Stretching the Boundaries

You've been doing that thing again — the thing where you pretend you're not staring at me while I stretch after a run. Legs split wide on the living room floor, hands reaching past my toes, back arched just enough that my sports bra pulls tight across my chest. I can feel your eyes on me from the kitchen doorway like heat from a lamp.

"You're not subtle," I say without looking up.

"I wasn't looking."

"You were absolutely looking."

You take a sip of water and lean against the doorframe, and I can see the front of your shorts adjusting. That's what I love about you, Larry. Your body never lies even when your mouth tries to. I shift into a hamstring stretch, pulling my right leg back until my heel touches my ass, and I glance over my shoulder at you. Your jaw tightens.

"Barb's coming over in twenty minutes," I say.

Your expression changes. Not excitement, not exactly. Something more complicated. Since I told Barb about that night in the living room — the night I pinned you to the couch and rode you until you couldn't form complete sentences — she's been asking questions. Lots of questions. And I've been answering them. In detail.

"You told her what, exactly?" you ask.

"The truth."

"The whole truth?"

"Enough of it." I switch legs, pulling the left one back, and I watch your throat move as you swallow. "She wants to watch."

"Watch what?"

"You know what."

You set the water bottle down on the counter hard enough that it makes a thud. "Cheryl."

"Larry."

"We talked about this."

"No, *I* talked about this. You made a face and changed the subject."

I stand up and peel off my sports bra in one motion, tossing it onto the couch. My nipples harden immediately in the air-conditioned living room, and I see your gaze drop to my chest before you force it back up to my face. Forty-five years old and I can still make you lose your train of thought with my tits out. That power never gets old.

"She's my friend," I say, walking toward you. "She's curious. And honestly, I think it'd be fun."

"For who?"

"For me. For her. For you, whether you want to admit it or not."

I stop in front of you and press my palm flat against the front of your shorts. You're already half-hard. I squeeze gently and your hips push forward just barely, an involuntary response that makes me smile.

"Your dick seems interested," I say.

"My dick has terrible judgment."

"Your dick is honest. That's more than I can say for the rest of you."

The doorbell rings before you can argue further. I pull my hand away and walk to the door topless, and I hear you exhale sharply behind me. Barb stands on the porch with a bottle of wine and a nervous smile, and her eyes go straight to my bare chest before she catches herself.

"Am I early?" she asks.

"Right on time. Come in."

Barb steps inside and immediately spots you in the kitchen doorway. Her blush starts at her collarbones and crawls up her neck like a rising thermometer. She's wearing a sundress and sandals, and she's clearly put thought into her appearance, which I find endearing.

"Hi, Larry," she says, barely above a whisper.

"Barb," you say, and your voice has that strained quality it gets when you're trying to act normal in an abnormal situation.

I take the wine from Barb and set it on the counter. "We were just discussing the plan for this evening."

"There's a plan?" Barb asks.

"There's always a plan with Cheryl," you mutter.

I turn to face both of you, standing there bare-chested and still glistening with a thin layer of sweat from my run. I can feel the post-workout strength humming through my muscles, that sense of physical capability I've earned through years at the dojo and the gym. I know exactly what I can do with this body. And so do you.

"Here's what's going to happen," I say. "Barb is going to sit in the armchair by the window. She's going to watch. She's not going to participate unless I say so. And you—" I point at you, "—are going to do exactly what I tell you to do."

Your mouth opens, then closes. I can see the war happening behind your eyes. Part of you wants to protest, to assert some kind of control over the situation. But the other part — the part that got pinned to the garage floor during our wrestling match, the part that felt my thighs clamp around your head and my weight settle onto your chest — that part is already surrendering.

"What if I'm not comfortable with that?" you ask.

"Then you can say no and we'll open the wine and watch a movie instead." I pause. "But I don't think you're going to say no."

Barb sits down in the armchair, tucking her legs under her, and she's trying very hard to look at my face and not my breasts. I almost laugh.

"Your heart rate just spiked," I say to you.

"How could you possibly know that?"

"Because I can see the vein in your neck pulsing. And because I know you, Larry. I know what you want before you do."

You're quiet for a long moment. Then you pull your t-shirt over your head and drop it on the kitchen floor.

"Good boy," I say.

Barb makes a small sound from the armchair. I glance over at her and she's pressing her thighs together, the sundress riding up above her knees. I wink at her, then turn back to you.

"Shorts too."

You push them down along with your underwear, and you're fully hard now, your cock jutting upward with that slight curve I know so well. I walk a slow circle around you, trailing my fingers across your shoulders, down your back, over your hip. Your skin prickles into goosebumps.

"Look at you," I say. "All that running, all those miles, and you're standing naked in your own kitchen because I told you to."

"I hate you sometimes," you say, but there's no venom in it.

"No, you don't."

I step back and pull down my running shorts, kicking them aside. I'm completely naked now too, and I can feel Barb's gaze on me along with yours. The attention settles over my skin like warm water. I've never been shy about my body. I work too hard on it to hide it.

"Larry," I say, "come here."

You close the distance between us and I grab the back of your neck, pulling you down to kiss me. Your mouth is hot and slightly desperate, your tongue pushing past my lips like you're trying to reclaim some control. I let you have the illusion for about three seconds, then I bite your lower lip and pull back.

"Slow down," I say. "We're not in a rush."

"I think maybe we should be," you mutter, glancing toward Barb.

"She's fine. Aren't you, Barb?"

Barb nods, not trusting her voice.

I guide you backward toward the couch, my hands on your chest, and when the backs of your knees hit the cushion I push you down. You land with a soft grunt and I straddle your lap, my knees on either side of your thighs. Your cock presses against my stomach, hot and rigid, and I grind my hips forward slowly, dragging my pussy along the length of you. I'm already wet. I've been wet since I watched you try not to stare at me stretching.

I lean down and whisper in your ear. "She's watching us right now. She's watching me sit on top of you, completely naked, and she's wondering what I'm going to do next."

Your hands come up to my waist and I immediately grab your wrists and pin them against the couch cushions above your head. I'm stronger than you. We both know it. You've known it since the garage, since the dojo stories, since the night I held you down and made you beg. Your arms resist for about half a second before they go limp.

"Keep them there," I say.

You nod.

I sit back up and roll my hips, sliding my wetness along your shaft. The head of your cock catches against my clit and a pulse of pleasure shoots through my core. I close my eyes and let it build, grinding in slow circles, using you for my own sensation without letting you inside me yet.

From the armchair, I hear Barb shift. I open my eyes and look at her. She's leaning forward, her elbows on her knees, her lips slightly parted. The blush has spread to her cheeks. She looks like a woman watching something she's fantasized about but never seen.

"Barb," I say, "you can touch yourself if you want."

Barb's eyes go wide. She looks at you, then back at me, then down at her own lap. She doesn't move, but her breathing has changed.

"Suit yourself," I say, and I turn my attention back to you.

I release your wrists and slide down your body until my face is level with your cock. I wrap my hand around the base and stroke slowly, feeling you pulse in my grip. Your stomach muscles clench when I lean down and run my tongue from the root to the tip, a long wet stripe that makes your hips buck.

"Cheryl—" you start.

"Quiet."

I take you into my mouth, just the head at first, swirling my tongue around the ridge while my hand works the shaft. You taste like salt and skin and that particular musk that I've come to associate with your arousal. I sink lower, taking more of you, and I feel your hand move toward my head before you catch yourself and put it back above your head.

"Good," I murmur against you. "Keep being good."

I bob my head in a slow rhythm, hollowing my cheeks on the upstroke, letting my teeth graze you just barely on the way down. Your breathing gets ragged. I can tell you're getting close — the way your thighs tense, the way your abs flex, the way your cock swells slightly in my mouth. I pull off before you can tip over the edge.

"Fuck," you groan.

"Not yet."

I climb back up your body and straddle you again, but this time I face away from you, toward Barb. Reverse position. Your cock nestles against my ass and I press back against it, letting you feel the heat between my legs without penetration. I look directly at Barb while I grind against you.

"Barb, do you want to see something he's really good at?"

Barb swallows. "What?"

I rise up on my knees and reach back to position your cock at my entrance. I sink down in one smooth motion, taking all of you inside me, and the stretch makes me gasp. You fill me completely, that familiar thickness pressing against my walls as my muscles clench around you.

I ride you slowly, facing Barb, my hands braced on your thighs behind me. Every time I push down, your hips rise to meet me. Every time I lift up, I feel you throb inside me. I keep my eyes on Barb, and after a moment, her hand drifts to her thigh and then between her legs, pressing against the fabric of her sundress.

"There you go," I say softly. "Don't be shy."

I increase my pace, bouncing on your cock with more force, and the sound of our bodies meeting fills the room — wet, rhythmic, obscene. Your hands grip my hips, your fingers digging into the muscle there, and I let you. I let you hold on while I use you.

"Cheryl, I'm getting close," you say from behind me.

"You'll wait."

"I can't—"

"You will."

I slow down and squeeze my internal muscles around you, a deliberate clench that makes you hiss through your teeth. I hold you there, throbbing inside me, right on the edge, and I don't move.

"Barb," I say, my voice steady even though my own arousal is pooling thick and hot in my belly, "would you like to see something new?"

Barb's hand has slipped under the hem of her dress. Her eyes are glazed. "What do you mean?"

I lift myself off you and your cock slides out, slick and glistening. I turn around to face you, standing over you on the couch, and then I step forward until my feet are on either side of your head. I look down at you.

"Tongue out," I say.

You comply without hesitation, your tongue extending past your lips, and I lower myself onto your mouth. Your tongue finds my clit immediately, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. You're good at this — you've always been good at this — and the combination of your wet mouth and the stubble on your chin sends sparks through my nervous system.

I ride your face in slow grinds, my hands braced on the wall behind the couch, and I can taste myself on the air. Your tongue circles my clit, then dips lower, probing my entrance, then back up. I rock forward and back, controlling the pressure and the pace.

"Larry," I say, breathless now, "I want you to lick my ass."

You stop. Your eyes flick up to mine. I can see the hesitation, the flicker of uncertainty. We've never done this. I've thought about it for weeks — at the dojo, during runs, in the shower — and I've wanted it with a specificity that surprised me.

"Cheryl—"

"Barb is watching. Don't embarrass yourself."

Something shifts in your expression. Maybe it's the challenge. Maybe it's the fact that I'm standing over you, naked and dominant, with my pussy inches from your face and another woman watching from across the room. Whatever it is, you tilt your head back and drag your tongue from my opening up along the seam between my legs until it reaches the tight ring of muscle above.

I shudder when your tongue makes contact. It's warm and wet and impossibly intimate, and the sensation is unlike anything I've felt before — delicate and dirty at the same time. You circle the rim slowly, testing, and I reach back and spread myself open with one hand.

"Push in," I say.

Your tongue presses forward and the tip breaches me just barely, and a moan escapes my throat that I don't try to contain. I hear Barb inhale sharply from the armchair. I glance over and see that her hand is fully under her dress now, her arm moving in a rhythm that matches my breathing.

"Deeper," I say, and you obey, your tongue pushing into me with a devotion that makes my knees weak. Your hands grip my thighs to steady me, and I can feel the muscles in your jaw working as you fuck me with your tongue.

The pleasure builds in layers — the wet heat of your mouth, the taboo of the act, the eyes of my friend watching from across the room. I grind against your face, lost in it now, and when your hand slides up my thigh and your fingers find my clit, I nearly collapse.

"Right there," I gasp. "Keep doing that. Don't stop."

Your fingers circle my clit while your tongue works inside me, and the dual sensation sends electricity through my entire body. I'm close. I can feel it gathering in my core, tightening like a coil.

"Look at me," I say to Barb.

Barb raises her eyes from my body to my face, and I hold her gaze while I come. The orgasm crashes through me in waves — my thighs clamping around your head, my back arching, a sound leaving my mouth that's raw and unfiltered. Your tongue keeps moving inside me, drawing out every pulse, and my body shakes through aftershock after aftershock until I have to step back from your face to keep from falling.

I sink down onto your chest, breathing hard, and I can feel your cock pressing against my stomach, still hard, still waiting. I look up at your face — wet with me, flushed, your eyes slightly dazed.

"Good boy," I whisper. "That was new."

"You're welcome," you say, and I laugh against your neck.

I reach down between us and wrap my hand around your cock, stroking slowly. You're close — I can feel it in the way you twitch in my grip, the way your hips strain upward.

"Barb," I say without turning around, "are you finished?"

A pause. Then, quietly: "Yes."

"Good. Pay attention."

I lift my hips and guide you inside me again, and this time I don't go slow. I ride you hard and fast, slamming my hips down, taking you as deep as you can reach. Your hands grip my ass, your fingers digging into the muscle, and you're thrusting up to meet me with a desperation that I recognize.

"Come for me," I say. "Now."

Your whole body tenses and you slam up into me one final time, burying yourself deep, and I feel you pulsing inside me as you come. Hot spurts that fill me, and I clench around you, milking every last drop while you groan against my shoulder.

We stay like that for a long moment, tangled together on the couch, your cock softening inside me. I can hear Barb breathing across the room, still in the armchair, her dress disheveled and her face flushed.

Finally, I lift myself off you and stand up on unsteady legs. I walk to the kitchen counter, naked and unbothered, and pick up the bottle of wine Barb brought.

"Anyone want a glass?" I ask.

Barb laughs, a breathless, surprised sound. "God, yes."

I pour three glasses and carry them over, handing one to Barb and one to you. You take yours and drink half of it in one swallow. I clink my glass against yours and then Barb's.

"To new experiences," I say.

Barb raises her glass. "To new experiences."

You look at me over the rim of your glass, still naked on the couch, your hair a mess, your face still glistening with me. "You're going to be the death of me, Cheryl."

I smile and take a sip of wine. "Maybe. But what a way to go."