Martha invited me to lunch. She drove me to the city, to a quiet bistro by the river. It was the first time we had seen each other since her party, and I was a little apprehensive. We rarely went as long without talking as we had recently and my misgivings about my behavior with her husband lingered unpleasantly. The number of times I had awakened from my dreams to images of him fucking me and driving me wild…and my thoughts of him as I masturbated in the early morning hours … did nothing to ease my conscience.
By the time we had arrived at the bistro and were seated, we had been talking so easily and freely with each other…so much like we had always talked together over the years… that when she ordered without consulting me it felt as natural as it always had. She had been ordering for me whenever we ate together throughout the time I had known her, even when our husbands were with us. And while the first time she did it I had been a bit taken aback, I had come to regard it as one of the pleasant little eccentricities in our friendship. As we sat together smiling and talking waiting for lunch to be served, my mind wandered to all the little curious details in our friendship which made it so different from any of my other relationships.
Her voice interrupted my reveries when I heard, or thought I heard, her saying at the end of something I had clearly not been listening to very closely, “I have often wondered whether you are as submissive sexually.” I dropped my fork in my salad plate. She looked me directly in the eyes with a smile that lit up her entire face. “I guess that got your attention,” she laughed. “What were you daydreaming about?”
I never pulled punches with her. I didn’t think she did with me. Frankness and honesty formed the core of our relationship. “When you ordered for me it reminded me how you did right from the beginning, no matter where we were or who we were with. How it seemed so natural right from the start. Then I drifted off into all the little peculiarities which have always made our relationship so special for me. So rich.”
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As we walked to the car, arm in arm as we often did, Martha shocked me once again. “What would you have done had I told you to go to the ladies’ room, remove your panties, and give them to me when you returned to the table?” She squeezed my arm a little tighter and took my hand in hers lightly running her fingers up and down my palm. I blushed. I couldn’t utter a word We continued walking arm in arm, but our relationship had already changed. I was sexually aroused. Martha knew it and she knew I knew she knew it.
She opened the car door for me, closed it behind me and took her seat at the wheel. She sat looking at me for the longest time smiling that blissful smile of hers. Her hand traced idly up and down my thigh over my skirt. Without speaking, taking my face between her palms, she leaned toward me and kissed me. It was a deep passionate kiss and my lips yielded to hers instinctively, just as they had yielded to her husband’s that dreadful night. She broke the kiss as suddenly as she had begun it.
“Lift your skirt to your waist,” she told me when I had handed her my panties. I did as I was told. Martha smiled at me. “You really are a good girl. Now spread your legs as wide as you can and push your bottom forward on the seat.” I obeyed. She reached her hand between my thighs and pushed her two middle fingers gently and easily deeply into my cunt until the heel of her palm rested against my mons. She held me for what seemed an eternity, her hand resting still and her fingers curling and uncurling inside me.
She removed her fingers from my cunt as gently as she had penetrated me. Before taking the wheel of the car and pulling into the street, she pressed her two fingers against my lips. I opened for her and as she pressed inside I closed my lips around them and caressed them with my tongue. She pulled them back and forth across the flat, moist length of my tongue as if fucking my mouth. “Very good, Anne,” she murmured as she pulled her fingers slowly from my mouth, “your mouth is as warm and welcoming as your cunt.” She took the wheel of the car and began to drive off.
“Masturbate, but don’t cum. Keep yourself close,” she instructed me as she pulled into a steady stream of cars on the busy downtown street. I did as I was told, and when she drove to her house rather than mine I had been aching on the edge of an orgasm for a good fifteen minutes. She pulled into her driveway. “Straighten your skirt and come with me.”
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Her husband was sitting in the living room. Martha took the chair next to him, leaving me standing facing them. “Remove your skirt, Anne,” she told me quietly. I let it drop to the floor and stepped out of it. “I told you how easy she would be,” she said to him, “and you couldn’t even get that right.” She looked at me, smiling that pretty, winsome smile of hers, and told me, “Stroke yourself like you were doing in the car. Open your legs wider. Pretend you are as delighted displaying your cunt to him as you were to me.” She allowed me to begin, to hear the clickety squish of my juices as my fingers spread my lips, before she said to him, “I know you’re hard. Are you throbbing yet?”
“Almost, Martha,” he replied hoarsely, his voice almost a whisper. I could see his erection fillling his pants. I was soon back to the edge I had settled into during the ride from the restaurant. He was leaking. The doorbell rang and Martha left us…him to sit and watch, me to demean myself a bit longer.
She returned to the living room with two men dressed in black silk pants and turtlenecks. They appeared to be in their late thirties. “Take Anne home,” she told her husband. “Leave your skirt where it is,” she told me, “and masturbate for him the entire ride just as you did for me. You may masturbate as much as you want this week but don’t go any further than you did with me. I’ll pick you up next Saturday and we can go into the city for lunch.”
She turned to her husband. “Drop her at the street. Then go to the lakehouse. I’ll expect you for lunch tomorrow.”
