"Did you tell him any dirty stories about us?"
"Remember that time about a month ago when you turned up at work and we had 'lunch' in my office?" he said, handing her the first two full bowls for her to put on the tray.
"When Bob almost walked in on me blowing you? Hand me the breadknife," she said and started cutting thick slices off the fresh loaf of dark bread.
"That's the one. I still thinks he knew what was going on. Anyway, he gives excellent blowjobs, and had me cum on his face. I got his shirt with the last couple of shots. He was just wiping up when we got your text. She'd just sent 'KITCHEN' in all caps. We thought something terrible had happened, so we came running."
"She was a bit-- preoccupied, sorry!"
"Holy shit though, love," he said, handing her the last two bowls and grabbing the butter from the fridge.
"Right? One thing just led to another. I initially just wanted to eat her out, but she kept asking for more fingers. It was so intense, the sight of your arm just-- disappearing into another person, the feeling of your hand being crushed and enveloped so completely... I could feel her pulse."
She tapped the serving tray she'd made up. "Speaking of being crushed, I don't want to carry this with my hand still trembling. I really hope it didn't do any permanent damage. 'Yes doctor, I damaged the nerves in my dominant hand fisting my married friend in her kitchen while my husband was blowing hers in the garage.'"
"You'll be fine, love. It goes away after a few hours when you crush my fingers. The worst time was my pinky that one time, that took a couple of weeks but the feeling came back eventually."
"Weeks?!"
