Eating out at home

They ate like animals.

No talk in it. Mike had his tie off, his sleeves rolled, forearms on the table, sawing at the steak with the knife in his fist. Anna ate with her fingers, tore the rind off in strips, sucked the fat. Two T-bones gone in eleven minutes. The fries went between them off one plate, the last of the gravy mopped up with bread.

I stood by the sideboard, watched.

By the time they pushed back, there was nothing on either plate but bone, a smear, a curl of gristle. I cleared them, took them out, wiped the table, took the bottle through to the living room for them.

They got on the sofa together. She put her feet up in his lap. He had his arm along the back of it behind her head, the telly was on, neither of them said anything to me.

I picked the plates up out of the sink. My stomach had gone past asking.

"Is there anything left?" I said.

Anna turned her head slowly, like the telly had been more interesting than the question.

"Me."

She looked at Mike. Mike looked at her. Then she laughed — one sharp bark of it, the sort of laugh you do at a joke you've only just understood.

"What for," she said again. "You. You'll eat out my pussy."

She sat forward, swung her feet down, planted them, put her back into the cushions. Then she opened her legs. All the way, knees wide, heels skidding out, one hand dropping to pull herself open with two fingers.

The whole of her was shining. White coming out of her in a slow line, the lips swollen red, the hole of her still open from him, the seed pushed up, running down to the sofa.

"Come here, darling," she said. "Have a taste."

I took a step. Stopped.

"Do I need to slap your balls again?"

I got moving. She reached out, felt along the front of the slip, found me stiff as a nail under the jersey, crowed.

"You see? He's hard! Look at him; he's hard." She slapped up into my balls twice, quickly. "That's for hesitating. Two. Now get down."

I winced, got down, knelt in between her heels.

The smell came up at me — thick, close, salt, that turned edge, the warm reek of a body used all evening. Under it something sweet. Something that was just her. My mouth filled.

"Go on then," she said. "You've had it off his cock already. Now have it where it belongs."

I put my tongue out, laid it flat at the bottom of her, dragged it up.

Salt. Heat. The seed was everywhere in it, thick as cream. It went into my mouth in a rush, down my throat; the taste of it in her was nothing like the taste off his skin — fuller, sourer, her own thing stirred through it. I licked again, wider, got a mouthful of the white at the top, swallowed before I'd decided to.

"There he is," she said, settling back, putting her hand on my head, not guiding, just there.

Mike was watching. When I glanced up, he was looking at my ass, of all things, at the slip pulled tight over it with my balls hanging out the front.

"You've got nice panties on, cuck," he said.

His voice had gone different. Lower. It wasn't a joke the way it had been on the porch.

I got back to it. Up the fold with my tongue, round the swollen lip, into her, out, deep as I could push, then up and over the hard little point of her. She jumped, dragged my hair.

"Good. God — good. Keep that."

The cushion dipped behind me. A knee landed either side of my calves.

"Stay like that," Mike said.

His hand went to the back of the slip. He pulled the hem up over my ass, folded it out of the way, then hooked a thumb into the open crotch of it, pulled that wide too. The air came onto my hole, cold; my whole body tightened.

"Look at that," he said. "Nice little thing, isn't it."

Then his thumb was on it, wet, working. A finger went in to the second knuckle. I made a sound straight into Anna's cunt.

"Don't stop eating," she said.

I didn't. Couldn't answer either — my mouth was full. He worked the finger in, out, unhurried, then a second one. There was a stretch, a burn, my cock getting harder than I'd ever known it, standing out of the open front of the slip, knocking against nothing.

"Maybe I should knock you up too," he said, laughed, put the head of himself against me.

Broad. Blunt. Mushroom-capped, that same head I'd had in my own mouth twenty minutes earlier, now at my arse, pressing.

It hurt before it was even in.

"Push out," Anna said from above me. "Breathe out, like I did. Go on."

I breathed out. He pushed.

The ring of mine gave an inch and stopped, the burn going up like a lit match. I groaned round a mouthful of her. He held there. Let me have it. Then he pressed again, the head going through.

I came off her with a noise I didn't know I made.

"Oh —"

"There it is," Anna said, delighted. "There he goes."

Too big. That was the only thought in my head. Too big, wrong shape, wrong place. The burn was enormous, steady, going right up into my stomach. My cock, somehow, had gone harder still. It was jerking with every beat of my heart.

"Keep eating," she said. "You don't stop."

I put my face back down. Licked. He sank deeper.

An inch at a time, slow, patient, the whole width of it dragging, every inch more than the last. I licked her through it, because it was the only thing I could do with my mouth. My jaw was shaking. My knees were sliding on the rug.

Then his hips came flat onto my ass, his balls settled on me. He was in to the root.

"God," he said, ragged. "God, that's tight."

She laughed. "Isn't it."

"Stretched to buggery. Look at him take it."

He pulled back nearly all the way, pushed home again. I shouted into her. The burn flared, settled, flared, something in the middle of it turning over, going warm.

"Let me fuck your man cunt," Mike said.

Then he did.

Long strokes at first, deep, all the way out, all the way in, the sofa arm taking the weight of my shoulders, rocking. My tongue was slopping at her, gone sloppy. She had both hands in my hair now, holding my face down where she wanted it.

"That's it," she said. "Both ends. Oh, look at him."

"Good cuck," Mike said behind me. "That's it. Back onto it. Don't run from it."

I wasn't running. I was pushing back; it came out of me in a groan — long, low, from somewhere under the ribs. He laughed, gave it to me harder for it.

"Fuck. Listen to that. You're a natural. Look how you open up."

The burn had gone to something else. He was hitting a place in me that made my whole front go tight, my cock slapping up against my own belly with every shove, wet at the tip, my balls drawn up hard against me.

"Ohh —" It came out of me into her, muffled. "Oh — God —"

"Don't talk. Eat."

I ate. She was flooding again, fresh, thick, running down my chin, dripping onto the rug. She was making her noises now, small, high, working her hips up into my face.

Mike sped up. Short, fast, driving, the flat of his hand cracking down on my ass once, twice, his breathing going to pieces above me.

"That's it," he said. "Oh — that's it. Open up. Open."

"Ahh —" I got my forehead down against her thigh between licks. "Oh God — oh —"

"Listen to him," Anna said. "He's loving it. Mike, listen to him."

"He is."

"He's moaning like a girl."

"Uhh — oh —"

Then Mike stopped being careful.

He got a fistful of the slip at my hip, hauled me back into him. The strokes went short, brutal, hammering, the whole of him slamming in, his thighs cracking against the backs of mine, my knees going out from under me. He held me up by the hip, kept going. The sofa was walking again. The lamp rattled. Every ram punched a grunt out of me, then a groan, then I lost the shape of it, all one noise.

"Ohh — ohh — ohh —"

"Harder?" he said.

"Yes —"

Anna let go of my hair, reached down the side of the sofa cushion.

"Hold still. Both of you. Hold still."

Her phone. She got it up, thumbed it, framed us.

"Look up, cuck. Look at me." I got my face up, red, wet. She took it. "God, look at that. Look at his face. Oh, that's —" snap "— that's a good one. Ass up, come on, show the join —" snap, snap "— look at that, look how wide he's got him."

She turned the screen round. I could see it: my own asshole, gaping round him, the white mess at the root, my face wrecked.

"Shall we send them to his colleagues?" she said.

Mike laughed, breathless, still working. "Oh Christ. Yes."

"His colleagues, darling. All of them. In the group chat."

"Ohh —" was all I could manage.

"There's a girl on his floor called Bridget," Anna said. "She's going to see this at her desk." Snap. "And the fat one with the beard." Snap. "And his boss."

She sent them. Mike watched over my shoulder, laughed again, a deep, dirty one. It was the laugh that did it — the humiliation going into me like a hand.

"Nice one," he said. "Now back down."

I got my face back into her. He rammed.

Hard. Properly hard, no rhythm left in it, just long brutal drives that put my face into her with each one. I was groaning open-mouthed, gasping. She had a hand back in my hair, the other one still on her phone. Mike was grunting above me like a man swinging an axe.

"Ohh — oh — God — ohh —"

"Nearly," he said. "Nearly, nearly —"

"Here it comes," Anna said. "Look at me. Look at me while he does it."

I got my eyes up. She took one more.

Then he shoved up, jammed, held, his balls pulling up tight. He started to pump.

It came into me hot. That was the shock of it — the heat, spreading, deep, up where nothing had ever been. More of it than I would have believed possible, coming in long surges while he groaned over me like a man in pain. My bowels filled. Filled and filled, could not hold it. The overflow ran back out round him, down over my balls, down the inside of my thighs, dripping.

I came without a hand on me. Straight down onto the rug between Anna's heels, three hard pulls of it. I heard myself make a sound like a sob.

Mike stayed in me. Held there. Panted.

Anna let go of my hair, put her head back on the cushions, laughed softly at the ceiling.

"There we go," she said. "Now you've had your dinner."

Mike pulled out, slowly. The lot came after him. He dropped onto the sofa beside her, both of them breathing like runners, her legs still wide, the phone loose in her hand.

...

"Right," she said, after a while. She sat up, wiped two fingers through the mess on my thigh, stuck them in my mouth. "Tomorrow. Before anything else. You and me are going shopping."

I sucked, looked up at her.

"For a cage," she said.

Mike turned his head.

"Small one," she said, to him, conversationally. "Something tight. He doesn't need the little thing loose in his panties, does he. Not now."

"He doesn't," Mike said.

"No." She took her fingers back, patted my cheek.

Then she kept going, ticking off on her fingers like a woman reading a list in a supermarket.

"Some dresses. Proper ones — not the frumpy stuff. Short. Couple of those."

I blinked up at her.

"Leggings. Two pairs, black, the shiny ones. Tops that show a bit of shoulder." Tick. "Over-the-knee socks. You'll want those for the dresses when it's cold; you're not going out bare-legged in November."

"Anna —"

"Don't. I'm not finished." Another finger. "A tinted lip balm. Nothing whorish, just something with a bit of colour in it. Your mouth's too pale." She tilted her head, looking at it. "Clear brow gel, or tinted if you're brave. Something for the lashes — a basic mascara, that'll do. A pencil if you're steady enough."

She reached down, took my chin between two fingers, turned my face to the light.

"A bralette. A soft one. Not a proper bra; you've nothing to put in it." She let me go. "You'll wear it under the tops. Nothing else."

Mike was grinning at the ceiling, shaking his head slowly.

Anna sat back, looked at me kneeling there on the wet rug in the pink slip, started to chuckle. It got away from her. She put her hand over her mouth; it came out anyway.

"We're going to make you a sweet little man-whore," she said.

Mike laughed out loud.

"Nothing slutty," she said, waving a hand. "Sweet. That's the whole point. Little socks, a bit of lip balm, a cage under the leggings, nobody in that shop knowing a thing except us." She got up off the sofa. "Now, bed. Both of you — no, not you. Rug first. It's in the pile now."

I got up off my knees.

"Oh — darling." She stopped in the doorway, hand on the frame. "Take the bin out before you come up. It's Wednesday tomorrow. Collection's Thursday; it's full of steak bones."

Then she went up, Mike went after her, the landing light went off.

The end?