Song of Adelita
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Cheating, Revenge, Interracial, Prostitution,
Desc: Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1 - This is the story of Mark Baxter, a middle-aged professional man struggling to manage a complex secret life, and Julie, his in-the-dark but increasingly suspicious wife. Just when Mark thinks his secret life couldn't become more bizarre, a business trip brings him in close proximity to a world of decadence beyond his wildest imagination.
Early January, 2000
Julie stepped out of the shower. Grabbing a towel from the rack, she dried herself off, and then wiped the condensed moisture from the mirror. She began to quickly brush her dark brown hair, for Mark was already in bed, waiting for her. Then she smiled to herself, and standing naked in front of the mirror, slowed her brushing to a much more leisurely pace. It won't hurt him to wait a little, she thought. Prolonged anticipation does wonders for the libido.
When she deemed it the right time, she put down the brush. A bottle of perfume lay nearby on the counter; Julie sprayed a little on her wrist, took a sniff and then applied a small amount under her chin.
Julie had been married to Mark Baxter for twenty years. In that time, she had evolved from a very attractive twenty-year old to a very attractive forty-year old. Though the inevitable wrinkles had begun to appear, she nonetheless managed to turn the heads of men ten years her junior. She was a fair-skinned woman with soft brown eyes and wavy shoulder-length hair. She had managed to maintain a shapely body over the years, in spite of the fact that she rarely exercised due to her constantly busy schedule.
She had met Mark in college; he was a senior and she was a wide-eyed, star-struck freshman. Mark was an honor student, majoring in chemistry; the attraction was mutual and virtually instantaneous. He was swept away by her beauty, and she was smitten with his blue-eyed, dark-haired good looks. They were married at the end of Julie's junior year, at which time Mark had finished one year of graduate school. Around the time Julie graduated with a music degree, she became pregnant. Their son, Ted, would be an only child.
Understandably, the early years were difficult. Both Mark and Julie pursued higher degrees at an off-and-on pace. Eventually, Julie obtained a master's degree, and got a job as a music teacher at a local high school. Mark, meanwhile, after several years of part-time jobs and off-and-on graduate studies, obtained a Ph.D. and landed a rewarding position with a local pharmaceutical firm.
Now, they were finally reaping the benefits of their hard work. They had a nice house in the Philly suburbs. Mark was widely respected among his colleagues and superiors as an up-and-coming scientist. Julie had helped mold a high school music program that was considered one of the best in the country; the orchestra that she directed had won several awards. Ted had graduated from high school with honors. He was now a freshman at a Midwestern university, and had just left for the spring semester after spending the holidays at home.
All in all, Julie was content with her life. Mark had grown ever-so-slightly more distant over the past year or two, but she attributed that to the demands of his job, the stress of reaching middle age, and with Ted away at college, a side effect of empty-nest syndrome.
Julie wrapped the towel around herself, and opened the door. Lying on the bed with the room lights off, Mark gazed over at her, and smiled as she let the towel drop to the floor. His arousal increased as he saw his wife's gorgeous body silhouetted against the light emanating from the bathroom. She crawled onto the bed and lay on top of him. Her breasts touched his chest, and their lips fused together.
A short while later, Julie lay sleeping, wrapped up in her husband's arms. Julie often fell asleep immediately after lovemaking. Mark slowly lifted himself up off the bed, and looked at Julie's lovely, peaceful face, and listened to her breathing for just a minute. Then, he lay back down, staring at the ceiling, preoccupied, unable to sleep.
The next morning, Mark shivered in his car, a year-old black BMW, as he waited for the heater to kick in. It was early January, and Mark hated this time of the year. The holidays were over, and it was way too early to think about spring yet. There was just the unyielding mid-Atlantic cold, the frigid, desiccating winds and the short days. It was ten minutes after six, and still pitch black outside.
Mark was the early riser of the family. Since school didn't start until nine o' clock, Julie was able to sleep in a bit. Mark's employer allowed flexible working hours, and Mark had gradually adjusted his schedule to that of a true early bird. Most days, he was at work by six-thirty. On one occasion, Julie had questioned him about this. His reply was, "There's hardly anyone else at work at that hour, and it helps me to get the day off on the right foot." She accepted this answer at face value, with no further questioning.
As a result, Mark arrived home in the afternoon much earlier than Julie, except on those occasions when he decided to work late. Julie noted, however, that those occasions had become much less numerous in recent weeks.
Mark pulled into the company parking lot. The clock on his dashboard read 6:35. Damn traffic, at this hour! he thought. He ran up the stairs, unlocked his office on the third floor, and threw his coat and briefcase on the chair. Then he stole back out into the hall and, making sure the coast was clear, walked down a flight of stairs to the first floor. He was headed for the medical room.
He rapped gently on the door. "Shauna," he whispered. No answer. He produced a key from his pocket, and opened the door. Entering the room, he shut the door behind him. The building nurse would not be coming in to work for at least an hour; Mark had her schedule down perfectly.
At the main reception desk in the same building, the receptionist had just arrived for work, and was frantically fumbling through her purse. Finally, she found her compact, and used the mirror to aid her in touching up her lipstick. She closed the desk drawer, quickly checked to make sure no one was around, and then scurried down the hall. Time's a-wasting, Shauna thought.
In her mid-thirties, Shauna Owens was a strikingly beautiful black woman. Her jet-black, somewhat wavy, full-bodied hair cascaded down below her shoulders. She had large, moist brown eyes; piercing yet expressive. Her ebony complexion was flawless, and her figure was both the envy of the women in the building, and the object of hidden lustful desires for the men. All this was in spite of the fact that her life had had its share of trials and tribulations.
Shauna took a key out of her purse and gingerly unlocked the door to the medical room. She pushed the door open slowly, and peered around the edge. There was Mark, sitting on the patients' cot. She smiled, entered the room and shut the door. "Morning, baby," she said. "Sorry I'm a few minutes late." Mark didn't respond verbally; rather, he ran up to Shauna, swept her off her feet and lowered her onto the cot. "Aren't we fresh this morning," she giggled, but willingly submitted to his advances. In a flash, he was on the cot next to her, and there they were, kissing like a couple of lovesick teenagers.
But on this particular morning, they didn't have much time for their rendezvous. In just a few minutes, the building occupants would begin to drift in to begin their workday. And both Mark and Shauna had their own reasons for keeping their relationship under wraps.
So they just lay there on the cot for a few minutes, exchanging soft kisses, nuzzles and sweet talk. One thing that Shauna liked about Mark was that he seemed to be able to sense when initiating sex was not the proper approach. He appeared more than content to talk, and more importantly, to listen. That, in and of itself, differentiated him from just about every man she had ever known.
They got up, and exchanged a soft, lingering kiss in front of the door. Mark opened the door, peeked down the hall, and nodded at Shauna. She slipped outside, and hurried down to the ladies' room to freshen up.
Mark typically allowed Shauna to leave first, and then waited a minute or two before leaving. He didn't want them to be seen walking together down the hall, at least not on a regular basis. Finally, he locked the door, and headed upstairs. He had several important items on his business agenda for today.
The window in Mark's office faced due east, which meant that the full force of the morning sun was directed into the rather small, ten-feet-by-twelve-feet area. Mark closed the Venetian blinds, which helped somewhat, but a substantial amount of sunlight still found its way around the edges. Mark had often tried to position various objects in such a way to block the sunlight, which he found annoying, but nothing did the trick. Eventually, he had given up in frustration.
In the midst of preparing a research report for an upcoming presentation, Mark found his mind wandering. And as was usually the case during the early morning hours, the distraction was Shauna.
Mark had first laid eyes on Shauna several months earlier. He had received a phone call to come and pick up a package at the front desk. It was Shauna's second day of work, and Mark became immediately infatuated with the new receptionist. He started to find excuses to walk by her work area. Though he would do nothing more than smile at her without speaking, it was obvious to Shauna that the frequent visits to the lobby were more than just mere coincidence. She found his apparent shyness very becoming; the attraction quickly became mutual, although no words were spoken. Shauna had a slight stubborn streak; she gave Mark no indication that she was even aware of his existence.
In time, Shauna began finding anonymous, handwritten, romantic notes on her desk when she arrived at work in the morning. There was no doubt in her mind who the note-writer was, but she played along for awhile. She was very touched by the attention, and started to look forward to it. She said nothing to anyone about her secret admirer. She knew, however, that things would have to move either forward or backward, and one morning, she decided to force the issue. Arriving at work extra early, she crouched under her desk, waiting.
She heard steps approaching, counted to five, and then stood up suddenly. Mark was standing in front of the desk, note in hand, busted. His jaw dropped; Shauna broke into that gorgeous smile of hers. "Gotcha," she said, taking the note from him with a victorious flourish. Mark was speechless, and red-faced with embarrassment.
"Let's see what this morning's note says," she grinned. "Good morning, beautiful," she read in a singsong voice. "You remind me of..."
Her voice trailed off as a maintenance person suddenly rounded the corner, pushing along a large gray trash can on wheels. The worker walked impassively across the lobby, and then continued away down the hall, whistling loudly to himself.
Although Mark was still stunned at being caught in such a brazen manner, it was he who spoke first as the momentary interloper moved out of earshot. "Listen," he uttered hoarsely to Shauna. "Let's go somewhere private and talk."
"I know a place," Shauna replied. "Follow me." She led him down the hall. Mark trailed behind her, partly because he had no idea where she was headed, but mostly to savor the spectacular rear view of this beautiful dark-skinned goddess in a white long-sleeved ribbed top, gray skirt and high heels.
Her secret place turned out to be the maternity room, which had been conveniently left unlocked. This room was solely for the benefit of nursing mothers. Mark balked at her choice of location. "What if someone wants to use this room for ... you know ... its intended purpose," he said warily.
"Trust me," she responded softly. "It's still very early in the morning. Any mother who needs to nurse her child or pump some milk at this hour, will do it at home. I have three children myself, and believe me, I know the routine."
Mark looked at her incredulously. Three kids ... and a body like that? He was utterly fascinated with this woman, who was obviously very sharp, quick of mind, and believed in setting goals and devoting all her energy to chasing after them. It had become apparent to him that she had planned this whole thing out in advance, including making sure the room was unlocked.
They locked the door, and the get-acquainted conversation didn't last very long. They made love, using the sofa in the room as a makeshift bed. It had all happened so quickly.
And so it went; they met almost every workday, bright and early, while the rest of their co-workers were still at home getting ready for work. They had discovered three excellent meeting places in the building; the maternity room, the medical room, and a small conference room on the second floor. Mark had used his connections to get the maintenance supervisor to lend him the keys to each of the three rooms. He had made two copies of each key, giving one copy to Shauna. In order to further reduce the chances of getting caught, they rotated meeting places, going through a three-day cycle in which each room was used once.
Shauna did indeed have three teenage children, but was a single mom. Mark was immediately upfront with her about his marital status. This caused her to briefly reconsider the wisdom of pursuing this clandestine affair; but she reasoned, at least he treats me well during the time we have together. Over the years, Shauna had had terrible luck with men, and she told herself, things could be worse.
As a matter of fact, Shauna was truly not interested in a committed relationship at this point in her life. She felt like her plate was full, and didn't have enough to give to a significant other. But she had needs, and the secret arrangement with Mark introduced some much-welcomed spice into her life.
Mark was snapped out of his reverie by the sound of the phone ringing. It was Julie. "Hi hon," she chirped. "Could you stop by the grocery store on your way home and pick up a few things?"
"Sure thing," he told her. He grabbed a pen and a pad of paper, and took down her grocery list. Since he typically left work much earlier than Julie did, the household burden of grocery shopping often fell on Mark's shoulders.
He was grateful that when Julie called him at work, she made it quick and to the point. "Bye hon," he told her. "Love you." He put down the phone, and sighed.
A quick change of plans was in order, Mark thought. As he had done several times before, he knew that he would have to hit the grocery store on his lunch break, not after work as he had told his wife.
"Come on, four o'clock," Mandy whispered to the clock on her desk. It was almost quitting time. Mandy often spent the last few minutes of her workday watching the clock. She restlessly pulled out a nail file, killing time by pretending to shape her already well-manicured fingernails.
Mandy was an administrative assistant at a large manufacturing firm, located in northern New Jersey, just minutes from the George Washington Bridge into New York. To say that she didn't enjoy her job was a huge understatement. The work was boring, and her boss was dictatorial, not to mention a notorious clock-watcher. So every day, she waited at her desk until the stroke of four, not wanting to run afoul of the man she often referred to as "Mr. Hitler".
She was a five-foot-four, brown-eyed, long-haired brunette. At thirty-five, though still an attractive woman, an extra pound or two had started to work its way onto what was once a killer body. Not that it mattered much; her inattentive, workaholic husband had little time for her.
Boredom was a common theme in every area of her life, and she had turned to the Internet for a little excitement. A few months ago, she had discovered the chat room scene. She had a flirtatious and sexy online persona that generated a great deal of interest from male net surfers, and she enjoyed the attention.
Four o'clock. Mandy donned her coat and fled out the door to her car. Minutes later, she pulled into her driveway, having exceeded the speed limit by a fair amount the entire way. Into the house, off with the coat, and into the study. Hubby would not be home for at least two hours. She fired up the computer.
Mark unlocked his car door, having called it quits for the day. He peered inside the bags of groceries in the back seat, purchased on his lunchtime shopping trip. "As if this food is gonna sprout legs and walk away," he chuckled to himself.
Mark enjoyed bring able to head home early for a number of reasons. For one thing, it enabled him to beat the evening rush hour. He made it home in twenty minutes. It was ten after four; Julie never arrived home before five-thirty. He plugged his laptop into the phone line, and booted it up. Mark had another computer in the basement that he used pretty regularly, but today, he was in a hurry.
He wasn't online for five seconds when an instant message appeared from "Lady in Waiting". A quick exchange of messages ensued, and "Lady in Waiting" indicated that it was okay to use the telephone; the coast was clear on her end.
Mark picked up the phone. His index finger touched the one button, then ten digits in rapid-fire sequence; he knew the number well. A female voice on the other end answered, "Hello?"
"Mandy," Mark said. "Are you alone?"
"Hello, lover," Mandy replied, not bothering to answer his question directly. "I want you. I'm horny as hell." With that, she ran up the stairs into the bedroom, clutching the phone in her hand.
Mark began to unbutton his shirt. "Let me undress you," he said.
About ninety miles to the northeast, Mandy was well ahead of him. She kicked her black pumps across the bedroom. She unbuttoned her frilly white blouse, and cast it aside. She quickly shed her red, white and black plaid skirt. Running to the closet, she removed a small box and dropped it on the bed. She rolled down her pantyhose and tossed them on the floor. Frantically, she unhooked her bra, and let it drop. Her pinkish breasts were round and full; she began to pinch and caress her nipple, which was already erect. Finally, off came the white lace panties, which were already quite moist. Fully naked, Mandy hopped onto the bed, lay down on her back, spreading her legs slightly. She began to finger herself.
"Oh, lover," she cooed. "I'm naked for you. Take me. Fuck me now ... I want it bad."
By now, Mark's clothes were also lying in a heap on the floor. With one hand, he held the phone; with the other, he began to masturbate. "I'm kissing down your neck ... heading south ... I reach your left tit. Softly, I start to suck on your nipple."
Mandy was fingering herself furiously at this point, with one hand still working on her nipple. As Mark continued to talk dirty, visions of being sexually ravished were flooding Mandy's mind. "Ooh," she moaned. "Give it to me ... please..." she screamed into the phone.
Her pleas increased Mark's arousal; he knew that slowing the pace at this point would be fruitless. "I'm sucking your tits furiously ... with one hand I very gently slide down your tummy. My fingers graze against your bush ... just barely touching the lips of your pussy..."
Writhing on the bed with pleasure, Mandy started to rub her clit with one hand while fingering herself with the other. Her moans were getting louder and louder; Mark knew that she was a screamer, which he found to be a big turn-on.
"I slide my finger inside you," Mark began, but Mandy cut him off. "No, lover," she begged, "Fuck me. I want you inside me. I want your big cock inside me, and I want to feel you cum inside my pussy."
Mark knew she couldn't wait. "I'm mounting you ... I'm pressing my cock against your pussy lips ... about to enter you..."
Mandy simply could not last one more second. She opened the box next to her on the bed, and pulled out a large dildo. She was soaking wet; no lubrication was necessary. She thrust the dildo deep within her vagina, meeting no resistance. She squealed with delight as she began working the artificial cock in and out.
Mark knew she was at the edge, and he decided to push her over. "I'm fucking you," he said slowly and deliberately, in a deep, guttural voice, "hard and fast. I'm driving in and out of you like a well-oiled piston. At the same time, I'm rubbing your clitty with my finger..."
But Mark could hear what was happening on the other end; Mandy had erupted in a blinding orgasm. Her moans of joy filled the phone, and as he got an earful of her bliss, he began to stroke himself vigorously, and reached his own climax in no time.
They took a few minutes to pull themselves together. "You are good. Damn good," Mandy purred.
"You too," Mark replied. "I don't think I've ever heard a woman who is ... shall we say ... as vocally appreciative as you are."
"We need to get together in real life, lover. If we are this good over the phone, imagine how good it would be if we were in the same room, doing the real thing."
They had often discussed this, and Mark had to admit that she had a point.
They chatted for a few more minutes and said their goodbyes. Mandy sighed contentedly as she hung up the phone; tomorrow was another day. She looked at the bed. Right in the center of the spread was a large round wet spot. She began to peel away the covers, and found that her love juice had soaked all the way through. "Oh, well," Mandy giggled. "Time to do the laundry."
Mark had been better prepared for the mess resulting from his climax; he had a towel handy. After cleaning up, he gathered his clothes together. He picked up his work shirt, and held it up to his face. His nose detected the faint, lingering essence of Shauna's perfume. He smiled as he loaded the clothes into the washer. Before starting the cycle, he ran down to the basement. He unlocked his tool chest and pulled out a large plastic trash bag. Inside were several other items of clothing that he wanted to keep out of the regular laundry, and away from Julie's keen sense of smell. He tossed these into the washer, as well.
Mark got dressed in lounging-around-the-house clothes, turned on the TV, and sat down in his recliner to relax. He had plenty of time to kill before Julie got home.
He could hear the washer doing its work, and he mused to himself, most women would kill to have a husband who does his own laundry.
But actually, he thought, it should make them suspicious as hell.