Just Desserts

John's boss is such a douche. He's arrogant, self-obsessed, opinionated, narcissistic, tall, very fit and has one hand down the front of my slacks. His other hand grasps my throat and pulls me hard back against his body. Far too much cologne stifles what breath I can gasp. Hard and hot, he throbs against my back and I try desperately to make sense of what is happening.

"Shh..." His red wine breath is hot on my ear. "If you cry out they'll know."

'They' are my husband John and his wife Sue who are in the dining room waiting while I fix desert.

Insistent fingers push past the elastic of my knickers and rudely find my pussy. I wish I wasn't so wet.

"No. Stop. Arnold don't." Hoarse and pleading, I despise my voice.

Both my hands grip the forearm attached to the fingers which wriggle in my sopping knickers. I try to pull his arm away, but he holds my throat tighter.

"Resist me Katie. A good girl would resist me." A cruel edge to his tone reveals his sick delight.

I'm not sure if I'm pushing back into him or if he is pushing his hard cock against my back.

"They'll hear. They could come in any moment. Please don't."

"Your mouth says stop. Your pussy says 'please'. You are so hot and wet for me."

This is so wrong. I finally succeed in pulling his arm upwards, his fingers away from my wet betrayal, only to feel him unbutton my slacks. Then unzip them. Then I feel my own fingers help pull them down and reach behind to grasp for his cock.

He lifts me to my tiptoes and stretches one of my knees up onto the bench and pushes me down face first across the sink. I'm displayed for anyone who walks into the kitchen.

"Shh Katie. Don't want to make a scene now do you?" He speaks through lips that travel down my spine to the dimples above my butt then lower still.

"Oh fucksake Arnold, stop please." I'm crying. Tears roll off my chin and drip, drip, drip into the empty sink.

"Any time you like dear." His tongue flicks around my puckered anus and fingers work in and out of my pussy. "Just stand up, pull up your pants and walk away."

I'm pushing back in time with his thrusting fingers. So wet. So wrong. I can't believe he's doing this. I'm not this kind of woman. I've never cheated.

Zzzzip... Something fleshy and fat prods my thigh then rubs through my wetness brushing my clit and causing me to cry out.

"You okay honey?" John calls from the dining room.

"Yes!" I call out horrified, holding desperately to the taps for balance. "Yes... I, just, dropped, something." I try not to speak in time with the rubbing of what feels massive, hot and hard between my legs.

"It's fine John, just a bit dirty." Calls Arnold behind me, then more quietly beside my ear, "Lets make a real mess, shall we?"

"Oh... Nooo..." I reach a hand back in futile protest as he pushes slick inside me. My hand presses 'stop' against his stomach but my hips push 'yes' back onto him. He fills me so completely. So large. So hot. So fucking wrong.

As he bucks into me I hear rhythmic 'slick, slick, slick,' sounds. Surely John and Sue can hear that too. My god. Is this rape? Oh fuck, oh fuck. I feel it in my throat first, moving slowly down my spine to gather in my abdomen. It's so shameful to feel it build inside me. Perhaps this is what I wanted all along. Perhaps I am this horrible slutty creature. Then it tips me over the edge and shakes me around his cock. Convulsing on the bench I know I leak orgasm around him.

"Shh..." beside my ear. "Good girl, Katie. Good girl. This will be over soon... Soon... as... I... gnhhh."

I feel him throb inside me. Oh my fucking god. Inside me. He cums inside. I'm not on the pill. Oh shit. Oh shit.

"Oh fuck!" I groan out loud as his final jerking thrusts invoke in me another orgasm.

"You sure you don't need a hand?" That's Sue, his wife.

"No dear, all good. Just finishing up with this sticky stuff."

He said that? Oh god... I slump on the bench confused and used and listen to my heart pound in my chest. I feel him lift my knee down and slide my slacks back up my legs. Gently he lifts me up to standing and balances me zombie-like beside the sink. Breathing raggedly, I watch as he uses a kitchen towel to wipe dry his cock and tuck it away.

"Your mascara Katie. Give that pretty face a wash. Straighten up a bit. I'll tell them you'll be out in a few minutes." His smile is the worst of it. He knows he can do this anytime he wants now.

I nod and hold the faucet still reeling. His hand covers mine and turns the tap.

"Good girl." His lips press damp on my tear stained cheek.

Then he's gone and I'm alone in the kitchen with my heavy breathing and racing mind. Dessert! I splash cold water on my face and use the towel to wipe my smeared mascara away. Hurriedly I slice cheesecake, scoop ice-cream and then I stand there looking at the four plates. Impossibly, I have to take these now and serve them and make like nothing at all happened. Steeling myself, I balance the dishes and will my legs to finish wobbling.

With a deep breath I lift my chin, arrange a smile and return to the dining room. I try not to look uncomfortable as semen leaks inside my pants. I chat and laugh and as we finish dinner I wonder where my knickers are.

Then we wave them good bye after coffee and brandy. I squint when Sue pats my husband on the backside as he pecks her cheeks and shakes Arnolds hand.

"Should do this again." Says Arnold, then quietly as he pecks my cheek, "Real soon."

"Leave the dishes darlin," John winks and taking my hand, he pulls me behind him up the stairs to our room.

"Not tonight John, I've..."

"Shh Katie." He's already undressing me. I'm still leaking Arnolds mess. He pushes me back on the bed and bows between my legs.

"Oh god you smell good." Then he's licking me. Slurping along my thighs and burrowing his tongue inside me. I'm mortified as he sucks Arnolds cum unknowingly from inside me. I feel so dirty, so used, so disgusting.

Then he lifts his face to mine and smiles licking his lips. His face is shiny with my shame.

"Thank you for desert." He says driving inside me. I ache from Arnolds pounding thrusts but amazingly I'm still perched on the edge of earlier arousal and cum again quite quickly. John takes that as his cue and empties himself inside me too.

"Best dinner party ever." He's asleep before he hits the pillow. I cry in the shower.

...

The morning after pills are so expensive. As I stand in line at the pharmacy I rehearse a thousand ways to tell John of my betrayal. None of them sound any good. I wonder should I just keep it secret? Should I stash it away in the chest in the back of my mind where I keep things like the time in college I did those two brothers one after the other on the trampoline. Like the game of spin the bottle that finished with me blowing three of my brother's friends. Like the...

"Thirty seven fifty please."

"Oh. Sure." I fumble through my purse and produce a card.

"Tap or swipe?"

I tap the card and my phone buzzes in my handbag.

Outside the store I sit and order coffee. As I wait I check my phone.

[Love you Katie. Thank you for a mind-blowing night.]

There are two pictures below the text. One is a picture of Arnold smelling my missing knickers and the other is a selfie taken by John as he bends Sue over our dinner table to fuck her. They both smile for the camera.

[This April first is going to be a hard one to top. Ring me when you've forgiven me. Oh and thanks again for dessert. *wink emoji]

"Cappucino?"

She holds the mug of coffee I ordered. She's a petite brunette of probably only twenty at most and thoroughly unprepared for my reply.

"Fuck that. Put it down there and get me a whiskey please."

When she returns I wash the little yellow pill down, finishing the whiskey in one go. Then I stew and sip my coffee. My therapist is going to abso-fucking -lutely love this story.

...

John bought me this outfit. The stockings feel ridiculous. Fishnets and suspenders... How cliché. And this little skirt barely conceals the fact that I have no undies on. I'm not a tiny woman so I'm impressed at the resilience of this top. It bulges, ominously threatening avalanche but it contains the girls. For now.

I count to ten. That's how long it usually takes a barman to notice me sitting quietly on my own.

"Hi," he says at seven. "Can I getcha?"

"Whiskey sour please."

"Certainly."

My drink arrives, and I count again. This time to a hundred and twenty. That's how long it usually takes for eye-contact.

I see him smile from a nearby table. He's young and tall. A little rough looking with a stubbly face and long wavy hair. His arms ripple nicely as he picks up his drink.

Turning back to the bar, I take out my phone and play with the screen. Now it's simple, all I need to do is empty this glass.

I sip and check my messages.

[Running late?]

[No idiot. Just picking up something for dessert.] I reply.

[I can't wait.]

[Have dinner ready and a hot bath run. It's been a long day.]

[Will do. *heart emoji]

The ice makes a nice rattling noise as I push my glass aside. I count to...

Twelve. "Hi, I'm Matt. Can I buy you another?"

....

Dinner is roast lamb and rosemary baked potatoes. John has prepared a lovely onion gravy and serves it with my favourite, a Foggy Hill Vineyard Pinot Noir. We talk about his day, my day, the weather, the news and when we are done he clears the table and I hear him stacking the dish washer as I carefully make my way upstairs.

Every step toward the bedroom is deliberate.

In just minutes I hear his bounding footsteps up the stairs and standing at the door, he pants like an expectant puppy.

"Bed." I point.

He lies down face up with his head nearest me at the foot of the bed.

"Dessert is served." I smirk and straddle his head. The relief as I relax small, too long taut muscles, and feel what's left of the sticky load ooze and dribble from me is almost as pleasant as the busy darting tongue that flicks and licks and slurps and sucks at the dried mess on my thighs and the last drops oozing from me, until I'm bucking and grinding to orgasm on his chin and nose.

...

Steam fogs the mirror behind the bath as I uncoil and stretch. I can hear him in the next room busily masturbating. I love that silly man. One day I might even fuck him again.