The Adulterer's Handbook
Page 14
Provided she’s still talking to me.
◆◆◆
At work on Monday, Sophia is playing it cool. She arrived early for the staff meeting, contributed more than usual, exuded professionalism, and didn’t look at me once.
I don’t like it.
At my first opportunity, I enter her office.
“Morning,” I say, breezily.
She looks up from her computer screen, her face inscrutable.
“Oh, hi, Lee. Good holiday?”
“Yes, thanks. How are you?”
“Really well, thanks. How can I help you?”
So, this is how she’s going to play it. Well, two can play that game.
“I was just wondering if I’d missed anything important while I was away.”
“No. I don’t think so,” she says. “You should have been copied-in to all the relevant emails.”
“Okay. Thanks. See ya.”
I walk back to my desk.
Let the passive aggression commence.
◆◆◆
Tuesday continues in a similar way: mutual polite professionalism.
◆◆◆
I tried to initiate lovemaking with Tamsin last night, but she thought she might have a migraine coming on, so no luck there.
◆◆◆
By Wednesday afternoon, it’s getting a bit close to Friday, and I still haven’t had any action at home. I was hoping that Sophia would cave first and be the one to instigate a reconciliation between us, but she continues to treat me as merely another colleague.
I try a tentative text message.
“Hi.”
No reply.
I try again. “You ok?”
No reply for twenty minutes. She’s getting her revenge.
Finally, a reply comes. “Hello, stranger. I’m fine thanks. How are you?”
“Sad. I miss you. X”
“Aww! I miss you too.”
“Are we still on for Friday?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are we meeting at your place on Friday?”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“Tell me.”
“I want you!!! X”
“What for?”
“You know. Why are you being so obtuse?”
“Tell me.”
“I want to make love with you! Xxx”
“Was that so hard?”
“I’ll tell you what is so hard!!”
“I thought you were only having sex with your wife now!”
“Don’t be like that. We were on holiday. What was I supposed to do?”
“You were supposed to message me and tell me how much you missed me. Every day!”
“I’m sorry. I messed up. Xxx.”
“Yes. You did.”
“Please forgive me. Xxx”
“Why should I?”
“Because I’m adorable and a total stud?”
“Hmm. I’m not so sure anymore. What’s in it for me?”
“Unfettered access to my smoking hot bod and incredible sexual prowess?!”
“Not enough. What else?”
“My stamp collection?!!”
“I’m tempted! What else?”
“What do you want?”
“I want you to stop having sex with Tamsin altogether and just make love with me. X”
This is totally out of the question. The whole point of this affair is to have some extra sex to supplement the meagre ration I receive from my wife. There aren’t supposed to be ultimatums. If I say this, however, Sophia might never have sex with me again. But if I agree to her demand, I’ll have to stop making love to my favourite person in the world.
It’s a tricky situation.
“Agreed. X” I lie.
“What’s agreed? Be specific.”
“I agree to stop having sex with Tamsin and only make love with you.”
I cross my fingers and hit send.
This is what Sophia wants to hear. I don’t have to abide by it. After all, she won’t know if I continue making love with Tamsin. It’s only a little white lie.
“Really?”
“I promise. X”
“Oh, Lee. That makes me so happy! Xxx”
“Good. So, Friday…?”
“Definitely! I’m going to blow your mind!!! Xxx”
“Just my mind?!!”
“Wait and see!!! Xxx”
◆◆◆
On Thursday morning, my phone beeps twice as two text messages arrive almost simultaneously. I can’t help experiencing a frisson of excitement about receiving two coincident messages from the two gorgeous women that I’m having sex with. I bet there’s nobody else in the office as lucky as me.
Naturally, I open the one from Tamsin first.
“Jake has two tickets to the football on Saturday. He wants to know if you want to go with him or maybe John?”
“Do you think John would be interested?” I reply.
“Yes. He and his mates seem to be getting more into football lately, and it would be good for his street cred if he went to this match. It’s a big game.”
“Fine by me. Tell Jake thanks and let him know that John would love to go with him.”
“Will do.”
“Fancy some rumpy later?! X”
No reply. She must have gone back to her classroom.
I open the message from Sophia.
“Hi.”
“Hi, babe. What’s up?”
Sophia responds with four messages in quick succession.
“Lee, please can you enter my orifice?”
“Oops! I meant ‘come in my orifice’.”
“OMG! I meant ‘office’!”
“Or did I?!!!”
I chuckle. Sophia’s messages are definitely more entertaining than Tamsin’s.
“You’re very funny! And very naughty!! I can’t wait to be alone with you tomorrow. X”
“Me too. Although you realise I’m going to have to punish you!!!”
“Gulp! What for?”
“For not keeping in touch with me while you were on vacation.”
“Sorry (again!) What’s the punishment going to be?!”
“I think you deserve a damn good spanking!!!”
“Eek! My poor bottom. You won’t leave any marks will you?!”
“I’ll try not to. I reckon 10 hard smacks should suffice. However, because I’m nice, I’ll take off 1 smack for every time you make me climax!”
“Excellent plan! What if I make you climax 12 times?”
“Then you’ll owe me 2 smacks!!!”
“Ooh, I love maths! Challenge accepted! x”
◆◆◆
Now, this is something of a dilemma. I love making Sophia climax. It’s not quite as much fun as making Tamsin climax, but it comes close. However, I’ve also discovered that I rather enjoy being spanked. It’s something I’d never experienced before, having never dared bring it up with Tamsin. I can imagine her response if I did:
“You want me to do what?!”
“Take my trousers down, put me over your knee and smack my bare bottom until it goes bright red.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. And at the same time, can you tell me I’ve been a very naughty boy.”
“You want me to say that?”
“Yes. Preferably in a deep, throaty, sexy voice.”
“How hard should I spank you?”
“Nice and hard, please. I want to hear a loud smacking noise.”
“With my bare hand, or should I use a paddle or a whip?”
“Your hand should be fine. Hard enough to leave handprints if you’d be so kind.”
“Isn’t that going to hurt me as much as it hurts you?”
“Of course. Newton’s third law of motion states that for every action there’s an equal and opposite reaction.”
“But I don’t like pain.”
“Hmm. I suppose you could use a paddle. That way it shouldn’t hurt you at all.”
“But we haven’t got a paddle.”
“You’ll have to improvise.”
“How about a rolling pin?”
“Are you mad, woman? I’m not convinced you’re taking this seriously.”
“A table tennis bat?”
“Now you’re getting it. That would do nicely. It should generate a nice resounding thwack.”
“Okay. What’s my line again?”
“You’ve been a very naughty boy.”
“You’ve been a very naughty boy.”
“Not bad, but slower, deeper and more alluring.”
“You’ve been a very naughty boy.”
“Perfect. Now, if you could give me three smacks each time you say it. One on ‘very’, one on ‘naughty’ and the final one on ‘boy’.”
“Okay.”
“Preferably with each smack getting slightly harder.”
“It’s complicated, isn’t it? There’s a lot to remember.”
“Do you want me to write it down?”
“No. It’s fine. I think I’ve got it.”
“Ready to go then?”
“Not quite. I’ve got a couple more questions. What if I actually hurt you?”
“Ah! Now that’s a good question. We should have a safe word.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, if it’s really painful and I’m not enjoying it, then I’ll say an agreed word and that’ll tell you to stop.”
“What word?”
“It could be anything. Banana? Serendipitous? Cerise?”
“Why can’t you just say ‘stop’?”
“Well, I might say ‘stop’, but not really mean it, because I’m acting.”
“Huh?”
“You see, I’m playing the role of a naughty schoolboy who doesn’t want to be spanked, so he’s saying ‘stop’ to the sexy headmistress who’s administering a thoroughly deserved punishment.”
“Am I the sexy headmistress?”
“You certainly are.”
“Do I have any other lines? What’s my backstory?”
“Listen. All you’ve got to say is, ‘You’ve been a very (smack) naughty (Smack) boy (SMACK).”
“In a slow, deep, alluring way?”
“Correct.”
“So you don’t want to be spanked?”
“No. (Sigh.) The schoolboy doesn’t want to be spanked, but I do. So I’ll be saying ‘stop’ in my role as the schoolboy, but the actual me wants to be spanked. Therefore, I can’t have ‘stop’ as my safe word, because when I say ‘stop’ as the schoolboy, I actually mean ‘keep going’ as me. Do you see?”
“I think so. The safe word has to be something a schoolboy wouldn’t normally say while he was being spanked.”
“Now you’ve got it.”
“But what if the schoolboy wants to say ‘Wouldn’t it be serendipitous if someone stuck a cerise banana up my arse’?”
“Ooh! Good point. He might say that. Why don’t you pick a safe word?”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to have a safe sentence?”
“Like what?”
“How about, ‘Tamsin, stop doing that, it bloody hurts’? I think it’s quite unlikely a schoolboy would say that to his sexy headmistress.”
“You’re a genius, Tam. Let’s go with that.”
“Okey-dokey.”
“All ready now?”
“Nearly. Just one more question.”
“Fire away.”
“WHY…?!!”
◆◆◆
After a modicum of thought, I realise there’s no dilemma at all. It’s win-win for me. Either I make Sophia climax many times, which I love doing, or I get soundly spanked, which I love being.
Sophia really is exceptional at coming up with stimulating scenarios. Long may it continue.
Chapter Thirteen
The Kitchen
I’m standing in Sophia’s kitchen, looking down at the top of her head as it oscillates backwards and forwards with a steadily increasing rhythm. My arousal is on the verge of reaching its zenith when the landline telephone rings. Sophia stops what she’s doing, much to my disappointment, gets unsteadily to her feet, walks over to the breakfast bar and answers the phone.
I can only make out one side of the conversation.
“Hello?”
Faint, but unintelligible noise.
“Hi, Joe. What’s up?”
Longer faint, but unintelligible noise.
“Sorry. You know I put my cell phone on silent when I’m at work.”
She doesn’t.
More faint, but unintelligible noise.
“You’re coming home now?!” I can hear the panic in her voice. Hopefully, Joe can’t.
More faint, but unintelligible noise.
Sophia draws aside the curtain and looks out the window.
“I see. Well, actually I’m at home at the moment too.” She starts waving her free arm wildly, gesticulating frantically to get me to move. “I popped home to get some lunch.”
She covers the mouthpiece and hisses in my direction, “It’s Joe. He’s nearly home. Hide!”
What do I do? Where do I go?
“I can see you now,” Sophia says, feigning serenity and looking out the window again. “I’ll put the kettle on.”
She hangs up the phone and shouts at me, “He’s coming down the road. Get out of sight, now!”
“Where? What’s he doing here? Will he go upstairs?”
I’m horrified. Is Joe the violent sort, who’ll murder his wife’s lover with his bare hands and bury him in the garden, or the reasonable type, who’ll invite him to partake in a friendly cup of tea while the situation is discussed calmly and rationally? Probably somewhere in between those two extremes, but hopefully nearer the latter.
“I don’t know. Hurry! He’s coming up the drive. Get down!”
She points behind the breakfast bar and I duck down just in time as the front door is already opening.
◆◆◆
I lie on the floor beneath the breakfast bar, trying not to make a sound. I’m barely breathing and already feeling uncomfortable. My right hip is pressing against the unforgiving floor tiles and causing my leg to go numb; my bottom is still smarting from the spanking that it recently received; and I haven’t even been able to tidy myself away and zip up for fear of making a sound and being detected. It occurs to me that my phone could ring or ping at any moment, but I’m too petrified to reach into my pocket to switch it off.
Sophia and Joe are about ten feet away, the other side of the breakfast bar, and I can hear every word they say.
“Hi, babe. What a pleasant surprise. I didn’t expect to find you here,” Joe says, his voice deep and intimidating.
I hear them kiss.
“Forgot my lunch, so I thought I’d nip home and grab a quick bite,” Sophia says.
“Lucky me. You look gorgeous today. Do you always look this good in your work clothes?”
“I certainly do.”
“I hardly ever see you dressed for the office. By the time I get home, you’ve usually changed into something more comfortable. I like it.”
Joe drops his car keys onto the breakfast bar, directly above my head.
“I’m glad you approve.”
“Oh, it’s more than approval. It’s arousal. Got time for a quickie?”
I wasn’t expecting this. Twenty minutes ago Sophia and I were in bed together upstairs. Five minutes ago I was in her mouth.
“It’ll have to be very quick. I need to be back at work soon,” she says.
To my surprise, she doesn’t sound unenthusiastic.
“Awesome! I’m sure I can manage ‘very quick.’”
From my hiding place, in the silence, I can hear kissing, and the rustling of clothes being removed and falling to the floor.
Then there’s a noise that I’m very familiar with. Sophia is moaning with pleasure.
“Oh, babe!”
I don’t know precisely what’s going on, but I’ve got a pretty good idea
, and Sophia is definitely enjoying it.
I hear the metallic jingle of Joe’s belt being undone, then the unmistakable sound of a zip being unfastened.
A heavy thump tells me that Sophia has been lifted onto the breakfast bar.
◆◆◆
This situation couldn’t get much worse.
Sophia and Joe are having frenetic, noisy sex on the breakfast bar, six inches above my head.
From the sounds they’re making, it’s going really well. Sophia is giving Joe plenty of encouragement as their pace increases. She’s either a brilliant actress, or she’s thoroughly enjoying herself.
I can’t hold back the notion that the thrill and danger of making love with her husband, while her lover is listening just inches away, is a huge turn-on for her.
I feel humiliated.
Sophia told me that she hadn’t had sex with Joe for over eighteen months, but that’s not the impression I’m getting from the noises I can hear. Neither of them is gasping, “This is so good. Why haven’t we done it for over eighteen months?” They sound like a couple who have regular sex. It seems as if Sophia has been lying to me.
How did I get into this situation? Flaccid cock out, hiding on the floor under a breakfast bar. I normally find the noises of sex arousing, but the fear of imminent death and/or genital mutilation is having the opposite effect.
For a second, it occurs to me that Joe might be able to see me in the reflection of the cooker, but then I realise, with relief, that his view is blocked by my jacket hanging on the back of a kitchen stool.
My jacket is hanging on the back of a kitchen stool!!!
◆◆◆
Nothing arouses me more than the acoustics of sex. The irrepressible moans, sighs and sharp intakes of breath are a huge turn-on. Then there’s the purred encouragement: