by Sculpted » Wed Jun 23, 2021 9:41 am
Peter did his best to disregard the scene playing out on the couch, not wanting to add another variable to an already unstable situation. Instead, he smiled at the pair and turned his attention to the mini kitchen to his right to scoop ice into a couple of glasses. He appreciated he and his wife’s lifestyle, and the goodhearted nature of what she was doing for her friend, but had always been uncomfortable around emotional people, being one to stuff his own feelings into a bottle on the chance they became troublesome.
“Vodka cranberries?” He pointed a finger at each of the girls as he headed for the bedroom.
Katy looked pitiful, having gotten almost no attention from Peter for her display. Her mood teetered on the edge, still reeling from Eli’s question, threatening to spill in either direction with the smallest signal. She slumped back into the couch from Peter’s unknowing slight.
“Shots.” Katy said without passion.
Maria forced a smile, watching her friend intently. “Yes! Bartender, I packed shot glasses. Shots and drinks!” She tried to be as positive as possible, in hopes of lifting Katy’s broken spirits. She placed a hand on Katy’s thigh, barely drawing her attention. “There is not much that good vodka cannot fix.” Her tone was quiet, but assuring, though only drew a shrug from the blonde.
Glasses clinked as Peter hauled a cache of bottles and glasses into the kitchenette to perform his bartending duties. He returned to the girls long enough to hand them their shots before delivering their cocktails and raising his own glass of neat whiskey in toast, happy that his wife took the reins before he was forced to come up with words.
“To good friends and good health!” Maria clinked their glasses and the girls downed their shots, Peter sipping at his bourbon, none reacting to the burning liquids.
“I just want to forget tonight.” Katy muttered, not sharing in the feigned delight of the room as she reached for her drink for a long slug.
“That is the spirit, Zaika.” Maria smiled, a firm believer in alcohol therapy. She and Peter shared a look before she took a sip of her own drink. “Well? You heard her, my sexy bartender. Chop chop!”
Peter raised a brow, contemplating the situation. Deciding the night was a lose-lose, he shrugged and grabbed the vodka bottle, choosing to sit with it on the coffee table rather than running back and forth. “Drinking for effect, I guess?” He asked, an eye on his wife as he poured another shot. They didn’t have to exchange words for Peter to catch on, barely filling Maria’s glass before handing them off. Katy eschewed the customary traditions, downing the shot impatiently and handing the empty glass back to Peter.
“How’s it fair.” Katy slurred, staring past her bartender.
“What’s that?” Peter looked concerned that her attention had fallen on him.
“I do eeeeeeeeeverything right. Like, gym, food, all that shit. Why do I get cancer. It’s,” Her chest spasmed, followed by a dry gulp, “bullshit.”
Peter’s eyes flicked from Katy to Maria, hoping for some assistance. Maria wondered if there was a point in trying to answer the girl, but spoke up anyway.
“Life is not fair, even for beautiful people. This is why we drink.” The celebratory nature of her voice had fallen to more serious concern. “But you are getting well, so we drink to celebrate.”
Katy eyed the empty shot glass, blinking a few times. “Celebrate.” She had trouble forming the word, and seemed to fall into deep contemplation. “Celeb… Losin’ my tits. Bein’ called a man.” Her hand reached for the glass, swaying in either direction of it. “Fuck it.”
Peter held the little glass back, fearing the consequences of giving the rapidly deteriorating girl another, but a nod from his wife made the decision for him. He stopped the pour half way and handed it to Katy, who greedily downed it without hesitation. She closed her eyes and swayed for a moment before shaking her head and staring through limp eyes at Peter.
“Would you still fuck me?” Katy reached out to grope at Peter’s leg as she asked. Peter finally set down the bottle and took a deep breath.
“Of course, Katy.” The answer felt wrong on his tongue, but he knew anything else would lead to more crying. Katy smiled and pulled at the neckline of her dress, sloppily revealing one breast that hung low on her chest as she leaned over.
“Even with shit tits?” She hefted her freed breast up, letting it drop heavily back down to her chest.
Peter forced a smile that contradicted the concern in his eyes. “Even with your boobs.”
Katy seemed to come to life, leaning further to grab both of Peter’s thighs and pull herself forward, knees dropping to the floor with a thud. The fall didn’t faze her as she slid between Peter’s legs, eyes lasered in on his crotch. “Then prove it.” She demanded, tugging at his belt but lacking the dexterity to remove it.
Peter froze, again looking to his wife for guidance, who only shook her head at the sight of the poor half-dressed mess pawing at his crotch. She finally moved from the couch to wrap her arms around Katy’s solid waist and pull her back to the couch with a grunt. Katy’s face contorted into confusion and betrayal as she stared up at Maria.
“What are you doin? Let’s fuck.” Katy’s words didn’t match her tone, flat and passionless. It was clear to Maria that Katy was motivated by approval more than arousal, while barely hanging onto consciousness enough to appreciate either. The savvy Russian snapped her fingers at Peter, pointing to the Vodka bottle.
“I don’t think she should drink anymore.” He warned.
“No, it is exactly what she needs.” Maria’s eyes were wide, conveying hidden intentions that persuaded Peter to pour. Maria knelt down and placed the shot in Katy’s unsteady hand, holding her own empty glass herself. “Let us do one more shot, and we will fuck.” She clinked her glass against Katy’s and pretended to down it as Katy followed. “Darling, go wait in the bedroom, we will be there shortly.” She instructed a more than willing Peter.
Katy started to roll off the couch, but a firm hand stopped her. “No, my little Zaika. I want you to myself first.” Maria whispered. “Get comfortable,” she stretched Katy’s legs until she was fully lying down, “I will be right back.” A slow kiss on the lips preceded Maria standing up to turn out the lights and heading for the bedroom.
Cast into darkness, Katy’s world spun. She dropped a foot to the floor to balance herself, fighting her eyes to wait for Maria. The room was silent outside of the rapid beating of her heart suddenly thudding in her ears. The struggle against her eyelids grew more difficult, each blink lasting longer until they finally closed for good.
A few minutes later, Maria snuck quietly back into the room, dragging a bedsheet. Whispering Katy’s name to confirm that she had passed out, she carefully covered her with the sheet, barely tucking it around her limp body before retreating back to the bedroom, easing the door shut behind her.
“What an absolute shitshow.” Peter finally broke the silence with the security of the door between him and the drunk blonde.
“Yes…” Maria sighed, removing her conservative outfit in the dark. “She is a very troubled girl.”
“Any more master plans?” He asked, somewhat sarcastically, pulling the blanket down for his wife to join him in bed.
“I do not know. It was going so well, that ignorant redneck. What do we do with her?” Maria let out a long sigh, finally out of ideas.
“Maybe try to convince Mike to take her back?” Peter suggested, hoping to return to his normal life.
Maria lightly slapped his arm with the back of her hand. “Peter! How could you say this? She is our friend, we are supposed to help her.”
Peter let his head fall back to the headboard with a dull thud. “Yeah, I know. Can we just knock her out ‘til her treatment’s done? Like, a Wile E. Coyote mallet or something?”
Maria chuckled at the thought. “Be serious!”
“Well, you tried making her feel like she had her boobs back, and that didn’t work. You tried making her think she didn’t need’em, and…well.” Peter ran his hand through his hair. “Sorry, honey, I’m out of my depth here.”
Maria sank into her pillow and turned over, yawning. “Maybe we will just go mallet shopping tomorrow.”
“Speaking of pounding things…” Peter slid his hand down his wife’s side, pulling their naked bodies together.
“Very romantic,” Maria started, sarcastically. “I am not in the mood, I am sorry honey.”
Peter let out a disappointed breath of air escape his nose and rolled over. “I love you.”
“I love you too, solnishko.”