Teaser for a new story

I'm still alive and writing. Sorry about the hiatus. Here's the prelude to a new story I'm working on, (you're seeing it before my editor). I'll get it out as fast I can - life has been distracting, lately:

Peter Owens had the sort of voice I could listen to for hours, even if all he was doing was reading the phone book. It was deep, smooth and confident, no matter what subject he chose. That was why there wasn’t even a hint of hesitation when he asked, “George, when’s the last time Nikki here sucked your dick?”

I should have jumped. A small part of me wanted to, but it was easier to just sit quietly on the couch. My brain was sort of foggy, as though I’d had a lot more wine than I remembered drinking with dinner.

My husband George looked similarly mellow. His expression was slack, his big brown eyes glassy and unfocused. He blinked in sleepy confusion and asked dully, “Huh, Pete?”

“Nikki,” Peter nodded at me and explained patiently, “I want to know the last time this hot piece of ass got on her knees and took your cock in her mouth. And,” he leaned forward and added firmly, “You want to tell me that.”

‹Hot piece of ass.›

I quivered at the description, feeling my cheeks flush. Peter knew better than to talk about me like that, much less to my husband, but it didn’t matter: I wanted him to go on.

George didn’t seem to mind either, although he was usually pretty protective of me. He shifted slightly in his big, comfy chair and said, with a small frown, “Nikki doesn’t suck cock, Pete.”

My cheeks burned at his admission. I couldn’t believe George was telling someone, even such a close friend, something so intimate about our love life.

Peter turned to me. His own wine glass was half full, and still in his hand. He made eye contact, his crystal blue eyes meeting mine as he asked, “Why won’t you suck your poor husband’s cock, Nikki?”

It took every ounce of willpower to keep my mouth shut. I bit my lip and offered him a tiny, apologetic shake of my head. I wanted to actually say something, but I knew that if I opened my mouth, I’d just answer him.

Peter leaned forward and said firmly, “You want to tell me every intimate detail. We’re such old friends.”

‹Tell me every intimate detail.›

‹Old friends.›

A thrill ran down my spine, and I shuddered. He was right, of course. Maybe the wine really had affected my brain: I’d forgotten what good friends we were, and how much I wanted to talk to him about my sex life.

My blush deepened, but I opened my mouth and said, “… it’s dirty…” I sounded half asleep. More than that, my voice sounded small, far younger than normal.

“What,” Peter sounded amused, “George doesn’t shower? I’ll admit I don’t want to check that closely, but he smells fine to me.” He added, voice going all firm again, “Explain yourself.”

‹Explain yourself.›

That didn’t feel like conversation. It felt like Peter was ordering me to speak. The thought made feel tingly and moist. I answered dreamily, “… no, blowjobs… are slutty… dirty…”

Stringing together a sentence was so hard, on nights like these.

Peter turned to George and asked him, “Is that what Nikki told you, Georgie?”

My husband nodded slowly and agreed, “… uh huh…” His voice sounded as sleepy as mine, now.

“How do you feel about that?” Peter asked gently, “Don’t you wish your hot little wife would get on her knees and blow you, George?”

“… yuh huh…” George agreed dully.

‹Hot little wife.›

“I want you to picture that,” Peter continued, “Nikki here, right on the rug. Picture her looking up, holding eye contact as her lips wrap right around your shaft. You can picture that in your mind, can’t you?”

George’s answer was obvious at a glance: his nice gray slacks were tented with an erection. Still, he breathed eagerly, “… yessss…”

‹Picture that in your mind.›

I squirmed in my seat a bit, listening to them talk about me like I wasn’t even there. It was making me wet a lot faster than just the orders and praise.

If Peter noticed my reaction, he didn’t comment on it.Instead, he kept his focus on my husband as he said, “I can help you with that, George. Nikki and I are old friends. I bet I can make her see how wrong she is. You would really love that, wouldn’t you, George?”

My husband nodded, faster this time, and agreed eagerly, “Yesss…”

“In fact, George,” Peter continued, “You really want to watch. The idea of having someone teach your wife to suck dick is the hottest thing you can think of. Try thinking of something hotter. You can’t, can you George?”

George shook his head and moaned, “… nuh-uh…”

“That’s good,” Peter said, “I’ll tell you what: you have my permission to whip it out, while Nikki and I are working. Go right ahead and jerk off, if you get too turned on. That’s really nice of me. Thank me, George.”

‹Teach your wife to suck dick.›

‹Whip it out.›

Peter’s words were meant for my husband, but they still bounced around in my brain, wiping away anything else on my mind. My heart pounded in my chest, even though my body felt sluggish and heavy, and I could feel moisture trickling down the insides of my thighs.

Watching George’s reaction didn’t help at all. He fumbled with his fly, fingers clumsy and useless. Even as he worked to unbutton his fly, he said dreamily, “… thanks, Pete…”

That was jarring enough that I found my voice. I managed to whisper, “What… are… you… doing?”

Peter rose and stepped toward me. He was already a head taller than I was, so he towered over me while I was sitting down. He looked down at me, smiled indulgently, and said, “Poor girl. You’re having such a hard time thinking. It’s like your head is full of fog, thick as pea soup. It’s wet and slippery and irresistible. The harder you try to fight it, the thicker it gets.”

‹Hard time thinking.›

‹Fog.›

‹Wet.›

‹Slippery.›

‹Irresistible.›

The words seemed to fill my head. I tried to remember what we’d even been talking about, but I couldn’t focus. All I could hear were Peter’s words, echoing in my brain over and over. I wondered hazily if he was talking about me: I was certainly wet and slippery. I opened my mouth to say so, but all I could muster was a soft little groan.

Peter reached down and stroked my hair affectionately, the way he might pet a cat or dog. He said, “Really, all your pretty head has room for are my words. You can think of nothing else. You don’t mind, though. It feels good.”

‹Think of nothing else.›

‹Feels good.›

That was certainly true. I stared forward, taking in absolutely nothing that I saw. All that really mattered was that Peter’s wonderful words were filling my brain. I favored him with a big, vacant smile and leaned into his touch.

“Now, I’m your oldest, dearest friend,” Peter assured me, “Repeat that back for me.”

“… now,” I parroted softly, “… oldest… dearest… friend…”

“But there’s more than that between us,” Peter continued confidently, “We were lovers once, and that was the most intense sexual experience you ever had in your life.” His fingers drifted to my cheek, brushing against my bare skin as he finished, “That’s very true, isn’t it, Nikki?”

“… uh huh,” I agreed, suddenly keenly aware of how close Peter was, and how stiff he looked beneath his slacks. I stared fixedly as he unzipped.

I'm looking forward to wrapping that and getting it published for you. Hope all of you are doing well! :)