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The idea for this tale came from a posting by Kinkycanucks on the ‘Story Ideas’ section of the Forum. So thanks to them. As usual, please comment, rate and follow.
‘You are not going to believe what happened to me on Saturday night.’
My neighbour Hazel was looking me straight in the eye while she spoke. She held my look for a long moment before dipping her head to stare into her coffee cup. That alone told me she had something important to reveal. She was seldom so bold.
It was the happened that momentarily stumped me. She wouldn’t have used that word if she wanted to tell me she’d finally finished James Joyce’s Ulysses, or watched a new cinematic masterpiece by an unknown Russian documentarian. If she’d asked me to guess what she was doing on Saturday night those two would have been top of my list.
I took a couple of half-hearted stabs anyway. The serious one was that she’d been taken out to the opera by her husband Dave. More fancifully, I asked if she’d been involved in a minor car accident and been pilloried home on the back of a Harley. It made her laugh, at least.
‘I was gang banged.’
I sprayed coffee right across the table, wetting the front of the low-cut blouse of the type she’d taken to wearing over the past few months. I had to cough out a choke and clear my nose of the drink before I could properly collapse into laughter. I was still chuckling after we’d cleaned the table and ourselves with kitchen towel, then baby wipes and finally tissues: there’d been a lot of coffee. She remained quietly flitting her eyes between me and the hands clasped on her knees until I settled opposite her again.
‘Nice one. You really had me going there. So go on then, what really happened on Saturday night?’
‘I was gang banged, I told you.’
Hazel and I had started out friendly, but not exactly what you’d call friends, when she and Dave moved into the neighbourhood about a year before she’d had Amber. We’d got closer as the pregnancy progressed and I volunteered to help with bits of shopping and housework so she could rest. I’d become her grown-up safety valve during that isolation period when bringing up her infant was a full-time-and-a-half job. That’s when we’d really become tight.
Hazel is gorgeous. She was beautiful in a waif-like way before she got pregnant. If she’d been a few inches taller than her five-six she’d have had a good shot at becoming a model. She has one of those oval faces and Modigliani necks which she framed with an old-fashioned bob of black hair. Her skin is flawless and pale and her clear blue eyes never lost their sparkle. After having Amber, she’d gained curves. Her breasts filled to a C-cup and her slightly wider hips perfectly fitted a well-upholstered butt without detracting from the perfect line of her thighs and calves.
She was, and is, what you’d call self-contained. Shy by default, but forthcoming and straightforward if you engaged with her. If she had more awareness of how stunning she was, she could easily have been the type that other women hated and most men couldn’t wait to hit on. My husband Jack had never developed the skill of checking other women out without it being obvious. I’d had to tell him more than once to stop drooling over her at barbecues and especially pool parties.
She and I started to spend more time together once Amber began crawling and then grew to full toddler. My own kids were young enough to love having her to look after and play with but old enough to be left to get on with it unsupervised. It was then I found out about the depth of her love of literature and the arts.
I found myself reading more than I had for years; mostly her recommendations. I guess it was me constantly talking about my personal life which made her open up on that front. Over about a year, I discovered a lot about her and Dave. She had lost her virginity to him whilst in college and they’d married shortly after graduation. From her description, it was clear he’d had a lot more experience. He’d been a jock back then and had systematically worked his way through the full cheer leader roster.
‘So what do you think about that?’ I’d asked her.
‘I loved him and he fell in love with me. Everything I know about sex I’ve learned from him.’
The first time she directly raised the subject of sex with me was when she asked advice about giving head. I have to say I was surprised. We’d already discussed our youthful years and she’d mentioned how much she’d enjoyed fooling around in cars. I’d assumed that must have included sucking guys off. And I turned out to be right.
‘I always liked having a boy’s penis in my mouth.’
‘So what’s the problem?’
‘No problem. Its just I’d like to improve if I can.’
She explained that Dave was happy for her to take him in her mouth, but always wanted to move on to full sex as soon as he was hard. She sounded positively rueful when she spoke about how much she missed the taste of cum or the feeling of hot spunk splashing against her face.
‘You surprise ankara escort me.’
‘I’m so sorry. I realise this isn’t a normal conversation for neighbours, but I thought…’
”You thought – correctly I might add – that I’d be OK with it. I’m just surprised you’re so forthright.’
‘I find honesty is always the best policy, don’t you?’
I had to think about that one. Telling her about the time, for instance, that a very drunk Dave had felt me up at a Xmas party would probably not have been good policy. Or enlightening her as to some of the thoughts my husband and the other neighbourhood men had about her, for that matter.
‘Do you mind if I ask what made you approach me for this advice?’
‘You’re the best in town.’
”Best in town. Jack told Dave at one of those boys’ nights they organise from time to time.’
‘I’ll kill him.’
‘I haven’t spoken out of turn, have I?’
‘Not you, him. Did he say anything else?’
‘Come on, spit it out.’
‘The others there said that at some of the parties you pleasure them all with your mouth. Dave said that Jack seemed quite proud.’
I was amused more than cross. And very confused. Here was this gorgeous woman frankly raising my prowess at fellatio without a blush. Yet she seemed unable to have the same conversation with her own husband. It didn’t add up. I confessed to her that what had been said was correct. I may have exaggerated the amount I’d had to drink when the marathons happened. and underestimated the number of times for that matter. She didn’t seem in the least perturbed. She agreed immediately to keep it between us – a number of the other guys’ wives may not have been quite so understanding.
The lessons were fun. The boys were used to us getting together to talk books once the children were asleep. Jack was more than pleased to be able to go across to their house and play pool in Dave’s den for a couple of hours. I’d spent a pleasant hour in the market picking out bananas in a variety of sizes. With them, a dildo of mine which sported realistic testicles and a couple of bottles of wine, we were set.
I’d say Hazel was what you’d call a gifted amateur. After we’d exhausted all small talk, emptied the first bottle and looked over a few videos I’d downloaded she licked and gobbled at her first banana. I delivered my verdict.
‘Licking, about seven out of ten; hand work, a creditable five; sucking, a good eight, the way you grip with just your lips is exceptional. Really all we have to work on is your depth.’
‘Deep-throating. Every really great cock sucker has got to have that in her repertoire.’
She giggled. The wine was obviously beginning to take effect. We gargled some more before getting down to it. I told her that to my mind, control was the key. The last thing you want, especially as a beginner, is a guy shoving his meat around like he was in charge. She was impressed when I engulfed the full length of my nine-inch dildo. It took her two or three goes before she could relax her throat enough to take anything like that. She came up coughing and spluttering, but with a look of triumph in her eyes.
We were definitely tipsy now. We both had a go with the one gripping an extra-long banana between our thighs whilst the other went down on it. It must have looked ridiculous. Certainly neither of us managed to stay serious long enough to hold it down for more than a few seconds at a time, so we reached a mutual decision that the lesson was over for the day. I put on the coffee while Hazel poured the rest of the second bottle into our glasses.
‘I’m still not sure how I’m going to persuade Dave.’
‘You could tell him that if he doesn’t cum in your mouth you’ll find someone who will.’
She looked shocked.
‘I couldn’t do that.’
‘Obviously. But does he know that?’
If anything, she looked even more shocked.
‘You mean lie to him?’
‘I’d like to think of it more as offering encouragement.’
‘Just a teeny-weeny white lie?’
‘Not even that.’
‘Do you think Dave and Jack gossip?’
‘I’m not sure what you mean.’
‘Like, does Dave talk about other people and their goings on?’
‘All the time.’
‘Who’s screwing who at the office. That sort of thing?’
‘Well, yes, I suppose he does.’
‘Jack can’t help himself. If you want something spreading round the neighbourhood, just pass it to him and swear him to secrecy.’
She laughed and we swapped tales of other people’s spousal indiscretions our husbands had revealed after being sworn to secrecy. I tapped a message into my phone: H and I have been talking blow jobs. Come back quick after she gets home I need my tonsils spraying xxx. I showed it to her but pressed before she had a chance to stop me. She squealed, went red, slapped my arm, frowned and then joined me in speculating as to whether Jack would share it.
‘I’d give ankara escort bayan it ten seconds.’
‘So if we finish our coffee, give them about ten minutes to slap each other’s butts and talk dirty, then send you home, it’ll be high-protein, liquid nourishment for both of us before bedtime.’
‘You are naughty.’
And I was also right. She passed me the next day, pushing Amber in her buggy as I chatted with another neighbour as we took out the trash. I didn’t say anything. Merely raised an eyebrow. She went red, but nodded imperceptibly before strolling on.
It was shortly after that, that Dave started pushing Hazel to be more adventurous in her look. As brand new, blow-job-buddies, we’d taken to comparing notes on the more intimate aspects of our home lives. I didn’t think too much of it, therefore, when she asked me whether Jack criticised the way I dressed.
‘He wouldn’t dare.’
But do you ask his opinion? Take advice?’
‘You mean before I go out dressed like a tart on the pull?’
‘You do dress a lot more provocatively than I do.’
You can see why I liked her. She wasn’t going to say there were times I looked like I was interviewing for a part-time gig in a knocking shop. But she wasn’t going to contradict me when I implied it.
‘You can guess what I think. Women should wear whatever they like and feel comfortable in. We’re not dress-up dolls in some male-directed game.’
‘Of course, I agree with you. But I do like looking nice for Dave as well.’
‘Good point. Are we talking just for the privacy of your own home? Or does he want you to consider a more public display of your assets?’
‘I think the latter. We’ve been experimenting in the bedroom. He loves me in transparent underwear and sheer stockings.’
Even I gulped at that. We’d seen each other near-nude several times when we’d gone out shopping together. The comfortable bras and sensible knickers she usually wore complemented her outfits of choice perfectly. She dressed comfortably rather than conservatively. Like a lot of young mums her day wear was easy-wash and loose-fitting rather than tight or revealing. Dave, it seemed, had been urging her to get a new swimsuit for the up-coming neighbourhood pool party.
‘He wants me to get a bikini like yours.’
‘Should I be flattered?’
‘He wants you to enter the hard-on stakes.’
She looked confused. I explained that me and several of the girls ran a non-competitive book on who could create the most confusion in the genital area among the guys. It was innocent fun. We all smiled to each other as Lisa’s top slipped, again, as she climbed out of the pool – usually needing a strong, male hand to help her. Kirsty, who prided herself on having the pertest bottom of the group, was forever dropping things and having to pick them up. The rest of us had to compete by standing just a little too close, or accidentally brushing ourselves against guys as we handed out beers or food.
‘You get your fair share of erections just wearing your one-piece and baggy shorts.’
‘Oh yes, you haven’t noticed?’
‘I’d have to check with Carol – she was keeping score at the last one – but you always place comfortably near the top of the chart even though you’re not playing.’
‘I had no idea.’
I searched the kitchen cupboard and handed her a tube of the kids Factor 50 sun cream. I’d guessed she kept herself covered because of her pale skin as much as any style-choice. I explained that having Dave oil her back after she’d made sure the rest of her was completely protected, would almost guarantee victory. We arranged to go swimsuit shopping the next day.
It was fun. We dared ourselves to try on a couple of Brazilian-style stringy numbers before scaling it back. We ended up with complementary designs. The tops revealed plenty of cleavage without there being any risk of nipple-slippage; the bottoms were cut high on the thigh. We agreed that we’d just about get away with wearing them to a public beach. Hazel’s was in shocking pink, mine a dark navy to complement my more-tanned skin and blonde, shoulder-length mane. We bought the wrap-around sarongs which matched them and decided to swap to add a little contrast.
‘My bet is you’ll scoop the pot. You’ll get at least one twenty-pointer before they’re even tipsy.’
‘There’s a bonus of twenty if one of the guys sneaks off to, you know, masturbate.’
‘You meant to say wank, didn’t you?’
We’d been at the wine again while the boys played pool. Ostensibly we’d got together to discuss our latest reading, but with the party coming that weekend, and high temperatures predicted, we’d soon turned to anticipating our bikinis debuts. I’d been explaining the scoring system to Hazel.
‘So its a bit like the golden snitch.’
‘Golden snatch more like.’
‘You are crude sometimes.’
I apologised, but Hazel was fascinated by the complexities of the system. Who decided what constituted escort ankara an erection; who got the points; did someone have to catch a guy tossing himself off for it to count? She kept making Harry Potter references to get it clear in her brain. I told her we’d generally agree together who was getting the points and sent a volunteer after any of the boys who looked like he was ready to pop.
‘Are they expected to provide the relief?’
‘It’s not compulsory, but there are those who are more neighbourly than others.’
‘I see. You don’t mind me asking these questions?’
‘Of course not. There’s an unspoken agreement that the guy has to ask first and that it doesn’t count if they catch Carol or me.’
‘One last question.’
‘Do they expect hand- or blow-jobs?’
‘You know. I’ve never thought. They’re just delighted to take what’s on offer.’
She looked wistful for a second.
‘I haven’t given a hand-job for years.’
‘No, like I’ve said before, penetration is the only thing that counts with him.’
‘Jack would never forgive me if I don’t mention he’s available should you wish to get back into practice.’
‘You wouldn’t mind?’
‘Nah. What’s a hand-job between friends? You’d have to give him notice, of course. Ninety seconds should be enough. You want me to call him?’
‘Don’t you dare. Dave would never…’
‘Has Dave ever asked for someone’s help like that?’
‘Not from me, he hasn’t. And I’m pretty sure one of the others would have mentioned it if he had. He’s pretty buff.’
‘I’m not sure how I’d feel if you’d said yes.’
We left the questions unresolved and finally began discussing the book we’d been reading. The pool party was a great success. Hazel and I made our entrances to actual wolf whistles. Lisa, who was keeping the book that evening, took our five dollars for the pot, but said to the others there that we should just give the money straight to Hazel. It was taken in good heart as several of us had to go over to our husbands and push their dropped-jaws back into place.
Kirsty’s hubby had to scoot off to the bathroom before Hazel had finished oiling herself up. Three more departed as Dave performed his husbandly duties on her back and legs. The care he took around the hems of the tight-fitting bikini was exemplary. It started the party with a swing and the rest of the evening was definitely more raucous than usual. For the first time in living memory we needed to arrange a beer run. Hostess Carol took my Jack off for some horticultural advice about a section of moribund hedging. It provided barely any cover after she got on her knees and sucked him off.
Hazel asked me about it when she popped over for coffee a few days later.
‘You didn’t mind?’
‘Maybe a little. We are usually more discreet.’
‘Dave wouldn’t talk about anything else for ages after we got home.’
‘What did you make of it?’
‘To be honest, I didn’t notice until he told me.’
‘You really thought Jack was an expert gardener?’
‘Well no. But he’s always helpful. I was more concentrating on my tan. I didn’t want to burn.’
‘Even though you were in shadow most of the time because of all the guys standing around staring at your body?’
She gave a little tinkling laugh. It was cute.
‘Dave said he was really proud of the attention I was getting.’
‘Proud? That’s an interesting word. What did you think?’
‘I thought the guys had a lot more stiffies than I’ve noticed before.’
‘And do you take any responsibility for that, missy?’
She liked it when I went maternal on her.
‘Dave thought it was down to me. I told him I hadn’t seen so many since my cheer leading days.’
‘What did he say to that?’
‘Somehow we got on to what I got up to on the back seats of cars during my dating days. It really turned him on.’
‘You haven’t spoken about it before?’
Turned out they hadn’t. Dave had seen the blood after he took her virginity and just assumed her sex life before him had been non-existent or ultra-vanilla. She told me that he’d got really turned on, something she attributed to the number of beers he’d had rather than the topic of conversation. And even though he let her stroke him almost to orgasm, he still insisted of fucking her but came almost immediately.
It was a topic Hazel and I returned to again and again over the next few weeks. It sounded like Dave was getting a bit obsessed with her and other men. He persuaded her to buy increasingly revealing dresses to wear when they went out to restaurants on date nights. I often babysat Amber and saw her transition to shorter and shorter hem lines and lower and lower scooped tops. When they went out with her obviously wearing stockings and a garter belt for the first time, I insisted she come round the next morning.
You have to look hard at a beautiful woman to notice they’re worse for wear. Hazel’s tell was that she was wearing full make-up, otherwise I’d never have guessed. When I asked her how the evening had gone, she spent the first ten minutes telling me how much she’d drunk and how unwell she still felt. I had to prod her to talk about the impact of the outfit.
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