Dom had just squirted his load on to my tongue at the club one afternoon.
"Need you Saturday night. My place. 8PM. Tell your missus not to wait up."
I tried to question him but he just slapped me.
"Just do as your told, cocksucker," he barked.
"But what I am supposed to tell her?" I pleaded.
"Whatever the fuck you like. Or bring her with you. I promise you she'll have a fucking good time." He chuckled, wiping his dick on my best Callaway golf top and walking away.
I spoke to Mike and it turned out he'd been ordered to Dom's house too, so we concocted a story for our wives about a spontaneous golf weekend. 'A sudden cancellation. Be crazy to refuse at that price.' Claire didn't bat an eyelid. And we did, in fact, play golf on Saturday afternoon at another club, politely declining the offer of caddies!
We rolled up at Dom's house just before 8. I knew he lived on the Westway Estate, but didn't realise it was at the posh end! It was a small, detached house, neat front lawn, surprisingly suburban. Rap music was humming from inside. A plump black woman opened the door and gazed at us blankly.
"Round back," she grunted, slamming the door in our faces. We found the side gate and crept around to the back of the place. The party was obviously in full swing, spilling out on to the lawn. Men and women of all ages and races. The heavy fragrance of weed hit our noses and almost immediately I became a little light-headed. We looked at each other in confusion and wondered if we'd actually been invited to simply chill with Dom's friends for a beer.
The plump black woman met us at the kitchen door.
"You two, in here!" she barked and guided us through the kitchen to the staircase. A couple of guys were necking in the stairwell, and what appeared to be a topless older woman was bent over a black guy's crotch, head bobbing up and down. I realised it was Dom.
