SPH-THEMED EROTICA STORIES

*****

Part 2…

Tim and Melissa are getting ready to head for their getaway to the American Southwest. Will Melissa’s femdom side come back out during this vacation getaway? Her divorced best friend Sammi becomes a prominent part of the game as well.

*****

The doorbell rang at exactly 7 PM.

Tim wiped his hands on his jeans–he’d been fixing a loose cabinet in the kitchen–and crossed to the front door without checking the peephole.

Sammi stood on the porch, her purse slung over one shoulder, a bottle of wine dangling from her fingers. Her smile spread slow and knowing across her face as she took him in.

“Tim.” She drew his name out like she was tasting it. “It’s been a while.”

His mouth went dry.

She stepped past him into the foyer without waiting for an invitation, her perfume trailing behind her.

Melissa rounded the corner from the hallway, the spare key in her hand. She stopped when she saw them–Tim frozen by the door, Sammi already three steps into the house, that smirk plastered across her face.

“What do you freaks plan on doing in Santa Fe?”

Melissa’s ears went pink. Tim’s entire face turned the color of a fire truck. They stood there, two middle-aged adults caught in a teenage blush, and Sammi’s smirk widened.

“You guys are adorable.” She sauntered into the living room and dropped onto the couch, crossing her legs. “Seriously. Give me something. A hint. A crumb.”

Melissa finally found her voice. “Have you already had a bottle of wine? Stop.”

“Come on. I did you that favor last year.” Sammi’s tone shifted into a theatrical whine. “I smiled at your husband. I kissed his cheek. I performed like a master thespian, as you so elegantly put it.” She batted her eyes. “Don’t I deserve some compensation?”

“My pussy has cobwebs. I haven’t been fucked in so long.”

Tim’s eyes bulged. His mouth opened and closed like a fish.

Melissa snapped her head toward him, then back at Sammi. “Jesus, Sammi. You’re going to give him a heart attack. Knock it off.”

Tim mumbled something about checking the den and disappeared through the doorway. The door clicked shut behind him.

Sammi laughed–a real laugh, rich and warm–and waved her hand dismissively. “Fine, fine. I’m just teasing.” She leaned forward, her expression softening into something almost earnest. “But seriously. You’re going to Santa Fe for a week, you’re leaving me with your spare key, the least you can do is give me something to fantasize about while you’re gone.”

Melissa watched Tim go. She knew exactly what was happening in there. He was standing against the bookshelf, probably, trying to will away an erection that had no business being there. The thought made her thighs press together.

She turned back to Sammi, who was watching her with those perceptive eyes.

“Okay.” Melissa lowered her voice. “I’ll tell you one thing we have already done. But you have to promise not to–”

“I promise.”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“I promise anyway.”

Melissa took a breath. She chose the thing she thought might shock Sammi, not the most extreme, but one that might gross her out, might finally get her to drop the subject.

“I had him eat my ass.”

The words hung in the air.

Sammi’s eyebrows climbed. Her lips parted. For a moment, Melissa thought she’d succeeded–that she’d finally found the line that would make her friend recoil.

Then Sammi’s face split into a grin.

“That big ass of yours?” She fanned herself with her hand. “Quite the feast, he probably wasn’t hungry for a week!”

Melissa stared at her and slugged her arm. “Are you sure you haven’t been drinking already…..That wasn’t the reaction I was expecting.”

Sammi shrugged, utterly unrepentant. “I’m in a dry spell, Mel. I’m going to go home tonight and fantasize about someone doing that to me. It’s going to be the best orgasm I’ve had in months.” She leaned back against the couch cushions.

“Wow, what has happened to your filter? I love it, but as long as you aren’t thinking about Tim.”

Sammi’s eyes locked onto hers. “Not Tim.” A pause. Then a wink.

“You’re gross.”

“You’re the one who had someone’s tongue in your ass.” Sammi’s grin was razor-sharp. “Who’s gross?”

Their banter continued, trading barbs back and forth, the wine bottle forgotten on the coffee table. Melissa found herself laughing harder than she had in weeks. There was something liberating about it–this conversation, this woman who refused to be shocked, who met every confession with a joke and a raised eyebrow.

The den door creaked open.

Tim emerged, his face carefully neutral, his hands shoved into his pockets. He was walking stiffly, and Melissa knew exactly why.

Sammi’s eyes flicked to him. Then back to Melissa. Then back to him.

“So, Tim.” in her sexiest voice. “You’re eating Mel’s ass now?”

Tim’s composure shattered. His face cycled through three shades of red in as many seconds. He opened his mouth–nothing came out–closed it again.

Sammi laughed, bright and delighted. “You know what? I think I’ll snoop through your house while you’re gone. See what goodies I can find.”

Both of their faces drained of color.

Melissa’s mind raced through the contents of the nightstand. The cage. The sleeve. The panties. The harness. The glow-in-the-dark dildo. Everything, sitting in drawers and closets, waiting to be discovered.

Sammi watched their expressions shift and burst out laughing again. “Relax, guys. I’m teasing. I’m so jealous of you two right now.” She stood, smoothing her skirt. “I hope you two fuck your brains out and do all the kinky shit you can while you’re down there.”

She reached the front door, then turned.

“But I want pictures!”

The door closed behind her.

Silence settled over the house. Tim stood in the middle of the living room, his hands still in his pockets, his face still flushed. Melissa sat on the couch, the spare key still clutched in her hand.

“Well,” Melissa said slowly. “That happened.”

Tim let out a breath that was half laugh, half groan. “Jesus, I must’ve won the lottery with regards to women lately.”

“She needs to get laid!” Melissa stood and walked toward him. Her hand found his chest, then slid down to his jeans. She palmed him–hard, straining against the denim. “Just like I thought. You got excited.”

“Can Sammi come with us?” he said. “I think she needs a trip away.”

“Cage, now!” as she gave him the faux dirtiest look she could muster.

“No, we have a trip to pack for,” as he ran out of the room and up the stairs.

She chased after him, loving this playfulness. So many couples lose this, she thought, and never get it back. What a blessing these past months have been, and who would’ve thought it would have been this kinky shit that reignited the spark.

*****

On the small plane, they sat next to each other, with no one beside them or between them. Midway through the flight, while she read one of her novels, Tim passed her a folded piece of paper and a pen.

She opened it and read, “My favorite change has been your filthy mouth!”

She processed that, looking over and grinning at him. He gave her a pen for a reason, she thought. She decided to tease him with a drawing. She had an artistic background so that she could do better than a stick figure. He turned to give her privacy.

She used her drawing skills, took a couple of minutes, and passed it back to him.

Tim opened it back up and saw a woman with two thought bubbles above her head. On one side, a cartoon guy with a tiny dick, and the other one has the same cartoon character with a big dick and cowboy hat. He looks at it, and as she does, she reaches over and points to the small man, then turns her finger to point to him. She waits a few seconds, checks the people around them, and slides her hand under the paper.

He is hard, just like she thought. The game was afoot. I’m going to keep him hard for the next hour on the plane she thought, all without touching him. She grabs a notebook out of her purse and scribbles down something.

She passes it to Tim, and he opens it. It reads, “I bet this guy in front of us has a huge cock. He isn’t good looking, but his wife is hot. You know what that means. Big dicks trump looks.”

She sees him squirm.

The flight attendant was just reaching them. Melissa notices she is attractive and tall. Blond pony tail. Looks like someone they’d put in the airline’s safety videos. She leans over to Tim, “I might switch teams for the night if I could be with our flight attendant. Would you be ok with that?” Tim looks up, and she can see the desperation in his deep sigh.

She reaches their row. She asks Tim what he would like. He tells her water will be fine. Melissa says to her, “Just a SMALL cup, I need a FULL can of Coke?”

The flight attendant shows a smirk escape the corner of her mouth as she fills the drink. Tim gives Melissa a look, and Melissa looks back like, “What did I do?” Melissa looks up at her as she finishes pouring their drinks.

The flight attendant leans over (a little more than normal) to hand Tim his water, and her blouse is close to Melissa’s face. “Here is your SMALL cup of water, sir.” As she pulls back to Melissa, she sets the full can of soda down and the cup at the same time and quietly says, “Here is your Coke. I like FULL cans of soda as well.” Before standing back up and smiling at them.

Melissa is tongue-tied for a change. The flight attendant asks, “Weekend getaway for you two?” as she hands them their snacks. Melissa nods. Good grief, she thinks, these flight attendants know how to read people.

The flight attendant comes by later to pick up the trash. She leans over to reach Tim, and Melissa says, “Do they have you do the safety videos for the airline?”

“No, why do you ask?”

“You are very pretty; maybe people would pay more attention if you were on them ”

The flight attendant smiles a killer smile, “Well, thank you,” and looking at Tim, “I hope you two have a lovely, romantic weekend, and sir, make sure your wife stays hydrated. Keep her full of fluids.”

Melissa smiles broadly as the flight attendant leaves. She knows Tim must be dying.

*****

The hotel room door clicked shut behind them, and Melissa let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“Wow,” Tim said, setting their bags on the luggage rack. The room was spectacular.

Melissa kicked off her shoes. “Not too bad, hubby.”

They moved around each other in the easy silence of long familiarity, unpacking toiletries, hanging shirts in the closet. Tim paused, a folded t-shirt in his hands, and turned to face her.

“I know you’ve been doing all this to me,” he said. “But Jesus, that’s two women now that seemed to pick up on your game. What do you all have, a sixth sense?”

Melissa pulled a dress from her suitcase and laid it on the bed. “What do you mean?”

“Seriously, honey.” He set the shirt down. “She was hot. And into you, I think.”

A smile tugged at Melissa’s mouth. “Dear, she was playing. I’m glad I made her day fun. I was amazed how quick she was. I figured I’d lob that full-can comment, and she volleyed it back superbly.”

She shook her head. “We couldn’t handle a woman like that. Especially you.”

“C’mon,” he said.

Melissa turned to face him fully. “She was a nine or a ten?” she chuckled, watching him for his response.

His hesitation hung in the air. She watched his eyes shift, calculating, weighing the trap he suspected was waiting.

He didn’t take the bait. “Well,” she said, stepping closer, “you are a six or seven. Counting your cock, maybe more of a four or five. So it wouldn’t work.”

“You’re evil.”

“So you settled for a four or five.” He grinned.

“I drank a lot back then. Didn’t know what I was doing.” She stepped into his space and wrapped her arms around him. “Seriously, dear. If you haven’t cum already or have blue balls, I think I owe you a blowjob at a minimum for that torment on the plane.”

His eyebrows rose.

“You were in your cock cage,” she said, “without the cage.” She chuckled. “All pent up in those jeans with nowhere to go.”

She dropped to her knees.

Tim’s breath caught. His hands found her shoulders, then her hair, as she worked his belt open, the button on his jeans, the zipper. He sprang free–hard, flushed, desperate. Her mouth closed around him.

Her tongue traced the ridge, then the underside, then the tip. She took him deeper, her hand gripping the base, her other hand pressed against his thigh for balance. His fingers tightened in her hair.

“Jesus,” he breathed.

She pulled back, then forward, building a rhythm. She wanted this — wanted to give him this after taking so much. His hips bucked involuntarily. A low sound escaped his throat.

She doubled her pace.

His hand found the back of her head, not pushing, just holding. She felt him thickening, felt the tremor running through his legs. She sucked harder, deeper, until his whole body tensed and he came with a strangled groan, his release hot against her tongue.

She swallowed.

Pulled back.

Looked up at him.

His chest heaved. His eyes were glassy. “This is your birthday trip,” he said, his voice rough. “I will make sure you are pleased the rest of the time, Mistress Melissa.”

She laughed. The name felt ridiculous and perfect at the same time.

*****

The first morning, sunlight poured across the bed.

They rode horses through the high desert, the air thin and clean, the sky so blue it hurt to look at. Tim wore a cowboy hat he’d bought that morning, a button-down shirt, jeans that hugged his thighs. Melissa found herself staring.

She’d watched enough westerns. Read enough novels with rugged heroes on horseback. But seeing him–her Tim, her husband, the man who fixed cabinets and watched sports–sitting in a saddle with the sun catching his jawline, she felt something shift in her chest.

She snapped pictures. Five. Ten. A dozen.

The light hit him perfectly–golden hour, the mountains behind him, the horse’s mane stirring in the breeze. She captioned one and texted it to Sammi.

“My cowboy.”

A few minutes later, her phone buzzed.

“Hubba, Hubba.”

Melissa smiled and tucked the phone away.

That night, dinner under the stars.

The restaurant had set a table on the patio, candles flickering in glass holders, the moon hanging fat and full overhead. They ate steak and drank red wine, and Melissa found herself talking more than she had in months–about the trip, about the future, about the strange game they’d been playing.

“You’ve paid more attention to my desires over the years than I realized,” she said, reaching across the table for his hand.

His fingers laced with hers. “I’ve always tried.”

The sex that night was slow, deliberate, their bodies finding each other in the dark. She rode him until her thighs burned, then let him roll her onto her stomach and take her from behind, his chest pressed against her spine, his breath hot on her neck. When she came, it was in waves–one after another, pulling him with her.

*****

The next morning, another ride.

The horse moved beneath her, steady and warm. The sun climbed higher. She felt good. Content. Almost too content.

But something nagged at her.

She knew what he’d been accustomed to–the edge, the tease, the humiliation that had become their strange love language. He hadn’t asked for it here. He’d been a gentleman, a lover, a husband. But she could feel the absence of it, like a missing note in a familiar song.

Sammi’s face floated through her mind.

Risky, she thought. Very risky. For all three of them.

But Sammi was fun-loving, always up for a good time. She was also quick-witted like the two of them. Even if she was sitting home masturbating to their adventures–that thought didn’t bother Melissa as long as it stayed in their separate bedrooms, in their separate cities.

She pulled out her phone.

“Will you play along in a text thread? Like you did in the parking lot last year?”

Sammi’s response came quickly.

“Really? During your romantic vacation?”

“Just one time.”

“Fine. Send me something good.”

Melissa scrolled through her photos, found one from yesterday–herself from behind, jeans hugging her curves, boots on her feet, the desert stretching behind her. She’d taken the selfie in the mirror of their room. She sent it to Sammi, “I know you will have fun with this one.”

Then she waited.

*****

That night, Tim’s phone buzzed.

He picked it up, frowning. “Why is Sammi texting me?”

Melissa kept her face neutral. “What does it say?”

He read aloud. “‘I bet you got excited with this view.'” Attached was the photo — Melissa’s backside, the jeans, the boots.

Melissa’s phone buzzed next. Sammi: “I did it.”

Tim looked up, confusion and something else flickering in his eyes. “Why is she texting me these things? What am I supposed to say?”

“Just play along, Tim. You have my permission.”

“Really?”

“I’m sure you two will have witty dialogue, making each other laugh.”

He stared at the screen. Then, slowly, he typed:

“I was definitely hungry after this picture. Not sure why.”

Sammi’s response came almost instantly.

“Make sure whatever you eat in Santa Fe has been cleaned properly. You have to make sure you don’t get sick while you’re down there.”

Tim smiled despite himself. He typed back:

“You know what I’ve seen a lot here? Because they want to make it historically accurate. Beaver pelts. Lots of hairy beaver pelts.”

Melissa watched him hit send, saw the grin spread across his face.

Sammi’s reply took longer this time. When it came, it was just an image–the cowboy photo Melissa had sent her earlier, Tim on horseback, the sun behind him.

And a caption:

“Hey, if you see this guy, let him know I’m available.”

Tim’s hand froze over the screen.

He looked up at Melissa. He could tell she was pretending to read.

He texts back, “I don’t really like myself in photos, but do you think it is a good one?”

Sammi on the other end knows this is where Melissa wanted it to go, but she wasn’t expecting his phrasing to come back like that. She takes a chance, assuming Melissa is trying to get him riled up. “Very Hot Tim. Do you mind if I keep the photo lit up tonight next to me?” She waited, no reply. She was betting money he was hard and texted Melissa, “Check under the blanket.”

Melissa smiled, not sure what had been said, but Sammi was good at this; she could tell. She reached over and felt his dick hard. She thin shook her head at him and sent a group text to the three of them, “Thank You Sammi, that did the trick!”

Tim sat their mouth ajar.

Sammi smiled on the other end and texted, “Goodnight lovers.”

“Why did you do that? You didn’t need to do that?”

“I can tell you put a lot of effort into this weekend. I thought I’d give you another treat.

*****

The afternoon sun slanted through the hotel room windows as Melissa toweled off her hair, still damp from the shower. Tim was sprawled on the bed, scrolling through his phone, his cowboy hat resting on the nightstand.

She watched him in the bathroom mirror.

The weekend had been perfect–the rides, the dinners, the slow sex that reminded her why she’d married him. She knew he liked that edge, though. No strapon. No sleeve. No cage. They’d packed light, deliberately, thinking Santa Fe would be about connection, not kink.

But she thought he should get a treat, maybe not the humiliation, but a tease of sorts.

She thought about Sammi. About last night’s text exchange and the way Tim’s mouth had fallen open when she’d sent that group message. He’d been genuinely flustered–not performing, not playing along–just flustered. The memory sent warmth pooling low in her belly.

What if Sammi did it one more time?

Melissa grabbed her phone.

Sammi answered, “You’re supposed to be on vacation.”

“I need a favor.” Melissa kept her voice low. “A big one. I’ll owe you.”

Sammi’s pause was audible. “What kind of favor?”

“I want you to text Tim. Just once. Like last night, but… more.”

“More how?”

“I don’t know. Whatever feels natural. Something about today, about the trip.” Melissa gripped the balcony railing. “I’m not going to script it for you. Just… flirt with him.”

Sammi laughed, but it was nervous. “Mel, that’s playing with fire. What if he–”

“He won’t. He would never. And neither would you.” Melissa’s voice softened. “That’s why this works. Trust me.”

A longer pause. A sigh. “You’re sure about this?”

“I’m sure.”

Melissa finished, “He can’t know I put you up to it. That’s the game.”

“This is a dangerous game, Mel.”

“I know.” Melissa smiled. “But you’re always up for a game, aren’t you?”

Another sigh, this one tinged with something that might have been excitement. “Fine. But if this goes sideways, you’re buying me dinner for a year.”

“Done.”

They hung up. Melissa stood on the balcony for a moment longer, her heart beating faster than it should. Then she went back inside.

“All set,” she said, climbing onto the bed. “Just go with it when she texts you.”

Tim lay back against the pillows, resting his eyes from being in the sun all day.

Six o’clock came.

His phone buzzed.

Sammi: Hey Tim, sorry about last night. Melissa put me up to that. You did look hot in that cowboy outfit though, great picture, stud!

He read the message twice. Three times.

His first reaction was instant arousal, and the second was his antenna going up to Melissa’s games. Last night’s text had felt orchestrated — the timing too perfect, the content too pointed. But this text, this apology, felt different. Sammi was telling him the game was off.

The problem was, Tim knew Sammi. Knew her the way you know someone who’s been your wife’s best friend for over a decade. Knew her loyalty, her fierce protectiveness of Melissa, her inability to keep a straight face when she was hiding something.

Sammi would never betray Melissa’s trust. Never.

Which meant this apology was bullshit. Which meant the game was still on.

Tim’s thumbs hovered over the screen. A slow smile spread across his face. He could play dumb. Let Sammi think she’d fooled him. Or…

He could play back.

Thanks, Sammi, he typed. I told Melissa we should’ve invited you. Thought you might meet a cowboy stud on this trip.

Send.

In her apartment a thousand miles away, Sammi stared at her phone.

Her heart thudded against her ribs.

I told Melissa we should’ve invited you.

Invited her. On their romantic weekend. Their getaway for two, with the horseback rides and the candlelit dinners and the pictures Melissa had been sending of her “cowboy” in the golden desert light.

And then: Thought you might meet a stud cowboy on this trip.

Was he–was he insinuating that he was the cowboy? Or was that just her reading into it? Her mind spinning the worst possible interpretation because she was already terrified this was going sideways?

Oh god.

This was going sideways.

Her fingers trembled as she screenshotted the exchange and sent it to Melissa.

Sammi: I’m sorry. I chose the wrong words. I panicked and tried to apologize for last night, and now — just look.

Sammi: I’m so sorry, Mel. This is why I said it was dangerous.

Melissa’s phone buzzed on the bathroom counter.

She dried her hands and picked it up. Read the screenshots. Read them again.

Told Melissa we should’ve invited you.

Thought you might meet some cowboy stud on this trip.

A strange cocktail of emotions swirled in her chest. There was a pit in her stomach for a moment and anger. How dare he? On their vacation? With her best friend?

But beneath the fury was something else. Something that made her pulse quicken, and her thighs press together.

Because Tim wasn’t stupid, Tim knew Sammi. Tim would have recognized that apology for what it was.

He’d seen through it.

And instead of playing along with the retreat, he’d pressed forward. He’d turned the game back on both of them.

Was he playing them? Her and Sammi both?

The thought should have made her angrier. Instead it made her smile.

Clever man. Clever, clever man.

She realized the game of all of this was exciting and new to him, and she honestly felt the same way. It was odd, she thought; him humiliating her would have destroyed her. Trips like this as empty nesters, now that was her thrill, but sexually she agreed things had gotten mundane. The tease, the humiliation. He’d been too much of a gentleman to ask for “change”, and so she’d done it for him in the most peculiar way.

“Punishment” would need to follow. Something creative. Something that made him realize exactly who was in control.

Melissa’s smile widened as she set down her phone and looked at herself in the mirror.

That was exactly what he wanted.

She smoothed her dress, touched up her lipstick, and opened the bathroom door.

Tim was still on the bed, innocently scrolling through his phone like he hadn’t just detonated a bomb in two women’s evening. He looked up at her with those eyes–those warm, familiar, innocent eyes.

“Ready for dinner?” he asked.

They ended up having dinner and a great final night of lovemaking, the old-fashioned way. Silently, Melissa was plotting her game for where she thought he’d be most vulnerable again.

*****

The flight home was half-empty.

They ascended through cloud cover. The fasten-seatbelt sign dinged off.

Melissa reached into her purse and pulled out the small spiral notebook she’d bought at the airport gift shop.

Now she opened it to a blank page.

She wrote slowly, deliberately, her penmanship precise:

What constitutes a:

Cock = 7 inches or more = Harry

Dick = 6-7 inches = Kurt (THICK Dick)

Penis = 5-6 inches = Tim

She tore the page out cleanly along the perforation, folded it once, then twice, and slid it onto Tim’s thigh.

He looked down. Looked at her. That flicker at the corner of his mouth–the one she’d come to recognize as the moment before he committed to the game–twitched and disappeared.

He opened the paper.

Read it.

His jaw tightened, not in anger. In that particular way it tightened when she’d cornered him somewhere he wanted to be cornered but couldn’t admit to wanting. The muscles along his temple flexed.

He picked up her pen.

He writes back, “You’re welcome for making one of your dreams come true this weekend,” as he hands the paper back in faux anger.

She feels a twinge of guilt reading it, but knows he is just giving it back to her. The game is afoot.

She had downloaded a photo of the 70s porn star John Holmes and locked it away in a password-protected folder, never sure when she’d use it. The time was now.

She passed over a note, and the picture pulled up on the phone: “If you had a cock like this, you could just show me pictures of Santa Fe, and I’d be content, but alas, he is twice your size, so it is expected you make up for your shortcomings”

He takes awhile to process, but knows how she feels about trophy wives. His note says, “So now you’re a trophy wife, and I’m a five, as you put it, so I have to spend money on you to make up for that.”

Low blow, she thought. She hated seeing these trophy wives at work parties. Absolutely no substance, and the men were simple and pathetic as well. He can see her fuming.

He writes another note, “Sammi called to apologize last night. Said I looked hot in that photo though. I think she’d be up for a threesome.”

Melissa had been waiting for that one. She whispered in his ear, “You probably could make her cum with your tongue. I know you could. She told me she can squirt as well.” She waited and watched him out of the corner of her eye. She knew what was going on in both heads.

He takes a deep breath and writes back, “You Win, Again!”

She smiles broadly at him and looks around—empty seats and people sleeping. Surprised at the semi-privacy, she decides to really push it and takes her jacket off and places it over his lap. She feels the raging hard on from her earlier comment. She uses one hand to unsnap and unzip his jeans as his dick springs out in her hand.

She slowly starts to jerk his very hard erection. Within one minute, he says, “Honey, you have to sto….”

She takes that as the signal to ramp it up, and he cums on his belly and shirt. She smiles at him. He is like, “What am I supposed to do?”

She says, “Your shirt is dark, no one will notice. I’m going to take a nap before we land.”

After landing, she knows he has to be uncomfortable with the sticky hair on his belly and the dampness in his shirt. She grins, knowing he will never forget this and neither will she.

A month goes by. Before that time passes, Melissa makes sure Sammi knows how thankful she was for doing those things.

She went over the day after they landed and was on Sammi’s front porch with a bouquet of chocolate-dipped strawberries arranged in a ceramic vase — the expensive kind, drizzled with white and dark chocolate in artful zigzags. Sammi’s love language. She’d learned that years ago, something that a best friend should know, she thought.

The door swung open.

Sammi took one look at the strawberries, one look at Melissa’s face, and shook her head. The smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth fought a losing battle with the exasperation in her eyes.

“You brought chocolate.” Sammi crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe.

Melissa held the strawberries higher. “These are hand-dipped. I drove forty minutes.”

A long pause. Sammi’s gaze flicked to the chocolate, then back to Melissa’s face. Her jaw tightened.

“I can’t be part of your twisted fantasies, Mel. I don’t need you two in my fantasies.”

“That’s not very convincing.” Melissa stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her friend before Sammi could retreat. The strawberries pressed awkwardly between them. Sammi stood rigid for three full seconds, then her shoulders dropped.

She pulled back and fixed Melissa with a look — the kind that said, I see exactly what you’re doing, and I’m going to do it anyway.

“You are the devil,” Sammi said.

“I know.”

*****

The Fourth of July barbecue was at the Millers’ place, three streets over, the kind of neighborhood gathering where someone always brought too much potato salad and the kids ran through sprinklers until their lips turned blue. Melissa and Tim arrived late, bearing a store-bought pie because Melissa had spent the morning on other preparations.

Sammi was already there, standing by the cooler with a hard seltzer in her hand. She wore white shorts and a red tank top, her post-divorce body lean and confident in ways it hadn’t been two years ago. When she spotted them, her expression flickered–a micro-flinch–then settled into something carefully neutral.

“Hey, Tim.”

Two words. Flat. Safe. The verbal equivalent of keeping both feet planted on solid ground.

Tim’s mouth curved. “Found any good cowboys lately?”

Sammi’s seltzer can stopped halfway to her lips.

This was not the Tim she knew. The Tim she knew stammered and blushed and looked at his shoes when women flirted with him. This Tim was looking directly at her, his head tilted, his eyes carrying something that looked almost like mischief.

“No cowboys,” she managed. “Having to settle for some city boys.”

He chuckled. A real chuckle, warm and easy, like they were sharing a private joke. Like the texts had never happened. Like she hadn’t told him he looked hot in that photo. Like he hadn’t suggested Melissa should’ve invited her along.

And then–impossibly–he blushed.

Sammi stared. “Why are you blushing?”

“You know Mel hasn’t gotten a taste of her own medicine yet.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “With the teasing. She’s always the one dishing it out.”

“You two need to stop including me in this.” Sammi’s voice came out sharper than she intended. Around them, the barbecue hummed–children shrieking, burgers sizzling, someone’s uncle telling a story too loudly. No one was paying attention to the three of them.

“Sorry.” Tim’s blush deepened. “I thought you found it fun. The texting thing. I thought it was silly. Just–playing.”

Sammi studied him. The blush was real. The embarrassment was real. But underneath it, something else hummed–a frequency she recognized from the parking lot last year, from the texts on their vacation, from every moment Melissa had orchestrated that left Tim simultaneously mortified and aroused.

“Okay.” She took a sip of her seltzer. “I agree you’ve been on the receiving end. What do you have in mind?”

His eyes widened, just slightly. He hadn’t expected her to ask.

“Oh, you are as quick as her; you’ll think of something.”

She walked away, thinking these two were going to have me doing something far beyond playing this game if it continued. The thought made her queasy like it once would have; something else flickered.

Three weeks later, Sammi came over for dinner.

Tim was stationed on the couch, a baseball game flickering across the screen, his attention theoretically on the score but practically on the low murmur of women’s voices drifting from the kitchen. He could hear them laughing, the clink of wine glasses, the occasional burst of exclamation.

Melissa had made lasagna. Sammi had brought garlic bread.

In the kitchen, Sammi leaned against the counter and watched Melissa toss the salad.

“You know,” Sammi said, her voice casual in a way that was not casual at all, “I’ve been working on my ass. Post-divorce project.”

Melissa glanced over. “It shows. You look incredible.”

“Thanks.” Sammi twisted, looking down at her own backside with exaggerated consideration. “I think it might be better than yours.”

The salad tongs paused mid-toss.

“That’s not a nice thing to say.”

“I’m not being nice.” Sammi’s smirk mirrored Melissa’s expression. “I’m being honest. I wonder what Tim thinks.”

Before Melissa could respond, Sammi raised her voice. “Hey, Tim!”

The couch creaked. Footsteps. Tim appeared in the kitchen doorway, his expression the particular blend of hope and terror that had become his default setting around the two of them.

“Yeah?”

Sammi turned, hands on her hips, and gestured between herself and Melissa. “Who has the better ass right now? Honest opinion.”

The silence that followed was the kind you could chew.

Tim’s eyes darted to Melissa. Her face was unreadable–that terrifying, beautiful blankness she wore when she was calculating six moves ahead. This wasn’t part of the script. Or maybe it was, and she just hadn’t realized it yet.

He acts sheepish, but says, “Both are works of art. In their own way.”

Melissa’s gaze snapped to Sammi’s face. The smirk she found there told her everything.

“Okay.” Melissa set the salad tongs down with deliberate precision. “You two. Knock it off.”

Sammi’s smirk widened.

Tim took a half-step backward.

“That,” Melissa said, pointing at Tim, “is going to cost you.” She turned to Sammi. “And you–since you both seem to think you can mess with the master, let me share something.”

Sammi’s confidence flickered. “Mel, wait–”

“On the plane home.” Melissa’s voice was calm, conversational, the voice of someone describing a minor traffic violation. “I jerked Tim off under a jacket. He came on his shirt. You know why he was hard, because I said he’d probably be able to make you cum by eating you out, and I told him you squirted.”

Color drained from Sammi’s face.

“You told Tim that?”

Tim looked equally blindsided. “Honey, she doesn’t–”

“You mess with the bull, you get the horns.” Melissa giggled.

Sammi’s mouth worked silently. The confident smirk had evaporated, replaced by something raw and exposed. Her eyes cut to Tim, who was staring at the floor like it might open and swallow him, then back to Melissa.

“That was private,” Sammi whispered.

“So was our vacation.” Melissa’s expression softened–not apologetic, but something adjacent. “And you played along. And it was fun. And now we’re all standing in my kitchen, and Tim has imagined you squirting, and you’ve asked him to compare your ass to mine, and honestly, Sammi–” she stepped closer, her voice dropping, “–you’re already part of this. You have been since the parking lot. So stop pretending you’re not.”

The kitchen hummed. The lasagna cooled on the stove. Somewhere down the street, a dog barked.

Sammi lifted her wine glass with a hand that trembled almost imperceptibly and took a long, slow drink.

“You’re still the devil,” she said.

“I know. Tim, go back and watch the game. I’ll punish you later.” Melissa picked up her own glass and clinked it against Sammi’s. Sammi watched as he obeyed, very curious about this dynamic.

“You want to know what you’ve signed up for,” Melissa said. It wasn’t a question.

Sammi set down her fork. “I want to know what I’ve already been part of without realizing it.”

Fair enough.

Melissa stood and walked to their bedroom, gesturing for Sammi to follow. Tim was frozen on the couch watching the game, not sure what would happen next, but he knew it would be humiliating.

She brought Sammi to their drawer in the nightstand next to the bed, “He has a cage. Two sleeves. A strapon harness. A vibrator. And a pair of my panties that Tim wears when I tell him to.”

Sammi’s eyebrows climbed, and she felt wetness between her legs. “That’s quite a collection. You guys are kinky freaks.”

“Three months of collecting.” Melissa’s voice stayed even. “It started with the cage. Then the first sleeve–Then the nine-inch one you see, but he hasn’t yet (Melissa chuckles). Then the panties. Then the strapon.”

“Tim willingly goes along with this humiliation,” Sammi said slowly. “That’s part of it too.”

“The best part.” Melissa smiled. “For both of us.”

She explained it simply — the way Tim’s body responded to being diminished, compared, found wanting. The way his arousal spiked when she held something larger next to him. The way his orgasms hit harder when he’d been stripped of every pretense of adequacy first.

“The smaller he feels,” Melissa said, “the more he wants to please. The more he needs to please.”

Sammi’s throat moved as she swallowed. “Jesus, Melissa. I’m wet.”

The words hung in the air. Raw. Honest.

“I’m not lying about this.” Sammi’s voice dropped. “Are you sure Tim was okay with you telling me all of that?”

“I know him well,” she said. “And after he brought you into this today, I think he honestly wants a threesome.”

“Which isn’t going to happen.” Melissa held up a hand. “At least not yet.” She winked at Sammi.

Sammi shook her head, a disbelieving laugh escaping her throat. “You two are something else.”

“Let me make sure I understand this SPH kink.” She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “You want me to make comments. About his size. About how he compares to things. And that gets him–” she gestured vaguely at his lap, “–going.”

“Exactly.” Melissa nodded. “Feel free just to make comments and leave it like that. You don’t need to do anything else. The words are enough.”

She stood and crossed to Sammi’s chair. Sammi looked up at her, wariness and curiosity mingling in her eyes.

Melissa wrapped her arms around her friend. The hug was warm, genuine, and brief. Then she pulled back and whispered, “Realize he will probably be hard immediately after you say anything. So make sure you don’t ask him to stand up.”

Sammi laughed. She was nervous and excited, and this wasn’t even her man.

*****

Later that night, when Tim came out of the bedroom after getting ready for bed, Melissa had a surprise waiting. He got under the blanket.

In the kitchen, Melissa had opened the recycling bin and pulled out the paper towel roll she’d finished. She held it up to the light, turning it between her fingers. Then she opened the junk drawer and found a black Sharpie.

Her hand moved with precision she hadn’t used since art school.

At the very top of the cardboard tube, she wrote three names in careful block letters: John Holmes, Lex Steele, Ron Jeremy.

Below that, at the nine-inch mark, she drew a circle and wrote SURPRISE in all caps.

At seven inches: Kurt.

At six and a half: Harry.

At five and a half: Tim.

Then she filled in the remaining inch and a half with solid black Sharpie, pressing hard, the ink bleeding into the cardboard fibers. Below the blacked-out section, in smaller letters: micropenis territory.

She held it up above the blanket. She said, “I wasn’t planning on doing this for awhile, but after your failed experiment with Sammi, I thought now was the better time.

“What is that?”

Melissa didn’t answer. She walked to the nightstand, opened the drawer, and pulled out something else–something new, still in its discreet packaging. She’d ordered it three weeks ago and hidden it behind her winter scarves in the closet.

Then she turned to face him, the paper towel roll in one hand, the package behind her back.

Melissa held up the paper towel roll.

“See this?” She pointed to the names at the top. “These are real cocks, Tim. The kind that make women do stupid things.” Her finger trailed down. “This circle at nine? That’s where the magic happens.”

His cock twitched.

She noticed. “And down here–” her finger stopped at five and a half, “–is my husband. My Tim.” She looked up at him, her expression softening for a beat. “Now let’s see if you measure up.”

She slid the tube over his erection.

It was loose. Comically loose. The cardboard rattled against his shaft.

“Oh, honey.” She peered down the tube, one eye closed like she was looking through a telescope. “There’s so much room in there. It’s like a hot dog in a hallway.” She pressed her finger against his tip, pushing him deeper into the tube. “Yep. That line is in the right spot. Five and a half inches, right where you belong.”

Tim’s jaw worked. His fists clenched at his sides.

“Look at how skinny it is,” she continued, her voice dropping to something almost like sympathy. “I mean, the tube could fit two of you.” She pulled the tube off and held it next to his erection, comparing. “See? And you’re barely above–” she tapped the blacked-out section with her fingernail, “–micropenis territory. That’s where you’d be if you were just an inch shorter. One inch, Tim. That’s all that separates you from being a medical condition.”

He was fully hard now. Throbbing hard. The kind of hard that made veins visible along his shaft.

Melissa smiled.

“But you’re not in micropenis territory,” she said, her tone brightening. “You’re in the penis category. Not a dick. Not a cock. A penis. My penis.” She set the paper towel roll on the nightstand. “And I’ve decided I want to know what I’ve been missing.”

She brought the package from behind her back.

Tim’s eyes widened.

The sleeve was enormous–thick as her forearm, nine inches long, lifelike in a way that bordered on unsettling. Veins molded along the shaft. A pronounced head. She’d ordered it in a shade that didn’t quite match Tim’s skin tone, because that was part of the point.

“This,” Melissa said, holding it up beside Tim’s erection, “is what I want inside me tonight.”

The comparison was almost cruel. His erection looked like a child’s toy next to the sleeve–half the length, a third of the girth. She held them side by side, letting him see, letting the image burn into his brain.

“You’re going to wear this,” she said. “And you’re going to fuck me with it. And I’m going to find out if I can take nine inches.” She tilted her head, her expression turning thoughtful. “If I can, well… that opens up possibilities, doesn’t it?”

Tim’s voice came out hoarse. “What kind of possibilities?”

“The kind where I start thinking about what else might fit inside me.” She traced a finger along the sleeve’s shaft. “The kind where I wonder what the real thing feels like. Not just silicone.” She looked up at him through her lashes. “You’d want to watch that, wouldn’t you? Watch a real cock stretch me open?”

A sound escaped his throat–something between a groan and a whimper.

“Hm.” She handed him the sleeve. “Put it on.”

His hands trembled as he opened the packaging. The silicone was cool to the touch, slick with the cornstarch the manufacturer had dusted it with. He rolled it onto himself–first over his tip, then down his shaft, the interior ridges gripping him in ways that made his breath catch.

When it was fully seated, he looked down at himself and let out a shaky exhale.

Nine inches. Thick as a beer bottle.

She slid out of her panties and lay back on the bed, spreading her legs.

“Show me what that monster can do.”

Tim climbed onto the bed between her thighs. The sleeve bobbed in front of him, obscene and beautiful, and when he pressed the tip against her entrance, Melissa’s whole body tightened.

She was wet–had been wet since she’d drawn that blacked-out section on the paper towel roll–but the head of the sleeve was so much wider than anything she’d taken before. He pushed gently, and she gasped.

“Slow,” she breathed. “Slow, slow–”

He pulled back, then pressed again, just the tip. Her fingers found the sheets. Her back arched.

“More.”

Another inch. Her mouth opened. No sound came out.

“More, Tim. Give me more.”

He pushed deeper, and she felt herself stretching around the girth–that impossible, overwhelming girth–her body struggling to accommodate what he’d never been able to give her. Three inches. Four. He stopped to let her adjust, and she looked down between her legs.

Half of it was still outside her.

“That’s all of you,” she said, her voice shaking. “Right there. That’s five and a half inches. That’s where you end.” She met his eyes. “Now give me the rest.”

He pushed deeper.

Six inches. Seven.

Her eyes rolled back. Her thighs trembled. Her pussy clenched around the silicone in a rhythm she couldn’t control–involuntary spasms that made her toes curl, and her fingers go numb.

When he bottomed out, all nine inches buried inside her, Melissa let out a sound she’d never made before–a low, guttural moan that seemed to come from somewhere beneath her ribs.

“Oh god,” she whispered. “Oh god, I can take it. I can take all of it.”

Tim held still, watching her. “How in the hell can you take all of this? Women aren’t supposed to…”His own cock was trapped inside the sleeve, feeling every clench, every pulse of her walls through the silicone, but not enough. Never enough. He was an instrument, and the instrument was doing its job.

She bucked her hips. “That’s a lie, I can take it. Fuck me with that big cock.”

He moved. Slowly at first, then faster, the sleeve sliding in and out of her with obscene wet sounds. She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin, her legs wrapping around his waist.

“I wanted to know,” she panted between thrusts, “if I could take nine inches.” A laugh bubbled up, broken and breathless. “Turns out I can. Turns out your wife can take a real cock, Tim. What are you going to do about that?”

His rhythm faltered.

She felt it.

“What if I want more?” she continued, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. “What if I want you to watch? What if I want you right there–” she pointed to the armchair in the corner, “–stroking your little penis while a real man gives me what you can’t?”

He thrust harder. The sleeve hit something deep inside her, and her words dissolved into a cry.

“What if I put you back in your cage,” she gasped, “and make you wait? Days. Weeks. However long it takes for me to find a nine-inch cock to replace this one?”

Tim’s arms were shaking. His forehead glistened with sweat.

“Would you thank me?” She grabbed his jaw, forcing eye contact. “Would you thank me for letting you watch?”

“Yes,” he choked out. “Yes, yes–”

“Then finish me. Finish me with that big cock, and we’ll talk about what comes next.”

Her climax was a full-body seizure–back bowing, thighs clamping, a scream she muffled against his shoulder as her pussy milked the silicone in long, rolling contractions. She rode it out, gasping, her nails leaving crescent moons in his skin.

*****

The sporting goods store smelled like rubber and leather and the particular staleness of indoor air conditioning.

Sammi had suggested they all go together. “Costco run after,” she’d said, her voice light, her eyes carrying a secret. “I need new yoga pants anyway.”

Melissa had agreed instantly. Tim had no say in the matter.

Now they stood in the softball aisle preparing for their coed softball team that falls. Sammi had wandered ahead, examining cleats with theatrical disinterest, while Melissa looked at gloves.

Tim hovered near the end of the aisle, hands in his pockets, looking like a man waiting for a bus that would never arrive.

Then Sammi stopped.

She was holding two athletic cups — the kind worn under a uniform, hard plastic shells designed to protect the most vulnerable parts of a man’s anatomy. One was small, almost child-sized. The other was what most adults would consider normal.

“Tim.”

His name rang through the aisle. He looked up.

Sammi held up both cups, one in each hand, her expression smooth and innocent. “Do you need a new cup for softball season? Which one of these would fit better?”

Melissa’s smile bloomed like a sunrise.

Tim’s face cycled through colors — white, pink, red, crimson. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

“Very funny, Sammi. Ha ha.”

But his voice cracked on the second ha, and Sammi’s smirk deepened. She set down the smaller cup and held up the larger one, turning it over in her hands like she was examining a fine piece of pottery.

“You know,” she said, her tone conversational, “I always wondered why they make them in different sizes. I mean, it’s just protection, right? How much variation can there be?”

She set the larger cup back on the shelf and walked toward them, her hips swaying with intentional precision. “But I guess the equipment varies, doesn’t it? Some guys need more room. Some guys need less.”

Tim’s jaw was tight. His hands had migrated from his pockets to his sides, fingers curled into fists.

Melissa watched the bulge forming in his jeans. Predictable. Reliable. Her Tim.

“Well,” Sammi said, reaching the end of the aisle and turning back to face them, “I think I’m done here. Costco?”

*****

The Costco food court was a study in fluorescent lighting and efficiency.

They’d navigated the warehouse, picking up paper towels and a rotisserie chicken and a bag of avocados that Melissa had inspected with improbable scrutiny. Now they sat at a laminate table, trays before them, the ambient hum of commerce filling the silence between them.

Melissa had a slice of pizza. Tim had the same. Sammi had a hot dog.

She picked it up, examined it, then held it out at arm’s length.

“These are so cheap.” She took a bite, chewed, swallowed. “Hard to believe, with how thick these hot dogs are,” emphasizing the word thick.

Melissa’s pizza paused halfway to her mouth. She set it down.

“They are thick,” she agreed, drawing the word out. “A proper thickness. The kind you can really sink your teeth into.”

Sammi nodded, taking another bite. “If they were skinny, they wouldn’t be worth it. You know? Like, what’s the point of a hot dog that’s barely there? You’d just feel cheated.”

Tim’s pizza sat untouched on his tray. He was staring at it as if it might attack him.

“I mean,” Sammi continued, her voice sweet and musing, “if I wanted something thin, I’d eat a string cheese. But a hot dog? A hot dog should have substance. It should fill you up.” She looked at Tim’s tray. “You’re not eating your pizza, Tim? You want some of this big hot dog instead?”

Melissa’s hand found his thigh under the table. He was rock hard–unmistakably, uncomfortably hard. His breath came in shallow sips.

“He’s not hungry,” Melissa said smoothly.

Sammi’s eyes flicked down to the table edge, where Tim’s lap would be. Her smirk returned, razor-edged and knowing.

She finished hers in three more bites, then crumpled the wrapper and stood.

“I should get going. Early shift tomorrow.” She leaned down and kissed Melissa’s cheek, then turned to Tim. Her hand found his shoulder, squeezed once.

“Think about the cup, Tim. You want the right fit.”

She walked away, her sandals slapping against the concrete floor, disappearing through the warehouse doors.

Tim sat frozen, his untouched pizza growing cold on the tray, his wife’s hand still pressed against his thigh.

Melissa leaned in and whispered, “I’m sorry I put you in the cage this morning; this must be unbearable.” She handed him the key so he could go to the bathroom.

*****

The doorbell rang at 7:15 PM.

Melissa already had the wine open–a Malbec, breathing on the counter. She’d gotten the text forty minutes ago. He found out I let the kids stay up past curfew. Came to the house. Screamed at me in front of the kids. Can I come over?

She’d texted back one word: Come.

Now she pulled open the door, and Sammi collapsed into her arms.

The sobs came in waves — shoulders shaking, breath hitching, mascara bleeding into the fabric of Melissa’s shirt. Melissa held her, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other wrapped around her waist. She didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything to say yet.

The wine waited.

They migrated to the couch, Sammi’s legs folding beneath her, her face pressed into Melissa’s shoulder. The tears kept coming, slower now, but no less raw. Melissa stroked her hair and let the silence do its work.

The front door opened.

Tim stepped inside, still in his work clothes, a bag of takeout dangling from one hand. He took three steps into the living room before he registered the scene–Sammi curled into Melissa, her face blotchy, her breath still catching on the edges of a fresh cry.

His eyes found Melissa’s.

She mouthed one word: Ex-husband.

Tim’s jaw tightened. His knuckles went white around the takeout bag. Nine months. Nine months since the divorce was finalized, and that prick was still finding ways to hurt her.

He set the bag on the entryway table and walked into the living room, his footsteps heavy on the hardwood.

Sammi didn’t look up. She was still buried in Melissa’s shoulder, her body rocking with the aftershocks of whatever had happened.

Tim stood there, hands useless at his sides, watching his wife comfort her best friend. The helplessness curdled in his chest. He wanted to do something. Say something. Fix it somehow, even though he knew some things couldn’t be fixed.

He caught Melissa’s eye.

He mouthed: Make fun of me right now.

Melissa’s eyebrows shot up. Really?

He nodded. Held her gaze. Yes.

A beat of understanding passed between them. Then Melissa’s mouth curved into something soft and conspiratorial.

“Hey, Sammi.”

Sammi sniffled, not lifting her head. “Mm?”

“Want to hear a joke?”

A wet laugh bubbled up through the tears. “Not really.”

“Too bad.” Melissa’s hand kept stroking Sammi’s hair, but her voice shifted into something lighter. “What’s smaller than Tim’s dick and equally useless?”

Sammi’s head lifted slowly. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks tear-streaked, but confusion flickered through the grief. “What?”

“The list of men who deserve you.”

Sammi stared at her.

Then she laughed–a real laugh, startled out of her chest, snotty and raw and genuine. She turned to look at Tim, who was standing there with his hands in his pockets, his ears already pink, a sheepish grin fighting its way onto his face.

“Did you tell her to say that?” Sammi’s voice cracked.

Tim’s grin widened. “Maybe.”

“You are fucking awesome, Tim.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Melissa always tells me how you care about her feelings. I guess you care about mine too.”

She looked at Melissa. “Can I hug him?”

Melissa nodded. “Sure.”

Sammi stood–unsteady, wobbling on legs that had been curled too long–and crossed to Tim. She wrapped her arms around him, her face pressing into his shoulder, her body still trembling with residual sobs.

“Watch out,” Melissa said from the couch, her voice dry as desert wind. “You might feel something poking you.”

Sammi laughed into Tim’s shoulder. Her body shook with it. “I’m okay with that, Tim,” she mumbled, the words muffled by his shirt.

Something passed between them–gratitude, maybe. Recognition. The strange intimacy of being seen at your worst and not flinching away.

She sat back down on the couch, this time in the armchair, and picked up the wine glass Melissa had poured for her. She took a long drink, then another, then set it down and wiped her mouth.

“Tim. Have a seat with us.”

He sat on the couch beside her, close enough that their thighs touched. She took his hand without looking at him.

Sammi stared into her wine glass for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was steadier.

“You know my prick of an ex-husband?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “He had a decent-sized dick.” She took another sip. “But he never cared if I got off. Never. Not once in fifteen years.”

She set the glass down and looked at them, her eyes still wet but her voice hardening.

“So fucking selfish. Like everything else about him. He could’ve had a foot-long cock, and it wouldn’t have mattered, because he didn’t give a shit about my pleasure. About me.”

Melissa watched her; she knew where this was going, and Sammi wasn’t asking permission; she didn’t have to. Melissa had alluded to it heading down this path, and fuck, she wanted her friend to feel good after all the torment that man had put her through, and she thought of the playful torment I put Tim through. She smirked at the irony.

Sammi’s gaze landed on Tim. Held there. “I hear Melissa gets off every time. Even with your–” she paused, a small, tired smile flickering at the corner of her mouth, “–shortcomings. Please make sure you are familiar with how to use what you have. And you must be very attentive.”

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her voice dropping.

“I’d take a smaller dick any day of the week with those skills attached to a man.”

Tim’s breath caught. His face flushed–that familiar heat climbing up his neck, settling in his cheeks. His body responded the way it always did, betraying him with a pulse of arousal that he couldn’t hide and didn’t try to.

“You hear that, Tim?” Her voice was soft, almost affectionate. “Sammi just said she’d take a smaller dick if it came with the right skills. That’s a compliment, I think.”

“It is,” Sammi confirmed. She picked up her wine glass again, some of her old smirk returning. “The biggest compliment I can give a man these days.”

Tim cleared his throat. His voice came out rougher than expected. “I appreciate that, Sammi.”

“Don’t appreciate it. Earn it.” She held his gaze over the rim of her glass. “Keep making my best friend cum, and we’ll call it even.”

The wine stretched between them. The tears had dried on Sammi’s cheeks, leaving faint tracks through her makeup. She looked exhausted, wrung out, but something in her posture had shifted–less collapsed, more collected.

Melissa broke the silence. “Do you want to stay the night?”

Sammi considered it. Looked at the ceiling. Let out a long breath.

“Yeah. I think I do.”

Melissa reached across and took her hand.

“We both love you,” she said softly. “Tonight is about your pleasure. Nothing else.”

Sammi’s gaze flicked to Tim, then back to Melissa. A nervous laugh escaped her throat. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

Sammi’s fingers tightened around Melissa’s. She looked at Tim again–really looked at him–and a slow, hesitant smile spread across her face.

She let out a breath, her voice dropping into something almost confessional. “I haven’t had a dick in me in a year. So your small penis should be perfect.”

The words hung in the air. Then Sammi’s eyes went wide.

“I can’t believe I said that.” She pressed a hand to her mouth, shaking her head.

Tim laughed first — a surprised bark of a laugh, caught off guard. Melissa joined him, her shoulders shaking. The tension cracked open, and suddenly all three of them were laughing, raw and real and ridiculous.

Melissa sobered first. She leaned toward Sammi, her voice dropping into something huskier. “Can we both kiss your neck?”

Sammi’s breath hitched. “Yes.”

Melissa moved first, her lips brushing the curve where Sammi’s neck met her shoulder. Tim followed a heartbeat later, pressing his mouth to the other side. Sammi’s eyes fluttered closed. A low moan escaped her lips.

Her head fell back against the cushion. Melissa’s hand slid into her hair, fingers threading through the strands, holding her steady while Tim’s mouth worked lower, trailing open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone.

“Tim.” Melissa’s voice was soft, commanding. “Show her how good you are with your mouth.”

Sammi’s eyes snapped open. “I haven’t taken a shower today. I want to be clean. Please don’t–”

But Tim had already gripped the waistband of her yoga pants.

Melissa’s smile was warm, almost tender. “I don’t think he cares.”

Sammi grimaced. Her body tensed. She hadn’t prepared for this–hadn’t expected to be caught off guard. But Tim was already tugging the fabric down her hips, her panties following, exposed to the cool air of the living room.

“Please,” she whispered. “It’s not perfect down there.”

Melissa shushed her, still stroking her hair. “He doesn’t care about perfect.”

Tim lowered his head. “Wow, this is a very tight pussy. I’m not used to this.”

Sammi smiled with her mouth ajar, bit her bottom lip, and stared at Melissa, who looked at him, pissed. Melissa said, “Ok, wiseguy, knock it off.” Sammi grinned at her as she said it, “I love you two.”

Sammi’s hands flew to the armrests. Her back arched. A sharp inhale cut through the room.

Melissa kept playing with her hair, kissing her neck, her temple, whispering against her skin. “I told you he was good.”

Sammi’s response came out fractured, barely a word. Her hips bucked once, then again. Her fingers found Tim’s hair, gripping, pulling.

“He’s–” Her voice broke.

The first orgasm hit her like a wave she hadn’t seen coming–her body jerking, a cry escaping her throat, her legs trembling against Tim’s shoulders. Melissa held her through it, murmuring approval.

Sammi was still gasping when Tim’s mouth found her again, relentless, dragging her toward a second peak. Her hands clawed at the cushion. Her head thrashed side to side.

“Oh god,” she managed. “Oh god, he’s–”

The second climax rolled through her, deeper than the first, pulling a long, shuddering moan from somewhere beneath her ribs. When she finally stilled, her chest heaved. Her eyes were wet again, but with something different now.

“You do that better than any man I’ve ever been with,” she said, her voice hoarse.

Tim lifted his head. His chin glistened. A small, satisfied smile played at his lips.

Sammi let out a shaky laugh. “Can I see what all the fuss is about?” She gestured at his waist. “His little guy. You do it with me, though.”

Melissa’s eyes lit up. She grabbed Tim’s wrist and pulled him to his feet, then pushed him down onto the couch beside Sammi. He was tenting his boxers — a visible ridge straining against the cotton.

“Do the honors,” Melissa said.

Sammi hooked her fingers into the waistband and pulled.

His cock sprang free, hard, flushed, bobbing slightly. Sammi’s breath caught. She reached out and wrapped her fingers around the shaft–small in her grip, but warm, twitching at the contact. Her thumb traced the ridge of his head, then slid down to cup his balls.

“It’s cute,” she said softly. She played into her role. She’d figured he didn’t have a micropenis and this was just a kink and she was right.

Melissa leaned down and took him into her mouth.

A shudder ran through Tim’s whole body. His hand found Melissa’s hair. She worked him slowly, her tongue tracing the underside of his shaft, her cheeks hollowing with each pull.

Then she pulled back, her lips wet, and turned to Sammi.

“Your turn.”

Sammi hesitated for half a second. Then she leaned down, her mouth closing over him. She took him deeper than Melissa had–a full swallow, her throat accepting him without resistance.

“I can take all of him,” she said, pulling back to breathe. “No gag reflex. That’s the advantage.”

Melissa’s eyes widened. “Careful. He might cum too fast.” A pause. “Hell, I might cum just watching you do that again.”

Sammi’s smile was wicked. She took another mouthful, this time holding him at the back of her throat, her tongue swirling around the tip. Tim’s hips bucked involuntarily. A guttural sound tore from his chest.

When she released him, he was gasping.

“Can he put it in me?” Sammi asked, her voice steady.

Melissa looked at Tim. “Yes.”

They shifted positions — Sammi lying back on the couch, Tim climbing over her. His cock nudged against her entrance. She was slick, ready, her thighs already trembling.

He pushed in slowly.

Sammi’s mouth fell open. Her hands found his shoulders. “God, that’s–” She let out a breath. “That’s exactly what I needed.”

He moved with the rhythm she’d taught him over years–deep, steady, patient. His thumb found her clit, circling while he thrust. Her breath quickened. Her eyes rolled back. “You are tight, even around my small tick.” Melissa can’t help but look down. “Damn, those lips do grip! You got me beat, Sammi.”

Sammi is so enthralled she doesn’t laugh or respond.

“Don’t you dare cum before me,” she manages.

Tim gritted his teeth. He slowed his pace, focusing on her, on the way her body tightened around him, the way her hips rose to meet his. Melissa let her hands trace his back, trying to calm him.

Her third orgasm hit like a freight train.

She cried out–a raw, uninhibited sound–and her walls clenched around him in long, rhythmic pulses. He let go. His own climax followed immediately, hot and urgent, buried deep inside her.

They stayed like that for a long moment, chests heaving, skin slick. Then Tim pulled out and collapsed beside her.

Melissa was watching them both, her expression unreadable. Then she stood, walked to the hall closet, and returned with two objects.

Sammi spent says, “Thank you both. Wow!……… I go from crying to my best friend and her husband giving me the best orgasms of my life all in an hour. That’s a full day right there.”

All three are laughing. They both love her wit and humor, and none have any regrets.

Sammi says, “Even if you guys did this as a one-off for me, which I’m completely fine with, can I stay in your game, verbally at least? It is erotic as hell. I’ll find my own Tim eventually (winking at him).”

Melissa puts her hand through Sammi’s hair, “I’d rather this be a one-time thing as well………….you do know the pain you will put Timmy through though.”

They both stare at him. Sammi says exactly what she is thinking as she leans in close to him and, in an extremely sexy voice, says, “Tim, I’d love for you to eat me out and fuck me regularly, but Melissa is my best friend, and I could never betray her wishes.” She and Melissa watch the color drain from his face, all going to his cock, and Melissa grins, “You are going to be good at this game, Sammi.”

Tim lets out a small, faux-disappointed look. “What have I done?”

To Be Continued…?

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