Erotica: The Refectory Table

Image courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net

“You coming for a hack?” she asked, car keys in hand.

“Nah, thanks Judy,” I replied. “I reckon I’ll just stay here with Orson Welles, if you don’t mind.” The biography lay on the long stripped oak table next to my morning coffee.

“OK, suit yourself” she huffed, off-handily. “Anyway, see you round one-ish for lunch. Byeee!”

I heard the door of the Range Rover slam and the hush-crush of tyres against gravel. The director mocked me from the dust jacket.

‘Orson, me old son, this has been a serious mistake,’ I thought. An invite from old university friend Judy to spend the weekend in the Cotswolds, play catch up, reminisce and be mates again was turning into a monumental disaster. From picking me up from the London train, I knew immediately that I’d completely fucked up my weekend – and probably hers too.

We had nothing in common now. Judy was rich, blonde, comfortable and glamorous – spoilt and distant. I thought I hadn’t changed at all – still the gawky, tomboyish academic I’d always been. My job as a crappily paid book reviewer for a specialist film mag betrayed my loyalties. I loved books and film, not fashion nor makeup and certainly not horsey hacks in the Cotswolds countryside.

Judy had married Phil, also one of our Uni set, and he had gone on to great things in the City. The picture book cottage was the result and also his appearance late last night as we were ploughing through our second bottle of wine. The alcohol hadn’t helped at all and our conversation just made me more morose and edgy.

She was curled up on the Laura Ashley sofa opposite me. “See these?” she said cupping her boobs, “twelve grand’s worth. Phil got them for me as a present with the bonus he’d made. He’s such a sweetie you know, gives me everything I could ever want.”

I gulped my wine, thought about mentioning fixing her fat arse too, but eventually just folded my arms defensively.

“You should save up and get one,” she said. “And Annie, for god’s sake you’ve had that same cut ever since I’ve known you from the first year.”

The oak door to the sitting room creaked open. It was Phil.

“Oh hi Annie,” he yawned, a glass of whisky in hand. “Totally forgot you were coming this weekend. Jude, got anything to eat?”

“S’might be shome cheese in the fridge,” she slurred. “Want a sandwich?”

“Nah, don’t worry, I’ll find something” he said, scratching his head. “Fucking long day and I’m shagged. Another Glenlivet and that’s me. See you.”

An hour later I was still fuming in the white walled, low-beamed guest room. I looked at myself naked in the cheval mirror. She was right.

I had the body of a boy, but without the dangly bits. My breasts were really just tiny lumps topped by stubby nipples. I was small and thin; no voluptuous curves like Judy MegaBoobs. My thick black, spiky hair was an inheritance from my Italian mother – the rest of me, unfortunately not.

Maybe, after endless nights in the Screen on the Green or unseen in my flat poring over a manuscript, I’d just stopped bothering. Why would I need three hours of makeup when a quick once over would do? Or pluck my thick brows, which I quite liked. My bush was black, wild, and untidy, but hey, nobody ever saw it, so what? But I had a good bum though, small and quite pert, unlike Judy’s, which strained against her overstretched Levi’s. Point scored there, then, I suppose. And I didn’t have to invest thousands in bras.

I strangely cultivated the boyish image; one time with the blokes from work I was even mistakenly called ‘lad’ by a barman in the pub. I wore jeans, t-shirts and DM’s for comfort, drank real ale whilst we debated Polanski and kept my hair short because it looked stupid long. I appeared, well, dykey, I suppose, but without the lesbo inclinations or butch attitude. Dave in work said I looked like Winona… without the knockers. Charming!

I’d actually had a few flings and well, suppose I quite enjoyed them. Just a couple of guys and they were ok, but for the most part unmemorable under the duvet, fumbly lights-out stuff with blokes who preferred Bunuel to bonking. We once had a couple of porno DVDs doing the rounds in the office and I took a sneak peek on my PC when everyone had left for the day. And although I didn’t expect hours of cock gagging, up the arse slamming, double penetrations and messy facial finishes, I did think my sex life was, up to now, well, a tad dull.

Once, one of the girls in the office, Sarah, misread the signs and after a night on the piss together she tried a drunken opportunist grope back at my flat. I reciprocated out of, well, politeness I suppose, but in the end I enjoyed the cuddling rather than the cunningulus. So to put it bluntly… meat over muff it was then. I just never got much, nor actively sought it either. Geek, blue stocking, academic, and tomboy – all and more I suppose.

“Morning Annie,” yawned Phil, padding into the kitchen in his towelling dressing gown. “Any coffee going?”

“Morning Delon,” I replied with a smile.

“Oh, you and your sodding films” he laughed, pouring a cup. It was the nickname I’d given him at Uni, because of his resemblance to the French star. It had stuck with time. He sat down opposite me, his coffee in front of him.

“You’ll need a coaster for that or she’ll bloody murder you,” I warned.

“Oh shit, yes the table!” he howled, reaching across for a magazine. “Damn thing cost us thousands… and hundreds more to get it restored. Elizabethan refectory, apparently, but it’s just a kitchen table as far as I’m concerned. Where is she anyway?”

“Gone for a ride,” I replied.

“Oh, should have guessed. That bloody horse. Her and Molly, they’re inseparable,” he sighed. “If it’s not a morning ride then it’s grooming or mucking out and tack fixing or whatever they call it. A Rabbit vibrator would have been cheaper.”

“Hmm,” I nodded, flicking through the book’s pages.

“So, how’s life?” he asked, sipping the coffee.

“Oh, you know, same old-same old,” I sighed. “Job’s ok. I’ve been nominated as a judge in Venice this year. Just on the art house sidelines, but reckon it should be cool. Cranking through a manuscript a week at the moment. And erm, watching films, and er…watching more films, you know me.”

“Yes, I certainly do!’ he laughed. “Got a bloke yet?”

I waved the book at him. “Just Orson at the moment.”

“Dead actors Annie, you really should get out more.” I thought I saw his gaze flash to my chest. I blushed a bit and folded my arms.

“And you, Delon, how’s yours?” I asked.

“Umm, not bad. Work, home, work. The boys are boarding full time now so that helps a bit. Judy’s happy, I think…”

“…with her new boobs?” I blurted out, stupidly.

“Oh, you noticed?” he laughed. “Still, if it keeps her happy…”

“And you, I bet you didn’t complain either, did you Delon?” I smirked.

“You’re only jealous!” he said. This time he was definitely staring at my chest. My nipples hardened suddenly and involuntarily and I felt my face flush.

“So, what’s your plans for today?” I asked, changing the subject.

“Umm, nothing really. Saturday’s usually my lazy day,” he said, stretching. “Just doss around, potter in the garden for a bit. Pub maybe later. Umm, that’s it. And you?”

Silence.

God, for the life of me I still can’t recall what went through my head or why, but in a moment of sheer bloody madness, I stood up from the table, peeled off my t-shirt and with hands on hips said to him: “Would you like to fuck me Phil?”

Two seconds of silence, which seemed to last hours.

“Fucking hell!” he gasped and raced to my side of the table. We kissed deeply, our mouths wide, tongues searching, his thumb flicking across my hard nipple and his other hand tracing the small of my back.

And then down to my breasts. Licking them with his wide eager tongue, finding my stiff nipple and sucking hard and greedily, sending electricity pulsing to my pussy. “So, fucking beautiful,” he murmured over and over. I traced my fingers through his dark tousled hair and watched him devour me like a hungry animal.

My hands slipped inside his dressing gown, over his shoulders and strong back until the belt loosened and the gown dropped to the floor. Skin on skin we kissed again, urgently, my fingers pushing into the band of his shorts and cupping his tight arse. A hardness pressed against my hip. Phil continued his frantic licking and sucking, his hand now against the crotch of my jeans, pressing his fingers against the warmth, seeking out the tightly closed buttons.

“I’ll do it,” I told him and we pulled apart for the first time. His erection was an obscene and comical tent in his white shorts and he watched me peel off my jeans, boots and socks. Finally, I took my knickers off and we gazed at each other.

“Bloody hell!” he smiled, staring between my legs.

“Do you mind it?” I asked. “I mean, most women these days, they shave, but …”

“No,” he replied, “you look amazing!”

“Your turn Phil,” I nodded at his shorts.

He took them off and suddenly, bizarrely we were two naked people in the country kitchen, morning sunlight streaming in through the leaded glass across the refectory table. I had never been this close to a naked man before. Not really, not obviously, like this.

“You’re big,” I said, staring at his cock. It wasn’t a compliment, more a declaration of surprise. His dick stood out thick and solid from dark pubes; the fat purple head bulbous and shiny like a large, ripe plum. I reached out my hand to grasp him and was amazed at the hardness and heaviness of his shaft and the heat it gave off. It throbbed powerfully in my grip. He groaned in response and I cupped his swollen balls with my other hand, rolling the liquid globes of his sac between my fingers. It was a curious scrutiny, but here in the daylight I wanted to see and feel everything. The thick veins and muscles traversing his dick, his tiny button nipples and the thin line of hair to his navel. When I looked into his dark eyes he was serious and urgent, not seeing anything except me. Total, intense concentration.

“Can I put it in my mouth?” I asked. I had never done it before and really, really wanted to now.

He shook his head. “Not yet, me first.” And with that he kissed me hard and pushed me across the wooden dining table. My feet were planted on the arms of his chair and he was brushing kisses and warm breath on my thighs and stomach, probing my pussy lips with his fingers, opening me and brushing aside the tangle of hair to find the hood of my clit. When his tongue touched me for the first time I moaned in delight and raised on elbows to watch him suck noisily on my sex. He took my lips in his mouth, sucking hard and snapping them back, his teeth grazing my clit, followed by his tongue, rigid now, seeking an entrance into my twat. Looking down at him, he was masturbating furiously. Clear juice was oozing from his slit.

“Don’t waste that,” I scolded.

He was slurping on me now, matting my pubes with saliva, gulping greedily on a ripe fruit. Occasionally he came up for air, murmuring: “Fucking hell, Annie, fucking hell…”

Then pulling me, turning me over until I was on all fours on the oak table, staring out across the manicured lawn.

“Christ, what an arse!” he whispered and began fondling and licking my buttocks in long sensuous strokes. I parted my legs further for him and felt his fingers access my clit and pussy lips again, drumming rhythmically. Then the shock as his warm tongue found my arsehole.

“Mmm, yessss!” I hissed, as his tongue snaked around the entrance to my bum, pushing against the pucker of my hole, his morning stubble tickling and scratching my pussy. Hands were splayed across my buttocks, opening me and I pushed back against his face in delightful response.

“Don’t stop that Phil,” I told him. “It… ahh, it feels soo good.” It was the most erotic thing I had ever felt in my life and wished it would never end. When his tongue finally entered my arsehole I felt my thighs twitch and a curious ache spread across my nipples and into the pit of my stomach. Gripping me hard now he began to fuck my arse with his wet tongue, grunting like a wild animal.

“Oh God, oh God!” I moaned, totally and fantastically savouring this tongue fuck. Dirty, taboo, wrong, so wrong and yet so bloody fucking, immensely right. When he flicked my clit with his finger my arsehole tightened on his tongue and he grunted again.

I turned around again and lay down, my legs spread wide, heels on the table edge. He needed no more encouragement and held his cock against my slit, pushing, on and on again.

“Shiiiiit, you’re tight!” he gasped, concentrating hard.

“Phil, sorry, don’t think I’m wet enough,” I sighed. “Maybe I’m just a little nervous and it’s a bit of a monster you’ve got there. You’ll have to go easy, ok?”

He tried again. I wanted him, badly, but my pussy was mounting a stiff resistance, if you’ll pardon the expression. Fuck it, fuck it fuck it!

“Wait!” he said. From the nearby dresser he found an oil and vinegar bottle.

“Make sure you pour the right one” I smiled. “Don’t much fancy a balsamic minge.”

He poured the green oil onto his palm and coated his length until it was glistening. Pouring more onto his hand he trickled drops across my sex, his fingers entering me slickly and smoothly.

“Ohhh!” I gasped, as he pushed his cock into me. Thick, so thick, I was stretched as he went deeper and deeper into my twat. Shit, it was magnificent. His eyes were closed in concentration and small beads of perspiration appeared on his forehead and top lip. He was gritting his teeth, his square jaw set tight.

“I think…. I’ve gone in the wrong hole,” he grimaced. “Nobody’s cunt is this tight, Annie.”

I giggled and we kissed gently. Then, gripping my thighs, he began to pump into me frantically. The table creaked in protest. Four, five, six thrusts and then…

“Oh fuck… FUCK Annie, I’m COM…!” he yelled, pulling out and spraying his warm spunk in powerful spurts onto my chest and belly. A blob even hit my cheek. His balls were squashed against my pussy and a pearly stream oozed from his slit, pooling in my navel and bush. I’d never seen anything so intense before.

“Sorry Annie, I just couldn’t take any more,” he panted. “You’re just so tight and it’s been a long time for…”

“Bloody hell, Phil!” I gasped. “That was fuckin’ incredible. I’ve never seen so much…”

“Really sorry Annie,” he sighed.

“Don’t worry,” I whispered. “It’s ok… it’s fine. Warned you about all that wanking didn’t I Phil?”

And we started to laugh. I hugged him tight and we kissed again. No tongues this time, just gentle and slow.

“I better get cleaned up,” I said, grabbing my clothes and running upstairs to my room. I must have used about half the box of tissues by the bed. Bloody hell, where did all this stuff come from? The force of it had turned me on though and I curiously tasted some of the musky, bitter juice that had run into my belly button.

I heard fast footsteps on the stairs and then clattering and swearing in the bathroom opposite. He appeared suddenly naked in the doorway smiling, the oil bottle in one hand and a small foil packet in the other.

“Knew I had one somewhere,” he said, waving the condom in the air. I noticed that his cock was already semi hard.

“You’re bloody insatiable,” I smiled from the bed. “Are you sure about this?”

“Look Annie, downstairs was just bit of a dry run, you know.”

“Except, not so dry though,” I said, rising from the bed. I knelt down on the soft carpet in front of him and took his hot, swelling dick in my hand.

“Can I?” I asked.

He nodded.

I sucked.

It was incredible. I’d so wanted to do this for such a long time. Don’t know why, but the thought of putting a cock in my mouth always got me off in bed at night. And now I was really doing it; tasting the cocktail of my pussy, the oil and spunk on him; the musky scent from his bollocks stirring my senses and his total hardness filling my mouth. It was a stretch, and for the moment I just held him there; hot and hard against my tongue, pulsing powerfully. I could hear his low moans as I tried to take him in further, gagging a little, his big balls spilling out of my hand as I gently cupped them.

“How am I doing?” I asked, wanking him slowly.

“I think you’ve achieved the desired effect. Why not take a look?” He gestured off to the side. In the mirror we looked incredible, his stiff cock in my open mouth. I flicked my tongue underneath the rim of his glans and he jumped, electrified. Then lifting his dick to his belly, took one of his balls into my mouth, rolling it in his sac whilst his shaft pulsed insistently against my cheek. Looking in the mirror I was getting turned on and traced my fingers instinctively down to my pussy. This time I was sopping wet – not the oil nor his spit – but me. At last – thank fuck!

Then the distant sound of a mobile phone ringing. Not mine.

“Shit, shit, shit!” he hissed, pulling out of my mouth. “I’ll have to answer the fucking thing. She always calls round this time.”

I heard him run down the stairs and then his voice becoming louder as he returned

“No, I was umm, just in the er, shower… Yeah fine… Dunno, I think she’s out in the garden reading or something… Yeah, roast lamb would be good, I’m sure she’ll like it….”

Still kneeling, I returned him to my mouth, sucking harder, coating his length in my spit. Licking his shaft in long greedy strokes like a kid with an ice lolly

“… Umm, I, well, I, … I think… maybe, ahh… a red or maybe a…a…a rosé, yeah,” he stammered down the phone.

I grazed his cockhead gently with my teeth and flicked my tongue around his slit.

“Oh FUCK!… No, no, nothing, darling. What do you mean I sound strange. Just, um… remembered an …. ah, ah, email I’ve er, got to s-s-send. Ok see you later. About one-ish you reckon? Bye.”

He clicked off the phone and picked up the oil bottle. “Naughty girl. I should spank you for that.”

I got up and lay on the bed, thighs spread wide, fingers parting my wet pussy lips for him. Probably looked like a slut, but I didn’t care. Open, willing, wanting, hungry.

“Mmm maybe later,” I smiled. “And I don’t think we’ll be needing the oil this time Phil. Come on, fuck me.”

He put the oil on the dresser, ripped open the condom and rolled it down the length of his shaft. What followed can only be described as the best shag of my entire life.

From the moment he entered me everything was right. My pussy sucked him in greedily and he moaned at my heat and my wetness. Slowly at first, just gently easing his thick dick in and out, sensing a response – a low sigh or the movement of my hips urging him on faster harder and deeper.

Then suddenly my knees were over his forearms, then my ankles on his shoulders as he gripped my bum and started furiously pounding me into the duvet. Fucking hell, Phil was showing no mercy as he grunted and swore and banged away for all his life, his bollocks slapping noisily against my arse. I was gasping in time with his thrusts, my pussy hot liquid and yielding, a curious tingling from my clit to my nips.

And then I came. I mean really came, not the sighing, tired relief of fingers at night but a wave that had me clinging to him, grabbing handfuls of flesh, urging “don’t stop, for fuck’s sake, don’t stop!”, losing control for the first time in my life; confused and amazed at the power of my come and the contractions in my pussy. And then, 30 seconds later another… and then another, leaving my head reeling.

It was like one of those silly, little kid’s toys. You know, the one with a spring and a suction cup at its base. You push it down on a table and anxiously wait and wait as the spring slowly uncoils. And then WHAM! Suddenly it shoots high into the air. My come.

For the next hour we must have tried every conceivable position and combination. I’d tasted a new drug and was greedy for more. Addicted. Doggy style in front of the mirror. Me on top riding his cock. Slow and deep on our sides. Carrying me impaled and dumbfounded around the room with my legs wrapped around him. Bent over the padded ottoman and good old fashioned missionary again. The olive oil actually did come in handy after all as I wanted to try it in my bum, but that was a bit too ambitious given his size, as he could only get his fat cockhead in before I pleaded ‘No more!” and admitted defeat.

When he eventually came in my pussy he yelled and his sweaty body stiffened. I could feel the pulsations of his cock as he squirted into the condom and we held each other tight, listening to the sound of the birds outside, our heartbeats and if the truth be known, the warning crush of tyres on gravel again.

Dinner that evening was a bit strained, but as the weekend had been too, I didn’t worry.

“Who fancies the pub?” said Phil, much later.

“Oh no, not there!” sulked Judy, watching some crappy Saturday night tv movie. “It’s a hole, full of bloody yokels and anyway I’ve just opened another bottle.”

“I’ll come, if you don’t mind,” I said.

We only made it halfway up the lane, before Phil pulled me towards the deserted recreation ground. Minutes later, bent over a wooden park bench with my jeans and knickers around my ankles, he was gripping my hips and vigorously thrusting into me from behind. I frigged my clit and stifled a cry as I came again. Phil, groaning, pulled out and sprayed his spunk in a pearly stream onto the grass.

“We can’t leave it like this,” he whispered in the pub later. “I’ll go fuckin’ crazy. Let’s meet in London. Pleeease!”

Four G&T’s later we weaved back to the cottage. From the garden the TV lights flickered against the sitting room drapes and the sound of canned laughter could be heard. Less than 10 yards away in the covered pergola we kissed fervently and I put my finger to his lips.

I squatted down and unzipped his jeans, steadying hands on his thighs; lips enveloping his hardness, milking him with an impatient mouth. I could taste myself again, and then more as he came in thick jerks on my tongue, his head thrown back, silently gasping in the moonlight as I squeezed his balls, sucking and swallowing hard, draining him dry. Perfect – just perfect.

In my room that night I now understood the inn scene with Garbo in Queen Christina where she’s feeling the furniture, utterly bewildered. Completely gobsmacked. Totally fucked. And a little sore too.

I heard the hiss of the shower stop and Phil cross the landing to their room. Then her raised voice through the thin walls.

“You were ages at the pub. Had a good gab did you? Anyway, I’m not inviting her ever again. What an absolute disaster!”

I moved closer to the wall.

“Shh Jude, she’ll hear you,” hushed Phil. “What’s wrong? She’s cool… I think Annie’s great. Good company. Hasn’t changed a bit from Uni really.”

Judy spat angrily: “Oh you just think everyone’s nice, don’t you Phil? Did you see what she did to my table? Spilled fuckin’ oil all down it? And then, the stupid cow tried to hide the pourer in the bedroom…”

I looked up. The bottle was gone. ‘Shit!’

She continued: “It’ll cost hundreds to strip it down again. And don’t even think about a weekend shag tonight Phil, cos I’m not in the mood. I’m so bloody angry – the silly bitch!”

“Look, I’m knackered,” he said. “I’ll drop her at the station tomorrow myself. Oh, and bit of bad news too, love. Got a call today from Jim. We’ve got that big bank merger coming up so I’ll be pulling some overnighters and maybe even some weekends up in town. Sorry Jude. G’night.”

I left the note on the bedside table. It read:

Dear Judy,

Thanks for everything. I’ll definitely be coming again, soon.

Annie

 

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