She looked up at me, big eyes. “And we’re still a couple?”
“What does that tell you?”
“That you like easy girls with cocksucking lips.”
“Exactly.”
She reached over and turned off her phone’s mute button, and just in the nick of time: Chloe and Claire had both asked Liz a question.
Blah-blah-blah, something shopping related, and I gently guided my girlfriend’s face toward my shorts.
Her face an inch away from my bulge, she looked up at me, an expectant look in her eye.
I glanced at her phone, still un-muted, and peeled down the elastic waistband of my shorts. My dick nearly hit her in the face.
She stifled a giggle and started quietly mouthing my cock.
She’d stop between strokes, throw in a word to the girls, and go back sucking my cock. It was glorious.
Something-something, blah-blah-blah, quiet slurps — and she was surprised by a sudden question from over the phone.
“Hey, Liz, are you asleep over there?”
She answered with my dick still in her mouth. “Nope, just eating.”
The three girls giggled over the speakerphone, though Liz for a different reason.
All of that came together at just the right moment and a second later, I was coming all over her face. With slow strokes, I painted her cheeks with my cum, trying to stay quiet.
We kept eye contact as she leaned back, my cum glistening across her face. Our gazes were still locked together as she paid more attention to the conversation with C&C. Over the next 15 minutes, she let the cum dry on her face as she carried on over speakerphone like everything was perfectly normal.
This girl…
#
We were inseparable over the next few days. That meant less face time for Chloe and Clair, and that meant more speakerphone conversations.
Listening in, the patterns started coming clear. For the married girls, the single girl was their favorite hot-mess spectator sport.
It was blushingly awkward for Lizzy when I came up in conversation, especially when C&C referred to me as “the future ex.” The married girls wanted a sexual blow-by-blow and I learned “girl talk” was surprisingly graphic. That was a turn-on, too — especially knowing the girls were second-hand voyeurs to our intimate moments.
Especially the lurid stuff: I was taking notes. Point of pride: I wasn’t really bad at anything, but some stuff worked better than others. Filed those away under “Do More of XYZ…”
#
About a week and a half of listening in and Claire joked that “…Liz was falling in love so hard that her next cheat was going to be a gangbang.”
“You better send video!” I shouted from across the room.
Lizzy buried her face in her hands.
There was a pause from the other side, then Chloe’s voice whispered. “Oh my God, are we on speakerphone?”
“Uh-huh,” Lizzy mumbled from behind her hands.
“Look at the time! Gotta go!”
#
From love to gang bangs and back again.
We already dribbled out the “L” word from time to time, but something broke through in that one fateful phone conversation.
Suddenly, we were tossing around “Love” like we were no longer afraid of it. We said it on the phone. Saying hello or see ya later, but never goodbye. Texting, in the middle of the day.
“Lova ya, hon.”
“Love you, babe.”
Funny that this “love” wave all started with their reference to Liz cheating on that very love… and cheating with a gangbang.
I’m not sure how much she thought of that when she said “love,” but I know I thought about it every time she said the word.
#
Lizzy kept putting the girls on speakerphone, and I half listened in. Every now and then, I’d chime in from the background with some stupid joke.
With them, usually a stupid sex joke.
Another week of this and the girls realized the slut talk hadn’t scared me off. I think they chalked it up to me being the “other guy” who’d been the cheat to end Liz’s last relationship. They knew, I knew, they knew I knew, they knew I knew they knew…
You know.
Once it was all out in the open, they weren’t shy about making slut jokes at Lizzy’s expense. Not gonna lie, that turned me on a little. I think it turned Lizzy on, too.
#
We went shopping together and sprinkled “love” through mundane moments to make them sparkle.
One night, we used the word in the heat of the moment… a tender, romantic love-making moment. It meant something different that time. Something deeper. It was becoming the kind of love that can survive adulting. And I hate adulting.
Her naked body sprawled across mine and I loved feeling that glorious warmth. Couldn’t stop thinking about it and I had to ask her: “How many of your past boyfriends have you actually loved? Or at least said the word?”
She looked at me, a little pouty. “I would never actually say it if I didn’t feel it.”
“Okay, good to know. And…?”
“You want to know how many I have actually loved?”
“Yes.”
“None. You’re my first!”
“Nice. Truth, this time.”
She buried her face in the pillow. “You really want to know?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve loved all of them in some little way.”
“Well… that’s not very slutty at all,” I complained. “How many have you felt a deep connection to?”
She thought about it a moment. “Ten?”
“Did you use the L-word with them? Out loud?”
“Uh, yeah, but not all of them… maybe six?”
“How many did you picture growing old with?”
That got a full head-swivel. Her gaze locked on to me. “Seriously?”
“Serious as a heart attack.”
“One.”
“One before me?”
She shook her head. “One. You.”
I leaned over to give her a kiss. She needed that kiss, and I needed to give it. “You claim you’re a bad accountant, but you know your numbers…”