Second Best Ch. 01

Mark's in a wonderful mood today. Even to someone who didn't know his idiosyncrasies, this would be obvious. Everything he does, he does with a burst of energy, as if always on the edge of dancing. He whistles while he works at his computer and sings under his breath while he chops vegetables for dinner.

Usually, his joy is my joy: knowing he is happy is plenty enough to make me happy. But not today. Today I am despairing inside. Today Mark's girlfriend is visiting.

In the community lingo, I'm a secondary partner, where Mark's girlfriend, Lilly, is the primary. A year ago when Mark and I first started seeing each other, I liked the lack of commitment and had several other partners of my own. It was fun to play the other woman, but still know that it was all consensual and that nobody was going to be hurt. Until now, I'd never reacted like this, her visits back home from her job overseas had always meant more time for my other partners, my work, my family, my friends.

But in the last few months, things have really changed. Consciously or otherwise, I dispensed with my other partners one by one. The chemistry between Mark and I so intense, that sex with anyone else had begun to feel pale and forgettable. More than that. I had things in common with Mark beyond mere kinks.

Mark croons an old swing love song that I have never heard before as he tumbles the vegetables into the wok. Even in my bitterness, I can't help but smile.

"Steph, could you get the wasabi and the soy sauce from the fridge for me, please?" His voice is warm and presumes nothing but close friendship between us. Any ill-will I feel evaporates.

"Sure," I move the wasabi from the fridge to the counter, then offer the glass bottle of dark soy sauce out to him. He takes the bottle but only to discard it on the counter and wrap my face in his strong, soft hand.

"Y'know," he grins, a familiar grin that I love for what it foreshadows, "There is still an hour before Lilly gets here...", his other hand traces the outline of my waist, fingers prying at the waistband of my jeans, brushing softly against the newly exposed flesh.

"Hmm?" I murmur, happy as ever for him to spell it out for me.

"So," there's a note of laughter in his voice, "What I think would be an apt use of our time, would be if you were to take off all of these pesky clothes and sit on the counter here," he paused in his exposition to give me a light kiss, a tease. "And touch yourself, until you're desperate to be fucked, and then finger fuck yourself until you're desperate to cum." Another kiss, a little more lingering, "And then, maybe, if I really like what I see, I'll let you." His hand drops from my face and he returns his attention to his cooking, I can practically hear his grin.

He loves to torture me like this. Once when he had to work from home, he made me sit on his desk next to his computer and pleasure myself all day while he typed emails and managed spread sheets. He barely seemed to look at me, but it I stopped for a moment he'd seem to know immediately.

"You aren't going to fuck me are you?" It sounded like a question, but really it was a statement, I knew he had no intention of fucking me at all. He didn't turn around from the wok.

"No. Of course not, I can't be spent and satisfied when Lilly gets here can I? Can't waste my wild oats on you." He said it lightly and full of humour, with no notion at all of the genuine envy and even hurt I felt. I bit down on the uncomfortable feelings swirling in my stomach. She'd only be here a fortnight, then she'd go, and then Mark would be all mine again for another few months. "Besides," he continued, still with his back to me, "You sound awfully dressed from here,"

With a resigned sigh I began to undo the buttons of my shirt, one at a time, trying to exaggerate the tiny sounds in a bid for his full attention. It was pointless. I pulled the shirt open, exposing my slim breasts in their white laced bra and the toned flat of my stomach. I shed the shirt and it fell to the floor completely soundlessly. I kicked off my sandals and undid the top button of my jeans, but saved the zip. The zip he'd be able to hear. I began to stroke my body, running my fingers along my shoulders, neck and collar bones. Imagining his fingers in place of mine, the way they trailed deliciously across my skin. I grasped at my breasts, squeezing and kneading them gently, then tugging at my nipples through the fabric. I felt them perk a little, but it wasn't enough. I unhitched the bra and slipped it off my shoulders, down my arms and onto the floor with the shirt.

Now I was free to play with my nipples exactly as I liked, pinching and tweaking, twisting and teasing. Letting a little panting gasp of pleasure escape my lips and revelling in seeing his shoulders twitch just a fraction. He was paying attention whether he wanted me to believe it or not.

I pulled down the zip, quickly to ensure enough volume over the crackling of the oil in the pan. It only lasted a moment but he noticeably paused, before continuing as before with his work.

I slunk out of my jeans and panties, surprised by how wet I was considering I knew I might not even get any release. I sat on the cool kitchen counter, legs crossed, one arm wrapped over my breasts, my other hand toying with my hair; playing at being a cheesecake pin up in the reflection on the metal toaster.

Satisfied with my countenance, I opened my legs and leant back a little, putting my weight on one hand behind me, leaving my other hand to roam my bare skin, caressing my hips and thighs.

Done fooling, it was time to put on a real show.

Then the doorbell rang. Of course it was Lilly.