Guilty Pleasures Ch. 11

"Well, there you go," I said happily.

"I fail to see how that little tale, no matter how fun, funny, or sexy helps us with our dilemma."

"But it does," I said. "Once you started telling me that story, there was no way you were going to stop. You had too much fun telling it to me. And I was having a ball listening to it. I always do. You always do." I paused. "And when I tell you a story in return, I always love telling it. And I'm pretty sure you always get off listening. Right?"

She looked at me. "Oh yeah. Like, I almost literally get off." Her hand slid over and across my lap briefly. "It obviously gets your motor running too," she said, removing her hand after assessing the evidence.

"That's the special sauce," I said with a grin. "You and I have a very specific set of matching kinks. The perfect kinks to make what we both want possibly work. We both love to tell stories to the other about getting laid."

"And we both get off hearing those stories," Monica finished for me.

We looked at each other.

"To be clear," I said sternly. "I am not interested in watching you with another guy, nor am I interested in you watching me with some other woman either. I don't want to be humiliated. You and I have seen what cuckolding looks like, and I'm not signing up for that."

"Me either! From either end of the treatment," Monica agreed fervently. "It was bad enough for me to still feel sorry for Stain."

"Me too," I affirmed. I did actually feel sorry for the shitty pile of toe jam. Not apologetic. Just sorry. "But I do want you to keep on having adventures. I want you to keep telling me the stories. I want to keep hearing them."

"And vice versa," Monica said firmly. "You can do your adorable guilt routine all you want, but you are not allowed to let it stop you from doing what you want to do anyway, or this doesn't work. Clear?"

I smirked at her. I'd try. I am what I am.

"There are a lot of parameters we need to work out, you know," she said, sliding her own arm around behind me on the couch.

"Oh yeah," I snorted. "I'm thinking about all sorts of permutations right now. But do you think for one second there will be any we really disagree on? At least enough to make problems?"

"No. No I don't."

"Well then, Monica Whitney, will you be my girlfriend?" I asked in a thirteen year-old's voice.

She giggled. "Sounds good to me. We are officially Going Steady."

"I have an idea of what to do next," I said in her ear, my arm around her snaking over so my hand could grasp her firm breast.

Monica pressed back against my grasp, but her voice was quelling. "Clark, maybe before we go wreck a few rooms in your house, we let this settle for a while? Can we just, I don't know, court a little? I mean... I know we both are horny as fuck right now. Is that the best way to cement an, um, relationship agreement? Let's just... be together for a while. Then you can mount me like a stallion daily, okay?"

As long as she wasn't dislodging my hand, I could live with that sensible suggestion.

"Also, it is the bottom of the ninth, and the game is still tied. I'm not moving from this seat," Monica added, showing that she indeed understood priorities.

The bottom of the ninth was unproductive, and the game went into extras.

"Hey," Monica said. "Let's call Yancey and Wanda and see if they want to have dinner together. At some point, if the moment is right, we can tell them that they are on a double date!"

"Nice," I chuckled. "But I thought today was a big date thing for just the two of them. Theater and dinner?"

"Clark? Has it never seemed odd to you that whenever you invite the three of us over to hang out, I'm the only one who ever shows? When you know how much Yancey likes to drink your booze?" Monica asked sternly.

"You never even told them that I invited them, did you?" I said, grasping my cluelessness. I'd always just been happy, maybe relieved, when only Monica had shown up.

"Of course I didn't," she snorted.

"Still, they are doing the theater thing. Will they want us to horn in on dinner?"

"Movie theater! They are at a matinee showing of that old rom-com, Notting Hill at the Odeon. They are probably planning on eating at Olive Garden or some shit this evening."

"Call them," I grinned.

Turns out, we were now joining Yancey and Wanda at Carraba's, not Olive Garden, at six-thirty.

The Braves won on a crisp single to right that brought home the runner from second, and Monica and I were dancing on the couch. After about the fourth replay, we both slumped back agains the cushions. It had been a very good day already. I smiled... at my girlfriend. My woman. My partner in... grime?

Monica smiled back, then reached over and started pulling open my fly!

"I really do not want to discourage you, but didn't you just say an inning ago that you wanted to hold off until we are sure we not being completely stupid?" I asked cautiously. It was a question that I did not want to ask, as my cock was already being produced from inside my pants.

"Oh yeah, I think we need to wait to fuck for a few days at least," Monica said seriously, stroking my cock the last ten percent to full erection. Damn, her fingers knew just the right pressure. "But if you are going to be together with me, you might as well go ahead and get used to this. We have two hours until dinner, and this has always been my favorite way to kill some time," she said, and leaned over me.

She cradled my shaft between the fingers of both her hands, and I could feel her breath wafting warmly over my straining manhood. I meeped softly at the sensation of the tip of her tongue when it first brushed fleetingly over my tip. My meeps transitioned to moans as she slid me between her lips and she began to gently, wetly, bob up and down on me.

This was incredible.

"Christ, Monica," I groaned. "This is totally different from what you did to me before..."

When we had been cucking Stan, she'd blown me like a force of angry nature, with my cock often deep in her throat and more noise than a lawnmower on a quiet Saturday morning. This was gentle, and caring, and happy, and calm.

And fucking amazing.

Monica lifted her face toward me, caressing my cock sweetly as she spoke. "Oh. Yeah. I like sucking that way too, but this is my favorite. Don't worry, you'll get that treatment too, especially when I'm in a bad mood and need to work it off."

"You and I are the Best. Idea. Ever," I groaned as she enveloped me again. Somehow, what Monica was doing was 100% for my enjoyment, and yet 100% for hers instead.

I knew how to last, and while Monica was languid from start to finish, I also found that she intended this to be a quickie, a practice I later learned was sort of the point of the exercise. I was not allowed to last forever...

As I lay there, gasping on the couch, Monica wiped her lips in a self-satisfied manner. That one quickie blowjob was better all by itself than all the frantic, fevered, ferocious fucking we had done on the eve of her divorce. I would not have traded the one for the other, mind you. But that blowjob was transcendent.

Stan was the dumbest sentient creature in the planet's existence.

After reassembling my brain, I reached for Monica, intent on returning the favor, but she slid to her feet. "Tempting, but no need today, babe! And if I let you, our resolve will go out the window entirely and we will miss dinner." She smirked at me happily. "I know it is just Carraba's, but I'd like to dress better than this for dinner out. Since we are not telling them right off the bat, it will look better if we arrive separately anyway."

She had a point. As I watched her walk down the street toward Wanda and Yancey's place, I resolved that ambush oral was going to be a two-way street for us in this relationship, whatever else we did.

As I wandered upstairs for a shower, I reflected that I'd just had some amazing fellatio, I had a new, awesome girlfriend, and the Braves were finally tied atop the division. It was a great day already!

I mean, I had an awesome new girlfriend who I was going to sleep around on, and who was going to sleep around on me at every opportunity... And how was I going to hide that from my daughter? And when she inevitably found out, probably by walking in on me at some incredibly embarrassing moment, how was I going to explain it? And how would I convince her that she must in no way look at her dad as a role-model?

Fuck it. Monica and I were together. It would be a marvelous relationship... if we could keep it.

When I got out of the shower and was getting dressed, I got a phone call. One of my gremlins had taken it into her head to go into the office and do some work. On a Sunday. Unprovoked.

Could this day get any better?

Unfortunately, that meant that she needed some guidance, and I got stuck on that call for a gawdawful long time. Still, there was little I would not do to reinforce in this employee how important it was to put in extra hours at critical times. We needed what she was doing to be done, and she was doing it. I'd teach her later that maybe getting it done without screwing around so much first might keep her weekends free.

When I learned that lesson fully myself...

But the call made me late, and I saw that Monica, Wanda, and Yancey had not only been seated, but had their first round of drinks and a basket of breadsticks already. I waved across the dining room as I wove over toward them.

Monica's eyes glittered.

I grinned internally, and decided we might as well just freak them out right off the bat. I circled the table, slapping Yancey on the back, then pressing gently on Wanda's shoulder. As I swung around Monica, I leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips. She rolled with it easily, and lifted a hand to caress my chin with her fingertips. I broke it off in but a second more and seated myself casually.

"You couldn't order me a beer?" I grumped at Yancey.

He just stared at me.

"Was that what I think if fucking was?" Wanda asked somewhat breathlessly.

"What?" I asked innocently.

Monica just laughed.

"How long has this been going on?" Yancey demanded, with a huge grin beginning to split his face.

"Clark asked me to go steady with him during the ninth inning today," Monica chirped in her own middle school voice.

"Noice," Yancey said, punching me a bit more than lightly on the shoulder. He raised his beer toward me with a broad, happy grin.

"Don't you dare toast me when I don't have anything to drink," I warned him thirstily.

There was some crosstalk around the table as everyone was asking and answering mindless questions.

Things calmed for a moment when our server came to take pity on my poor parched throat. "I actually did not see this coming," Wanda said. "I mean, it always seemed to make sense to me, but... I mean, you both have been having an awful lot of fun with," her eyes flickered from me, to Yancey, to me, to herself, to me, to persons not present, "other people," she finished lamely.

I looked at Monica. We should have discussed this beforehand. But we both knew that these two, of all people, had to know, and not by finding out accidentally.

She smiled. "Oh, that sort of fun will continue," Monica chirped, taking an idle sip of her wine. "In fact, I have an existing date for Saturday night."

That brought conversation to a rather abrupt halt, and Wanda and Yancey stared at us. I shrugged weakly. Monica shifted in her seat uncomfortably, the reality of those stares from our dearest friends hitting home. "We... are two moderately damaged people who want no part of another normal relationship, with all its own dangers," she shrugged. "I... Clark is the best guy I know, but I'm not now, and I don't think I'll ever be prepared to feel exclusively owned by a man again," she said, feeling her way through the words but ending them on a very firm note.

Wanda looked at her, still silently.

"And you guys know my issues," I added quietly. "I for one do not expect you guys to fully understand or endorse our crazed scheme here. This wouldn't work for most people. It shouldn't work for us."

"Then why are you two trying this cockamamie thing?" Surprisingly, it was Yancey who asked the question. He did so tensely.

"Because we are kinky?" Monica asked.

"We... we spent a long time this summer, explicitly avoiding anything romantic between us, if you hadn't noticed. But we still hung out. And found ourselves telling each other of our adventures, in more and more explicit fashion," I said, a little sheepishly.

"Turns out, that is such a damned turn-on," Monica jumped in.

"Well, duh," Yancey agreed, without thinking. "That can be crazy hot."

"Excuse me?" Monica asked sharply, her own face now displaying surprise.

Yancey paled. Wanda went to kick him under the table, but the table leg was in the way and all our drinks wobbled, making it obvious what she had done. Monica's eyes narrowed.

"So you just tell him old war stories to get him revved?" she asked slyly of her friend.

That gave Wanda an easy out. All she had to do was smile, wink, and say, 'Something like that.' That was all she had to do. Instead, she panicked. I very briefly enjoyed someone other than me panicking. But then she actually gulped, like in a sitcom. And she looked at Yancey. Then she fucking looked at me.

Monica looked at all of us, her face a mixture of irritation and amusement. "There is some shit going on here that I don't know about, and I'm the only one. This is not fair."

Swell, my new girlfriend of three hours was mad at me. We had not had time to lay out our rules, but I was sure, because I was going to insist on it myself, that not keeping things like this from the other was going to be a bedrock commandment.

Wanda just gulped.

Yancey, as usual, rode to the rescue. "Your turn to tell the tale, babe," he said to Wanda. "If they are really going to go all in on this plan of theirs, Monica shouldn't bat an eyelash."

"What?!?" Monica demanded.

So Wanda told her the story. The whole thing. She was very circumspect about details, but the whole thing. It took fifteen minutes, interrupted only by our ordering dinner and another round of drinks, our first having vanished rather abruptly.

When she was done, Wanda looked anxiously at Monica. Monica just looked at me with a slowly widening smile. "I am so glad I will get to hear the details of this while naked with you. It will be so much better than on a barstool at BW3's." She turned to Wanda, sparing only a single glance for Yancey. "And he will be telling me every single detail, Wanda. Every single one," she practically cackled. Wanda just face-palmed.

Monica turned to Yancey. "So you understand the fun we are talking about, right?"

"I understand the fun. Oh yes," Yancey said. "I do indeed. But I can't imagine voluntarily getting myself into a situation where the source material was on-going, guys!"

I thought about that for a second. "You guys did a perfectly normal dance on the marital precipice, and stepped away from the edge in your own bizarre, unique manner," I said. "Monica and I both fell off that precipice already. We prefer to dance down at the bottom."

"Does that make sense?" Monica asked, suddenly actually wanting some positive feedback, instead of the pushback that seemed to surprise her.

"No," Wanda snorted. "But our solution didn't make sense either, so who am I to talk?" She grabbed Monica's hand. "We wish you guys luck, regardless. We love you both."

"That's true enough," Yancey allowed, still bemused.

"Who knows, maybe you can tell us a few of your tales of psychotic derring do. If it gets Yancey half as worked up, I'll take the results," she winked.

Yancey actually perked up at that idea, then glowered in a defeated looking manner.

"I'm really not sure I need to hear all of Clark's tales," he grumbled uncomfortably.

Oh. Yeah...

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Thanks for coming along so far on this crazy little ride! I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Hopefully there are still a few twists and turns coming that you haven't seen yet. Thanks in advance for your kind votes and favorites, and please take a moment to comment. As always, that's how I get rewarded and encouraged.