*
“Oh my goodness! You are just adorable,” Greta said as she gently touched the ends of Ryn’s hair before resting her palms on her cheeks. “Oh … and your eyes, and these freckles, and you have the cutest little button nose.”
Ryn felt ten years old under Greta’s exaggerated, yet flattering assessment. “Thank you. So nice to meet you.”
“Well…” Greta motioned for Ryn to follow her to the great room “…you’re just lucky Marvin is still breathing, otherwise I would have already snatched Jackson up.”
Ryn equated Greta to warm chocolate cake: sweet, addictive, and sure to evoke a smile.
After handing Ryn a glass of sangria, Greta brought two fingers to her mouth and catcall whistled. “Settle down, ladies, so Jillian can get started.”
The small group of fifteen women, all over sixty years, turned the volume down to a few soft whispers as their eyes bugged out with each new item Jillian placed on the coffee table. Ryn bit back a smile. It was the most unusual group for a Lascivio party. Their fearless leader took them through everything, explaining how each personal pleasure device was to be used before passing it around for everyone to inspect up close.
When the nipple clamps came around, Ryn took a quick picture and sent it to Jackson.
Ryn: What do you think?
Jackson: I think these work better.
He attached a photo of his teeth biting the tip of his thumb. She giggled.
Next she sent a photo of the edible lubricant.
Ryn: ?
Jackson: Let me save you some money.
The photo attached showed him licking his lips. She squeezed her legs together.
Ryn: Jillian said ‘nothing’ is better than this one.
She sent a photo of a “top of the line” vibrator.
Jackson: Your choice.
Greta passed her a textured cock ring as Ryn looked at his text.
“I’ve got it, sweetie.” Greta grabbed Ryn’s phone that fell in the crack between the cushions when she went to pass the vibrator to the next person.
“No I’ve—”
Greta looked at the screen. “Oh my … what or who …” Her other hand covered her mouth.
“What is it?” Lynette asked looking over Greta’s shoulder. “Oh my goodness!”
“He’s just being—” Ryn grabbed her phone back, not realizing he sent a photo after his last remark. “Oh shit.”
“Is that Jackson?” Every eye in the room landed on Ryn.
She flipped the phone so the screen pressed against her leg. “N-no, it’s not what you think. It’s … just a friend playing a prank.” It was exactly what they thought: Jackson’s big, very erect cock.
Jillian narrowed her eyes then stepped closer to Ryn. “Is what Jackson?”
Ryn shook her head like an errant child in school. “Nothing.”
Jillian snatched her phone. Ryn squeezed her eyes shut.
“Eww … not cool, Bro … not cool,” Jillian whispered to herself.
Ryn peeked open one eye. Jillian wore a wicked smile. “Get some more to eat and drink, ladies, then feel free to play with the toys and browse through the catalog.”
Once everyone focused their attention back on all the other embarrassing things in the room, Jillian grabbed the strap-on penis from the coffee table and took a picture of it with Ryn’s phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Reciprocating.” Jillian smirked as she moved her thumbs across the screen.
Ryn: How do you feel about anal play? I’ve always had a thing for m/m porn. Is your sexy ass as tight as the rest of your body?
Jillian tossed Ryn’s phone to her. “No matter what, don’t text him again or answer any of his texts.
Ryn stared at the message—horrified. “What if he takes it seriously?”
“Oh … he’ll take it seriously.”
“What if he’s…” she grimaced “…okay with the idea.”
Jillian giggled. “Then I guess you’d better add a strap-on and a bottle of lube to your order tonight.”
Ryn’s eyes remained glued to her phone. “He’s not responding.”
“Ah … excellent. Just as I suspected, he thinks you’re serious. God, I’m good.”
“Jillian?” Greta called. “Are butt plugs contraindicated if I have hemorrhoids?”
“Oh my God,” Ryn mouthed. Jillian winked before excusing herself to help Greta.
She stared at her phone, willing Jackson to reply, but he didn’t.
An hour and three glasses of Sangria later, she placed her order and walked back across the street while Jillian and Greta finished up with the rest of the ladies and their orders.
The alcohol almost erased the memory of Jillian’s prank—almost. Jackson opened the door with his body covered by a pair of jeans and an Eat Local T-Shirt.
*
The quiet ones were always the kinky ones. Jackson assumed with a fair amount of confidence that Ryn was the exception. Her skittish reactions to his sexual advances pointed in the opposite direction of kinky. The text, however, surprised him, and he wasn’t easily surprised. The tipsy, sexy, cock-hardening woman at his door was a partial explanation for the bold message. The still slightly disturbing part was drunk people didn’t get new ideas from alcohol. The alcohol just brought out thoughts that were already in their brain.
Her eyes perused his body then a giggle escaped as she homed in on his shirt. “Eat Local.” She bit her lip, glassy eyes meeting his gaze. “I’m local.”
Jackson found the deep, uninhibited tone of her voice to be quite sexy.
“Miss Middleton, are you drunk?”
Twisting her lips, she shook her head twice. After a few seconds she narrowed her eyes and nodded as if her thoughts couldn’t keep up with her body. “A bit, I’d say.”
“Keys.” He held out his hand.
“I love that you’re younger than me, yet more responsible.” She handed him her keys.
Ryn lost her brother in a drunk driving accident. He knew she’d give him the keys without question. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.” He took her hand and led her to her car.
“I love it when you hold my hand. People don’t do that much these days. Everyone’s too busy texting or holding their phones to their ears to pay attention to the people around them.”
He helped her in then got in the driver’s side. “I agree,” he said.
“You do? Aww … see you’re not too young for me after all. If I said the same thing to Maddie she’d tell me something like ‘holding hands is for old people.’ It seems like kids these days are either texting each other from across the table or practically screwing each other on the dance floor of some club.”
Jackson chuckled as they pulled out of the development. He’d been on those dance floors many times, and they usually led to a bathroom, back alley, or backseat fuck before he went home alone. But Ryn was different, he was different. That Jude guy died and there was no reason to wake the dead.
“Greta is hilarious and she has a huge crush on you. God, I hope I have half her spunkiness when I’m her age. She must have ordered one of everything from that catalog. I think she’s secretly trying to kill her husband so she can ride off into the sunset with you and your Woody.” Ryn giggled. “Did I mention that was the best Sangria I’ve ever had?”