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/

Locker Room Ritual

She walks in to the empty locker room heavily, her footfalls echoing. She sets her heavy bag on the bench and goes to the sink. The cool water runs over her hands and fingers; she mutters to herself as she rinses them without soap.

I must have watched her do this a hundred times, but there’s always more to her ritual. She lets the water run for a few minutes and rolls her neck back and forth, raising her shoulders up and down. She opens her mouth wide, like a lion, and lolls her tongue back and forth.

There are cameras behind the mirrors, in each showerhead and soap dispenser, within each locker, and scattered throughout the room. There are microphones embedded in the paper towel dispenser, the sink, countertop, benches, and lockers. It’s a sophisticated recording studio, a pet project. I own the building, and the contractors were all close friends. Julie is a new hire, especially excited by the free gym access and personal lockers that the job provides.

She takes a paper towel, uses it to turn off the water, and dries her hands with it. She drops the wet wad in the trash and walks back to her locker. She unbuttons her suit jacket slowly and shrugs it off her shoulders. She folds it vertically, and arranges the sleeves so they can be folded as part of a square. She regards herself in the locker mirror, examining her eyebrow raise, the inside of her nostrils, and the bags under her eyes. She undoes the tie in back of her hair, and lets it shake out widely, massaging her scalp and humming to herself. She then sits on the bench to remove her shoes, placing them neatly in the locker.

She begins to slowly unbutton her shirt, revealing her lovely warm golden cleavage beneath her starched white blouse. She pulls each tail from her skirt, and sheds it like a second skin. The white bra is simple, humble, quickly discarded. She checks the door, and pauses, waiting for an intruder. She strokes her hands down her torso, grinning as her nipples erect themselves on her angelic breasts. She bites her lip devilishly and drops her skirt in a heap on the ground, quickly shucking off her stocking socks in a second. She eyes the skirt for a moment as her fingers dip down her abdomen, just below her navel and approaching the treasure. She breaks the movement and quickly retrieves and folds the skirt atop her pile.

She now stands before the bathroom mirror, trembling in anticipation and stealing glances at the door, waiting for interruption. She briskly tucks her thumbs on either side of her g-string and pulls it off. She sits back on the bench, tilts the locker door mirror toward herself. She cups a breast with one hand and her crotch in the other, and begins to slowly squeeze and gyrate. She puts two fingers into her mouth, closing her eyes and bobbing her head like an act of fellatio. Spreading her legs wide across the bench, she arches her back and thrusts her chest upward. She then extracts her glistening fingers and applies them to her sex, running a hand along the length of her neck, encircling it, squeezing gently. A quiet murmur escapes her lips, captured by the microphones.

She rotates her hips against her hand, increasing the pressure, and grabs her breast hard; the skin visibly reddens under her grip. Now her full form is tense and twisting in ecstasy at her debauch, and she begins to audibly pant and gasp as the orgasm breaks like a wave across her.

Every day at six, like clockwork.

Eve

We were his pets. He kept us like rabbits. We saw what he wanted us to.

There could have been a light shining in my face and I wouldn’t see it.

Now I think of him as the Gardener. He was one among many. Elohim is plural.

Then came the Word. It came from a little guy I had never seen before. He had a really big nose, his eyes were set far back in his skull, broad shoulders with little arms, and he had a bun on the top of his head.

He said, “Nachash!” I came over to him. He crawled up a tree and whispered to me: “Yodea.

Elohim ki beyowm akalkem mimenu wenpquehu enekem wihyitem kelohim yodae towb wara.”

I know, it’s more than one word when I write it like this, but those words make one word. You could say, “God knows that the day you eat it, your eyes will opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.”

It happened right away. It was after I heard it that I saw. The fruit was gorgeous, and I put it in my mouth, and it tasted like everything. It was like my whole body was being squeezed by delicious, it radiated to every part of me.

I looked back to Nachash, and he was hiding behind the tree. I felt like he was a part of me now, changing me, opening me. I saw the world made and unmade, a million times over. A deep love filled me.

I went and found Adam, who had named all the animals, but hadn’t given me a name yet. I was like the Word now, and I said it to him. He could have been born in that moment, he changed so much. He saw me for the first time. He saw that I was made of him, for him, and we wanted each other so badly.

He took me in his arms, and our love, it made something beautiful, we created it in that moment. We were like God. His arms, his sweat, my breasts, it was joyous and gentle and strong.

We finished, and he filled me with the most wonderful kind of water, warm and full of life. I was full, too. I tasted the water, and it was sweet, a little sticky.

Then we heard the Gardener. He threw Nachash out, and said he’d have to crawl on his belly and eat dirt. Then he threw us out.

Me and Adam covered ourselves and went out into the world. He named me Eve, which is a funny joke. Eve means “mother” but also “serpent,” like Nachash.

The Word was still good, but it hurt now. I wanted to be with Adam all the time; he could get really mean sometimes. We work it out. We have time now, not like before, where everything happened at once.

I’m going to hold this Word in my heart. Maybe I’ll share it with one of my kids, if they’re good.

Thrown

I have been thrown, to

A world not mine. Naked,

Screaming, fighting, on

The run, I don’t know

Why, and I can’t ever stop.

Everyone wants to

Kill me. I didn’t

Ask to play this game, but I

Will go down swinging.

Nudity as Archetype

The strangeness of the

Nude form. By undressing, we

Become someone else.

My binary logic:

Nude woman is a gift, nude

Man is a threat. Man

Is ugly, woman

Is beautiful. The way it

Is and will remain.

Leaking nudes without

Consent, a violation,

Worse than a theft. The

Genie, released, the

Damage is done. The tree from

which Eve ate revealed

Her, like how after

Orgasm, you think so clear.

Ham, cursed by his Dad’s

Cock. So it goes. What

We hide from outside is our

Similarity.