Chapter 15: The morning after tea service
The next morning, the sound of the shower spray was a white noise curtain. Sara lay still, listening to Doug move through his routine—the squeak of the faucet, the sigh of steam under the bathroom door. She counted to sixty. Then she slipped from the sheets, pulled on a light robe, and padded barefoot to the front door.
The morning air was cool and damp. Mike from two doors down was already at his SUV, fumbling with travel mugs and a briefcase. He was a bear of a man in his forties, perpetually harried, with a kind smile and wedding ring that shone under the streetlight.
“Mike,” she said, her voice husky with manufactured sleep.
He jumped. “Sara! Jesus, you scared me. Everything okay?”
“More than okay.” She let the robe fall open just enough. She was naked beneath. She closed the distance between them, the dew-wet grass cold under her feet. “I had the craziest dream about you.”
“What? I—” His protest died as she dropped to her knees right there on his driveway, the asphalt rough and gritty. She yanked at his belt and zipper before he could think. He was soft, nestled in cotton boxers. She didn’t care. She took him in her mouth, all of him, using her tongue and the wet heat of her throat to coax him to life. It was frantic, hungry work. She sucked with a desperate, noisy urgency, her hand pumping what her mouth couldn’t yet take. He swore, his hands fluttering to her shoulders, then tangling in her hair. He was hard in under a minute, thick and blunt.
“Christ, Sara… someone will see…”
She ignored him, bobbing her head with a savage rhythm. She needed this. This quick, anonymous taste of a different life, a different man, stolen in the pale dawn. She felt his legs tense, heard his breathing shred. She plunged down, taking him deep, and swallowed convulsively just as the first hot pulse hit the back of her throat. He came with a stifled groan, his hips jerking. She sucked him clean, until he was soft and shrinking.
She pulled off, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and stood up without a word. She closed her robe, turned, and walked back to her house, leaving him leaning dazedly against his car door.
Back in the bedroom, the shower was still running. Her heart hammered against her ribs. The taste of Mike—bland, slightly bitter—was still on her tongue, layered over the memory of Travis from the night before, and Ben after that. She dropped the robe and lay back on the rumpled bed. Her fingers went straight between her legs. She was soaked, swollen, aching with a need that felt bottomless.
She fingered herself roughly, two fingers plunging in and out of her slick cunt, her thumb grinding hard circles on her clit. Her back arched off the mattress. She pictured Ben’s stunned face, his cock sliding past her lips. She moaned, louder.
The shower stopped. A minute later, the bathroom door opened, a cloud of steam billowing out. Doug emerged, a towel around his waist. He stopped. He saw her: legs splayed, fingers working furiously at her pussy, her skin flushed, her eyes closed in concentration.
He didn’t say a word. He dropped the towel. His cock was already achingly hard, jutting out from his body. He walked to the side of the bed and stood there, next to her face, a towering, silent obelisk of flesh.
Sara opened her eyes. She looked up at him, her fingers never slowing their rhythm. A slick, filthy sound filled the space between them.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about it,” she breathed, her voice raw. “About his cock in my mouth last night. About how fucking good it felt.” She pumped her fingers deeper, curling them. “The taste, Doug. It was different than yours. Lighter. Saltier. I loved it. I loved swallowing every fucking drop he gave me.”
Doug’s jaw was clenched. A muscle twitched in his temple. He stared down at her, at her frantic hand, at her breasts jutting with each sharp breath, trembling with her hand's movements.
“Thank you,” she gasped, her climax coiling tight, sparked by her own words and his silent, towering presence. “Thank you for letting me have it. For giving me his cum.”
That did it. A shudder wracked Doug’s frame. His cock, ignored and untouched, gave a mighty throb. The head darkened, swelled. With a guttural, strangled sound that was ripped from his core, the first jet erupted. It shot through the air, a thick, white arc that splattered across Sara’s cheekbone and into her hair. The second rope painted her lips and chin. The third, and fourth, and fifth came in a hot, frantic rain, streaking across her throat, her collarbones, pooling in the valley between her bare, heaving tits.
He came just as he had the night before: untouched, unmanned by the sheer visual and auditory carnage of her hunger. As the final spurts dribbled onto her stomach, Sara’s own orgasm tore through her, silent and convulsive, her cunt clenching wildly around her own fingers.
He stood over her, breathing hard, spent, his cock bobbing in the air, still hard and leaking drops of cum with each post-orgasmic twitch. Sara lay beneath him, painted in the evidence of the effect her slutty hunger had on him.
Sara giggled as she looked up at him. "Mmm, babe you came again just like that. Do you like seeing another cock in my mouth that much?"
She lifted herself up to her knees on the bed, draping her arms around his neck and leaning into him, meeting his hungry eyes. His cum slid down her face as she smiled impishly, and she pressed into him gently, his throbbing cock pressing against her belly as her breasts flattened into his chest.
"Does it turn you on that much to see their hard shaft slowly disappear between my lips?" She leaned closer, feeling his cock twitch involuntarily at her words. She whispered in his ear, her breath hot against his neck, "Or watching me swallow their hot, delicious, cum?"
His hands, which had been hanging at his sides, came up to grip her hips, his fingers biting into her skin. "All of it," he rasped, his voice shattered. "Every fucking thing. The look on your face when you're hungry for it. The sounds you make."
She ground her sticky belly against his hard cock, smearing his own spend between them. "What else?" she purred, licking a stray drop from the corner of her mouth.
He was breathing in ragged hitches. "The way your eyes glazed over sucking Ben off. You forgot I was in the goddamn room. You forgot my dick was right there, needing you. You just... consumed him, you lost yourself in worshipping his dick." His hips began a shallow, involuntary thrust against her, his slick length sliding in the mess on her skin. "You didn't just want his cum, you needed it. His cock was the center of your world. It's the most slutty, sexual, perfect thing I've ever seen."
"Tell me more," she whispered, her hand sliding between them to wrap around his shaft, pumping him slowly in her cum-slicked grip.
"You look like a fucking angel who fell straight into hell," he groaned, his head dropping forward. "You look so innocent and so completely wrecked at the same time. And the sounds... those wet, greedy sucking sounds... the way you gulped down every drop like you were utterly starved for it... they’re all for him, but they’re for me, too. You’re my perfect slut."
His words, raw and unfiltered, poured gasoline on the fire in her belly. She tightened her fist on his cock, her thumb swirling over the leaking slit. "Your perfect slut," she echoed, a moan threading through her voice. "Who needs other cocks. Who needs more." She paused, licked his earlobe and whispered in his ear. "Cum."
That was the trigger. A harsh, broken cry was torn from Doug’s throat. His cock jumped violently in her hand, and then he was coming again, a second, shocking torrent that painted hot stripes across her abdomen, mixing with the first cooling load. His body shook with the force of it, his orgasm ripped from him by her words and her touch and the devastating truth of what they were now. Sara rocked against him, milking every last spasm, feeling his warmth soak her skin.
When he was finally spent, swaying on his feet, she released him. She smiled, a real, radiant thing amidst the carnage. "Thank you," she said softly, then turned and walked toward the bathroom, leaving him standing there, hollowed out and trembling.
The water was scalding. She let it sluice the evidence of her husband’s startling devotion from her skin, but it couldn’t wash away the restless buzz in her nerves. It hummed under her skin, an electric current seeking a ground. Doug's complicity, his hunger to see her devour cock mirroring her own need did nothing to diminish it, it only amplified her hunger.
She dressed mechanically in clean jeans and a simple blouse, the fabric feeling like a cage. She found herself dreaming that she could just stay naked all day, that men would come by and give her the cock and cum she craved. Her hands began to wander as she looked at herself in the mirror, touching her breasts as she relived seeing her husband's cock bobbing in the air untouched, his orgasm ripping through him at the mere memory of another man's cock between her lips. She smiled as she thought of how much more cum she could tease out of him.
The doorbell rang, snapping her from her fantasies and scheming. She was almost thankful for rhe interruption, at this point she felt like she could just stay in bed and masturbate all day. She padded down the stairs to the front door, her eyes falling on the living room floor where she had sucked Ben's cock so recently, and she smiled at the image as she opened the door.
Barbara stood on the step, her smile as crisp and pressed as her linen trousers. "Sara, dear. I was hoping you'd have a moment for tea."
The invitation was not a question. Barbara’s eyes, a pale, watery blue, took in Sara’s freshly-scrubbed appearance, and something knowing flickered in their depths. It was the same look she’d had watching Travis the night before.
"Of course," Sara heard herself say.
Barbara’s living room was stifling in its quiet perfection. Sunlight streamed through the impeccable window, highlighting dust motes dancing in the silent air. The scent of lavender from a plug-in clashed with a underlying tang of lemon polish. Sara sat on the edge of a cream-colored sofa, a delicate china cup trembling in her hand.
"Travis has been such a handful lately," Barbara said conversationally, pouring Earl Grey from a pot adorned with roses. "All that youthful energy. It needs... direction."
A floorboard creaked. Travis slouched into the doorway to the kitchen. He looked wrecked, his eyes hollow, his movements sluggish. He wouldn't meet Sara’s gaze.
"Travis," Barbara said, her voice not rising a decibel. "Join us."
He shuffled in, wearing sweatpants and a faded t-shirt. He stood near his mother’s chair, a reluctant sentinel.
"Don't just stand there. You're making our guest uncomfortable." Barbara sipped her tea. "You remember what we discussed about punishments for your little... display last night."
Travis’s jaw tightened. A flush crept up his neck.
"Now," Barbara said, setting her cup down with a precise click. "For starters, you will apologize to Sara for your indecency."
Travis’s eyes, bloodshot and defeated, finally flicked to Sara’s. "Sorry," he mumbled, the word barely audible.
"Your mother can't hear you, dear," Barbara chided gently.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, louder, his voice flat.
"Good." Barbara’s smile returned. "But an apology is just words. Real penance requires action. Strip."
Sara’s cup froze halfway to her lips. Travis didn't hesitate. He pulled his shirt over his head, let his sweatpants and boxers pool at his feet. He stood naked in the sunlit room, his body lean and pale. He was already half-hard, a physiological betrayal that made Sara’s breath catch. The memory of him throbbing in his fist across the street was suddenly a physical presence in the room.
"Over here," Barbara instructed.
Travis slowly stepped forward, facing the two women seated on the sofa. His cock, now fully erect, stood out starkly against the muted pastels of the room. Barbara leaned forward, her movement efficient. She didn't touch him with anything but her hand. She spat neatly into her palm, the sound obscenely loud.
She took his shaft in a firm, practiced grip and began to stroke. It was a mechanical, ruthless motion. Up. Twist. A tight squeeze at the head. Down. Travis’s eyes squeezed shut, a muscle feathering in his jaw. He was biting back sound.
"The Andersons are putting in a new fence," Barbara said calmly to Sara, her hand working steadily. "PVC, can you imagine? It looks so cheap."
Sara couldn't speak. She could only watch the mesmerizing, horrific rhythm of Barbara’s hand, the way Travis’s balls drew up tight, the way his hips began to twitch minutely despite his obvious shame. The room smelled of lavender, tea, and the rising, muskier scent of Travis’s arousal.
"You know, I think PVC won't last half as long as redwood," Barbara continued, her eyes fixed on Sara’s, not on her son’s tormented body. "It’s a false economy."
Travis was breathing in sharp gasps now. A low whine escaped his throat. Barbara increased her pace, her knuckles white with the force of her grip. "Mind the cup, dear," she said to Sara, her tone conversational.
Sara looked down at the half-empty teacup in her hand, the amber liquid swirling gently. Realization dawned, cold and sharp.
Barbara’s strokes became brutal, a rapid, twisting piston. Travis cried out, his body bowing. "Now," Barbara commanded, her voice cutting through his gasp.
With a convulsive shudder, Travis came. His release wasn't a spurt but a thick, continuous rope that arced through the air. Barbara aimed expertly. The first hot jet hit the tea in Sara’s cup with a soft plink, swirling into the liquid. The second and third pulses followed, splashing over the rim, coating the delicate china handle in pearlescent strands. Sara sat frozen, the warmth of the cup bleeding into her hand, watching Travis’s body empty itself into her beverage as his mother held him firmly, milking him with clinical thoroughness.
Barbara finally released him. Travis leaned back, his head thrown back panting, spent and trembling. Barbara plucked a linen napkin from the tray and carefully wiped her fingers. She took a sip of her own, untainted tea.
"Always use a coaster, Travis," she sighed, glancing at a drop that had fallen on the polished mahogany table. "The finish is so delicate."
Travis nodded, standing there in front of them, his monster of a cock hanging heavily between his legs. Despite it's thorough milking, as the young man's eyes flicked to Sara's cleavage and the cum filled tea in her hands, his cock began to swell with arousal once more.
She turned her serene, smiling face back to Sara, whose own cup now held a swirling, opaque mixture of bergamot and seed. "Now, where were we, dear? The fence, I believe. Do take a sip before it gets cold."
Sara nodded, the absurdity of the situation washing over her as she raised the cup to her lips. Her eyes traveled the length of Travis's cock from tip to base as she took a long drink of her tea, the cum sliding warmly down her throat along with it. "Delicious Barbara, thank you." she said as she leaned forward to place the cup back on the table. Travis's eyes were locked on her cleavage, it threatening to burst from her top as she leaned over. His cock pulsed, twitching involuntarily with need. Sara licked her lips and sat back in her chair.
"I was never fond of the taste of the stuff to be perfectly honest." Barbara commented, drinking her own tea, ignoring the young man's cock stiffening between them. "I'm sure my husband Steven wished I did, he used to beg me to finish him that way, but I could never bring myself to it. I apologize if that's crude conversation over tea, but I feel as if I can open up to you."
Sara nodded, understanding. "No of course, I don't mind."
Barbara smiled "Thank you dear, I do appreciate you allowing me to share. Do you need a top up?"
She reached out and grasped her son's cock again, wagging it back and forth like she was offering Sara a drink of gin. Sara nodded with a smile "I'd love some more. Straight up this time though please."
Barbara nodded, pleased with herself, and resumed her mechanical milking of her son's throbbing 12 inches of thick cock meat, Sara felt her pulse quicken as she remembered how much it stretched her. "I do apologize for my son's lecherous displays, but at least this brutish, oversized, slab of meat that he calls a cock is good for something."
Barbara’s hand was a relentless machine on her son’s shaft. The rhythm was impersonal, a pistoning wrist that turned flesh into a utility. Sara watched, her own mouth gone dry, as the pale skin of Travis’s cock glistened under his mother’s practiced grip. He was panting now, shallow gulps of air, his eyes screwed shut against the humiliation that did nothing to soften the rigid thickness in her fist.
“Open your mouth, dear,” Barbara said, not looking at Sara, her focus on the purpling head swelling in her hand. Her tone was the same as when she’d discussed the fence. “Catch.”
Sara leaned forward on the cream sofa, her lips parting. A sharp, salty tang hit her tongue a second before the first hot jet. Travis’s body locked, a silent scream in the cord of his neck, and his cum painted the back of Sara’s throat in thick, viscous pulses. She swallowed automatically, the warm, bitter load sliding down her esophagus as another spurt followed, then another, flecking her lips and chin. Barbara kept stroking, milking out every last drop until Travis shuddered, spent.
“The Wilsons got a new dog,” Barbara remarked, releasing his softening cock and again wiping her hand on the linen napkin. “A yappy little thing. Barks at all hours.”
Travis swayed, his knees weak. But his body, traitorous and young, was already responding again. The spent shaft twitched against his thigh, then began its sluggish, inevitable ascent back to fullness. The sight of Sara, lips wet with him, seemed to fuel it. He grew harder, faster this time, a dark, veined testament to a shame he couldn’t control.
“It really is excessive, isn’t it?” Barbara murmured, taking up her tea. She nodded toward her son’s re-emerging erection. “The persistence. Almost vulgar.”
She set her cup down and reached for him again. This time, her grasp was crueler, her thumb digging into the sensitive spot beneath the crown. Travis hissed. Sara kept her mouth open, a hungry vessel waiting to be filled. Barbara worked him with a brutal efficiency that bypassed pleasure entirely, driving him toward a purely mechanical release. His second orgasm was a ragged, gasping thing. The cum came in shorter, tighter spurts, but Sara took them all, her tongue darting out to catch the strings that hung from his tip, swallowing with a soft, eager gulp.
Barbara finally let go. Travis slumped, his body gleaming with sweat, his cock now limp and thoroughly drained. He looked hollowed out, ruined.
“Steven will be home for his lunch break soon,” Barbara said, glancing at the sleek clock on the mantle. “Go clean up, Travis. You’re done.”
He didn’t need telling twice. He gathered his clothes from the floor and shuffled out of the room without a backward glance, his footsteps heavy on the stairs.
Sara sat back, licking the last remnants from her lips. The taste of him, twice over, was a dark spice on her tongue. She made to stand. “I should probably…”
“Stay a little while longer, Sara,” Barbara interrupted, her smile serene. “I’d appreciate the company. And Steven does so love meeting the neighbors.”
The front door opened and closed a few minutes later. Steven Barnes was a broad, genial man in his late fifties, with kind eyes and the worn hands of someone who worked with them. He carried the faint smell of sawdust and sunshine.
“Hello, love,” he said, leaning down to peck Barbara’s cheek. He noticed Sara and offered a warm, slightly puzzled smile. “Oh, hello there. I didn’t know we had company.”
“Steven, this is Sara from across the street,” Barbara said, her voice a smooth purr. “We’ve been having the loveliest chat.”
“Pleasure,” Steven said, nodding. He moved to sit in his armchair, but Barbara stopped him with a hand on his wrist.
“I was just telling Sara,” Barbara began, her fingers tracing his palm, “about how you’ve always wanted a proper blow job.”
Steven’s face blotched crimson. He jerked his hand back as if scalded. “Barbara! For God’s sake, woman. You can’t say things like that. Not in front of…” He gestured helplessly at Sara, his flustered mortification filling the sterile room.
Barbara shushed him, the sound soft and final. She stood, closing the distance between them, and placed a placating hand on his chest. “I didn’t say I’d be the one doing it, darling.”
She turned her head, those pale eyes locking onto Sara’s. The invitation was absolute, a royal command draped in pastels and politeness. “Sara, would you be a dear and suck my husband’s cock for him? He’s waited so long.”
Sara’s pulse hammered in her throat. She looked from Barbara’s composed face to Steven’s, which was a mask of stunned, bewildered arousal. She slid off the sofa and onto her knees on the plush carpet, the position feeling more natural than standing.
“I… Barbara, this is… we can’t…” Steven stammered, but his protest died as Sara’s hands went to his belt. His body was rigid, but he didn’t push her away. She unbuckled him, popped the button of his khakis, and pulled down the zipper. He was already hard, a thick, weighty heat straining against his boxers. She freed him.
Steven’s cock was different than Travis’s brutal slab or Doug’s familiar mastery. It was solid, substantial, with a curved dignity to it. She nuzzled into his graying pubic hair, inhaling his earthy, masculine scent, then took him into her mouth without preamble.
“Oh, Christ,” he groaned, his hands coming down to clutch the arms of his chair, knuckles white.
Barbara, meanwhile, climbed into his lap, straddling his thighs, her back to Sara. She framed Steven’s shocked face with her hands and kissed him deeply, swallowing his moans. Sara watched their passionate, hungry kiss from between Steven’s knees as she worked his cock with her mouth. She sucked him with a devoted focus, her tongue swirling around the broad head, her lips sealing tight as she plunged down, taking him as deep as she could.
The wet, obscene sounds of her sucking filled the quiet room, syncopated with their smacking kisses. Steven’s hips began to jerk upward, meeting her descents. One of his hands left the chair arm and tangled in Barbara’s hair; the other found its way to the back of Sara’s head, not forcing, but resting there in trembling acknowledgment.
“I’m gonna… I can’t…” Steven warned, his voice strangled.
Sara pulled off, gasping. “Cum in my mouth,” she breathed, her own need a frantic drumbeat. “Please. I want to taste it.”
She took him back, sucking hard, and he shattered. His orgasm erupted in hot, frantic pulses against the roof of her mouth. She drank him down, swallowing each salty, bitter gush, her throat working until he was spent. She gently suckled him clean, but he didn’t soften. He remained rigid in her mouth, twitching with a renewed, almost desperate vitality.
Barbara broke the kiss, smiling down at her husband’s flushed, overwhelmed face. “See, darling?” she whispered. “I told you she was hungry for it.”
Sara, without being asked, began again. She worshiped his resilient cock with her tongue and lips, coaxing him back to fullness within minutes. The second time he came, it was with a broken sob, his fingers clutching her hair as he emptied another heavy load down her waiting throat. She swallowed every drop, moaning around his flesh at the taste, at the sheer abundance of it.
When she finally pulled away, breathing hard, Steven’s cock still stood proud, wet and gleaming. Barbara was watching her, a look of cool appraisal in her eyes. Sara knew, with a certainty that burned in her gut, that she wasn’t leaving until this man had nothing left to give. She lowered her head again, a willing servant to her hunger and Barbara's offerings.
Barbara slid to the arm of the couch, an arm around her husband, watching Sara nuzzle at his cock with soft kisses and licks, giving her jaw a chance to recover while still indulging in her passion. "You really do love doing that, don't you dear?"
Sara smiled up at her, her lips pressed against Steven's shaft. She nodded and then gently took the head into her mouth again, suckling at it while holding the woman's eyes. Her nerves were buzzing with need, her core tightened, begging for an orgasm of her own. As much as Sara wanted to come as well, her need was outweighed by her need to please the cock in front of her, to taste her reward, and strangely, to see Barbara's approval. Barbara smiled back at Sara and said with a soft voice, "Simply magnificent darling." She turned to her husband. "Isn't she wonderful my love? What a treasure. Why you've cum twice already and you're as hard as I've ever seen you."
Steven moaned in response, clearly unable to think of an appropriate answer while so distracted. Sara felt a shiver run through her body at Barbara's praise, like a fleeting aftershock of an orgasm she hadn't had yet.
"You have enough time for another one before you must get back to work my love." Barbara said, casually, as if she was proposing another hand of cards. "What would you like to spill yourself into? In your dear wife's hot pussy, or into this talented young slut's hungry mouth?"
Steven looked conflicted, stammering out, "In you my love, there is no other I would rather." while reaching up to cup his wife's breast. He did not however move to take his cock from between Sara's lips.
Barbara smiled, putting her hand over his. "You flatter me my dear, but be honest with me."
Her husband sighed and meekly responded "It just feels so good love, her tongue, my god. I want to feel her swallow it down again."
Barbara chuckled, "I thought so lovey. Why don't I get you a coffee started so she can take her time and let you enjoy yourself a little longer."
Sara hummed happily as she nestled closer between the older man's legs, making Steven's cock her whole world. Barbara lifted herself off of her husband. She stopped next to Sara and stroked her hair, "Such a lovely girl, take your time, get every last drop into that hungry, talented mouth." Sara's body rippled with miniature shockwaves of pleasure at the woman's praise and she cooed happily, smiling around the shaft back at her, her eyes bright with perverse pride.
Barbara returned with the coffee, setting it next to her husband and sat down on the couch to watch Sara work. Sara edged the older man as long as she could, knowing that the longer she could prolong it, the more cum he would reward her with. But her fun had to come to an end eventually, as Barbara tapped her watch quietly to signal that he must be getting on.
Sara took his trembling shaft halfway into her mouth and began assaulting it with her tongue, aggressively milking it. She was soon rewarded with the fruits of her labor as she felt him shake, pulse, and then flood her mouth with his warm release. She resisted the urge to swallow, letting her mouth fill, savoring the taste and the thrill before releasing his spent member with a wet pop, finally sitting back on her haunches, arching her back to thrust her chest forward, tilted her head back, and swallowed dramatically. She let her head fall back forward an planted a final kiss on the tip of Steven's trembling dick and said a quiet "Thank you for lunch."
Steven chuckled and tucked himself away, taking his coffee and kissing his wife, before walking to his car shaking his head in disbelief, a slight spring in his step.
Barbara helped Sara to her feet and walked her to the door. "Thank you so much dear, I do believe you made his year, if not this decade. You were wonderful. Why I'd recommend you to any of my lady friends."
Sara beamed with pride, her body still humming with unaddressed need. She met Barbara's eyes with a glimmer in her own. "It was my pleasure Barbara, truly. Any time."
Sara left the house and strolled across the street back to her own, still empty and quiet woth Doug at work until suppertime. With her body buzzing and her mind reeling she wasted no time in heading straight upstairs to bring herself to a much needed orgasm and afternoon nap.