Estuary Ch. 05

Estuary: (n) - that part of the mouth or lower course of a river in which the river's current meets the sea's tide.

* Saturday: Earlier that Night *

Sidelong around his drink, he watched them melt into the crowd. There was the brief pang, a moment of doubt, but Carlton drowned it with tequila and orange juice. His wife was heading to the dance floor, escorted by another man. He'd watched Bethany dance with another man only once before, at their high school homecoming. She had been the queen and a boy named Kurt Lancing, the king. Even now, in his early thirties, he could envision that dance with absolute clarity. How Kurt's arms had enfolded her, the way he'd whispered in her ear, and how easily Bethany had succumbed to the moment. He took another swallow of citrus and grenadine, to make the medicine go down. Tonight the man was named Scott. He was a friend of theirs, though Carlton considered him more of an acquaintance. He was the significant other attached to his wife's best friend, Eliza.

"So what's the deal, Carl?" Eliza asked, suspicion dripping from each word. Carlton raised a quizzical eyebrow, as if in some obligatory pretense of innocence. She didn't buy it, which was convenient, because he didn't want her to. Like every Saturday, Bethany had been looking forward to their weekly night out. She'd have a few drinks and spend most of the evening on the dance floor with Eliza. They'd dance, like covetous lovers prevented from realizing their passion by some paper thin, impregnable barrier. It reminded Carlton of Dante's Inferno, which at that moment seemed all too poetic and appropriate.

"I want you to fuck my wife," Carlton answered, casually blunt. The words, lubricated by Cuervo, had come easily enough, but in their speaking, Carlton found himself strangely aroused.

Eliza was stunned. She'd never expected him to permit Bethany to dance with Scott. Her asking had been a ploy to cajole Carlton into dancing with his wife. Nothing more. Scott was sexy, flirtatious, and totally uninhibited; not the kind man you trust your wife to. At first, she'd attributed to his offhand approval to miscommunication. It was noisy and he'd been drinking heavily, but something in his mannerisms, the clandestine way he watched them go, provoked her to delve further. But this? This was unbelievable, surreal. "You're drunk," Eliza scoffed.

Carlton afforded her a chuckle. He was drunk. "I decided this two weeks ago. I've been trying to find the courage to say it," he answered. He raised his glass in mock salute and quipped, "Found it!"

Eliza nearly grinned, but she was hesitant, indecisively perched between caution and pursuit. She and Bethany had been attracted to each other since college. Denied for years, the desire had matured into a pervasive fantasy, one that led them to many nights of frustrated mutual masturbation, a telephone their prophylactic and safety net. They touched only on the dance floor, simultaneously protected and inhibited by its allowances. Now possessive, conservative Carlton, the sole source of their restraint, was soliciting her to abandon it? Could she risk pressing this advantage? If she didn't, would it ever come again? Was she the predator or the prey? "Why?" she asked, "Why would you want that?"

Carlton finished his drink, swallowing slowly, allowing the question to linger. He was getting hard and savoring Eliza's ambivalence. "I had an epiphany," he said finally, while waving for a shooter girl.

"What kind of epiphany?"

"I finally realized that love and sex aren't... umm... mutually inclusive. I know Bethany loves me. I also know she wants you, has since college. The only thing holding her back is me. I don't want her to resent me for being selfish and insecure," he answered, pausing to place his order.

Lust and a loss of inhibition she could dismiss as the consequences of over-intoxication. This was something more. She didn't know what to do. In an instant, years of carefully established borders and expectations had been invalidated, their parameters left undefined and potentially limitless. Eliza regarded Carlton as he pivoted to address the waitress, seeing perhaps for the first time something beyond unflattering caricatures in him. Inadvertently, her eyes fell to the burgeoning evidence of Carlton's sincerity and, to her own surprise, she resisted the immediate urge to look away. Instead she looked appraisingly at the bugle in his pants. He was smaller than Scott, but certainly not ill equipped. She'd certainly never considered him that way before, either. Eliza still wasn't quite comfortable with that prospect. "So basically, you're inviting me to a three way?" she asked as Carlton's attention returned to her.

"Nope," he answered, "I don't even want to watch."

She was dumbfounded. A hand, which she'd tentatively considered resting on Carlton's thigh, withdrew. Wanting a threesome with two women was one thing. Eliza could understand that. But Carlton offering his wife up like a sacrificial lamb and then declining to partake in the subsequent feast was completely beyond her. "Why not?" she asked, her voice rife with incredulity.

Carlton looked away, feigning pensive. "I don't want her to know that you have my blessing."

Eliza recoiled, her hair-trigger temper and quick tongue getting the better of her. "So you want her to think she's cheating on you so she can feel like shit afterwards?! That's really fucked up, you..."

"No, wait," Carlton answered, showing his palms defensively. "Listen. I want you to stop holding back and I want her to do whatever she wants about it. I'm telling you this because I want you to understand that there are no consequences. I'm going to be okay with whatever she decides. If something happens and she wants to tell me, that's great. I'll tell her I love her and nothing can ever change that. At the same time, I know she loves me. She won't want to hurt me. If she decides to protect my feelings, I'll appreciate that too."

Her outrage dispelled, Eliza sat back. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Yeah," he answered, after accepting and paying for his drink, "I'm nervous though." It was the first honest thing he'd said to her. "So I'm going get shitfaced and come what may," he continued between sips.

Eliza's hand found his knee and squeezed it encouragingly. "What happens if you wake up and it's too late to change your mind?" she asked, meeting his gaze concernedly. "You know Scott. He's probably already..."

"I told you," he intervened, moving in for the kill, "I love her. Nothing will ever change that." He watched her surreptitiously, over the rim of his glass, as the words sank in. Eliza sighed, visibly moved, and Carlton disguised his grin with citrus and agave.

* Sunday: After Dawn *

Several hours ago, Carlton had unintentionally summoned his wife while suffering the pangs of his binge. She'd come to him, still damp with more than perspiration, and nursed him through an ugly spell of purging and dry heaving before depositing him back into bed. He was breathing rhythmically now, at last. Bethany slinked out of bed, careful not to wake her husband, and made her way to the bathroom. Near scalding water crashed against her face and ran down her body in soothingly warm rivulets as she lathered and bathed. A hot shower couldn't wash away what she'd done, but it did a fine job with the evidence. Bethany was walking a fine line between guilt and abandon. She'd betrayed her husband, forsaken their vows. She should be feeling reprehensible, and while her conscience did ache, what she felt most was liberated, sensual, and young. It was as though some fire was spreading unchecked inside of her. She tingled all over -- even the simple caress of the handheld showerhead provoked her nipples to rise to attention.

Memories, vivid and visceral, were relived as Bethany angled her wrist, directing the pulsating stream of the showerhead to her awakening sex. Biting her bottom lip and grasping the towel rack for support, she struggled to suppress the passionate groans that threatened to betray her, and perhaps awaken Carlton. The water came in a predictable pattern, blasting swollen lips asunder and massaging her clitoris. Her hips ground against the phantoms of Eliza's dancing tongue and Scott's engorged girth. The muscles in her stomach and thighs revolted, clenching and burning as each wave of nigh unbearable ecstasy made standing more difficult. White knuckled and panting, her knees buckled under the weight and vehemence of her climax. Subsumed by the throbbing aftermath of her exquisite release, Bethany slid down the shower wall until she sat, water crashing down against her head, in a slump.

As the furious drumming of Bethany's heart cooled, so did her blood, replacing her sated appetite with ravenous apprehension. Too far, she thought, head hung as though condemned. This has to stop. For years she'd teased herself with elaborate fantasies, all centering on Eliza. Now she was pleasuring herself to the thought of another man as well. It was so much worse than that. She no longer had to imagine the touch or flavor of forbidden, unfamiliar flesh. Would she think of Scott every time Carlton was inside her? Would she yearn for the unraveled mysteries of another woman, or the sense of fullness her husband could never match? Is this what she was, some pathetic slave to sensation? Feebly, she scavenged for some remnants of uncompromised resolve. It had been a mistake. She'd tell them. It could never happen again.

Bethany avoided the foggy mirror as she donned her robe and brushed her hair and teeth. The soft refrain of her husband's gentle snoring followed her from the bathroom, across the bedroom, and out into the hallway. There were other sounds there as well, the fluid whine of running water and the soft undertones of muffled intercourse. Errant licks of steam trickled from beneath the door of the guest bathroom. Bethany paused outside, listening to the exchange of Eliza's staggered whimpers and Scott's sighed moans. Was she blushing? Aside from porn, she'd never listened to other people having sex before. It might have seemed trivial after the night before, but her body reacted nonetheless. Images danced through her mind, visions of joining them, of being pressed between their bodies, of knowing two lovers at once. What good was resolve when her body betrayed her so eagerly? She rested her face against the door, moisture welling both in her eyes and much lower. A hand, trembling, reached for the knob.

No. Bethany drew back, as though from a venomous snake, and retreated downstairs.

Coffee. Maybe that would help. "Get it together," she thought aloud. The subsequent "or Carlton will know something happened" went unspoken. The gurgling spatter of the coffee maker helped to drown out the other sounds. It was ridiculous. She was ridiculous. The whistle of the shower above was still turning her on. If Carlton hadn't awoken and been so violently ill, Bethany would have experienced her first threesome. Now this new fantasy was growing in the void left by the satisfaction of other curiosities.

She poured a cup of steaming black, sipped it, then abandoned it to cool. The kitchen was flooded with crisp, warm sunlight that gave a dusty substance to the air. Bethany, almost absently, gazed out into the unmarred blue beyond the window above her sink. Only a few small specks, birds too distant to identify, disturbed the stillness. These Bethany watched for several moments, wondering introspectively if she should envy or fear their freedom. She was leaning towards both when unexpected arms wrapped around her. "Good morning," Scott said, nuzzling her neck and pressing himself against her back.

Stop. Get back. I can't do this. The words evaporated into an aroused gasp as Scott's breath and lips found her ear. The water was still running. Why was he here? She wasn't ready. No. Carlton. Stop. Don't. These words, like the ones before, found no voice as Scott's hands slid around her waist and began working the knot that held fast her robe. She shuddered as her single garment fell open. Hands, uninvited yet unchallenged, moved within to caress the globes of her breasts. Like a kettle drum, her heart exploded rhythmically in her chest as pillaging fingers found and twisted wanton nipples. "God!" she muttered only to have even that much speech denied by the invasion of Scott's tongue. Had she turned her face to him? His kiss, forceful and intense, left Bethany both breathless and gluttonous. Her tongue, refusing to heed her, pursued his shamelessly.

Hands slid lower, grabbing her hips and thrusting them back against his crotch. Instinctually her hands slapped down onto the countertop, her blonde hair, radiant in the captured sunlight, sweeping across the marble surface. Unceremoniously, Scott bunched her silken robe, gathering it at the small of her back. She could feel his swollen intent, and she pushed herself against it, wedging the mass between exposed cheeks. A hand slid between them, releasing Scott from his pants. No. Don't. We can't. "Fuck... yessss... God... " Bethany groaned as Scott plunged into her, surging and retreating in whip-like motions. Scott's hands moved to her hips, guiding her counter-motion, as the full force of climax reduced what little cognizance Bethany had retained into whimpering rapture.

The taunt slap of flesh rang in the kitchen, as Scott relentlessly plowed through Bethany's first climax, initiating a string of blurred release that was like nothing Bethany had ever experienced before. She was trembling terribly, caught between the rush of ecstasy and adrenaline, as Scott abandoned her abused orifice to press his cock, slick with her juices, against the only unexplored territory her body had left to offer him. Fear and lust mingled, vocalizing in a guttural groan as his bulbous head surmounted her resistance and submerged. This was a first for her as well. Carlton had never expressed an interest and Bethany had always been too reserved to suggest it. It was too late for reservations now. "Fuuuuucccckkkk...." She could feel her quivering insides forcibly expanding to accommodate the engorged flesh trespassing within. Instantly deepest agony was eclipsed by an uncomfortable yet utter ecstasy as Scott began to work her virgin breach. She'd never experienced such complete fullness, such consuming pressure, such excruciating euphoria.

Slowly, carefully, he drove himself into her, and the groan that ripped from her throat was equal parts pain and pleasure. He paused, holding her tight, allowing her to adjust to his presence. Bethany's head hung forward, sounds, almost inhuman, escaping her gaping mouth. "Uunnnggghhh...," she grunted, held breath finally escaping. Bracing herself, she tentatively pushed her hips back against his. As the sensations threatened to drown her, Scott began to back his hips away. No sooner had his swollen head escaped than he thrust himself back into her, hard. What had started slow and gentle became quick and powerful.

Bethany squealed, flinging herself up against him until her arms reached their full length, twisting her head in search of his mouth. Scott swallowed her subsequent moan, shoving his tongue into her mouth in rhythm with his cock below. Bethany couldn't think past the feeling of fullness inside her, and Scott took full advantage of her capitulation. His left hand snaked around her waist, diving to caress her pulsating clit. Bethany broke the kiss forcefully, her abdomen lunging her whole body forward, elbows suddenly too feeble to support her. Her face contorted as the crescendo of orgasm claimed her. Scott's thrusts continued through her trembling, his hands returning to her hips, guiding them in tandem with his.

Scott growled carnally, struggling with the exertion of resisting the pleasure wracking him. "I'm gonna," he gasped between thrusts, "cummmmm, Beth. I'm gonna..." His voice trailed off into a growl born of submission and crumbling will. Bethany, lost in a haze of multi-climatic bliss, only scarcely comprehended the words before she felt the burning sting of his orgasmic release. His hands clenched like vises on her hips, forcing her to take his full girth as he discharged again and again. Bethany could hardly breathe. Her hands clung to the sink for support. Her pulse rang in her ears and reverberated around the invader still deep inside. At least the sound of running water had stopped, though she couldn't begin to guess when. Slowly Scott unsheathed himself. His hands sliding back around her, her gathering her up and against him. Her own hands reached back to rest on his hips. Her robe slid from one of her shoulders and Scott caressed it with delicate kisses. Once again Bethany could see the vast blue above, but the birds, whose carefree flight had so intrigued her, were nowhere to be seen.

"We shouldn't be doing...," Bethany whispered, but forsook the protest for the inviting warmth of Scott's lips.

"There's no going back," he answered, his mouth open against hers.

"No going back," she sighed breathlessly. It was a conscious concession.

"You belong to us now," he said, and Bethany nodded. It was the truth...