Chapter 4: Mid-Game Snack
The sharp click of polyhedral dice against the wooden table was the only sound for a moment, followed by a collective groan. “Natural one,” Mark sighed, pushing his character sheet away in mock despair. “The gelatinous cube is just going to have to digest me.”
Laughter rippled around the table. Doug leaned back, a satisfied smile on his face as he took a sip of his beer. As the Dungeon Master, his creatures feasting on player characters was a perverse point of pride. His eyes found Sara, who was watching him with a peculiar, unreadable intensity. She hadn’t touched her wine.
“I need a refill,” she announced, her voice a little too bright. She stood, her hand brushing Doug’s shoulder as she passed. “Doug, help me find that new bottle of Pinot? I think it’s buried in the kitchen.”
He followed, the familiar request feeling anything but. The kitchen was warm, lit by the soft glow of the under-cabinet lights. The hum of the refrigerator seemed louder in here, away from the friends' chatter.
As soon as the swinging door closed behind them, the air changed. Sara didn’t move towards the wine rack. She turned, her back against the worn wooden table, and hooked her fingers into the belt loops of his jeans, pulling him flush against her.
“I’ve been thinking about that video all day,” she whispered, her breath hot against his neck. Her eyes were dark, pupils swallowing the blue. “About how much you liked watching me suck another man’s cock.”
Doug’s breath hitched. The memory, which had been a low hum in his blood all afternoon, roared to life. “Sara, the guys are right there…”
“They’re rolling for initiative,” she murmured, her hands already working his belt buckle open. The clink of the metal was obscenely loud. “It’ll take them ten minutes. Now be quiet and let me taste you.”
She dropped to her knees on the cool tile floor, not waiting for a reply. Her fingers yanked his jeans and boxers down to his thighs in one practiced, desperate motion. His cock, already half-hard from her words, sprang free, thick and eager.
She didn’t tease. She took him whole, her mouth a wet, scorching heaven. Her head bobbed, a frantic, hungry rhythm that stole the air from his lungs. One hand gripped the base of his shaft, the other fondled his balls, rolling them gently as she deepthroated him with a guttural, choking sound that made his knees weak. He had to brace himself against the table, his knuckles white.
“Fuck, Sara,” he grunted, his head falling back. He could hear the faint voices from the other room, discussing spell slots and armor classes. The mundane conversation was a bizarre counterpoint to the raw, filthy act happening here, in the heart of their home. His wife, the beautiful, composed woman their friends saw, was on her knees greedily swallowing his length, her mascara starting to smudge.
She pulled back, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his glistening tip. “I want you to come in my mouth,” she panted, her voice ragged. “I want to walk back out there and know I’m full of you. That I’m your little cumslut while they all talk about their stupid game.”
Her words were a detonation. His control shattered. He fisted his hands in her blonde hair, not gently, and began to fuck her face in earnest, driving his cock down her throat with short, brutal thrusts. She gagged, tears springing to her eyes, but she took it all, her hands gripping his thighs, urging him on. The wet, slapping sounds of his skin against her face, the choked gags, the raw, animalistic grunts he couldn’t suppress—it was a symphony of depravity.
His orgasm ripped through him without warning, a seismic surge of pleasure that curled his toes. He held her head down, impaling her throat as he emptied himself, pulse after hot, thick pulse shooting directly into her. She swallowed convulsively, her throat working around him, drinking every drop until he was spent, shuddering and sensitive.
He released her hair, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Sara slowly pulled back, his softening cock slipping from her lips with a soft, wet pop. She looked wrecked and utterly beautiful. Her lipstick was gone, her lips were swollen, and her eyes were glazed with a mixture of submission and triumph. A single, stray pearl of his cum glistened at the corner of her mouth.
She rose unsteadily to her feet, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth, but missing that one, telling spot. She smoothed her dress, a wicked smile playing on her lips as she looked at his dazed expression.
“Found the wine,” she said, her voice hoarse. She picked up a random bottle from the counter and walked back towards the dining room, leaving him to hurriedly tuck himself back into his pants, his heart hammering against his ribs.
He took a moment, splashing water on his face from the kitchen sink, trying to compose himself. When he returned to the table, the game was in full swing again. Mark was describing his cleric’s desperate prayer.
Sara was seated, sipping from a freshly poured glass of red. She looked over the rim at Doug, her eyes locking with his. Then, deliberately, slowly, her pink tongue darted out and licked the tiny, glistening spot of his semen from the corner of her lips.
A jolt of pure, unadulterated lust, mixed with a dizzying spike of possessive pride, shot through him. She gave him a small, secret smile before turning back to the group.
“So,” she said, her voice perfectly normal. “Did the cube win?”
“Did the cube win?” Sara asked, her voice smooth as silk, but her eyes held a chaotic spark that made Doug’s gut tighten.
Mark chuckled, oblivious. “Nah, my cleric’s god finally answered a prayer. Barely.” He rolled the dice again, the clatter masking the thud of Doug’s heart. Sara shifted in her seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs, her bare knee brushing against Mark’s leg under the table.
A slow, predatory smile spread across her face as she leaned forward to examine the game map, her low-cut blouse gaping to offer a deliberate view of her soft, pale breasts. “Looks like you need all the divine help you can get,” she purred, her hand “accidentally” resting on Mark’s forearm, her fingers lingering just a second too long. Doug watched, a confusing mix of pride and a strange, nascent jealousy coiling in his stomach as Mark noticeably stiffened, his attention wavering from the game.
Doug’s knuckles whitened around his beer bottle, the cool glass a stark contrast to the heat flushing his skin. Sara’s laughter tinkled, a false, bright sound as she leaned closer to Mark, her hand now resting high on his thigh under the table. The dice clattered, the players arguing over a rule, but Doug’s world had narrowed to the secret space beneath the wooden surface.
“I dropped my napkin,” Sara murmured, her voice a low whisper meant only for Doug’s ears, though her eyes held a defiant challenge. She slipped from her chair with a fluid, silent grace, disappearing beneath the tablecloth before he could form a word. The heavy fabric settled, hiding her completely, and a cold dread pooled in Doug’s stomach alongside a thrilling, sick arousal.
Beneath the table, the air was thick with the scent of old wood and stale beer. Sara’s fingers found Mark’s zipper first, the metallic rasp drowned out by John’s booming voice describing a troll’s attack. Mark jolted, his knee hitting the table leg, a strangled gasp catching in his throat. “You okay, man?” Doug asked, his own voice sounding distant, hollow.
“Yeah, just… a cramp,” Mark managed, his face flushing a deep red as Sara’s skilled hands freed his hardening cock. She didn’t hesitate, taking him into her mouth with a wet, eager suction that made Mark’s eyes roll back. He gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white, his breath coming in short, sharp pants he tried to mask with a cough.
Doug watched, mesmerized and horrified, as Mark’s composure crumbled. Sara’s head moved in a slow, relentless rhythm under the table, the fabric shifting subtly with her motions. Mark’s hips gave a tiny, involuntary thrust, and he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, a low moan escaping as she deepthroated him with practiced ease.
“My turn for a perception check,” John announced, oblivious, rolling his dice. The plastic cube skittered across the map as Sara released Mark with a soft, wet pop and began to crawl toward John’s chair. Mark slumped back, spent and dazed, a glistening strand of saliva and cum still connecting his limp dick to the open air.
John was mid-sentence about spotting a hidden trap when Sara’s hands found his belt. He froze, his words dying as she unbuckled him with frantic urgency. “What the—” he started, but her mouth was on him, swallowing his length in one swift, greedy motion. He gasped, his hands flying to the table to steady himself, his eyes wide with shock and instant, overwhelming pleasure.
Doug could hear the wet, sloppy sounds of her fellatio, a filthy counterpoint to the fantasy roleplay above. John’s cock was thick, and Sara worked it with a fervent hunger, one hand stroking the base while the other fondled his balls. He cursed under his breath, a raw, guttural “fuck,” as she took him deep, her throat flexing around him.
The game continued around them, a bizarre pantomime of normalcy. Doug’s own cock was painfully hard, straining against his jeans, the memory of her mouth on him in the kitchen now a shared spectacle. He watched John’s face contort, a mask of ecstatic agony as he fought to stay quiet, his body trembling with the effort.
Sara sucked John with a brutal, demanding rhythm, her lips stretched tight around his girth. He came with a choked, shuddering groan, his hips bucking off the chair as he emptied himself into her waiting mouth. She swallowed every pulse, milking him dry until he was soft and panting, before releasing him with a satisfied, audible sigh.
She didn’t stop there, crawling next to the third player, a younger guy named Leo who was too engrossed in the game to notice. Sara’s hand was on his zipper before he even registered her presence, his eyes widening in confusion that quickly morphed into stunned arousal. He was harder than the others, his cock springing free, already leaking pre-cum.
Leo was less restrained, a low, continuous moan humming in his chest as Sara devoured him. She took him deep, her nose buried in his coarse pubic hair, her throat working noisily. He tangled his hands in her blonde hair, fucking her face with ragged thrusts, his quiet whimpers lost in the dice rolls and laughter.
Doug felt a possessive fury ignite alongside his arousal, a hot, conflicting burn. Sara was his, but she was under a table, sucking another man’s dick while he watched, complicit and aroused. Leo’s orgasm was a violent, sudden thing, his body seizing as he spilled into her throat with a broken cry.
She pulled back, licking her lips clean of his spend, and began to crawl back toward her seat. The tablecloth rustled, and she emerged, her hair slightly disheveled, her lips swollen and glistening. She smoothed her dress, her eyes meeting Doug’s with a look of pure, unadulterated triumph, just as John announced his character was moving down the dark corridor.