves. But she saves up her doubts about things and then springs them on me, or more to the point, on herself in big batches at a later time. Every major, serious conversation that she and I had had over the months as our D&D games with Craig, and Anne, and Mark, and Geri had evolved, sprang from Tess feeling the need to process a whole batch of emotions or doubts or just experiences.

All except the one time. She had come home from a sweat session at the gym, led of course by Ted. I was home early, and found myself benefitting rather mightily from her prior hour getting sweaty while staring at Ted's muscular form in her spin class.

Upon discovering me, Tess had me lying on my back on the floor of my office, both of us naked from the waist down, with my dick thrust up inside her. She smelled gloriously of the musky aroma of fresh sweat, and she was quickly, breathlessly sweating again from the vigor with which she rode me. Even in the sturdy sports bra that she always wore to the gym, that she had to wear to the gym, her magnificent rack swayed over me.

She came amazingly fast, clearly needing the release. My wife wanted an orgasm, and she wanted it immediately. But she also knew how to deliver, and she sent waves of pleasure down into me below her. As she swiftly showed signs of an impending orgasm, I relaxed and let my own bodily reactions swell without worrying about extending things.

She slammed down on me, pausing with me fully within her as she groaned in a long, low, growl of pleasure, then rocked back and forth on me, moaning louder and louder. The sight of her face flushing so darkly as blood rushed through it, her eyes half-lidding with pleasure, and her quivering, sweaty, still partially-clothed flesh, all combined with the spasming of her internal folds, brought me over as well and I fountained up inside her, setting off a final wave of pleasure from Tess.

I gasped at she softly rolled off of me in exhaustion. After the kind of workout Ted habitually leads, I was a little surprised that she had had the energy to fuck me at all, much less that frenzied attack.

Ted.

It was Ted. He had her even more horny than exhausted.

"Fucking Ted!" I almost shouted, springing up to a sitting position beside Tess, actually glaring down at her gorgeous, exhausted form. For once it was me who was having lots of different, unprocessed thoughts crashing together and overloading my ability to keep my cool.

Tess was definitely not used to me sounding panicky, and she absolutely was not used to me being angry with her. I mean, we squabble like any married couple, but this was quite different. I was fight or flight-level pissed. "What is the matter darling?" she asked me, with sudden concern. She wasn't concerned for herself, despite my rage, but for me. That tiny revelation seeped into my head and let me at least stop spiraling. But I still held onto the anger I had already built.

"Fucking Ted!" I spat again. "You came through that door just now with a major head of steam built up. If I had not been home when you got here, you would have yanked your plastic pinch-hitter out of the drawer as fast as you dropped my pants, wouldn't you?"

Tess's weak, confused smile told me my answer. "Yeah, but I hit the jackpot," she said, indicating me, "and am way happier for it."

"But in a perfect world, I would have been Ted, right?" I ground out.

"You know Ted is gay, right?" Tess said drily.

I had not, in fact, known that Ted was gay. It had never mattered enough for Tess to mention it. The rational part of my mind also filed this away as comforting. The rest of me just snarled, "But in a perfect world, he would not be!"

"His husband might not think that," Tess murmured, in a brief flash of amusement. "Come on, darling," she went on comfortingly, cutting off another explosion, "you know Ted is just my coach. Sure, he's a delight to look at, and that makes it a lot easier to do the work, but you, of all people, have nothing to worry about from him."

"Why?" I snapped. "Because I, of all people, have a wife who is fucking two much better-looking guys already?"

That stopped us both cold.

Apparently, I had issues beyond Ted that I was processing.

Tess suddenly embraced me, not passionately, but warmly, reassuringly, almost possessively. Neither of us said a word until she finally released me. My anger was gone, but left in its wake was a jagged tangle of fears and insecurities. And shame. Lots of different kinds of shame.

"Darling," Tess said firmly. "I am not fucking Craig or Mark."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Shanora is fucking Renault and Sir Tyrian, I know. I came up with that rule, remember? I'm the one..."

"I mean," Tess said, cutting me off. "I'm not fucking them any more. Remember? Either of us has doubts, we punch out. Over. Kaput."

"No!" My shout was surprisingly loud and firm, even to me.

"Darling..."

"No, please." I said with a sigh. "I'm not upset about what we are both doing. Really. We both have, we all have fun... amazing fun. And... and..." I flailed for words. "Let me think for a second." I discarded Ted and his glistening, suddenly gay abs, and things got a little clearer. "Listen, Tess. Most everything about what we do on Saturday nights just makes me love you more, want you more, and feel more secure with you. I know I'm your guy. I know you are my girl. And holy shit, seeing you demonstrate how fucking lucky I am makes me hot."

"And sexing up Anne and Geri is a nice side benefit," Tess said sardonically.

"Yes," I said flatly. "Yes, it fucking is!"

We grinned at each other for a moment, before I clouded up again.

"So, what is the problem?" Tess asked, not frustrated, but concerned.

"I... I think I'm just having to come to grips with being the Plain Jane of our group. You five are all so amazing looking. Mark is all ripped, and dangerous, and... big dicked," I was interrupted by a snort that was definitely not of denial. "And Craig is just so fucking handsome," I ground out.

"Did you know he was a model in college?" Tess interjected calmly.

"You are not helping," I literally whined. "You are making my point. And here I have to also accept that you drool over goddamned Ted, too..."

"Are you really this clueless?" my wife asked, now frustrated. "Yes, I will admit, you are not as easy on the eyes as either of them. And you sure aren't as pretty to look at as Ted."

"Sounds like I am that clued in," I grumped. "I'm not the poster boy that the rest of the men in my wife's life are. None of them are going bald!" I'm 31, and I have a widow's peak forming rapidly. It is not fair.

"You are the most attractive man I know," Tess said, cutting me off. "Simple looks by themselves aren't everything, and you really are a plenty fine-looking man. But you, John Mason, have that It Thing--the whole Men Want to be You, Women Want to be With You, and it is not because of your looks, which are right good, dammit."

"Spoken like a wonderful, loving spouse," I muttered.

"Spoken like someone who watches her friends get excited when they know they are coming up with you," Tess said with a hard voice. "In real life, just like in D&D, charisma isn't just looks. We'd all follow you, we all do already, and we all enjoy it." She paused. "Look, we three women genuinely do only want to Make Love to our own husbands. That's part of the magic of all this. But all three of us are equally happy to LARP with all three of you equally. And privately, I think all three of us may be happiest to LARP with you."

"Really?" I said. It is hard to remain insecure and angry under that kind of ego stroking.

"Don't get cocky. The margin, if it exists, is small,"Tess laughed. "But you really do have the It Factor, hubby. Hell, the one time I forgot my phone and you brought it to me at Orange Theory, I can tell you, Ted was for certain eye-fucking you a little."

"Okay, we are done talking about Ted!"

*

Since that meltdown that was so out of character for me, I'd been able to return to processing details as they came. And Tess was largely past her own moments of accumulated doubt. The only one of her own that she had suffered since The Ted Thing had been when she suddenly freaked out about if she should shave herself like Geri.

I had fought hard to reassure her on that front. I personally adore her neatly trimmed little bush. But privately, I didn't want her angsting about shaving herself like Geri, lest she decide that I needed to do it too, like Mark...

I was quite glad to be over my insecurities about my appearance before Martin showed up in our lives.

*

Martin travels a lot during the week for his job. Tess's and my weekends are fairly rigorously booked, so this evening had been the first time we could get together as a foursome and let Martin and me get to know each other.

He and I both knew going in that we had no option but to like each other, if we knew what was good for us. Fortunately, we did anyway. He's a good bit older than Tess and me, at about 40. He is in the same kind of 'lift regularly while not making a huge deal of it' shape that I am, and the only real signs he's no longer thirty-something are the distinguished strands of silver that decorate his hair. And fuck him for that hair. It is rich, and wavy, and hasn't receded an inch. Just... fuck him.

Penny, on the other hand, is younger than us--in her late twenties. "He met me a week after I turned 25," Penny had explained earlier that evening. "I claim that means he is just barely not a cradle robber."

"Uh huh," Tess had observed. "And what do your parents claim, Penny?"

"We will not discuss my father's views on the subject," Penny had replied, with a quelling voice and a twinkle in her eye.

We parked on the street out front, while Penny pulled her BMW into the garage. Martin popped out and hustled through the house, opening the front door for us before we reached it.

As he ushered us in, Penny sailed in from the garage and headed purposefully toward the kitchen. "There had better be clean wine glasses, Martin, or I will beat you senseless for inviting people over without having done the dishes," she called as she went by, not slowing for an answer.

Turns out there were indeed clean glasses. They were presented to us filled with a nice Australian Malbec from a screw top bottle with a rational price tag. It tasted just as good to me as the bottles with dinner, but then I have often been told I'm a barbarian by my wine-snob of an older brother.

We took the tour of the house, which was in a helluva lot more finished condition than ours had been six months after we had moved in. Clearly, they both were proud of it, though they didn't like to boast. It was a lovely evening, and we went out to the back yard. Tess and Penny walked around the tiny pool, highlighted by the mottled light projected up from the water. They were deep into a conversation about gardening, which is not my area of expertise or interest. I haul mulch when and where directed. Martin had similar inclinations.

I'll admit our conversation drifted into silence as we watched the girls in the beautifully lit darkness. Tess looked her usual lovely self, dressed in flowing but body-defining slacks and a tight, long-sleeved blouse with just a touch of tasteful cleavage. It was made of just lightweight enough fabric to not be too hot on a night that offered a small, sadly brief break from the summer heat.

Penny was almost equally nice to look at, I considered. She was a short little firecracker, just over five feet tall. She had a tiny but round little ass, and a tiny waist to go with the rest of her general tininess. Her breasts did not appear to be tiny, but that was just in relation to the rest of her form. In real terms, I figured my hands would...

That was enough consideration of my new friend's wife, I thought. She had no rule-bound alter ego to make it acceptable.

Martin looked at me consideringly for a moment. He seemed to almost shrug to himself. "That is a mighty fine ass," he said in general tones.

Huh? That was... slightly unusual. Accurate, regardless of who he meant, but kind outré for a chill guy like Martin.

I shrugged, humor defuses right? "Which one," I snorted.

He laughed.

"I mean, take your pick," I went on. Our wives were hot. It was weird to discuss it, but the truth was the truth.

"I'd love to," Martin replied slowly, easily, still staring in our women's direction. "Wouldn't you?"

"Excuse me?" I blurted. It wasn't a hostile challenge, but I wanted any confusion settled right away. Because I was confused. Take my pick of asses?

"Shit," I thought I heard him mutter. He turned hastily to me and spoke in hushed tones. "Three bottles of wine has me just a titch too open, and far out ahead of myself." He stared at me, suddenly nervous. "Um, look, I've already fucked up, so I'll just blurt this out. Back in Los Angeles, Penny and I had lots of friends. Casual friends, good friends, and... special friends." He pursed his lips. "This is hardly an appropriate time to talk about this... we all just barely know each other... but since my drunk-ass tongue has taken me down this road... Um..." He licked lips that seemed suddenly dry. "First and foremost, this subject is totally separate from why we think you guys are great, but... Listen, if you have any interest in The Lifestyle, present or future, Penny and I have some experience, and I can assure you, the interest. If you guys are not interested, please don't freak out. It isn't everything we are, just an occasional part."

He had the look of a man whose main concern was having done something to piss off his wife. I have experienced that feeling myself.

'The Lifestyle'?

I'm not a stupid man, and I have obvious reasons to understand what he was talking about, but I had just never heard the term used in the way he obviously meant it, and I took a second or two to track.

When everything clicked into place in my conscious mind, I successfully stifled a deep, rich, delightedly evil laugh. Instead, I just winked at Martin and clapped him on the shoulder. "Two things. First, I'm flattered, not pissed, so stop worrying. Second, sorry, but Tess and I are just not swingers." It wasn't a lie. We were LARPers, but not swingers. That made it astronomically different, as far as I was concerned.