0 comments/ 14980 views/ 0 favorites Walk the Dog By: packinaloaded Working from home was a new experience for me, and I loved every minute. My boss had given me a new territory that was well established and covered an area close to my home. It was perfect. Little did I realize just how perfect, but I'm getting ahead of myself. After my divorce I found my little house after an exhaustive search. I knew that it would be the ideal house for me and didn't haggle over price as I normally would. I used the spare bedroom that faced the street as an office and every morning I would fire up my computer and plan my day. Most of my work consisted of placing orders via the internet in the morning and in the afternoon visiting my accounts that need personal attention. One recent morning I happened to glance out my office/bedroom window and was shocked to see a woman who, while walking several dogs was suddenly knocked off of her feet and was being dragged up my street. I rushed outside and quickly grabbed the several leashes the dogs were attached to and with my other hand stooped to help the woman to her feet. I immediately noticed how attractive Ellen was, blonde haired, blue eyed, and petite yet shapely. She reminded me of a cheerleader or gymnast. "Are you all right?" I asked. "That was a nasty fall. She looked up at me as she dusted her self off and replied. "Yeah, I guess I tried to walk to many of these guys this morning." She went over to the dogs and checked to see if they were injured. "I walk dogs for a living." "Really," I said. "I've never heard of that before, is it profitable?" "It's a gold mine" she said smiling at me with those beautiful white teeth and sensuous lips. "I started doing it for my neighbors after my pregnancy; you know to lose the baby fat. I left little notes to tell them if the dog had been good or I picked up your mail. My girlfriend told me I should start charging them a nominal fee, and I never looked back. I have six full time women working for me and we are making a fortune." I smiled down at her in admiration. She was quite the business woman and gorgeous. 'Look" I said, "you can't handle these dogs by yourself so why don't I give you a hand until you have a manageable number?" "Okay, you've got a deal....I'm Ellen by the way. Your reward for being such a nice guy is I will buy you lunch." "Deal. I'm Michael" We walked around the neighborhood returning dogs to their homes and filling out "report cards" for pooping, peeing, being well behaved etc., etc. We talked about ourselves and our respective divorces, my job, her son and all in all had a great time. After ninety minutes, we had returned the last dog and Ellen and I walked towards our houses. "I know I promised to buy you lunch, Michael but how about I make you lunch instead?" "Oh" I said quickly "I don't want to be a bother, let me take a rain check." "No, No" she said. "It's no bother, I have to make lunch for myself so..." "Okay, it's a deal. Do you want me to come down in a bit?" "No" she said. "We're right here so come in, lunch will be ready shortly." I followed her up her steps and noticed the outline of a thong against her muscular behind. She had a nice sway to her hips as well. We entered her nice little Cape Cod style house. She gave me a short tour of the downstairs and I made all the polite comments. "Listen, Michael. I am going to hop in the shower quickly, I hope you don't mind? Make yourself at home. There is iced tea and soda in the 'fridge. Turn on the TV and I will be right back." She quickly moved upstairs. I moved into her living room and found the remote turning on the TV. When I did, I received quite a shock. It was on the cable porn station, with the volume up. On the screen were a threesome; and the two women and one man were all being extremely vocal. I heard a door close upstairs and Ellen, in a bathrobe, quickly entered the room and snatched the remote from my hand, turning the TV off. Her face was fire engine red and her eyes would not meet mine. "Hey" I said gently, "nothing to be embarrassed about, you probably hit the wrong channel as you were turning the set off." It was lame, but she looked at me gratefully and went back upstairs without a word. I looked out the window and observed a well maintained backyard. I thought of the scene I had just seen on television and a vivid picture of Ellen in her shower, sprang into my mind. Ellen soaping her firm breasts, pink nipples hardening, her hands then moving slowly down to her taut stomach... "Michael?" Ellen said from behind me, bringing me back from my pleasant daydream. "I'm sorry," I said, hoping she didn't notice the bulge in my pants. "I was just daydreaming." "Something good I hope." Her eyes flicked quickly down towards my fly. "Oh, just some random thoughts." Now I could feel my face beginning to redden. "Would you like to sit down while I make you lunch?" "No, I would like to help. It's always fun with two in the kitchen." As soon as I had said it, I recognized the double entendre and became embarrassed again. "What I meant was.." "I know what you meant" Helen said with a smile. "I would like that. It's nice to have some help, follow me." As I followed her into the kitchen, I noticed that she had put on nice pair of walking shorts and a t-shirt. I could see the outline of a thong again. In the kitchen, Ellen reached up into a cabinet, as she did so her t-shirt stretched across her chest, outlining her breasts perfectly. Her nipples hardened and stood out in spectacular fashion, slightly upturned and prominent. She turned suddenly to look at me and I was caught. She smiled and I quickly diverted my eyes. "I think I want a glass of wine with lunch, how about you?" She asked softly. I smiled back and nodded my head, afraid my voice would betray my racing heart. "Could you get the glasses down from the cabinet in front of you, on the top shelf?" I opened the cabinet and reached for the glasses and my shirtsleeve rose up on my bicep. "Oh my, nice tattoo." She said, "Were you an army ranger?" I chuckled. "Yes about a million years ago." She walked over and put her hand on my arm where the tattoo sat, rubbing gently. I moved to put the glasses down and my forearm brushed against her nipple. I heard a quick breath, and our eyes met. I put the glasses down and maneuvered my arm around her and she stepped into me, still looking into my eyes. I brought my hand up, and with the back of my fingers stroked her upturned cheek. She turned her head and kissed the back of my fingers, as her arms moved up and she placed her hands on my chest. I moved my head down and kissed her gently on the lips. Her mouth opened and her tongue gently parted my lips. Our kiss deepened and her hands wrapped around the back of my neck as I placed my hands on her hips. Her breasts were pushing against my chest and my pectoral muscles flexed. She moaned as we kissed, her breasts flattening against me and her mouth opening, tongue moving faster. I could feel myself getting hard, my erection growing down my inner thigh. Without breaking our kiss, her hand snaked down in between us and she grasped me; repositioning it up and down in my pants grinding herself against my shaft, slowly pumping her hips. Our kiss broke and without a word, Ellen led my back into her living room and sat on her couch. I stood before her and she reached up for my belt, but I stopped her hands. "No," I said. "You first." I knelt down in front of her and her legs parted. I leaned in and kissed her passionately, pulling at her t-shirt. As I pulled it over her head, her breasts were revealed, full with upturned nipples, her pink areolas puckered. I kissed her nipple, flicking my tongue over the nub and she arched against my mouth, fingers entwining in my hair. I ran the palm of my hand against her other breast and again she arched her back. I pinched and pulled on it gently and she moaned. "Harder, Michael." She whispered. I took her nipple between my teeth and ran my tongue back and forth across it; while her hands joined mine on her other breast. I moved my other hand down over her stomach to her inner thigh just below her shorts. The muscles jumped as I caressed her. Her legs opened wider and I moved back, unbuttoned her shorts and slipped them down her hips. She was wearing a lacey light blue thong, see through on top. I looked up to see a smile on her face, her eyes smoldering. Running my hands up her thighs, I lowered my head to the top of her thong gently kissing it and running my tongue under the elastic. My hands were still on her, my thumbs running up the edges of her panties. As I kissed lower, her hips made tiny rolling movements anticipating my arrival at her center. My thumbs moved up and under the elastic and slowly began lowering them, taking her thong with them. As they came off she whispered, "Give them to me." I passed them to her. She took them from me and brought them to her face, her tongue snaking out. "Wait," I whispered. "We'll do it at the same time." Her eyes widened. I lowered my mouth on her pussy lips and I gave her a long sensuous lick, while watching her lick her panties. Moaning at the sight of her I sucked her lips into my mouth and grabbed her hips. She rocked them forward to meet me and threw her panties to the side, entwining her fingers in my hair. I stuck my tongue out and began to flick it over her clit, while massaging her lips with mine. She was rocking her hips against my now slick face, up, down and small circles. I moved my hand up under my chin and without breaking contact probed for her opening. I inserted my first two fingers into her and she cried out, bucking her hips wildly. I began to fuck her faster with my fingers and her hips found my rhythm. I sucked strongly on her clit while burying my fingers deep inside her, twisting and turning my hand. She grabbed the back of my head with both of her hands, moaning and panting her hips jerking out of control. A stream of juice hit my lips and ran down my chin as she cried out and convulsed around my fingers. She pulled my face away from her sex and brought me up to her mouth, kissing me franticly, passionately. She placed her cheek against mine, breathing heavily, reaching between us and firmly grasping my cock. "Stand up." She said, breathily. I stood before her and she slid off of the couch, kneeling in front of me and our eyes met. She rose up on her knees and, grasping my ass with both hands, slid my cock deep into her mouth. She pulled me towards her, sliding her tongue over the underside of my cock; then moving slowly back she sucked me strongly. Her cheeks concaving with the effort she kept the head in her mouth and grasped the base. She began a rhythmic stroking, her hand meeting her lips half way down my shaft. I reached down and caressed her nipples and she groaned against my cock, increasing her speed. My hips began to move faster and she removed her hand from me, and began to rub her clit. My cock was like a piston moving in and out of her mouth. She took her hand from her clit and moved between my ass cheeks, probing. I groaned loudly as she slid her finger into my ass. She sucked deeply and her tongue came out to lick the underside of my shaft. "I'm gonna cum, baby." I rasped, and her head began to bob franticly. I shot deeply into her mouth and throat again, and again and again. She took all I had deep in her throat, with her nose resting against my stomach her mouth convulsively swallowing. As my spasms subsided she released me from her mouth. From her knees, she looked up at me, a wicked grin on her face. "So," she said. "Lunch again tomorrow, Michael?" To be continued. Walk the Dog! Looking at the clock I knew that I had to get moving so I wouldn't be late completing my newest task in time. I work hard to time the tasks You give me so that I'm finished and ready for You when You arrive home, and today's task will take a little bit more time than some others. Wanting to relive a part of last nights encounter, I grabbed the panties that You used to soak up my sopping wet juices, transforming the cute little white panties into the flavored gag You shoved into my mouth when I needed help being quiet . Stepping into them and pulling them up to mid thigh, I scavenged in my night side stand for the small powerful vibrator that would work perfectly for today's task. Slipping my tiny purple vibrator between my clean shaven lips, I nestled it against my poor swollen clit and clicked the little button turning it on. A very pleasant little buzzing began to work on my clit immediately, only intensifying when I pulled my panties the rest of the way up. A pair of jeans and a thick sweater and I was ready to take the dog for a walk. Sitting down to tug on my boots added more pressure to the vibrator, pressing it firmly up against my awakening clit, causing me to moan just a bit. Each tug on the boots, wiggle while tying the laces or added pressure from bending, left me gasping slightly. Standing up caught me slightly off guard, ripping a moan from my full lips, I had to stop and take a calming breath before walking to the closet for my jacket. With my jacket, scarf and mittens on, I was panting, and the dog still didn't have on her jacket and leash! Another calming breath was needed before I could get the dog ready also. My dog is a mini dachshund, and when you try to put her winter jacket on her, she flips over onto her back and lays there. This forces me to bend at the waist or squat down so I'm able to put her jacket on her. After thinking about that for a second I decided I better bend at the waist, I'm not sure I could have survived the pressure of the vibrator against my clit if I had tried to squat down. When the dog and I are both dressed and ready I started us off on our walk. At first I was a bit worried that despite the fridged temperatures someone would stop me to talk and that they might hear the buzzing sounds coming from my pants. But after just a few minutes of walking, the vibrator's constant buzz kept me busy trying to walk strait. It wasn't long before I hoping that no one as far away as across the street would hear me gasp as I worked to fight back the climax that already threatened to bring me to my knees. About half way threw the walk I had to cover the lower ½ of my face with my scarf so I could muffle my moans of pleasure. The vibrator kept up it's humming and each step I took caused the now very slick vibrator to slip and slide up against my swollen throbbing clit. It was very cold out and my dog wasn't keen on a very long walk, so after a short 20 minute walk we were back home. My legs were trembling a bit and I was panting with my need for release. Growling, I pushed back the climax that had been threatening to over take me for the full second half of our walk, and made very quick work of removing both mine and the dogs winter gear, tossing things in the general direction of where it belonged. I ran for the bathroom, quickly shutting the door so the dog couldn't follow me, and ripped down my snug jeans. Even with the gloves I had been wearing, my fingers were ice cold when my hand dove into my wet panties. The shock of my icy fingers brushing over my pulsing clit as I grabbed the little vibrator in an attempt to stop it's torment almost sent me crashing over the edge I had been rocking on for the past 15 minutes. My legs buckled and I was forced to grab the edge of the sink to keep myself from falling to the bathroom floor. I'm positive that my neighbor had to have heard me moan. After several calming breaths I quickly washed my hands and cleaned the vibrator before taking a seat on the toilet to finish the second half of the task. Spreading my thighs wide the musky scent of my hot wet pussy made me whimper and I couldn't have stopped myself from thrusting 2 fingers deep into my cunt. A half dozen thrusts deep into my wanting pussy and I was once again on the edge of climax. Gritting my teeth, I pulled my hand away from my heated core and thrust my soaking wet fingers into my mouth, stifling my whimpering and any protests I might have tried to voice. At this point I really wanted to cum, and if You had been here I would have begged very nicely to be allowed to cum for You. My body trembled as I took calming breaths and continued to suck the juices from the slick fingers I held to my hungry lips. As I calmed down and my brain once again began to function, I tried to remember how many times I was supposed to bring myself just to the edge of sanity and climax without tumbling over into the abyss. Was it two or three times? Knowing that I had better error on the side of caution, I decided that I would take myself to the edge three times. I had to be positive that I completed the entire task You gave me. Each near orgasm was easily reached with just a few strokes of nimble fingers over my throbbing clit, my slippery fingers gliding easily over hungry flesh. At one point I looked down between my widely spread thighs to see my small red clit standing erect and seeming to beg for just one more touch. At last my task was complete, and though my body screamed for the release it had been denied, I felt as if I were highly tuned into everything else around me. My flesh responded eagerly to the slightest caress of cloth as I stripped myself of the remainder of my clothing. I looked longingly at the shower wishing that I could step in just long enough to warm limbs that were still partially frozen from walking the dog. But I hear Your car pulling into the drive and I must move quickly. Grabbing up my discarded clothes and running naked threw the house, I tossed them into the hamper in my room. With no time to spare, I kept running all the way to the front door, dropping into a kneel just in time to hear Your key rasping in the lock. Kneeling with thighs spread wide, shoulders back with breasts thrust forward, I await Your inspection. The cold breeze that followed You in the door trails over my naked body with it's cold fingers, caressing, slipping down between my legs to torment my heated center. The musky scent of my still damp sex surrounds me, and I know that You can't help but smell my need from where You stand just three feet away. I look up, my desire filled eyes meeting Yours. You chuckle a bit as You ask, "How was your day, girl?" Walk the Dog, Dump the WIfe Totally a work of fiction. If you want reality, try another website. Thanks to Drbob80 for editing this story. This is my first fiction submission anywhere, so wish me luck as you start the read. High Society Beckons Her with a Slick Finger I read recently that when men and women are looking for a mate, they instinctively size each other up with regard to desirable features. Some important attributes include education, age, general appearance, social status, and wealth. No doubt lots of other criteria enter into it as well, for example, children from a previous marriage, generosity, humor, brains, vegetarian, likes to drink a lot, or not. It all depends on the individual. One general assumption is that a guy making $40,000 a year might be OK as a fuck friend for a woman making $120,000, but is not husband material. Despite what you see in Hollywood movies, the wealthy don't marry the hired help, they marry their own. We all know roughly our level of desirability. Taking all into consideration, a man probably won't expect a woman he sees as far above his level of desirability to do more than hook up with him, if that. Maybe we are all sub-consciously thinking that somewhere along the path of courtship and marriage, sooner of later they will decide it was a mistake, and that they can do better. Whether this is true or not, it got me thinking that my wife and I are well matched. We married a bit later than our folks did (in our thirties) and now after three years, we are beginning to talk about starting a family, maybe this fall. We're both decent looking, very clever people, from New England upper working/lower middle class families, if there is such a category. My family made more money than hers. My dad is a successful contactor from Springfield, but my wife's family had more status. She was an 'oops', born to a mother at the end of her child bearing years, married to an older man. Her dad was president of a small bank in town Southwick, Mass. Those were the days when bankers made a decent living, but didn't earn a lot of money. Her dad wore a suit every day and everybody in town knew that sooner or later, they might need to go to him for a loan. He controlled money and people's access to it and because of that, he had status. In our adulthood, we each graduated from college, her from a prestigious private college with no scholarship aid; her mother worked for years to pay the tuition. I graduated from the local state college which I put myself through with a little help from my Dad. Karen majored in art history, with a minor in political science. An interesting field of expertise to be sure, but a tough one to earn enough money to raise a family on. On the other hand, I had the brains to get into a private school and dad certainly had the money, and urged me to do so. From observing my family, I realized that your success in life at our level in the world was more a result of your own initiative and brains, than education. I learned the basics of running a business, and how to think, speak, and write in more or less that order. The local state college suited me fine, especially as I could attend courses at Amherst, Smith, and Mt. Holyoke Colleges more or less at will. I majored in history with a minor in business and took overloads every semester. After two years, I abandoned the liberal arts to get a degree in engineering. I loved learning. I reveled in poetry, literature, and history for my soul, while balancing them with economics and engineering courses to challenge the practical part of my mind. I ignored students whose focus was the party life, and among the serious students, I made several fast friends that I still have to this day. During school, I worked for my dad during summers, and learned the hard work and sweat side of the contracting business. After graduation, I learned the business side. I discovered that while good at it, I didn't enjoy management and new work. (New work means new construction.) I liked old historic buildings, the craftsmen on site, the thrill of discovery as you remove layers of renovation. The sense of accomplishment you feel when you restore them to their former glory. You are honoring architects and craftsman dead 50 years or more by giving new life to their life's work. I also liked to have an active hand in the work. I met an old man who specialized in decorative plaster work, and was seduced by the craft, and his way of working. I spent three years as an apprentice to him, and went on to develop very nice business as a small firm specializing in restoration plaster This included everything from the structural support of the plaster work to decorative painting, gilding and other ornamental work. I knew I wouldn't get rich at what I was doing, but it would provide a very good living. At 32 years of age, I carry on my payroll, my former master, Anthony, his apprentice, a sectary/office manager and one laborer. I hire sub contractors and a host of the best restoration artists and professionals in the business as needed. As a side note, I am nearly through writing a book on restoring decorative plaster work, with Anthony as my co author. Oddly enough, while Karen went to school seven miles away from my school, with three years of overlap, I never met her during those years. Five years after I graduated, I met her in a bar when we were both back visiting our respective folks. Her father had died, and her mom moved to Southampton. Karen had been married and divorced in the interim. She refused to say much about it, other than her husband became abusive which is all one has to say. In getting to know her, we talked about our common experience in and around Northampton. As it happened, she was a bit of a party girl in college. No thought to earning a living, no over loads and no challenging classes. Having said this, you would make a mistake to assume she had a second class mind. She was a smart girl, but lazy. She never learned the pleasure of working on a difficult intellectual puzzle. I now realize this was the curriculum of choice for many of the persons who imagined themselves to be in the upper class. Not much work, lots of fun, and a prestige diploma. The real world comes as a surprise to people like that. She was surprised and a bit jealous to find I had taken courses from some of the same professors she did, although she tended to have taken introductory courses, and I talked my way out of those for the more focused and rigorous upper level ones. It also irked her that I had spent some considerable time at some of these professor's homes, eating at their tables, meeting their wives (or husbands) and discussing art, science and life well into the night. Some of them regularly assist me now when I run into issues of conservation, and don't know exactly what is I am seeing emerge from under the paint I have to remove, or what I have in front of me. The economic upbringing, educational, and regional connection created a bond, but I thought it was our intellect that deepened our relationship into love and finely marriage. The decision as to where we would live was easy. I mentioned at work that Karen was living in Philadelphia, and Anthony announced that as he had family in Philadelphia, we all might as well move there. It was closer to the bigger jobs, and property costs weren't as high, so we did. When I bought our house, the neighborhood was somewhat undesirable. Ours is a lovely Victorian Romanesque style house, faced with cut serpentine stone, a soft stone found locally with a greenish cast. The inside was complete with all of the original stained glass windows and custom woodwork. I re-plastered half of the house, copying the original moldings and plasterwork decoration. You may have seen it as it's been written up in several magazines. Lately, the neighborhood's gentrification has been accelerating, which is good for our investment. The house is worth three or four times what we have in it. Now, however, we are surrounded by folks who earn, or at least make a lot more money than us. Most of my work is for the wealthy, institutions, or the government, so my wife and I have to be socially active. She's got a part time job with the local Democratic Party, and our social life has changed from a dinner and movie, to a dinner and a play, or the symphony. I've had to buy a black suit, and a couple of $50 ties. Now, I cannot reliably pronounce the names of the French Impressionist painters with the proper accent, but one of the growing differences between us is that Wifey can, and looks down on those who cannot. I am always clean and well dressed, but prefer an understated look. Actually I admire the way the relatively few wealthy ones who come from old money dress. Superb quality, but never wear the brand names added onto cheaply made clothing from China. No logos showing, my casual cloths are worn, but not worn out. Our neighbors are similar to most people who are doing well for them selves. In my opinion they are over groomed, diet to the point of becoming scrawny, and show their class insecurity by wearing outrageously expensive designer clothing, with the labels on the outside so they can impress their peers. Jan, our neighbor's wife is very proud of a hugely expensive watch that looks like a Chihuahua's collar. No taste. Despite my enjoyment of physical work, my business has shifting from me doing it myself, to me undertaking the business end of restoration. I still work with my hands and body as much as possible. I figured out that if my back goes out I can't work, so I work out three times a week to ensure that I stay flexible and my muscle tone is good enough to keep me from getting hurt. However, I also like to eat, and while the weight lifting maintains muscle mass, it doesn't do so much about calories. My weight has been edging up a bit, and my business down a bit, thanks to the recession. Last February, I noticed that shirts marked large didn't fit so well when I sat down. While not obese, I do have a belly that I have to admit is larger than is convenient. By contrast, Wifey has, as they use to say "kept her shape." It also occurred to me that my very desirable wife is surrounded with high earning, good looking, trim males, and I don't look too good by comparison. Further, I rationalized that you do have to call a stop to waist line creep somewhere, or you risk becoming a circus attraction. So when my daughter dumped her 125 pound, two year old mutt named Prince Caspian on us (Cas for short), I used him to make a change in my life. Since I work out of our home much of the time, I got the job of primary caregiver to the dog, taking him for walks, while my Karen does the brushing, and the occasional bath. After a bit, she decided to rename the dog, and Wifey settled on Hubris. I wondered if she might have been thinking of Cerberus, the big three headed dog guarding the gates of Hades. She sometimes uses one word when she means another, but the words were a bit too different for that. Or maybe she liked the nickname Hubie, and didn't realize it was short for Hubert. I didn't much care for the name, but what the hell, Hubris it was, except when I had to holler it on the street. Then, I shortened it to Bris. The dog doesn't seem to mind us calling him different names One of the jobs of dog ownership is walking the dog, which should certainly be more than short defecatory rambles. Hubris is a remarkably good looking fellow. People stop us to admire him. Well formerly a 'he.' There are a few essential bits missing now. Hubris isn't satisfied with a quick stroll around the block, unless the weather is rotten. He likes to get a good, long walk. I started walking the dog several miles a day, and discovered I really liked to walk. In no time, I had lined up my days' phone calls, and we did a walk and call. We would spend an hour, walking three miles every morning while I got my calling in. From there it was a short hop to jogging half a mile, walking a half mile, jogging half, so we were covering four miles in an hour. I pushed it to five miles an hour, but the dog was struggling, so we settled on 4 miles an hour. At the same time, I shifted my diet as well, reducing the helpings of meat and eating more vegetables and a salad (No prepared salad dressing, home dressings made balsamic vinegar, a bit of olive oil, and cheese). I use to joke that you couldn't neglect a belly like mine, you had to feed it three times a day, or it would shrivel up to nothing. Although it began to shrivel I really didn't feel I was culinarily deprived, just eating right. I had dropped from 225 to 200 pounds before Wifey remarked: "Have you lost weight, or something? Those pants are a bit too big." "Nah hon, I probably was never as fat as you remember me to be. Seriously, these pants were always a little big." We support two of the local charity resale shops and since I wear kind of generic men's cloths, it was easy to donate my big chinos and jeans and buy smaller ones that fit. All of the cloths are slightly worn, and all look pretty much the same as the clothes I've always worn. Wifey has a few quirks, one that she inherited from her mother, who was an out and out hippy flower child (who married a banker? Go figure!). Neither woman liked perfume, or scented deodorants, and didn't use anything but clear nail polish. Her natural smell is quite pleasant, but you have to have your nose close to notice it. It was remarkable, then, when she came home one Thursday with some perfume on. Thinking she was perhaps advertising her availability for loving, I gave her a hug, followed by a nuzzle and kiss in expectation, but no, apparently tonight was not the night. She went upstairs to shower before supper, which was another unusual event. It may have been the rejection of amorous intent that got me to thinking it had been a while since we made love. Perhaps a couple of weeks ago? And god knows when the last time was that she initiated love making. I had brought this issue up before, about me always asking for loving, and never her. I had even suggested marriage counseling. She claimed that she loved me very much, but at this time in her life, she had a weak libido and that was that. So, did the perfume come from a sample at a department store? I looked in her purse, but nothing there. At supper, nothing was out of place, the conversation was normal and there was casual affection. I was suspicious, and yes, I felt stupid going though the hamper looking for cum stains on her underwear. I didn't really expect any, and saw none. Over the next week, I checked our phone records, and computer, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. On subsequent Tuesdays, I smelled the same perfume on her, but never found the bottle. I didn't ask Wifey as I figured I would get a bullshit answer, and yet I couldn't fine anything obviously amiss. One evening she did mention a job at the Art Museum she was going to apply for. I mentioned; "I know Tomas Hoving, the business manager over there quite well. What's the job? Do you want to meet him?" The response was cold water. "No Chris, I don't want your friends to try to get me a job. I want to do it on my own." "Well be assured that they won't give you a job no matter who recommends you. I can get you the interview with the right person. It's up to you from there. But please yourself." What the hell, I thought, go for it, girl. Still, I thought nothing untoward about her changing jobs. So what can you do? Look for changes in behavior, and hope they mean nothing. My weight got down to 190 during all of this, and my leg muscles had bulked up a bit frankly I looked good and felt good. I slept well, my pecker stood at attention every morning when I woke up. Even Wifey noticed and complimented me on my appearance. Not that it resulted in anything like a surge in our lovemaking, but I began to notice other women now went a bit out of their way to chat with me. I must admit this latter bit generally occurred when I was walking the dog. Dogs do make people more accessible to chat. But the chats were increasingly broken off by me, or the dog, as he is not interested in long talks when he wants to be walking. The dog walks soon got boring, starting as they did from the house every day, so first as a treat, and later as a habit, the dog and I began taking a taxi to other areas around about four miles from our house. We'd get dropped off out there, and then walk home. One Tuesday, as is my custom, I was up before Karen, made coffee for myself, and tea for her. I was reading the paper when she came down for breakfast. "Fruit plate on the table, English Muffins by the toaster. My don't you look nice. What's with the shoes? You need to wipe the dust off of them. You've been wearing sandals for the last month or more." "Well, I thought they would look nice with this dress." "Isn't that a summer sun dress? I'd have thought sandals more in keeping with the season." "Chris, no one asks you for fashion advice, do they? There's a reason for that. I have a full day in the office, but I'll be home at the usual time. What's on your schedule today?" "I have to see Keasing Construction, they got the contract to restore the Royal Theater, and there's so much decorative work that if I get the job, I'm going to have to hire more help. Looking it over could take all day. Other than that, I'll be here when you get home." The site is a bit of a walk from our place, so the dog and I took a cab. The theater is a huge auditorium built in 1925. It's suitable for movies or live acts, with 1,750 seats and saved by a local college last year from the wrecking ball. It was one of the driving forces in the rehabbing of what could be a lovely neighborhood. However, it was a pain in my ass. Sam Keasing didn't have a copy of the specification, and wasn't sure what I should include in my bid, other than the plaster work. I explained that of course, he could pay us to put up scaffolding, do the plaster work, and pay take it down. Then he could pay the painters and gilders to put scaffolding back up, and pay them to take it down again, but where was the savings in that? Plus, we would know what plaster needed weeks to dry, and what could be done right away. Letting me do it all would save at least a couple of months in completing the job. I think I sold him on expanding my scope. Kermit Keasing (love the alliteration) normally does new work, but as times are tough, he took this job, and was a bit out of his element. I spent a lot of time taking pictures and crawling all over the place, getting some idea of the extent of the damage. The dog did easy time and snoozed peacefully for about three hours. I was about done by eleven thirty, and glad I was to be out in the air again. Hubris and I set out in the general direction of home, but I was hungry and wanted to check out a block of restaurants I had read about in the Sunday paper. By 12:30, we had walked about two miles, and were traversing the restaurants, each with sidewalk seating out front. Both the dog and I were interested in the smells of food. I was surveying the lot to figure out what appealed to me. At the next to the last restaurant, I spotted my wife at an outside table, close to the building. She was clearly holding hands with a well dressed older man. She probably would have noticed me if she wasn't so focused with happy intensity on what her dinner companion was saying. Of course, she didn't expect me to be there, and the dog was hidden by the other tables and a row of little potted bushes and such, so he hadn't given us away. If there had been any doubt as to it being her, the dog picked his nose up and gave a gentle woof, recognizing her scent. I put him in the heel position, lest he lunge into the restaurant, and walked past them. My mind was racing, with thoughts ranging from denial, to homicidal rage. I continued around the block while my head cleared, until I came to the point where they were in view again. I was sure I didn't recognize the guy. He was clearly older than her, by twenty years, and had the look of money about him. By now, the table had been cleared and coffee served. Walk the Dog, Dump the WIfe I had stalled as long as I could, I had to make a decision, attack, flee, or hide and follow them. What really decided it was that Wifey's back was to me, so I could approach un-recognized. I put the dog in the heel position, and walked up to them, keeping my eyes on the folks at the table next to them, so Studley wouldn't connect my approach with them. As I closed in I saw Wifey had her shoe off, and was rubbing his leg with her foot, which sported red nail polish. As I came abreast of the table, I picked up an empty chair, and sat down at their table, clearly startling the two of them. "Karen, I was just walking by, and saw you here! Who's the new man?" She visibly jumped, and yanked her hand out of his, with a look of panic in her eyes. While the dog was pestering her with his exuberant, doggy greeting, I nudged her shoe out of reach, and stuck out my hand to Studly. "Hi, I'm Chris Harlow...?" The habits of courtesy carry us through all embarrassment. "Archibald Morgan'", and with no prompting, "I help out at the party office with Karen." "Archie, this is my husband, Chris, and our dog Hubris. What are you doing here?" "Gee, I asked you first. What you two are doing here. You tell me." Her foot with 'Fuck Me red' painted toenails was scrambling around under the table trying to find her shoe. "Oh, just having lunch." "...and your plans for afterwards?" "We're going back to work. Of course!" "Oh, of course!...Well good. That relieves my mind. When I saw you holding hands, and you playing footsie under the table with your slut red toes, I thought that this might be a local Democratic sequel to Bill and Monica. You're not a cigar smoker, are you Archibald?" I heard a guffaw from the table behind me, but Studley smirked, and shook his head. "Afraid not." "Planning to put something else in then, I suppose. Well you folks get along with your afternoon. It's a long cab ride back to your office from here. Karen, I assume you'll be home at the regular time? I'll have supper ready and a dessert, so please don't bother bringing home a cream pie." I don't think she knew what a cream pie is because she looked befuddled. The guys behind me did. Another chuckle and a slightly embarrassed grin came from Studley. "Chris, I resent your insinuations. This is nothing more than a lunch." I stood up, and returned the chair to the table where I found it, and glanced directly at the two guys, probably gay, behind me who had been hanging on every word, so I asked them: "Well jury of two, since you are unknown to the principles here gathered I ask you, can this woman be believed?" "Hell no, buddy! They were talking about how to communicate with each other when they're away from the office, without you finding out. Archie, as she calls him, arrived with two throwaway cell phones, and gave her one. It's in her purse. They were planning to go to his house this afternoon." "Sorry dear, the jury has voted for conviction. The judge will now retire and consider the sentence. By the way, keep the phone, Karen, you may need it soon. Come Hubris, let's go." To the guys, "She named the dog!" They laughed "It figures!" When I resumed to my walk, I felt bad. Awful actually! But I thought I had made the right decision. I felt bad because I really loved Karen, but I rather thought she was now out of my life. In fact, I had lost my appetite for both her and for lunch. You can only loose someone's trust once. After that, you may say 'of course I trust you', but it's not like before. I wondered who exactly Archibald was to her. The obvious options were fuck friend, male shoulder to cry on during the divorce she was planning, or the long-awaited love of her life and her new husband. I called my younger sister, who is also self-employed, and a 'Fact Checker' for assorted media. In essence, if a news source claims so and so divorced in 1978, my sister checks the fact. She's very good at digging information out of the internet. "Hey Sis, you on line at the moment?" "Yea! Why? You and big Hubie get lost again?" "Nope. Big secrete, though. It's completely legal, but very confidential. You can't tell anyone in the family about what I need you to do." "You're kidding." "Nope. Go on line and look up Archibald Morgan. He's about 60 years old, and lives in the Philly. I want to know all the dirt about him. Credit rating, marriage, money, etc. If you have to pay to get into data bases I'll pay you back. Call me on my cell phone when you get some good stuff. The deadline is 5PM." "I can do it, Chris, but why the secrecy? What's happening?" "I think Karen may be getting interested in him. I need your help now." "You got it. Off the top of my head, I recall Morgan is from old money, but has none himself. Bit of a rotter...married to Elizabeth Waldrup Morgan, who has beaucoup bucks, and's a society maven. Archibald is a man about town, who does nothing, but is accepted socially because of his wife of many years. Don't loan him money, and regard anything he says with suspicion. That's the nut shell biography. I'll get some specifics by 5PM" "I especially wanted to know how much money he has. How the hell do you know all that off the top of your head?" "Well, like I say, he gets around and is in the papers quite a bit. That and I did the fact checks on a book about his father a few years ago. I'm drawing a blank on the author's name, but it felt like I wrote half of the book!" "Great, look forward to hearing from you later, and thank you." Well, well, well! Knowing the enemy is the key to winning the battle! As I was walking by anyway, I rummaged in the two or three trash cans nearest to our house, but didn't find what I now suspected I might find sooner or later. Obviously the next step was Karen's. She could have skipped work and beat me home, or keep me waiting while she fucked Archie dry and try to come up with a good story. I guessed the former if Arch was a passing fancy, and the latter if our marriage was over. Happily it was the former, she was home and perhaps Archie was a passing fancy. She greeted me earnestly. "Chris, I'm sorry, it wasn't what you think! Arch is going through a divorce, and needed someone to talk with, that was all." "And?" "And what?" "Look, I want you to tell me what, in detail, with dates and places what's been going on, especially on Tuesdays and Thursdays." "And I'm telling you, Chris, nothing's been going on! I love you." "Hmmmm. So this was the first time you dressed especially for him, and hid the nail polish from me. You know that was wrong. The two of you hid across town to have an intimate lunch followed by an afternoon fucking a sucking in the house of the guy you wanted to help, where you could offer consolation for his marital worries in private...make dear Archie feel...what, less unloved? Out of kindness, but overcoming great personal disgust, hold his hand, and give him a hard on as you reassured his masculine vanity." "You make it sound so shabby! It wasn't like that!" "So tell me how it was then, 'cause surely it's not true that nothing happened between you." "But nothing did happen..." My cell phone rang. As I reached for my cell phone Karen said "Leave it Chris, they'll call back." Grabbing the phone I responded "Ah! This conversation isn't going anywhere anyway; you're still in damage control mode... Hello...no I'm not...OK...What was the outcome of that? It would seem so. OK, let me know. Bye." It was my sister, announcing that Archie and his wife just celebrated their 30th wedding anniversary. And there was an allegation against Archie of rape and related pictures of at least two naked women posted on the internet. He allegedly got them into his study, fucked 'em and what not in front of hidden cameras. He was OK up to that point, but then they showed up on an internet porn site he is suspected to have a part ownership in. It was hushed up, partly because it was all he said/she said, and there was no proof who posted the pictures. One of the women did get a good chunk of money out of Archie or his wife. No one knows. He owns no property, no business partnerships. His net worth is about $300,000 and falling. Mine is about $300,000 and rising. "Archie is a nice guy, and his wife doesn't understand him! Right! Listen Karen. I'd love to hear the fairy tale you've concocted, but I've not the patience. I'm going out for a while to lower my blood pressure..." I walked back to the door, "I'll be back in an hour or two, and then we'll decide what to do." She followed me to the door repeating her claim of innocence, and got the door shut her face. I continued walking in the direction Hubey and I had been taking to get to our house, checking the trash cans as I went. In the bin on the corner, I hit pay dirt under some papers and such. I had a nice coffee in the D&D coffee shop, and even indulged in a real cream puff that Donna makes herself. She keeps the shells in the pastry case, but fills them with egg custard to order so that the crust doesn't get soggy. Absolutely delicious. I read the paper there, to soak up the hour I figured Wifey needed come to her senses, or to cook up a better story. I strolled back to the house, took a pee in the hall toilet, poured myself a glass of wine, and sat down with my red eyed wife. "So, where were we! I believe you had floated the fiction that nothing happened, you were loyal and true, helping the lovelorn, which is a group you may soon be joining if you don't tell me exactly what's been going on." "But I told you, nothing happened. Nothing's been going on!" "Look you silly cow. Vague denials are not convincing. Stuff has been going on for a month or more, so tell me what's happening. I really don't know if you have anything to gain by doing so, but I assure you, you have nothing to loose. As things stand, you're on your way out the door. I know more than you give me credit for, and your story better align with what I do know." All right. I swear nothing happened! I began working with Archie back in May, and I was drawn to him. He has human magnetism. At the time, our marriage was going stale, boring sex, same old story, and I was feeling old. Archie's well off, from old money, and is connected to everybody who is anybody in this city. He has his problems too and he began confiding in me. We started going out to lunch on Tuesdays so that we could talk. Certainly he didn't want his personal troubles to be office gossip. I think I did him some good. He was really broken up...his wife was sleeping around with unsuitable people." "Oh, indeed. It's much better when they sleep around with suitable people, preferably their betters. Much less painful for the wronged spouse" "That's not what I mean." "Possibly, but it's what it sounded like. So old father figure Archie began to woo you with the 'my wife doesn't understand me' line? Where did he take you to dinner, and what did he give you for gifts?" "He never gave me anything of consequence!" "So what little token things did he give you?" "Some perfume. Took me to a department store the second or third week to help him find a gift for his wife, and wanted my advice. We went into the perfume department. He wanted something she might think was sexy to inspire her, and wanted my advice on what scents might do that. I gave him my opinion. I tried half a dozen, and finely picked one...But I only said I thought it was very nice for his wife, of course. The next time I saw him, he gave me a bottle of it. It was quite innocent." "Right. He suggested perfume for someone you never met, you picked it out. One you thought was erotic. He bought it for you, and asked you to wear it, to connect your body to his face! It was all so innocent that you never mentioned him, your shopping expedition or the perfume to me. Ah I take that back, you mentioned seeing him greeting Anne, your boss. Hug, kiss, and hand grabbing the cheek of her ass. You said she laughed, and kissed him, as though they were once lovers. Your words, not mine. So where is this perfume that your other man gave you. The one that makes you feel like having sex? I'd like to see it. Try it out actually." "...I left it at work." "So you wore it for just for him when ever he took you out, because he bought it just for you, and he thought it got your cunt wet knowing why you were putting it on. Mustn't bring it home, though, lest hubby find it. Our little secret. I get the picture. Where did he tell you to apply the perfume?" "I know it must look that way, but I wasn't thinking. I was being kind. I didn't want to hurt him by rejecting him, and he's an older gentleman, so he's not so...so politically correct as people our age." "Again, where did he tell you to apply the stuff?" "As you know, I don't wear perfume, but I do know where to put it. He told me the usual places, on the wrists, the neck, between the bres...I checked on line. He told me correctly." "Yes, certainly. Between your tits, where he was planning to have his nose at some point. By the way, how much did this bottle cost?" ""Why I don't..." I slammed my hand flat on the table with a smack, and she jumped. "Cut the shit. Of course you know. He bought it right in front of you, and had to have mentioned it to you. He wanted to impress you. So how much?" Karen's lip quivered "It was outrageous, $275 for a small bottle." "Now we're starting to see the bigger picture in context Karen. In guys, what you've been doing is called letting the small head do the thinking. In your case your cunt lips were whispering to you. But do continue. This was still in August, wasn't it? When did he get on to you about your clothing?" "My god, how..." "Just go on. Also, you need to tell me when and where you went with him." "Well, the first two times it was just to a little Italian restaurant in South Philly. After that, mostly in the neighborhood were you saw us. It was the end of August. He said it was where it was happening. He and a number of others had been buying properties there, and the area was taking off. I met him at the Blue Squash; it's a Mexican fusion place. He gave me the perfume at lunch, I dabbed some on, and later the waitress asked what the scent was that I was wearing, that it had her a bit aroused!..." "Did he get there first?" She nodded yes "So he primed the waitress to say that when she, what, picked up the plates?" "She was clearing the table. No. He wouldn't have done that, I mean how could he? Maybe he did? I mean, now that you mention it, I really can't imagine a waitress coming out with a comment like that, right out of the blue. He did tell me a lot of bullshit about how I stirred him and such. I paid no attention to his flattery." "And about your choice of clothing?" "Geez, that was nothing. Shortly after I first met him in the office. I think we had lunch right around the corner from work. Part of his patter of flattery, and good advice. You know, I had such nice legs and all, but I would benefit from a more professional look. I should wear dresses and skirts but bare legged with sandals. And button down blouses with a bit of jewelry. Any way, the lunches were nothing much. We sort of commiserated with one another about life..." "Be specific, what did he lead you into bitching about?" "Well where my career was going. I mean, Chris, Archie's a talent spotter in this city. He got my boss her job, and he's helped lots of other people get ahead. He connects talented people in one organization with an opportunity in other organizations. He was telling be about a job with the Art Museum, that would be perfect for me. It was gossip, of course, but real inside stuff. They don't advertise the good jobs on Monster, you know. And, as he had confided in me about his marital troubles, I mentioned what you had said about our marriage and what not." "What not?" "Well, you know, us having a chilly sex life right now, and difficulties talking about important stuff, not seeing eye to eye. That sort of thing." "Excellent conversation. He told you in effect 'stick with me babe, and I'll get you a better job with more money, and you responded by telling him that you hadn't had a good fucking in ages. I bet his ears and cock picked up when he hear that!" Her eyes watered up a bit. "Chris, you turn everything into something...sordid. It wasn't like that at all. He was thoughtful and kind!" "He is a master, Karen. Everything he said had two sides. On one side he was kind, and protective, but on the other hand it was demanding and controlling. We are both seeing the truth, like a coin having two sides. Anyway, go on, the first lunch date across town..." "The Blue Squash was so-so. Well after lunch we took a cab back across town, when we were a couple of blocks from the office, the driver damn near took a corner on two wheels, and I flew across the seat and landed in a jumble on Archie. I was embarrassed to fall all over him like that, you know. Archie had the driver stop the cab, right there, and we got out and walked around the block to the office. " I can read her like a book "You skipped something just now didn't you? When you were thrown on top of Archie?" "Ho...w...It's not important, but...well he did kiss me. But look! It wasn't premeditated, or anything, just, you know, be being tossed into him. Almost a reflex, a thing of the moment. That's all." I stood up. "Well, I'll see you after supper. I'm going out to eat by myself. There's no point in continuing this conversation, if you keep trying to hide what you were doing. If your still here when I get back, we can try for the last time, for complete honesty." "What do you mean, Chris?" I called the dog and put his collar on. Good day for the dogs, all that walking. Bad day for me. "I'll tell you what happened, you silly cow, yes you slid on top of him. You ever have a cab swerve like that for no reason. I never have. As he got in, he slipped the cabby $20 and a note telling him to take a hard left turn towards the end of the ride. It was planned. You skidded across the seat on to him. He kissed you quite firmly and deliberately, and after a shocked pause, you kissed back with tongue work. The next thing you knew, he had his hands on your tits, among other places, Right?" She was horrified. I mean pole axed. My educated guess was right on the mark. "My god, Chris. Why am I talking? You know it like you were their! I'm genuinely weirded out over this." "Come on Hubris, let's take a walk. This house is more than full enough of hubris, half truths, and outright lies, with Karen here." Hubris had a nice dump for himself, and sniffed up three dogs. All in all, a successful walk for him. Sis called me to say Elizabeth Morgan had been in France for the last three weeks, and wouldn't be back for another month. Plus, Archie's been named in three divorces, although the records were sealed on two of them. The last tidbit, Archie's 66 years old. I thanked her, and told her that was probably enough for my purposes. I stopped at a small diner where the floor was clean enough for the dog to lay down, not that he cared. They had a delicious veal shank with fresh fava beans on special. When I got back, I poured another small glass of wine for myself and one for Wifey, while giving the dog the shank bone. I sprawled out in the chair opposite her. "So, where were we. Oh yes, you were trying to hold back the knowledge of your first wet/tongue kiss with Archie, and his first grope of your tits and what not. Plus how sexually excited you were, no doubt due to the perfume. Now I mentioned before that you were to tell me everything, and you're not doing that. I'm serious, I want the bald truth, or you can get your ass out the door right now. You can spend the next few weeks at Archie's house; Elizabeth is in France for the next few weeks. Or, you can live there as a maid with benefits, for all I care. Am I clear on that?!" Walk the Dog, Dump the WIfe "Yes Chris, very clear. How do you know Elizabeth Morgan? I don't know how you know all this, but that's what happened. We were both shocked at our instinctive reactions, and stumbled over each other with apologies. We were practically at the office, and like I said, Archie had the cabbie pull over so we could regain our deportment before we went into the building." There was a long pause, I suppose where she was deciding if there was anything she dare not tell me. "The week before last, we went to a really great West Indian French restaurant, really just a hole in the wall restaurant...." "So now you are at the point where you are voluntarily marking yourself with his scent and wearing clothes he approves of, that give him easy access to your tits and pussy. Is this the week with the under garments, or did that come earlier and you forgot to mention it?" I hit another nerve. She burst out crying and ran out of the room, sobbing as she went. I sipped some wine, and started to read the paper. She came out of the john about ten minutes later, red eyed, with a snivel or two. "I am so sorry. You knew everything all along! Why didn't you say something and stop me? You never let on!" "Later, go on, the West Indian jerked chicken, neon lights, cheap tables and chairs, really spicy great tasting food!" "Yes, well I don't know what brought it up, but Archie had been talking earlier about women willingly wearing uncomfortable underwear, like girdles in the old days, and now a days bras and thongs, and such, what cheap uncomfortable things they were. That most women didn't know what really good underwear was." Well, and I thought it would be the old line 'Take off your underpants in the restaurant' line. Archie's an original alright! Something new under the sun. "He reached into his brief case, and handed me a very elegant box, saying "Here, this is for you. Try them out and let me know which is more comfortable, these, or what you have on now." Of course I started to open it. "Don't open it here! This is too shabby a place for these." As he tapped his finger on the box. Since I am trying to be honest, we necked like teenagers in the cab back to the office." I knew I had a glum look on my face. "Chris, this is really hard for me to kiss and tell..." "It's not so easy to hear it, either, but we need the catharsis to heal. Go on." "He slipped a couple of buttons on my blouse, and shoved my bra up, and fondled my boob, and pinched my nipple. That felt good, but my bra rucked up like that hurt. I admit, I rubbed his penis through his pants, I thought it felt quite fat. He unzipped, but I ignored that. And yes, I lay back and let him touch my pussy. He was rough, and it hurt, him trying to stick a finger in. I stopped him, telling him not here, and straightened myself up. He didn't argue, but asked me to just cuddle, so I did." "While he continued to fondle your tits. While you just cuddled" She nodded, looking at the floor. "You arrived back at the office, or here? By the way tell me about the panties. What was so special? And the price?" "He's never been here. Honest. He dropped me off at the office, and the underpants. I've never seen anything like them. They don't look the least bit erotic...nothing like that. At first glance dowdy, even. But pure, tightly woven silk, carefully hand stitched. He forgot to check the inside. The price was still on them. $75 each, and there were three pair in the box, one red, one black, and one white. They were sort of like very short legged boxer shorts, beautifully made and in the crotch, there was a silk pocket, and you could slide a cotton handkerchief like thing into the pocket, if you needed them to be...more absorbent. I tried a pair on at the office, and they were heavenly. Like I was naked underneath, only rubbing like silk against me. Of course they were silk! I couldn't stand it, I was so hot, I came home and attacked you that night. Emmm!" "I don't remember seeing them." "Be serious, I couldn't let you see them. I changed in the office, and kept them in the office." "The price wasn't left in the box by accident you fool. You are impressed people with money to burn, and it's important for the seduction that you be impressed. Go on!" "To continue... So last week, we went to lunch at a French restaurant over on Second and Olive. I know your going to ask, yes, I chose the white ones.'' "I doubt that you chose them. You sure Arch didn't express a preference for the white ones?" "Well, maybe, now that you mention it, he did. Anyway, it didn't matter." Right, I thought, he played her like the master he was, always asking for more, always something that would be easy to say yes to, to get her in the habit of agreeing, expecting to do things to please him. "This is when he asked you to show him that you were wearing his gift, there in the restaurant?" She went orbital. "Jeasus H Christ, Chris, did you put a hidden mike in my purse. I made sure nobody saw that, and he never mentioned or emailed, or spoke about it. Answer me. God damn it! How did you know?" "There's no microphone. Go look in your various purses! See if there's a bug. Seeing is believing, as we mentioned earlier. I have a very active male mind, and I am very good at deductive logic, that's all. You barely understood what he said to you, I understand what he was doing. " "All right, whatever. We were sitting side by side in the booth, me on the inside. He asked to see his gift, so I looked around, and lifted my dress only high enough for him to see my underpants. "See, you interpreted the word 'his gift' to be the underpants he gave you. Equally his words referred to your cunt, which was going to be his gift from you! Two sides to everything. Your conscious mind understood one side, but subconsciously you weren't innocent. You understood where things were going." "I don't think so. Oh shit! Maybe you're right! Anyway, we had a lovely prix-fixe lunch. The waiter spoke French, as does Archie, by the way, and he ordered for me. It was one of the best meals I've ever had! Mostly we talked about the Democratic party, and what was really going to happen this fall." "And the likelihood that you would be working for the Art museum by then." "We did talk about that, it looks like a sure thing, it really does." "Even though you haven't been interviewed for the job. And you had sex in the booth, after all that peeking at pussy, eating sophisticated food, and... talking?" "I am ashamed of myself. But, it wasn't sex. More like heavy petting. He pushed my skirt up, took a dab of olive oil, and slipped his hand under my panties, and he rubbed my pussy. I whispered to stop it, but he told me to shut up, I was drawing attention to myself. I think the waiter might have known, because I had an orgasm, just as he set the plates down. I could see Archie had his penis out...it looked funny lying on a white napkin like a sausage. I dabbed some olive oil on my left hand, and jacked him off with one hand, while I ate with the other. Mostly he shot into the napkin, but a little got on my hand. He made me lick my hand clean, and watched me do it. Sick-o, eh?" "No, not at all. Very erotic, sex in public, but hidden. A shared secret adventure. Further practice for you to submit to him. I bet he was ready again by the time you got in the cab. You sucked his cock?" "I had to, as you apparently already know. You probably also know how big his penis was, too, and weather he was cut or not." "Good points. I'm just using the brains god gave me. But this is your story, so since you brought it up, give me the blow by blow and tell me about his equipment." "Oh god, do I have to. All right. We got in the cab, and he pulled his coc...penis out, right there in broad daylight. I whispered 'Stop that! People will see it!" He pulled me close to him, and whispered with his lips brushing my ear, sending shivers down my body "No they won't my randy pussy, because your hair will screen it from sight." And he unbuttoned my blouse to my bra, and pushed my head into his lap! I couldn't fight, for god sake, the cabby was right there. Actually his penis was ordinary, circumcised if you must know. It smelled stale, and a little like pee. But whatever, I had no choice, so I sucked his penis, like you said. He kept pinching my nipples and boobs through my bra, muttering these dirty words that made me feel cheap, telling me what to do. I have to admit I was excited too. He kept me at it for a really long time, my jaw was getting sore, but he didn't have much left in him when he did come." "So you knelt down, symbolically of course, as you were sitting on the seat of the cab, before him, in full submission, and worshiped his cock, swallowed a bit of cum, and all you got in return was a sore tit from his not so gentle squeezing while you prostituted yourself for him. By the way, when was he going to put in a good word for you at the Art Museum, and did he mention who his contact was?" She visibly relaxed at what she saw as an easy question "Actually he did. Just after we ordered. Next week, Wednesday he was having lunch with Tom Hoovering. He's the person to see." "So you would have to be 'nice' to him today? And as a correction, you were Hoovering Archie; the guy at the museum is Tomas Hoving. It irritates him no end to be called Tom, and Tomas would never go to lunch with an idiot like Archie. I have lunch with Tomas and Howard Goldman in a local pub three or four times a year. I offered to introduce you, if you recall, but you wouldn't have it. Well we all value stuff we pay for more than what we can have for free. By the way, you didn't mention his gift of the nail polish. When did he give it to you?" "It arrived at the office last week." "And the note that came with it?" "Chris, how could you know about the note?" "Karen! The note!" "Well he knew I didn't wear nail polish, but he asked as a favor for me to wear it today. I just painted it on last night." "Just on your toes, so you could wear shoes and hide it from me?" A sheepish nod from Wifey. "Well, good! Another visible sign of your willingness to wear his mark and surrender to him completely. What did he tell you were going to do this afternoon?" "Well, just that he had some antiques that had been in his family for two hundred and fifty years, and in a beautifully restored house. The Museum borrowed several of the better pieces of furniture for the Rococo Chippendale special exhibit a few years ago. They have offered him over a million dollars for the desk alone. Well, of course I was interested. I mean how often do you get a chance to see something like that?" "And what did you think you would have to do to please Archie? And get the good word in with Hoving?" "Well, that's just it. I was calling a halt to it all. Him forcing me to suck him was just...the end. I mean I'm married, after all! Nothing more was going to happen. I swear! I was/am done with him just as soon as lunch was over!" "So sweet innocent you. You left the house this morning planning to end the affair before it exceeded Bill Clinton's definition of sex. Yet you told the office you would be gone for the rest of the day. To prepare to give Archie the bad news that it was all over between the two of you...you went to work prepared exactly as Archie asked you to, with shining fuck-me-red nails on your toes, with matching red silk underpants on you cunt, with his perfume on your tits! Face it! You were planning to spend the afternoon alone with him in his house. You already had exchanged French kisses, let him play with your tits, finger fuck and masturbate you. You gave him a hand job, a blow job, and bought some condoms to use at his house. And now you think me dumb enough to believe you weren't planning to fuck him?" "I didn't have any condoms!" "Oh yes you did. That's why you about shit yourself when the gay guys said he gave you a cell phone and it was in your purse. If I had looked in your purse I'd have see this." I pulled the discarded cell phone out of my pocket, "And these." I reached back into my pocket, and tossed an unopened three pack of condoms: "Lubricated, ribbed, with a cum cup in the tip. Just like a good little slut, be prepared." "Chris, how...,where..." "From the trash can on the corner of 6th and Sycamore, where you dumped them when you got out of the cab, that's where they're from. They were tucked together inside a folded newspaper. Look you dumb cunt, the son of a bitch was setting you up and you eagerly allowed the old fart to seduce you. Oh yes you'd probably see the house. But in his study, in front of hidden video cameras, you would have had a pork infusion from that rotter, the least of the blue bloods. Then, if you tried to break off with him, he would have had pictures that would ruin you and your marriage. In a month or two, when he had fucked your ass and made you suck his shit streaked cock, he could do any damn thing he wanted with you. Oh, I can't believe that. He was really nice!" "Karen, he's played you like a violin. From the start, he got your sympathy, flattered you, promised you entry to what you wanted. You have your nose pressed firmly against the windows of the houses of the upper class and he knows it. He worked diligently getting you to yield more and more control to him. The worse thing is you decided that you wanted what you thought he could deliver, and were willing to fuck him and dump me to get it. You knew very early on where this was going, didn't you?" "No, I really didn't, it was so gradual. Each thing was a little more than before...but" "But nothing! I was a drag on your ambitions, holding you back from 'the right people'...his people run things, you think. Wear his scent to connect your tits to his face. Let him cover your cunt with his underpants. Wear them for him, feel how the other half lives. Kisses forced, but impulsive, accidental. Next time given as a right. The outrage of public masturbation in a restaurant, for god's sake. Each previous liberty now his due. Sucking him off, the first of the three holes you were going to give him. Well, he didn't get you to his house to fuck you today, but that's not his fault, is it. You were willing and eager until you panicked when you saw me." "No it wasn't like that; it was...like I was under a spell. I love you Chris." "You think so? But you want to fuck Archie. You think living with me will prevent you from reaching you goals. I'm too rough, too working class. Your starter husband. You want to be in society. That was Archie's hook. You swallowed it and his cum. Hiding it from me, because you knew if I found out, it would end our marriage and it wasn't convenient for you to make the break...not just yet." "But I don't love Archie. I love you!" "You were dumb enough to think that Archie would divorce his wife, and enjoy having you as trophy wife! You would inherit a pot of money when he kicked off. You never checked! He's got less than we have! He owns no property. None. He has a spendthrift trust. The 250 year old furniture is bullshit. It's his wife's! His wife of 30 years had all of the money and prestige. He's the joke of Philadelphia society, tolerated only because his wife gives out tons of money! The guy is a whore master, willing to fuck anything that comes his way. The only guy in town with a part ownership in a pornographic website that lost money. Well guess what. Remember what I said about the wealthy fucking the wrong sort of people? You're not society, so his wife really doesn't care if he fucks you. You are an unsuitable person. They both know he's not going to marry you. You're just the right sort for him to screw. Like his wife screwing her personnel trainer. Fun for her, no consequences, he'll quit when she wants him to. You picked the wrong one this time, but take heart, learn from this and you may hit gold next time." I have to tell you that like an idiot, I did forgive her indiscretion, but I certainly didn't forget it. Bill Hoving interviewed her, and she did get the job at the art museum. After Christmas, we talked about starting having a family, but before it could happen, Bill mentioned to me (as a friend who had told him the truth of what happened between Karen and Archibald) that Karen was perhaps enjoying a "dalliance" with a board member, James Biddle. He swore me not to give him as the source of the rumor. Biddle is distantly related to old money, but he grew up rough. His money actually comes from demolition and salvage yards. James was recently divorced, and genuine wealthy. I didn't fool around this time. I paid an investigator to look into it, and got a batch of pictures, them kissing, him with his knee pressed between her legs and with his hand on her ass, them walking with their arms around each other. I mentioned the lack of explicit pictures! "Chris! Unless they're truly nuts, fucking or sucking in public view or something like that, you're talking about huge costs. $20-50,000. First you have to figure where and when they are going to do it, then you have to get the cameras in place, and then get the pictures out, and then get the cameras back. You can't believe what is costs, paying someone reliable to break into houses, install cameras and such. Probably be cheaper to hire someone to pop 'em! Gimme a break, look at them kissing with his hands on her ass. They're fucking each other!" So I handed her divorce papers. The pictures were invaluable. She thought she was close to reeling him in, and the scandal would end her hopes. In exchange for her walking out with nothing but the clothing in her closet, I agreed to a quiet divorce and to never say a bad word about her, Archie, or Biddle. What little regret we both had, was for the departure of the dreams we once shared. I also agreed she could live with me for a maximum of six months, so the divorce would not upset her apple cart. Biddle proposed, and she was gone in three months You might ask why I didn't kick her ass out the door, and piss on her head when she was lying in the street. The answer is that I try very hard not to hang onto anger. It corrodes the soul, and can dominate your life. When it was clear that we had no life together, I was happy to get her out of my life and move on. It would do me no conceivable good to carry on a vendetta. Frankly nobody in town cared one way or the other, but why introduce needless discord into your life? There are things I will fight for, but a wayward wife is not one of them. Plus giving her half of our assets would have cost me about $100,000!