Annual Leave

by Ben Boswell

  “Okay, maybe just like that,” Heather admitted.

  His hand now caressed across her belly, his fingertips finding and circling a hard nipple. Heather shivered in delight at the sensation of the cool, silky material against her sensitive nubs.

  “Did he play with your boobies?”

  He eased her down onto the bed beside him. He reached out with his other hand as well, now slowly teasing both nipples simultaneously.

  “Yes,” she growled.

  It felt so good. She could feel the blood rush from her head to her breasts, to her pussy. Having her nipples played with always had that result, though it was somehow more intense now that it conjured up memories of that first night in bed with Damon. Then as now, side-by-side and face-to-face with a man.

  Eyes open, staring at her husband gazing back at her loving and excited; then eyes closed and he became Damon, hungry and powerful, seductive and dangerous.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Damon,” she breathed without thinking.

  She opened her eyes and could see him trying to process it. They didn’t know a Damon.

  “Would it be better if I fantasized about one of your friends?”

  He chuckled and seemed to consider it. “Probably not…. Alright, so what did this Damon do? This big, black, Damon?”

  He fucked me again and again and again. He came in my mouth, my pussy, and my ass. I couldn’t get enough.

  “He kissed me.”

  Jeff raised an eyebrow.

  “Slowly and tenderly,” she added as she closed her eyes.

  She could feel the electricity between them. Her lips trembled even before his touched hers. A spark, but she didn’t pull away, couldn’t pull away. It was neither Jeff nor Damon. It felt like something different, someone different. The kiss was tentative, yet passionate. Novel, yet familiar. Safe, yet exciting.

  They continued to kiss. Flicking tongues and gentle nibbles on her lower lip. A hot, moist breath, mingled soft moans. He unbuttoned her top and slid his hand inside, his hands cool against her hot flesh. His fingertips found her bare nipples. She shuddered. Her hand snaked under the covers and found him naked, and hard. So hard. God, had Jeff ever been that hard for her before? Or was that just her own excitement blurring her perception.

  She rubbed her thighs together, aware of her own excitement, a gush of wetness between her legs.

  “Like this?” he asked, unnecessarily.

  “Oh God, yes,” she cooed.

  “Yes…?” he asked, prompting.

  She knew what he wanted, and wondered for a second if he’d be able to handle it. But she couldn’t resist. She replied before weighing all the pros and cons. “Yes, Damon. Yes, just like that.”

  “Thinking of my big, black dick?”

  “Yes.” Oh yes, oh God yes.

  She stroked him harder. And with eyes closed, she reeled. It was Jeff’s voice, but she was with Damon.

  Her excitement fed his. His hands worked her nipples harder, so good, just on the edge. Almost too much, but not quite.

  “What did he call you?”

  “Soccer Mom.”

  A small chuckle. “I’m going to fuck you good, Soccer Mom.”

  “Yes, Damon, yes.”

  Wet kisses. Desperate hands. Two bodies squirming with excitement. She loved Jeff. Loved him so much. And Damon. She thought of them both. Her two men blending, merging, and then separating. A wicked thought. The two of them, with her, sandwiched between. Four hands, two cocks, two gasping, moaning voices.

  “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” Heather cried out as her body shook in passion. Dizzying. Unbelievable.

  As her orgasm faded, a small surge of panic. She opened her eyes. He was grinning.

  “Damn, you’re sexy.”

  Relief. Followed by desire. Without a word, she dove beneath the covers, and swallowed his prick into her mouth.

  “Oh God, Heather, slow down.”

  She didn’t. She wanted him now. Wanted to taste him. Her hands twisting around his shaft, her tongue swirling the head of his cock, licking his shaft, sucking his balls. Wet. Sloppy. A whore’s knob job.

  He warned her again. She felt him tense. Imagined him trying to distract himself. But she wasn’t going to let him off the hook. His cock soaked with her spit, she bobbed up and down. With a gasp, he relaxed and flooded her mouth with his seed.

  He groaned and mumbled apologetically.

  She ignored him as she eagerly swallowed his come. But she didn’t stop when he was done. Instead she continued to make love to his prick. Slowly, gently, feeling him first soften in her mouth, and then stiffen again. She slurped him wetly into her mouth, bathing his cock in a mix of spit and come.

  When she popped back up from under the covers, she couldn’t help but grin at the shock on his face. He was still wide eyed as she shimmied over his body and aggressively impaled herself on her husband’s cock.

  “I thought you were going to fuck me?” she teased.

  He groaned excitedly, and then grabbing her ass cheeks almost painfully he thrust upward, hard.

  “Yes,” she hissed. “More.”

  “God, you’re on fire.”

  “You think my husband would like me like this?”

  He hesitated for a second, then remembering his role, “Yeah, but he doesn’t get to fuck you like this, does he?”

  He ran one hand along her spine. Heather tingled with delight. He found her nape, then slid his fingers into her hair. He paused there, awaiting her answer.

  “No, only for you lover, only for you.”

  He clenched his fist and yanked back on her hair. She yelped, but her eyes flashed.

  “You only let out your inner slut on vacation, do you?”

  He thrust inside her, lifting her petite frame into the air.

  “You bring it out in me Damon.”

  She ground against him. He groaned again.

  The passion was intoxicating. The game dangerous. But they were both too far gone to care. No more words now. Just hard fucking, animal rutting.

  “Oh Jesus,” he hissed.

  She realized he was close, and she was too. Their sweat now adding a new source of wetness to his slimy prick squishing into her soaked pussy. It dripped from her forehead down her cheek into her mouth. She instinctively licked at the saltiness on her lips. Her flashing tongue set him off further. His grip tightened on her hair, and his squeezed her ass harder still, his fingers wedged between her cheeks, his fingertip brushing her anus.

  Yes Damon, fuck me in the ass.

  It was just a thought, but it was enough. She shuddered suddenly and came with a series of choking gasps. Her spasming pussy set him off. He pulled her down onto his chest and wrapped her in a bear hug as his cock pulsed inside of her.

  Drenched in sweat and gasped, they lay intertwined.

  “That was amazing,” she cooed.

  He chuckled.

  “I need to send you away on vacation more often.”

  “Yeah,” she replied.

  She wanted to say more, but she couldn’t. It was a game, but it wasn’t. What would Jeff say if he knew the truth? Or… and this really made her shiver… did he?

  “You’re cold,” he said.

  He slid her off him and pulled up the covers. Their eyes met.

  “I love you,” she said suddenly.

  A glimmer of something crossed his face. Something. Recognition? Surprise? Confusion?

  Or maybe it was nothing. Just Heather’s own guilt churning inside her.

  “I know,” he replied kindly, but maybe a little distantly. He smiled. A small smile. Thin. Not forced. Genuine. But not happy. Or at least not wholly so. Knowing perhaps? Rueful? Enigmatic certainly.

  She wanted to talk, but knew she couldn’t. She’d opened the door; it was up to him if he wanted to know more. Was that a cop out? Surely. But for now, it would have to do.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  In the cold light of day, the events of the previous night se
emed particularly reckless. What the hell was the matter with her? Was she so desperate for absolution that she was willing to risk her marriage by pulling on the thread.

  On the other hand… oh God, if Jeff had routinely fucked her like that, Damon wouldn’t have stood a chance.

  She found herself grinning. Bullshit. She’s the one who’d never stood a chance. The more she thought about it, the more she realized there had been nothing random about her ending up in bed with Damon. He’d played her like a pro. Set out the bait and she’d bitten. A complete sucker.

  That said, she didn’t feel used. Or maybe a little. It was all so confusing. Guilt and pride. Anger and amusement. Fear and anticipation. Damon, Jeff, they swirled in her mind. It was exhausting and exhilarating. How did a little soccer mom from Dayton fucking Ohio get into this situation?

  Heather was actually grateful for the crisis that afternoon. After picking up Ally from school, she found that the dog, Rexi, part-lab, part-Andy Dufresne, had staged a jailbreak from the back yard tunneling under the fence.

  “She’s not usually a digger,” Jeff noted when Heather called with the news.

  It was true. She’d been a jumper when he was younger, and they’d had to install higher fences to keep her in. It was actually kind of impressive to see an seventy pound lab launch herself in the air and scale a nearly six foot fence.

  “Well, I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks.”

  “I think we’d already learned that recently,” Jeff joked.

  Heather blanched. Was he really referring to her? And would that be a good thing or bad if was making jokes about it.

  He seemed to sense her discomfort and changed the subject. “Do you want me to come home to help find her?”

  “No, no, this is right up my alley.”

  And it was. The kids were all over the map, Ally declaiming that this had only happened because she was at school and not able to manage things, Becky immediately asked if they could get a cat now that Rexi was gone, and Bobby, at sixteen months not really sure what was going on but sensing something was wrong, toddled over to the dog’s empty bed and eyed it sadly.

  Heather set them to work, drawing pictures of the dog for a poster, while simultaneously beginning to work the phones. She wasn’t too worried. Rexi would probably run around in circles for a few hours celebrating freedom and then grind to a halt as she contemplated what to do next. Her dog brain wasn’t big on long-term planning.

  Not that I’m much better.

  Anyway, Ally in particular needed a plan. So, they photocopied the posters, including an actual picture of the dog, because despite Becky’s best efforts, what she’d drawn looked more like a bison than an athletic lab, and then climbed into the minivan and began driving around the neighborhood searching and putting up missing dog notices.

  Long rows of tidy colonials and well-maintained yards. Basketball hoops, swing sets, college stickers on the backs of mini-vans and Volvos. Tiny signs of individuality. The house with the vivid red shutters. Another with a shrub cut into a topiary of a T-Rex. No need for a heavy-handed neighborhood association, conformity wasn’t so much enforced as sought. Shared notions of “good taste,” that only went out the window, once a year, at Christmas, when the neighborhood splintered between families channeling their inner WASP – single candles in the windows, wreathes on the doors – and those tapping their inner Redneck – with ostentatious, delightfully tacky displays of flashing multicolored lights and mechanical Santas “ho, ho, hoing” throughout the evening.

  As they drove, Heather suddenly thought about Damon. She’d been to Atlanta once, visiting colleges as a high school student, and she remembered a little of the city. Where did he live? A stylish condo in Buckhead, maybe? A multicultural neighborhood. Restaurants and bars. Stores. Energy. Did he put up a Christmas tree? And how did he decorate it? Was he from a big family? She imagined he was, imagined him at Thanksgiving dinner surrounded by siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews. He was probably the cool uncle to the kids, and getting him married was probably the mission of the female members of his clan. You’d be so good with children. You can’t play the field forever. Do you want to grow old and die alone? Damon smiling, putting them off, challenging his nephews on the Xbox to get away from the badgering. Heather looked around at her neighborhood. Did he dream of this? Of a home in the suburbs? Kids, a dog? Would he be one of those with the single candle or the over-the-top Christmas display? Over-the-top, she thought, He was something an attention whore. On the other hand, how much fun would it be to be the only black person in the neighborhood. Okay, not the only one. There was a black family over on Boxwood and… well, that was about it. A few South Asians, some Koreans, a handful of Latino families, but virtually no African-Americans.

  “Rexi, Rexi, Rexi, Rexi!” Ally had begun the chant, but was quickly joined by Becky, with Bobby trying his best to grunt along with his sisters.

  Heather looked over onto the Hobart’s perfectly manicured lawn, and sure enough, there she was, resting in the shade, muddy, panting, and looked incredibly happy about her adventures.

  I’m Rexi. I dug under the fence and had an adventure. Of course, Rexi had it easier. She was a dog. No guilt. She’d be cleaned up and welcomed back into the fold as if nothing had happened. Heck, the kids were so excited to have found her that she’d probably get extra attention for it. Not that it would really matter. Rexi didn’t break out of Shawshank to escape forever to a Pacific beach, she did it just to taste a moment of freedom.

  ***

  “You fucking idiot, you told him?” Trina gaped.

  “Sorta.”

  “Details?”

  Heather related the details of her first aborted admission, and their night of passion. She left out bringing Trina into the fantasy.

  “So he doesn’t know for sure?”

  “I don’t know,” Heather replied. “No, not for sure. But….”

  “Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt.”

  Heather shrugged. Then after a pause. “Have you… ever?”

  “What?”

  Heather looked sideways at her friend.

  “You want to know if I had an affair?” Trina asked incredulously.

  “None of my business?” Heather replied with a chuckled.

  “It isn’t, you know.”

  “So?”

  Trina sighed. “Well. Yeah. Sorta. It’s really a long story, and I’m not sure it’s all that relevant to your situation.”

  “Okay.”

  Trina sighed. “Look, Brad and I… we were going through a hard time. Lots of shit going on, and we were snapping at each other a lot. And…” she paused, clearly trying to work out how much to say. “…and, well, we just weren’t happy. So, like, my thing was more a symptom than the disease.”

  Heather nodded, but she still desperately wanted to hear more. Maybe it was about solving her own problem.

  “But you got over it.”

  Trina shrugged again. “You know, I guess. I got pregnant, and we sort of had to make it work. The guy I’d been with was, well, a jerk when you get right down to it, and I was with him for all the wrong reasons.”

  Heather gave her a puzzled expression.

  “Oh, Jeez, Heather, he was a friend of Brad’s.”

  “Some friend.”

  Trina laughed. “Yeah, exactly. But he was around. He saw that Brad and I were fighting, and I guess he decided to make his move. And I… I was like so, I don’t know what. Angry? Annoyed? I mean, at the time, it seemed like this great outlet. This guy, he knew me, knew I was unhappy, and it was just like an escape. But in the end, it was me fucking one of my husband’s friends just to piss him off.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Trina shrugged again. “Plus he was a lousy lay.”

  Now Heather laughed.

  “We did the whole counseling thing, and you know, slowly worked through shit. The toughest part was that for a while we didn’t know who the father was. I got pregnant in the
middle of all of that.”

  “Oh.” Heather waited with bated breath, but Trina didn’t actually answer who the father of their first child was.

  “See, so, different, right?”

  Heather nodded. “Yeah, but you got over it.”

  Trina shrugged again cryptically.

  “What?” Heather demanded.

  “Look, I don’t know that you ever really get over it. It’s more like you learn to live with it. People don’t forgive. They don’t forget. Not really. They just learn to deal with it.”

  “You think Brad still resents you?”

  Trina nodded. “Wouldn’t you? And I… I still resent him for pushing me into it. I know that sounds like blaming the victim, but you need to trust me, he was being a real ass at the time.”

  “I believe you.”

  “See,” Trina added, “pretty different right?”

  She nodded. But wondered about it. Had Jeff pushed her into it?

  Thing is, before had been a blur. Three kids in six years. Of course it made sense. It would cause a crunch around college time, but in the short-run it meant getting out of diapers sooner, and it meant kids close enough in age to play together, enjoy the same sorts of family entertainment. No sulky teen lurking off in a corner while the rest of the family enjoyed the merry-go-round.

  “You know,” Heather said, trying to put her feelings into words, “I just feel like, I don’t know, here I was, this college student, you know, my whole life in front of me. And then, I mean, fuck, I woke up the next day as… a soccer mom.”

  She felt a little shiver. Would she ever be able to hear the words Soccer Mom without thinking of him?

  “And, you know, that’s it. Bam. And I have at least a dozen more years of it ahead of me before, you know, they start moving out, start being independent. And then what? You don’t pick up where you left off. And….”

  Trina smirked. “So you had an affair because you’re worried about how to stay busy when you’re an empty nester?”

  “No. You know what I mean, though. Don’t you feel that way? I mean, I know we’re not supposed to say it… or even think it, I guess… but isn’t there a part of you that feels like, I don’t know, trapped?”