A Dish Best Served Cold

It was a stupid disagreement. I was eating breakfast and drinking coffee during our weekly conference for my job. Tom, a co-worker was a notorious germophobe, and COVID was his personal apocalypse. He came up to me after conference and confronted me, in front of everyone: “Herman, you had your mask off during conference. You got to keep it on. You’re not even supposed to be eating in here.”

I lashed out; I should’ve held my tongue. But lots of people were eating, and he wasn’t even boss. He had no authority over me. “Tom, have you guys decided that there’s a no food policy in the meeting? No? Then don’t put your shit on me.”

He turned around and walked back to his seat. I was all fired up and walked out of there in a fire of furious rage. What the fuck? I couldn’t take an insult like that lying down.

Other people from my group called me to apologize on his behalf. He was a little rich boy, never been in a fight; others did his apologies for him. Days went by, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Finally, I was left with the only solution: I had to get his wife to suck my dick and film it. Fuck her in front of him.

I know, it’s not the simplest way to quit being angry at someone for acting like a prick, but I didn’t choose to be like this, I just … am like this.

I’m old fashioned; I still fuck women exclusively. Otherwise I’d figure out a way to sodomize him. It would be more direct, but I would have to settle for his wife, Carly.

I went online and studied Tom and Carly’s wedding pictures. You can read everything in a person’s facial expressions. I looked at Carly’s face, and saw what I needed. Her stiff upper lip, blank eyes and wide smile. The angles of her face. The sweetness, the barely concealed fatigue and frustration. Every look said: “You owe me, asshole.”

Compared to her, he was all softness. Quavering uncertainty, his will always failed. He didn’t have that killer instinct that rich boys needed to earn their father’s love. He was a second son, a disappointment, and he always would be.

I went to him and made a show of apologizing to Tom profusely. I made it abundantly clear how terrible I felt, and how I respected his bravery for enforcing COVID policies. I threw myself at his feet. I begged him to come for dinner with my wife and me. And to bring Carly, of course.

My wife, Francesca, is a tremendous cook. We bought several bottles of good red wine, and had steak, char-grilled to perfection. When they arrived, Tom and Carly were reticent to drop their masks at first, but they wanted to mirror our unmasked approving faces. The masks were pocketed quickly.

Tom relaxed in our company, bragging, laughing loudly, while Carly and Francesca chatted. We were all good friends now; any unpleasantness was in the past. Before long, Tom drank glass after glass of red wine and was heavily slurring his speech. After dinner we were in the living room talking. Francesca and I switched, so now I sat with Carly, and she sat with Tom. I could hear his voice dropping lower in register; I knew the wine was getting to him, and we refilled his glass whenever we could.

Carly found everything that I was saying hilarious. She could not stop laughing at my impressions of celebrities and the people from work. Finally, I started in on Tom. I imitated his germophobia, making him out to be Howard Hughes, with tissue boxes on his feet and jars of urine. Carly howled with laughter. When she leaned forward, I could through her decolletage almost to her navel. I put my hand on her shoulder and left it there.

Tom slowly turned his head. “Heyyyy…” he said, but he was too far gone to do anything. He slumped back into the couch, eyes wide, unmoving. He’d be a mute witness of the proceedings for long enough. Francesca rose from his side and came to me, kissing me tenderly on the mouth, absently stroking Carly’s throat and neck.

“Don’t stay up too late,” she whispered to me as she withdrew from me. She quietly left the room, with me and Carly close to one another. She would go to the computer room to start the living room cameras working to record all the events for posterity.

“I should probably call a taxi. It looks like Tom’s pretty drunk.”

“Just hold on a moment,” I said, and I drew her face to mine, inhaling her scent deeply. Her eyes were wide, frightened. She glanced over to Tom, still watching, not moving. I gently bit her upper lip and sucked on it. She shivered, and goosepimples appeared on her exposed chest. We kissed, and her sweet, sharp little tongue darted in and out of my mouth. She cradled my head with her hands, holding it for several moments.

She sighed and drew her head back, looking over at Tom. “I can’t do this,” she said. “I’ve only been married a year. My whole family was there. Everyone spent so much money. I can’t just go and fuck someone in front of my drunk husband.”

I took her hand and looked into her eyes. They were sparkling, crystal blue, intelligent and eager. Any fright they’d shown a few minutes ago had passed. Slowly, I drew her hand down to my erect cock. I let go and she didn’t move it. She licked her lips.

I pulled her close to me and we kissed. My hands were on her bare shoulders, unzipping her dress. She had a tight grip on my cock, working it up and down as she humped my leg. I unsnapped her bra and felt her warm, full tits in my hands, their nipples strongly erect.

She undid my slacks and released my cock, grasping it and looking into my eyes. I leaned toward her and whispered in her ear: “You see this cock? You are going to make it come harder and stronger than it ever has before.”

She started by kissing it on the side, running her mouth back-and-forth on it. Glancing from time to time at Tom, I murmured to her, “you have the most incredible smile, baby. I love the way you smile. Open up your mouth as wide as you can. Come on, wider. Let me see.” She complied; I put my hand on her chin.

“OK, I’m going to stick my fingers in your mouth so you start getting used to what it feels like. Yeah, OK, you see how when I push down, you drool a lot? That’s the kind of pressure you need to be putting on my cock.” She took the coaching well, bringing more and more of my girth into her small mouth. “That’s right, all the way in, slow and easy. Push me back with your mouth. Work your cheeks. I know you have more space in your throat. You can do a lot better than that. Push!”

Carly was now taking my cock like a pro, starting to bob up and down on it as she found her rhythm. I rolled my hips toward her while she gripped my ass tightly. My whole body shuddered; there’s nothing sweeter than a stolen blowjob.  

“Don’t forget my balls, babe. Feel them with your hand, kiss and rub them on your cheek. Take the skin and just hold it between your teeth, just a little bit. Nice.” It was incredible to watch her, so gorgeous with her face shining with spit and pre-come and her broken husband in the background. I ran my hands down her heaving chest. “Let all that drool just wash over you, Carly. It’s not gross, it’s not disgusting, it’s what I want. Yeah, get it all over your face, all over your tits.” She complied and laughed, rubbing the fluid all into her skin. I hoped the camera was getting all this.

I needed to slow down before I came. I grabbed her by the throat and her eyes went wide, instinctively giving my cock the most delicious pressure. “Stand up,” I commanded, pulling her head off my cock. “Get naked.” She complied, discarding her sleeveless dress and bra while I kicked off my shoes and shucked off my pants. I stood and walked to her, unbuttoning and dropping my shirt on the couch.

She was trembling in an adorable pair of pink panties. I embraced as her and gripped her ass tightly as she relaxed into me. “Pink is my favorite color,” I breathed into her ear while she clung to me. I looked over at Tom, mouth open, erection tenting his slacks. “Someone’s having a good time,” I chuckled, drawing Carly’s attention to his cock. She giggled. “Get those fucking panties off.”

Carly slid her wet tits down my chest as she brought her panties down her thighs, past her knees and down her calves. She stepped out of them, giving my jutting cock a quick kiss as she stood up. I was ready to devour her. I wrapped her in my strong arms and lifted her, rubbing her wet quim on my cock. Carly humped me furiously and it slowly entered her. She kissed me, sucking my tongue with hungry intensity.

I countered her weight, thrusting into her. As I tired, I slowly sank to one knee. I gripped her hips and coordinated our move to the carpeted floor. Now she sat across my lap, driving and twisting her cunt against my rock-hard cock. Carly moaned and panted. I grinned and slid my hands across her sweat and spit-slick tits. She worked herself into a frenzy, squeezing my biceps and shoulders so hard I had to tap her forearms to ease up. I’d have bruises tomorrow.

Her panting and her pussy’s squeezing increased their tempo; she came with a loud, jubilant “yes!” I kept fucking her as she crumpled to my chest and hugged me. I kissed her softly; tears were rolling down her face.

“Stay with me, Carly, you’re doing great.” I stroked her back and sat up, gently bringing her to her feet. I led her over to Tom’s crumpled form and turned her to face him. I entered her from behind and guided her hand onto his shoulders. We regained our rhythm, and she humped back on me as I fucked her, faster and faster.

Tom’s eyelids were heavy but aware. “Tom!” I grunted. “Make yourself useful! Lick your wife’s clit while I’m fucking her, will you?” I patted him on the cheek, then gave him a light slap. Tom lazily stuck his tongue out, and I pushed Carly’s ass towards him. She moved her mons towards his mouth, and soon the three of us were in synch. “With gusto, Tom, gusto!” He needed a lot of encouragement.

My orgasm came, fierce and strong. I clung to Carly’s tits as I spurted, leaning into her and pushing her further into her husband. She moaned; I idly wondered if she was on birth control. I felt I had another jism still in me, so I pulled out and shot all over her back and Tom’s face. My resentment and anger faded as my heartrate slowed. I sank to the couch next to Tom, cuddling Carly’s nude form on my lap. She stroked my hair and rested on me.

After a few minutes, Francesca appeared in the doorway. She was in her bathrobe and had a satisfied smile. She walked over to us and handed me my folded pajamas. “I called a taxi for Carly and Tom,” she said. I nodded.

Francesca picked up Carly’s clothes, then patted the drowsy young wife on the shoulder. Carly compliantly followed her to the bathroom to wash up.  

I rubbed my eyes and squeezed Tom’s thigh. “Buddy, it’s over, taxi’s coming. You need to be going.”

Tom blinked his eyes and felt the come on his face. I dressed; the smell of his wife’s pussy hung heavily in the room. He stood, unsteadily, and looked around. Carly had reappeared, dressed, with her coat on, holding Tom’s. He put his hand on my shoulder. “Herman, man, I’m so sorry I was rude to you, man. I feel terrible.” He was still slurring, but seemed genuinely repentant.

“Listen, rich boy. You may be able to buy anything, but you can’t buy fucking backbone. Don’t fuck with me, all right?” I brushed some of my come off his cheek and wiped it on his shirtsleeve. “Now get the fuck out.” He turned, joined Carly at the door, donned his coat, and shambled to the waiting taxi.

Chapter 2: https://hermanshermitage.com/2021/01/05/a-dish-best-served-cold-chapter-2/

A Dish Served Cold

It was a stupid disagreement. I was eating breakfast and drinking coffee during morning lecture. Tom was a notorious germophobe, and COVID was his personal apocalypse. He came up to me after lecture and confronted me, in front of everyone: “Herman, you had your mask off during lecture. You got to keep it on. You’re not even supposed to be eating in here.”

I lashed out; I should’ve held my tongue. But lots of people were eating, and he wasn’t even chief. He had no authority over me. “Tom, have you guys decided that there’s a no food policy in the lecture hall? No? Then don’t put your shit on me.”

He turned around and walked back to his seat. I was all fired up, threw my coat on, and walked out of there. I drove home in a fire of furious rage. What the fuck? I couldn’t take an insult like that lying down.

Other people from my group called me to invite me back to lecture and tell me they liked me. I guess I appreciated that, but it was hard to just brush past all of that. Spoiled little rich boy, never been in a fight. I’d never speak to him again.

Days went by, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Finally, I was left with the only solution: I had to get his wife to suck my dick and film it. Fuck her in the ass, if I could.

I know, it’s not the simplest way to quit being angry at someone for acting like a prick, but I didn’t choose to be like this, I just … am like this.

I’m old fashioned; I’m not bisexual. I still like to fuck women exclusively. Otherwise I’d figure out a way to sodomize him. It’d be more direct, but I’d have to settle for his wife.

I went online, studied their wedding pictures. You can read everything in a person’s facial expressions. I looked at Carly’s face, and saw everything I needed. Her stiff upper lip. Her blank eyes and wide smile. The angles of her face. The sweetness, the barely concealed fatigue and frustration. Every look said: “You owe me, asshole.”

Compared to her, he was all softness. Quavering uncertainty. Will that failed. He didn’t have that killer instinct that rich boys needed to earn their father’s love. He was a second son, a disappointment, and he always would be.

I made a show of apologizing to him profusely. I made it abundantly clear to Tom how terrible I felt, and how I respected his bravery for enforcing COVID policies. I threw myself at his feet. I begged him to come for dinner with my wife and me. And to bring Carly, of course.

My wife, Francesca, is a tremendous cook. We bought several bottles of good red wine, and had steak, char-grilled to perfection. Tom and Carly were reticent to drop their masks at first, but they wanted to mirror our unmasked approving faces. The masks were pocketed quickly.

Tom relaxed in our company, bragging, laughing loudly, while Carly and Francesca chatted. We were all good friends now; any unpleasantness was in the past.

Tom drank glass after glass of red wine and was slurring his speech prominently by the time I dropped the roofie in his drink. After dinner we were in the living room talking. Francesca and I switched, so now I sat with Carly, and she sat with Tom. I could hear his voice drop lower in register; I knew the drug was working.

Carly found everything that I was saying hilarious. She could not stop laughing at my impressions of celebrities and the people from work. Finally, I started in on Tom. I imitated his germophobia, making him out to be Howard Hughes, with tissue boxes on his feet and jars of urine. Carly howled with laughter. When she leaned forward, I could through her decolletage almost to her navel. I put my hand on her shoulder and left it there.

Tom slowly turned his head. “Heyyyy…” he said, but he was too far gone to do anything. He’d be a silent witness of the proceedings from now on. Francesca rose from his side and came to me, kissing me tenderly on the mouth, absently stroking Carly’s throat and neck.

“Don’t stay up too late,” she whispered to me as she withdrew from me. She quietly left the room, with me and Carly close to one another. She would go to the computer room to start the living room cameras working. That way, all the events could be recorded.

“I should probably call a taxi. Tom’s pretty drunk, it looks like.”

“Just hold on a moment,” I said, and I drew her face to mine, inhaling her scent deeply. Her eyes were wide, frightened. She glanced over to Tom, still watching, not moving. I gently bit her upper lip and sucked on it. She shivered, and goosepimples appeared on her exposed chest. We kissed, and her sweet, sharp little tongue darted in and out of my mouth. She cradled my head with her hands, holding it for several moments.

She sighed and drew her head back, looking over at Tom. “I can’t do this,” she said. “I’ve only been married a year. My whole family was there. Everyone spent so much money. I can’t just go and fuck someone in front of my drunk husband.”

I took her hand and looked into her eyes. They were sparkling, crystal blue, intelligent and eager. The fright they’d shown a few minutes ago had passed. Slowly, I drew her hand down to my erect cock. I let go and she didn’t release my cock. She licked her lips.

I pulled her close to me and we kissed. My hands were on her bare shoulders, unzipping her dress. She had a tight grip on my cock, and was steadily humping my leg and she worked it up and down. I unsnapped her bra and felt her warm, full tits in my hands, their nipples strongly erect.

To be continued …

German Angels

Walking, a young man
Told me about his strange quest
For the lost German

Angels. I replied
In the keine Deutsche I
Knew, and then was I

Met by his maiden
Sister, who wanted to thank
Me for my kindness

And also to bear
My children. I made plans to
See her the next day,

Conscious that I had
Forgotten to wear my ring.
When I came to the

Dinner, the maiden
And her sister were there, and both
Had young daughters. They

Now were vying with
Me to see for which I would
Become their new Dad.

Portraits of the Artist, Pre and Post

Relics of ages
Past, my fading images.
Recall I, age five.

Dad said he thought Mom
Was cheating on him, and I
Said, “I think she has

A boyfriend, Dad.” Dad
Still mentions this, thirty years
Later. Some part of me

Believes I caused it,
That if I’d kept my mouth shut,
They could have worked it

Out. My reward for
My psychic abilities:
My parents’ divorce.

But, even then,
I knew it true. Because she
Was cheating on me,

She loved Craig the best,
Even though I was better.
Eric hated me;

I made Dad yell at
Him, not by what I did, but
By being better.

And then it was that
Way with everybody. “If
You’re so smart, why can’t

You do anything?”
I believed I had a gift,
But had squandered it.

I return the photos
To their drawer, understanding
That the boy is still

Me. I hug him, and
Tell him he is loved, wanted,
And he was made right.

Who Knows You Like I Do?

Face it, we have a

Connection. It’s not

Just friendship. I know

You’re with him now, and

I know you masturbate to

Our memories when you

Think no one’s watching.

You can’t give me up. I’m still

Inside you. You might

As well let me fuck

You. You’ll feel better. My hands

Have traced the curves of

Your body so often,

It’s just muscle memory

By now. Come on. Don’t

Make me get rough with

You. Unless that’s what you want.

I’m game if you are.

Alien Abduction

You must believe the

Tale which I will tell you. On

My way to work one

Day, suddenly did

I float skyward. Machines did

Slice my clothes from me,

And I was told that

My survival depended

On my coming. No

Choice was there, and so

With my pussy did I fuck

For all it was worth.

The mind and earth and

Universe shattering joy

Of my orgasm

Changed my outlook and

My life forever. And so,

Dear John, with regret

Do I end our long

Engagement. For if the Moon

Men made me come, you

Could have done it, too.

Now in search of pleasures I

Must go, they await.

My Dream

In my dreams we are

Together. We don’t concern

Ourselves with others’

Opinion of what

We do. My husband and your

Boyfriend don’t exist

In my dreams. We fly,

Exhilarated, bodies

Mingled, you and I.

All I ask is that

You just come with me, and we

Try it. Can we try?

Watchmaker’s Wife

If I were married

To a woman like her, I

Would never leave her

Side. You can try to

Control her, but she is such

A woman, the one

You can never pin

Down. If a man makes her laugh,

She will open her

Legs, lift her skirt, no

Second thought. Do not throw her

Out; you go find a

Pretty young thing, and you

Can trade back and forth. Very

Civilized, pleasant.