Phone Sex

“Well, it's about time.”

I opened one eye and blearily focused it on my beautiful Annie, who was looking superior, smug and sexy as hell. She was propped up on among the pillows and had apparently been passing the time during my little nap by watching television.

“Annie, as a doctor you know perfectly well why I sometimes fall asleep after orgasm. It's all the blood rushing to my--.”

“Actually, dear, it's all the blood flowing from your groin and back into your brain that sends you into sensory overload. I think it's the extreme disappointment you feel about having to think with your brain again instead of your dick.” I gave my favorite little smartass a withering look and rolled over to return to the land of nod. She smacked my exposed bottom and mumbled something about a fundamental design flaw in the male of the species. I pretended to ignore her for a few minutes as she continued her vitriol until I realized that it was not vitriol I was hearing and it was not being delivered in Annie's usual voice. I rolled over again and peered at the television.

“What are you watching?” I said as I squinted at the television. I still felt slightly disoriented; maybe it was lingering disappointment.

“It's Up Close and Personal,” Annie replied, “a talk show where people can call in and speak to a certified sex therapist about their problems.”

“And you're watching it because--?”

“I happen to have a healthy interest in sex,” she said innocently, “I would have thought you'd noticed that by now.”

“Isn't this show mostly about people calling to complain about their sexual dysfunctions?” I asked as I snuggled against Annie and got comfortable. She wrapped an arm around my shoulders and settled me against her chest.

“Yeah; maybe I should call in and complain about your little problem.” She made a show of lifting the sheets and peeking at my groin. “Well, not so little.”

“Keep it up, sweetheart. I'll have--.”

“Shouldn't that be my line?” she said snarkily. I turned my head and glared at her.

“Maybe I should call in and complain about your superior attitude in bed,” I countered.

“Hey, can I help it if most of your body makes promises the rest of you can't deliver?” That was a low remark; I'd delivered plenty in the twelve years of our relationship. I'd been slightly shocked to learn how unusual our relationship was, in terms of the frequency of our lovemaking. We'd gone to dinner with some college friends of mine recently and found out that, on average, couples who'd been together five years or less had sex only about three times a week. When I later informed Annie that we were doing the nasty at a pace that was at least double the national average, she simply shrugged.

“Yes, I knew that,” she'd said. “Most of my women friends complain all the time. Of course, I can't really imagine why anyone would want to have sex with anyone other than you, anyway.”

Tonight, however, she wasn't being so appreciative. We'd fallen into bed after a long, sensuous flirtation in the bathtub and made slow, passionate love till neither of us could endure it any longer and collapsed, exhausted and blissfully sated. And now she was complaining that I hadn't delivered?

“Hey! You weren't complaining a half hour ago!”

“A half hour ago I was incapable of coherent speech,” Annie shot back. “Now, I'm lying here waiting for your batteries to recharge.” I growled and reached for the phone. “What are you doing?” Annie asked as I punched in a number. An operator asked for my first name and put me on hold. “Who are you calling?”

“Don't you worry your pretty little head about it,” I replied sarcastically. The operator came back on the line and told me I was next up. I cleared my throat as the host of the television program spoke.

”Why don't we speak to a man for a change? We've had all female callers so far this evening. Richard is on the phone; good evening, Richard. What can we help you with tonight?”

“Hello,” I replied as I watched Annie's eyes bulge. “I was wondering if you think my wife and I might be sexually incompatible.” Annie gasped audibly and I grinned as I continued. “We can't seem to find a balance. I can make her orgasm seven times in a night but she seems to only be able to get me off two or three times.”

”Well, Richard, if you can achieve orgasm three times in one night you're doing much better than the average male, so I wouldn't complain if I were you. As for the disparity in the numbers...”

I stopped listening when she launched into a discussion about the difference between the relative capacities of males as opposed to females. Annie had explained it all to me years ago, and numerous trials had borne out the facts.

”...I'm sure your wife is delighted with your apparent willingness to attend to her needs, so I don't think that sexual incompatibility is an issue between the two of you.”

“I'm very relieved to hear that,” I said, “thank you.” I hung up the phone and turned to see Annie speaking into her wireless. “Hey!”

“Turnabout is fair play,” she said.

“I was only seeking affirmation that I'm a stud! You seem to have your doubts.” Annie grabbed the back of my head and pulled me into a fierce kiss.

“I haven't a doubt in the world,” she said in a slightly breathless tone that made me want to devour her. Unfortunately, she chose that moment to push me away and speak into the phone.

”Hello, Anne. What can I do for you this evening?”

“Hello. I wanted to say first that I love your show; it's really helpful. But I have a problem keeping my husband interested and was wondering if you could recommend some ways to whet his appetite.” It was my turn to gasp. I pulled Annie into my lap and watched the screen as she spoke to the host.

“What does he like in bed?”

“I like you in bed,” I whispered in Annie's ear. She suppressed a giggle and cuddled closer to me.

“I mean is your complaint that he doesn't seem interested in sex or are you just looking to liven things up?”

“Oh, he's a brilliant lover, but the man will fall asleep after sex.” The host launched into the same discussion about male physiology that she had teased me about earlier. It was good to see her on the receiving end for once. Annie tartly pointed out that she held a medical degree and understood my “little shortcoming,” but she was more interested in techniques that would stoke the flames of passion anew.

“Well, first of all, little tigress, you have to give the poor man a chance to recover. He's only flesh and blood, you know.”

Annie silently acknowledged the point by allowing her hand to delve under the sheets to make contact with a particularly sensitive area of my body. Flesh and blood alike responded enthusiastically.

“Does he enjoy oral sex? Are you two the kind of couple that likes to play or experiment in bed?”

“Yes, yes and yes,” Annie smiled. I wondered if the therapist on the screen had somehow traced our number. She seemed to have us pegged.

“Well, nothing turns a man on faster than direct stimulation. If you want to prime the pump, well...prime the pump!

“Makes sense to me,” Annie said. It made a lot of sense to me, too, since Annie had begun to prime the pump, albeit manually.

“Any other suggestions?” My wife asked as she slid lower on the bed and all but disappeared beneath the sheets. Only a tousle of blond curls showed as she spoke into the phone.

“You can also stimulate his prostate gland.”

The good doctor proceeded to explain how to perform the deed as well as outline another interesting trick or two. Annie followed her instructions to the letter, I think. Well, actually, I stopped thinking the minute she found her target--my perineum. I retained just enough sentience to not scream out loud. Annie resurfaced wearing a filthy wicked smile. She thanked the therapist and told her that she'd give all her suggestions a try real soon and report back. A moment later, Annie pressed the phone into my still-spasming hand and dove under the covers again to do what she could not do while she was on the phone. Annie is nothing if not polite. The pump now being primed to her satisfaction, she took full advantage of it--uh, me.

This round was not slow and passionate. It was fast and hard, all animal lust and instinct. My revenge upon my voracious and naughty wife was to push every one of her pleasure buttons, which I did with ruthless efficiency. If she wasn't sated when I was done, she'd be dead from an excess of exertion. By the time it was over I couldn't tell which outcome I'd achieved--possibly both. When I released Annie from the death grip I'd had on her thighs, she curled up in the fetal position blathering and incoherent. I had a brief and amusing vision of her blood staggering around her circulatory system in confusion wondering when she'd become male.

I spooned up against my little lamb and held her in my arms, kissing her neck and shoulders and gentling the fall back to earth. I reached over her and grabbed the remote to turn off the television. It was then that I noticed that my wicked little angel had fallen asleep. I was very tempted to wake her up just to return the smug remarks she'd given me earlier. But to tell you the truth, she looked so darned cute that I couldn't bear to awaken her. I reached over her again to turn out the light.

“Good night, sweetness,” I whispered in her ear. I kissed it gently six or seven times before I turned out the light on my side of the bed. Then I kissed the back of her neck and the soft curve of her shoulder. I slowly stroked her arms and caressed her hand. And then I got pissed; who the hell did she think she was, falling asleep when I wanted to make out?

Lofty Ambitions

From long experience, Richard easily interpreted the sound of his Annie's whimper. It signified that she had crested and was beginning her gentle descent back onto the mortal plane. He let himself go then, exploding into her and releasing with a loud cry all he'd been holding back. Richard saw stars as he buried his head in Anne's shoulder. She reached up and cradled the back of it, and held him till he returned to his senses. They both opened their eyes and gazed lovingly at each other before sharing a long and passionate post-coital kiss. Then Richard laid his head upon Anne's sweat-dampened breast and sighed.

“Why are we lying here on the carpet when we have a perfectly good king-sized bed less than five yards away?” Anne snorted and lightly danced her fingers over the vertebrae of Richard's neck.

“You're one who couldn't wait.”

“You're the one who said we'd never made it on the stairs,” Richard countered.

“We still haven't technically,” Anne corrected, “we're on the landing.”

“Well, the stairs were more of a challenge than I was up for tonight; sue me.”

“You were up for plenty!” Anne laughed. Richard lifted his head to rub noses with her and steal a kiss or two.

“Yes and you pick the damnedest moments to try and get creative.”

“I don't want you to get bored with me,” Anne said only half joking. Richard immediately grew serious.

“I don't believe I will ever grow bored of you, Annie. I don't think I'm even finished falling in love with you yet.” Anne reached up to pull Richard's mouth closer. They spent several minutes absorbed in each other before Richard abruptly pulled away. He gracefully rolled to his feet and offered his wife a hand.

“Thank you,” she said as she walked into the bedroom a few feet beyond the small space where they'd spent the past half hour making love. She stepped over Callisto and walked between Europa and Io to the bathroom, dragging the dress she'd been wearing when she and Richard had given themselves over to lust. She dropped the dress on the bathroom floor and gazed at her backside in the full-length mirror. “Rug burn's a bitch. Ricky?”

“Hmm?” Richard came into the bathroom, having finished removing his jeans, socks and shoes on the way.

“My bum is positively raw,” Anne complained as she turned to show him the abrasions on her derriere. Richard squatted to get a better look and then rose to fetch some aloe gel. He carefully applied the cool liquid to the reddened areas of each cheek, kissed the small of Anne's back and stood again. “I guess I'm sleeping on my stomach tonight.”

“I guess you're sleeping on my stomach tonight,” Richard teased, “as usual.” He reached for his toothbrush and Anne followed suit. A short time later, the couple retired to their bed for the night.

“My bottom still hurts,” Anne complained as she squirmed a bit beneath the sheets.

“We'll have to find a smoother surface next time,” Richard said as he kissed her brow. He idly ran his hand over her posterior but she swatted it away. “I always sleep with my hand on your butt,” he complained.

“Not tonight; it feels hot when you touch it.”

“Well, it's your own fault.”

”How is it my fault?” Anne demanded.

“You chose the carpeting. I wanted wood floors up here, remember?” Anne bit Richard's earlobe and then turned so that her back was to Richard.

“I tell you what, though,” she said after a minute. “It was fun while it lasted.”

“Until you noticed the rug burn, you mean?”

“Yeah,” Anne said as she swatted Richard's hand away. “Let's see where else we can make love this week--anywhere but in bed.”

“Why?”

“I don't want our lovemaking to get stale. Are you game?”

“Really, Annie--,” Richard protested.

“Chicken?”

“Not chicken,” Richard said as he tickled her ribs. “You're on.” He spooned up against her and they quickly fell asleep.

**

A few days later Richard and Anne returned from an evening out with some of their friends from their college days. They were more than a bit tipsy as they made their way to the elevator. The couple rarely drank to excess and when they did, Todd played mother hen and guided them safely to their beds...usually.

“Could you two keep your hands off each other till you're upstairs or do I have to throw a bucket of cold water over you?”

Todd pried the two lovers apart and turned Anne toward the doors. He pushed her out of the elevator as soon as the doors opened, grabbing Richard by the arm and dragging him from the car. Anne promptly stepped on Callisto's foot and all hell broke loose. In short order all three of the girls were barking, Anne was on the floor laughing, Todd was trying to get her up again and Richard was attempting to console the offended Doberman. Todd gave up when Richard sat on the floor to make eye contact with Callisto.

“I surrender!” Todd cried as he dropped Anne's arm. “You can sleep on the floor for all I care. I'm going to bed.” He went to the elevator and pushed the button. “Good luck!” With that he descended to the second floor to seek out his own bed. After a few minutes, Anne stopped laughing. Io settled beside her, as did Europa. Richard turned and saw the threesome sprawled in the spacious foyer and stretched out on the floor beside them.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said. Anne reached out a hand and caressed his cheek.

“Hey yourself.” Anne took hold of Richard's ear and drew him closer. Richard leaned in to kiss her, rolling her onto her back as he did so. Their kisses became more passionate and they began to wrestle out of their outer clothing as they continued to kiss and lick and nibble at each other. But when Richard tried to open Anne's jeans she abruptly sat up and shook her head. “Oh, no! Not again!”

“Not again?” Richard repeated incredulously. “And you accused me of getting bored?”

“I'm not bored with you. I just refuse to be bored into this carpet again!” Anne scrambled to her knees and began to crawl away from her shocked husband.

“Hey, get back here!”

“No! My ass is still sore from the other night! No way am I doing it on the floor again.”

“We don't have to do it on the floor, Annie,” Richard said as he took off after his wife, whose escape was detoured by the yawning Doberman lying in her path. Richard grabbed Anne by the waist and lifted her as easily as if she was a small child.

“Put me down,” Anne pouted ineffectively. Richard calmly adjusted her position so that she was cradled in his arms. “Put me down or--.”

“Or what?” Richard bent his head and rubbed noses with his beloved. He kissed her and she smiled.

“All right, you win,” she said. “But let's go to bed, okay?”

“Been there, done that. I thought that after the rug fiasco we'd vowed to make love everywhere but bed this week,” Richard reminded his petulant wife. Anne's smiled broadened.

“Oh yes,” she purred as she began to nibble at Richard's neck. “Let's see; we've done the elevator, the stairs--.”

“Landing.”

“Oops, landing, the laundry room, the lab, the roof...” Anne paused to kiss Richard, “I liked the roof.”

“The roof is definitely a regular warm weather venue henceforth,” he concurred.

“...And the walk-in closet.”

“Definitely not a warm weather venue,” Richard said.

“Is that all?” Anne frowned.

“Honey, it's only Thursday,” Richard said as he nuzzled Anne's delicate throat.

“Well, what's left? We were supposed to restrict ourselves to places where we've never done it before.” For a moment, the couple looked around their spacious surroundings.

“That doesn't exactly leave us much, does it?” Richard observed.

“That's why it's a challenge, silly,” Anne said as she inhaled her husband's masculine scent and ran her tongue up his carotid artery.

“Annie, I can't think when you...kitchen!”

“I am not `kitchening,'” she giggled. Richard winced and silently promised to pinch her bottom at his earliest convenience.

“We've never made love in the kitchen,” he said as he headed for the counter. He kicked one of the stools aside with his foot and deposited Anne on the granite surface. Then he smiled and walked around to the doorway, entered the kitchen proper and scooped her up again. “Here,” he said, placing her on the large island at the center of the space.

“Here?” Anne complained. “This is hard as rock and the light's directly in my eyes.” Richard flipped a switch to turn off the overhead lights.

“Better?”

“It's still hard.”

“Oh and the elevator floor wasn't? Or the hardwood floors in the closet?” Richard asked as he pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside. “Not that you noticed; you made sure you were on top both times.” He unbuckled his belt and began to unbutton his fly.

“Like you complained,” Anne countered as she sat up and began to remove her watch.

“I would have, if you hadn't kept my mouth full. What the hell are you doing?”

“I'm taking my watch off; what does it look like I'm doing?”

“Annie, we're going to fuck, not do the dishes.”

“If I leave it on you'll accuse me of trying to time you again.”

“Like you couldn't do that with the clock on the wall. You always time me.” Anne laughed and Richard took hold of her face to claim a kiss.

“Actually, Ricky, I'm timing myself...or rather how long it takes you to make me--.”

“So, in other words, I'm on the clock.” Anne smiled and kissed him again. Passion quickly flared but when Richard laid her back on the counter she cried out.

“That's cold!”

“Stop being such a baby, will you?”

“You lie on it!”

“Annie...”

“It's freezing cold!”

“And it warms to your body heat.”

“If I lay on that thing I won't have any body heat!”

“We'll generate enough for you and the granite,” Richard said huskily. He leaned in for a kiss and distracted his fractious wife. He slowly began to remove her jeans, but found that his progress was impeded by a stubborn zipper. “What the hell?”

“It's been like that all evening,” Anne sighed. She leaned back on her elbows as Richard struggled with the unyielding closure. “I thought maybe you'd just wished it on me to keep other guys from trying to get into my pants.” Richard shot her a dark look and groaned.

“Damn!” He threw up his hands and turned around, looking for something with which to pry the zipper open.

“Maybe this is God's way of--.”

“Don't even say it, Annie,” Richard said as he opened a drawer.

“Doesn't Todd keep knives in that drawer?” Anne asked in a small voice.

“Yes,” Richard said distractedly as he slid the drawer shut and opened another. As he rooted around for an appropriate tool, Anne slid to the end of the counter and hopped down. A long muscular arm caught her around the waist and she yelped. She yelped a second time when she saw the item in his other hand. “Be still.”

“Oh!” Anne said as she watched Richard carefully rub olive oil onto the teeth of the zipper.

“What did you think I was going to do, oil you up and try to slide you out?” he asked archly as the zipper gave and he pulled off the jeans.

“I've had far too much beer to think properly,” Anne said in her own defense.

“I forgive you,” Richard said as he began to unbutton her top.

“I'm not lying on that cold stone.”

“All right, you don't have to,” Richard murmured between kisses. “But I don't want to, either. I still have that bruise on my spine from Tuesday.”

“Ricky...”

“You know, neither of us actually has to lie down.”

“True.”

“Damn! I wish I'd thought of that three days ago.”

“I'm glad you didn't, in spite of your bruise,” Anne said as she reached around Richard to pull him closer. “You were amazing that night.”

“You're amazing every night, Annie,” Richard whispered into Anne's ear as he pulled off her top and ran his tongue along one delicate collar bone and between a pair of perfect breasts. He lifted Anne to sit her on the counter, but she fought him. “Jeez, Annie! Wait!” Richard walked around to the far side of the island and opened a drawer. He returned a moment later with a small stack of towels.

“I didn't know we kept towels in there,” Anne noted with interest.

“Annie, you barely know where we keep the milk.”

”And your point is?” Richard carefully laid a few towels on the counter and then knelt to remove Anne's panties. He kissed her navel reverently before he stood to pick her up and place her on the counter. Anne promptly wrapped her long legs around Richard's waist and pulled him closer.

Richard had been right about the granite. It did warm to the body, as Anne learned when she laid back against the cool stone surface of her own volition soon after Richard entered her. It provided a temporary respite from the heat pouring off of the man who was slowly driving her insane. He had established a slow rhythm to his thrusts, content to take his time as he savored the veritable feast laid out before him. He was kissing his way down his wife's writhing body, ignoring her gasps and moans and her attempt to spur him to a faster pace.

The elevator doors opened, meanwhile, and Todd stepped out, clad only in a pair of flip flops and a pair of boxers covered in Batman logos. He frowned when he saw the girls still lying in the foyer. They tended to congregate wherever their human companions were, and that instantly caused Todd to start searching for his occasionally wayward employers.

“I knew I shouldn't have just left them lying there,” he muttered as he scratched his head. He walked over to the stairs and peeked over the rail. “Whew! At least they didn't go that way,” he muttered to himself as he headed back toward the entryway. “But this is Richard and Anne, so if they haven't left the area, they've probably gone looking for a convenient place to get it on.”

Todd threw open the door to the guest room and flipped on the light. He searched the guest bath and the closet before returning to the entryway. Europa yawned at him lazily.

“Don't just gape at me, you overgrown bitch. Where are they?” He opened the door to the walk-in closet and turned on the light. He had good reason to believe that Anne and Richard had recently spent some quality time in there. He'd found a box of Christmas ornaments on the floor Wednesday morning and someone had apparently kicked over a stack of magazines that he was saving for Bess. But the closet was uninhabited and Todd closed the door with a vaguely worried expression. He felt a nudge at his butt and turned around to see Callisto gazing at him.

“Look, I may be twisted, but I'm not interested, okay? Just tell me where your mommy and daddy are and I'll be on my way back to my own bed and my human lover.” The dog sneezed and walked away. He swore at her and strode into the living area to look around in the dim light. He absently noted that the pendant lights over the kitchen counter were on, but that didn't faze him, since those lights were often left on when either Richard or Anne was in the kitchen late at night. The low lights afforded him a good view of both the dining area and the living room.

“They aren't fucking under the dining table? There's a shock,” Todd snorted. He heard the distant sound of Anne moaning. “But they are screwing somewhere nearby,” he smirked as he followed his ears and walked toward the counter.

Richard had finally accelerated the pace and Anne had begun her climb toward orgasm. Her breath was coming in short pants and she was beginning to moan with each of Richard's thrusts. She called out “Ricky” just as Todd reached the counter and peered into the kitchen. She screamed in ecstasy and came just as Todd screamed in horror.

“My kitchen!” Richard looked up but barely acknowledged the gaping man, too absorbed in finding his own release. Todd ran around to the entrance to the kitchen. “Get the hell off my counter! I have to make biscuits there in a few hours!”

“Hold that thought a minute, chief,” Richard gasped out. Todd turned away. He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. He started to walk away, but turned back and gave Richard's body a quick appraising glance. He turned his back just as Richard cried out.

“Can I turn around now?” Todd asked sarcastically when the sounds finally died down a few minutes later. He had sighed while several whispered “I love yous” and other endearments were exchanged between the besotted pair.

“No!” Anne cried as she searched for something with which to cover herself. She grabbed up a towel, knowing that Todd would ignore her and come into the room anyway.

“That's my towel! I just did those yesterday!” he shouted, grabbing it from her hand and examining it for stains. Richard laughingly reached for his shirt and wrapped it around his wife. “And my island! You eat food off of this!”

“Hey, it's clean! I just ate off of it!” Richard exclaimed. Anne shrugged into the shirt and punched him.

“Ewww!” Todd shrieked. “I should have stayed in bed! But no, I felt guilty about leaving you two on the floor and decided to check to see if you were okay.”

“I'm okay,” Anne said as she opened the refrigerator and reached for a bottle of water. “How about you, Ricky?”

“Never better,” he said as he wrapped his arms around Anne. She gave him a sip of her water and then they began to kiss, slowly and deeply.

“I so want to puke right now,” Todd groaned.

“Go back to bed, Todd,” Richard said when he briefly came up for air.

“Yes, I'm sure you'd rather be with Anton than us right now,” Anne added.

“I'd rather he was with Anton right now, that's for sure,” Richard said.

Todd uttered an expletive and opened the broom closet to reach for a bottle of disinfectant.

“Go away, Todd,” Richard ordered. “We'll clean the counter.”

“That's okay, I'll just--.” Richard grabbed the bottle from Todd's hand.

“We'll do it,” he repeated with a look that brooked no argument.

“All right. Good night.” Todd turned to leave.

“Oh, Todd?” The housekeeper turned to look at his employer. “Nice shorts.”

“Thanks,” he replied modestly. He started to leave again, but turned back. Anne and Richard were absorbed in kissing again. “Richard?” Anne and Richard reluctantly broke their kiss and looked over at him. “Great ass, Sweet Cheeks.”


The End

Oops!

“Why doesn't anything like that ever happen to me?” the nurse said as she watched a tall, muscular, handsome man enter the emergency room carrying a woman in his arms as though she was the most valuable object in the world. It was almost like a scene plucked from the cover of a romance novel, except that their appearance and the setting were too contemporary. The woman was dressed in denim shorts and a chambray shirt tied at the waist. The man wore a tee shirt and jeans, and although the tee was torn at the shoulder, the man looked nothing like the typical artist's rendering of the battle-worn hero rescuing the damsel in distress. He looked better--much better.

“Oh...my...god,” the second nurse said as she watched the man place the woman on a chair before striding over to the front desk. He spoke briefly with the woman behind the desk and then picked up his precious cargo and carefully placed her on the gurney brought out by an orderly. It was then that the nurses noticed that the man was absolutely drenched, throwing every plane of his finely chiseled physique into high relief. As he bent to kiss the woman's brow, one of the nurses gasped at the sight of his pert bottom distending the wet denim that caressed every curve of his leg. A moment later he disappeared from view and into one of the treatment bays and the nurses finally exhaled.

“Maybe we should assist the triage nurse,” one of them said. Her companion nodded and the two women quickly headed for the bay.

**

“She hit her head,” the blond Adonis was saying as they arrived.

“Let me get this straight--you got caught in the rain and fell?” Dr. Benton said doubtfully. “There wasn't a cloud in the sky when I came in an hour ago.”

“Then you can imagine our surprise, can't you,” the slightly peeved but beautiful man said. He frowned and several women in the bay turned their glare on the doctor.

“Ricky.” A delicate hand curled around his wrist and Richard's attention was diverted, his anger dissipated with that single touch. “The man is only doing his job.”

“I thought his job was treating injuries, not playing twenty questions.” The fair-haired woman on the gurney pouted up at him and all the female staff in the treatment bay looked daggers at her. In fact, had she not been the patient under their care they would have thrown her out for being such an unwelcome distraction. The interloper ran her fingers over the back of Richard's hand and he smiled.

It didn't matter that the smile was meant only for her. Every woman in the treatment bay --and the number had swelled to six, including the three nurses, two residents and the security guard who'd wandered by--sighed at its perfect beauty. Dr. Benton looked up and, noticing the rather suspicious cluster of women, ordered everyone who was not directly involved in the care of his patient to leave. The security guard swore under her breath and strode away.

“I'm sure I don't need three nurses in here. This is clearly not a code emergency, ladies. Dr. Cameron, would you go and check on Mr. Rivera's BP, please? Dr. Swann, those X-rays of Ms. Gordon should be back by now.” No one moved for a moment as eyes gazed longingly at the man who stood beside the gurney. The doctor cleared his throat and after one last, lingering look, four saddened women left the bay. The evicted nurses took up a position across the large emergency room, where they had access to coffee and an unimpeded line of vision.

“I wouldn't throw him out of bed for eating crackers,” one of them said.

“If he was in my bed, I'd see to it that crackers were the last thing he thought about,” her companion replied. Across the room, the remaining triage nurse placed a blood pressure cuff on the injured party.

“I wonder how she got into his pants?” the nurse with the carafe asked.

“I wonder how I can get into his pants.” The nurses exchanged a giggle. They poured themselves cups of bad coffee and returned their attention to the show.

**

“Ms. Fitzwilliam, can you tell me exactly what happened to you?” The patient flicked a glance at Richard and wet her lips. “Can you remember anything about it at all?”

“Well,” she began, casting about for suitable words. “We were in my mother's garden.”

“When it began to rain?”

“Yes, precisely,” the increasingly impatient man said darkly. The patient, however, smiled impishly.

“It was actually the sprinkler system. It came on unexpectedly, you see, and we got caught in the spray.”

“That would explain why you're both soaking wet,” the doctor said with a wry smile, noting that his patient's shirt was in fact dry and that, in all likelihood, it belonged to her male companion. “Go on.”

“We started to make a run for the house, but the gardeners were out tending the grounds...” The doctor pointedly stared, awaiting the rest of her explanation.

“What Annie is trying to say is that she wasn't exactly dressed for company,” Richard volunteered. The doctor was not at all surprised.

“I lost my top, all right?” the slightly embarrassed woman said.

“That must've been some sprinkler system,” the triage nurse deadpanned. Richard laughed and then turned an affectionate smile to his lady. She returned a smile so intense that the good doctor felt a little warm.

“Uh...why didn't you--? Oh, never mind, it's not important,” he said before refocusing. “Go on with your story.”

“Do you suppose I can get out of this and dry off? It's freezing in here,” Richard asked sheepishly as he looked down at his sodden tee shirt.

**

Across the way, the two nurses stifled gasps as they watched the tall, handsome stranger strip off his tee. One stood and fanned herself. Her friend, however, sprang into action.

“Where are you going?”

“You don't want him to catch a cold, do you?” The nurse sped to the supply room and returned with a pair of surgical scrubs. “Here; you don't want to sit around undressed in this air conditioning.” Richard smiled and thanked the woman before he pulled on the top. He briefly considered the pants, but set them aside.

“What's the matter with you?” the first nurse asked when her friend returned to the coffee station wearing a smug smile. “There was a half-naked hunk on display, the likes of which we haven't seen here since that Olympic boxer got into that car accident, and you give him a top to wear?”

**

The doctor gently lifted his patient's head so he could examine the large knot at the back of it.

“There is a rather ugly contusion forming. It doesn't appear to be too serious, but to be on the safe side I'm ordering a CT scan of the skull.” Anne sighed and Richard squeezed her hand reassuringly. “What I don't understand is how you could get such a nasty bump from slipping on grass.”

“Oh, I didn't slip on the grass,” Anne said.

“Yes, you did; a few times,” Richard said as he looked down at Anne and waggled his eyebrows.

“But I didn't hurt my head until mother freaked out and came after us.”

“Come again?” the doctor interrupted.

“Catherine DeBourgh,” Richard sighed as though that was enough of an explanation. Dr. Benton frowned and suddenly realized that the name “DeBourgh” sounded familiar. The emergency room was located in the hospital's Frederick DeBourgh Wing.

“My mother is a pretentious snob,” Anne concurred.

“Annie's mother is part hawk, part--whatever. She was apparently in the folly--.”

“Folly?” the doctor exclaimed, curious now beyond a professional interest.

“Any normal person might call it a summer house or a party house, even just an outbuilding. Catherine DeBourgh calls it a folly. Anyway, she looked out the window of the tower--I didn't mention that it had a tower, did I? Well, she looked out over the grounds and saw Annie's blouse lying in the grass and us running across the lawn to the house. She came out of the folly screaming hysterically.”

“Why?” the doctor asked innocently.

“Because Annie was topless; we had no idea where she dropped her top. Hey, it's a huge lawn, folks,” Richard said with a tinge of exasperation. “You could probably host a PGA tournament on the grounds. Anyhow, the old bat came after us screaming about my animal lust and brutish sexual urges.”

“Ricky!”

“And that's when she fell?” the doctor asked, as he quashed an urge to snicker.

“No; we made it back to the house. It was when her mother arrived a few minutes later screaming about how I'd debauched her daughter that Annie fell.”

“Huh? Wait a minute; aren't you two married?”

“Yes, but my mother in law firmly believes that Annie and I should only make love in bed, in the missionary position, no more than once a month--and then only for the purpose of procreation.” Dr. Benton blinked.

“Surely you're joking.”

“I kid you not. She doesn't really approve of our notion of marital relations.”

“How long have you two been married?”

“Nigh onto seven years,” Richard sighed. Across the room, a gathering gaggle of nurses sighed in response. “We got back to the house and up to our room, where Annie decided to take off the rest of her wet things so as not to ruin her mother's new bedding,” Richard said helpfully. His smile was wicked and Anne's matched his.

“Of course, I insisted that Ricky shed his clothes as well. Come to think of it, maybe we should have gone there in the first place, Ricky,” Anne said with a loving look for her husband. “But then we've been trying to get out of our rut lately.” Richard bent to kiss her and continued to do so until the doctor cleared his throat for the second time. When he had the couple's attention he sent Anne off for the diagnostic and asked Richard how the injury occurred.

**

“They're married,” the triage nurse said as she joined the other nurses and reached for a cup of coffee. “And they're apparently deeply in love with one another.”

“I could see to it that she never leaves this hospital alive,” another nurse said darkly.

“Way to earn his undying devotion, girl.” The potentially murderous nurse shrugged.

“Hey, I can fix that, too,” she said, twirling the keys to the medical supply room.

**

“But how did Annie--uh, Ms. Fitzwilliam, get injured?” Dr. Benton asked.

“Well,” Richard said, averting his eyes slightly to smile at the memory, “Annie was about to undress me and take advantage of `my animal lust and brutish sexual urges' when the old bat came storming into the house. You want to talk about coitus interruptus? When she banged on our bedroom door, Annie was so startled she fell off the bed. I dove after her and we managed to be out of sight when the battleaxe opened the door and directed her diatribe at the vacant bed. It wasn't till she stormed off that I realized that Annie had hit her head. She looked dazed and disoriented, although that could also have been the result of my landing on top of her. I decided to have her checked out--who knows if a blow to the head is what caused Annie's mother to become the deranged thing she is?” The doctor suppressed a smile. “Anyway, I got her dressed again and carried her down to the car with the old coot still searching for us and screeching at the top of her lungs on the floor above. That's why I didn't bother to stop and look for dry stuff. Annie was in enough pain.”

“Well, we'll check her out thoroughly,” the doctor assured him and went off to see how she was doing. Richard slumped in a chair and stared out into nothingness.

“Would you like some coffee?” Richard looked up to see a smiling nurse. “It's lousy, but the bad taste will distract you from worrying about your wife.” Richard smiled and accepted the cup. The nurse fairly floated back to her spot across the room with the image of Richard's smile etched onto her retinas.

A short while later Annie was rolled back into the examination bay, where Richard leapt to his feet to greet her. The doctor followed the gurney with a smile on his face.

“I have good news,” Dr. Benton said. “Ms. Fitzwilliam has a mild concussion, nothing more. You can take her home and you should ice the area to reduce the swelling, but she should be fine in a few days.”

“Thanks, doc,” Richard said as he helped Anne sit up.

“Now, if you should experience double vision, nausea or vomiting, I want you to come straight back,” the doctor warned. “And you should take it easy for a week. No strenuous activity!” The doctor was riveted in place the shocked glares of two pairs of piercing blue eyes. “No running across any lawns for a while, okay? As for other activities...uh, use your judgment.” While he knew he ought to counsel them to abstain for a few days he strongly suspected that such advice would fall on deaf ears.

He smiled crookedly as he watched the pair head for first the cashier and then the exit. Three of the nurses followed the couple to the door and practically pressed their noses to the glass to get one last peek at Richard's departing derriere, much to the doctor's amusement. As he stood with the nurses and looked on--with his nose at a respectable distance from the window--he saw the young couple suddenly take off at a run. He watched as the couple jumped into a convertible and took off at a speed that made the doctor cringe. As he stood staring at the disappearing vehicle, he heard a slight commotion behind him and turned around to see a matronly woman barreling across the emergency room shouting at the woman at the reception desk.

“Don't tell me I may not see my daughter! I know she's here; my son in law's car is parked outside. I demand to see her this instant! This building would not be here if it wasn't for the generosity of my former husband's father! I have every right to be treated with the utmost respect.”

Dr. Benton sighed and walked over to the desk to intervene. That's when he noticed the discarded blouse in the woman's hand and diverted from his intended path. He'd let the residents take care of it.


The End.

The Challenge

We were standing in a godforsaken patch of land in West of Who-the-Hell-Knows-Where, New Jersey staring at what was once, I suppose, a thriving industrial park. It looked like hell to me. To my beloved Ricky and his father, Hugh, it looked like five acres of prime development opportunity, which is why they were currently ignoring me. They'd made the mistake of asking for my opinion earlier and I told them it would make an ideal location for a climatic confrontation between the forces of good and evil in a bad made for TV movie--preferably post-apocalyptic. I could just tell by the look in Ricky's eye that this was the last time I'd be invited to go with him when he scouted for land for a long while. That was fine with me. Why did he and Hugh have to do all their scouting at eight in the morning, anyway?

I'd rather be back home in bed, with Ricky at my side--or better yet--Ricky all over me. Instead I was sitting on the car while the men talked animatedly about something or other. I was just about ready to scream, I was so bored. Ricky abruptly left his father, strode over to the car and reached for something in the back seat. He emerged with a little bag, which he calmly handed to me with one of his patented smirks. I didn't mind, however, as he also gave me one of his patented toe-curling kisses before returning to business. I smiled and looked into the bag. It contained a freshly made donut and I ate it in perfect happiness, even if he'd just treated me like a fidgety child on a long car trip. The donut was delicious and it occupied my full attention for a few minutes. When I was done, however, I still had to wait another ten minutes before they broke up their little confab with the realtor.

Finally, Ricky and I got into the car and headed back to civilization. He knew that I'd reached the end of my patience and was ready to be indulged. Good man. We got onto the highway and he turned to me with a lovely smile.

“Since we're out, want to do something? We don't have to go straight back to the loft.” That was definitely a bad idea. The way Ricky and Hugh had timed things, we'd only get ourselves mired in rush hour traffic headed for the city if we tried to return to New York just now. I gave his question a few minutes' thought.

“I'd like to go to that Home Depot we passed on the way out here.” Ricky eyed me suspiciously.

“Okay; may I ask why?”

“I have an idea,” I smiled benignly.

“You always do.” I'm glad he noticed, but then, the man has never been one to miss much--at least where I am concerned.

“Are you going to tell me about this idea?” he asked fifteen minutes later as he wended the Jag through the huge parking lot outside the Bunyanesque home center.

“Of course, I am,” I said as we emerged from the car and walked into the store. I handed him a basket and selected one for myself. Ricky frowned in confusion. Home Depot trips usually involved Todd, the SUV, large carts and sometimes flatbeds to lug home the things we bought. “I'm issuing you a challenge.”

“Okay,” Ricky replied dubiously. No doubt he was recalling my last challenge, which introduced us to the potential of several new venues for making love in the loft. It was all fun and games till Todd caught us. He's been calling Ricky “Sweet Cheeks” ever since.

“I want you to go through the store and find at least two things that can be used as toys in the bedroom.” Ricky batted his enviously long and curly eyelashes at me.

“Honey, may I remind you that this is not exactly the Pink Pussycat Boutique?” I smiled tolerantly.

“Anyone can find sex toys at a sex shop, sweetling. That's why I am making this a challenge.” My husband nodded obediently and for a moment I thought that he was going to drop his basket and carry me out to the car for transport to the nearest mental facility. But this is Richard Fitzwilliam we're talking about. He quickly got with the program and a slow smile spread over his face. “You've got fifteen minutes, after which we'll meet at the car, okay?” Ricky's smile was positively lewd by this point. God, I love that man.

“Okay.”

“All right. Fifteen minutes, starting...now.” Ricky walked off a few feet and then turned back, that wicked smile still lighting up his face. “Does paint remover do anything for you?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows. I strode off without answering, frightened by the distant possibility that he was serious. Fifteen minutes later he was waiting for me in the car, listening to jazz and wearing a shit-eating grin.

“What did you get?” he asked.

“You'll find out when we get home,” I replied as I placed my bag in the trunk, carefully concealing its contents. “And don't tell me what you got, either. We have a couple of stops to make on the way home.” Ricky started the car. I wanted to drive, but I didn't feel like being stuck behind the wheel in traffic. It's much more fun to bitch from the passenger side, so I left Ricky to deal with the traffic while I thought up a couple more ideas.

“Want another challenge?” I asked when we got stuck in traffic heading to the bridge in spite of the later hour. Ricky was up for anything that would take his mind off driving. I would like to have obliged him by running my tongue along that scruffy hairline at the back of his neck. I made a mental note to get him to Anton at his earliest convenience. But licking Ricky's neck in the front seat of a car, even an intermittently moving one, was unsafe. It's amazing what my licking the back of his neck does to the man. “Let's get out of here.”

“I'm all for that,” Ricky said as he promptly began to make his way to an outer lane. We got off the main highway and made our way east until we found what I wanted--one of those huge supermarkets that are prohibitively expensive to build in Manhattan. “Food? Too easy!”

“Not too easy; this one has rules. No chocolate syrup--.”

“I need chocolate syrup,” Ricky whined.

“All right, buy some, but it can't count toward your item. Only one, since it is too easy, and no olive oil, no syrup, no honey.” Really, we'd already done those to death. We'd also spent more time I care to think about dabbling in jams, Nutella, and ice cream. I hate Nutella but anything tastes great when slurped from Ricky's six-pack. We agreed to five minutes for this challenge, and imposed a ten minute “no touching” penalty for every minute of lateness. That last bit was my idea and I immediately regretted it.

I saw Ricky disappear down an aisle and emerge barely a minute later to get in line to check out. I spent several minutes weighing the merits of small versus standard size marshmallows and as a result ended up on the express line behind a woman who not only had more than ten items, she insisted on charging her five-dollar purchase. She had coupons, too. Needless to say, I was not a happy camper when I left the market. Ricky had brought the car over to pick me up and he laughed at my pout.

“You're three minutes late, he announced cheerfully. “That's one half hour of hands off, Mrs. F,” he teased. “But because you look so darned cute, I'm going to wait till we get home to impose it.” I opened my mouth to protest, but Ricky took advantage of the opportunity to kiss me. I was more than pleased by the kiss but annoyed that he put the car in gear with that self-satisfied smile still plastered across his face. I sulked all the way across the bridge, even if Ricky played with my fingers and teased me with his sexy voice, which would normally have me itching to get out of the car and lay him over the hood. Finally he relented and fell silent.

“Ricky.”

“No.”

“But--.”

“If we stop off at your favorite store on the way home will you stop whining?”

“I am not whining!” I whined. I considered his offer and smiled. “Yes.” Richard smiled and turned off the highway. “Let's go to the bigger one. We can make it part of our challenge.”

“Which one is the bigger one?” I demanded that he pull over so I could drive. I love Ricky to death but the man doesn't know how to find anything unless he can search for it on the Internet. I slid behind the wheel and headed for Ricky's.

Now, lest you think I'm terribly confused, I should explain that my favorite store is Ricky's--Ricky's NYC, that is. The store is part health and beauty supply, part adult emporium and chock full of fun stuff like fuzzy slippers and all manner of kitsch. Lizzy and Todd and I have been known to spend an hour in there at a time searching for goodies. And, needless to say, when I can get my Ricky into Ricky's we have a blast.

“Let's not stint, shall we?” I said. “Five items?” Ricky rolled his eyes.

“Three,” he said. “One sexy, one sweet, one spicy.” I bit my lip as I pondered the possible interpretations of his edict. I extended a hand.

“Time?”

“Ten minutes,” he said firmly.

“No penalty?” I sounded wimpy, but I was already suffering for my early cockiness. Ricky nodded. He'd be made to suffer, too, and he knew it. We shook hands on the deal and went in. Once again, Ricky was out of the store and waiting before I even got on line. I found him leaning against the Jag, where some redheaded bimbo wearing tighter clothing than common decency, good taste, and hygiene allowed was trying to catch his eye. I sighed and walked over, watching as she practically steered her little mutt into his path. Then, when Ricky bent to pet the runt she also bent over, ostensibly to fuss with the little rag mop's collar, although she was clearly trying to show off her newly pumped up boobs. If she weren't careful she'd put someone's eye out.

“My dog likes you,” the top-heavy wench said gushily, showing more lip gloss on her mouth than I wore in a week--and I have good reason to reapply frequently.

“Everyone likes Ricky,” I said as I strode past her and handed him my bag. I didn't care if he saw the contents at this point. I wanted that woman to know that he was taken. “Especially me.” Ricky gave me one of his beautiful smiles. The big lug likes it when I go all possessive over him. I spared a glance for the woman and wondered how much of her was recognizable to her gene pool. “That reminds me, Ricky. They have inflatable dolls inside. We may want to consider getting one for Todd and Anton's pool party.”

“Get in the car, Annie,” he said, trying his best to contain his laughter. He gave the woman a curt nod and got into the car. I slid behind the wheel feeling quite proud of myself as I turned the car toward home.

**

We finally arrived home and I took advantage of Ricky's good mood to make him carry everything upstairs. As we entered the loft I begged Todd for a cup of coffee even before greeting the girls. After the usual settling-in activities--checking phone messages, answering Bess's query about paying a few bills, giving Io a stern talking to for having snapped at Todd for spilling a drop of coffee within three feet of her--Ricky and I finally adjourned to the lounge to examine our haul.

“You first,” Ricky insisted. I didn't mind; I was rather proud of my acquisitions. I reached into the Home Depot bag and pulled out my first item. “A spray bottle?”

“A pressurized spray bottle,” I corrected him. Todd had bought one for the plants and Lizzy and I decided one day that it had great potential for other applications. As Todd used his for delivering some sort of anti-bug remedy, I bought one of my own. (I also picked up one for Lizzy; I'm a good friend.) Richard didn't seem overly impressed, so I gave the handle on the top of the bottle a few pumps and let him feel the resultant blast of air. He quirked an eyebrow.

“Thinking of yourself, were you?” The man knew me well, but I had plans for using the bottle on him, too. “Next?”

“Your turn,” I demanded.

“There's no point in taking turns. I just bought variations on the same thing,” he replied.

“What does that mean?” Richard sighed and dumped out the contents of his bag. He'd obviously spent all his time in the paint aisle. There was a paint roller (high nap), a mitt with big, soft loops, and an assortment of brushes with soft bristles, short rough bristles, long soft bristles...I was impressed. The rest of my items seemed dull by comparison.

“I can see why it didn't take you very long to get out of the store,” I said as I played with a liner brush. I wanted to test it on Ricky's neck, but I didn't dare try my luck. I was on punishment, after all.

“What else did you get?” I reached into my bag and pulled out a handful of small soft rubber caps, the kind of thing one puts on the foot of something to prevent it from scratching a surface. “What's that for?” I tossed him one.

“Use your imagination,” I challenged. Actually, Todd and I had seen something very similar in a catalog once and he told me that I could get the same effect from a cap bought from a hardware store. I decided to put his theory to the test, although I was sure that Todd had already proven it with a bit of experimentation of his own.

Ricky was frowning at the object in his hand so I placed one of the caps over my left breast and squeezed. I gasped as it adhered to my chest. Sweet. Ricky's mouth fell open as I plucked it off and tossed it back into the bag. It was pointless to get too excited while I couldn't do anything about it. Besides, occasionally rendering Ricky speechless is one of my great joys in life.

“I'm eager to see what you got from the supermarket,” I said as calmly as I could manage as I moved a little closer to Ricky. I could tell that he was intrigued by my purchases and I was looking forward to putting them to good use.

“Now what are you two up to?” Todd asked as he placed the coffee tray on the ottoman. He sat down and picked up the painting mitt. “I ought to buy one of these,” he said as he put it on, “it'd be great for a massage.” Ricky waggled an eyebrow. “You bought it for a massage, didn't you?” Ricky nodded. “And the paint roller? I don't suppose you're considering faux finishing the dog run?” Ricky shook his head. “Do you two ever think of anything besides doing each other?”

“Yes,” Ricky answered.

“He does,” I averred, “I watched him ignore me completely for the better part of an hour today.” Todd rolled his eyes.

“You've seen us play chess lots of times,” Ricky added, inexplicably. I hate playing chess with him. He always wins.

“Strip chess,” Todd accused.

“We do not play strip chess,” Ricky protested. “What you've observed is the world's worst sore loser. Annie rips off her blouse every time she thinks I'm about to say `checkmate.'”

“Let's see what you got at the supermarket,” I quickly interrupted. Ricky smirked at me--the man is too smug for his own good--before he opened his bag and pulled out a paperback. I frowned, grabbed the bag from him and peered inside. “That's it?”

“Yup.”

“That's not food! And how on earth do you expect to play with that?” I cried.

“The same way you expected him to play with my kitchen counters,” Todd drawled, “not to mention the stairs, the walk-in closet, the--.”

“All right!” I snapped. “But I don't get it.”

“Imagination, dearie,” Todd said as he took the book from my husband and read the back cover.

“Oh sure, reading the back of Blazing Hearts really gets me off,” I said sarcastically.

“Why does it always have to be about getting you off?” Ricky asked calmly.

“Yeah,” Todd said. “Maybe reading the back cover of Blazing Hearts really gets him off. I have to admit, though, it doesn't do a damned thing for me.” Ricky sighed and took the book from him.

“Observe.” He held the book up to Todd's cheek and flipped the pages so that they just lightly touched his skin.

“I stand corrected,” Todd said, eyes wide. “Can I borrow that when you're done?”

“No,” I said as I plucked the book from Ricky's hands. “He bought it for me. Maybe if you're really good, Anton will take you to the library and the two of you can drive yourselves crazy.” I gave him a wink so that he'd know I was joking, but Todd eyed me warily.

“You two aren't planning a trip to the library, are you?” Ricky and I exchanged a glance before he shook his head.

“We've got plenty of books here,” he smiled. “So what did you get at the market, Annie?” I proudly produced my bag of marshmallows and Richard's lovely smile slid right off his face. “No!”

“Yes!”

“No! Never again! I thought we weren't supposed to get things we've used before?”

“I'd be amazed that you could find anything, then,” Todd said as he tore open the bag and helped himself to a marshmallow. I grabbed the bag back from him.

“Those are for Ricky!”

“He can have them!” Ricky shouted back. “You are not putting those things on me again!”

“Excuse me?” We turned to our confused employee. “Exactly how...uh, where...do I want to know about this?” I took a marshmallow, bit one flat side off and stuck it to his arm. “And that's a turn on for you?” I shrugged.

“I love marshmallows!”

“I'm going to agree with Richard on this one, honey,” Todd said as he pulled the cloying nugget from his arm. “They're rather sticky, don't you think?”

“That's the whole point!” I exclaimed.

“Annie discovered this when we were camping with friends several years ago. She's been sticking them on me ever since,” Ricky said with a world-weary sigh. Can I help it if everything tastes good on a Rick?

“Annie, dear, you are completely certifiable,” Todd said as chucked me under the chin and rose to his feet. “Of course, you're not nearly as kinky as some people of my acquaintance, but I think you'd impress them nonetheless.” I bit into another marshmallow and stuck it on his backside as he passed.

“Well, I think I'll go up and lie down for a while,” Ricky said. He bent to gather up his purchases.

“But we haven't finished our show and tell!” So much for my plan to kill the half hour engaged in verbal foreplay.

“You've still got twelve minutes of punishment,” he noted with a glance of his watch. “See you later.” With that he headed upstairs with Callisto and Europa at his heels. He didn't look back so my best pout was wasted on the remaining Doberman. Io, sweet as she is, wasn't in a position to relieve my suffering. I held out for a whole three minutes before I bolted up the stairs.

“What took you so long?”

My smug, infinitely better half was sprawled on the bed, gloriously naked. His purchases were scattered on the bed beside him and he appeared to be testing them. I caught my breath as he picked up a small paintbrush and flicked the bristles. He smiled and proceeded to test it on his arm.

“How does it feel?” I asked conversationally.

“Very nice,” Ricky purred as he tried the brush across his collarbone and down the center of his chest. “I couldn't exactly try all these out in the store, so this will be a process of trial and error. So far, I like this one very much. It sort of feels like a very dry, velvety tongue,” he said huskily as he lightly dusted it over one of his nipples. When he ran the brush down the center of his chest to his navel I took an involuntary step forward. Ricky's eyelids, which were half closed, popped open. He stopped me in his tracks with a glance. Smiling, he tossed the brush onto the bed and picked up another. He stretched languidly, flexing his beautiful body for my appreciation. I felt weak in the knees and sat on the bench at the foot of the bed.

“This is called a flogger,” Ricky informed me as he fingered the longhaired brush. He abruptly slapped it across his nipple. He repeated the gesture several times and I watched open mouthed as it sprang to attention. Ricky, in turn, watched me as he flayed himself with the brush. It obviously wasn't painful--neither of us is really into pain, although I do enjoy an occasional spanking--however, I found the symbolism of the act a surprising turn-on. Ricky apparently noticed because he stopped as suddenly as he had begun and reached for the mitt. I looked at my watch and pouted. But Ricky doesn't call me the brains of the family for nothing. I stood up and slowly began to unbutton my shirt. Ricky watched me strip as he lazily massaged his torso, occasionally running his mitted hand over his rapidly engorging manhood.

We were both enjoying the show we performed for each other. After shrugging off my skirt and panties I approached the bed and picked up the first brush he'd used, the small paintbrush. When I ran it over my own nipple I shivered. It felt like the world's silkiest tongue and I could barely make myself repeat the action. Ricky shifted on the bed, sitting up to give himself a better view. By the time my exploration reached my navel I was too sensitized and swallowed hard as I dropped the brush. I bent to pick it up and when I rose again, Ricky tossed me the mitt. I put it to my face and inhaled. I love the smell of Ricky's skin. The mitt had picked up something of the musky, slightly spicy scent he wore and the mitt was still warm from its contact with his body. I slipped it on and began to lightly trace it over my shoulder and down my arm before moving to my torso. It was Ricky's turn to check his watch and I smiled in triumph. I was no longer suffering alone. Hell, neither of us was actually suffering anymore. We were engaged in the most erotic foreplay we'd experienced in a long time.

Ricky picked up the paperback, but set it aside. He reached for his bag of goodies from Ricky's and the liner paintbrush. I raised an eyebrow. Ricky saw my brow and raised it by another as he opened a bottle of flavored, heat sensitive massage oil. It wasn't the kind of thing Ricky would normally buy. I bought it for him once and he liked it when I'd occasionally spring it on him, but he never seemed wildly enthusiastic. Maybe I didn't buy the right flavor. He certainly seemed enthusiastic now, as he painted an arrow down his chest, pointing a path to our mutual happiness. He drew a few lines along the more sensitive spots on his body--as if I'd ever needed a map--and then poured a good bit of it into his hand. When he applied it to himself his eyes rolled back in his head and I was ready to surrender. Whatever penalty he imposed for not waiting the last three minutes was fine by me. I needed him NOW.

“Three minutes, twenty-six seconds,” Ricky said through gritted teeth as I dove onto the bed. “I'm disappointed.” Hah! I set about showing him just how un-disappointing I could be.

“Mmm, banana,” I said with an experimental lick. How appropriate, I thought, while my brain could still function. That wasn't very long I have to admit. Ricky wasn't thinking either. He totally indulged himself at my expense, the rat, leaving me...well, pissed would be the best word for it. I opened my mouth to protest and saw that he was wearing that smug smile again.

“Thanks; that was amazing,” he panted.

“Ahem. What about me?”

“You cheated.”

“And you were the beneficiary. The only beneficiary, I might add.”

“Annie, Annie, Annie,” my sexy, sated, smug, smirking spouse said. “How many times must I tell you? Cheaters never win.”

“I readily concede defeat, okay? Now, please--.”

Have I mentioned that one of the best things about Ricky is that he enjoys pleasing me as much as he enjoys pleasing himself? Added to that, he has a wonderful sense of sportsmanship. He's a very generous winner and though he'd never admit it he likes it when I cheat. He always wins when I do. In fact, we both always win...eventually.


Snip

“Annie.”

“Five more minutes!”

“You said that seven minutes ago. I'm a patient man, but even I have my limits.”

“Patience? You? You just want sex.” I was well aware of what “let's take a break and go upstairs” means in Ricky speak.

“I'm not interested in sex! I just want to spend a little quality time with my wife.” Perhaps it was a bad idea to laugh out loud, although a petulant, gorgeous and slightly horny Richard Fitzwilliam is a thing of beauty. Not that I see him that way very often; I work at keeping my husband very happy--if you can call that work. Mama DeBourgh didn't raise a fool. Of course, Ricky will insist that my mother had nothing to do with raising me.

Ricky stalked back to his own work area and I tried to finish my notes. I could hear him fiddling with things and it was grating on my nerves but I stoically tried to ignore him. That was a mistake. A petulant, gorgeous and slightly horny Richard Fitzwilliam is not a thing to be ignored. Sure enough, he rolled his chair over to my desk and settled in just on the outer edge of my peripheral vision. I sighed inwardly and tried to cross reference my sources as Ricky held up a pair of shears and examined them. It immediately made me nervous. I don't like the idea of him being around sharp objects. So, naturally, when he brought the scissors to his right arm he gained my full attention.

“What do you think you're doing?”

“Waiting,” he replied at he used the scissors to slit the short sleeve of his tee.

“You'll ruin your shirt!” I gasped. Actually, I was far more concerned about the bicep underneath.

“I have loads of tee shirts, Annie, and according to Todd I have no right to inflict upon the world the sight of me in a shirt of this hue anyway. According to him my coloring is all wrong.”

“Todd is a maniac. You look gorgeous in anything anywhere.” Ricky smiled. Damn him; he'd thoroughly distracted me. I stuck out my tongue at him and turned back to my search. I heard more snipping, catching flashes of silver out of the corner of my eye. I looked up and saw that the entire cuff of the sleeve was in tatters. I sighed and turned away.

“Am I bothering you?”

“No.”

“I didn't think so. As I recall you used to be able to concentrate with your roommate playing the Rolling Stones next door at full blast.” I grunted something about Lydia Bennet's taste in music and made an entry in my bibliography. “Maybe if I sang `I Can't Get No--.'”

“Ricky!” The next couple of minutes were gloriously silent. I stole a glance at my beloved and my heart nearly stopped. “You're not right-handed! Stop that before you hurt yourself!”

“It's okay,” Ricky replied as he calmly shredded his left sleeve. “My wife is a doctor.”

“Ricky--.”

“Hmm?” he asked, pointing the blades toward his chest.

“Don't!” Ricky pinched the shirt, pulled it away from his chest and cut out a perfect heart over his own, revealing a lovely bit of pectoral muscle. He reached over and placed the heart-shaped cut-out on my desk. “You do realize I'd be done by now if you weren't distracting me.”

“What am I doing?” Ricky asked as he cut out a rectangle over his abdomen, revealing a distracting expanse of golden skin. He'd obviously been running shirtless again. I hoped Callisto was keeping her end of our bargain: I don't get between her and Ricky indoors if she doesn't let anyone get between her and Ricky outdoors.

“Put the scissors down,” I commanded. Ricky promptly obeyed. “Thank you. Now just give me a few more minutes.”

“I'm dying here!” I reached out with my foot and hooked his chair. Ricky rolled over, close enough to kiss. I indulged myself for a moment and then I pushed him away. I should have known he'd grab the scissors while we were lip locked. I typed as fast as my meager skills would allow, determined to finish before Ricky started up again. I was nearly done when I heard an exaggerated sigh.

“Ah, that's much better.” I looked over and gasped. Ricky had cut a hole in his jeans; specifically, he'd somehow managed to cut out the zipper of his jeans while leaving his waistband intact. I didn't want to imagine how he pulled that off. He was wearing a pair of ancient jeans from his college days and I suppose that helped, but the prospect of Ricky wielding scissors anywhere near his groin was too terrifying to contemplate. His head was thrown back in a shamelessly contrived expression of bliss. I know what genuine bliss looks like on Ricky, believe me.

Ricky was still holding the shears, I noted as I smirked at the big lug. He opened one eye and made certain that he had my full attention. Then he provocatively lowered the implements of destruction to his groin once again. I'm sure my cry of panic was incoherent. But Ricky simply smiled, tugged at the Hawaiian print boxers he was wearing with his other hand, and began to cut. I cringed and closed my eyes.

There's a reason why boxers have a fly and I decided that it was to preserve the sanity of women with husbands like mine who would endanger their genitals to make a point, no pun intended. I took a peek when the sound of metal cutting into cotton ceased to assault my ears. Ricky had cut out the entire fly, overtly suggesting that the modest opening couldn't accommodate his immodest proportions. The object of my concern sprang from its cloth prison and beckoned me as brazenly as the rest of my husband. I swallowed hard and turned away, even more determined not to abandon my project until I was done. Of course, Ricky wasn't done. I heard more snipping. I resolutely kept my eyes averted, but my imagination ran wild as the sound went on for quite a while.

“Didn't you buy a pair of electric shears a few months ago?” Ricky asked conversationally. His voice sounded slightly strained and I had to force myself to keep my eyes on my computer monitor. I didn't respond to his remark. To do so would have started him searching and the thought of Ricky taking electric scissors to himself was truly frightening. “Annie?”

“Yes?”

“My hand is getting a cramp.”

I smiled at that. Ricky used to say that during our college days when we talked long distance hours on end. My response was always that my hand was getting soggy. Those were the days... What am I saying? These are the days! I much prefer having Ricky three feet away than three thousand miles away, no matter how childish, annoying or distracting he was being at the moment.

“Poor baby,” I deadpanned. He wasn't going to win this time. He could have his way with me, but not till I was good and well ready.

“Ouch!” Before Ricky could finish the hiss that ensued I was out of my chair. “Made you look,” he sneered. And look I did. He'd sliced open his pants along the inseam, from the crotch and down each leg.

“Are you nuts?”

“What?” Ricky asked ingenuously.

“There are easier ways to get out of those pants, you know.”

“I thought so,” Ricky smiled, dropping the choir boy act. “But you refused to go along with plan A.” I swore to myself.

“So you thought--.”

“I wanted to be ready for you when you were finished.” Boy was he ready. I didn't want to believe that Ricky was getting off on the act of applying scissors to himself, but the evidence was staring me in the face. I extended my hand. He gave up the shears without a word of protest. “Ready to go upstairs?”

“I am,” I conceded, “but you're not going anywhere.”

“What?”

“Have you forgotten why we came down here in the first place?” Apparently he had. Bess was using the loft for a small luncheon to honor a friend moving out of the state. We'd given her the space until three and it was barely 1:30. I took great delight in reminding him of the facts.

“Well, we could always just--.” Ricky turned and noted that the sofa was gone from his side of the office. “Where the hell's our sofa?”

“It's out getting reupholstered, remember?” Five years of taking rest breaks together on the couch had taken their toll on the upholstery.

“Thank goodness for carpet,” he said undaunted. I wanted to wipe the smirk off his face so I strode over to the elevator.

“No way,” I said crisply. I waited for the doors to close before I began to laugh at the horrified expression Ricky wore as I abandoned him. I went upstairs and said hello to Bess's ladies, as Todd called them. They seemed to be having a great time. Todd throws quite the ladies' lunch. I excused myself and went up to the bedroom to get something decent for my deranged husband to put on.

I grabbed a tee shirt and a pair of jeans and stepped out onto the balcony when I heard a collective gasp from the ladies downstairs. I peered over the rail and saw, to my utter amazement, my husband--gloriously naked save for a loin cloth fashioned from the remains of his tee shirt--stride across the foyer. He smiled as he walked over to the guest of honor, planted a kiss on her and then headed for the stairs.

I'm sure I was far more embarrassed than he was. Actually, he didn't seem to be embarrassed at all. The ladies certainly enjoyed the display and--other than the blush on Carmo's cheeks--they didn't seem at all flustered by the sight of Ricky's nearly nude body. Todd was another matter entirely. The poor thing was so shocked he hadn't moved from the time he got his first peek at Ricky.

“Hey,” Ricky said as he arrived at the top of the stairs. He walked past me and into the bedroom. I gaped at him--which didn't prevent me from admiring his pert bottom--as he went by. He looked like the world's buffest sumo wrestler with his lean cheeks exposed for all to see. I took a deep breath and followed him into the room, closing the doors behind us.

“I don't believe you just did that.”

“You didn't think I was going to stay down there indefinitely while you had the last laugh, did you?”

“I didn't think you'd pull off your tee shirt and parade through the apartment butt naked in front of a bunch of nice old ladies, either!” I replied. “I was bringing you something to wear,” I added, holding up the garments in my hand.

“Annie, Annie, Annie,” Ricky said as he pulled me to him and pressed his body to mine. I dropped the clothes and caressed his lovely bum. “You're a little slow today, honey. Read my lips: I am not interested in wearing clothes at the moment. I am not interested in your wearing clothes, either.” He demonstrated this by tugging at my top and lifting it over my head. Then he slowly began to peel off my jeans. “This is so much easier with scissors.”

“Don't even think about it.”

“Who's thinking?” Valid point; Ricky was a man of action, which he proved by lifting me and tossing me on the bed so he could remove my sandals, which impeded his progress with my jeans. Ricky swore as he confronted the straps that wrapped around my ankles. When he reached for the nightstand, I sat up.

“What are you up to?”

“Hmm?” he replied as he produced a pair of small scissors.

“No! No, Ricky!” I half-heartedly tried to kick him away; I didn't want to gore him with my heels. He grabbed hold of a foot and deftly slid the blade under the offending strap. “Ricky these are new! There's a buckle--!” Too late; the strap was cut and Ricky removed the shoe and began to pull the jeans off my leg while I struggled to salvage the other shoe. Not that there was any point; the other one was already ruined. I sighed and sat back while Ricky cut the other strap. He pulled off the jeans and came at me with the scissors yet again. I closed my eyes and allowed him to remove my panties with his new favorite toy. He cut interesting holes in my bra before he destroyed that, too. I was not amused. He might not have been either, had he'd known the replacement cost of the items of clothing he'd just destroyed. But he was having too much fun to care. And quite frankly--after I'd confiscated the second pair of scissors--so was I.

The End

Liaison

“You are drunk.” Annie swayed slightly as she opened her mouth to gainsay me. I gave her a light push and she toppled backward onto the sofa, giggling. I hate drunken giggling, even Annie's. I liked the fact that she was drunk even less. It was not like Annie to drink irresponsibly and it was unlike her to drink out of my presence. Not that I don't trust her, mind you. It was her idea and for her protection, ever since she'd had a bad experience with a dosed drink at a frat party back in her Stanford days. I wasn't around then, but she'd always made a point of sticking close to me at parties since then, or not drinking at all. Someone must have slipped under my radar. My wife was slightly pickled. I was not amused.

Annie is not a big drinker. We'll occasionally get buzzed on some wine or beer, generally when it's just the two of us and we're at home. When we left the party we'd attended that evening, it took both Anton and me to hold her up while Todd brought the car around. Adding to my mood was the fact that our power was inexplicably out when we reached the loft, so I'd had to carry her up three flights of stairs with Todd leading the way with his trusty torch while Anton went to check the circuits. The lights came up just in time for me to nearly trip over Todd's tail. Perhaps I should explain Anton and Todd attended the party dressed as Tom and Jerry, respectively. Annie spent the latter part of the evening teasing Todd by doing what she called “imitations of cheese,” my first clue that all was not right in the head of Ms. Fitzwilliam.

“Annie, Annie, Annie,” I sighed as I look at my beautiful but inebriated bride. I laid her on the couch to take a breather. I wanted to get her upstairs before she lost it but I needed to rest after carrying her up to the apartment. Annie rolled over onto her stomach, nearly falling off the couch as she did so and found herself nose to nose with an inquisitive Doberman pinscher. Annie found Io's nose fascinating until she got too close and made contact with the cold, wet leather. Then she sputtered and spat until I pulled my pale beauty to her feet and picked her up. I asked Todd for an ice pack before I headed up the stairs.

We must have been a sight--me, dressed as a Musketeer and my Annie dressed as a courtesan from the era of Louis XV. Had she been in a better state Annie might have had quite a time with the image we presented. She likes a good scenario, you see. Her eyelids fluttered and she squeezed me a bit tighter as we made our way up the stairs.

“Are you okay, hon?” I asked. Annie smiled, her eyes still closed.

“This is why I chose these costumes, you know,” she said drowsily. “So you could carry me up to bed when we got home.”

“Did you, now?” I smiled. The woman was hopelessly loopy.

“Yes; had it all planned, including appropriate comments about you taking French pastry to bed,” she said around a slight yawn.

“And you had every intention of scolding me for it, I'm sure.” I know how my Annie thinks. The sleepy smile returned.

“Oh yes,” she said as I laid her on the bed and the girls came closer for an inquiring sniff. “I had every intention of spanking your butt in those snug-fitting breeches,” Annie said as she reached up to stroke my thigh. “And then of course, I'd peel you out of those bad boys and really punish you,” she laughed. She began to sit up all too rapidly. I caught her by the arm and eased her back onto the bed.

“Whoa, there, my little French tart. You're in no condition to do anything at the moment.”

“But--!” I pushed her down again. “But I'm--.”

“No. You just lie here for a moment while I get you an ice pack.”

“I'm already cold. I want you to warm me,” Annie said suggestively. She extended her arms toward me and I sat on the edge of the bed. She began singing softly in French, a nineteenth century bawdy song she'd been singing since she first asked me to help lace up her corset earlier in the evening. Annie had gone the whole nine yards with her outfit. She'd not only had her dress specially made, but she'd bought a silk corset, garter belt and stockings in order to achieve the full effect. She'd also spoken to me almost exclusively in French since early that afternoon, getting into character by regaling me with stories about the men she'd had liaisons with in the king's court. Remembering that, and watching her draw her strand of pearls across her lovely cleavage, I decided that I was the one in need of the ice pack.

In fact, Annie had been taunting me all evening, sidling up to me and licking my ear, saying a few earthy words in French, and when she thought she could get away with it, palming my crotch. Needless to say, I was very happy to have had a cape at my disposal. Annie was relentless--she always is--but on this night she was shamelessly provocative. I must have spent most of the evening with a stunned, gob-smacked expression on my face. I couldn't take my eyes off of her all night--which was precisely what Annie intended. She clearly had an agenda and I was ready to play along till someone spiked her drink.

Annie finished her song and began saying something about having had a pearl for every man she'd been with. She struggled to sit up, against my better judgment, and looped one end of the 30-inch strand over my head. She pulled me closer and began whispering in my ear, telling me all the things she'd done with her many lovers and what she wanted to do to me. I could only hope to live long enough for her to do half the things she named. As it was, she'd probably get to do none of them, at least, not on this night.

“Annie, ma petite belle, lie down. You are going to have one mother of a headache in a little while. You need to rest.” I gently pushed her back and she pulled me along with her, capturing my mouth in a searing kiss. I hate when she does that. Sneak attack kisses by Anne Fitzwilliam ought to be ranked up there with land mines as one of the most dangerous weapons on the planet. She can short-circuit my brain faster than an electrical shock. She can also get me out of my pants with such a kiss faster than I care to admit, and these breeches were undoubtedly not designed with a courtesan of Annie's skill in mind. With a strength of will I never realized I had, I managed to tear myself away from my sexy little courtesan. I ignored the pout, the pleas and the curses that followed me down the stairs.

I retrieved the ice pack and headed back to the bedroom. Annie had disappeared and I heard the sound of the shower running. Slightly relieved, I decided to give her a few minutes of privacy and began to get out of my costume. I pulled off the cape, sword, and doublet, but before stripping completely I decided to check on my wife. To my surprise, she wasn't in the shower. I panicked momentarily and started a frantic search when I heard her singing. It was a different song this time--a love song. I turned around and frowned. Annie had pulled a fast one. She wasn't wet. She wasn't even undressed. She had hidden in her dressing room, knowing that I'd come looking for her.

“Annie?” She beckoned me to her but I stood my ground and she apparently decided to come to me. Annie advanced on me slowly, suggestively repeating a line of her song--for my edification, undoubtedly.

A man must subject himself to the will of his beloved, whether her requests seem rational or not.

I know nothing of 13th century French (Annie was cheating a bit with her song list, I noticed), but I was familiar with this song. We'd attended a concert of medieval music and liked it so much I'd bought her the artists' CD. She read me the libretto a few nights later. Along with that line I remembered her reading that the epitome of female perfection in 13th century France was a woman with blond hair and blue eyes and that a man yearned for his true love to the point of suffering or even death. Some things never change.

“Richard,” she whispered, using the French pronunciation of my name.

“Annie.” She reached out and touched my chest, allowing her fingers to travel up to the laces that held my shirt closed. She smiled and began to undo the tie. As I reached for her hands she leaned closer and lightly bit my throat. “Annie!” She began to nibble her way up my neck and I made a pathetically weak effort to stop her. As a matter of fact, my last functioning brain cells were shouting “Hello! This is Annie; your wife, you idiot! What are you fighting her for?” This line of reasoning was seconded by the rest of my body, which had stopped resisting and started encouraging even before my brain caught up with the program. My fingers were unbuttoning her dress and trying to figure out the logistics of getting her out of six yards of fine silk couture. I supposed that bodice ripping was out of the question.

**

It was an easy scam to pull off. Sneak a drink right before bellying up to my husband and put on an act worthy of Myrna Loy in The Thin Man. It was actually fun, for all that I will have to deal with Ricky's wrath later on. He carried me to the car and all the way up the stairs to the apartment. I almost felt sorry for him the third time he stumbled over Todd's tail. I was in peril of laughing and causing us both to take a tumble down the stairs.

A French courtesan should woo her man with wine and song and a little naughtiness, no? I had a great evening planned for us. I'd spent the evening teasing my beloved to distraction by singing bawdy songs and speaking French--try playing a drunk in a foreign language sometime! Of course, it pays to choose a language in which one is fluent. I was going to entice my lover into carrying me up to the bedroom, get him to help me out of this damned corset and into my favorite position--under Ricky's divine body and over the moon. But the big lug slipped into mother hen mode and wasn't cooperating.

Thankfully, it's so easy to distract my Ricky. In fact, it's hardly a challenge at all. It's sort of like driving, really. Check the rear, start the ignition, release the brake, check the rear view again (I check Ricky's rear early and often) and hit the accelerator. Zero to sixty in--oh, no point bragging. I had him in the palm of my hand. Literally.

**

“Annie?” She was hefting the family jewels as though she was about to haggle over a price. I frowned and peered into my sweetie's bright and suspiciously clear eyes. “Annie!” I gasped. That little vixen! “But you just--! You were just--! You were, weren't you?”

She laughed at me and gave my genitals, which were already straining against their confinement, a squeeze. Then she stood on her toes and repeated the list she'd reeled off earlier as she continued to prime the pump.

Then Annie attempted to dislodge my tonsils with her tongue. She must have used her time in the bathroom to attend to her oral hygiene. Her mouth had a distinctively minty flavor. I wondered, nonetheless, if French kissing--appropriate as it was to her theme for the evening--was a good idea, given her current condition. Once again I found the strength to pull her away.

“Why don't we take this slowly?” I suggested hoarsely.

“No,” She said as she pressed her body against mine in an uncharacteristically urgent manner.

“Annie, you're rather inebriated.”

“Am I?” Great. In addition to everything, she's going to engage me in a battle of wits. I'm doomed. Of course, one's perception of doom is relative. Doom, taken in context with a horny Anne Fitzwilliam, is a fate I can live with. But somewhere deep in the part of my brain that keeps my heart beating in spite of Annie's every attempt to stop it, it dawned on me that I was being snookered. Annie wasn't drunk. But I couldn't dredge up the energy to care. All my energy, in fact, was rallying behind the idea of joining her game.

My French isn't as good as Annie's but I can play the role of the randy lothario with the best of them. And quite frankly, she's easy to impress when she's in a mood. I scooped her up in my arms and carried her back to the bedroom, whispering sweet nothings in her ear. Admittedly, the only endearments I could think to call her were “coquette” and “ma belle” and “mon petit chou,” although I could never understand why a woman would be turned on by being referred to as a little cabbage. I tossed her on the bed and roughly rolled her over to peel her out of her dress. It took more work than I cared to think about but I definitely wanted to see her wear that dress again. Ditto the corset and other garments.

Annie languidly rolled one ivory silk stocking down her leg as she giggled at me. It was no longer a drunken giggle, more of a sex kittenish invitation to play. I slipped off her shoe and caressed her ankle while she slowly slid the stocking down and let me remove it. When she started on the other leg, I was reminded of a poem by Baudelaire that I once recited in a speech class. I could only recite it in English, but the author was French, right? Close enough for the purposes of seduction.

Her long legs, her hips, shining smooth as oil,
Her arms and her thighs, undulant as a swan,
Lured my serene, clairvoyant gaze to travel
To her belly and breasts, the grapes of my vine.

It had the desired effect. (It had the desired effect in class as well; my septuagenarian prep school teacher was mortified.) Annie undulated for me and my eyes traveled up her torso; my vine began to thicken. She rolled over so I could unlace her corset. I did so as slowly as my emergent need allowed. Another stanza popped into my head.

Naked, then, she was to all of my worship,
Smiling in triumph from the heights of her couch
At my desire advancing, as gentle and deep
As the sea sending its waves to the warm beach.

All right, so that last part was a lie. There was nothing gentle about my advancing desire. Annie wasn't one to complain, though--unless I kept her waiting too long. She was apparently becoming impatient because she sat up and grabbed the laces of my shirt. I yielded without a struggle and she pulled it off, tossed it over her shoulder with aplomb and began to feast on my chest while her hands began to tug at my breeches.

“Remind me to choose something looser for you the next time we attend a party,” she muttered as she bent to examine the closure. I agreed heartily; tight pants and Annie Fitzwilliam are a dangerous combination, especially when you calculate in the knee-high boots and unfamiliar fasteners. Annie gave up on the breeches and rose to pull off my boots. When she'd done the first one I put my bare foot on her belly and used it as leverage to help her take the other one off. The result was that Annie landed on her bum. She was not terribly amused, so I distracted her by scrambling to my feet and shrugging out of the breeches as fast as my fingers and engorged organs allowed. Annie smiled.

“Well, as long as I'm down here...” she said suggestively. Anything Annie says in French is suggestive. Hell, Annie says with that look in her eye is suggestive, in any language. How does she do that anyway? I'm having trouble thinking in any language at the moment and--boy, does my Annie know how to use her mouth. And I'm not talking about her way with words, if you get my drift.

**

I lie awake as the sun rises early the next morning. Annie is snuggled in my arms. Sunlight is streaming in and bathing the girls in an eerie glow. They like that and so do I. Annie hates it when the light shines in her eyes in the morning and making her happy is my only goal in life, so the drapes are drawn on our side of the room. I check the clock; the girls can wait another half hour for their run.

Anyway, I'm lying here remembering last night. It was comedic. It was erotic. It was perfect. I wonder if Annie's Italian is as good as her French. She could be the daughter of a wealthy merchant. I could be the gondolier who is overcome by her beauty and absconds with her one night...

Annie stirs. After a moment she lifts her head and smiles.

“Buon giorno, carissima.”

“What?” she replies groggily. Oh well; maybe we can discuss it after coffee.

The End

Tease

“Don't speak to me.”

“How the hell can I reason with you if I don't speak?”

Uh oh; Annie was giving me that look of warning. She was not in the mood for rhetorical questions, a sure sign that we were in for one of our better fights. The make-up sex was going to be terrific.

“You are not reasoning, Ricky, you're arguing! You're also being a major pain in my ass at the moment so get out of my face.” There was a joke in there somewhere. I knew it, Annie knew it, and her look just dared me to try it. I opened my mouth and Annie shoved her palm into my face. “Don't you dare!” She turned and walked away, leaving me with a great view of her departing derriere--alas, it was doing the “you aren't getting any” dance.

I hate it when Annie is unreasonable. She does, too, but she can't help herself. Annie thinks that always agreeing is a dangerous thing in a marriage. I think she's afraid of us growing complacent with one another. Arguing with me is her way of keeping the sparks flying in our relationship...or so she says. I say she actually gets off on being perverse every now and again. The woman likes winding me up. Come to think of it, she loves winding me up. Annie has been known to argue known facts for the sake of “seeing my eyes go all swirly.” Whatever that means, she manages to get the desired effect out of me before she caves, rediscovers reason and drags me into bed for an apology that knocks our respective socks off. I felt a strategy forming in my head and I smiled as I rose to follow my surly wife from the office.

The idea was a simple one. I would wind her up for a change. It'd make her crazy. I love crazy in an Annie Fitzwilliam. All right, I love anything in an Annie Fitzwilliam, but she does a mean crazy, especially when it's a hot and bothered crazy that involves lots of tongue and if I continue thinking in this vein I'll make my own eyes go all swirly. Callisto and I took the stairs and met Annie as she left the elevator. She'd apparently gone down to get the mail, judging from the bundle of envelopes and magazines she threw at my chest as she walked past.

“Oh, thanks, hon,” I said as I bent to retrieve them. She glanced back at me oddly and I flashed her a boyish grin. She sneered and walked away. I sauntered over to the lounge and sat on the couch opposite my beloved. I flipped through a catalog or two, stealing a glance at her every now and then. Annie was pretending to ignore me. That wouldn't do. I rose and pulled off my tee shirt and then stretched out on the couch.

“What the hell did you do that for?”

I ignored Annie and began playing with one of Callisto's velvety ears. My girls don't have docked ears and I like playing with them. Callisto is very tolerant of my fascination with them, thankfully, much more tolerant than Annie when she's being ignored. I reached into my back pocket and produced a handful of biscuits. That not only got Callisto excited; Io and Europa left their place at Annie's side and came over to beg for a treat. But I wanted Annie to sit up and beg as well, so after dispensing the biscuits I stretched out again, running a hand over my chest as I picked up a magazine to read.

“Stop that!”

“Hmm?” I said casually, my eyes on the magazine image of a woman who looked suspiciously like my wife wrapped around some emaciated androgynous man with the chest of an eleven year old. I gave my chest another swipe of my hand. The only way that wraith would get a six pack as defined as mine was if he went to the nearest Stop and Shop.

“Ricky!”

“What?” I sat up and looked at Annie calmly.

“Leave me alone!”

Well, that made about as much sense as anything Annie had said all morning. I laid back down and began to read about the resurgence of tie pins as a fashion statement. As I wondered if I owned even one, Annie began to growl. At least I thought it was her. None of the other girls sound like that and Todd was out having lunch with Anton--not that he growls much in my company. According to Anton, though, he growls a lot--in bed. Boy can I digress.

“Ricky!”

“I thought we weren't speaking,” I reminded my cranky wife. I lost my page when a flurry of pillows hit the magazine and sent it flying. I glanced over at her with a smoldering look that was far superior to the one her look-alike in the photo shoot was lusting over.

“Stop playing with your chest.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“Oh, there's an excellent reason,” I smiled as I reached over to pick up the magazine. A pillow hit the back of my head. What the hell was in those things, anyway? They're harder than they look. I sat up, placed the pillow behind my head and turned away from Annie. Let her stare at my taut, sexy ass for a while. Three pillows hit it before I turned to see whether her eyes were swirly. They were. Very cool.

“You're making me crazy!”

“How am I doing that? I'm not even looking at you!” (Pillow)

“You are looking at me.” She had me there. I turned back around. “Don't you dare turn your back on me when I'm talking to you!” (Pillow)

“Oh, are we speaking again?” I turned around in time for a pillow in the face. She was starting to run out so I soft tossed a few back to her side of the couch. Naturally, that infuriated her. The girls were all agitated and milling about between us. They always get agitated when we throw things around. They don't know whether to protect or chase. I'd managed to wind up everyone in the loft and smiled smugly at my accomplishment. The phone rang. I called a time out as I rose to answer it.

“Sure Todd, we don't mind if you two stay out. I can handle dinner. Though, come to think of it, Annie's mad at me so she can screw dinner. Very funny, Todd! Enjoy the movie, and if you pass buy a food shop on the way back, grab a sandwich for my wife, will you?” The reward for that crack was another pillow toss, naturally. I carried the pillow back when I returned to the lounge. “Your aim is improving.” Annie tossed the pillow I handed her right back at me. “This is getting old,” I said before I turned and went to the kitchen. Annie followed, eyes lit up with icy blue fire.

**

I don't even remember what we were arguing about. Ricky said something and it was just one of those things where he sounded so sure of himself I had to shut him up. It didn't matter that the smug bastard was right. I just had to stand my ground and argue with him.

I love arguing with Ricky. He's beautiful when he's angry. Not that he really ever gets too angry with me. It's really more like frustration. That's it--I love seeing Ricky frustrated. First he gives me a questioning look, then it dawns on him that I'm yanking his chain and he gets that smirky little pout working. Ricky's pout is the sexiest thing on my husband above his chin and believe me, it has some tough competition. Anyway, he gave me that look and I lost it. I wanted to grab his beautiful face and kiss him senseless, but I couldn't give in that easily. I opened my mouth and said something stupid instead.

“Don't speak to me.”

Sigh. Sometimes I get myself into these things and end up in deep trouble. I decided, for once, to beat a hasty retreat, hoping that when next I saw Ricky we could pretend that I wasn't the idiot I was being just then. I got into the elevator with Io and Europa and rode down to fetch the mail. When I reached the apartment a minute or two later, I found Ricky smiling at me. He looked so hot I forgot that I was supposed to be redeeming myself and threw the mail at him. He proceeded to follow me to the lounge, where he inexplicably pulled off his tee shirt and started to play with his chest.

It was the sort of thing that usually got my hand slapped if I did it when he was reading, yet there he was--reading and fondling his beautifully sculpted pecs, running the tips of his long, talented fingers over his golden skin and his rosy nipples, up to his collarbone over his shoulder and then slowly down his abs. Again and again, slowly, with practiced insouciance--he was making me nuts. My tongue peeked out of my mouth for a look and after moistening my lips it yearned to follow the path Ricky had drawn for me. Again and again and again--and argh!!!

“Stop that!”

“Hmm?”

My beloved ignored me as he scratched his chest, then rubbed the spot he'd scratched then massaged the spot and then his hand was traveling up and down again. Over the pecs, across the nipples, now erect and just begging to be nibbled, over the ribs, and rising and falling over each cluster of muscles of Ricky's abs.

“Ricky!”

“What?” He sat up and looked at me. The afternoon sun caught his hair and illuminated his eyes and skin in a blaze of gold. I wanted to eat him.

“Leave me alone!” What the hell is wrong with my tongue today? My honey raised an eyebrow, smiled again and laid back down on the couch. He was blatantly posing now, showing his torso to its best advantage and openly taunting me with that damned hand.

“Ricky!”

“I thought we weren't speaking.” I grabbed a pillow and threw it at him. Then I threw every other pillow within easy reach. Fortunately, thanks to the previous night's make-out session, all dozen-plus pillows in the lounge area were on my side of the couch. Ricky doesn't like lying on a surfeit of pillows, you see.

“Stop playing with your chest.” I demanded. That was my job and if I was too stupid to be over there toying with him he had no right to get himself off.

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“Oh, there's an excellent reason,” he said. I reached out and gathered an armload of ammunition. When he turned his pert little bottom to me, I pelted him with three pillows.

“You're making me crazy!”

“How am I doing that? I'm not even looking at you!” he lied. I fired another pillow at him.

“You are looking at me,” I countered. He shrugged and turned over again. “Don't you dare turn your back on me when I'm talking to you!” Pillow number five hit its target and the girls began to get excited. (I like to think that they take bets on the action and try to pick the winner.)

“Oh, are we speaking again?” I threw a pillow at his head this time. Ricky calmly picked it up and tossed it back to me as he rose to answer the phone. I watched his lovely ass as he spoke to Todd and used it for target practice.

“Sure Todd, we don't mind if you two stay out. I can handle dinner. Though, come to think of it, Annie's mad at me so she can screw dinner. Very funny, Todd! Enjoy the movie, and if you pass buy a food shop on the way back, grab a sandwich for my wife, will you?” The reward for that crack was another pillow toss, naturally.

“Your aim is improving.” He said as he handed me a pillow. I threw it right back at him. “This is getting old,” he said and went to the kitchen. Of course, I followed him. Sometimes I just can't help myself.

**

I grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and looked to see what was available for dinner. Todd had done a bit of shopping before he'd gone out so there was plenty to choose from. Aware that I was on display, I stood there for a long moment, allowing the cool air to caress my torso. Annie made a “harrumphing” noise and reached past me to get a bottle of water. She pointedly closed the door and shot me a look. I glared right back and opened the door again, but this time I dug around a bit and found the ideal thing--a package of duck breasts. I placed it on the counter and sought a few items to make a marinade. Then I closed the fridge and went to the sink to wash my hands.

Annie was leaning against the island, so I made a show of throwing together the marinade and placing it into a plastic bag along with the duck breasts. Naturally, I had to massage the poultry. I knew I'd struck a nerve when Annie hissed, called me a bastard and stormed out of the kitchen. I tossed the breasts into the fridge and went to finish reading the mail while Annie had a long talk on the phone with someone who I thought was Lizzy. I realized sometime later that she was talking to her mother and complaining about me. Now that was strange. Usually, my mother in law is the one doing the bitching and whining. Annie put her hand over the phone and looked in my direction.

“Mother sends her regards.”

“Tell her I said go to hell.”

“Ricky sends his love, mother.” I gave Annie the finger. “Mother I have to go. Ricky needs something.” Annie hung up the phone and came over to my side of the lounge.

“May I help you?” I said sarcastically.

“Actually, I plan on helping myself,” she replied as she grabbed my face. She kissed me hard--a waste of time, really. I can't fully appreciate Annie's succulent mouth when she--oh God.

**

I meant it when I said I'd help myself. My little tease was about to give it up and I wasn't going to be shy about collecting my due. I gave him one kiss to put him on notice before I made my move. I had to get at that chest. I was licking, biting, sucking, nibbling, caressing, fondling, pinching, and savoring every inch of that glorious expanse I could reach. I straddled Ricky, pinning him to the couch (as if he'd try to escape) and rubbing my groin into his as well as two pairs of sweats would allow. That wasn't much, so I paused long enough to pull off my clothes and pulled down his sweats far enough to expose that most vital of organs. Ricky shrugged and squirmed till I helped him pull off the pants entirely. I started kissing my way down his body again when he stopped me.

“Wait a minute? Are we or are we not we still arguing?” he asked.

“What the hell difference does it make?” I asked crossly.

“I need to know how to behave after we're done.” My husband, the pragmatist; he would worry about accidentally being nice to me after sex. This was a perfect opportunity for a little revisionism. I lied through my teeth.

“We aren't arguing.”

“Wait a minute--yes we are.”

“No we aren't! We haven't been arguing for, oh, twenty minutes now.”

“Didn't I just give you the finger?”

“I thought you were calling me,” I said ingenuously, which didn't fool him for a second. But I did get a lovely smile out of him.

“I won't shatter your illusions for the sake of marital relations,” he said. “On second thought, maybe I should.”

“Why?” I pouted. I also took the liberty of wiggling to remind him of the consequences of being stubborn in his current position.

“Because we are, in fact, arguing, my love--even now.”

“No, no, no! We're making love now,” I insisted.

“We are not!”

“We are too! Or at least we would be if you stopped asking stupid questions and started giving it up.”

Perhaps I went too far. Ricky bucked his hips and threw me off of him and the couch. I sat there a minute in shock. I'd been rejected by Richard Fitzwilliam--an aroused and raring to go Richard Fitzwilliam at that. It was a first of such historic proportions that I was at a loss for words. So I stuck my tongue out at him, both to show him what I thought of his actions and to give him a few ideas of an entirely different nature.

“We are arguing,” he said coolly. “By the way, your eyes are doing this amazing swirly thing.”

“What?”

“Come here, beautiful,” Ricky said, extending his hand. Uh oh; that smirky little pout of his was working overtime. He had me right where he wanted me--between a rock and a hard place, to use the old cliché. Naturally, I chose the hard place. I'm not crazy. And as I learned long ago, where Ricky is concerned, resistance is futile.

**

Annie is thoroughly confused, but she's also thoroughly sated and I like the look of both on her. I've decided that I like winding her up. I could really get into it, if she didn't bite so hard. The make-up sex was great, but she will leave a mark. Maybe I'll get her up and take her out to dinner when her eyes stop swirling. But meanwhile, I'll just lie here and enjoy the show.


The End

Doctor in the House

They're at it again. Of course I'm not surprised. I only marvel at their ability to sustain their passion after all this time together. I suppose it doesn't hurt that Annie is such a looker. She's definitely a babe, as Richard describes her--your classic leggy blonde with enough brains to erase any notion of a stereotype with a single sentence. She's the perfect complement to him and he truly is a babe. Blond, blue-eyed, built--if Anton could hear my thoughts right now I would be in such trouble. Not that he wouldn't agree with my assessment: we both know that the best benefit of my job is not the free apartment but the eye candy that provides it. But I digress.

I just served dinner and the master of the house coughed over his salad. It was a tiny cough and a badly contrived one at that. But it had the desired effect. Annie looked at him and raised a questioning brow. Richard, of course, pretended not to notice and began to eat, thankfully. I hate it when they get so into each other that they forget about food and just run off to go at it. I spent twenty minutes arranging that Salade Nicoise to perfection and if he leaves the table after one mouthful of haricot verts and a chunk of tuna for protein I'll flip. They wouldn't care, naturally. They have no consideration for my nerves. All they ever seem to pay attention to is each other.

Like right now: Richard just coughed again, and Annie is starting to squirm in her seat. I think it's too early in the game for her to make a move. Sometimes they actually don't fly from the table to get their groove on. Sometimes they like a prolonged seduction and this seems to be one of those nights. So Richard, who may be the healthiest human I've ever seen, gives an occasional cough and Annie is counting them up. Ah; he must have reached the right number--she's just made a polite inquiry. I get it. They're playing doctor again.

This is a variation on the “my throat hurts” or “does my knee look swollen” game. I tried that with Anton once. He forced a couple of Tylenol on me and suggested that if the pain persisted I should consult Annie. I suppose it works differently on her. She is not only amazingly attuned to Richard's desires but an M.D. to boot. She likes playing doctor. She sits on Richard's butt and catalogs each of his muscles and bones as she massages his shoulders. (Of course, that's more like playing physical therapist, but Richard has never complained.) She also likes to name the areas of his brain as she kisses him all over his golden hair. If I mentioned a medulla oblongata while kissing Anton he'd accuse me of being some kind of smartass. Richard, on the other hand, just gets turned on.

Then again, Annie could turn him on by saying his name. All he has to do to prime Annie's pump is look at her and she's raring to go. It's no ordinary look, mind you. Let's just say that if he looked at me like that I'd have to resort to wearing a diaper. Alas, he reserves that look for her and--there it is now. I won't even bother to serve dessert. They've already decided to have something else.

“Maybe I should take a look at that. I don't like the way you sound,” Annie says, playing her part.

“I'm sure it's nothing,” Richard replies demurely before he coughs again. Gimme a break.

“Finish your salad and then you can go,” I interject. Annie glares at me as Richard dutifully finishes the last of his greens and olives. She defiantly pushes her plate away and leaves the table--along with a third of her dinner. She'll be back for it later. Playing doctor burns a hell of a lot of calories.

Annie and Richard adjourn to the lounge while I store Annie's leftovers and load the dishwasher. I also have to put away the tarts I baked earlier. Those two obviously won't want any tonight. Maybe I'll freeze them for the weekend. Richard likes to have a fruit tart for breakfast. They're still a bit warm so I hang about the kitchen and straightening up while they cool. No way am I going any farther than the dining table while those two are out there. I can hear them now. Annie is examining Richard with her stethoscope, which miraculously appeared from behind a pillow on the couch. Richard doesn't do anything by halves where Annie is concerned.

“Take a deep breath.”

“I can't.”

“Why not? Are your lungs in some sort of distress?”

“Not exactly,” Richard replies coyly. “It's just--.”

“Go on, you can tell your doctor anything.”

“Well, when I look at you I tend to become breathless.” Annie is actually amused by this corn and begins a thorough examination of the lungs in question. She sits on Richard's lap, unbuttons his shirt and proceeds to listen to his chest. Then she moves the stethoscope a bit lower. I don't even have a college degree but I know for damn sure lungs don't have anything to do with where she's currently sticking that stethoscope.

Yes, I am looking; why do you ask? It's impossible not to see them unless I stare at the refrigerator. This is a huge open loft and Annie and Richard aren't exactly shrinking violets. I nonetheless decide to give the Sub-Zero a thorough cleaning. Things are heating up over there and I am easily distracted. Unfortunately, I can still hear them.

“Does this hurt?”

“No.”

“How about this?”

“No.”

“How about here?”

Laughter erupts and Richard loses it. I roll my eyes and fetch a glass of water for the “patient.” Richard is grateful; he's very ticklish and once he starts laughing it's hard for him to stop. He drinks it all down in one and hands the glass back. I am tempted to ask why Dr. Fitzwilliam has removed the patient's shirt to check his cough, but I'm more intrigued as to why her panties are on the ottoman. If I was a doctor and I dropped my shorts to check Richard's cough, I'd be in jail and pegged as somebody's bitch before I knew what hit me.

“Whatever you do, don't sit on my couch like that. I just had all the upholstery cleaned,” I warn Annie, as though there's any danger that she'll escape Richard's lap with anything less than one peek at Nirvana. Knowing him, Richard will give her two. He's a generous guy and he obviously likes making her scream. And that is messy.

Richard is amused. Annie is not so I depart hastily. Usually, it's the other way around. Annie thinks it's funny when I get all proprietary over my domain. Richard is inclined to remind me that the domain in question is technically his and I'm just allowed to wipe up after them. Sometimes I feel like the keeper in a very interesting zoo.

They start going at each other again before I even reach the kitchen. After listening to Richard's “chest,” Annie apparently thought the guy was in need of resuscitation. Boy, can they kiss. If nothing else, their ability to suck face for so long without coming up for air is ample testament to the health of Richard's lungs, not to mention Annie's.

I'd better wrap up the tarts, even if they're still warm. Who cares if the plastic melts? Better it than me. I'm only human. You wouldn't think those two were by the speed with which they go from a minor flirtation at the dinner table to full out lust on the--oh dear. Why did I look up? I certainly hope she's lying on her skirt.

“Who's examining whom?” I cry out before common sense stills my tongue.

“Turnabout is fair play in this doctor's office,” Richard replies, his eyes on those of his beloved. “That's why I come here.” And come he undoubtedly will.

I grab the key ring and head for the stairs. The girls drag themselves away from the excitement of watching their owners do each other for the nth time this week to head for the dog run. I wonder if the poor things think that all humans spend half their waking hours making out, making love, or contemplating same. Come to think of it, other than the fact that they're both awake so much, Annie and Richard don't sound all that different from a pair of horny dogs. The poor girls don't have any basis for comparison. I should take them down to the second floor so they could see what a normal sex drive looks like.

I let the girls into the run and head back downstairs, noting as I entered the kitchen, that Richard's lost his pants and Annie's lost her breath. Maybe she ought to see a doctor about that.


The End

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