Lucy Stays

In fact, she needed to use the facilities. She pulled up her skirt and pushed her panties to her knees before sitting on the toilet. She sat, staring at the panties, well after her need had been relieved. When the door banged as another patron entered, she was jarred back into focus. She wiped herself and then stood. Then bending down to her knees, she pushed the panties the rest of the way to her ankles and stepped out of them. She balled them in her hand and looked at the whiteness showing in her palm. The realization was slow and deliberate: I'm going to let him have me. Anne's bag on the vanity told her who had just entered, and she hurried to rinse her hands and to return to the bar. At least she could get this over with without having to do it in front of Anne.

Arriving at her stool, she held out her balled fist, bracing herself for the embarrassment she expected. She expected him to shake them out in front of him, letting anyone who looked figure out what she had done. Instead, he looked her in the eyes as he took them from her in his own balled fist and put them directly into his coat pocket. The tiniest hint of a nod of his head ended the moment.

Lucy found that she was acutely cognizant of the missing underwear, just as he had wanted. The short pleated skirt covered her to a few inches above her knees, plenty to maintain modesty, but she had to consciously resist the urge to tug it down. She became very precise in her movements, taking great care to keep her knees together. She couldn't remember ever being out in public without panties, and it amazed her how different it felt. She amazed herself that something that was no more than barely naughty could make her so aware of her sexuality.

When Anne returned, Wade turned the women away from the bar. With one hand one Lucy's elbow and one on Anne's, he steered them through the Friday night crowd to a more sparsely populated alcove filled with tables. Without hesitation he guided them to a table where four twenty-something businessmen, ties loosened and coats off, sat with their beers.

Looking at one of them, he spoke, "Excuse me, uh?..."

"John."

"Excuse me, John, but I need your help. I am going to dance with Anne," nodding toward her, "but that will leave Lucy without a partner."

Lucy's mouth opened at the at this new presumption, but before she could speak, John had risen and smilingly offered his hand. "I would love to dance with you, Lucy."

"Uh, thank you," her voice said. What the hell her inner voice said. You like to dance and it's been a long time.

When she and John had returned from the floor, she was introduced to Justin, Bob, and Paul. Justin claimed her to dance again. To her surprise, she found herself exhilarated as all four vied for her attention. She was acutely conscious of her breasts, unbound in public for the first time in years, and of her bare bottom. She had to exercise considerable care not to let her partners spin her too fast.

The second time John took her to the floor, he was much more bold. She was deeply conscious of his eyes straying to the jiggling bumps her nipples raised on the silk as her breasts moved underneath. And though she had pulled it back quickly, playfully scolding him, one straying hand had made it to her ass cheek, and she was sure he knew she wore no panties. The thought made her feel deliciously naughty. She hadn't felt this sexy in years. Between the attention and the couple of additional Stingers she had sipped between dances, she had almost forgotten how she had gotten here, and certainly had no thought for her conjugal status, although the men had noticed the rings.

As she danced again with the others, they too began to see what liberties she would allow. It was like being single again, and the wandering hands and whispered invitations left her no doubt as to what they would like to do to her.

The third time she danced with John, the music was slow. He pulled her tightly to him, forcing his thigh between hers, leaning down to kiss her neck. He danced her to a dark corner just off the floor and roughly kissed her mouth. One hand slipped across her bare back and into the side of the backless dress. It was no longer fun. Lucy became frightened. As Lucy struggled, trying to move away, she started to turn away from him, which brought his hand to her bare breast under the dress. She quickly tried to turn the other way, but he was too strong. She felt other hand as he began to draw up the hem of her skirt by little fistfuls, still maintaining the pressure that trapped her there. For a moment she couldn't decide whether to give in, to be wild, but then the thought of being seen by the crowd around them was just too much. Summoning all her strength, she pushed him off and turned to flee, only to find herself enclosed in another set of arms.

After first stiffening with fear, she breathed a sigh of relief when she realized it was Wade. He eased her behind him and spoke, "Thank you for dancing with Lucy, John. We're leaving now."

John started forward, beers and youth firing his aggression, "Who says, asshole? Maybe the lady wants to stay..."

In a tiny flurry of movement too fast for Lucy to see clearly, John ended up on his knees with one hand twisted awkwardly between Wade's, and a grimace of pain on his face. Wade spoke again, "Don't try my patience, John. Lucy is mine. We're leaving now, but I suggest you stay for a while." John rubbed his wrist and glared, but didn't follow, when Wade and Lucy walked away.

The other men at the table called out their good natured protests as Wade and the women passed their table, but they were ignored as Wade held Lucy's arm and ushered her out the door. Anne followed behind them.

Soon Lucy found herself in the front seat of the car, with Anne in the middle. Lucy sat subdued, the exhilaration of the flirting having disappeared in that instant of muted force, unable to reconcile the conflicting facets of Wade's character she had seen in the club. They were well under way when Wade finally broke the silence.

"Anne, I think we should remind Lucy why she is here. Why don't you turn and face her... that's good, lean back on me a little... Since I will probably be too busy with Lucy at first to pay much attention to you, go ahead and make yourself come now."

Anne faced Lucy with a helpless look on her face, but she didn't move. His arm came over her chest and pulled up her skirt, exposing her naked mons. Lucy stared, not quite believing Anne would let him do this to her. Then slowly she saw Anne's hand move to the juncture of her thighs and begin to slide between them.

His voice came again, from above Lucy's line of vision. "She needs to spread her legs, Lucy. Please put her leg over your lap, dear."

Anne lifted her right leg and swung it toward Lucy. Lucy found herself sliding toward Anne to put herself under Anne's bent knee while Anne's foot came down on the seat beyond Lucy. As Anne spread her legs, Lucy ended up holding Anne's knee against her chest with her right hand; the only place for her left was on the inside of Anne's thigh. She heard Anne sigh as she unconsciously began to caress the leg under her hand.

Meanwhile Anne's own hand had not been idle. Slowly at first, and then picking up speed, she ran her fingers from the top to the bottom of her slit, spreading her lubrication from end to end. Occasionally one of her fingers would disappear into her, but more and more the strokes centered around her clitoris. More and more her back stiffened a against Wade, her knee pressed harder into Lucy's chest, and her breath came in ragged gasps. Lucy continued to rub the inside of Anne's thigh, fascinated again to see her friend lose control, slide into orgasm in front of her.

Then his arm was back, pulling Anne's hand away. "Stop, Anne."

"NO! I need to finish!"

He spoke, "Finish her, Lucy. It's the only way I'll let her come."

Suddenly conscious of the hand caressing Anne's inner thigh, Lucy jerked it away and said, "No! I can't do that. She's a woman!"

"Oh please, Lucy," said Anne, "I'm close. I need to finish. Please help me, Lucy." Then Anne's hand grabbed Lucy's and pulled it to her sex. She held it there as she bucked her hips against it. Looking at her hand like it belonged to someone else, Lucy saw it begin to move of its own accord. Anne let go and leaned back stiffly, still bucking her hips. Up and down her friend's sex, sliding across her clitoris, finally down to her vagina. Marveling at the subtle differences in feel from her own genitals, Lucy pushed a finger into Anne. Again. And then she added another. In and out, the heel of her hand sliding across the clitoris while her fingers went deeper. Anne was moaning now, hips shaking in involuntary syncopation with Lucy's hand, until once again Lucy heard through the open mouth, from the straining face, the funny little hiccups of breath that marked Anne's climaxes. Lucy slowed her strokes and gradually withdrew her hand, amazed at what she had done. Anne did not excite her sexual response like a man, but she felt powerful to have caused those orgasms, and the whole nasty, naughty outrageousness, the wildness, left her with a wet vagina and hard nipples.

Before Lucy was over her sense of wonder at what she had done, they were turning on to Anne's street and HE was speaking, "We're here, Lucy. Come in and be fucked, or go home. The keys will be in the ignition."

At the door, Anne turned her key and stepped through, then turned back to face Lucy, who was behind her on the stoop. She offered Lucy her hand. Lucy turned and looked over her shoulder at his eyes, burning into hers, and then took Anne's proffered hand and stepped into the dimly lit house.

Lucy felt, rather than saw, his body behind her as Anne lead her to the master bedroom. The bed swam in a pool of soft light which faded to shadows at the walls. Lucy wondered how it had been done until she realized that the muted track lights that usually illuminated the paintings on the wall had been turned to focus on the bed. It was like a stage for her performance. Or an altar for a pagan ritual. When Anne dropped her hand, Lucy was bathed in that glow at the foot of the bed.

"Remove her clothes, Anne."

Anne stood behind Lucy, with the backs of her knees against the bed. Anne's hands pulled the short zipper in the back and slipped the dress over Lucy's shoulders. It made a small puddle of silk around her ankles. Anne made no further move for a moment, as Lucy exchanged stares with the man. As he looked, Lucy's nipples tightened even more, causing little crinkles in the areolae. His lips formed the infuriating smile again. She sensed Anne sitting down on the bed behind her.

Lucy next felt Anne's hands on either side of her lower right thigh, then sliding ever so teasingly down to lift her ankle and slide her shoe off her foot. The caress was repeated on the left side. Anne's hands reached up from below, high on her thigh at her stocking tops, when he spoke again, "No. Leave them on." All the while Lucy stared into his eyes.

As Lucy stood naked, no, more than naked with only her stockings, in that pool of light, he began to move at the edge of the shadows. His hands moved to his neck and removed his tie, discarded without thought on the floor. Button by button, he undid his shirt, and it joined the tie, tossed on the rug without a glance. Lucy looked at his crotch. She saw no bulge, no tenting. She didn't understand. She was naked before him, ready to be fucked, and he had no erection. Disappointed, worried whether she was attractive enough for him, she watched his hands unfasten and unzip his pants. Then a flash of pride skittered fleetingly through her thoughts: the tip of his erection peeked out of the waistband of the very tight black jockey shorts he was even then pushing down. Lucy knew she had caused that erection, and it excited her to know that soon it would push its way into her vagina. He's going to fuck me with that cock. she thought.

"Bend forward, Lucy. Keep your knees straight."

Bending forward at the hips, Lucy knew she was giving Anne the same view of her sex that Anne had given her that first day. Except that Anne was less than a foot away from her nether lips, instead of across the room. Lucy felt even more exposed than when Anne had licked her two nights before. Is she going to lick me again? My God, I want her to! Oh Lord, am I gay? Lucy shivered in anticipation.

As her back reached near horizontal, he stepped forward and cradled Lucy's head in his hands. Slowly he guided her mouth to the tip of his cock. He stopped there and spoke to Anne, "You make Lucy ready for me, Anne. Use your tongue. Make her wet and ready." Lucy jumped a little as a long swipe of that tongue traveled the length of her slit.

Then he pushed forward between her lips and said, "You make me ready to fuck you, Lucy. Make it swell. Cover it with your saliva, the easier to slip into your pussy. Suck it, Lucy." Lucy's cheeks hollowed as she literally sucked on his cock, as her tongue circled top and bottom of his glans. The precursors of his come, viscous streamers of salty seminal fluid, were gathered in the hollow of her cupped tongue and swallowed as he rocked gently in and out in a barely perceptible motion.

Behind her, Lucy felt Anne's thumb enter her vagina, and her fingers spread out to caress her mound. Lucy felt the thumb pulled out slightly, and then back in. With each retreat, Lucy felt Anne's middle finger slid wetly over her clitoris. Rapidly Lucy began to build to a climax.

But before she could come, she was jolted by a feeling that dissipated the building erotic charge even as it gave her a sinful thrill: Anne's tongue licked Lucy's anus. Lucy's mouth opened to cry "Stop," but he pressed his cock in deeper, stifling her outcry as she shifted to keep from choking. For several excruciatingly dirty exciting seconds, Anne's tongue worked the sensitive bud while her thumb penetrated Lucy's vagina. Lucy was washed with a fear that HE meant to do her there, but also with a feeling of wantonness the like of which she had never had, even when she was younger. The climb to orgasm began again, from a higher plateau, while Anne pressed at her rear, softer than any finger, but insistent nonetheless. Then it quit.

The man had pulled Lucy an awkward step away from Anne, severing contact with her tongue, and Anne dropped her hand from Lucy's sex. At the same time, he had pulled his cock from her mouth and raised her head until she continued on her own to stand upright.

"It's time to fuck you, Lucy," he calmly stated, as he pushed her back toward the bed. "Sit."

Lucy felt Anne's hands on her hips guiding her as she sat. She ended up between Anne's widespread legs, leaning back against the dress that still covered Anne's chest, with the crease where her buttocks met thighs at the edge of the bed. The man knelt down in front of her, his erect penis level with her knees. Gently he took a white nylon-clad calf and raised it, moving it outward, placing the calf outside Anne's leg. The process was repeated on the other side. Lucy looked down to see that she was once again spread open to his view, just as she had been when it had been the arms of the chair under her legs instead of Anne's knees. The opaque white tops of the stockings seemed to emphasize the bareness of her sex, more even than if she had nothing at all on. It was obscene. It excited her. She felt Anne's chin on her shoulder and knew that Anne was looking down at her too. It excited her more.

Lucy saw him slide forward on his knees, bringing his erection ever closer to her sex. Finally she felt it brush against her lips. Her eyes were glued to his penis as she waited for the inevitable. HE's going to fuck me now. And I'm going to let him.

"Guide me in, Lucy." Her right hand started forward, but he caught it in his left. "No, Lucy, use your left hand. I want you to watch as you guide me into your pussy with your wedding ring."

Almost like a spectator, like an out-of-body experience, Lucy watched her left hand take his cock between her thumb and her fingers and line it up with her vagina. As her fingers curled under, she couldn't actually see her ring, but his words had sensitized her to it, and she felt its presence. The thought of her ring, of Fergus, made her flush with shame, even as it heightened her arousal with the wanton, nasty badness of it. I'm putting another man's cock into my husband's pussy. I'm putting HIS cock into my pussy. He's going to fuck me now.

And he did. She watched, fascinated, as the head of his penis disappeared into her. She felt the entrance, the slow friction as more and more of the shaft disappeared. He kept pushing deep into her vagina until he could go no further. Lucy was so slick with wanting that there was no discomfort with this invasion, and she watched fascinated again as the shaft reemerged. The next thrust was quick, and then another, and the state of constant excitement that had waxed and waned in her all night finally could be denied no longer. She came. He kept plunging in and out of her as she fell back from orgasm to a plateau of arousal, slowly starting to build back again to that sweet release. She felt him plowing in and out and her litany began. She didn't realize she was speaking aloud, this time, "Oh God, oh God, he's fucking me. He's fucking me right now. He's fucking me right here in front of Anne. He's fucking me in my pussy." Suddenly she was there again, moaning out her pleasure, her release.

She felt him continue as once again she fell back to the plateau, but his thrusts were coming quicker now. Her excitement started to climb once again as she realized he was about to come, to shoot his semen deep into her. She felt him freeze, then a series of jerky thrusts, irregular, not rhythmic like before, signaled his orgasm.

She hardly remembered the aftermath. She woke up during the night, groggily wondering why she was naked. Then the sounds, the moans and the pants, the gentle shaking of the bed that had awakened her came into focus, and she remembered what had happened. She remembered she had been fucked, just like HE was fucking Anne now, and her hand wandered to her clitoris. But exhaustion and alcohol consumed won out, and she slept again before her passion could be roused.

The sun's glare hurt her eyes when she awoke, and a tiny headache that kept time with her pulse testified to the drinks she had savored the night before. The clock-radio said that it was 11:30. She had slept late, but she must not have slept well. She was still very tired. Still, she had to get up. Fergus and the boys were due in that afternoon. She had to get home. Stepping to the foot of the bed, she looked at her clothes. One look at the stockings and they went into the trash can. She didn't see her panties. HIS pocket she remembered. She pulled on her dress and looked unsuccessfully for his jacket. Finally, giving up on panties, she slipped on her shoes and walked to the kitchen.

"Good morning, Sleepyhead," said Anne, cheerfully. "I'm making some brunch, and there's coffee in the pot."

"I can't stay Anne. Fergus and the boys will be back soon. Please take me home." Lucy was depressed. It didn't seem so exciting in the sunlight.

A toilet flushed in the background, and then he stepped around the corner. "I'll take you home." He walked to the door without a backward look, and went out to the car and started it.

"Are you OK, Lucy?"

"I'll be fine, Anne. Got to get home is all." Lucy turned and walked quickly toward the car.

Nothing was said during the short ride. They both got out in Lucy's driveway. He followed her into the living room.

"Thanks for the ride," said Lucy flatly. A dismissal.

"We're not finished, Lucy," he said. "I told you I was going fuck you again this morning, on your own bed."