The Spit Roast
By Ana and Melvin Melons
1
It was already on my mind when I woke up. Today is the day of the annual spit roast that my husband, Melvin, and I host. We invite our friends over for a garden party and Melvin makes food and drinks for everyone. He’ll turn on that charm while I watch the women swoon for him and the men take notes.
I watch him impress them with his culinary or mixology skills, make them laugh with one of his wild stories, or even stimulate their minds with a well-placed dinosaur fact.
But that’s not all, we host an art exhibit featuring a beautiful woman to be the centerpiece of our display. Every one of our guests will watch her, comment on her, or even touch her, respectfully.
Last year our model was Paige, our friend, neighbor, and favorite toy. It’s a coveted opportunity, and we take all applications very seriously.
This year we were featuring a woman we’ve been in contact with for a few years but have never had the opportunity to meet. Her name is Rosalyn, but he always calls her Rosie, which I think is adorable.
We bonded over a shared interest, she likes to be seen, we like to be seen seeing her. He has cum between my tits at least a dozen times for Rosie with a photo of her in one hand and the other hand on the back of my neck. After she sees the video, she’ll be so turned on she has to share another tease and the process repeats. It was like a tornado of voyeurism; Melvin calls it a voyeurtex.
If I had designed her in a lab I wouldn’t have produced anything nearly as pleasing as nature had. Glistening black hair, flawless skin, exquisite body, and big boobs. Then there’s those legs; long, toned, and attached to her perfect peach ass.
She’s tragically straight or I’d have been all over her myself. Still, there’s a bend in every
straight line and we all found out long ago that men and women can satisfy her exhibitionist desires.
The interesting thing about Rosalyn is that in all these years and hundreds of photos exchanged we’ve never actually seen her naked. Her body is like an incomplete puzzle with the best pieces missing. Today will be the first time for all of us.
I heard the back gate slam shut and rolled out of bed and over to the window. There was my husband, long brown hair with silvery strands dancing about his shoulders. He raised an arm and stroked his beard, balancing a basket overflowing with produce in his arm.
He crossed the lawn to the countertop of his backyard bar, Blackberry and Sin, set down the basket, and started unpacking an assortment of citrus and vegetables for the grill. He pulled off his shirt then hoisted the basket under his arm and headed into the garden. I was fixated on his hands gently entering the bush, fingers skillfully manipulating the fruit, before returning with his juicy prize. I knew the sensation well.
2
Satisfied with his blueberry harvest he moved on to strawberries, mint, celery, and, of course, blackberries. He stood up suddenly and whipped his hair back. Droplets of sweat sparkled all around him. He knew I was watching.
Melvin retrieved his heaping basket of our garden’s bounty and returned to Blackberry and Sin with long strides across the gravel path that let his hair whip in the wind. He loves to show off.
He washed everything and lined it all along the bar top, neat and orderly.
I looked around the room. His side was clean, organized, and efficient. Everything was in its place and arranged to take up as little space as possible, which was convenient because my side of the room had grown to absorb most of it. I had my closet, and his, completely overflowing. Plus, a pile of clean clothes on the vanity, and my cosmetics on the floor next to the mirror by the bed.
Of course, there’s also the dirty clothes pile and the two hampers of additional clean clothes that Melvin had graciously folded and probably contained what I was going to be wearing today. I hadn’t chosen yet, and I’m sure it wasn’t going to be a quick decision. It was a good thing nobody expects me to be on time to my own party, because I won’t be.
I went back to the window, and Melvin was chopping onions. No tears, what a man!
He moved his way through the rest of the produce, both his hands working in unison, groping, pinching, fondling, and tweaking, gentle and delicate. Meanwhile the veins bulged on his other hand as he sliced and split with aggressive precision strokes. I felt a drip roll down my leg.
Melvin shaved the rind off some of the limes, sliced them in half, then pressed and twisted them into a juicer. Clear liquid oozed out onto his hand and when he tossed the husk aside, glistening liquid dripped from his fingers. He repeated the process with the rest of the limes, lemons, and oranges.
He stowed the juices and fruit slices in a nearby cooler and pulled out a series of packages wrapped in white butcher’s paper. He opened and emptied one package into a mixing bowl followed by a dusting of seasoning. He kneaded it all together with a rhythmic thrust in his hips that made my knees weak. Then he opened a package of steaks, laid them out and rubbed them down with spices.
3
After he stowed the meat away he headed into the house, grabbing his shirt from the lattice and sliding it on as he walked up the wooden stairs to the patio door.
I lost sight of him but could hear his footsteps coming down the hall. I jumped quickly into bed and threw a blanket over myself. I pretended to be asleep as he started the shower and stepped inside. I poked my eyes out of the blanket and watched his reflection in the mirror as he cleaned up. The smell of his soap and the loud crash of water splattering on the shower floor filled the room as steam built up on the glass and obscured his form.
I watched intently as he washed his hair. Then, suddenly, there it was. He pressed his cock and balls against the glass, and just above them was his belly. I couldn’t help but let out a quiet giggle.
He was quick, stepping out naked and dripping all over the bathroom mat. Just like a man. He brushed out his hair and threw on a purple t-shirt that read “Don’t forget to praise your bartender,” and brown linen pants. Melvin circled around and kissed me on the cheek and whispered in my ear. “Ana, you should start getting ready. The band is almost here.”
I hadn’t noticed his hand approaching until his fingers were already teasing my nipples. A soft moan escaped my lips completely intentionally. He gave them each one final pinch and squeeze before he kissed me again and left the room. He knocked on a door across the hall. I heard a muffled conversation between him and Rosalyn before two sets of footsteps headed outside.
Melvin descended first, followed shortly by Rosie in a white bath robe. My husband was taking her to the island in the pool where we had a platform set up for her to pose. I couldn’t hear his instructions to her, but I saw her smile and gently touch his chest with one hand. I needed to get out there.
I dumped out the baskets of clean clothes. I didn’t find what I was looking for, so I dove into the closet and started frantically digging through. Clearly I was too good at picking out cute clothes because I had no way of deciding. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I let my body make the choice, reaching absently into the racks with each hand and pulling out two items. I opened my eyes and found that I was holding my favorite red bikini and Melvin’s favorite dress, the one that really makes my boobies pop.
I slipped the bikini on and then slid the dress over my head. I adjusted my dress so that my cleavage was bulging out like I was at a renaissance faire. I checked myself out in the mirror and applied a little bit of waterproof eyeliner. As I was finishing, I heard rumbling in the distance. I moved across the room and peeked out the front window as the source came into view.
4
First came a crimson-haired woman riding a white Arbalest racing motorcycle; it was light and sleek looking, more like a crossbow bolt than a bike. Ashbane pulled up in front of our home and killed the engine. With effortless grace, she twisted on her bike until she was sitting side-saddle. One boot touched the pavement while the other dangled from the footrest as she waited.
A second Rider joined. I recognized her silhouette coming over the hill. Thor’n was riding a heavier machine. Sanguine red and plated with rippling metal, it resembled a flamberge sword. The deep rumble of its exhaust shook the windows, and I heard something vibrate and fall off the nightstand behind me.
Thor’n passed Ashbane and brought her bike to a stop facing the house. Her muscular frame was always intimidating at first glance, but when she noticed me in the window she gave a friendly wave.
The next rider, Witchfire, came into view. Her black curly hair bobbed in the wind as she roared down the street and screeched to a stop. Her bike was minimalist, barely more than a skeleton wrapped around a motor and a gas tank. The matte-black frame had all of its meat stripped away and the oversized motor was the only excess that hadn’t been weighed and discarded.
As she came to a stop she dismounted her bike on the far side. Ashbane, still holding her pose, called something out and Witchfire reacted by striking a pose with her arms down on the bike and her cleavage pressed together on display.
Next came a pale rider. Siren rode a low and elegant bike with a glossy finish that terminated in silver trim. The paint shimmered in a way that made it look like liquid poured into the shape of a machine.
She was clad in light leather pants and a corset, lips stained black and eyes dark and foreboding. She struck a nonchalant pose, one foot on its toe while she looked away.
Nikki follows her. The others spread out to make room for her, and she came to a stop in the center of the pack. Her bike was more like a throne than a machine. Regal and decorative, evocative of a palanquin that was carrying her rather than being driven.
She twirled on the seat and laid back between the handlebars. Her black hair dangled as her body conformed to the shape of her mount. I couldn’t help but notice, she was looking right at me. Nikki winked as I slid open the window, put my fingers to my lips, whistled, then shouted to them. “Ooooooooooh”
The band waved to me all together as another woman echoed me from next door.
5
As she approached our guests, I heard Paige request their help carrying some things over. She bought me some time, maybe I won’t be late after all. I rushed down the hall and out into the yard.
My husband was adjusting an umbrella for Rosie out on the island in the pool. She was naked except for a necklace bearing a faith symbol dangling between her breasts.
As I walked over she experimented with a couple of positions before settling on a classic side-reclining pinup pose. Melvin and I met and kissed, our hands clasped each other, and he wrapped me in a hug before nuzzling my neck.
“What do you think?” His voice was a whisper in my ear.
I released my husband slowly, our fingers touching until I moved from his reach and walked around Rosie. My eyes followed her curves over her hips and down her toned legs. Her shoulder blades dipped into a shallow valley that ran to the crest of her ass. Black hair draped behind her head with shafts of sunlight peeking through. Her flat tummy would have stolen the show for me if it wasn’t for her big breasts that seemed to defy the laws of gravity.
“She leaves me speechless.” I mused to him, pressing myself against his chest and prompting his arms to wrap around me.
He kissed my forehead and gave me a warm smile. “Good. I heard the bikes arrive. Let’s go greet our guests.” Melvin took me by the hand and led me to the gate. He opened the latch and we found Thor’n standing there holding a large cooler under one arm and a cardboard box on the other shoulder.
Melvin offered to take some of her load, but she shook her head and pushed past us. “They probably need your help more.”
Coming around the front of the house, Nikki was dragging another large cooler on one side while Paige was struggling to lift the other end.
Melvin intervened, grasping the handle next to Paige and helping her lift.
The rest of the group made their way into the yard and started to unpack boxes.
I was setting up a station for soft drinks and utensils when I heard Paige gasp. “Oh my god. That’s Rosalyn.”
To Be Continued