Provocation

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Provocation - Seven

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And then, without prior discussion, all the provocation stopped.

There was no discussion between me and Gwen, or between either of us and any of our friends. We sought no cessation of events. But there was no more provocation.

In the case of Cathy and Ron, it seemed completely natural. We did not get together with them every week anyway. We had always had things we liked to do on our own, as did they. And for about a month, either one household or the other had advance plans, or just had an opportunity come up, to do those things. Gwen and I had tickets to an Avril Lavigne concert. Ron and Cathy went to a play in Los Angeles. Another weekend, they went to Disneyland, because they were pass-holders now and Ron needed a Tron fix.

We all talked over that period, of course, just like we always had. Ron and I mostly texted, while Cathy and Gwen mostly talked on the phone. Among the things we talked about were general plans about what we might do when we could all hang out together next. But even most of those potential ideas did not lend themselves to any full-contact provocation opportunities.

Gwen and I, again by unspoken agreement, clearly did not want to transition Ron and Cathy from friends to fuckbuddies. We wanted them to be friendsandfuckbuddies, in that order. It was nice that the two of them seemed to be on a similar page.

The situation with Sammy, Zoe, and Deidre was different. We were still clubbing with them nearly every week. But we stayed away from Vein. This was nothing unremarkable. We seldom went to any one place regularly, so going to any single club two times in three weeks had been a major outlier. And while we stayed away from any more lame choices like the Yardbirds disaster, there were certainly no opportunities for any of full-contact provocation at any venue either. We all still danced with everybody, like we had for years, but the provocation even backed off there, too.

It was clear that Gwen and I were just as committed here to friends before fuckbuddies.

But neither was there any discussion, nor even sensation, that we were done with provocations, either.

Some of our lack of motivation might have come from the fact that Gwen and I remained full-time horny for each other. And while the horniness might have dropped off slightly, soon after the provocations went on hiatus, the level kept pretty steady after that.

I was getting my dick sucked a lot, is what I'm saying. Among other activities.

But there were signs that the provocations were not gone forever.

Gwen flirted with our server one night at a restaurant that was new to us. He was flirt-worthy, even if he had to be five years younger than my lady. He was also clearly used to being flirted with, and delicately flirting back, while at work. Even, deniably, in front of boyfriends and husbands. But he clearly recognized that Gwen was a big cut above his usual flirting opportunities. I could tell she was loving dicking with him.

I loved it too, all while trying to let Gwen know I was provoked, without scaring off the kid.

Of course, she wasn't going anywhere with it. But she did watch him very appreciatively as he walked away.

"Feeling provocative?" I asked, almost academically.

Gwen twisted her lips in a wry smile. "Honestly? Not right now. But you caught me musing on the subject... Let's say I was thinking that if provocation were on the table, he'd be fun for the provoking part. While we were talking just now, I kind of considered that his face would feel great between my legs." She looked down for a moment. Then she looked back up at me. "Is that a bad thing?" she asked in a voice that held no fear, but considerable curiosity.

"No," I answered simply, and without having to think. I grinned. "And whatever you just said about provocation not being on the table, you sure as shit just provoked me!"

She grinned back. "Mission accomplished, then. But if so, do we actually need to do anything beyond that? Any of the actual provocation, if you will?"

This was turning into a conversation... Good? I liked the fact that we had successfully gotten this far with a minimum of negotiation, and mostly just unspoken accord.

"I don't think we needanyprovocation," I said. "We aren't doing this because we need to. If we needed it, we ought to damn well find another way."

She nodded along like I had said something along the lines of, 'Saturday Night Live used to be funny, but isn't any more.' Something obvious.

"But we have fun with it," I went on. "So, I'm not inclined to hold back, when the mood strikes."

"Yeah. But..." Gwen paused. "I only thought to talk about it because it made me think of some guardrail issues."

I leaned in more eagerly. Guardrails were good to talk about.

"I love having fun with our current group of co-provocateurs," she went on slowly.

"But we don't want to let that fun become the reason for our friendship," I finished for her.

"Exactly," Gwen said. Neither of us had to say that that meant that we would want to find a way to provoke each other with other, new co-provocateurs. "So why was I feeling uncertain about, um, evaluating our waiter for how he'd be at helping me provoke you?" she asked, after looking around to ensure said waiter was not somewhere nearby.

"And by evaluating, you mean fantasizing about his face between your legs?" I grinned easily.

She blushed.

"Don't be ashamed," I snorted. We were well past that!

"I wasn't feeling ashamed," Gwen said, intentionally brazenly. "I was considering, the facts that we are in public, and he sort of works for us at the moment aside, that there isn't anyone around for you to provoke me with in turn." I found myself looking around the place before I caught myself. Then I looked around some more, anyway. "I mean, the wine steward is cute," Gwen went on, "but she is hardly all that."

I am enough of a pig that I curled my lip at the idea. I mean, sweet woman, and she had suggested a pretty banging bottle for dinner, but she did not float my boat.

"See?" Gwen said, letting just a trace of smugness enter her consciousness at just how sexy she knew she was. But then her face went back to inquiring. "But let's say some time in the future, the circumstances are right, and I have the opportunity to have some fun driving you nuts, but there is no one in the picture for you to do the same to me with. Is that going to work? Or do we need a guardrail there? Let's not kid ourselves that there is no selfishness in what we have started doing to each other. Right?"

I let that question marinate for a while. It deserved it.

"Actually, I don't think that is right," I thought out loud. "It's damn sure notselfless, but I don't think selfish is the right word. Self-indulgent?"

"I like that," Gwen laughed easily. "It feels better, but also rings true. That said, do I feel bad about speculating on the flavor of our server's jizz, when you have no concurrent opportunity?"

"I hope you don't," I laughed. "Because there were no handsome dudes around when we were looking at that couch last Saturday, and I was speculating about how the back of the thing was the perfect height to bend Tiffany, our salesgirl, over the back of it and ride her like a pony."

"Oh ho!" Gwen scoffed. "You remember her name!"

"I have no idea what her name is," I bragged. "I just made one up to add to the provocation!" I am not good with names, and Gwen often gives me a hard time about it.

She gave me the stink-eye, then teased, "You can dream on there all you want, lover! I hate to break it to you, but she was more into me than you."

"No!"

"Yes."

"Now I am seriously provoked," I laughed in all seriousness.

"Dream on even harder," Gwen leered at me. "You know I don't swing that way. Even if she really was pretty hot..." she trailed off in pretend consideration.

Thank you for that, my love. I was going to be provoked by the thought either way, so it was nice of her to lean into it.

We had some more excellent wine and drank each other in as well.

"So what's the guardrail then?" I asked at last. "Now active provocations unless it feels like things can go both ways?"

Gwen considered for a moment. "That would be fine, but unnecessary, I think. Honestly, an actual opportunity for just one of us hasn't actually presented itself, has it? If it was really good, I'd say we should be open to going for it. Whichever of us it is."

"Okay," I nodded. "Do we have to be there?" I asked, feeling for the answer.

"Hmmmm," Gwen grimaced. "I kind of feel that could be difficult a lot of the time." She pursed her lips. "Let's say that as long as I get to be around to see it coming, then hear all about it afterward? I'll still have the need to suck your kidneys out through your dong."

"God, I love you," I smirked. "To be clear, I'd rather watch, both because it is hot as fuck, and because I adore watching you had fun with abandon. But I don't have to either."

"One guardrail more," Gwen said, holding up a finger. "If one of us starts finding opportunities like we are discussing, the other damn well needs to step up and do it too!"

"What?" I laughed.

"If I find a way or two to drive you nuts on my lonesome," she growled at me, "I am not having you throw it back in my face the next time we get into an argument over weeding the flower beds!"

It was a joke, but it was serious. This was great. And it was good. But it was important that things didn't ever start spilling over...

And seriously, such opportunities were not ever going to be plentiful, were they?

Overall, it was a period largely devoid of random hot women to interact with in our time out and around town, aside from the aforementioned furniture salesgirl. Thus, I mostly had no opportunities for provoking Gwen in turn, not even when out clubbing, except a few moments with Zoe whenever her inebriation got the better of her out on the dance floor.

We settled into a nice, new normal. But the subtext remained for my lady and me. We didn't talk about it out loud much, but I began to notice that our playing around the edges in conversations was getting more open.

Sammy and I retained control over our choice in Saturday night clubs for a whole three weeks after the Yardbirds fiasco, before Zoe and Deidre just took back over as if they had never made a mistake. They did so by cleverly suggesting a new club called Zephyr that had good buzz, and doing so before Sammy and I could do the same.

It was a great place. The noise level was just barely low enough to keep the noise nazi in my Apple watch from nagging me. It was actually possible to get a decent cocktail. And the floor show from our fellow patrons was top-notch, both in how good-looking many of them were, and in how jiggy they were getting with it...

Gwen and I had not punched out early in a good while, and tonight was no exception. We had danced more than usual so far, both with each other and with our friends. I had even found myself dancing briefly with some random girl with provocative-level good looks when I went to the bar for more shots. I was thirsty, but made sure to dance long enough to sense glittering eyes from our table before I slid away on my mission.

I returned with the shots and whispered in Gwen's ear. "Not as fun when we don't know the other person," I observed.

She pursed her lips for a moment. "I think you are right. Still fun, mind you, just not nearly as fun."

That was about as in-depth a discussion as we had had at any point.

After we slammed down the Lemon Drops, Zoe grabbed my arm. "Let's dance some more, Carl," she said, dragging me from my seat and toward the floor. I heard Gwen's laugh behind me.

Zoe and I started moving on the dance floor in the usual fun-sexy way that had characterized our dancing for most of the time we knew each other. But after a song or two like that, I suddenly found myself being wordlessly invited to inspect the two extra buttons on her top that she had unfastened some time shortly before she asked me to dance again.

Zoe really has nice tits, and suddenly she was altering her moves to make them dance even more than she was. And I was being invited to inspect their dancing closely.

After a quick look at our table to ensure my lady was watching, which, of course, she was, I let myself bend over, boogieing for a bit with my face at her chest level. This was what is known as Very Nice.

It became much nicer when Zoe stepped a pace closer to me, leaving my face literally buried in her cleavage, and she kept a hand on the back of my head as I received a swift but damn nice outright motorboating on the dance floor! There was a woot or catcall or two from other dancers, but not many. As I said, there were plenty of other shenanigans going on out there in the crowd.

I happily moved my feet and left my face right where it was until Zoe chickened out and stepped back. I just danced on, smiling.

"Don't get any ideas here tonight," Zoe then said sternly, as if I was the one who had just instigated things. "And don't shoot your eyebrows up at me like that, either! Our table tonight is out there in the middle of the floor!" she went on, jerking her thumb toward the table we had all nested at. If that were not provocation-proofing our spot enough, the club was not dark either. Well, it was dark, but sweeping beams of light criss-crossed the whole space, not just the dance floor.

I had had zero thoughts about getting up to anything before.

But now I did. Damn you, Zoe!

I just grinned, and we finished our dance before heading back to the table.

"Nice moves out there, Zoe," Gwen smiled like a cat as we sat back at our table. It was cozy for four, so the five of us made it very tight. Interestingly, even Sammy had not gone off much on his own this evening, so we had all been pressed together when not dancing with each other all night. But he was absent at the moment.

But before I could even comment on that fact, Sammy returned again. He had not gone off to hunt for babes, but to get us another round. He shot me a wondering look that told me he had seen at least the boat show with Zoe. We all directed wondering looks back his way because the shots were all doubles.

"I declah, Samuel," Gwen said in her best Scarlett O'Hara impersonation, "I think yoah trahin' to get me drunk!"

Sammy actually managed not to flinch from me at that, while smiling back at Gwen with waving eyebrows..

"I think you are trying to give us all massive hangovers," Deidre said, far more practically.

Sammy shrugged. "I need to enunciate better when ordering in here. I wasn't intending on doubles!"

"Oh, fuck it," Gwen snorted, after downing hers. "The hangovers are going to be epic tomorrow morning." She looked at me. "No chores tomorrow, Carl. We are spending the morning getting all pruned up in the hot tub." I grinned wolfishly back at her. We would be putting a dent in the waterproof silicone lube tomorrow. Any softening that had begun to set in after Zoe's motorboating had ended was swiftly reversed.

"You said, 'We'?" Zoe said to Gwen. "Are we all invited to this restorative bath?"

"Ha!" Gwen snorted derisively. "Not..." She cut herself off and looked at me. I looked at her. I looked at Zoe speculatively. Gwen looked at Sammy more than speculatively. I wanted to speculate on Deidre's bod a bit too, but instead I looked back at Gwen in curiosity. It all took just a flash. In the moment, I doubt any of our friends even saw our lighting, wordless communication. "Now that you mention it," Gwen said with a big smile, "That sounds like fun."

Zoe seemed surprised that Gwen had reacted to her tease the way she had, but none of her recent hesitation was present. Sammy almost did not flinch before he smiled.

Deidre, who was on the other side of me from Gwen, draped an arm over my shoulder. "I, too, aspire to prune-dom. I will probably still be drunk come morning, though. What time do I schedule for Uber to get me there?"

Gwen and I shared another set of looks. This could be interesting.

I was already feeling provoked.

"Be at our place by ten," Gwen said decisively, looking at all three of our friends. "Be on time, because I have a Costco-sized flat of eggs and will be making omelets. The omelets will have a very narrow window of opportunity," she glowered.

Way to make sure there are no stragglers, babe!

*

There were no stragglers. Zoe and Deidre arrived in the same Uber at 9:55, looking much the worse for wear. Sammy rolled up in his own car, three minutes later. He looked much less hungover, which made sense, he and the girls had all drunk the same amount, and he does have about a hundred pounds on either of them.

I chivvied them all into the kitchen, where Gwen had dragged herself out of bed early enough to set up an elaborate omelette station. She had also dragged herself up early enough to slip into her very best bikini... but not early enough to find a cover-up.

I should say it was her very best 'hot tub' bikini. Neither of us, notwithstanding a few recent moments that sort of didn't apply, were much for public exhibitionism. But in our backyard? The suit was robin's egg blue, and the bottom was a whole lot more... thong-y than Gwen would ever wear to the beach or at a resort pool. The top gave the lie to her occasional doubts about her upper ornaments.

Deidre and Zoe gave Gwen a long look, especially at her mostly exposed buns as she bent over the stove, making Zoe's omelette to start.

Sorry girls, you know hers is better than yours.

"No wrap this morning?" Dee asked archly.

"I have one," Gwen replied idly. "I just won't bother with it until after I get in the water. The air-conditioning gets cold." She flipped the omelette.

Sammy looked like he wanted to look, but was still trying to be 'good'. I just gave Gwen's waist a possessive squeeze, kissed her ear lightly, and overtly moved to get out of his line of sight so he had no excuse not to stare.

He did. Good man. Gwen could tell, and liked it, which provoked me.

I liked it even more when Zoe and Deidre both looked at each other and wordlessly dared each other to ditch the clothes they had on over their own suits, right there in the kitchen.

I was happy to watch intently as Zoe peeled the caftan-style cover-up that was all the non-swimwear she had worn, up and off over her head. Deidre likewise ditched her loose teeshirt, then managed to naturally turn away from me and Sammy as she slid the elastic waistband of her terrycloth shorts down her sweet legs.

And Sammy watched as closely as I did, though he seemed to be trying to hide it even more than when he had been first checking out Gwen. When Deidre caught him looking, he actually went back to staring at Gwen's ass swiftly, as if that was the safe place to look.

Even Gwen shot a few glances, all approving, as their swimsuits came into view.

I sighed. Yeah, Zoe won the swimsuit contest. Even over Gwen.

All three bikinis in the room with me and Sammy were 'hot tub', rather than 'public pool', swimsuits. Deidre's had a bandeau top, red over the left tit and white over the right. The bottom was dark blue, and only provided enough coverage in both front and back to display the small white star embroidered just below the waistband. Sexy as hell.

But Zoe was loaded for bear. I could not imagine where the fuck she had planned on being able to wear this suit when she had bought it...

The scarlet bottom was a thong like Gwen's, but was cut so high a guy could get a nose-bleed. The matching top was... the state of the art in underboob engineering, to be honest. There was a band around her, underneath her tits, that incorporated a slightly-supporting underwire, but the otherwise generous cups above were missing a good two inches of fabric at the bottom, leaving a generous crescent of exposed boobflesh underneath. Not only was it alluringly blatant, not only did it show off that she had the biggest rack in the room, but it also showed off that her breasts had to be seriously firm to begin with, to keep from sagging out through that gap.