Entertaining at Home

I held it up against my naked body. It was short, but not slutty short. Probably wildly inappropriate for watching football, but it would guarantee that whatever reports went back to Dave about how I was after kicking him out would not be what he expected.

'Yes, you'll do.'

I put the dress on the bed and rummaged in drawers for underwear. I own a lot of lingerie, I like to feel sexy beneath conservative office garb, but very little of it is black. In fact, I discovered I had no suitable black tights only a pair of stockings still in their packaging: Dave and I had enjoyed more than a few stocking-and-suspender fantasies in our happier days. I tossed them onto the bed and searched for the suspender belt and a matching bra and panties set.

I shook my head at myself in the mirror after putting on the underwear and stockings. Dave would cream himself if he could see me like this. I was looking good. I felt good too, despite the rational side of my brain telling me this outfit was the last thing I should be wearing this evening. A couple of dabs of perfume after I had pulled on the dress and I checked myself out again. Definitely hot, I decided, and rubbed a little more perfume between my breasts. I did not remember the neckline being quite so revealing when I had tried it on in the shop. The slightly-over-the-top stilettos topped off the outfit perfectly and shaped my legs perfectly, I thought. With a deep breath, I stepped out of the room.

I do not know what reaction I was expecting as I opened the door to the front room, but if I had had one I would have been disappointed. The only whistle was the referee blowing for half-time. The five of them, still sitting on their towels, I was pleased to see, were deep in conversation about some incident or another which had happened during the match. It was Luke who saw me first. He stopped speaking mid-sentence and just stared. As the others became aware of my presence as I leaned against the door jamb they just stared too. Did my confidence the world of good. Television pundits exuded on the game. Seemed appropriate.

'Hi lads. Sorry I interrupted.'

Steve was the first to regain the power of speech.

'Wow. You look... Really nice. Come in, thanks for coming down. Can I get you a drink? Sit down.'

He was babbling, but his eyes never stopped scanning my body. He was flushing slightly. I stepped into the room and kissed him on the cheek. He deserved it for the unspoken flattery. Pete and Wot were also on their feet and Luke unfolded himself from an armchair as I moved further Ito the room. Only Jason remained seated and he shifted quickly when Steve told him to give up his seat. Pete took one of my hands in both of his and, staring up into my eyes, kissed my hand again.

'You look stunning.'

He glanced across at Steve to make sure he had got the right words and received a reassuring nod. He too got a kiss, as did Wot for calling me 'beauteous'. I giggled as Luke approached.

'I don't know the Polish for 'knock out', so English will have to do.'

I went to kiss his cheek too but with my standing on tiptoes and he dipping his head we confused each other and out lips met briefly. His were warm and soft. Had we been alone I am sure I would have held the clinch, but the shock of the contact made me step back. I could feel myself going red. Luke himself stepped back as if he had been tasered, causing Jason to yelp as his toes were crushed beneath Luke's heel. The other three were laughing at the scene as Jason hopped about trying to hold his injured foot before falling to the floor.

We were all standing awkwardly manoeuvring in the room. The bulky furniture and the sizeable coffee table covered in empty cans gave little room. Jason hauled himself up still angry at his humiliation and squeezed between the bigger men to approach me.

'You look very doable. Can I have a kiss too?'

He stretched his neck forward, eyes closed and lips pursed.

'Shut the fuck up Jason. Oh, sorry Susan.'

Steve's quick riposte saved him from a punch in the mouth. That and Luke pushing him backwards into one of the armchairs. I could feel the other men's eyes looking at me waiting for my reaction to set the tone.

'Sit down and shut up Jason. Any more shit from you and I'll start offering favours to the gentlemen in the room to take you outside and leave you tied to a tree in the rain.'

'But all I said was...'

'Zip it Jason. Every time you open your mouth you embarrass yourself... And the rest of us. Just sit there and keep quiet.'

There was a slight menace in Steve's voice I had never heard before. He, too, had clearly had enough of the little creep.

'Better still, get off your arse, clear these cans from the table and bring us all some more drinks. What would you like, Susan? I'm afraid we only brought beer and lager. Oh, and Pete and Wot contributed a bottle of vodka.'

I was impressed with the change of his tone when he switched from berating Jason to checking my needs.

'I was going to open a bottle of wine. But, if it's OK with Pete and Wot, I'll have a vodka and coke.'

I waited for Pete to nod as he beamed at me.

'There are cans of coke in the fridge. You can put the empty cans in a black bag - they're under the sink - and put them outside the back door next to the bins. Give you a chance to think about being stuck in the cold and wet if you don't mind your lip, short arse.'

Whilst normally I try to be polite, I needed to get some of the venom out of my system. And Jason had been looking for a slap from the first time I met him. I felt pleased with myself for joining in the boys' banter. I don't know whether if was my words, or their laughter, but Jason slunk out of the room saying he's bring the bin bag in rather than risk spilling dregs on the carpet. I was impressed. Ever so slightly.

He was back in a minute, bag under his arm and my vodka and coke in a half-pint glass balanced on the top of the box of beers he clutched in his arms. Steve passed my drink to me and then set about dealing with the box as Jason cleared the empties. The sound of hissing can opening interrupted the clank of used cans being bagged. I took a sip of my drink and almost choked.

'Bloody hell, this is strong. 'Scuse my language.'

I coughed as the men laughed.

'Polish vodka. Best in the world.'

Wot grinned with pride like a little boy. I was not sure whether it was with his English, or the impact his national drink had made on me. My throat burned and I could feel a warm glow spreading through my body. We were all still standing, but the tone of the commentators announced the start of the second half and everyone looked to Steve to work out the seating arrangements.

'Why don't you sit here where Jason was sitting.'

He indicated the side of the sofa furthest from the TV.

'We'll leave him the armchair and I'll sit on the floor.'

Luke, Pete and Wot sat down, quickly engrossed in the TV. This despite the fact they hadn't actually kicked off yet. I plumped myself onto the sofa next to Luke who unconsciously moved to make sure I had enough room. I crossed my legs and pulled at the hem of my dress. Modesty was going to be difficult, I soon learned. The cushions are soft and I naturally sank backwards into the comfortable back support. The tops of my stockings were barely covered. I could feel Steve's warmth as he arranged himself on the floor with his back to the sofa arm. Jason had slunk back in and was sitting like a small black cloud in the deep armchair. All five of them were staring at the screen as if hypnotised. Steve and Luke, in English, and Piotr and Wot in Polish exchanged comments on the substitutions which both sides had apparently made during the interval.

I wriggled to get more comfortable, but could feel something sticking into my back for the second time that evening. I stretched back a hand to feel behind the sofa cushion without, hopefully, disturbing Luke too much. I pulled out what felt like a DVD cover. No one noticed. I looked at it to discover it held Gang Bang Gumbo V. I shivered slightly and took a quick slug of my vodka. That made me shiver some more. Gosh it was strong. I felt the warmth spread like it had last time. I took another surreptitious glance at the cover.

There were four separate illustrative cameos. Each was of a cum-covered girl's face. Two displayed their tits as well; equally creamy. One image had a few inches of an improbably thick cock squirting ejaculate into an eagerly open mouth. I felt the warmth spread to my pussy.

Dave is a big fan of the Gumbo series. Numbers I-IV were upstairs in one of his plastic bags. We used to watch them together. Porn nights were a regular part of our relationship. Usually Dave would do the ordering of the DVD from the Internet. We had tried streaming, but neither of us had enough technical nous to get downloads to play through the TV; hence the DVD player in the bedroom. The whole process became a sort of foreplay.

'I've ordered a new video'

He might mention over breakfast one morning. Usually him, but I have to admit to knowing my way around the ordering process myself. For the next day or two there would be a sense of expectation between us. Usually it was satisfied by a quick viewing of a favourite before sex and then sleep. If the brown cardboard- or envelope-sheathed package (brown seems to be the industry standard even if the material differs) arrived before breakfast it would be placed by whoever picked up the post in the centre of the kitchen island there to stay, unopened, until we returned home. Otherwise the first home would do the honours.

We had an agreement not to open them until we had eaten. The days at work following a morning delivery would pass in hazy expectation. The first time we had ordered we had rushed home and, on opening the package, had virtually fallen on and over each other in our rush to get upstairs and naked and the film in the player. We had agreed afterwards to try to follow our normal routinesand wait until bedtime. Which was about eight-thirty at the latest on porn nights. But we never got much sleep.

In the happy days of our relationship, Dave was - after a little training from me - a sensitive and accommodating lover. On porn nights he fucked me; hard and often. We had anal sex for the first time after watching Gang Bang Gumbo I. It hurt like hell, I remembered. After that I insisted on lubrication before letting him have access to my back passage. Dave got particularly turned on by gang bang films. I could take them or leave them.

A few years ago, it was the run up to his birthday and I was having a difficult time deciding what to get for him, I had suggested - after a fair amount of red wine - that I give him a gang bang as a present. I can still remember his horrified expression. He refused to discuss exactly what his problem with it was, but I surmised that gang bangs were something that drunk, bottle-dyed blondes did, not the woman he was married to. I let the subject drop, but with a little reluctance. It had taken a lot for me to broach it, and, I have to admit, the process of fantasising before raising it with him, was something of a turn on.

My only experience with more than one partner had come at college when two of my male friends and I had ended up in bed together. It was far from satisfactory. None of us really knew what to do and the boys were far too drunk to perform well. After going down on both of them I tossed them off until they came and then we had all fallen asleep. The next morning was excruciatingly embarrassing and I had got out of the house as quickly as I could. I was back at my student digs, heels in hand and minus my knickers, before any of my flat mates were up.

I had been unconsciously sipping my vodka whilst I silently reminisced. I was getting tipsy. I know because my knee was pressed against Steve's shoulder. I looked round at my guests, glad to see the football still had their full attention and none of them had noticed me staring at the cover. I flipped it over. The back told the tale of the encounters. I always liked reading them even though I knew they were fictitious. I smiled at the story outline of Samantha-Lou's adventure with her husband's bowling buddies after they topped the local league. Did football fans deserve similar rewards?

I jerked upright, as much to stop myself thinking lewd thoughts as anything else. Steve felt the change and tore his eyes away from the screen.

'Everything all right?'

He placed a hand on my knee. It was a touch of innocence and concern, but that did not stop the tingle travelling up my thigh. I felt my pussy twitch once more.

'Sure. I was wondering whether one of you gents would get me another drink...'

There was a general shuffling as all of them, except Jason, went in to waiter mode. I tapped Steve on the shoulder with the DVD case.

'And could you pass this to Jason. I think he must have left it behind the cushion here.'

Steve's face changed from expectancy to blazing, red-faced anger as he looked at the cover.

'Jason. What the fuck?'

No apology for bad language this time. He threw the case at him catching him squarely in the chest. Jason rubbed the spot and his face took on a look of injured innocence.

'It's Dave's. He said she'd be up for a gang bang. If we warmed her up a little.'

Now it was my turn to get angry.

'He said I'd fuck you all. If you got me pissed and showed me some porn. I'll kill the bastard.'

'No, no. Not you. He was talking about Tiffany.'

I was almost panting with rage. Steve and Luke were staring daggers at Jason. Piotr was quietly explaining the sudden shouting to Wot. The football was momentarily forgotten.

'Who the fuck is Tiffany.'

Jason is the most insensitive of men. But even he could tell he was in deep doo-doo. His reply came out as a whine. Everyone was staring at him with anger in their eyes. It looked to me as if Piotr was having to hold Wot back from attacking him.

'His new tart, I mean girlfriend.'

If anything that stoked my anger further.

'You mean to tell me he brought you lot round here - to my house. My house. - so you could all screw some slapper whilst I was upstairs watching TV?'

I stared at the five of them. I was on the edge of tears I was so angry. Steve broke the tension. He spoke in a soft, dull voice which could hardly be heard over the sound of the TV.

'Get your coat Jason. And get the fuck out.'

'But it's still raining and the match hasn't finished And I haven't got a coat.'

He looked imploringly round the room. There was no sympathy in any of the faces. Steve stood and took he one step necessary to stand over the cowering man. I could not see his face, but the expression alone was enough to shut Jason up. He slid out of the armchair and backed around it so he could leave the room without coming in to contact with any of the others. Steve followed him to the door whilst the rest of us remained silent. We all let out deep breaths when we heard the front door close.

Poland scored. The crowd and the commentators were going wild. No one in the room said anything. Luke, Pete and Wot were all looking at the floor, only stealing occasional glances at me when they thought I was not looking.

We all looked at Steve expectantly when he reentered the room. He stood, as he had in my bedroom earlier, with his back to it, head down, arms at his side, this time with his fists clenched.

'I've not come that close to punching someone since I was a teenager.'

He too blew out a deep breath and slowly raised his head to look at me.

'Susan. I'm really sorry about that. Believe me, I knew nothing about Dave's plans. He said nothing to me. Honest.'

The others made noises to convey their own ignorance of Jason and Dave's little scheme.

'I believe you...'

I was still close to tears. I was finding it difficult to get the words out.

'I just can't understand Dave. I know we are splitting up. But to have so little respect for me...'

My voice trailed off.

'Don't worry. We shall be having 'words' tomorrow. I'm going to tell him exactly what I think of him and his plans.'

Steve reached out an arm and touched my shoulder. That opened the flood gates. I pushed myself into his arms and collapsed into wracking sobs against his chest. He held me stiffly as I cried myself out. It only took a few minutes, but it was intense. When I pushed myself away from Steve his white shirt was stained with streaks of mascara, lipstick and, probably, snot and tears. I wiped my eyes realising I must look a complete mess.

'I think perhaps we should go too.'

Luke's flat northern vowels had an air of finality. I almost panicked. I did not want to be alone.

'No. Please stay. The game's not finished. Have some more beers, there's plenty left and I won't drink them. I'll wash my face and I'll be back in a tick.'

I fled the room to the downstairs washroom, still sobbing slightly. The mirror confirmed what I suspected. I looked like a clown who had been left out in the rain. There was a clap of thunder. I laughed at the thought of Jason walking home getting colder and wetter as he went. I set about repairing my damaged image with the contents of the emergency make up bag I kept under the sink.

When I emerged, the house was quieter. The sound had been turned down on the TV and I could hear the four men talking in low voices. They seemed to be plotting revenge against Dave on my behalf. There were low humourless laughs as they tried to outdo each other in threats to his clothes, car, desk. And reputation. I was touched. But what I needed more than anything was a drink.

In the kitchen I reached down four shot glasses and loaded them onto a tray along with the exotically labelled vodka, the bottle of emergency scotch Dave and I always kept at the back of a cupboard and a stiff vodka and coke for myself. They all tinkled as they clinked against each other as I proceeded to the front room and pushed open the door. All four men were standing and turned to me with looks of concerns. I forced a smile.

'Lighten up chaps. I've decided, we can't let those two ingrates ruin our evening. Who's winning?'

Football had been forgotten. They all turned to the screen and Steve took up the remote, clicked off the mute and them lowered the volume. The commentators were reduced from hysterical barking to a low murmur.

'Looks like we equalised. There's going to be extra time.'

'Ah well. Can't have everything.'

My weak joke broke the ice and they all started laughing. Luke took the tray and put it on the coffee table. Wot busied himself charging the shot glasses and handing them round.

'Here's to...?'

Steve started the toast, but then looked around for assistance.

'Jason getting pneumonia!'

I took a gulp of my drink and the lads downed their shots. We all spluttered and laughed at the same time. Luke opened the whisky and poured out another four measures.

'To Dave's engine blowing a gasket.'

I gulped and coughed, they just laughed after emptying their glasses. I felt for the seat behind me and squeezed between Steve and Pete. I was more than tipsy now. I had better watch what I drank, I told myself. The resolution lasted no more than a few seconds. Pete proposed the next vodka toast.

'To Dave and Jason catching herpes... Herpes is correct, no? From Tiffany.'

I drained my glass as the others emptied theirs and congratulated Pete on his fluency. I kissed him on the cheek. I was definitely feeling better. Scanning the room I could see we were all feeling the cathartic effects of the booze and the lifting of the tense atmosphere. Steve, Pete and I were slumped back on the sofa. Luke and Wot were leaning against the arms of their chairs. I caught them both sneaking upskirt peeks; my legs were only slightly apart as I leaned back, but the dress was so short it left nothing to the imagination. I wagged a finger at them, giggling.