“So,” said Damon Prescott, IT manager at Harriman Labs and, for the past two years, my boss. “When am I going to meet this wife of yours?”
I smiled uncomfortably. I had no particular desire to introduce Damon to Layla; he was a sexist pig of a man who had driven off the only two female employees our department had ever had, thanks to a pattern of inappropriate behaviour which, in a just world, would have got him sacked long ago. The walls of his office were decorated with photos of cosplay models in various states of undress, he regularly wore t-shirts with busty and scantily-clad anime characters, and the wallpaper on his laptop was positively pornographic. I could only attribute his continued employment to some kind of hold he had over somebody high up on the corporate ladder.
“Come on,” he pressed me. “You’ve been married, what, three weeks now, and she’s not even visited your workplace yet?”
“She has a job of her own,” you explain. “She’ll be coming to the Christmas do, though – you’ll see her there.”
“Oh, come on,” he said. “That’s two months away! How about I take the two of you out for drinks one night? My treat.”
“Damon,” I said, deciding to put my cards on the table, “you have a bit of a reputation, as if you didn’t know. I don’t want you making a pass at her!”
He chuckled slyly. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “You afraid of a little competition? Don’t you trust your wife?”
“Of course I trust her!” I said irritably. “That doesn’t mean I want to see you trying to get into her panties.”
“Look,” he said. “Mate. You’re not going to keep players like me away from your lovely bride forever. Sooner or later she’s going to meet some good-looking lad with serious seduction skills. And when that happens, wouldn’t you want her to be equipped with the tools to deal with such a man? I can help her hone those tools. Lindsay, you can’t shelter her forever, you know.”
All I knew was that I wanted to keep Layla away from Damon. But what if he had a point? The fear that a better man than I would someday come along and charm his way into Layla’s affections was a constant source of anxiety for me. What if Damon was, indeed, an ideal person to play that role and, in doing so, strengthen Layla’s ability to resist temptation?
I shook my head. No! Anyone but Damon. He was the last person I wanted to see flirting with Layla. On the other hand, I did not want to piss him off; he was, after all, my boss. “Maybe someday,” I told him.
He smiled. “Fair enough,” he said. “Anyway, how’s the house-hunting going?”
“Pretty well,” I said. “We just made an offer on a nice little three-bed semi that we viewed last Friday. For the asking price, it’s the best we’ve seen by quite a long way.”
“That’s great!” said Damon. “Congratulations!”
“Thank you,” I said. “I know these things take time, but I really can’t wait to get out of my dad’s house.”
“Okay, you have to let me take you out for a drink,” said Damon. “To celebrate! Come on, dude – let me spoil my favourite employee.”
It seemed like a nice gesture, but I was wary of his motivations. “Thank you,” I said. “But does your invitation still stand if I don’t bring Layla along?”
“Of course!” said Damon. “It’ll be fun! We’ll have a couple of beers, shoot some pool, have a laugh – then you can go home to your beautiful wife.”
I relaxed a little. “Well, I guess that sounds okay,” I said. “I’ll phone Layla and let her know.”
Layla did not answer her phone, so I left a message. About ten minutes later, she called me back. “Sorry darling!” she said. “I was on a call with a customer. What’s up?”
“I’m going to be late home tonight,” I said. “My boss invited me out for drinks, to celebrate making an offer on a house. We’re going to the pub for a couple of beers, a bit of pool, darts … the usual. I’ll be home for dinner sometime between seven and eight, I expect.”
“Oh!” said Layla. “That sounds fun. Can I come?”
My heart sank. I should have realised she might ask this. “Are you sure you want to?” I inquired. “It’ll just be the two of us, and Damon … well, I’ve told you about him…”
“Lindsay, I’m a girl who likes a good time,” said Layla. “And you’re planning on going to the pub without me? To celebrate something we did together?”
“Well when you put it like that…” I said glumly.
“Plus,” she added, “if you don’t pick me up from work, I’ll have to take the bus home … and you know how gropey some of the other passengers can get. Do you want me to get groped?”
“No!” I said hastily. “Of course not. Fine – I’ll pick you up and we’ll go to the pub together. With Damon.” I sighed. “I just hope he behaves himself.”
“If he doesn’t, I’m sure we can handle him together,” said Layla. “See you at ten past five then?”
“Yes,” I said. “Sure.”
Damon was delighted to hear that Layla would be joining us at the pub. I was uneasy at the prospect of the two of them meeting – Damon was bound to say something crass – but at least, I thought to myself, he was not a devastatingly handsome estate agent with a talent for massage.
I picked Layla up after work, and would have driven straight to the pub, except that Layla insisted on going home first to change.
“What’s wrong with this outfit?” I asked her. “You look great!” She was wearing a dark blue blouse and a black pleated skirt that stopped five inches short of her knees.
“Ugh, no,” she said. “This is a sensible work outfit – it has to conform to the company’s dress code. For a trip to the pub, I want to wear something fun!”
By which, of course, she meant something revealing. “Just don’t go overboard,” I warned her. “Remember what I told you about Damon.”
“Yes yes, he’s a pervert,” said Layla breezily. “But he’s your boss, too! I don’t care if he gets an eyeful. You’ve been planning to ask him for a raise, right? A peek at my panties might help your case.”
“Gah! Layla!” I spluttered. “I don’t want to use your body to further my career!”
She shrugged. “I don’t mind. If your job earns you more money, that helps both of us. And if that can be achieved by me flashing my panties, then heck, I’m up for it! Easy money.”
“It just doesn’t seem ethical,” I said. “Also, we have no guarantee it would work anyway. And also also, we shouldn’t encourage Damon! He’s the type that it you give him an inch, he’ll take a mile. And of all the people I know, he’s the least deserving of the sight of your panties. Flashing Rodders and Trev was bad enough, but at least they’re decent chaps. They wouldn’t try to take advantage.”
Layla nodded. “I do like Rodders and Trev,” she said. Then she chuckled. “But okay, Lindsay, if it bothers you that much, then I won’t show Damon my panties in order to help you get a raise. Even though I think it would work.” She sighed.
I felt like she was a little disappointed in me. Was I letting my jealousy get the better of me again? After all, Layla was only trying to help, in the way that she knew best. And maybe she was right; maybe it would work. Damon was, after all, single and constantly horny – the kind of man who might be easily influenced by a glimpse of underwear.
“No, you’re probably right,” I said grudgingly. “It would probably work, and I do appreciate you trying to help. I just … it bothers me to think of him ogling you. He’s not a nice chap and he doesn’t deserve a nice view of you.”
“If he were a nice chap,” said Layla, “would you feel right about manipulating him?”
That was certainly a different way of looking at it. “Probably not!” I admitted. “All right, I suppose I’m not opposed to you letting Damon have a little look, if you think it will help me persuade him to give me a raise. But should I ask him while you’re doing that, or after…?”
“Let’s play it by ear,” said Layla. “See how the evening goes.”
“Okay,” I replied.
At home, Layla changed into a low-cut pink tank top that showed off her expansive cleavage, and a tight black miniskirt that barely covered her bottom. “Oh god!” I groaned, as she came down the stairs, her white panties highly visible.
My father appeared by my side, also looking up at Layla. “Oh, my dear, you do look nice!” he said, smiling eagerly.
“All right Dad, stop ogling,” I reprimanded him. He seemed to have an almost supernatural ability to position himself in the optimal place for seeing up Layla’s skirts and dresses, and his effusive compliments made me very uncomfortable. Layla, however, did not seem to mind at all, and indulged his shameless flirting far too much in my opinion.
Layla giggled as she reached the foot of the stairs. “You’re going to be freezing,” I warned her. “It’s cold out.”
“I was born in Newcastle,” she said. “Geordie girls can wear this kind of outfit in all weathers.”
“I didn’t know you were a Geordie!” said Dad in surprise. “You don’t sound like one.”
“That’s ‘cause we moved to London when I was nine!” Layla said with a grin. “But I’ve still got that Geordie toughness.”
“All right, let’s go,” I said, before Dad got a chance to ask her for a hug. His hugs were getting more and more naughty, and while Layla thought this was hilarious, I did not find it remotely amusing. I could not wait to get out of this house.
“Have fun, you two!” said Dad, smiling at Layla’s breasts.
“They will,” said Layla, and she laughed cheekily.
I rolled my eyes, took her arm, and led her to the front door. Outside, we got into my car, and I drove to the pub. Heading in, we found Damon already sitting at a table in the corner, halfway through his second pint. “You’re here!” he said, raising his glass. “Come on, have a seat. Holy shit, Layla, you’re even prettier in person! Lindsay’s phone doesn’t do you justice. Nice belt!”
“I’m not wearing a…” began Layla, then she looked down, looked up at Damon, and giggled. “Oh right,” she said. “Thanks!”
“Well you’ve certainly got the legs for it,” said Damon. “If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?”
“Good grief, Damon,” I said, annoyed. “It’s bad enough you’re using chat-up lines on my wife, but really – of all the corny lines…”
“You wouldn’t want me to use ones that actually work, would you?” Damon asked impishly. “I’d hate to end your marriage before it’s hardly begun.”
Layla giggled. “Fancy your chances, do you?” she asked playfully. “Do your worst! See how far it gets you.”
I smirked. “Wait for it,” I said. “He’s about to pull out the old ‘Do you come here often?’ line…”
“Nah, mate,” said Damon, grinning. “A perfect ten like your missus deserves better. But if you want me to pull out the big guns, darling, you’ll need to come and sit next to me.” He patted the bench cushion just next to him.
“Okay, I’ll bite!” said Layla, walking over and sitting down next to him. Pursing my lips, I took a seat on the chair on her other side. The flirting, it seemed, had begun.
Damon casually rested his elbow on the back of the long seat back cushion behind him and Layla. “You know,” he said to her, “I’m not actually this tall. I’m just sitting on my wallet.”
Layla laughed. “Good one!” she said. “What else have you got, Mr Moneybags?”
“Hmm, how about we play a game of Fire Engine?” Damon suggested.
“I don’t know that one,” said Layla. “What do we do?”
Damon placed his left hand on her knee. “I run my hand up your thigh,” he said, proceeding to do so, “and you say ‘Red Light’ when you want me to stop.”
Layla giggled, and allowed him to get his hand about halfway up her thigh before she said, “Red Light!”
But Damon’s hand continued up her thigh. “Fire engines,” he said with a wicked grin, “don’t stop for red lights.”
Layla burst out laughing, and pushed his hand away just as it reached her skirt. “Cheeky!” she said.
But Damon was just warming up. “Fuck me if I’m wrong,” he said, “but you’re six foot two, right?”
Layla laughed again, and I frowned. She seemed to be having way too much fun with Damon. “Can I get you a drink?” I said, interrupting Damon’s next chat-up line.
“Yes please!” she said. “A mojito please.”
“I’ll have another Guinness please,” said Damon.
“You won’t be able to drive,” I warned him.
“Course I will,” Damon retorted. “I’m a big boy – I can drink three pints and still be under the limit.”
“Well I’m not the police and I’m not your mum,” I said. “If you want another pint, you can have one. But don’t say I didn’t warn you!”
I went to buy the drinks. As I was waiting, I looked back at our table, and felt a familiar cramp in my stomach. Damon had his left arm around Layla’s shoulders, and was talking to her earnestly. Then, to my horror, he raised his other hand and took hold of her right breast, giving it a squeeze through her top and bra. What the hell!
“Here you go,” said the barman, forestalling my charge to Layla’s rescue by choosing this moment to place Damon’s Guinness on the bar.
“Um, thanks,” I said. I took the glass, and Layla’s cocktail, and hurried back to the table.
Damon no longer had his hand on Layla’s breast, and as I approached, he removed his left arm from her shoulders. “Thanks mate,” he said, reaching out for his stout.
I withheld it. “First tell me what you were doing with your hand on Layla’s breast!” I said indignantly.
“Oh, you saw that?” said Damon, smirking a little.
“Now don’t get all jealous, Lindsay,” Layla chided me gently. “He didn’t believe my boobs are real! He was convinced I have implants!”
“Uh-huh,” I said sceptically. “And I suppose the only way to convince him otherwise was to let him have a feel?”
“Well yeah!” said Damon. “Only way to be sure. But mate, I’m honestly gobsmacked. Layla’s boobs are a work of art. How the fuck did you manage to marry such a perfect woman?”
“Oh stop!” said Layla, delighted by the compliment. “But thank you. Anyway, I’m the lucky one. I’d be dead if it wasn’t for Lindsay!”
“What?” asked Damon in surprise. “How come?”
“You haven’t told him how we met?” Layla asked me, wide-eyed. “Oh my gosh, Damon – he’s so modest! He totally saved me from drowning in the Thames. I was halfway to the bottom when he dived down and pulled me back up!”
“Shit, man, really?” asked Damon, shocked.
I nodded, feeling rather embarrassed. “It was nothing. Anyone would have done the same.” I set down Damon’s and Layla’s drinks.
“See? Modest!” Layla leaned over and kissed my cheek. “So I’m sorry, Damon, but your chat-up lines just can’t compare!”
“So it seems,” said Damon, in grudging admiration. He picked up his glass, and raised it. “To Lindsay and Layla.”
“Oh, thank you!” said Layla, picking up her drink. “But where’s yours, Lindsay?”
“Still on the bar,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”
I fetched my lager, and returned to the table. Layla and Damon were chatting like old friends, and I was starting to feel a little left out. But this was the plan, I told myself, and Layla was playing her part perfectly.
Ten minutes passed, and then I noticed that one of the pool tables was free. “Anyone for pool?” I asked.
“Absolutely,” said Damon.
“I’ll play the winner!” said Layla.
“You play pool?” Damon inquired. And when she nodded, he looked at me while pointing at her. “See what I mean?” he said. “Perfect woman.”
I played Damon, and won. Grumbling to himself, he went to the bar to buy the next round, while I set up the table to play Layla. She came close to me, and said in a low voice, “This is too easy. He’s so into me!” She giggled.
“Yeah,” I remarked. “He’s certainly been getting pretty handsy.”
“You’re not letting that bother you, are you?” asked Layla in a tone of concern.
“No, of course not,” I said awkwardly. “I just don’t like the thought of him touching you.”
“I know,” she said sympathetically. “But try not to be jealous, darling. If I can handle feeling his pervy hands on me, surely you can handle seeing it. Think of the raise!”
“I’ll try,” I assured her.
Damon returned with the drinks while I was queuing up for a tricky shot. I would have to strike the yellow ball I was attempting to pot with a glancing blow, sending it down the table towards the far corner pocket. Damon snorted. “No chance, mate,” he said.
I took the shot. To my satisfaction, the yellow ball sped down the table, and rattled into the corner pocket. But then my face fell; I no longer had a clear shot at the last yellow I needed to pot. Damon laughed, and sat down in a nearby chair. “Good luck Lindsay!” he said.
I missed, of course. Then Layla was up. She is not a bad player, but she is not very strategic, and will usually go for the easiest pot and hope she ends up in a good position for the next one. As she bent over the table, facing away from Damon, he whistled in appreciation. “Nice arse, Layla!” he said. “Is that a thong?”
Layla giggled. “Yes it is,” she said. “Stop trying to distract me.”
I scowled at Damon, but his eyes were riveted to Layla’s bottom. I hoped she would take her shot quickly, but she seemed to be taking her time. She knew Damon was looking at her bottom, yet was doing nothing to prevent it! I felt myself getting rather cross.
Layla potted her ball, and the next three as well. But then she managed to snooker herself, as I had done, and she looked quite flummoxed as she tried to figure out where to aim the cue ball.
“Want some advice?” Damon asked.
“Sure!” said Layla.
Damon got up, and sauntered over to the table. He seemed a little unsteady on his feet. With four drinks now in him, this was not very surprising, but I was concerned about him getting home after this.
“What you want to do,” he told Layla, putting his right arm around her middle as he leant over the table, pointing with his free hand, “is aim for just to the right of that corner pocket. Like, three inches to the right. It’ll bounce off both cushions, come back this way, and hit the red – hopefully straight enough to knock it into this pocket.”
As Layla bent down to aim, I watched Damon suspiciously. My view of his right arm was obscured by his torso, but it seemed as if he might have lowered his hand to Layla’s hip, or possibly her bottom. If the latter, surely she would have reacted by now? Or was she letting him get away with a grope in order to keep on his good side?
“Careful, Damon,” she said, as if in answer to my question. “I’m wielding a dangerous weapon here.”
Damon chuckled, and stepped away from her. “The opportunity was too good to resist!” he said.
Layla took her shot, and missed her target ball entirely. After that, it was a simple matter for me to clean up. I played Damon again, and Layla got herself another drink. She offered me one too, but I declined.
Damon’s pool game was deteriorating, and a couple of older men were waiting to play, so we yielded the table and returned to where we had been sitting before. Damon flopped down on the bench, and then he grabbed Layla and pulled her on to his lap. “Wahay!” he said, putting his arms around her waist. “I’ve caught a goddess!”
Layla giggled, and toppled, and would have fallen off his lap if he had not been holding her. Her legs flailed for balance, and her skirt slid up around her hips, exposing her panties. I glanced around anxiously, hoping nobody was looking … but of course several men were. “I think you’ve had a little too much to drink,” I said nervously. “Both of you. Fix your skirt, Layla; you’re flashing everyone.”
Damon looked down over her shoulder. “Oh yeah!” he said, his eyes widening. “Very nice!”
Layla used the table to help herself sit up straight. She put her knees together, and tugged her skirt down. “Can you let me up please, Damon?” she asked. “I think perhaps we should call it a night.”
“I agree,” I said. “We haven’t even eaten yet. I’m getting hungry.”
“Give us a kiss,” said Damon, putting his right hand on Layla’s thigh and turning his face up toward hers. “And then I’ll let you up.”
“Hello, I’m married!” said Layla, chuckling. Then she looked around. “Oh, I left my handbag by the pool table. Lindsay, could you please…”
“I’m on it,” I said, already heading over to the table we had been playing on. I picked up Layla’s bag, and returned to where she was still sitting on Damon’s lap.
I was gone perhaps fifteen seconds. But in that time, to my dismay, Damon had not only begun kissing Layla’s neck, but he had also grabbed her left breast with his left hand, while tucking his right hand between her legs and rubbing the front of her panties.
“Stop that, you naughty man!” Layla was saying, as she tried to pull his groping hands off her body. She was giggling as she said this, but I saw red.
“Hey, get your hands off her, you arsehole!” I snapped at him, as I reached out and grabbed Layla’s arm, helping her to her feet. “I’m going to punch your head in!”
“Lindsay, calm down!” said Layla quickly. “He’s drunk; he’s just being an idiot. You can’t hit your boss!”
My clenched fists wanted to say otherwise. “He was molesting you!” I protested.
“Sorry dude, I just got carried away,” said Damon, shaking his head.
“It’s fine!” Layla assured me, clutching my arms. “I’m fine. He’s had too much to drink and got a little gropey – no big deal. I’ve had far worse. But I don’t think we should let him drive.”
“Right,” I agreed, calming down a little. My fists unclenched. “But he drove here himself. What should we do? Take him home in our car?”
“Our home?” Layla inquired. “Or his?”
“His!” I said.
Layla looked down at Damon, whose head was now lolling to one side. “He lives alone, right?” she said. “Maybe we should take him home with us and feed him some dinner. When he’s had something to eat and sobered up a bit, we can take him to his own place. But I don’t feel right about dropping him off in this state.”
“Ugh!” I said, exasperated. “Really? He’s bound to try groping you again.”
“He might!” Layla conceded. “But we can handle it. Come on, Lindsay – it’ll earn you some points.”
“Is it worth it though?” I grumbled. Then I sighed. “All right, fine – we’ll give him some dinner. We’ve got a pizza in the freezer, I think.”
“Yup,” Layla confirmed. “Hope he likes chicken and mushroom.”
Though he was a little wobbly on his feet, Damon made it out of the pub and into the back seat of my car unaided. “This’ll be fun!” he said. “We’ll continue the party at your place.”
“It’s not a party, Damon,” I corrected him. “We’re just giving you some dinner, since you’re in no fit state to drive.”
“Very kind of you,” he mumbled.
“Seatbelt on, please,” I said.
“Right,” he replied, and he fumbled with the seatbelt until he had got it locked in.
It was a short drive home. We went inside, and found Dad watching television in the living room. “Hi Dad,” I said. “This is Damon, my boss.”
“Hi, Lindsay’s dad,” said Damon.
“Pleased to meet you, Damon,” said Dad. “Name’s Rory.”
“Rory,” Damon repeated. “Your son’s a lucky man.”
“Don’t I know it!” said Dad fervently. “Layla’s a beauty. So lovely … with a figure like…”
“All right Dad,” I said, forestalling any more embarrassing compliments. “We haven’t eaten, so I’m going to go and pull a pizza out of the freezer.”
“Oh!” said Dad. “Well, I’ve eaten already. I had last night’s leftovers.”
“What are you watching, Rory?” Damon asked.
“A documentary on the history of British trains,” said Dad. “Fascinating topic! It starts with the early days of steam engines…”
I heard no more of this, because I had left the room and entered the kitchen. I turned the oven on, then opened the freezer and pulled out the pizza. While I was waiting for the oven to heat up, I got three glasses out of the cupboard, and then returned to the living room to ask what everyone wanted to drink.
I was a little disconcerted by what I saw. Layla had sat down in the middle of the sofa, next to Dad, and Damon had sat down on her other side, so that she was sandwiched between the two men. The documentary had resumed playing, but both Damon and my dad seemed more interested by Layla’s cleavage and bare legs. From where I was standing, in the doorway, I could see her panties as a white triangle between her thighs; fortunately neither my dad nor Damon had a similar view.
“Sorry to interrupt the program,” I said. “What does everyone want to drink? We have coke, lemonade, orange juice, water…”
“How about opening a bottle of wine?” Dad suggested. “Since we have company?”
I pursed my lips. “Damon and Layla have both had one or two too many already,” I said. “I’m trying to sober Damon up so we can take him home!”
“Oh, don’t be a party-pooper,” said Dad, most unhelpfully. “This is my house and I’d like some wine. Who’ll join me?”
“Yes please!” said Damon.
“Me too!” said Layla.
“Layla, haven’t you had enough already?” I inquired unhappily. She tended to get more flirtatious, and more careless about flashing her panties, the more alcohol she had in her.
“Lighten up, Lindsay!” said Damon. “Get that stick out of your arse. Perhaps you should have a couple of glasses yourself.”
“Hear hear!” said Dad.
“I don’t have a stick up my arse,” I said stiffly. “But fine! I’ll get out some wine. I can’t have too many though or I won’t be able to drive Damon home.”
Dad shrugged. “I can drive him home,” he said. “I’ll stick to just one glass. By all means, Lindsay, get as pissed as you like.”
“I’m not planning to get pissed,” I retorted. But in truth, though I did not want to admit it, I was looking forward to having some wine. Having to be the responsible one at the pub, while Damon and Layla drank as much as they wanted, was not much fun. And wine was by far my favourite tipple.
I went back to the kitchen, put the pizza in the oven, and opened up a bottle of claret and a bottle of Chardonnay. The idea of having claret with pizza, especially chicken pizza, would have horrified my late mother, but she was not here to judge me for it, and I like claret! Dad fortunately was no wine snob, and would not object, though he would probably have the Chardonnay.
I grabbed four wine glasses and took them through to the living room, half-expecting to find Damon trying something naughty with Layla … but in fact he was just playing on his phone while Dad and Layla watched the train program.
“What do you all fancy?” I asked, setting the glasses down. “Claret or Chardonnay?”
“Ooh, claret!” said Damon, looking up from his phone and affecting a hoity-toity manner. “How very posh!”
“Chardonnay for you, then?” I guessed.
“Oh no, far be it from me to stoop so low as a Chardonnay,” Damon continued in his pseudo-RP voice. “Claret for me, my good man.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Fine. Layla?”
“Chardonnay please,” she said.
“Chardonnay for me too please,” said Dad.
I nodded. “Righto then.”
As I left the room, Damon called after me, “Be sure to have the servants dust the portraits in the East Wing!”
“You’re embarrassing nobody but yourself, Damon,” I called back.
I brought the bottles through, and poured Damon’s and Layla’s drinks first. “This is your only one,” I told Damon firmly.
“Fine, fine,” he said, taking it. “Thanks mate.” He took a sip. “Mmmm, good stuff!”
“Yes it is,” I replied. “Tesco’s finest. No idea why you think it’s posh.”
“Oh I’m only pulling your leg,” he said. “I’d have just called this ‘red wine’ though.”
I went back for my drink and Dad’s, then sat down in an armchair. This reminded me uncomfortably of sitting across from Kent and Layla while he massaged her on the sofa of the house we had just made an offer on. Seeing him sticking his fingers into her vagina was one of the most awful things I have ever had to endure. Fortunately Damon was making no claims to great massage skills … and I was not about to put the idea into his head.
We drank, and we watched the history of trains. When the pinger went off, I got the pizza out of the oven, split it into eight pieces, and served it up. Layla and I had another glass of wine each; Dad declined. Damon wanted one, but I told him he had had enough.
We resumed watching Dad’s program. Ten minutes later, my eyes were glazing over. But then the episode ended, and Dad said, “Another episode? Or something else?”
“Something else!” I said quickly, at the same as Damon and Layla said the same thing. All three of us laughed, and Dad looked a little put out.
“All right,” he grumbled. “But if you’re going to put on one of those superhero films, I’m going upstairs.”
I had no problem with him leaving the room; it would allow me to sit next to Layla. “How about Thor: Ragnarok?” I suggested.
“Sure!” said Damon.
Dad sighed. “I suppose I’ll be heading upstairs then,” he said. “Nice meeting you, Damon. Come and let me know when you need me to take you home.”
“Will do!” said Damon. “Thanks Rory.”
Once Dad had gone upstairs, I went over to the sofa and sat down next to Layla. “Finally!” I said to her with a smile. “I get to sit next to my wife.”
She grinned, and kissed me on the cheek. “Actually I need to run to the loo,” she said. “But I’ll be back shortly.”
“Okay,” I said, as she got up and walked to the doorway.
“Wow, she’s really amazing, that wife of yours,” said Damon. “What a catch! You’ve done well, mate.”
“I know,” I agreed.
“So what’s she like in bed?” Damon asked. “I bet she’s incredible.”
“Damon!” I said, annoyed. “I’m not going to talk about my sex life!”
“Why, is it not good?” he inquired.
“It’s none of your business!” I told him firmly. “I’m a private person; I don’t discuss my sex life with anyone but Layla.”
“I dunno, mate,” said Damon. “If I were fucking such a perfect specimen every night, I’d be telling the world about it.”
“Well I suppose that’s the difference between you and me,” I said stiffly. He was not to know what a sore point he had touched on, and I was not about to correct him.
Five minutes later, Layla came back downstairs. To my surprise and alarm, she had changed for bed. “Um, Layla!” I said anxiously as she re-entered the room. “We have company!”
“Holy shit!” said Damon, wide-eyed.
Layla giggled. She was wearing her customary bedtime outfit of a little crop top and white panties. “I just wanted to get comfy!” she said. “You try wearing a bra all day. And that skirt – while I love it – is getting a little tight.” She looked down at her abdomen reflectively. “It seems I’m getting fat.”
She giggled again. “Thank you,” she said. She walked over to the sofa, and sat down between me and Damon.
Damon, however, quickly slipped his hand beneath her bottom it descended, and Layla squealed as she found herself sitting on it. Damon laughed dirtily, and gave her buttock a squeeze.
“Naughty man!” Layla gasped, raising her bottom again so he could withdraw his hand.
“Seriously, Damon?” I said, frowning at him. “Go and sit in the armchair!”
“Oh come on, mate, it was just a bit of fun,” he said. “So are we watching a film, or was that just a ruse to get rid of your dad?”
I chuckled. “A bit of both, maybe,” I said. “Do you want to watch a film?”
“I want to play a game,” said Damon.
“What sort of game?” asked Layla, interested.
“A drinking game,” said Damon, grinning. “After all, we’ve got two open bottles of wine, and plenty left in each. Might as well make use of them.”
“The two of you have had enough,” I told them sternly.
“Jeez, Lindsay, would you lighten up?” said Damon. “Drinking games are fun!”
“They’re supposed to start when you’re sober, though,” I said.
Damon looked at Layla. “I’ve never heard of that rule. Have you?”
Layla shook her head. “What game did you have in mind?”
Damon thought for a minute. “Truth or dare,” he said.
“Are you serious?” I protested. “We’re not teenagers, Damon! Plus, that’s not a drinking game.”
“It can be,” said Damon. “If you refuse a dare, you have to drink.”
“Oh, I think it sounds fun!” said Layla, turning to me eagerly. “Can we please play, Lindsay?”
I sighed. “Fine,” I said. “But half-glasses only, or we’re all going to be paralytic within half an hour.”
“Lightweight,” said Damon, chuckling. “But okay. Who’s going to start?”
“I will,” I said. “Damon, truth or dare?”
He shrugged. “Truth,” he said.
I smirked. “How many girlfriends have you had?”
“Ouch,” said Damon, looking momentarily annoyed. “Two. Kind of. One was more of a pity-fuck situation at university. The other lasted six months, but she was off her head with drugs half the time.” He sighed. “My turn. Layla, truth or dare?”
“Truth!” said Layla with a smile.
Damon grinned. “On a scale from one to ten, how good is Lindsay in bed? The truth, now!”
I cleared my throat, my cheeks burning. I had no desire to hear – or to have Damon hear – Layla’s answer to this question.
“No comment – I’ll take a dare instead,” said Layla, giggling. Thank goodness!
“All right,” said Damon, licking his lips. “I dare you to flash your boobs.”
“Hey!” I objected.
But Layla had already pulled up her top, showing her gorgeous, perfect, plump, firm breasts to Damon’s undeserving gaze.
“Damn, those things are amazing!” he gasped, raising his hands as if he was about to reach out and grab them.
Layla giggled as she pulled her top down. “My turn now?”
“Yes,” I said with a scowl. Layla was not the most inhibited young woman at the best of times; with a few drinks in her she seemed utterly unselfconscious. “Maybe this game wasn’t such a good idea…”
“Damon,” she said, “truth or dare?”
“Dare this time, I suppose!” he replied.
“Okay,” said Layla, thinking for a moment. “I dare you to kiss Lindsay on the lips.”
I stared at her in horror. But fortunately Damon seemed to have no intention of doing this awful thing. “I think I’ll have a drink instead!” he said.
I poured him half a glass. “You’d better not puke on our furniture,” I warned him.
“Give me some credit!” he said. “I’m not remotely near my limit.” He tipped back his glass and downed the claret. “All right, my turn again,” he said. “Lindsay, truth or dare?”
“Dare,” I said, wary of more questions about my sex life. Perhaps he would dare me to snog Layla. I could certainly handle that.”
“I dare you,” he said, “to lick Layla’s pussy, right here and now.”
I threw up my hands in exasperation. “Really, Damon?” I said. “Can you not keep coming up with dares that expose my wife to your filthy gaze?”
Damon laughed. “Busted!” he said. “But a dare’s a dare. Do it, or drink.”
“Drink,” I said, pouring myself some claret. This was no hardship. I knocked it back in just a few seconds. Good stuff. “Now, my turn. Truth or dare, Layla.”
“Dare!” she said.
I smiled. “Okay,” I said. “I dare you … to stand on one leg and sing Baa Baa Black Sheep.”
Damon stared at me. “Mate,” he said, in the tone of someone who has been deeply let down, “that’s the worst dare I’ve ever heard. That’s the kind of thing a five-year-old would come up with.”
Shame and embarrassment filled me, and I turned to Layla for support. “Look, I know these things are usually pretty racy, but I don’t want you any further exposed in front of Damon!”
“It doesn’t have to involve exposure,” said Damon patiently. “Just make it … you know … daring! Something that she wouldn’t do without being dared to do it. Something to get the adrenaline pumping.”
“Don’t worry about making it too hard,” said Layla, patting my knee. If it’s something I’m not willing to do, I’ll just take the drink instead.”
“I think you’ve had enough though,” I said uncomfortably. “But all right. Give me a minute.” I thought hard. Then I said, “Okay, how about this? Layla, I dare you to spank Damon’s bottom.”
Layla burst out laughing, and Damon’s cheeks turned red. “Um, not cool, mate!” he said. “That’s more of a dare for me than for Layla! It’s easy and fun to spank someone; not so much fun to get spanked!”
“I’m sure you can handle a couple of slaps from Layla’s hand, through your jeans,” I teased him. “You’ll hardly feel them.”
“It’s more the humiliation aspect,” said Damon. “Sometimes dares are humiliating, and that’s what makes spanking a great idea … but it’s supposed to be the person doing the dare who gets humiliated.”
I smirked. “Nice try, but you’re not spanking Layla,” I told him. “If anyone’s going to spank her, it’ll be me.”
Damon shrugged. “All right then,” he said. “Dare Layla to let you spank her. That would be a good one.”
Layla giggled, and I raised my eyebrows. She did not seem bothered by the idea. And it did have a certain appeal… “Um,” I said, “what would you think about that, Layla?”
“Don’t ask her that!” said Damon. “You don’t ask for permission to dare someone something! Just dare her, and if she doesn’t accept it, she can drink.”
“All right!” I said, a little irritated. “Layla, I dare you to let me spank you.”
She grinned. “Okay,” she said, and she leaned her whole body across my lap, then scooted forward until her bottom was right in front of me.
“Go on!” Damon encouraged me excitedly. “Give her six of the best!”
I did not like the way he was staring eagerly at Layla’s panty-clad bottom (thank goodness she had changed out of her thong!) and I resolved to get this over quickly. I raised my hand, and brought it down on Layla’s right buttock. She squealed, then giggled.
“Harder than that, Lindsay!” said Damon. “Not much of a dare if you’re just going to pat her. Put some welly into it.”
“Jeez, Damon!” I said. “I don’t want to hurt her!”
“I think you’ll find she’s tougher than you think,” said Damon. “What do you reckon, Layla – can he go a bit harder?”
“Sure!” said Layla.
I spanked her a little harder, and she squealed again. “Too hard?” I asked anxiously.
“No!” she replied. “That was fine.”
“Good grief,” said Damon, amused, as I continued to lightly spank my wife. “She can take more than that, you know.”
I stopped. “Well I’m not the type of man who gets a kick out of hitting my wife,” I said tersely, although I confess it was sort of fun to spank her. “That’s enough spanking.”
“You ever want a real spanking, Layla,” said Damon, “you come and talk to me. I’ll set your arse buzzing in the best way.”
Layla climbed off me, and sat up. “My turn?” she asked.
“Yup,” I said.
“Damon,” she said. “Truth or dare.”
“Dare,” he said.
“I dare you,” she said, “to spank me!”
“What?” I said, aghast.
“Accepted!” said Damon eagerly.
“Layla!”
“I just want to see what a proper spanking is like,” she said defensively. “Yours was nice, but it was a little soft. Damon thinks he can do better – well, I’m curious what that’ll be like!”
“All right,” I grumbled. “But don’t blame me if he hits you too hard.” For a moment I found myself hoping that he would indeed hit her too hard, so that she would realise her mistake, never want to be spanked again, and would moreover be angry at Damon and not want him to come near her again. But then I realised I was wishing pain upon her, and felt horribly guilty. “Please don’t hurt her, Damon,” I said nervously.
“Spanking is supposed to hurt,” said Damon. “But in a good way. Don’t worry – she’ll enjoy it.” Then, as Layla laid herself across his lap, he noted how her upper body was sprawled awkwardly off the corner of the sofa, with her elbows on the floor. “Wait, can I sit in the middle?” he said. “Then Layla can use the whole length of the sofa.”
“Sure,” I said, and Layla pulled herself up as Damon slid himself along, keeping her bottom on his lap.
“Now,” he said, “this is how you do a proper spanking. First, you’ve got to prepare the panties.” Slipping his index and middle fingers beneath the seams of her panties, atop the right and left sides of her bottom, he pushed them up towards her back, so that the material got bunched together and pulled between her buttocks. Layla squeaked in alarm at this indignity.
“Hey, she never said you could give her a wedgie!” I protested.
“It’s just so I can spank her bare bottom,” Damon explained. “Would you rather I pulled her panties down? Or took them off…?”
“No, of course not!” I said.
“Well then,” said Damon. “Just watch, and learn.” He raised his hand, then brought it down hard on her right buttock.
“Ow!” Layla squealed.
I gasped. “That was too hard!” I said.
“No it wasn’t,” said Damon, and he spanked her left cheek this time, just as hard. Layla squealed again.
I stared at her bottom. Both buttocks were now bright red. “Way too hard!” I exclaimed. “Are you all right, Layla?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” she said. “That was harder than I was expecting! But still bearable. My bottom really is buzzing!”
“You see?” said Damon, smirking with satisfaction. “May I continue, Layla?”
“Yes please,” she said, to my surprise. Did my wife have a secret masochistic streak?
Damon spanked both buttocks again, making Layla yelp. Then he began to gently stroke her bottom. “You can’t just spank and spank without relief,” he said. “It’s good to give the buttocks a soothing rub in between spanks.”
Seeing him massage Layla’s bottom like this was giving me unpleasant flashbacks to Kent’s massage. Layla murmuring contentedly and undulating her hips on Damon’s lap did not help matters, and I was about to object, when he abruptly spanked her again, on both buttocks.
“Ahhh!” Layla gasped.
“Too hard!” I said anxiously, as Damon resumed massaging her bare bottom. This time he was doing so more sensuously, kneading her flesh, sinking his fingers deeper into the cleft between her buttocks.
“No – it’s fine!” said Layla.
“The trick is to alternate pain with pleasure,” said Damon. “This is a great way to build up her tolerance. Once her body starts associating the pain of spanking with feeling nice afterwards, it’ll actually become excited at the idea of being spanked.”
“I don’t need Layla to get excited about being spanked!” I said, watching uneasily as his fingers briefly disappeared down between her thighs while he was massaging her bottom.
“What about what Layla needs, though?” Damon inquired, spanking her again. “Are you in the habit of making her decisions for her, where her body is concerned?”
“No, of course not!” I replied, a little rattled. Perhaps I had overstepped my authority; was I being too controlling?
But it was hard to stay silent as I watched him kneading her buttocks, his fingertips pushing down between them, following the curve of her bunched-up panties. I began to suspect that he was now, in fact, rubbing her pussy through her panties … and she was not objecting!
“You’re getting a bit intimate there!” I said grimly.
He did not even try to deny it! “Yup,” he said, “there’s no better way to mitigate the pain of a hard spanking than with a nice pussy rub.” He spanked each buttock again, then he tucked his hand down between her thighs, and blatantly began rubbing her pussy with two fingers, while she uttered a little moan of pleasure.
“That’s as may be!” I said, getting upset. “But Layla dared you to spank her! Not rub her … there!”
“Lindsay,” said Damon patiently. “This is all part of the spanking. This is how couples spank each other. You alternate the spanking with some erotic stimulation. You seriously don’t know this already?”
“Why would I?” I demanded. “I’ve never spanked her before!”
“No previous girlfriends into a bit of light BDSM?” Damon inquired, still rubbing my wife’s pussy.
“No!” I said. “Layla was kind of my first proper girlfriend. Look, would you please stop rubbing her there?”
Damon looked down at Layla’s bottom. “I don’t think she minds, mate,” he said, rubbing even harder.
But Layla corrected him. “I think that’s enough, Damon!” she gasped. “It feels very nice, but I think you’ve spanked me enough.”
To my relief, Damon raised his hands. “All right,” he said. “Up you get, Layla. My turn next, I think.”
Layla lifted herself off his lap, and sat down in the only empty spot on the sofa … which was now on the far side of Damon. So I was no longer sitting next to Layla, but Damon was. This bothered me, and I felt myself pouting a little.
“Lindsay,” said Damon. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” I said, having had enough of dares.
“At what age did you lose your virginity?” Damon asked.
“Ugh, more sex questions!” I said irritably. “Dare, then!”
Damon chuckled. “All right – I dare you to go upstairs and call your dad a cunt, to his face.”
Layla snorted with laughter, as I stared at Damon in dismay. “I’m not going to do that!” I exclaimed.
Damon chuckled. “Mate, you’re way too uptight for this game,” he said. “But you agreed to play! Drink up, then.”
I poured myself another half glass, and drank it. “My turn,” I said. “Truth or dare, Damon.”
He paused, then belched. “‘Scuse me,” he said. “Truth.”
“How many women have you spanked?” I asked him.
“Two,” he said. “Layla and my ex, Sadie. She liked a bit of rough stuff – more than I did, to be honest. All right, my turn again. Layla, truth or dare.”
“Dare!” said Layla, her eyes shining and her cheeks glowing. She had clearly had too much to drink, I reflected. But by now, so had I. In hindsight, my judgment was clearly impaired, or I would have probably stopped the game by this point.
“I dare you,” said Damon, “to spend the rest of the evening topless.”
“Oi, Damon!” I said peevishly. “Stop trying to take advantage of my wife!”
“It’s just a dare, Lindsay,” said Damon, smirking. “She doesn’t have to.”
“It’s okay darling, I don’t care,” said Layla, pulling her top up and over her head. “He’s seen them anyway.”
My god, she looked gorgeous, sitting there in just her panties. And clearly Damon thought so too; he was leaning over her chest, ogling her breasts, vocally marvelling at their beauty … and Layla was just giggling and letting him feast his eyes.
“Your turn, Layla,” I said irritably. “And I think this needs to be the last round. We need to get you home, Damon, so Dad can get to bed. He doesn’t like to stay up very late.”
“Okay,” said Layla. “Damon, truth or dare?”
“Dare,” he said, grinning at her breasts.
“I dare you,” said Layla, a little breathlessly, “to … suck my boobs!” And she burst into a fit of giggling.
“Oh my god, Layla, why did you dare him to do that?” I demanded in exasperation, as Damon eagerly bent over and attached his lips to her right breast, sucking her nipple into his mouth.
Layla squealed with laughter. “Oh you naughty thing, Damon!” she said, tipping her head back and sticking her chest out. “I didn’t think you’d actually dare to do it! Lindsay, I’m sorry!”
“What did you think he’d do?” I groaned. “He’s been eyeing your breasts all evening!” Then I noticed that in addition to sucking on Layla’s right nipple, Damon was rubbing the front of her panties with his right hand. “Damon, get your hand off my wife’s panties!”
Layla giggled. “It’s a little late to make a fuss about that,” she said. “He’s groped me down there several times already, and frankly I’m too hammered and horny to care.”
“Well I care!” I protested. “I’m drunk too, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about seeing my boss feel you up! Damon, you’ve done the dare – now it’s your turn … and this’ll be the last one!”
Damon lifted his head away from Layla’s breast. “The dare,” he said indistinctly, “was to suck Layla’s boobs. So far I have sucked one boob. Boob, singular. I still have to suck the other one.”
I rolled my eyes. “Ugh, just get on with it then!”
Damon gave Layla’s right breast one final lick, then he took hold of it with his left hand, fingers splayed, and gave it a squeeze while he leaned over to suck her left nipple into his mouth. While sucking on it noisily, he continued massaging her pussy through her now clearly damp panties. She had spread her legs rather wide, and he was exploring the contours of her nether regions with great thoroughness. I turned away in disgust, and pulled out my phone. I would give him thirty seconds more, I told myself, and then he would have to stop.
I got a little distracted by a news article about the falling standards of geographical knowledge in schoolchildren, and it was probably more like two minutes before I turned to Damon in order to tell him his time was up. To my horror, he now had his hand fully inside Layla’s panties, and judging by the motion of his hand he seemed like he might be finger-fucking her. “Jesus!” I exclaimed, incensed. This was like Kent all over again. “Get your hand out of there, Damon!”
He whipped his hand out of Layla’s panties, pulled his lips off her left breast, and looked up at me with a guilty grin. “Sorry,” he said. “Got carried away. Blame the alcohol.”
“Yeah, well this is the last time Layla and I will be going out drinking with you!” I said hotly. “I know you’re both drunk, but still!”
“I humbly apologise,” said Damon, sitting up straight. “Last turn then. Layla, truth or dare?”
“Truth,” she said, to my relief. I dreaded to think what he might have dared her to do.
Damon thought for a moment. “Has Lindsay ever performed cunnilingus on you?”
Layla looked at me, and I frowned slightly. “Um, that’s not your business!” she said. “I’ll do a dare instead.”
Damon sighed. “Oh, fine,” he said. “In that case I dare you … to give me a lap dance.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” I exclaimed. “I give you an inch, and you take a mile! No, you cannot have a lap dance from Layla!”
“Shouldn’t that be her choice?” Damon inquired.
“Yes!” I said, assuming Layla would back me up. Then I had a horrible suspicion that, in her inebriated state, she might actually think it sounded like fun. “I mean no! I’m her husband! I think I deserve to have a say in the matter!”
“What if I give both of you a lap dance?” Layla suggested.
“It’s my dare,” said Damon stubbornly. “Lindsay can dare you to do one for him if he wants to.”
“But this is the last turn,” said Layla. “Come on, he might agree to it if he gets one too.”
“All right,” Damon conceded grudgingly. “Fine – I dare you to give us both a lap dance.”
“I accept,” said Layla.
“Now hold on!” I said. “As nice as it sounds to get a lap dance from my beautiful wife, I’m not happy about her doing the same thing for you!”
Damon shrugged. “She accepted.”
Layla stood up, walked over to me, and sat down sideways on my lap, putting her arms around my neck. “It’s the last dare,” she said softly, “and then Damon will be going home. And then we’ll be alone, and I’ll be all yours.” She smiled. “And trust me, you’re really going to enjoy this lap dance.”
I felt myself wavering. In truth, I very much wanted her to give me a lap dance. She had never done that before, and I was getting very aroused, just thinking about it. It rankled that she would be doing the same thing for Damon, but…
“Well, I suppose you did accept the dare,” I said reluctantly. “Go on then.”
Layla giggled excitedly. “Okay!” she said. “I need music though.”
Damon pulled out his phone, and Googled. “Says here,” he said, “that ‘Skin’ by Rihanna is a good stripping song.”
“She’s already stripped!” I pointed out. “And she’s not stripping any further!”
“A good stripping song is bound to be a good lap dance song,” Damon replied. “Can we give it a try?”
I sighed. “Sure.”
Damon found the song on YouTube, and began playing it. Layla got up from my lap, and as Rihanna’s sultry voice came in, she began to dance.
Even drunk and not entirely steady on her feet, Layla was a naturally gifted and captivating dancer. With her feet set eighteen inches apart and her arms above her head, she swayed sinuously, undulating her whole body in a mesmerizing fashion. I stared, fascinated, and then with increasing arousal as she turned around, bent over, and began gyrating her bottom just three feet from my face. I wanted to reach out and grab her by the hips, pull her on to my lap, kiss her…
But then she turned around again, stepped forward, and put one foot up on the sofa next to me. Leaning in so that her breasts were right before my eyes, she grabbed them with her hands and began squeezing and kneading them. Then, as my pulse reached what must surely have been an unhealthy rate, she took hold of my wrists, and pulled my hands to her breasts. I took hold of them willingly, squeezing and caressing them, as she climbed on to the sofa and sat down on my lap, straddling me, her panty-clad pussy pressing against the bulge in my trousers. As exciting as this was, I found myself wishing I had changed into my jeans when I got home; my work trousers were dry-clean only, and I did not really want her to stain them with the naughty wetness of her panties.
Perhaps she had the same idea, because she sat up a little, lifting her bottom off me, and reached down to unbuckle my belt. As she unzipped my trousers and pulled them open, I was a little worried that she was about to pull my cock out … and I had no desire for Damon to see that! But she did not; she merely settled herself back down, and started grinding her pussy against my raging erection, with only her panties and my boxer shorts separating us. It was intensely erotic, and I very nearly climaxed inside my underwear. But then she climbed off me, and as she stood up and resumed dancing, she hooked her thumbs into the sides of her panties, and teased me by pulling them down bit by bit, then tugging them back up, then pulling them down again. I stared, wide-eyed, both hoping she would go ahead and expose her pussy to me, and hoping she would not; I was acutely aware that Damon was staring at the same view.
Then, to my mingled delight and dismay, she turned away from me and abruptly pulled her panties down, holding on to them as she bent almost double, tugging them down to her ankles. I forgot to breathe or blink as I drank in the sight of her naked pussy directly in front of me, her puckered anus, and the slit of her vaginal opening. She wiggled her bottom, grasped her buttocks with her hands, and pulled them apart, more fully exposing her intimate parts. I swallowed.
Stepping out of her panties, she picked them up in one hand, then she stood up and turned around, giving me a naughty grin. As the song came to an end, she tossed her panties on to my lap, then she stood back, and blew me a kiss.
There was a stunned silence. Then Damon began clapping enthusiastically. “That was amazing!” he said. “You’re a natural, Layla!”
“That wasn’t for you!” she chided him, though she was blushing and smiling. “That was for my darling husband. What did you think, Lindsay?”
I suddenly remembered my exposed and bulging boxer shorts, and hastily pulled my trousers closed. “It was incredible,” I admitted. “The sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I loved it – thank you.”
She smiled happily, then she stepped forward, bent down, and kissed me on the lips. “You’re welcome!” she said. “But now it’s Damon’s turn.”
As she went to stand in front of him, I felt a stab of discomfort as he stared hungrily at her naked pussy. “Um,” I said, holding up her panties. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“Oh yes!” she laughed, and she held them out, tried to step into them, missed the leg hole, tripped, and fell to her knees. “Oh dear! I’m perhaps a little drunk for this!” She stood up, unsteadily, and tossed her panties over her shoulder. “You’ve seen everything anyway, Damon,” she said with a shrug. “I don’t mind doing the whole song naked.”
“Suits me!” said Damon, and he restarted the song.
It seemed to me, though I admit my perception may have been a little off-kilter, that Layla spent less time dancing in front of Damon than she had in front of me, and that she climbed on to his lap earlier in the song. Damon took full advantage of her proximity, bending his head to suck on her nipples again, while fondling both breasts with his hands. As she had done with me, Layla reached down and opened up his trousers, and as she ground her naked pussy against his bulging underwear, I felt rather sick. She was doing nothing with him that she had not done with me, except for her lack of panties, and I had known and agreed to her doing a lap dance for both of us … but I found I just could not bear to watch any longer.
“I think I’ll go upstairs,” I said, “and let Dad know you’ll be ready to go home in a couple of minutes.”
“Okay!” said Damon excitedly, not taking his eyes off my wife’s naked body. His right hand was now tucked between her legs, and Layla was moaning as she raised and lowered her bottom. I felt a stab of jealous anger as I realised that Damon probably had a finger inside her. Perhaps two! This was truly Kent all over again. I could not decide whether it was better, or worse, that Damon was a disgusting and perverted slob instead of a handsome and well-groomed stud like Kent.
But whatever: it was the final dare, the song would be over soon, and then Dad would take Damon home. And there was no way in hell I was ever going to let him near Layla again.
I got to my feet, my head swimming, and I stumbled out of the living room. Climbing the stairs carefully, I went to Dad’s room, and knocked on his door. “Come in!” he said.
I entered, and found him doing the crossword. “C blank C blank O blank D,” he mused aloud.
“Dad, it’s time to take Damon home,” I said, not wanting to get drawn into solving his crossword for him. “We decided not to watch a film after all.”
“Oh!” said Dad. “Righto. Just give me a moment to finish this clue – it’s the last one.”
I took a deep breath, and let it out. “What’s the clue?” I asked.
“Curve traced by point on moving circle,” said Dad.
“Cycloid,” I told him. “Can you come down in two minutes?”
“Certainly,” he said.
But then I had a sudden picture of him finding Layla still naked and on Damon’s lap. “Um, make it five minutes,” I corrected myself. “Give him a chance to finish his drink.”
“He’s still drinking?” Dad asked in surprise.
I shrugged. “That’s Damon for you.”
“Five minutes it is, then,” said Dad.
By now I was feeling rather desperate for the loo, so I went to the bathroom, and emptied my bladder. Then, because I was near my bedroom, I went in to take off my shoes and put on my slippers. I was tempted to change into more comfortable clothes, too, but I did not want to leave Layla alone too long with Damon; who knew what he might try to do?
Heading to the top of the stairs, I grasped the bannister, and slowly and carefully descended. The world was spinning a bit, and I felt annoyed with myself for having had too much to drink. Fortunately I made it to the foot of the stairs, and walked sedately into the living room. In the doorway, I stopped in surprise.
The music had stopped, but Layla was still naked, and still on Damon’s lap. She was bouncing up and down, uttering moans of pleasure in time with her bounces, while Damon, with a rapturous look on his face, held on to her hips with both hands.
“Oh my god!” I exclaimed, aghast.
Layla stopped bouncing immediately, and turned her head to look at me with a shocked expression. “Lindsay!” she said. “You … you startled me! I didn’t hear you come down the stairs.”
“I changed into my slippers!” I said. “Not that it matters. What the heck, Layla?”
“I’m sorry!” said Layla, looking guilty.
Damon looked guilty too. “Mate,” he said, “I … I don’t know what to say.”
I scowled. “Look, Layla, I’m sure you’re very horny and wanting to get yourself off, but rubbing yourself on Damon’s crotch is even worse than … than … you know.” I did not want to mention Kent in front of Damon. “Worse than Damon using his fingers! I mean heck … it almost looked for a minute there like you were having sex!”
Layla stared at me, and then she bit her lip. “I … I’m just so desperate to climax!” she said. “Can’t I please … finish? I’m so close!”
“Ugh,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I suppose you might as well. Make sure your cock stays inside your underwear though, Damon! I don’t want it touching my wife’s … you know.”
Damon grinned. “Of course,” he said.
Layla resumed bouncing, and Damon’s head tilted back, as he began panting harder. Clearly he was getting almost as much out of this pelvic rubbing as Layla was.
More, perhaps, as it turned out. I did not really want to stick around and watch, but I was prepared to call a halt to Layla’s fun if it went on much longer. After another half-minute, though, to my disgust, Damon suddenly groaned, his body stiffening, and I realised he must have ejaculated all over the inside of his underwear. Gross!
Layla shuddered, and uttered a loud moan of ecstasy. Her bouncing halted for a while, then resumed more slowly. Both she and Damon were panting.
“All right, all right,” I said irritably. “You got each other off … which is horribly inappropriate … now please get off each other!”
Layla hesitated, looking at me uncertainly.
“Um, Lindsay,” said Damon. “Could you maybe … turn around for a moment?”
No doubt he did not want me to see the giant wet patch on his underwear. “Fine!” I said, turning my back on them.
A moment later, Layla trotted past me, picked up her panties from the floor, and quickly put them back on. “Dad’ll be done shortly,” I said. “Best put your top on too.”
“Oh yes,” she said, and went back for her top.
“Well,” said Damon, emerging from behind me and looking infuriatingly pleased with himself. “I want to thank you, Lindsay, for a truly spectacular evening.”
He seemed surprisingly comfortable for someone with a load of semen in his underwear. I gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Yes, well, you had rather more fun at Layla’s expense than I would have liked,” I said, “and I’m sure we’ll all have some regrets in the morning. But have a good weekend, and I’ll see you in the office on Monday.”
“You too,” he said.
Dad was by now coming down the stairs. I saw Damon to the front door, held it open for him and Dad, and then shut it behind them.
“Whew!” I said, turning to Layla, who was standing in the living room doorway, swaying a little. “Thank goodness that’s over. That’s the last time we’re going out for drinks with him! Sorry he got so gropey … although it seems like you didn’t mind too much!”
She shrugged awkwardly. “Like I said, I’m a li’l too drunk to care,” she said, slurring her words a bit. “Tomorrow morning I’ll prob’ly shudder at the thought of him touching me. I … I’m sorry I let it go so far.”
I sighed. “Never mind,” I said. “He’s never going to let me hear the end of it at work though. I can just hear him now: ‘Hey Lindsay, remember when I fingered your wife?’ Ugh.” I shook my head sadly. “I … I suppose I should have stopped him. But … it was Truth or Dare! And, well, I think if I’d been sober I’d have never let it go so far. So really, it’s at least partly my fault.”
Layla walked over to me, put her arms around my waist, and rested her head against my chest. “Let’s get ready for bed,” she said.
“Okay!” I agreed. Perhaps, I thought to myself, with everything that had happened this evening, tonight might be the night…
Fifteen minutes later, as I climbed into bed with my beautiful wife, I smiled at her. “Maybe,” I said hopefully, “we could … you know...”
She smiled back sympathetically. “Your dad will be back any moment,” she said. “You know I’m not comfortable with the thought of him hearing us. Didn’t we agree to wait until we’re in a house of our own?”
I sighed. “But you and Damon were pretty loud when you were … rubbing on each other. If Dad had heard that, he’d have thought the two of you were having sex!”
“Possibly,” Layla admitted. “Which was silly of me. I told you I didn’t mean for it to go so far.” She patted my shoulder affectionately. “Anyway, this isn’t a safe day.” She kissed my cheek. “I can give you a hand-job if you like. After all, it just wouldn’t be right if I got my husband’s boss off, but not my husband … would it?”
“No,” I agreed.
She reached into the front of my boxer shorts, and felt around. “Oh,” she said. “Well, perhaps another time.”
“I’m sorry,” I said ruefully. “I think it’s all the booze. I was hard earlier!”
“So I noticed!” she said. “When I was giving you a lap dance. You were as hard as a rock! I was very impressed.” She turned herself around. “Cuddle me?”
I switched off the light, and cuddled up to her back, putting my arms around her middle. “Goodnight my love,” I whispered.