8 comments/ 93698 views/ 37 favorites The Mending of Broken Hearts By: pseudonym2005 Author's Note: This story is an original work of fiction. Future stories starring some or all of these characters might also be forthcoming based upon response and demand. Certain characters featured herein may also be found in other works by the authors. Feedback is desired and greatly appreciated. Email comments to pseudonym2005@hotmail.com. Thank you for reading. Copyright 2009 by Jack and Josephine Cutter. This story stars: Andrea Tinsley, Mike Gregory, Hayden Cross and Peter McFadden. This story contains: male-female erotic coupling, fellatio, cunnilingus, mild exhibitionism, anal sex, mild analingus, dirty casual anonymous sex, cheating, costumes, drinking, seeds for future stories, and a rowdy Halloween party. This story begins on Thursday, September 8th. * * * * * It was a busy night at the Café Montenegro. Eduardo Moreno could not remember the last time an ordinary Thursday had been so busy, which was truly saying something: the man had been managing the establishment for nearly twenty years. There was a large private function in the secluded upstairs banquet room and three separate celebrity parties in the curtained booths in the back, not to mention a heavy flow of regular restaurant patrons and casual first-time diners. At this point, getting a table required either a reservation or some other special kind of relevance. Which meant the quartet of individuals standing in the dimly-lit restaurant antechamber would certainly be seated, and swiftly, for while they did not have a reservation, they fell into the latter of those two categories: beautiful equaled exhilarating, and exhilarating was considered a very special kind of relevance by Maître d' Moreno. He loved to position the young and attractive at prominent tables inside the dining room (giving the restaurant a vibrant kind of "it" factor feeling) and one of the prime spots had just opened up. And the four of them were very attractive, indeed: two women and two men, the former somewhat similar in appearance, the latter of whom could not have been more different. There was a blonde woman, tall and willowy and thin with a face so classically gorgeous that Eduardo would have staked an entire night's pay on the educated guess that she was a model, and also bright baby blue eyes that caught the attention of all who would look upon them and not let go. She was, in a word, breathtaking. The second woman was also blonde, but where the first was golden with shoulder-length waves that curled out into tips at the ends, the second was strawberry with smooth hair down to the shoulder blades and layered bangs swept across her forehead. She was tall, too, though not as tall as her friend, and also well-proportioned, though her shapely figure was not the soft kind, but rather of lithe variety. Simply stated, the girl had a killer body, athletic with excellent curves, not to mention a beautiful face. Her eyes were the most amazing shade of lightest green. The women were spectacular, but the men were not too shabby themselves. The first was rather tall, maybe six foot two, with a lean though muscular frame that looked very athletic, straight brown hair that curled naturally at the ends and deep gray eyes. He was clean-shaven and inexplicably handsome. The second was blonde-haired and blue-eyed, a little shorter and equally good-looking, with a thin layer of stubble on his face that spoke of choice rather than inattentiveness. His body also appeared to be in excellent shape. It was the kind of quartet that people liked to look upon as they dined, the kind of group Eduardo looked to place in the so-called high-profile hot spots on a nightly basis. Eduardo approached the group, chatting amiably in the entryway. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said in a voice laced with the barest hint of his homeland, "if you would please follow me." He led them through the main dining room, taking the long way to allow those eating to watch the procession and appreciate the beauty of the group, before seating the four at a table located dead-center the largest sidewalk-side window in the restaurant, a table known by the staff as the voyeur seats, as anyone passing by outside could easily see the occupants. And once they were seated, Eduardo left them and returned to the desk of the hosts, happy that such beautiful people were so well-situated, knowing the free buzz they would generate would be more than worth the complimentary bottle of wine he would send them later. Part One: Better Days Mike Gregory and Peter McFadden had been friends for over a year. While not the best of friends nor the oldest, they shared many common interests and enjoyed keeping company. Much of their mutual likes involved sports, whether competing themselves in pick-up games (they met, in fact, playing basketball at a local gym) or watching or attending professional athletic events. Mike had been the one to introduce Peter to his girlfriend of ten months, Andrea Tinsley. Andrea was the girl's soccer coach at a private high school in West Los Angeles, the same school at which Mike coached the boys soccer team (he was a walk-on coach, which meant he did not also have a teaching position with the school; he was a free-lance writer by trade). Mike had known Andrea for several years and liked her and respected her a great deal, and therefore suggested she go out with Peter, which she did, and the two hit it off. Mike thought Andrea was a beautiful and fun-loving young woman with passion and humor to spare, and Peter was very lucky to have her. Not that Mike was complaining: his own girlfriend was also blisteringly hot and very vivacious. Hayden Cross was thirty years old, looked twenty-four and acted eighteen, which meant that with blonde hair and blue eyes that defined the word smolder, more often than not she got what she wanted. She and Mike had been dating for as long as Mike had known Peter, as Mike had met Hayden and Peter only days apart. The two couples, Mike and Hayden, Peter and Andrea, often spent time together on double dates doing this or that and had even gone so far as to take a couple of small trips together. It was especially fun for Mike to know that he was the catalyst for the whole thing: Peter and Hayden and Andrea all met each other the same night, the night Peter and Andrea went on their first date. It was a blind date and Andrea had nervously asked Mike to come along with Hayden, whom neither she nor Peter had met, to make it a double date and break the ice. And here they were ten months later, the two couples still going strong and still very friendly. Hayden and Andrea, both blonde and both beautiful, were dressed to the nines for their evening out, which would include a trip to the theater, which Andrea loved. There had been a period of silence as the four enjoyed their food after it arrived: the cuisine at Café Montenegro, where they were eating, was fantastic and a rare kind of treat as it was expensive and very difficult to get into without a reservation, or so Mike had heard, although it had seemed relatively easy on this particular night. Silence rarely lasted long, however, when the four of them were together. "Are you guys excited for the start of the season?" Peter asked after a while. Andrea bounced eagerly in her chair. "You have no idea!" she exclaimed. "I'm so excited I can hardly stand it! Eight months is sooooo long!" It was September and the schools were already back in session from the summer break, which meant that fall training for winter sports like soccer would begin shortly to prepare for the season some six weeks away. Hayden rolled her eyes. "Exciting, yes," she said glumly. "It means we get to hear about soccer, soccer and more soccer for four months." Mike laughed. "We'll try and stick to topics everyone is happy with, ok, babe?" Hayden grinned and leaned in for a quick kiss. "You'd better," she threatened playfully, "or no more sex for you." His girlfriend had never been one to shy away from sexual topics or statements and was brazenly open about such things, but while he himself did not care and Peter never seemed to mind, Mike knew the ears of Andrea Tinsley were more innocent than most. Mike knew very well that she was uncomfortable speaking openly about sex. Andrea blushed and tried to change the subject, which had probably been Hayden's intention in the first place. The woman was a master manipulator and loved to push people's buttons, which sometimes frightened Mike but more often than not excited him, too. "You know, the four of us haven't been hanging out as much lately," Andrea noted. Mike frowned. "Yeah, what gives?" Peter threw his hands out innocently. "Don't blame me. I'm not the one who's been busy. Blame it on summer." Mike nodded. "Summer does get a little crazy," he said. "August was a complete blur." "I've been traveling a decent amount for work," Hayden told them. She was a mega-successful real estate agent (blonde hair, blue eyes and big tits meant a sale every time, or so Hayden herself always said), but she also did a fair amount of free-lance modeling work on the side. "Me, too, actually," Peter admitted. He was an actor with several significant national commercial campaigns to his name, the kind of guy people recognize but don't know where they know him from. "I never really take into consideration how much time I spend away from the city." Andrea said ardently, "We need to spend more time together. I always have so much fun with you guys. Mike, our friendship goes way back and you're responsible in large part for Peter and I being together, and for my friendship with Hayden. We need to make sure we find time for each other. It's so nice and so rare to have such friends." Hayden was smiling that girlish kind of smile that says an emotional round of hugging is about to follow, which it did. Hayden murmured softly and leaned forward and the two girls enjoyed a touching embrace. "This is getting way too serious for me," Peter said as he rolled his eyes. He was not the most affectionate of men, to be honest. Mike said soberly, "We can hug later, big guy." The girls giggled. "Seriously, though," Mike said as he raised his glass, "Andi's right. We do have something special here and it's nice to recognize it. A toast to good friends." "To us," Peter agreed in a voice more serious than most were likely to get. "To us," Andrea added, her beautiful face split by a wide and dazzling smile. "To us," Hayden said softly, her blue eyes bright. "To us," Mike finished with a sigh. And the four friends sipped their drinks and enjoyed their good friendships and good company, and the dinner progressed with more merriment and laughter, and its end proved only the end of the beginning of the night. * * * The condo was dark as the two of them staggered inside. Mike was significantly cocktailed, one note shy of hammered . . . the latter of which happened to be the category his girlfriend fell into at the moment. Thank the sweet heavens, he thought, that they had had the wisdom to call for a cab to take them home. Hayden could hardly walk straight. Mike stumbled into his favorite chair in the main room, a leather recliner that was more comfortable than his bed (or at least he sometimes thought, particularly when booze was involved). He felt his body melt into the cushions, molding to them, becoming one with them. It was going to be difficult, he knew, for him to move anytime soon. He watched the light in the hallway go on as Hayden lurched back towards the master bedroom. She was only gone what seemed like a moment before she appeared again in the hallway, looking out into the darkness at him, only now there was something significantly different about her: she wore only a pair of thin white panties. Mike's jaw nearly hit the floor as he took in the sight of his girlfriend's bare breasts; no matter how many times he saw them, they never failed to affect him. She was a heavenly creature, tall and willowy with a sensual frame highlighted by the exquisite creations currently on view. They were pear-shaped and perfect, augmented but done in a very respectable and cutting-edge way: they retained much of their natural feel and looked fantastic. Her stomach was flat and her hips flared out just enough, and led into long legs defined by hours and hours spent in the gym. She was gorgeous, she knew it, and everyone who came across her knew it, too, and Mike most of all. Nabbing her was one of his greatest accomplishments. "Like my tits, sweetie?" she cooed. Mike nodded dumbly. They were wonderful, swollen lobes (post-surgery 34D) and rose from her chest with perfect perkiness. Her nipples were dime-sized spots of shriveled burgundy. "I have more on my mind than just you staring, baby," she told him, and the grin on her face was lascivious. She moved towards him, swaying slightly on her feet from the effects of the alcohol, her round breasts bouncing and jiggling freely before his stupefied gaze. "But I'm doing it in the dark. Show's over." And before he had time to comprehend what she was saying, she flipped the light switch and the room was plunged into black once more. Mike wondered what exactly she had planned, only to be startled moments later by soft hands at his legs. His eyes opened wide and tried to see what was going on, but the sheer darkness did not allow him to see at all. He started to speak . . . and then he heard her voice. "Quiet!" Hayden commanded. Her hand slipped through the slit in his boxer shorts and fumbled around for the treasure inside. "It's time for you to collect your reward." And in that moment three things dawned on Mike: first, that Hayden was still quite drunk; second, that she seemed horny and ready for a little action; and third, that she intended for everything to happen in the dark, which meant that he would not be able to look upon her gorgeous body, but then again, honestly, who was he to complain. And then a fourth thing dawned on him, right about the time Hayden's gentle and knowing fingers curled around his hard cock: he was the puppet and she was the master and he would follow her willingly and completely, and whatever she had in store for him looked to be very pleasurable, indeed. "So big," Hayden purred. Mike was bigger than average and quite happy with his size. He shuddered as his girlfriend pulled his cock out of its confinement and shuddered again an instant later when he felt the heat of her breath tickling his skin. And then the incredible happened: Hayden's soft pink tongue, sadly unseen in the pitch black of the room, flicked around the bottom side of Mike's shaft like a hummingbird at the feeder. It was rare for her to give blowjobs (she preferred to receive) and he relished every opportunity. He wondered briefly just what had caused this excellent situation, but then her mouth on his loins drew his thoughts away. Mike groaned, and Hayden responded by planting a wet kiss right on the engorged head. He very nearly came right there; these were moments he fantasized about all the time. The only problem was that he could not see her sucking his cock. But he could certainly feel it. Hayden's fingertips caressed the length of him even as her tongue continued to tease, and it was obvious she was very enthusiastic about this particular session, which was again peculiar, but again pushed quickly from Mike's mind. He was determined to enjoy himself to the fullest. He dropped his hands to the sides of Hayden's head and grabbed a good handful of her silken blonde hair, and guided his hips forward toward where he guessed her mouth was. Hayden was drunk, yes, and also a little anti-blowjob, but she easily took the hint and allowed what was happening to happen. Mike's cock slipped easily into her warm and suddenly willing mouth and instantly began to suckle him. Her tongue flittered over his shaft in a swirling motion as her luscious lips wrapped around the head. Mike was in absolute heaven. Inch after fantastic inch pushed its way into her lovely mouth as Hayden worked farther and farther down the length of his shaft. Despite not liking to do it much, the woman certainly knew how to handle a cock. Mike loved the slurping and sucking sounds she made as her tongue and lips slid up and down his shaft, and without the luxury of visuals in the darkness of the room, the soft sound of Hayden whimpering and cooing and moaning was hotter than he had ever thought it could be. And then, astonishingly, Hayden went for the bottom; he felt her lips almost complete the journey to the base of his shaft, which he kept very neatly trimmed. She did not make it all the way there, however: she gagged and had to pull back just a bit. As stated, Mike was by no means the longest man on the block, but his cock was nothing to cry about and no woman had ever accomplished the feat of deep-throating him. But Mike was very grateful for the attempt and would work that much harder when he had opportunity to return the favor, which was something he very much loved to do. Hayden recovered and suckled him harder around the head, and bobbed her mouth up and down on his cock as her tongue swirled and flicked wildly across the thick veins upon it. Every now and again she would stop and lavish a few delicate kisses on the mushroomed head, varying the type of pleasure. Her tongue licked a slimy, languorous trail from the base of his shaft to the tip and Mike lay rigid, hardly thinking, hardly breathing. Her pink tongue lashed out and flicked the tip of his engorged penis. "Ahhhh," he sighed as she engulfed his member once again, and this time there was a different kind of intensity. It felt like a vacuum had swallowed his cock. Mike's head fell back and he growled loudly as waves and waves of pleasure coursed through his body from the exquisite pleasure the sultry hot woman was bestowing upon him, and he could feel himself starting to lose control. Then her tongue lashed out again and swirled the head of his cock, while at the same time one of her hands tickled its nails over the wrinkled skin of his scrotum, and that was the end of him. He cringed as white-hot liquid exploded from his swollen penis in thick, ropy waves. Hayden knew it was coming and angled his shaft away from her, letting the pearly juice erupt from the tip to land harmlessly somewhere off to the right. He came, and kept coming for well near ten seconds as the beautiful blonde sat frozen and still unseen before him, milking his cock with gentle strokes until he was spent. And when the barrage ended, Mike's body melted further into the leather of the chair, drained completely. "Mmmm," Hayden sighed. He heard rustling as she rose to her feet, standing over him, and she said in a soft voice, "My present to you, baby. No reciprocation needed." "Thanks, love," he said with an unseen smile. "Why all the attention?" "I just wanted to let you know how much I love you, that's all," she told him, and now she was father away. The light in the hallway flickered on and he saw her standing there again, only this time he had a wonderful view of the sleek track of her spine and her taut little ass covered in tiny silk panties. It was incredibly sexy. "Come to bed, baby," she said with a soft smile thrown over her shoulder. Mike was ready to do just that. He rose from the leather chair, his cock drained and deflating, and followed his beautiful girlfriend into the bedroom. * * * The routine of Andrea Tinsley on school mornings was simple: roll out of bed and into the shower at seven, yogurt and a banana as she scanned the newspaper at seven-thirty, out the door by seven-forty-five, a stop at Coffee Bean on her way in and arrival at the school just after eight o'clock. It was a routine perfected over three years working at West Mountain, a prestigious private high school in West Los Angeles. The Mending of Broken Hearts On this particular morning of mornings, however, there was a small wrinkle in the schedule: her boyfriend, Peter, slept at her place the previous evening and was now trying to coax her into sex as she scurried around the bedroom getting ready. "We didn't do it last night," he said in his pouty little boy voice. "You need to make it up to me." Andrea stopped and fixed him with a pointed stare. "We didn't do it last night, Peter, because you drank too much and passed out. It certainly wasn't from a lack of excitement on my part. I finished myself off while you slept, thank you very much." It was fun to watch Peter's eyes bug out. "You masturbated?" he asked incredulously. Andrea giggled. "A girl has needs," she told him. And so it went for several minutes before Peter finally gave up and admitted it was his fault in the first place, but not before she promised there would be ample opportunity to make up for lost time when he got back. He was leaving for a business trip later that afternoon and would be gone for several days. In the end she was only set back a few minutes, which did not matter as she had no engagements before her first class began at eight forty-five, and which still gave her more than thirty minutes to get her usual daily preparation items out of the way once she finally got to her desk. It was, however, almost ten thirty (fifteen minutes into fourth period) before she had the opportunity to really talk with any of her colleagues in the athletic department offices: the daily prep took her right up to eight forty-five and was followed by back-to-back physical education classes, the first with a group of sophomores during second period and the second during third period with a gaggle of freshmen. Janice Ledmeyer was a very good friend of Andrea's and the Athletic Coordinator for the school, which was a really fancy way of saying she was the department receptionist and personal assistant to the Athletic Director. Janice was a pretty young woman in a wholesome, librarian-ish kind of way with long brunette hair tied in a tight bun and brown eyes framed by nondescript wire-rim glasses. She was a few years younger than Andrea. "How was the play last night?" Janice asked when she noticed Andrea was not too busy. They were the only ones in the office at the moment, which was always exciting as they could engage in a little unfiltered girl talk. Andrea grinned and clapped her hands together. "It was incredible!" she exclaimed, because it had truly been so. It was the first time she had been to a professional production in a major theater in what seemed like forever and she had been hearing great things about Wicked for a long time. "I'm so glad Mike was able to get tickets." Mike Gregory was the boy's walk-on soccer coach at West Mountain (Andrea coached the girl's team). He was one of her very best friends and a truly great guy, and she thought very highly and always spoke very highly of him. "Mike always comes through," Janice said with a sigh. "He does," Andrea agreed. Janice sighed again. "If only Mike were single . . ." she said longingly. Andrea laughed. "Don't you have some emails to go through, Janice," she said with a smile and a playful reproach. It was well-known around the office that Mike had a long-term girlfriend, a beautiful woman named Hayden, whom Andrea also knew and liked. Mike was considered quite the catch, it seemed, by many of the females in the West Mountain athletic department. It was also known around the office that Mike and Andrea had never known each other when both were single: Mike had been with a woman when they first met, then Andrea met a man, then Mike's relationship ended, then Mike had met Hayden, then Andrea's relationship ended, then Andrea met Peter, which left them both coupled at the current moment. There were certain schools of thought (Janice included, which meant Andrea heard more about it then she cared to) that considered them a good match, and while Andrea sometimes wondered what it would be like to be with Mike, both romantically and sexually, they were now in good relationships with mutual friends, which meant such thoughts were nothing more than innocent passing fancies. The door to the athletic department offices opened then and a young man entered. He was exceptionally attractive for a high school kid and Andrea caught herself staring before she quickly looked away. He was tall, well above six feet, with a lean build, straight black hair that flopped about his face and bright blue eyes. "Can I help you?" Janice asked with a pleasant smile as he stopped at the front of her desk, which was the first desk arrived at through the door to the offices. "I'm here to see Mister Kim," the boy replied. Jeong Kim was the Athletic Director of the school. Janice looked down at her clipboard. "And you are . . .?" "Jack Everman, ma'am," he said. "I'm a new student." Janice nodded. "One moment, please," she said as she picked up the phone, which also served as an intercom between Janice and Jeong (pronounced John), although everyone in the department just called him Mister Kim. "Jack Everman to see you, sir . . . yes . . . yes . . . of course, sir." She looked up at him with another smile. "He's ready to see you, Jack. I'm Janice, by the way. Welcome to West Mountain." The boy put out his hand and Janice took it. "Nice to meet you, Janice," he said. "How do I get to his office?" Janice laughed. "Sorry," she told him. "It's around the corner to the right." "Thank you," the boy said, and then he was gone. Janice looked back at Andrea with a wicked little grin. "Gorgeous," she said with more fervor than one might have expected. "He's cute," Andrea agreed. "With him and Mike around it'd be tough to get any work done," Janice giggled. "I'd constantly be running off to the bathroom to splash some water on my face." Andrea giggled right back, sighed once, and the two young women went back to their work in silence. It was the sound of the intercom on the phone a few minutes later that broke them both out of their productivity, when the electronic version of the voice of Mister Kim rang out loudly. "Miss Ledmeyer," the man said from inside the confines of his office, which he rarely left, "which students do we have in the building right now?" Janice rolled her eyes. "Well, sir," she replied, "a few football players are in the weight room, I think. Chase Marion is in the supply room printing off flyers for distribution." She thought for a moment, then added, "Oh, and Abigail Jones is visiting with Harriet." "Thank you," the voice of the athletic director answered without much genuine thanks in his voice. He was not the nicest man in the world, to be honest, but in fairness he was very good and very productive at his job. Janice turned to look at Andrea again. "It would make life a lot more enjoyable if the man cracked a joke once in a while, or just even smiled." Andrea shrugged. "It's not so bad, is it?" she asked. "He's a good man at the core." "True," Janice agreed, then she grinned again. "I need to find a man with a good . . . core. Good cores are so satisfying, wouldn't you agree?" Andrea laughed. "You are way too dirty to be in the field of education, Janice. These poor high school boys have no idea what kind of wicked little slut you are under your wholesome exterior." "I know," the other woman whispered wickedly. "Their loss!" "Did you say that Chase Marion is downstairs?" Andrea asked, changing the subject. "She was a few minutes ago, as far as I know." Andrea rose to her feet. "I haven't seen her in a while," she said as she headed for the door. "Back in a bit." Chase Marion was one of Andrea's former players. She was a senior at the school, but had stopped playing soccer a year earlier. It had been a social thing for her mostly as she had not been very good (several of her close friends were still on the varsity team), so her decision to stop playing after a sophomore season spent on the junior varsity team had not come as a big surprise. Still, she was a good girl whom Andrea liked very much. She found Chase in the athletic department copy room, which housed a couple of Xerox machines, a few file cabinets and some supply shelves. The girl was at one of the copiers rattling off what seemed to be a great deal of flyers. "Hi there," Andrea said with a smile. Chase looked around and her face broke into a happy grin. "Andrea!" the girl exclaimed and bounced over to give her old coach a big hug. Andrea did not care to be called coach. She was a personable person and preferred deeper connections with her players, and so always let them address her by name. It also worked well for when the players moved on, as Chase had done. "How are you, Chase?" Andrea asked as she disengaged. A frown flickered across the girl's face before the smile returned. "Fine, thanks," she answered, although that response would not sate Andrea. "I saw that frown," she asked the girl with concern in her voice. "You know you can always talk to me." Chase shrugged and heaved out a sigh. "Just boy stuff," she admitted. "It's a long story . . ." ". . . and you're busy with the flyers and this is not really the place," Andrea finished, then she smiled. "I'll tell you what. Are you free seventh period today? I'll take you off-campus. We can go get some coffee and talk for a bit." Chase thought about it, then her eyes lit up. "Seventh I have advanced math," she said, "but we break on Fridays, so I'm free!" "Great!" Andrea said. "Meet me in the parking lot at the start of the period, ok?" Chase was beaming. Obviously, just talking about her problems with someone objective and unbiased whose opinion she valued would do her some significant good: it already looked like a weight was off her shoulders and Andrea felt really good about that. "Thank you, Andrea," the girl said with sincerest gratitude as she leaned in for another hug. Andrea smiled and hugged her back, and then turned and walked out of the room . . . and thumped right into a strong male chest. It took a moment for her to realize what had happened before she looked up into a pair of striking gray eyes, light like the clouds of an overcast day. "Hi coach," said Mike Gregory with an easy smile as his hands left her shoulders. She had not even noticed them there, nor that they caught her to keep her from falling. "Mike," Andrea breathed. It was early for him to be at the school and unusual for her to see him when he was; most often their schedules ran in opposite circles. "The amount of goodness you bring to this place amazes me sometimes," he told her, nodding towards the copy room. She realized he must have heard her exchange with Chase. "Yes, well," she murmured, "it's just part of the job, really." "Not for everyone," he replied. Andrea smiled bashfully. She knew enough of his faces to know that the face he was making was his serious one and that his compliment was very truly meant. She did not react well to such blatant flattery (it embarrassed her too much) and tried, therefore, to change the subject. "What are you doing here?" she asked, quicker and with more vehemence than she had wanted. He grinned. "I have my quarterly with Kim and Weston in a few minutes," he said cheerfully. "I would've mentioned it last night, but I wanted to surprise you today with my presence. I know how boring it gets around here without me. Good times last night by the way, huh?" Andrea said, "Very fun. You know, we always say it and we said it last night a few different times, but we need to see each other more often." "Agreed, but handle that on your end and talk to your man. He's the one who's always busy. Didn't he just leave town again? We're lucky we squeezed last night in." He was grinning and playing around, and so she punched him teasingly in the shoulder and played right back. "I'm sorry," she said sweetly, "but your lady travels way more than my man does. In fact, if memory serves she left this morning, right? Peter left this afternoon. Ha!" Mike considered. "True," he admitted, then grinned and added, "but we're the ones who got tickets for the show last night. What have you done for us lately?" Andrea's eyes narrowed. Despite her outwardly displeased expression, she loved teasing and playing and flirting with Mike. He was so much fun to talk to, so easy-going, and there were no issues with mixed signals or whatever. She knew, as did he, that the two of them were very honest and faithful people who would not cheat on their significant others. "Fine," she announced loftily. "The next dinner out will be our arrangement. Think you can handle it?" The last statement was one of her catch-phrases. "Not much I can't handle," he replied, the same response he always gave; it was kind of an inside joke between them. "Great," Andrea Tinsley answered with her head held high, and she swept past him then, bumping pointedly into his shoulder as she did so, and strolled off down the hallway with the challenge in her steps, loving the fact that he was following her with his eyes, but more so the fact that he would most certainly be smiling. * * * Room Three Hundred Twelve on the twenty-fifth floor of the Four Seasons Hotel in Las Vegas was a lavish royal penthouse suite that cost several thousand per night at certain times of the year. It was finely decorated and extremely spacious with a wet bar, plasma television, golden fixtures, a plush leather couch with matching chairs surrounding an all-glass coffee table in the main room and an excessively comfortable super-king-size bed in the bedroom. Sheiks and high-roller whales and celebrities were often its inhabitants. The suite was also granted on rare occasion and when available, however, to guests with particularly good connections to hotel management and was a favorite, therefore, of Peter McFadden, whose ties to the entertainment industry (he was a fairly well-regarded commercial actor) often provided him access to things otherwise unavailable. And when he required specific amounts of discretion as he did on this particular afternoon, the room was the perfect place for him to spend some time. "You have until five o'clock," his agent Cody Bedford had explained thirty minutes earlier. It had at that point been twenty minutes to twelve noon. "They have some big-ticket foreign multi-millionaire arriving after seven and they'll have to clean the place up." Peter grinned. He would have almost five hours, which was more than enough time. Too much time, actually, as his own flight back into Los Angeles (he was on the back-end of a multi-day business trip) would depart the Vegas airport at just after five. He would have to be out of there by four thirty at the latest. He pushed his key through the swipe strip and watched the green light flare, and opened the door. The room beyond was dark, very dark, and as he stepped inside and the door closed behind him, it plunged even deeper into blackness. The curtains were drawn and there was very little light to be found within. There was trickle of light coming through the curtains and he moved to open them, but froze instantly when a quiet feminine voice stopped him cold. "You're late," the voice said with great displeasure and a dim light clicked on suddenly. Peter grinned. "Am I?" he asked without regret of any kind. He turned to look at the figure seated in the chair in the corner of the room. "Good. I like you better when you're pissed off." Hayden Cross was a vision of loveliness despite being seated and despite the dark, which only meant it was difficult to admire her full and breathtaking figure. Her hair was long and blonde and beautiful and her eyes were bright blue conduits of raw sexuality. Her body was wickedly hot, tall and willowy and curvy in key spots. She was one of the most attractive women Peter had ever known. She was wearing very little: her shirt was two sizes too small (it was clear she was not wearing a bra) and her shorts were of the very short variety, ultra-tight and seemingly sprayed on. Her large breasts stretched the fabric of the shirt near to the breaking point, while her long and graceful legs easily showing their excellence as stretched out before her, which coupled with her bounty of golden hair and gorgeous model face only made her more delectable. The battle for dominance in their adulterous relationship had long been playfully ferocious and Peter currently had the upper hand. He flaunted his position of power by walking unhurriedly to the bed. "I'm going to need you to come help me with something," he asked coolly. Her eyes narrowed. "Proceed," she told him. Peter reached into his pants and pushed his semi-hard cock out through the zipper slit. "This needs to be taken care of," he said. He wondered if the hot slut would obey his command without any other talk: it was obvious Hayden was a little pissed off, but it was also clear that she was horny, which was a pleasant side effect of her having waited for him for more than thirty minutes (his flight from the east coast had been an hour behind schedule). The answer pleased him greatly. As he situated himself on the bed, the statuesque blonde rose from her chair, sidled over and onto him and squished her massive and pliant breasts hard into his chest. Hayden was most definitely horny, he thought as she forced her lips onto his for a searing kiss. She growled her desire into his mouth and wrapped her arms around him. "Touch me," she ordered in a husky whisper. Peter brought his hands up to grope her generous breasts. They were magnificent and he could not wait to get her shirt off and break away from her delicious lips (if only for a moment) to view them in all their glory. And so he took control again as he was apt to do. He rolled her over and pinned her beneath him. He broke the kiss, but kept his face only inches above her so he could stare down with great intensity into her lust-laden eyes and gauge her reaction to his next maneuver. And then and only then, when she was helpless and restless beneath him, eagerly anticipating what he was planning, only then did his hand snake between them and yank her shirt upward until it passed over her breasts. Exposed, the luscious mounds were easy targets: he pinched and tweaked the nipples as he shoved his tongue down her throat. Hayden was overwhelmed and squealed into his mouth. Keeping her dramatically and passionately off-balance, Peter broke the kiss again and latched his mouth like a vampire upon her neck, only instead of biting he nibbled and licked the sensitive skin of that place. "Oh my," the woman purred as he peppered her neck and collarbone with the lightest of licks and kisses. His left hand never stopped pawing at her full breasts. "Don't stop." Which meant it was time to move lower. Peter dipped down over the upper swell of her bosom, forging a path of lazy pleasure as he worshipped her body with his mouth. Her skin was tanned and soft and smooth and flawless. And then his mouth went lower still into the deep valley between her luscious peaks, the flat of his tongue widening to cover as much area as possible. It was one of his favorite things to do: nuzzle his face in between a pair of exquisite breasts. His girlfriend, Andrea, had incredible tits and he could remember several times just lounging with his face between them on lazy weekend mornings or afternoons, even falling asleep there. Andrea's tits were built for comfort, full and round and natural, perfect for suckling for hours. Hayden's tits, on the other hand, were made to be pawed and groped and pinched, and fucked. The breasts were similar in size and shape to Andrea's, although these were enhanced to a small degree. They were wonderful tits made wonder-fuller by the miracle of modern science. The Mending of Broken Hearts Still, Peter loved to suckle. He took one of the nipples into his mouth and sucked on it gently, dragging his teeth over the hardened nub until Hayden's back was arched in pleasure and little moans were escaping her lips. "Yes!" the woman breathed as he switched nipples. His tongue lapped at the next one for long moments before his lips closed over it. "Please . . . oh god . . . " Peter tore his mouth away and planted it firmly on her lips again even as his hand tugged her shirt further upward. It was clear what he wanted and they broke the kiss long enough for her to finish stripping the shirt up and off her head. Then, his lips found hers once more. And that was when he felt her hand slipping down his body. It had one destination and one destination only, and when it arrived the delicate fingers wrapped easily and knowingly around his cock, and she growled. "For me?" she asked rhetorically. Her hand latched onto his shaft and began to caress it length with gentle strokes. "So big," she whispered with a grin. "It's such a nice cock." Peter could only grunt as she pumped him with her hand. "You like it, Peter?" He merely grunted. Hayden purred sensually and said, "You want to put it in my mouth?" Peter grunted again, harder and louder this time. "Yes!" he exclaimed breathlessly. It was not often Hayden spoke of blowjobs and even rarely that she actually accomplished the feat, and any opportunity was one to jump on. "Give it to me, then," she whispered, alluring eyes like daggers. "With pleasure," Peter growled, and repositioned himself with his knees astride her face and his cock hovering inches away from her mouth. "Take it, slut." The buxom blonde moaned as the bulging head of his cock slipped past her lips. She was very talented and knew just what to do with her tongue, which was rare in those women who disliked to give head. Peter knew exactly why Hayden disliked it: not for the actual act itself, but because it was an act of subservience and Hayden was a woman in charge, always. Her eyes were on his as she worshipped his cock, nearly blazing a hole through his head with those beautiful baby blues. There were no words spoken; he did not want to break her momentum and ruin this rare treat. The bobbing motion of her head and the sucking force of her lips soon became more intense, and the pace quickened and her hands got involved. One hand tickled his balls and the other gripped and pumped at his shaft as she gobbled him, taking as much of him into her mouth as she could. But there were other things Peter wanted and as wonderful as it was to watch his cock jutting from Hayden's mouth, it was equally wonderful when her luscious fake tits were wrapped around it. He pulled out and pivoted down to her obvious surprise, and slapped his shaft right down into the valley between her breasts, and she grinned. "Dirty boy," she cooed as she palmed the outer sides of her breasts with both hands and squished them together, trapping his column in a tight corridor of flesh. "Fuck my tits, dirty boy!" Peter growled as he began to move, sliding his cock through and between the sunken valley of her cleavage, and nearly popped his load at the feel of the friction. It felt like her breasts were trying to squeeze the sperm out of him. Hayden was a big talker during sex and it was only a matter of time usually before the whore within her emerged, and having her tits fucked had done the trick this time. "You like my tits, baby?" she hissed with almost a snarl. "Do you? Fuck my tits! Fuck my tits hard! Harder, you pussy! Harder!" Peter roared a mad rage of desire and churned his hips faster than ever before, leaving nothing back, so fierce he wondered fleetingly if she would be bruised once it was over. Of course, he did not really care at the moment; he was set to explode, and massively. "Cum on me!" she whispered fiercely, and her smoldering blue eyes sent him over the edge. "OH FUCK!" he growled as he hunched forward and contorted, and then erupted like a volcano lain dormant for hundreds of years. Three ropes of thick white fluid spurted from the tip of his penis and struck the base of her throat, stringing together like a lovely pearl necklace and oozing down the sides towards the mattress. "Nice," the young woman said with a grin. Peter collapsed onto his back next to her. "Wow," was all he could manage. Hayden sighed and rolled to one side, and reached for a box of tissues strategically placed on the nightstand. She rolled back, and as one hand cleaned up the jizz coating her neck, the other snaked down and took hold of his deflated shaft. "Don't think you're getting off that easy," she told him. "You've got more work to do, buster." Peter groaned. It would take a lot to get him hard again quickly after an orgasm like that. "How do I want it?" Hayden mused playfully as she stroked his cock. "From behind? On top? Flat on my back with my legs in the air? So many choices, it's hard to decide." Then she giggled, a decidedly un-Hayden-like sound. "There is one thing we could do. We haven't done it in a while, but I know how much you like it, dirty boy." Peter was instantly alert, hoping against hope. "What's that?" he asked. "My ass," the gorgeous blonde said with a smirk. "Oh my, that might be just the right thing for me right now. Ok, baby, you can fuck my ass. A little ass-fucking sounds like just the thing." Hayden rolled over again and wiggled out of her remaining clothes, and rose to her hands and knees. "Will you fuck my little ass, dirty boy?" she inquired sweetly. And Peter noticed suddenly that he was already rock hard once again. He practically vaulted to her knees and positing himself behind her. She glanced over her shoulder at him, her baby blue eyes wide with apprehension and glazed with arousal. "Your ass is mine, bitch," Peter spat. It was something Andrea had never let him do and he was always eager for the opportunity with Hayden. "Take it, then, you fucking pussy!" she hissed back. Peter grunted as he pushed the mushroom head of his cock into the puckered pink anus of the buxom blonde beneath him. Hayden tensed, then sighed leisurely as the crown popped past her sphincter and the shaft slid into her rectum, tickling the depths of her bowels. "Oh my god," she whimpered in a low voice, "that feels so fucking GOOD!" And so Peter withdrew and began the process of fucking her ass, pushing in and pulling out of her backside again and again, squinting as the heat and compression worked incredible wonders on her weary cock. Even having come only minutes before, another blast was impending. "Oh fuck," Hayden breathed as his force of motion increased. "You're in my fucking ass!" "Right where you want me, slut," he snarled. "Dirty fucking pervert!" she shouted back. "Now fill me up, bitch!" Holding onto her hips with both hands, Peter began to hump and fuck the sweet ass of Hayden Cross as hard and as forcefully as he possibly could, punishing her asshole with every last ounce of his strength, her rectum clutching at his shaft like an oven-hot vice, and the woman unleashed a thunderous scream as her entire body began to quiver and quake. "OH MY FUCKING GOD!" Hayden screamed as her eyes fluttered shut from pleasure and pain and her body rocked wildly about. Peter had not noticed at first, but one of the woman's hands was busy strumming away between her legs; it was clear she was hurtling towards an orgasm of epic proportions. He, too, was not long from climax, and what few strokes he had left within him, he made them count. And then he was finished, knowing there was no time left, and he buried his bone deep inside her butt one final time, and in the darkness and heat of her bowels he exploded once more, filling her rear recesses with his creamy seed. She squealed and quaked violently, and it pleased him to know she was coming, too, and both of them grunted harshly, gutturally as glob after juicy glob of sperm was deposited straight from his testicles to her anus. They screamed and rocked together for several long moments, and when all was said and done the two collapsed next to each other in a heap on the bed, panting heavily, eyes closed, reveling in the glorious afterglow of their adulterous coupling. * * * In the end, it came down to simple logistics and unfortunate circumstance: Peter and Hayden, who by random chance had identical black iPhones, switched those phones by accident when they left the hotel. Both phones were equipped with voice activation and both Hayden and Peter employed Bluetooth technology, which meant that neither Hayden nor Peter would pay much attention to the actual screens of the phones themselves. Peter called Andrea not long after the illicit rendezvous in Las Vegas ended, but it was nearing five o'clock and Andrea was coaching soccer practice, and so missed the call. Peter left her a message, not knowing her caller identification would log a missed call from Hayden. Shortly thereafter, just before she boarded her own separate plane in Las Vegas en route to Los Angeles, Hayden dialed Mike; he was also coaching a soccer practice at the time and did not answer. Hayden left a message, not knowing his phone would log a missed call from Peter. When Mike checked his phone after practice, he noticed the missed call from Peter, but was surprised to discover a voicemail from Hayden, instead. He assumed there had been a glitch in his phone and did not think of the matter again. That is, until Hayden called again some thirty minutes later. This time Mike was available and did pick up, thinking Peter was the caller due again to the caller identification, and the confusion experienced by himself and Hayden paved the way for further discussion later that night, which led in the end to discovery (inevitable, some would say) of the affair. To say that night was one of the worst in Mike Gregory's life is a bit of an understatement: his experiences with loss and heartache and betrayal had been, thankfully, limited up to that point. It was difficult for him to comprehend what had happened and realization came painfully slow. It was not until another unfortunate event occurred that the hard truth of the matter crystallized in his mind, and he realized his relationships with Hayden and Peter were over. Hayden was out of the room when the call came into her phone (which was Peter's phone) from the caller identification of her own phone (which was in Peter's possession). Having put two and two together at this point, but not yet having made the final devastating connections, Mike answered without speaking and waited for the caller to speak. At which point Peter whispered into the phone, "You have my phone. We have to switch back." And so Mike, who was a stand-up guy and always believed the best of people, did what any man of similar qualities would do when confronted with others at their worst, and shocked near to stupor by it: he set the phone down without speaking and rose to his feet, and walked out to the balcony of his condo, which overlooked the calm blue waters of the Pacific ocean (lit by the light of the crescent moon). He would stand there, thinking and trying not to think by turns, until Hayden returned to the room and noticed the phone on the bed, and after a quick look at the screen realized what had happened. Events snowballed from there. Andrea and Peter shared a similarly wrenching experience, also originating with a phone call, although this phone call was not mistakenly answered. Peter received the call from Hayden, who informed him of Mike's knowledge of the affair and its likely consequences. In an attempt to save some face and salvage his relationship, Peter confessed. He begged and pleaded for forgiveness; Andrea, though shocked and devastated, was kind and compassionate, and therefore had great difficulty handling the rage suddenly welling within her. Peter knew this, of course, and played to it, and in the end she told him (before he left, for she would at the very least not have him stay the night) that she had to think about things and left it at that. It might have been possible, knowing Andrea and her forgiving nature, for Peter to have gotten back into her good graces had he not omitted, which she realized later was deliberate, the name of the woman with whom he had had the affair. In her daze directly after the confession, she had not asked and he had not ventured the information, which was a significant oversight since she would quite obviously find out. When Andrea learned Hayden was the other woman, as well as the length and depth of the affair and several of the methods of deception employed, she realized there would be no returning to the way things were. Her relationship was over. * * * Neither Mike nor Andrea handled the next few weeks particularly well: both shut themselves off from their friends and family, and each other, and threw themselves into work and coaching. There seemed to be little time to sit still and think about anything, which was likely the plan: no thinking meant no reflecting, which in turn meant no sadness. And several weeks passed as autumn came to its close. Part Two: Letting Loose "I don't care what you say. You're coming." Andrea Tinsley sat on the black leather couch in the middle of her sister's apartment and sighed deeply. She did not want to have to get ready, she did not want to have to primp herself, she did not want to have to go to a party and socialize with people she hardly knew at all: she just did not want to have to deal. On top of all that, her costume made her feel very much under-dressed and uncomfortable. "I'm not," Andrea insisted stubbornly with her arms crossed. It was six o'clock in the evening on Saturday, October 29, which meant it was only a few hours before the city of Los Angeles exploded with a swarm of decadent Halloween parties. The day itself (October 31, when all the little kids would go out trick-or-treating) was the coming Monday, which limited the potential for parties on that actual night, and so everyone looking to have a good Halloween time was hitting the streets the Saturday before. Except Andrea, who did not want to go. Not that her feelings were stopping her sister from pestering her. "Yes, you are," said sister threatened with a determined look in her eye. "I need my big sis there to protect me. If something happens and you're not there, you're responsible for it. In fact, if you don't go, I'll fuck the first three guys I see at the party, hot or not, hitched or not. I swear!" Andrea sighed again. Audrey Tinsley was two years younger than Andrea, two inches taller, twice as confident, twice as naughty and almost as uninhibited as they come. They looked very nearly like twins, but where Andrea's blonde hair was a golden strawberry hue, Audrey's was platinum, and where the eyes of the older sister were sea-green slashed with yellow (a very intriguing color, or so it was often said), the eyes of the younger were deepest blue. Audrey was tall and beautiful with long athletic legs and large breasts that fit perfectly her willowy five-foot-eleven-inch frame. And she was not afraid to show herself off: she had been working for several months (much to Andrea's dismay) at the Red Velvet Gentleman's Club as a weekend night-shift stripper. The interesting and exasperating thing, however, was that Audrey did not do it for the money, she did it because she loved the thrill of dancing for strange men; she already had a well-paying day-job as a fashion consultant. Andrea did not really think her sister would have sex with three random guys just to spite her for not going to the party, but there was enough daring audacity in the girl to plant just the littlest seed of doubt. It was clear by her tone and the stance of her posture and the look in her eye that Audrey was not going to accept Andrea not going. "Fine," Andrea agreed finally in a pouty little voice. Audrey harrumphed. "Thank god," she stated flatly with much enthusiasm. Her voice had that relieved-but-pissed-it-took-so-long kind of ring to it. Then she grinned and added in her usual sweetly girlish way, "It'll be so much fun!" Andrea arched an eyebrow. "I doubt it," she said, "and I'm not wearing that ridiculous outfit." Andrea did not know when Halloween parties transitioned from fun-loving costume parties to approved (and even encouraged) contests of displayed scandalousness, but she was not the biggest fan of the whole thing. Of course, her sister loved it, and the costumes she secured for them both to wear were very much of the risqué variety: Audrey was going to dress as a slutty referee and Andrea was going to dress as a slutty football player. While the actual costumes themselves did not sound slutty, Audrey had gone to great lengths to ensure they would be. Her ref costume consisted of a zebra-striped bikini top that left little to the imagination, tiny black mini-shorts that barely covered her butt with a little yellow flag sticking out of one of her back pockets, knee-high socks and black sneakers, a black baseball cap, eye-black in two thick lines beneath her eyes and a whistle nestled in the valley of her cleavage. If referees looked like that, football teams would not need cheerleaders. And the costume she put together for Andrea was almost worse: similar black sneakers, the same knee-high socks, tight black spandex that ran from her mid-thigh to just above her ass, an insanely short-cropped athletic shirt (it ended just barely below her breasts) so tight across her chest it forced her not to wear a bra (which was probably Audrey's intention) and football shoulder pads that covered very little but looked authentic. They were excellent outfits assuming you wanted to be the center of attention. They would also go a long way ensuring the two girls were hit on constantly all night long, which was exactly what Andrea did not want at the present time. Audrey fixed her bright blue eyes on her sister again. "You have nothing else to wear," she said simply. "You have to wear the outfit I've chosen for you. Besides, it matches mine. We'll be cute together." Andrea groaned. "Audrey, I can't show my face wearing this!" Audrey grinned and Andrea knew instantly she was toast. She had seen that wicked I've-got-you grin many times before. "Which is why I've bought you a surprise," she declared as she pulled a white full-size football helmet out of a bag on the chair by the door. It had one of those black-tinted face guards, which meant it would be impossible to see the face of the one beneath. Andrea studied the helmet for a long moment before she finally let loose with a smile. "You've thought of everything, haven't you?" she asked. "Every single little thing," her sister replied with a laugh. "Well, except the man, of course." Andrea waved her hands in front of her. "No way, Aud," she stated emphatically, "no men. I'm only the wingman tonight, okay? None of that matchmaker baloney." It was Audrey's turn to sigh. "Alright, fine," she pouted, "but just promise me you'll try to have fun and go with the flow, okay?" "Fine," Andrea replied, and gathered her things to get into her costume. The party was in full swing when they arrived and bigger than Andrea had imagined it would be. It was an affluent area of town on a long cul-de-sac street named Wilder Place, where all the houses were huge and lovely and traditional in look. The street was lined with cars and the driveway of the house one lot down from the southwest corner was crawling with people, so Andrea and Audrey, who knew the street but not the address, had no trouble discerning where the party actually was. There must have been more than one hundred people at the party, but the house easily accommodated: two stories with a long driveway, spacious interiors and a big backyard meant lots of room for people to roam about. There was a table of shot glasses (red and orange jello shots) right inside the front door as they walked through and Andrea downed one of them quickly; it would require significant courage for her to walk around dressed as she was, even with the opaque helmet.