by Ben Boswell
“Poor kid,” I said finally.
“Oh come on Max, it was only a few hours. And it was his own fault.”
“I guess,” I replied warily. Her lack of empathy surprised me.
“It’s a good lesson for him. In a lot of places he’d have just been fired.”
“Maybe.”
She frowned. “I thought you’d find it funny.”
“I guess it is funny,” I said, forcing a laugh.
I wasn’t looking for a fight. In the end, what did I care about how Jack treated Dave? They were just names to me, not actually people. Still, it did feel more like hazing than seizing a teachable moment. It occurred to me that Jack had done the same thing with Rachel when she’d first started working there. It was odd that she’d come to identify with Jack rather than Dave as a result.
-----
I had just put the kids down and told them to go to sleep. I knew they wouldn’t right away. They loved chatting and giggling until they both dozed off. Even though one was a girl and one was a boy, they insisted on sleeping in the same room. A twin thing. I wondered how that would play out as they got older.
I walked into the kitchen. Rachel was wiping down the kitchen counter. Damn, she looked great. She was still wearing her work clothes, a tight skirt, heels.
I walked over and slid my hand up her thigh, under her skirt. She would normally have giggled and pushed me away with a mock, scolding, “Stop it, silly.”
This time she instead sighed and jutted her ass out toward me.
“That feels nice,” she cooed.
I was pleasantly surprised. I ran my hand further up her thigh. I felt her hand cup mine, encouraging me go to higher. My fingertips tickled her inner thigh, relishing the soft, warm skin. I brushed against her panties, expecting her to now push me away. But she didn’t. Instead, she began to roll her hips slightly.
I cupped her ass, slid my hand between her legs. Her panties were damp. I could feel the heat coming from her pussy. I massaged her sex through the silky fabric. She gasped and bent at the waist, her hands sliding forward until her chest rested on the counter.
I pulled her panties aside, ran my fingers along her slit. Her labia split, giving me access to the wetness within. I pressed a finger inside her. She moaned and thrust back against me.
I hesitated. This was so novel, so unexpected. We had sex in bed. Period.
“What are you waiting for?” she prompted. Her voice was husky.
I lifted up her skirt and rubbed her hard ass. My finger was still inside her. She was so wet, so hot. I was in a sexual fog.
I don’t even remember dropping my pants, but suddenly there I was, my slacks around my ankles, my hard prick in my hand. I stepped forward and rubbed the head of my cock against her pussy. Her swollen labia seemed to grasp at my cock, trying to pull it inside.
I entered her slowly, tentatively. I needn’t have worried. She was so ready that my cock slid into her without resistance. I fucked her slowly, relishing the feel of her pussy, but also shocked at the situation. Was I really screwing my wife bent over the kitchen counter?
She was fully dressed. Her skirt hiked up over her ass, her panties merely pulled to the side. A slut giving her man a quickie.
“Harder,” she hissed.
Her request hit me like a lightning bolt. I grabbed her hips, drove into her roughly. She moaned sensuously, the best kind of encouragement. I pumped my cock into her over and over. She reached back between her legs, squeezed my scrotum.
She looked back at me, over her shoulder. Her blue-grey eyes were half-lidded with passion. Her full lips pursed, moist. She was gasping, grunting. And then suddenly her eyes seemed to roll back in her head as her pussy began to clench of my rod. I gasped. I’d rarely seen anything sexier. I came inside her, thrusting raggedly.
-----
Because of the big deal we were working on, I was working long, often unpredictable hours. As a result, Rachel was doing the same, working late to make up for those days when I couldn’t take care of the kids.
Most mornings I got up first and went into work before Rachel even got up. But one morning, I asked to sleep in. The deal we were working on was with a Chinese firm, and we had a big conference call planned. I knew it would be a late night for me.
I was half-asleep, half-awake as Rachel got ready. She came out of the shower wrapped in a towel, and I watched as she put on her underwear, a very sexy matching lace panties and bra set. It occurred to me that in addition to new outfits, she’d also restocked her lingerie. I’d been admiring it on occasion when she stripped down and came to bed in the evenings, but suddenly it occurred to me that she might not be wearing it in preparation for going to bed, but rather in anticipation of going to work.
For the first time I admitted to myself what had been bothering me for weeks: The weird, nagging sensation that my wife was having an affair.
I shook my head, trying to banish the thought from my mind. I had no evidence, after all. But how much of that was just because I didn’t want to find evidence?
I heard her wake the kids, get them dressed. I could hear snippets of their conversation downstairs as she got them ready for school.
She was acting so normal. No weird late-night phone calls, no unexplained absences. But, of course, if what I suspected was true, there was no need. She was spending eight hours a day or more, every day, with her lover.
Again I tried to purge my fears. This was all just paranoia on my part. Jack was an asshole. And Rachel knew better than to have an affair at work. He’d be the last person with whom she’d cheat.
I heard her shooing the kids out the front door, her heels clicking on the tile in the foyer. Those heels. I suddenly imagined them up over his shoulders. I could picture her, on her back, lying on his desk, her skirt bunched around her waist, her panties pulled to the side as he fucked her with his big cock, her heels jiggling as he banged her hard.
No! I had to stop torturing myself. This was all in my head. These were just my own insecurities. They had nothing to do with Rachel, or with Jack.
And even if my fears were well grounded, so what? She was still a loving wife, an attentive mother to our children, my best friend. Would it be that bad if she did have a lover? I mean, what difference did it really make? I shuddered. What kind of man was I that I could even think those thoughts?
I had planned to sleep in, but instead I got up and took a shower. It would be a long day, but at least at the office I’d be too busy to worry about what Rachel was doing at work.
-----
My ability to keep my fears at a distance collapsed abruptly just a few days later.
“What does your schedule look like the end of next week?” Rachel asked at dinner.
The Chinese deal had fallen through when I’d found a bunch of debt they’d tried to hide in a subsidiary, so I was actually pretty flexible. So much so that I’d actually been thinking of seeing if Rachel and I might be able to go out of town together for a couple of days. For a brief moment, I thought she might be about to propose the same thing.
“Actually, I’m open. I was thinking about taking some time off. Wanna shoot out to Vegas?”
She frowned. “Oh honey, I’d love to. But Jack wants me to go down to San Diego for a couple of days to meet with some of our investors. I was hoping you’d be able to cover childcare while I’m away.”
“Is he going too?”
She gave me a queer look. “Of course,” she answered cautiously. “I mean, he is the CFO.”
“You both need to go?”
“No, I guess I don’t need to go. But I think Jack would like to get me more in the mix of things. He knows I’m overqualified to be his Executive Assistant. I think he’d like to promote me to Assistant CFO.”
“That’s very considerate of him.”
She eyed me suspiciously.
“Max, is everything okay? You’re being a little weird.”
“Am I?”
She hesitated. “A little. Do
you not want me to go?”
“Why wouldn’t I want you to go?”
She sighed.
“I feel like we’re talking in riddles,” she replied. A note of frustration had crept into her tone.
I shook my head quickly. I had no reason to suspect her. Meeting with investors was a perfectly legitimate reason to travel out of town. And I also realized that if she did get a promotion it would likely involve at least some travel.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I guess I’ve just gotten used to you always being around. Go ahead. I can take care of the kids. You just do what you need to do.”
“Okay.” Pause. “Thank you. I’ll try not to make a habit of it. But Jack really wants me there for this meeting. It could be a good opportunity, and I think I should go if I can.”
She was speaking fast, not quite making eye contact with me. It felt almost like she was trying to talk herself into it.
-----
She packed the night before her trip. Her suitcase sat on our chest of drawers that night as we went to bed. It felt like it was taunting me, a reminder that the next evening she’d be in a hotel, out of town, with her boss.
As if to reassure me, she’d been coming to bed naked every night for the past week. She seemed perpetually horny. She couldn’t seem to get enough of me. I’d never seen her this sexed up. And the sex was hotter, more adventurous than normal. She was louder. She moaned excitedly when I playfully spanked her ass. She bit my shoulder. She was now constantly encouraging me to fuck her harder, leaving bruises on my ass as she urged me on.
On the day of the trip, she woke me with a blowjob, and then climbed aboard. She sat upright, threw off the covers and rode me enthusiastically. I grabbed her boobs, squeezed them harder than usual. She moaned and her pussy seemed to get even wetter. She ran her fingernails across my chest, leaving scratch marks on my skin. She was bouncing up and down hard enough that I actually worried that she might injure me. But it felt too good to protest.
She reached down and rubbed her clit as she rode me. She’d never done that before. It was so incredibly sexy, especially when she threw her head back and came with a lusty growl. I couldn’t hold back. I came as well.
She gave me a big smile.
“That should hold for you a couple of days,” she said.
“You too,” I replied.
She nodded, though she seemed somehow unconvinced. She disentangled herself from me and walked sexily to the bathroom. I heard the shower turn on.
I glanced back over at her suitcase. I got out of bed and unzipped her bag. I sighed. Her intentions could not have been plainer had she packed a box of condoms. She’d packed tight skirts. A thin camisole. Silk blouses. Three pairs of matching sexy, lace underwear. A satin nightie. A pair of black, stiletto pumps.
I zipped up her suitcase and climbed back into bed.
She came out of the shower wrapped only in a towel. When she saw me propped up on my elbow, she dropped the towel and flashed me her naked body. Had she touched up her close-cropped triangle? I couldn’t be sure.
“You sure you need to go?” I asked.
She didn’t answer right away. She pulled on a pair of plain black panties, cute, but nothing like those she’d packed for Jack.
“I think so. Yes. It’s something I need to do.”
There was something in her tone that seemed to acknowledge this wasn’t about work.
“You know I love you,” I said.
She looked at me, a bit sadly I thought. Then suddenly she rushed me, kissed me hard, and wrapped her arms around my neck.
“I will always love you,” she replied forcefully.
She broke the embrace.
Without making eye contact, she dressed. She reminded me about the kids’ schedules. There were a couple of play dates. And Allison had become obsessed with wearing a particular pair of leggings. They were in the dryer. Then, fully dressed, she leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.
“Have fun,” I said.
“Okay,” she replied.
She grabbed her suitcase and left. I listened to her footsteps going down the stairs, then clicking across the foyer. I heard the front door open, then shut. I heard her car start up and I heard her drive away.
I sighed.
Then I got up and woke up the kids. It was another day.
CHAPTER FOUR
It is hard to describe what it is like to try to go through a normal day when all you can think about is the fact that your wife is currently with another man.
Of course, I didn’t know for sure that she was “with” him. Just because she was excusing his obnoxious behavior, and dressing sexier, and always horny, and now going out of town on business with him... no, I had no real evidence. I was just being paranoid, right? Right? RIGHT?
Were they even meeting any investors? Were they going through the fiction of getting separate rooms? How long had it been going on? Did she do things for him that she wouldn’t for me? Was he better? Bigger?
Still, it was all just speculation. And offensive. What was wrong with me that I couldn’t trust my own wife, the mother of my children? Wasn’t all of this just my own insecurity? My own sexism, misogyny? Was I just threatened by her getting back into the work force, annoyed at how the demands on her time inconvenienced me? Was this just about me wanting a “traditional” marriage?
I’d never felt that way before. I’d always been proud of Rachel, of her brains, her professional accomplishments. We met in graduate school after all. I’m a good liberal. I like strong women.
I pictured her on her hands and knees, encased in the sexy lingerie she’d packed, getting dicked hard from behind. Was he slapping her ass? Pulling her hair? Did she let him come in her mouth? On her face?
I shook my head. Where they hell had that come from? Is that what I wanted to do to her?
It was a rough night. I didn’t sleep well. I tossed and turned, tormented by my imagination, my worries. I couldn’t get them out of my head, couldn’t escape my thoughts.
The contents of her suitcase had been the final straw. But what did it really show? What was I expecting her to pack on a business trip? Bulky flannel PJs? Jeans? I was overreacting. I had to be.
-----
I heard a noise from downstairs. It was 4:30am, still dark outside. I sighed. The kids being up so early usually meant one of them had had an accident.
I pulled on my bathrobe, crept down the stairs.
“Brent? Allison?”
The light was on in the kitchen. I went inside. It wasn’t the kids. It was Rachel, sitting at the breakfast table.
She looked up at me, her eyes wet, her cheeks tear-streaked.
“Rachel? What are you doing here?”
“I drove all night to get back. Oh God, Max, I’m so sorry.”
She broke down into sobs.
I sat down next to her. “What’s the matter?”
She looked at me. I knew of course. And she seemed to know I knew. She didn’t speak.
“You’re having an affair.” I said. It was half a statement, half a question.
She nodded, but then added incongruently, “We haven’t had sex.”
“But you’re planning to?”
She shook her head. “What? No. Of course not. I quit. I won’t be seeing him again.”
“I don’t understand then.”
“I’ve been inappropriate. Done things.”
She was being so cryptic. What the hell was she talking about? Was it just an emotional affair? I could feel myself getting angry, though I wasn’t sure if it was because she’d had an affair, whatever the fuck that meant to her, or because she was talking in riddles.
“Did you blow him?” I asked coarsely.
She turned deep red. “No. I mean, yes. Just tonight. Last night. Just for a minute. He didn’t. I stopped. That’s when it hit me.”
“Jesus, Rachel, what the fuck are you talking about? You’re not making any sense. Just tell me what you did.”
“Max,
please. It doesn’t really matter –”
“It does to me, Rach. It does to me. I need to know. Tell me everything.”
She sighed and looked away. For a while she didn’t speak. Neither did I.
I put my hand on her arm. “Please Rachel. We can get through this. But I need to know. Just start from the beginning.”
She nodded.
“Can I have a tissue?”
I gave her the box.
She blew her nose and dried her eyes.
“God, Max, I don’t know how it happened. It was just step-by-step, and before I knew it...”
She paused and shook her head again in disbelief at her own memories.
“It started with just words. You know, he’d compliment my clothes, or say how lucky you were. Silly stuff and borderline inappropriate. But it was back when he seemed to hate everything I did. I should have stopped it then. But I didn’t.
“He started getting more explicit. You know, now it wasn’t just that he liked my skirt, but that he liked how I looked in that skirt, and then how my ass looked in that skirt. But it was just so gradual. I don’t know. It didn’t seem worth it to make a stink over it.
“Plus,” she paused. “Plus, I don’t know. Maybe I liked it a little? I liked the compliments. It felt fun, playful. You know, not like harassment.”
“Is he good looking?” I asked. I’d never met Jack. I realized I didn’t have any idea.
She blushed again. That was answer enough. But even still, she confirmed it.
“I guess so. Yeah, he’s a good-looking guy.”
I shook my head and thought ruefully about the Internet meme about how to avoid a sexual harassment charge: “First, be handsome. Second, be attractive. Third, don’t be unattractive.”
“He’s tall, you know. Fit. Salt and pepper hair.”
“George Clooney?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No, not quite. But... but that wasn’t it. It was more like, you know, I was part of the club all of a sudden. I didn’t want to be the prissy bitch who can’t take a joke.”
I nodded as if I understood, though I really didn’t. “Okay, so then what?”