by Sean Geist
As she lay in that bed, all those feelings mashed together, like their bodies. Robin knew she had made the right choice in marrying Peter, and that she would go to her grave loving him.
She reached up and pulled her husband down for a kiss. She put her lips to his ear and whispered, “I want you inside me.”
If there were any five words a man would want to hear more, Peter didn't know them.
“No place I'd rather be,” he said, reaching down to unzip his pants and free his cock. He tried to remove Robin's panties but was having no luck.
“Rip the fuckers off,” she said.
Peter was stunned by his wife's language, but not so much he wasn't able to heed her command and rip the fabric away.
Robin felt a little sharp pain as the silk tore away, but it was lost among the sensations of lust and desire. She reached for Peter's cock and help guide him in to her.
Peter slid in with ease. He was hard for her, she was wet for him and the Count and the witch fucked the night away.
Robin closed her eyes and focused on the feeling of being totally filled. Her pussy pulsed around her husband's turgid penis as it thrust in and out of her. She had never felt so consumed in all her life. She had given herself fully to this man, Peter, and he had gladly taken her. Several small tremors of pleasure rolled through Robin before she felt the warmth of her husband's release. She heard him grunt as his cock twitched and shot string after hot sticky sting of semen into her womb.
It felt comforting.
As they lay together, a greasy sweaty mess, spooning in bed, Robin thought about the seed that Peter left inside her, knowing it would never, could never, find an egg to fertilize. She was melancholy, cursed by God or nature never to have children of her own, but as long as she had Peter, her life would never be barren.
For his part, Peter lay spent. He had made love to his wonderful wife, dressed up as an ugly witch, and had enjoyed every thrust and withdrawal. The complex interplay of lust and revulsion added a spice to their coupling. In his mind, he knew he should be horrified by her green warty face and frizzy hair, or at least turned off. His body reacted differently showing him how desire and distaste – pain and pleasure – could combine to form an experience like no other.
It was a lesson Peter tucked away and never really explored again, until a trip to Vegas two and half years later forced him to.
Peter
After the Halloween party, I dropped Angie off at her apartment.
“You coming up for a nightcap?” she said.
“I've had enough to...”
“You know that means sex.”
“Yes,” I said smiling. “I know that means sex.” For some reason I wasn't feeling it. I liked Angie. I really did. I just didn't feel like sleeping with her that night. I felt guilty about it, but I couldn't help it.
I didn't love her, that emotion for reserved for Robin, and I absolutely didn't want her becoming attached to me.
“How about some other night?” I said. I always liked to keep my options open.
“Sure.” Angie looked a little disappointed, like a kid not getting the candy she asked for, but not too distraught. I think I was over-thinking our friends-with-benefits relationship.
We kissed goodnight. A deep wet kiss that almost had me change my mind. Angie broke it off before I could though. We said goodnight and I went home.
The next morning I got a surprise call from my wife.
“Robin, it's nice to hear from you.” I was totally being honest. Despite being pissed at her, I still loved my wife and loved talking to her. Plus I knew – prayed – that one day she would call and tell me she was dumping Scott. This wasn't that day.
“Peter, I'm so glad you took the call. I was afraid you might ignore me.”
“That's stupid.”
“Never mind. I can't talk long. Too much shit happening here.”
I could hear the din of movement through the line. “You guys aren't open yet, are you?” I asked.
“No. That's why I called. We're having a soft open in two weeks. I'd like you to come up for it.”
“Soft open?”
“Yeah. We open the doors to customers but don't advertise. It's a way to get the kinks out of the system before our grand opening, the day after Thanksgiving. I'll make it worth your while to come.”
“Will you now?” My mind turned to nasty thoughts.
“Free massage,” she added.
More nasty thoughts.
“I've got this great guy. He's from Hong Kong and his hands are magical.”
My thoughts got less nasty, until I thought about him giving Robin a rubdown, complete with a very happy ending. I started to get hard.
Man was I a mess.
“I'll be there.” I said.
Chapter 6
Robin
It's Monday morning and Robin's alarm clock buzzes on the nightstand next to her bed. It's four a.m. and she's up with a start.
She has a quick shower followed by a bowl of instant oatmeal. Two thoughts sit at the front of her mind. Today the doors of her spa open for the first time to real paying customers and she'll see Peter again. She has missed him these past six weeks. Luckily for her, the needs of her job have occupied most of her time. That's not the case anymore. The work is done, the staff is hired and now it's just taking care of the clients.
The doors open at six. No one is waiting. The staff is idle. Robin expected as much. The only people who know the joint is open are the concierges at the local resorts she talked to and the few people who follow the Spa's Facebook page.
Robin is not worried. Today is about quality of service not quantity of patrons. That will come later.
At noon, Robin checks with her front desk staff. So far there have been five walk-ins; two paid for one-day passes to use the fitness equipment, two were locals who signed up for a six-month membership and one got a massage. Two people staying at the Sedona Hilton Resort scheduled massages for tomorrow and two people called about the yoga classes which will start in December.
Robin is fine with how the business is running, but she's concerned because there's still no sign of Peter. She walks through the fitness room, looking at the patrons sweating and grunting, lifting weights and walking on treadmills. Sometimes that's how she envisions herself, futility pushing against the weight of the day, and moving for hours at a time, but getting nowhere. She hadn't been expecting Peter right at opening, but had hoped he'd be there by noon. She reaches for her phone to call her husband but realizes she's left it at home.
By five o'clock the fitness room is full, as are all four massage rooms. One of the four private sauna rooms is free. Peter is still not among the people using the Spirit Spa. Robin starts to pace, she snaps at Marylyn, her assistant manager, when she suggests Robin go home for the day. She's mad at Peter and is taking it out on herself and her staff. Maybe I should go home, she thinks.
A menagerie of emotions swirl through Robin's mind. Peter should be here, he promised he would be. This is a big day for her, she built this spa from scratch and was it really too much to ask to celebrate all the work and dedication with her husband? She is proud of her work and her staff; they'd achieved so much. She is both excited and worried about the future of her business and her marriage. But most of all, she is angry and sad that Peter chose to abandon her.
Sure she hasn't been the best wife, maybe she was the worst. But she loves him and he loves her, she thinks; a lot had happened since Vegas. She's not sure how she feels about Scott, those emotions are more, complex. If pushed she will call it love, definitely lust.
Robin surveys the spa. All is running well so she goes home at seven. She instructs her staff to call her if there are any emergencies. She doesn't mention Peter; they'll figure it out.
At home, her apartment in Camp Verde, she sits in the dark, a glass of wine in hand, her second of the evening. She takes a sip and stares off out the window into the darkness of the high forest. Her cell phone sits on the end-tab
le next to here. Peter had called once in the morning, when she was in the shower and once in the afternoon. He didn't leave a message. If he wasn't coming why didn't he leave a fucking message.
She briefly worries he might have been in an accident, but she was sure someone, a family member or public official, would have notified her. Plus, he did try to call, she just wasn't able to answer.
She's mulling over calling him, she should. Give him a piece of her mind. She reaches for the phone, but stops. She doesn't want Peter to think she's anxious, although she is. That would be admitting weakness and that wasn't acceptable. Instead she takes another sip of wine.
The alcohol is going to her head. She's been too busy to eat. She's buzzing and stumples a little when she gets up to head to the fridge.
The door bell rings and she almost drops her wine glass.
It's him, she thinks – she hopes. Her excitement builds. She rushes to the door and throws it open. Her heart skips a beat when she sees him standing there, in his black slacks, his silver and blue silk shirt shimmering in the moonlight, the top three buttons undone, his dragon tattoo peaking out from behind the fabric.
“Scott,” she says, breathless and a little slurred. “I wasn't expecting you.”
“I like you that way,” he says. “Surprised.” Scott leans in for a kiss. Robin hesitates but relents. She wants her husband's support but wasn't going to pass any comfort offered, especially when it came in such a handsome package. She parts her lips and allows Scott's tongue to enter her. Her mind is reeling. She's mad at Peter for not showing up. He should have come. He should have called. But he didn't.
“Come in,” Robin tells Scott. She grabs her lover's hand and pulls him inside. “You want something to drink?”
“I'll have whatever I tasted on your lips.”
She really wanted to see Peter, spend time with him, talk some sense into him, but he didn't show up. Anything that happened tonight would be his fault.
The couple sits on the couch, his arm around her shoulder, her head leaning against his chest. For the first time, Robin feels guilty, like she's hiding something from Peter, from her husband. She hadn't planned to sleep with Scott, hadn't even expected him to show up. But he did.
Robin's anger flares again.
“Your staff seems very competent,” Scott says as he strokes her hair. “You did well.”
“Thanks, boss,” Robin says. She tilts her head, their eyes lock. “But let's not talk about work. Not now. Not when we're like this.”
“Like what?” Scott says, feigning ignorance.
“Like this.” Robin leans up and kisses her lover. Now it's her tongue invading. She reaches down and slips her hand into Scott's pants. She grasps his hardening cock and slowly strokes it.
When she awoke this morning all she thought about was work and Peter. The spa was fine. Peter pissed her off. She planned to enjoy fucking her husband, re-bonding with him. He chose to ignore her.
Robin's hands are slick with sweat and pre-cum. She hungers. She longs to be filled. Peter's cock would have been preferred, Scott's will substitute nicely. She'll never tell either of them. She licks her lips, frees Scott's erection and devours him.
Later, when she's on the bed, her ass in the air, Scott's wonderful cock thrusting in and out of her drenched pussy, she thinks of Peter, sitting at home, alone. She closes her eyes and imagines it's her husband fucking her, filling her completely. She shudders as another orgasm takes her.
“That's your fifth of the night, I think,” Scott says, feeling his lover's pussy grip and pulse around his member.
Robin's reminded who she's really with and is a little sad. But just a little, like settling for a Coke when you really want a Dr. Pepper.
“It's been a while,” she says. Her head is down, her mind is focused on the pleasure.
“Peter not doing it for you?”
Why does he have to be a dick, she thinks?
“Shut up and fuck me.”
Scott picks up speed. “You're the boss,” he says, with a hint of irony.
A few moments later she feels his cock pulse and expand. Scott grunts a few times as he fills the condom with semen. Robin comes again, for the sixth and final time that evening.
The couple collapse on the bed, satisfied and spent.
Peter
My phone buzzed and woke me up. I looked at the screen. It was my partner and head vet at the clinic, using his personal phone. I wiped the junk out of my eyes and took a sip of water before answering.
“Brian, this better be good,” I said. “It's four in the morning.”
“Sorry, but it's not good, Peter. We need you to work today.”
“I took the day off. I've got plans.”
“Got a call from Animal Control. We've got a house full of sick and dying cats out past Apache Junction. We need everyone today.”
I knew then, that any plans I had for today were blown up. I dialed Robin to let her know I wouldn't be dropping by, no matter how much I was looking forward to it. She didn't answer her phone, probably too early or too busy. I hung up, expecting to call her back later.
I took a quick shower, put on a pair of old jeans and a thick long sleeve cotton shirt. I pulled on my heavy duty work boots, grabbed my medical bag and headed out the door. I was doing field work today.
I was driving out State Route 60 when my partner called back with more details. It was an animal lover's worst nightmare. The Arizona Highway Patrol had been called to a ranch house full of half-feral cats. No total count yet, that would come later. The owner was dead, had been for a few days. Most of the cats were sick, some worse than others; a few were already dead.
I had always known Brian, our managing partner, had a friend in the Department of Public Safety. Today that friend called in a favor. There were too many animals for them to handle, so they were subcontracting our clinic. I hoped the money was worth the headache ahead of us.
It was around six in the morning when I pulled up the long dusty gravel road to the compound in question. The sky was an orangish-pink, as the sun was starting to peek out from the mountains in the distance. The flashing red and blue lights of the emergency vehicles in the early dawn made me think of a rave I had been dragged to in my college days, except there was no music and most of the people milling around wore guns and badges.
I found Brian talking to one of the officers.
“Hey, partner,” I said, “What's going on?”
“Peter, thanks for helping out.” Not like I had a choice. “Diane should be here in another half-hour. She had to pick up supplies at the office.” That would be body disposal bags and plenty of drugs. I had never been called out on anything like this, but I'd heard stories. Horrible stories.
Brian introduced me to his friend, Steve, the guy who gave him the tip. Then he took me into the house.
“Here, you better put this on,” my partner said as he handed me a disposable mask to cover my nose and mouth. “It's pretty rank in there.”
He wasn't kidding. The home was a chaotic mess, a feline tragedy. I couldn't believe anyone could live like this, in a home overrun by animals. A sickly ammonia odor permeated everything, the walls, the carpet, the furniture. Luckily the deceased owner was a smoker so that helped cover some of the more nausea-inducing smells. I was glad I had skipped breakfast. My clothing would have to be burned.
There were cats everywhere I looked. Some were milling around across the floor, over and under the tables and chairs. Some were lying down on the couch, on the floor or high up on bookcases and kitchen cabinets. Some of the prone animals were having a hard time breathing, more than a few were already dead. In the kitchen, some adventurous feline had knocked over the industrial sized bag of cat food and had torn in open. A few cats were nibbling on the crumbs that remained. If the Highway Patrol hadn't found them when they did, I was sure the survivors would soon be feasting on their fallen fellows.
When Diane showed up, the three of us got to work. The next nine hours
went by in a blur of action. We rounded up the healthy cats with the Animal Control officers who took them to any shelter that would have them. They promised no-kill shelters would be their primary choice, but we knew a few might not avoid their deceased brother's and sister's fates. Then we decided which of the remaining cats could be saved and which were too far gone and would have to be put to sleep. Euthanizing an animal is my least favorite part of being a vet – worse than actually telling the owner it was necessary.
In the end we saved about half the felines left in the house, thirty-one animals in all. It was tiring work, but good work.
Around four in the afternoon we were ready to leave, the investigation into the owner's death was still on-going, but that wasn't our problem. I changed cloths in a DPS van, put my dirty jeans and shirt in a thick plastic bag and headed home.
I tried to call Robin, tell her I was sorry for missing her big day, but she didn't answer. I didn't feel like leaving a message, maybe I was pissed she didn't answer, like she was scanning my calls. Petty things like this seemed to set me off in recent days. I wanted life to get back to normal for us, or at least as normal as it could be. I tried to text her, but I was driving and I gave up after three aborted attempts.
I was exhausted when I got home and too tired to do much of anything. I threw my urine and blood soaked clothes in the trash, tossed my phone, wallet and keys into a basket on my dresser, slipped my shoes off and fell face first on the bed.
The last thoughts I had were about Robin and how much I wanted to see her, to feel her arms around me. I should have called again, I knew that. I'd call in the morning, I thought. Go up and see her. What difference could one day make.
At seven, the next morning, the first thing I did after I woke up, was call Robin. Before I took a shower, before I had a cup of coffee, before I took a piss. I called Robin.
I knew she'd be disappointed, but shit happens. I'd apologize. She's forgive me. Life would go on.