Sordid Swiss

It had been a few years since they'd last caught up. Covid, job changes, moves, life. With things more settled, Deakin decided to visit Benjamin and Lydia at their new place in Geneva.

They quickly settled into their former ease with each other. Ben's new job was treating him well and Lydia was enjoying a mini sabbatical, as she re-established her freelance work.

One of Deakin's gift bottles of Bolinger had gone down all too quickly, as the stories, memories and laughter flowed. At the end of the work week, everyone was a little work-worn mellow, and the bottle of red, with lamb chops and vegetables, brought perfect relaxation and comfortable satiation.

During dinner, the patio hot tub had been warming up. When Ben had invited Deakin, the polite suggestion to pack his swimmers accompanied. As the timeline narrowed and plans solidified, the suggestion became more insistent, almost command like. Ben really was

excited about and committed to his winter, post-work ritual. Such things have to be communal, when it comes to good friends. It was just natural.

The day before Deakin's arrival, he checked if there was anything Lydia and Ben wanted him to bring. 'Don't forget your swimmers!', the only reply. Deakin responded with a downloaded image of a pair of tiger-print speedos: 'You mean these?'

'Whatever you want!' The terse reply. Deakin feared he'd overstepped the line. Offended? Annoyed? Just a bother in the light of Ben's insane work week?

Lydia interrupted a brief, Tempranillo-induced lull in the conversation, with the proposal to leave dessert for later, after the hot tub. She got up from the table and went to change. Ben and Deakin were a bit slower to move. The final sips of wine and table clearing done, they headed to their respective, but facing rooms, to get their swimmers on.

Passing Lydia on her way out certainly upped their energy and enthusiasm. The maroon string bikini contrasted perfectly with her pale skin and sumptuously cupped her pert breasts. Her firm arse and toned legs didn't detract from the appeal. The guys both noticed, and noticed each other notice. How could they not? Life amongst good friends, hey!? What's there to be awkward about?

Ben turned to the left, through his bedroom door, and Deakin to the right, at the same point in the corridor. Deakin wondered if he should close the door, until, as he turned to grab the handle, he saw Ben, immediately across the way, toss his shirt toward his bed and begin to unbuckle and unzip his chinos. Deakin, a little more self-conscious, turned, dropped his shorts and bent to grab his swimmers. Just before dropping his briefs, Ben's voice startled him: 'Need a towel?'

At 6'5", Ben was hard to miss, at any time. His friend was not cut or muscle bound, but neither

was he at all over weight. Just a big lad, blocking the doorway, in nothing but his grey, long, cotton boxer briefs. Not the most flattering underwear; still, didn't hide the suggestion that Ben's package matched the rest of his body. Passing glances were all. Good friends having a bit of a discrete measure up. Ben seemed a bit surprised by Deakin's briefs, if not by the average bulge therein.

'Ah, yes, please, mate!'

Ben strutted down the corridor, while Deakin dropped his undies, slid up his speedo (He owned the tiger-print number, even if the photo had been from online.) and followed suit with some boardies. Just as the boardies rode over Deakin's bum, Ben threw the towel through the door, and returned to his bedroom. He was just out of Deakin's line of sight leaving just the view of the boxers hitting the floor and Ben's torso as he grabbed the boardies from the bed.

The lads clapped each other on the back as they strode into the living room and toward the patio.

Lydia, in typical form, had Negronis waiting. They were strong, with the Campari leading the way. Not surprisingly, there was more not-so-subtle checking out as they all stepped into the hot tub. Ben smirked and Deakin was thankful for the warm water and his boardies.

They returned to easy conversation, and just as easy silences. So rare and the reason they had all so looked forward to this visit. The drinks went down a little too rapidly. Naturally, another was to follow. Deakin didn't even bother pretending he wasn't watching as Lydia stepped out, over the side of the tub. That arse! The clinging fabric! Ben laughed. Lydia laughed. More drinks were on their way. Ben stood to check the tub's settings and it was pretty obvious that he also enjoyed the rear end view of his wife. Deakin was certain that the already impressive bulge was a bit more 'fluffed'. Deakin readjusted himself a bit, just as the drinks hit the sideboard.

'Why do you wear speedos under shorts?' Ben.

blurted out. Guess, he must have seen a flash, before that last pull up in the bedroom. 'What? You can't be serious! That's silly!' followed up Lydia. 'Why would he do that?'

'I'm not making it up.' Ben defended. 'I saw them as he pulled his shorts up.'

'Does it matter? Who cares?' Deakin protested this judgment. 'They're more supportive than undies and they're safe, in case my boardies fall off or if I get pantsed.' Both had happened to poor Deakin in the past, and not always when he was so we protected. They all finished their second Negroni and Lydia went to get the next.

Ben was midway through apologising, saying he didn't care what Deakin wore: was just curious, when Lydia returned. Awkward was not on the menu for this friendship or this night. 'It seems odd to me, is all.' Lydia agreed, but pushed it further. 'It's just us. If you want to wear a speedo, wear one. You don't have to hide it from us.' They missed the fact that 'just the speedo' was an even more horrifying prospect to Deakin than simple commando boardie wearing. More layers

and protection, not fewer, was his goal. Others never understood; there was no use explaining further. Deakin tried just to laugh it off.

'No, seriously, take your shorts off! Now that I know, I can't stop thinking about the ridiculousness of it!' Lydia knows her mind and usually gets her way. In order to appease Deakin, Lydia cheekily sold Ben into a deal. He'd always been a bit more out there than Deakin, so it wasn't an entirely fair bet, but it was, objectively, and the trap was set. Ben agreed to join in dropping his shorts, if Deakin went ahead. As a last ditch avoidance effort, Deakin suggested that Lydia guess what colour his speedo was. If she got it wrong, Ben had to drop his shorts first. If she was right, Deakin would have to pants himself first.

After some contemplation, Lydia guessed black. Ben groaned. Having gotten an earlier glance, he knew that they were tiger-print brown. We all took another sip of our drinks, the gin coming to the fore now. Lydia had taken control and

seemed to cherish the role and the power. Ben stood up and was about to drop trou, when she blurted, 'Deakin, I'll take the trade further. If you agree to grope-strip Ben, I'll take my top off to watch the show!' Ben groaned again, almost gurgling this time. Deakin felt cornered and confused. There was a compelling momentum to all of this, and so many mixed thoughts and desires and curiosities. Interrupting Deakin's cogitations, Ben spoke firmly, 'Do it, bud!' Lydia and Deakin faced each other, across the tub. She started stretching out, arms along the rim, pushing her tits firmly up and out towards the guys. Ben, standing, reversed himself slowly between Deakin's legs stopping about a foot from his body. Everyone took another sip.

Lydia didn't even bother with the straps. She lifted the bikini top off her boobs, letting them sit, pointing at the guys. Raising it over her head, Lydia threw the tiny top to the ground, and turned, smuggly staring at the guys, through them, as if to say, 'Your turn!' Deakin was entranced, by the breasts, by the warm bodies in

front of him, by what he seemed about to do. What was he about to do? Ben looked behind him, caught Deakin's eye, with a look mixed of apology, resignation and horniness. There was a slight nod.

Deakin reached up and was just settling his hands to grip Ben's waistband on either side, for the great reveal. Deakin suspected that Ben was freeballing, making his willingness to put Deakin at ease more honourable. A deep breath and a firm interjection, 'No, no. Not that straightforward.' At this, both gents looked at Lydia, who had started to tweak her left nipple, and to circle it with her right-hand fingers. 'A grope-strip tease! Slowly! Deakin, start grabbing his arse. Knead the cheeks. Full hands, then fingers, massaging. Good, keep going!' Deakin was hearing her voice, as if she was distant, a God, and as if he was entranced. His friend's arse, inches from his face and him squeezing it, enthusiastically, he realised. Ben, feet spread apart to avoid being toppled forward, would clench occasionally, signifying who knows what?

Deakin was glad his friend couldn't see his face, and visa versa.

He was snapped out of a revery of sorts. 'Now, stand up, get close to him, slide your hands inside his shorts and keep massaging, grabbing, tickling. You know what you guys like!' Deakin peaked around Ben's torso to see Lydia's nipples both erect, ice-cold erect. She was working the left one with almost painful vigour. He slid his hands inside the waistband and began gently stroking the outer edges of Ben's cheeks, gradually increasing the pressure. The dents of his gluts were appearing and receding as the pressure moved. Ben adjusted his shorts, a sign of something moving? but best not to think about that. Deakin noticed that his friend's arse was about as hairy as his own: a light sprinkling, with a denser patch down the centre. The similarity comforted him. Lydia barked, 'Properly, all over.' Deakin moved his hands further centre and massaged his mate's buttocks, grabbing and pulping handfuls, until, as his attention waned and he got into the inevitable spirit of it,

his right thumb traced a line straight down Ben's crack, brushing harshly over his hole on the way down. Ben shuddered and exhaled. Lydia cheered, standing at that point, kneading her left breast with one hand and rubbing herself with the other. Deliberately, attentively. She was in no rush.

'OK, now stand up, Deakin. Bring your hands round and start playing with my husband's nipples. Pinch them! Flick them! Rub them! Tickle them!' To reach necessitated Deakin getting closer. His breath was on Ben's back, making him squirm a bit. An unexpected intimacy! Ben's nipples were very and immediately receptive to his ministrations. They hardened, nubbed up. And Deakin could feel the pores of Ben's aureole, like goose flesh. Lydia was audibly increasing her own fun levels, sitting on the tub edge, rubbing herself through the tiny remaining triangle of fabric. Distracted by this sight, Deakin had let himself rock forward, embarrassingly enough for his semi-wood to brush against Ben's arse. The fabric, the feeling,

the sight, a slight 'Ah!', followed by a whispered, 'So sorry,' to his mate. 'No worries. It's ok,' the murmured reply. As if reading the situation, Lydia calmly praised: 'Good job, Deakin! Want to know how good? In a second, you're going to stop and Ben is going to take your right hand and place it on his cock. Now!'

Reluctant at first, but then motivated by Lydia's business-like command and the nearby sight of her pussy, temptingly outlined by the bikini and position, Ben took my open right hand and lowered it directly to his dick. Not knowing what to expect, Deakin was shocked by the rigid, hot rod. Certainly longer and thicker than Deakin's. It lasted but a few seconds before Lydia instructed, 'Sit! Now, follow my instructions carefully. Reach through Ben's legs and cup his balls. They're real hangers, aren't they? Gently roll them and squeeze them. Let them go. Slide your hand up his short leg until you feel his sac. It's hairless, no? Smooth. Tickle. Be sure to get both balls.' Ben seemed to hold his breath for much of this. Just the odd gasp, breaking the

seal of his silence. His body was telling though. Every now and then his ball bag would tighten. He'd involuntarily wriggle or shudder. Lydia was less subtle. She was now swapping hands in and out of the bikini bottom, fingers keeping a steady pace, staring at the scene so close ahead. It was taking a lot of discipline.

'Deakin, bring your hands around the front, to his package. Grab it, rub it, stroke it! Undo the tie on hiw swimmers. Now lower them until you can feel the base of his shaft start to emerge. Keep pulling them down with one hand, while you trace his emerging dick with the other. When you feel the rim of his soft knob, stop. Start tracing your finger around that sensitive edge. Now, just drop his shorts quickly and let him bounce out. God, I've never seen you so hard and purple, Ben. Is it an inch longer than usual? Deakin, you're now going to stroke his cock and balls from behind, until he's dripping precum and can't take it any more. He will not cum yet.'

Deakin started using his left hand to stroke Ben's

9 inch dick. It felt amazing. The soft, tender knob. The rigidity of the shaft. Hard but slightly flexible. Smooth, not overly veiny. With his other hand, Deakin lightly juggled Ben's massive balls, occasionally, rubbing along his perineum and crack. Ben was writhing and finding it hard to silence the groans. He started dripping precum, which encouraged Deakin, who intensified things with some twists and tweaks. Ben's whimpering told them all that they'd reached a turning point.

'Stop!' Lydia also stopped fingering herself. 'Turn around, Ben. Get on your knees. Stand up, Deakin! Ben, pull his shorts down.' As Deakin looked down, he noticed his awkward erection pushing at the top left of his speedo, creating a notable tent. Beyond that he saw his friend's desperate eyes and, further, his penis pointing unnaturally upward. Lydia looked over Ben's head and nodded approval. 'Sit, Deakin! On the tub's edge. Ben, bury your face in his crotch. Nibble. Lick. Suck.' Deakin could hardly contain himself. He was partly horrified, but more overcome. Ben targeted his sensitive knob and

just sucked and blew and bit until he struggled to get his breath. 'Stand up, Deakin! Ben, pull his speedo down and start licking from his balls up, as soon as he's exposed. Wait. One final deal? I will drop my bikini now and will bring myself over the edge right here, if you finish each other off. But, I don't want to see cum shots. Seeing you do this to him is the hottest thing ever, Ben. Suck him off!'

With that Lydia uncereminiously dropped her bikini. She was completely shaven. Neat, even lips! Swollen with lust. She started tapping at her clit. Ben spun around and dove on Deakin's dick. He grabbed his tiny, now shrunken nuts, pulled them, stretched them. Simultaneously, he hoovered, using one hand to jack, while his lips focused on Deakin's throbbing knob. As his heart rate accelerated, and he began panting, Ben pulled off briefly and stroked like the world was ending. He couldn't contain it any more, and Ben thrust his mouth and throat solidly over Deakin's cock as it spurted and spurted. Deakin watched, incredulous, between grunts and thrusts, as his

friend took it all. Lydia saw Deakin's contorting face and sweating, convulsing body, recognising the tell-tale signs, without seeing a drop of cum. The disembodiment of it was surreally erotic and pushed her to the edge of her own organs, fingers poking and swirling to her own rhythms. It wasn't over, though: she was still horny and ready.

Ben stood up, looking Deakin straight in the eyes. He opened his mouth and let all the cum dribble into Deakin's hand, which he then guided to his own rock-solid shaft. Deakin froze, until Ben leaned down and gave his hypersensitive dick a few, hardy strokes. He almost blacked out. It didn't take long. Deakin was a skilled wanker and bought his best skills to play, lubing up his friend with his own spent jizz, using one hand to slide along the shaft, whilst the other rubbed, slapped and slide over Ben's head. The precum was flooding out. Ben grabbed Deakin's shoulders and the friend's stared into each other eyes, as Ben shot ribbon after ribbon of cum, over Deakin's dick, balls, stomach, chest and

hands. Eyes locked, he kept fiddling as Ben gradually returned to his senses. Lost in the moment, they had forgotten about Lydia, until an almighty scream erupted from her deepest parts. She came for what seemed like minutes, gasping and crying, as waves over whelmed her.

Seemed like it was time for another Negroni.