Tell You All About It
© kate7891
Thanks to bluejay for your thorough and enthusiastic beta read.
* * * *
Since they were nine years old, Freya and Ethan were best friends. He and his family had moved to the neighbouring farm and Freya, being an only child, made herself a permanent fixture at Kimball Wines, relishing her friendship with Ethan and his siblings, people her own age.
Freya was almost eighteen when she knew she’d never be able to return Ethan’s love for her in any form other than friendship. Growing up, both had heard the jokes and off-hand comments. Best friends were destined to fall in love, right?
“I’m so sorry, Ethan,” she’d sobbed the night he’d built up the bravery to kiss her. “I’ve tried. In my head I’ve tried to go to that place you’re in. But I just can’t.” She’d rested her forehead against his, her hands rubbing his forearms in comfort, tears streaming silently down her cheeks.
Ethan knew then he’d do anything to never see tormented heartache twist her facial features again. Anything just to make her happy. Even if it meant locking away his heart.
Now, fifteen years to the day after they met — and living only six tram-stops apart in Melbourne — they met up for their regular Sunday brunch date.
“Ethan, hi!” Freya beamed, her long blond hair a melody of gold, pale scented honey and butter caramel, wispy waves framing her warm brown eyes that radiated genuine love.
Platonic, but love nonetheless.
Ethan stood and she wrapped him in a tight embrace — as she did every week, as though it were months between meetings, not days — her hair a silken sunrise tickling his nose. She squeezed him once, hard, before stepping back. Her eyes glowed, brown velvet, and she was flushed.
Ethan’s heartrate accelerated; he was excited, but couldn’t exactly pinpoint why.
“Sorry I’m late,” she rushed and sat down, combing her fingertips through the front of her hair, detangling the luscious locks. She picked up the water Ethan had poured and took a sip.
“It’s okay.” He scrutinised her face. “Everything is okay?”
Freya’s smile split her face. “I think I’m really seeing someone.” She slowly exhaled, reached out to rub Ethan’s forearm in silent apology. “I’m sorry. I’m just so excited. He really excites me.”
Ethan shifted in his seat, picked up the menu — even though he ordered the same thing every time — needing a prop to help him speak. “Is this the same guy you told me about? The one who –” he leaned forward to whisper “– fucked you in the alleyway?”
Freya flushed scarlet and nodded, crossing her legs, feeling an ache deep in her cunt from that morning’s scene with Shaw.
“You thought it was just gonna be a one-weekend thing,” Ethan said, rubbing a hand over his floppy brown hair. He always fancied it was a similar shade to Freya’s eyes.
“Well, yeah. He’s like, seventeen years older than me. So sophisticated. And fuck, he’s sexy. The things he says…” She bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes. Ethan’s cock strained in his pants. “The things he does. I think I’m a ruined woman.” She grinned, opened her eyes, and saw the lust in Ethan’s. She sighed, softly smiled another apology and beckoned a waitress over.
“Ready to order?” Freya asked gently, giving him the kindness of distraction.
Freya had always wondered at her friendship with Ethan. On paper, they shouldn’t work. She was assertive yet carefree; pragmatic but fun. He was essentially a wallflower; awkward in large groups, but wonderful in more intimate settings. Full of secrets. The pang of guilt she felt at not being able to love him the way he wanted was quickly absorbed. A familiar feeling.
“And for you?” the waitress asked.
Freya pressed a hand to her jittery stomach, unable to fathom an appetite. “Ah, I’ll just have a milkshake, thanks. Strawberry.”
Ethan sighed. Strawberry milk was Freya’s only tell.
She was stoned.
He knew she got up to no good when she was high.
Her spontaneity drove him mad.
“Got much on for the rest of your day?” he asked, quickly absorbing the pang of guilt at making her feel bad for not loving him. A familiar feeling.
Freya changed the crossing of her legs, knowing the minute she arrived home, she’d masturbate away the ache Shaw had left raging in her cunt. She was becoming hornier, hyper aware of her bodily sensations each hour spent in Shaw’s arms.
In his bed.
In his dungeon.
His tutelage in BDSM was a significant sexual awakening for Freya, one to which she responded with authentic enthusiasm and genuine curiosity. Over the last month, her body had become more responsive; curling to a whispered word, a soft touch. Something filthy whispered in gentle and seductive tones.
She always felt on the verge of an orgasm. That the slightest, most nonsensical thing would set her off.
She took a deep breath and smiled at Ethan.
“How are your brothers? Your folks?”
“Everyone’s great. I’m sure your mum knows more than me about the goings on at KW,” Ethan replied, settling into the familiar topic. “Tommy’s girlfriend’s pregnant.”
Freya sat up straight. “Fuck. Tommy’s barely twenty-one. Is it… happy news?”
Ethan smiled. “Yeah, it’s happiest news. Him and Emma have been together three years now. Pretty normal progression.” Then he saw Freya’s brow crease slightly and shrugged. “For some people,” he amended softly, not sure if she heard.
She smiled when the waitress delivered their drinks. She sucked up thick strawberry sweetness through a metallic straw, the ice extra cold having travelled through the silver tube.
“Did you want to come over for dinner tonight?” she asked. “Give the lovebirds some space. Your roommate’s girlfriend flies in from Perth today, right?”
“That’d be handy. Appreciate it.”
Freya slurped more thick strawberry milk, swallowed and said with a chilly breath, “Come over after we’re done here if you like. Had no plans to go into the studio today –” she was a potter “– just to work on some sketches; can do that while we watch a movie or if you just wanna read or whatever.”
“Sounds good.”
But when Ethan pulled up behind Freya’s Vespa, he saw a man darkening her doorway. Freya removed her helmet and Ethan knew the moment she made eye-contact with the man. The air all but snapped.
So, he thought. This is Shaw.
Freya wedged her helmet under her arm and approached the driver’s window.
“So, ah, change of plans,” she said, leaning down, resting her forearm on the frame, eyes flickering toward Shaw.
Ethan cleared his throat, disguised his sudden arousal with a teasing grin. “Clearly.”
Freya beamed, reached into her back pocket to retrieve her wallet. She took out her credit card and handed it to him. “Go enjoy your Sunday. Hit the mall. Go to the movies. Rent a room at the casino. My treat.”
Ethan grinned, snatching her card up. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”
She leaned in further and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “Will tell you all about it after,” she said on impulse. “Promise.”
She turned and skipped up to Shaw, his arm snaking around her and pulling her in for a hungry kiss, while Ethan sat, mouth agape, her words echoing in his ear.
Will tell you all about it after.
Tell you all about it.
Promise.
* * * *
“Who’s the kid?” Shaw mumbled some time later, his lips pressed against Freya’s hair, his nostrils sweetened by her fragrance.
“Hmm?” she mumbled, half turning her languid body towards him, sleepy arousal as she slowly came awake.
“The scruffy guy in the ute. You kissed him.”
With closed eyes, Freya smiled, breathy laughter escaping through her nose.
“‘Kid’?” she chuckled. “Ethan. He’s my best friend. We grew up together on the Peninsula. Neighbouring farms.” She shifted to press her nose into the hollow of his throat, the fourth time she’d done so since they’d met. Shaw frowned having just realised he was keeping count.
“Did you tell him about me?” Shaw asked, fingertips combing through her hair, watching the strands slide through, somehow shimmering in the dim bedroom light. He brought a lock to his mouth, tickling the shape of his lips, running the threads between them. Freya shuddered, and he smiled.
“He knows I’m seeing someone,” she said, lips tickling the fuzz at the base of Shaw’s throat. She tilted her head back and saw him running her hair over his lips and nose, and her breath caught. She could feel it in her toes.
“Is he the sort of protective-big-brother kind of friend, or the friendly friend kind?”
Freya’s tension dissolved on a chuckle as she tried to picture Ethan defending her honour. She couldn’t help but recall him dressed as a mutation of the red Ninja Turtle — she could never keep their names straight — and Batman at her eleventh birthday. Her laughter bubbled out. “No. He’s Ethan. Best friend kind of friend. I broke his heart and he’s still my friend. We look out for each other, get stoned together, holiday together. I tell him everything. But I haven’t told him much about you other than…” she trailed off, blushing.
“The alleyway,” Shaw finished for her, ribboned fingertips pressing under her chin, forcing her to meet his dark blue gaze.
“The alleyway,” she whispered, her voice somehow dripping down her core to curl around her cunt.
“I’m want you again,” he said, his palm covering her swollen gash.
Freya sucked in a breath, hips tilting to his touch. “Yes,” she gasped, following him into the darkness. “Yes.”
* * * *
Just after 2AM, Ethan’s phone chimed with a message from Freya.
F: coffee @ studio before work if you find the time
For over an hour, Ethan stared at his screen, eyes almost unblinking, squeezing his painfully stiff erection between his thighs, heart tattooing an erratic beat inside his chest.
* * * *
Five and a half hours later, Ethan chained his bike to the rack outside the narrow brownstone that held Freya’s wares. He unlocked the shopfront, wandered through the dim display and out the back to her studio. He liked to watch her throw clay.
Soft morning light filtered through the small shed she’d renovated. She’d removed an entire wall and replaced it with glass for natural light. Lamps and indoor lighting was sporadic, but strategic. Shelving on the back wall held her tools, bags of clay, drying projects — everything from clay cutlery to erotic pieces of art that fetched for hundreds of dollars — and the paints she used to stain her creations.
Potted plants hung from the ceiling or sprouted tall near benches and in corners. And a small kitchenette he knew she kept well stocked for the days she worked late. Shoved against the far wall behind a mirrored divider — to reflect the light and to check angles — was a forever rumpled futon for the nights she worked later.
It was almost hypnotic, Ethan thought, watching her delicate fingertips dip a sponge into the water, bringing moisture to the clay, moulding it smooth under her gently spinning touch. She frowned as she narrowed the base, squeezing it in, before wetting the sponge again and shaping the top.
The turning wheel, the softly shifting shape and her hands — oh, her hands — were mesmerising. They always were. Ethan remembered when they were fourteen and her discovering a wheel at a country flea market. He remembered her asking what it was, but looking at it as if she already knew how to use it.
Then she looked up, pinned him under her direct chocolate gaze, and he blushed at having being caught staring.
Freya noted the blush and her sensitive aching cunt clenched. Her straddled position behind the wheel made her acutely aware of her naked and tender pussy lips beneath well-worn denim overalls. The white singlet she wore beneath it made her acutely aware of her unfettered breasts, her sore nipples.
She frowned. She’d never reacted like this to Ethan’s stares before.
She cleared her throat before jerking her head to the window wall. “Put in a coffee order next door already,” she said, referring to the neighbouring café. The shared outdoor space was mutually beneficial; on the sunny summer days Freya worked the wheel, was up and about to the kiln, she attracted diners to her shop. And vice versa: casual browsers or serious art collectors were often aromatically lured next door.
Returning with two coffees, Ethan saw the wheel had stopped to slowing and she was sculpting a pattern along the rim of the vase. The intertwining lines looked like soundwaves forming. Then she released the pedal and pushed back, wiping her hands on a hand towel as she stood, dropping it on the floor before reaching for her coffee.
“Thanks,” she said, taking a sip before placing it on her stool and lifting her arms up, leaning over each side, stretching out her back. She stifled a yawn before smiling at Ethan.
“How was your Sunday?”
Ethan grinned and sat on the futon. Then his nose twitched at the scent of sex on the sheets, and Freya hid her smile in her coffee as she sat on her stool, facing him. The backs of her hands were splattered with clay and sometime in the last twenty hours, she’d painted her fingernails black.
“Ah, my Sunday was good. Hit the casino day spa. Got myself pampered, so thanks for that.” Ethan lifted a hip and took her credit card from his pocket. “Here you go,” he said, holding it out.
Freya sucked in a breath as she leaned over — her somewhat squatted position tilting her pelvis up — her pussy aching at the angle, and took the card. She regained her composure as she straightened, smiled and asked, “Got yourself a rub and tug, did you?”
Ethan chuckled, “Yeah, can you imagine?”
“I can actually,” she murmured, taking another sip of coffee.
Ethan blushed, shifted his hips and cleared his throat. “H-how was your Sunday?” he stuttered.
Freya watched curiously as Ethan’s Adam’s apple bobbed heavily in his throat; she knew he was aroused. He nearly always was around her. She knew the dry throat feeling of lust well; knew his tongue felt thick at the back of his throat; knew that desperate feeling of thirst.
And then it came to her in a blinding flash.
He reacted to her in the same she way she reacted to Shaw.
Submissively.
This insight made Freya pause. Reflect. If she were a kinder woman she would have severed ties ten years ago when his mooneyes started. But it was like he was her other half; the quiet pensive half, the one who was anchored in reality, not at all fanciful.
Ethan licked his lips, But this was different, Freya thought. This was also a desire for Shaw. To be him or worship him, she didn’t know, but Freya instinctively knew Ethan didn’t just want to see her cunt. He wanted to see her used cunt. Her alleyway cunt.
“Do you want me to tell you?” she asked softly.
“Well,” Ethan stuttered, clearing his throat, deciding not to pretend he didn’t know what she meant. “You did promise.”
Freya smiled her secret smile. “I did, didn’t I?” She stood and unbuckled one strap of her overalls, the bib falling open, showing Ethan the bottom of her ribcage, for her singlet was cropped at her waist. Her nipple was hard beneath the fabric, sitting pert and proud on her demure breast.
Ethan squirmed again, his eyes darting from her face to her wheel, to her foot to the window, to the juncture of her thighs — making her clench — and to her face again. Her own heart accelerated with nerves, and she rubbed her forearms.
“Fuck.” She sucked in a breath, brown eyes swirling, anguished at his nerves. She knew that feeling, too. “I don’t want to hurt you, Ethan. I can’t talk to my girlfriends about Shaw. I can’t talk about the…” she flushed, ashamed arousal a heady mix, “alleyway. But fuck, Ethan,” she continued, firmer now, lifting her eyes, “I feel like I’m losing myself. And you know me better than anyone. If I tell you, you can keep me from floating away. Please Ethan,” she sobbed, clearly wanting to cover her face, but unable to do so, her clay claws floundering.
Ethan stood and placed his hands on her forearms, stilling her, calming her. His sorrowful eyes reflecting her pain, hating that her inability to love him back hurt her so.
“Shh,” he soothed. “It’s okay. Nothing can ruin our friendship, okay? Nothing.”
She nodded, flexed her forearms under his hands. He let go and sat back down, adjusting himself beneath the seam of his trousers.
“Whenever you want me to stop, just say, and I’ll stop. Okay?”
Ethan nodded, quite lost for words.
Freya unbuckled the other clip, and her overalls fell with a clang to the floor. Ethan’s eyes goggled at the bruises on her hips, the welts on her thighs. The bold letter S drawn by a black marker on the crease of her mons.
“Fuck,” he breathed.
“Do you want to see?” she asked softly, tears drying on her cheeks, but her head swum with a heady sense of power.
Ethan arched his hips a little and nodded. She sat — knees higher than hips on the stool — and spread her thighs.
His eyes all but boggled from his head.
Her pussy was bald bare, save for a trimmed umber thatch, her delicate skin folded very much like the pattern on her vase. His mind swirled like her spinning wheel at the sight of her used flesh. She was softly swollen, bright pink with darker shades promised in her ravine.
“What…?” he breathed, eyes finally flickering up to her face.
Her eyes were fierce, darker than he’d ever seen them, rich coffee bean, hard but not bitter. He felt pinned under her gaze, unable to move, scarcely able to breathe.
“Shaw takes me to dark places,” she said, clay-spotted hands rubbing circles inside her thighs.
“The alleyway,” he breathed, hands resting softly on his knees, fingertips tingling to curl into hard fists, eyes flickering back down to her well-used cunt.
“Yes,” Freya said, her forefingers pressing along the seam of her inner thighs, opening her pussy before gliding over the dark S, tracing its curves. Ethan bit his lip, following her movements. A slow smile then spreads across her face as she brought her knees together, obstructing his view but appeasing her ache, and playfully asked, “Are you sure?”
Again, Ethan nodded, squirming, wanting to pull his cock out and stroke himself to completion, but lacking the courage. He rubbed the palm of his hand over his crotch a moment, then blushed and cleared his throat.
“I’m sure,” he said clearly. “I want to see how he used your cunt.”
Freya sucked in a breath, not expecting anything so bold from him. But then she reflected upon her own recent behaviour and grinned. Ethan was lost in his lust for her. A yet-to-be-discovered persona was in charge, and she wanted to help Ethan discover it.
She knew he wanted to feast upon her. Knew he wanted it even more so now, knowing she’d been taken so recently.
Freya slowly ran her hands along her inner thighs, from knee to crease, thumbs pressing into her fleshy labia, rolling up to the apex, pressing pressure to her pubic bone, her clitoris aching, her cunt clenching the remnants of Shaw’s seed. The cool morning air puckered her nipples, pebbled her skin, iced fire coursing through her veins. She let out a shaky breath, the sun’s slant changing as the morning wore on.
Her senses were heighted, overwhelming her. Which did she focus on?
Shaw, her mind whispered, and she squeezed her eyes shut tight, squeezing the imprint of his cock, squeezing his seed. Shaw. She let out a controlled breath, lifted her eyes and again squashed Ethan under her gaze.
She had transformed before him. Into someone he didn’t know.
Someone she didn’t quite know.
Freya continued to run her hands along her taut inner thighs, transferring clay from hands to skin, fingers stretched so the webbing between her thumb and forefinger parted her labia. Ethan swallowed audibly, the sight of that grey earth on her pink and bruised skin, forefinger pressed against the… fuck.
Pressed against the bold letter S.
“Shaw tells me he owns me as he fucks me,” she said, matter-of-factly, belying the lust curling in her stomach.
“D-do you like that, do you?” Ethan asked, feeling as though the soles of his shoes were being sucked into the concrete floor. His balls felt tight, close to bursting, a sensation in his diaphragm upon each inhalation.
Freya chuckled. “Yes.”
“Wha-what else does he tell you?”
“That I’m his dark alley whore,” she hissed, covering her gash with her palm. She leaned back, core tightly engaged, wishing she had something behind her upon which to anchor herself, so as to thrust her hips up in triumph.
“That he wants to take me, eviscerate me, crawl underneath my skin,” she continued, eyes half-closed and breath shuddering through parted lips. “And I swear that’s what he’s done. He’s under my skin, Ethan. I feel electrified around him. I can’t explain it.”
She had slowly begun to rub her palm through her folds as she monologued, her knees swaying, head rolling heavy, breasts thrust forward. Ethan couldn’t swallow; he couldn’t breathe as he watched Freya seduce herself with memories alone.
He wondered what it would be like to watch her with Shaw.
The thought made him audibly moan, shake and shudder, pulling Freya back to him, darkened eyes velvet with arousal.
“You love that, don’t you?” she whispered, almost to herself. “If you can’t fuck me like that, at least someone can. Right?”
This time Ethan groaned.
“Fuck,” Freya echoed, head lolling back as she sunk three fingers into her pliable cunt. She reached into her depths, her free hand cupping her breast and rolling her nipple through the fabric of her singlet, her thighs restrained from going any wider due to booted feet and overall-shackled ankles.
“Fuck this is so hot,” she breathed, pumping her fingers into her cunt. In her mind’s eye she saw Ethan squirming on the futon, his dick throbbing in his pants, his heart bursting from his chest.
Ethan watched as Freya’s cunt grew from bright pink to a dark, dusky rose, blooming before his eyes. Beneath his tongue saliva pooled, slimy and warm. He gulped, his throat tight and pressed a hand over his crotch, trying to supress his erection.
“Oh, god, Freya,” he managed, his voice strangled even to his own ears. “Fuck.”
His toes curled in his shoes, a shock of heat bolting up from his soles to his gut. He jerked forward, made a choking kind of noise, heat flooding the front of his pants, heat flooding his cheeks, boiling his brain.
“Fuck!” he cried out, hips arching up, hand fisting in the used sheets, sex and sweet earth clay making his nostrils flare. “Fuck, Freya!”
Freya had anchored herself with her left palm on the hard concrete floor, her right hand munting her cunt in front of Ethan’s face, showing him Shaw’s come on her fingertips, spreading it up and around her clitoris, smearing it over his marks, each one, branding herself further, completely lost to her body.
“Oh fuck,” she choked, feeling her orgasm coiling through her veins. “Fuck. I’m gonna come.” And then she’d heard Ethan’s strangled cry of release, a sound that triggered her own response.
Her cunt tightened, thighs tensing as she thrust her hips mid-air and exploded around her fingers, her juices running rivets down her palm, to the pulse in her wrist, clenching and sucking deep, muscles quivering upon her release.
She slapped her pussy once, hard, then rubbed her palm over her tender flesh, soothing and spreading sex, calming herself. She managed to pull herself up to sitting, shuddering another breath as her head rushed with blood and her pussy clutched at the upright angle.
She slowly opened her eyes, saw Ethan flushed and floundering, his fists twisted in her sheets.
Freya licked her lips, rubbing them together to supress the smile.
Wasn’t this interesting?
Her grin won out and she smiled broadly, bringing her sex-soaked hand to her mouth, rubbing middle and ring fingers over her bottom lip before sucking them into her moaning mouth.
The third finger — her forefinger, she eventually held out for him. “Would you like to try?”
Ethan nodded, heart jerky with the movement.
Freya stood, shuffled over to him and waved her hand in front of his face. He closed his eyes, inhaling the scent, his head swimming. She pressed the back of her finger to his gently parted lips, running it between them, mimicking outercourse almost, giving him the sex that lay thicker on the back of her hand.
His breath shuddered from his lips and his nostrils flared with the close proximity of her scent. Her fingers glistened with sex and saliva, wrists spackled with clay. Ethan’s tongue pushed forward to tickle the soft, floppy skin above her knuckle, wriggling against the skin, eyes half rolling back in bliss at the warmth of her honeyed sex on his mouth.
She stepped back, bent to lift her overalls back up. “Did you like that?” she asked softly, clipping her bib up he licked his lips.
Ethan nodded again, opened his eyes and looked up at her, love fierce in his pale green eyes.
“Good,” Freya smiled, picking up her cold coffee, sipping to quench her own thirst. “I’ll be sure to tell you all about it next time.” Pause. “Promise.”
* * * *
The next time Ethan encountered Shaw was just three days later, when he let himself into Freya’s townhouse after two missed calls and an unanswered text lead him to believe she wasn’t home. He came over to replenish her weed stash. As he opened the door, he heard her scream.
It made his heart race and his balls ache.
Especially when he heard Shaw growl, “Who owns this cunt?” Followed by a spitting sound, a low feminine groan, sadistic masculine laughter. “Fucking tell me, Yaya.”
Yaya?
Ethan placed the bag of weed on the small side table that held umbrellas and keys and other pocket items, and slowly backed out the door, easing it closed behind him.
Immediately, as if without thought, he shoved his hand down his pants, his mind a flickerbook of motion, of Shaw fucking Freya life like a whore, using filthy words, owning her, enjoying her wanton lust, her body responding to his power, feeding it.
Ethan gasped, a strangled sound, his palm flooding with heat as he came in his pants. His ears burned, but the ringing between them finally quietened.
“What the fu-” he breathed, mouth agape, wiping his hand on the seat of his jeans.
“Fuck.”
He buckled himself into his ute, and drove home in a daze.
* * * *
The scent of baking bread and roasting coffee beans roused Shaw in the early hours of a quiet morning. He blinked gently, taking in the soft yellow lamplight, hearing the neighbouring hens clucking at the gentle morning beneath the whirring of Freya’s wheel. He turned his head on the pillow, shifted on the lumpy futon — she really needed something better than this, and he made a mental note to look into it — muscles aching, and watched her moulding clay.
She was naked beneath her apron, hair bundled atop her head, leaving her face unframed. He saw her squint in the dim light as she ran her thumb nail along the slowly spinning form. She dipped a sponge, the rippling water droplets easily absorbed into the quiet morning, making Shaw appreciate the moment to watch her while she was unaware.
She was so lovely, he thought, half shifting on his side, not needing to feign the sleepy sigh that followed. She didn’t even look up, so engrossed was she in her work. Shaw closed his eyes and held a moan at the back of his throat in remembrance of those delicate hands moving along his shaft, cupping his balls, teasing him and intoxicating him like no other.
She worked the clay with that same knowing smile caressing her lips.
He grinned, watching her through slitted eyes as her hands moved over the clay, curving a wave-like shape using just her fingertips and a small sponge. He watched with growing alertness as she pressed her thumb to depress motion into her sculpture, bringing it to life.
Shaw shuddered out a breath and Freya looked up, pinning him under her intense gaze.
He grinned, shifting on the futon, pulling one side up, erect in couch position, sitting up to face her, her mint green sheets draped casually over his hips.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” she breathed, releasing the wheel and placing a damp cloth over her cresting clay, quickly wiping her hands on her apron.
“You weren’t here,” he mumbled, rubbing his palms over his face, thinking he should probably shave.
“I was inspired,” she grinned. “Tired inspired, but inspired nonetheless.”
“Tired inspired?” he asked, dropping his hands and slouching down the couch.
“Yes. It’s a thing.”
Shaw smiled. “Can’t imagine what caused it.”
Drawing the sheet away, Shaw stood, naked honey in the golden lamplight, and stalked over to her, his bare footsteps moving cool on the concrete floor. He watched as Freya pushed back from the wheel but remained seated, her thighs parted, pussy obscured by the curtain of her apron. She gulped as his semi erect cock rested but a whisper from her bottom lip.
She moistened said lip, tongue darting out to roll slowly from one corner to the other, before looking up and gripping the base of Shaw’s dick, remnants of clay spotting her knuckles, staining the back of her hand. Her eyes travelled heavy up his body, pulled by his will, eager for the connection of his hungry gaze.
“Do you have any idea how fucking beautiful you are?” he asked, voice gruff, rough with sleep and emotion.
Freya leaned forward, parted her teeth, her bottom lip rubbing feather light soft against his silken bellend, and shook her head. “No,” she breathed over his tingling sex. “I have no idea. Why don’t you show me?”
Her eyes goaded him; her voice seduced him.
But it was her smile that undid him.
He gripped her bun, pulled her head back, exposing the long column of her throat. She released a husky chuckle, eyes brightening, anticipation building. He manoeuvred between her parted thighs, pressing the shinbone just below his knee against her gash.
She opened her palm and rubbed his shaft over her lips, nose, chin, even her eye-socket. His balls rested gently against her chin as she skilfully brought him to full hardness, her soft kisses and light licks sending bubbles of fizz across his mid-section.
“So fucking beautiful,” he groaned, pressing his shin against her sex, enthralled by the look of pure bliss intensifying her beauty, searing her features into his soul. His tense fingers gripped her bun — he wanted the length of it wrapped around his hands, but he was too impatient — and yanked her head back further, knowing her scalp tingled from the pull of her hair at the root.
He stepped firmer into her personal space, his thigh tense between her breasts, his other knee pushing her left thigh out, the muscle of her inner-thigh pulled taut, sinew straining beneath pale gold skin. The welts of his passion ripe peach on her thighs, tingling with fresh blood and arousal.
He gripped his shaft, her hand moving down to cup his balls, and guided his cock between her lips, loving the rush of warm air over his skin as she sighed in happy welcome, the spongy heat of her tongue making his head swim and heart lurch in his chest. Shaw coughed out a breath as he felt himself tickle the back of her throat, the soft slimy feel of her silently gagging around him, feeling her oesophagus contract with her moans.
“That’s it,” he breathed, feeling a snarl curl on the final consonant. “Hold me there. Feel me.”
Freya sucked in a breath through nostrils flared, a small high-pitched sound stuck at the back of her throat making her eyes water. Her hand squeezed Shaw’s thigh and she exhaled slowly, forcing her throat to relax, to accept his invasion.
“Oh, fuck, you’re perfect,” he grunted, pulling her back, allowing her to suck in a full and cool breath around the head of his dick before her slammed her back down his length, throat fucking her hard and fast and deep. Complete.
Freya held her jaw slack, her throat open, the slide of Shaw’s dick along her tongue making her acutely aware of his shin against her pussy. She wanted to frown over the barrier between them, but knew the muscle movement would ruin his rhythm.
And she so loved it when he fucked her in a perfect rhythm.
She moaned, the friction against her pussy making her tremble, her bottom lip quivering against his thrusting shaft, her nostrils flaring for air, eyes watering as she began to choke on his sex.
“That’s it, whore,” Shaw snarled, his hand moving down to grip the apron, pulling it up around her neck, yanking her as she gasped upon the flesh of his shin pressing against her burning cunt.
“Oh baby, you are fire,” he moaned, feeling her heat shoot through his veins, from his dick down his leg to the webbing of his toes.
She began to rock herself against his leg, a dog in heat, humping as she sucked him, the pumping of her hips in tandem with the suction of her lips. Her eyes dark cocoa, demanding and overwhelmed with need.
“That’s it,” he soothed, humping his hips against her, not caring if her jaw was sore, not caring that spittle was dribbling down her chin, that he could see her eyes glisten in the dim light. “Take that cock. Fuck your mouth.”
Freya moaned at his words, his tone, the guttural need behind them. She felt her pussy spasm against Shaw’s shin, eyes rolling back as she groaned in pleasure around his cock, her throat contracting and spasming as she tried to suck in a breath to expel her joy. She bucked her hips against his leg, seeking pleasure, desperate for release somewhere: her cunt, his cock, her mouth, she didn’t care. She needed to let go. She knew he knew.
“That’s it, that’s it,” he chanted, his breath shallow and short. His movements didn’t slow; if anything, they increased, speed and power. He was ferocious, attacking her mouth and throat, grunting as he felt his balls tighten and his toes curl, knowing she could taste his leaking precum, knowing she knew he was close. Her eyes rolled back in pleasure, her tongue pressing him up to the roof of her mouth, rubbing him against the soft ridges there.
Shaw’s vision swayed; he pulled her hair tighter and grunted, “Come with that dick in your mouth,” before crying out, “Fucking give it to me!” the final vowel extended on his cry of release. He spurted two, three times down her throat before he had mind to pull himself back, withdrawing on the fourth and coming on her tongue, his glistening cock slipping from her slackened lips to ooze down her chin, rubbing his tingling wet warmth against her aching throat, his seed pooling at the apron around her neck.
“Here, let me get that,” Shaw mumbled before gently detangling her and tossing the apron aside.
Freya lifted her eyes, her now-empty mouth open, panting slightly, lips swollen and pink. She cricked her neck as she cupped her breasts, massaging her tender aching flesh, licking the corners of her mouth as she did so.
Then she smiled.
“It was only, like, two hours ago that…” she trailed off on a chuckle, bringing her hands up her throat and down again, rubbing her lips together to hold onto sensation. She sat straight, the ache in her cunt more acute at the tilted angle of her pelvis.
“Yes?” Shaw asked, drawing her to her feet, knowing she was aching from the squatted position, and still needy not having come as hard as she liked.
“Your recovery time is impressive,” she grinned.
“Don’t even think about finishing that sentence with ‘for a man of my age’,” he grumbled, hand caressing her cheek. Freya turned her head to kiss his palm, tasting salt, before laughter bubbled out.
“No,” she giggled. “For a man in general. I didn’t come to you a virgin, so I’ve an idea on the average recovery time. Clearly though,” she continued, “you’re anything but average.”
A slow, self-satisfied smile spread across Shaw’s features. “No, you weren’t a virgin. But parts of you were.” His hand moved down and around the curve of her hip, over her asscheek down and back up again, smiling as she resisted the urge to squirm. “And you, my dear,” he whispered softly against her temple, “are anything but average.”
Freya trailed her fingertips down her chin and throat, feeling his slickness on her skin, and remembered the night he took her anal virginity, claiming her where no one else had, bonding them forever with the shared intimacy.
She blushed in memory, asked Shaw if he wanted a soda, and stepped away, over to the sink to soap her hands. Her phone buzzed and flashed alight with a notification as she shook her fingertips dry before grabbing a clean tea-towel.
“Grab that for me, can you?” she asked, bending to retrieve cool drinks from her fridge.
Comfortably naked, Shaw brought it over to her — idly noted it was ten to five — in exchange for a can of coke. The can hissed open and Shaw watched with amusement the range of expressions to cross Freya’s face.
“Fuck,” she muttered, tapping and scrolling through notifications.
“Everything okay?” Shaw swallowed, leaning a hip against the countertop.
“Yeah,” she responded, distracted. “Ethan. I cancelled our brunch date last Sunday. All good. Just checking in.”
But Shaw saw her blush and knew she held a secret.
He smiled. He just loved coercing secrets out of her.
“You’re blushing,” he stated.
“What?” she laughed, suddenly nervous. “No.”
Shaw smiled broadly, enjoying her discomfort. “I know you’ve told him about me. He saw me at your place the other week. I don’t mind. I know you need it.”
Freya licked her lips, knowing what he expected of her regarding communication. “Yeah,” she admitted. “I’ve told him. Just about the alleyway, though. And some of the stuff you say…”
Shaw tilted his head, watched as she wiped down the pristine sink. He leaned over and rested his hand on her forearm to still her. His eyes were direct and demanding. But also compassionate. He knew she was in turmoil.
Freya let out a breath and tossed the rag in the sink, turned to face him.
“Last Monday morning,” she began. “After you’d shown up at my place. Ethan came here for coffee and I told him about what we did. What we do. And, and…” Another fortifying breath. “And I fingered myself while he watched.”
Her hands clenched the edge of the sink as she made her confession, both relieved and worried. Relief at having told her secret, worry at his response.
Shaw took her hand and led her to the futon, laying down and holding her over his chest, his middle finger stroking along the length of her spine.
“It’s okay, Freya,” he murmured, pressing his nose into the crown of her head, breathing in her sunrise scent. “You’re exploring the lifestyle. It’s okay. I’m not mad.” He smiled up at the ceiling, imagining perfectly how she’d have looked fingering herself for an eager onlooker. “I’m impressed, actually,” he continued. “Proud, even. Tell me about it.”
Snuggled up warm against his skin, and with the soft light of the lamp washing them golden, she told him. About how Ethan had always loved her, and how she didn’t love him back. How she’d freaked out mid-seduction, worried she’d ruin their friendship, and how she realised Ethan responded to her as she did to Shaw. She wriggled warm against Shaw’s skin and told him how she’d centred her thoughts, on him, to calm and herself and control her orgasm.
That final part of her confession — using him to control her orgasm — made Shaw groan, cradle her face between his big hands and tilt her lips to his. He kissed her tenderly, tongue tracing the shape of Freya’s mouth, tickling the skin between her front teeth and upper lip. She moaned into his mouth, his name shuddering on her breath.
“Shaw,” she breathed, eyes closing with languid pleasure. He shifted beneath her, sliding down a little to properly press kisses to her throat, hands cupping her breasts between their bodies — so small in his large hands — his thumbs and forefingers rolling her turgid teats before bringing them to his mouth, wriggling again to align himself properly with her nipples.
Freya split her thighs and straddled his stomach, her soft and well-used flesh tingling against his skin. Her hands fisted in the sheets on either side of his head as she held herself over him, muscles gently trembling with building passion. His name escaped her lips on another sigh.
Freya rocked her pussy against Shaw’s lower abdomen, enjoying the light, springy hairs there. She grinned, leaning down to feed him her nipples, loving how he closed his eyes, cupped her breasts and suckled her. His pulling suction echoed in her cunt and she glided up to press her clit to his belly button.
“Oh, fuck yes,” Shaw mumbled against her skin, for the searing heat of her sex spreading over his stomach, penetrating his umbilicus, made his head spin.
Freya grinned, rolling her hips in a circle around his dented flesh. “Oh, you like that, do you?” she taunted.
Shaw nodded against her skin, pulling her nipple between his teeth as his hands moved down to her ass, cupping her and guiding her to wriggle up as he slid further down the couch.
“There’s something I’d like more, though,” he growled.
She laughed at their rocking and wrestling movements, her thighs splitting wider across his broad chest. Shaw laughed beneath her, slapped her right ass cheek and pushed her onward and upward, tilting his head and allowing his chin to whisper against her labia. She sucked in a breath, bracing. Waiting.
“Now,” he murmured, laughter dying on his lips. “Get up here and feed me that cunt.”
* * * *
For Ethan, time slouched by. He felt as though he was missing a limb. He hadn’t seen Freya in almost two weeks. He hadn’t heard from her — well, not since hearing her (and yes, you know he squirmed every time he recalled that audio grab) — in days.
He toggled between screens — he was currently designing a minimalist wedding invitation for Geneviève and Asher, and updating design and content on a client’s website — distracting himself with the mundane tasks. In the background, keys tapped, phones rang, and papers shuffled.
His eyes flickered to his phone, charging on his desk. Would she cancel their brunch date again? He was torn. If she did, he’d know why. And he just loved imagining the why. But if she didn’t… Ethan squirmed in his seat.
Would it happen again?
Ethan licked his lips, typed text, layered it into the design, adjusted and cropped, fiddled really, putting off going home, where his imagination would be far too active.
He jerked in his seat when his phone chimed, and his heart lurched into his throat. He took a steadying breath before picking up his phone.
F: swing by after work. at home. cooked your fave
Ethan’s heart trebled its rhythm, making his toes curl in his boots.
He hastily saved his work, made notes, updated his clients before closing down for the day. He waved to colleagues, relaxed smile belying his thrumming pulse, calling out farewells as his mind raced forward the twenty-three minutes it would take him to ride to Freya’s home.
Leaving his bike on Freya’s tiny front porch, he rapped her door twice before turning the knob.
“Freya?” he called down the hall. “It’s me.”
“In the kitchen!” came her reply.
Ethan blushed as he moved through her home, remembering the last time he was here and what he’d heard. Freya sat at her kitchen island, a bottle of red open, her lips already blushing merlot. She grinned at Ethan and reached over to pour a second glass.
“Hey, friend. Long time, no see. Sorry about that.” Freya smiled in a way that made the tips of Ethan’s ears pink. He smiled and took a long sip of wine before speaking.
“Uh, yeah,” Ethan said, clearing his throat between syllables as he sat. “Figured you and Shaw…” He tried to smile, but only managed to look nervous.
Excited.
Freya pondered his body language over another sip of wine before she pushed away from the island, over to the sink to take her pipe and stash of weed from the windowsill. She cracked the window open before packing some herb into the glass cone and bringing it to her lips. The dry leaf hissed and fizzed under the flame, and she sucked in a large lungful of courage.
She knew what she wanted to do.
Her cuntwalls collapsed with need before firming up, gripping the remnants of Shaw’s seed still warm and fresh inside her.
Freya exhaled the smoke, head swimming, pussy already tingling in anticipation. She closed the window with a snap and turned to face Ethan, her eyes feline bright with knowing. She liked the way she felt seeing her friend blush.
“So,” Ethan squirmed, heartrate accelerated, fingertips pulsing. “I don’t smell or see any ragu. You lured me here with my favourite.” He tried to chuckle, but it was a somewhat jerky “ha-ha”. He frowned and whetting his very nervous throat with wine.
Freya slunk back to the kitchen island, took another sip of her own wine, her heart beating thick with addled desire, with a sense of power; a new version of herself she desperately wanted to know. She set her glass aside before pushing herself onto the counter top, lifting the hem of her over-sized t-shirt dress. Freya spread supple thighs, left her feet dangling, and exposed her munted pussy to Ethan.
“I thought this was your favourite,” she whispered softly, cunt pulsing round Shaw’s oozing semen, so recently — and deliberately — deposited.
Ethan’s eyes widened, all but boggled, taking in the kaleidoscope of colour between Frey’s legs. The trimmed golden thatch atop her mound, her slick and swollen vulva, a riot of reds and pinks and light purples, her labia dark with desire, and Shaw’s come a fine honeyed-cream leaking from her depths.
Managing, finally, to tear his eyes from her sex, Ethan’s gaze travelled up her body, over her heaving stomach, the rise and fall of her chest with each breath, her nipples hard against the fabric of her dress, cheeks flushed and eyes bright with need.
She’d never looked at him quite like this.
But Ethan knew he didn’t want her to stop.
Like a man starving, he fell into her lap, mouth latching onto her cunt, making her cry out in surprise.
He puckered his lips against her gaping hole, sucking in the depravity of her darkest desires, binding himself to her with his love of the aftertaste.
“Oh, fuck, Ethan,” Freya gasped, her breath catching at the back of her throat, her left hand anchoring back on the countertop, her right fisting in Ethan’s dark hair, pulling his face harder into her flesh, making him groan.
“You’ve been thinking about this for weeks,” she panted. “Haven’t you?”
Ethan uh-hummed his agreement into her flesh, sending her nerve endings into a fizz under his vocals. His tastebuds felt a’fizz under her gyrations, her hole pulsing under his tongue, his saliva emulsifying to a thickened cream with Shaw’s come. Ethan’s eyes rolled back in pleasure as he swallowed and continued his feast.
“Wanting desperately to clean up his dark alley slut,” she continued, face pinching as Ethan’s lips wrapped around her sensitive clitoris and suckled, his tongue curling under to extend her from beneath her hood.
Pale green eyes greedily absorbed her expressive responses to his touch. Her folds were so soft, so smooth, so silken under his tongue. The fact that her sex was still warm from Shaw’s touch only enhanced her textures, her shape, her flavour. She felt like heaven on his tongue. And she looked like a goddess before him.
Ethan kissed her with his entire body, his shoulders angling to wedge her legs wider. He stood, the metallic scraping of the stool lost beneath Freya’s intensifying moans. It toppled unnoticed as Ethan hunched over his best friend, ravenously eating her.
He squeezed his eyes shut tight. This might be his only chance.
With that thought, Ethan growled, eyes closing as he settled into his task, stabbing his tongue into her pliant hole. His head swum with the sensation, with her response: sucked in and tight.
“Oh, fuck, Ethan,” she moaned, and Ethan’s cock strained in his pants at his name on her lips. He reluctantly released her right buttock to adjust himself, squeeze his thighs together before pushing her right flank back, lifting his face only to look down in awe before covering her gash in a desperate, open-mouthed kiss.
“Oh fuck, yes!” Freya cried, both hands now fisted in Ethan’s hair, holding him hard against her sex. “Oh fuck. Shaw said you’d be like this. Fucking whore. Eat me!”
Her demands, her guttural aggression, the fact that she’d talked to Shaw about this, made Ethan’s left knee buckle. He moaned his embarrassed excitement into her flesh, rutting her gash with his face, nose firm against her clit, lips, tongue and chin also pressing as though he would crawl inside her.
He wouldn’t stop, not with the seductive beat her cunt pounded against his open mouth.
Ethan squeezed his thighs together in tandem to her frantic beat, the tightening between his legs, the surge swelling behind his pubic bone, was growing unbearable. He could feel warmth spreading at the front of his briefs and knew he was leaking, unable to contain his excitement.
And the thought that Freya could make him come without even touching him made Ethan’s heart skip a beat.
“Please,” he whispered against her flesh, his lips still making light contact.
Freya lewdly pulled Ethan’s face away from her, her pussy contracting at the sudden cool air after blooming under the drenching heat of Ethan’s mouth.
“Ple-” she panted, “please what?”
Spittle glistened on Ethan’s bottom lip, and his face froze, almost dumbfounded. Didn’t she know? his mind screamed. Couldn’t she tell?
A sly Cheshire cat smile spread across Freya’s features, the submissive in her reading so easily the submissive in him. She tensed her thighs at his shoulders, effectively barring him from her swollen folds until he articulated exactly what he wanted.
He rubbed his lips together, red not from wine but from her, eyes raking up her supple body before locking on her face. “I want you to come in my mouth, Freya. I want it so bad.”
“I know you do, baby,” she crooned, fingertips trailing down his moist cheek. Some detached, observant part of her mind wondered where that voice came from, that touch. “I know what you desperately want.”
Ethan swallowed hard, tasted Freya. “And what’s that?”
Freya rolled her tongue along her bottom lip and smiled. “You want to fuck me with your tongue knowing how Shaw’s fucked me with his cock. You want to feel the way he stretched my cunt, owned me. You want to suck me dry while you mind focuses not only on me. But on him, too.”
“Oh, fuck, yes,” Ethan moaned, descending upon her once again, but this time, Freya bucked her hips up, meeting him hard halfway. And in his mind’s eye, Ethan saw her thrusting her hips up to Shaw’s piercing thrusts – he felt the gaping evidence – saw their primal lust, heard him striking her flesh and calling her Yaya.
He relished her vigorous lifting and pushing; the way her ass clenched beneath his hands when his lips and tongue journeyed over a particularly sensitive spot. His cock strained inside his pants, and without a thought he cupped himself outside the thick material, needing some pressure to fuck against.
“That’s it,” she panted, hand once again fisted at the back of his neck. “That’s it. Fuck that cunt, whore. Tongue me as hard as my bull fucks me.”
Suddenly, Ethan pulled back against her strong hold, eyes feral and hot. He slapped her pussy, once, hard – where the fuck had that come from? – making her cry out. With a smile that matched his eyes, he wriggled his jaw before rutting his mouth through her folds, drowning in her nectar, suckling her labia through his lips. Ethan yawned his mouth wide, preparing to drink and feast as she fell from the peak.
“Come with me,” she panted, nails digging into his scalp. “Come with me.”
On a choked moan, Ethan released Freya’s thighs, mouth following her hips’ descent as he hastily unbuckled his pants and lowered the fly. He tugged his cock free, sighing his relief into Freya’s molten lava, making her squeal with the sensation.
He palmed his cock and balls in his left hand, his right arm curling around her ass and thighs, bridging her back up to his mouth. He jerked his own hips how, fucking his palm as he panted and groaned his pleasure against the cunt he had coveted most of his life.
Freya’s tingling flesh quickened and fluttered. Her juices trebled, and Ethan pursed his lips over her hole to slurp her in abundance.
“Oh fuck!” she cried out as she finally released her pelvic floor, flooding Ethan’s face with her sex, thighs trembling at the effort to hold herself up. Her entire body tightened, convulsed before she began to lewdly rocked her hips, extending her orgasmic high, holding the back of Ethan’s neck, squeezing.
Ethan’s breath caught, sex dripping at the back of his throat, before it released on a strangled groan, his palm filling with sticky, messy heat, his tongue lashing at her folds, soft as butter beneath his breath. Her sex and his merged in his mind, the sticky slick feel of them, in both his palm and in mouth.
“Yes, yes, yes,” she panted, breath almost gurgling as she came again, rewarding him with fresh sex. Overwhelmed, physically and mentally drained, Freya fell back on the countertop, her body a writhing mass of sensation, while Ethan continued to rub his come against his sensitive sac and shaft.
He felt Freya gently push his head, and he turned to kiss her inner thigh, tongue snaking out to savour the taste of her sex mingled sweat at the cease. Still cupping and massaging heat into his skin, Ethan kissed her mons, his lips numb above the trimmed hairs.
Her hand groped down, the movement blind and drunk, before making contact. Her fingertips slid over his hair, down the curve of his shoulder to squeeze in a friendly gesture.
“Mmmm,” she hummed, eyes half mast, a satisfied, secret smile playing on her lips.
Ethan hastily tucked himself away, hissing slightly before rubbing his hand on his thigh. He straightened, moaning as muscles released after having crouched so long in this position. He rubbed his hands up and down Frey’s shins, searching her face for any sign of regret.
But she merely lay there. Glowing.
“Freya?” he finally whispered, when the silence had stretched to maddening.
“Hmmm?”
“Ah, so, um…” he trailed off, completely at a loss. He pulled her shirt down to cover the glistening gem that was now her sex, and dragged the remaining barstool over to sit.
Understanding that her friend’s mind needing easing, Freya pushed herself up, brought her thighs together and pressed her lips together as her pussy continued to ache in glory.
“Hey,” she said gently. “That was great. Exactly what I wanted.”
Ethan lifted his gaze to hers, green eyes brighter now. “Really?”
Freya grinned and grasped Ethan’s hand. “Really, really. I said I’d tell you all about it, didn’t I?”
Ethan’s features shifted with his responding smile. “And next time, too, I hope.”
He had the pleasure of seeing shock blanket Freya’s face before she recovered and gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder.
“Oh, most definitely,” she said, picking up her wine, lifting it in toast to her very best, most best good friend.
The End.