The One With the Leather Pants
Copyright© 2023 by Fan Fiction Man
Chapter 5
Fan Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 5 - Ross Geller's New Year's Resolution to try new things takes a turn for the wild and wanton when things go awry with his new leather pants at the date with Elizabeth Hornswoggle.
Caution: This Fan Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Mult Consensual Drunk/Drugged NonConsensual BiSexual Heterosexual Fan Fiction Magic Sharing FemaleDom Rough Group Sex Harem Orgy Polygamy/Polyamory Swinging Interracial White Male White Female Oriental Female Anal Sex Analingus Oral Sex Pregnancy Squirting Nudism
Gunther’s fingers tightened around the stem of his wineglass as Rachel leaned forward, her cleavage pressing against the edge of the tablecloth, her smile sharp enough to cut glass. “You know,” she murmured, swirling her own drink lazily, “I had the most interesting afternoon before this.” The scent of her perfume—something musky and expensive—mixed with something darker underneath, something Gunther couldn’t quite place but recognized instantly.
Her foot slid against his calf, deliberate and slow, before hooking around his ankle beneath the table. Unlike the teasing brushes she’d given him at Central Perk—accidental, fleeting—this was calculated, her toes tracing the line of his sock before slipping beneath the fabric to skim bare skin. Gunther inhaled sharply, his pulse jumping as she smirked over the rim of her glass.
“Problem?” she asked, innocent as sin.
Gunther pinched himself under the table, the sharp sting confirming this wasn’t some caffeine-deprived hallucination. The Rachel Green—the woman whose relationship with Ross Geller had him insanely jealous, was now pressing her foot higher up his leg, her painted toes wiggling against his knee.
“No problem,” he lied, throat dry as he forced himself not to glance at the kitchen staff, who’d witnessed his years of unrequited longing.
Rachel slid her panties down to her ankles and set them down on the table next to her chicken florentine, the lace pooling like a confession beside her fork. Gunther’s breath hitched—his knuckles white around the napkin in his lap—as she crossed her legs slowly, the slit in her skirt parting just enough to reveal the absence beneath.
“You seem tense,” she purred, tapping one manicured nail against her wineglass. “Maybe you should ... loosen up.”
Rachel smirked as her foot caressed his now fully formed bulge, her toes pressing deliberately through the fabric of his slacks—testing, teasing, applying just enough pressure to make his hips jerk forward involuntarily. The linen napkin in his lap did nothing to hide the effect she had on him, and her knowing laugh was low, throaty, as if she’d already won some unspoken bet.
“Still no problem?” she asked, dragging her foot upward in a slow, torturous glide.
Rachel picked her panties up from the table—still warm from her skin—and draped them casually over his half-eaten shrimp scampi, the lace sinking into the garlic butter sauce. Gunther stared at the dish, transfixed, as the fabric absorbed the glossy liquid, the once-pristine meal now obscenely adorned.
Across the table, Rachel uncrossed and recrossed her legs, the movement calculated to draw his attention back to the shadow between her thighs. The restaurant’s dim lighting did little to obscure what she was offering—what she’d already given to someone else.
Gunther was hard as steel beneath the table, his cock straining against his slacks as Rachel winked at him and dragged her bare foot along the length of his erection. Her toes curled around him through the fabric, squeezing just enough to make his hips jerk forward, his wine sloshing dangerously in his glass.
“Careful,” she murmured, licking her lips. “You’ll make a mess.”
Gunther’s nostrils flared as the truth hit him—the musk beneath her perfume wasn’t just arousal. It was someone else’s sweat, someone else’s come still clinging to her skin. The realization should have repelled him, but his cock twitched violently against her toes instead, betraying him. Rachel’s grin widened as if she’d known exactly how he’d react, her foot working him through his slacks with slow, filthy strokes that matched the rhythm of her earlier encounter.
She hooked a finger into the sodden lace of her discarded panties and lifted them from his plate, dangling them inches from his face.
“Guess,” she whispered, her voice dripping with challenge.
The scent hit him like a freight train—salt and sex and the unmistakable musk of another man. Gunther’s jaw clenched, his fingers digging into the tablecloth hard enough to tear the fabric, but his hips rocked forward into her touch all the same, desperate for friction.
“Was it—was it Ross?” he choked out, hating how pathetic he sounded but needing to know.
Rachel threw her head back and laughed, the column of her throat gleaming under the chandelier light before she leaned in close, her breath hot against his ear. She wagged a finger in front of his nose, still clutching her ruined panties.
“Now, now, Gunther,” she chided, her voice dripping with mock disappointment. “Trust me when I say you don’t want the answer to that. Just relax and accept that we’re going to screw tonight, you and me ... all the way. Aren’t we, Gunther? Isn’t that what you wanted when you were so forgiving of my incompetence as a waitress at Central Perk?”
Her toes pressed harder against his cock, the friction deliciously cruel through the fabric of his slacks. “Unless ... you’d rather I stop?”
Gunther’s mind short-circuited—this wasn’t the Rachel who’d fumbled coffee orders and giggled at his awkward small talk. This Rachel was a predator, her lips curling as she watched him unravel beneath her foot, her eyes dark with ownership. He’d fantasized about her for years, but never like this—never with her scent still dripping from someone else’s cock, never with her voice dropping to a growl as she demanded submission.
Gunther managed to finish his shrimp scampi and down his wine before Rachel called for the check and asked for a doggy bag for her entree, her fingers brushing the waiter’s wrist just long enough to make Gunther’s stomach twist. The way the man blushed told him everything—this wasn’t the first time tonight Rachel had left someone flustered in her wake. She tucked the container into her purse without breaking eye contact, her smile sharpening when Gunther’s gaze flicked to the faint red marks peeking above her collar.
Rachel threw down enough cash to cover the meal twice over, including a tip so large the waiter audibly gasped, before dragging Gunther from his chair by his tie. “You’re coming with me,” she breathed against his lips, her free hand already sliding down to palm his erection through his slacks. The other diners pretended not to stare as she led him out, his knees nearly buckling when she whispered exactly how she planned to fuck him.
The walk to Central Perk was a blur of streetlights and Rachel’s fingers twisting in his hair whenever he hesitated, her laughter low and wicked as she shoved him through the back door. Before Gunther could process the surrealness of being manhandled in his own workplace, Rachel had him pinned against the familiar green sofa, her knee between his thighs as she ripped open his shirt buttons.
“This is where you watched me for years,” she purred, grinding down on him with deliberate slowness, “so you’ll fuck me right here while I’m still wet from him. No condoms. True sloppy seconds.”
Gunther groaned as she tore his belt open with a metallic screech, her fingers colder than the early January air outside as they wrapped around his cock—still throbbing from her restaurant torture. Rachel licked her lips at the precum beading at his tip, smearing it down his shaft with her thumb before lifting her skirt and sinking onto him without warning, her cunt so slick he could feel the residual warmth of another man’s spend mixing with his own desperate arousal.
The espresso machine hummed in the corner like a voyeur as Rachel rode him with the same casual dominance she’d used to demolish his dignity earlier, her hips rolling in slow, obscene circles while her fingernails carved half-moons into his shoulders.
“Tell me,” she panted, grinding down harder when he tried to thrust up into her, “did you ever jerk off back here imagining this? Picturing me bent over the counter with my ass in the air while you fucked me like a cheap whore?”
“Sometimes ... more when insanely jealous ... mostly when you dated jerks ... but mostly, I put you on a pedestal like a goddess,” Gunther confessed awkwardly.
Rachel laughed—a sharp, delighted sound—and dug her nails deeper into his shoulders as she ground against him, the wet slap of skin echoing off the cafe’s tiled walls.
“Oh honey, goddesses don’t leave panties sticky on your dinner plate,” she murmured, leaning down to lick the sweat from his throat. “They don’t ride you still dripping from some stranger’s cock—or Ross’s, or Joey’s, or whoever you’re imagining right now. It was both of them ... and Chandler!”
Gunther grunted as Rachel moved his hands to her ass now, “Yes ... finger my ass while I fuck you, Gunther ... feel Ross’s load back there, too!” she gasped, rolling her hips harder as Gunther’s fingers found her tight rim—still slick and stretched from earlier.
“You’re shocked?” Rachel panted, arching into his touch as his fingers probed deeper, her breath hitching when he found traces of another man’s release inside her. “Sweetie, I haven’t had a virgin hole anywhere since high school,” she laughed, grinding down onto him with deliberate slowness. “Not my pussy, not my ass, not even my mouth—every part of me’s been used long before tonight.”
Gunther was fighting the urge to cum too soon, though whether out of pride—refusing to let her win so easily—or jealousy—knowing Ross and Chandler and Joey had all taken her first—or sheer terror—that this was some twisted dream he’d wake up from any second, he wasn’t sure. His fingers curled inside her tight heat, the proof of other men’s pleasure slick against his knuckles, and his cock throbbed violently inside her, precum leaking in thick pulses against her clenching walls.
This wasn’t the sweet, bubbly Rachel of his fantasies ... this was a succubus with her face, but he wanted her, craved her, even burned for her all the same. He couldn’t help himself. He was under her spell now ... and he knew it. Gunther was her abject thrall now, and there was no coming back from that.