The Accountant's Wife
Copyright© 2017 by Andyhm
Introduction: Where I set the scene.
Thriller Sex Story: Introduction: Where I set the scene. - Over the past year, I've had quite a few requests to write a follow-up to The Woodworker's Wife, one in which Marcus gets his comeuppance. I had a story bouncing around in my thoughts, the chance to including Marcus as the villain was the perfect addition. It's not another tale of Dave and Zoe, nor is it a true sequel. But it does have Marcus as one of the villains. It is possible to read this as a standalone story
Caution: This Thriller Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Coercion Consensual Romantic Lesbian BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Cheating Indian Female
I’ve read numerous tales on this and other erotic literature sites about wives falling for the insidious boss or coworker. Most of them seem, to begin with some version of the same statement; ‘I was the last to know’, ‘there is an anonymous call’, ‘she stopped wanting sex’ or the classic, ‘we need to talk’.
Then, there’s my version, which had none of the above in it. I know I was aware of the possibility long before Rebecca accepted that it was happening. Rebecca is my wife of eight years; she’s a lawyer and has been working as a partner in her family’s firm at their London office. For the past half year, she’s been lead counsel on a case. Her client is the relative of an old college friend of her father.
She’s an attractive woman, at least I think so; she is two years younger than me at 32. She’s only five-foot-four. I call her my little elven princess: short black hair and the deepest green eyes I’ve ever seen, small firm breasts that suit her figure. She wears glasses for reading when needed, and has the cutest little nose set above a smile. It’s a smile I see even when I’m not with her. Oh, and she’s American and speaks with the most wonderful Georgia peach accent. Well, that’s the way she described it to me when we first met.
I’m Michael James, or Mike, to my friends and I’m an accountant. Okay, I can almost hear the groans of boredom, but I’m not just any old accountant. I’m what’s known as a forensic accountant. I’m one of the best in the world. I don’t work for any old accountancy agency; I work for the best one in the world, my own. I’m the person the police call in to consult on the big financial crimes. Major international companies have me on speed dial. I’ve never needed to advertise.
I’m not an imposing figure of a man. I’m thirty-four years old, but look younger, tall and wiry with a face you would forget the moment you look away. I like it that way; people underestimate me, and it makes it so much easier for me to work my magic on their records. Dressed, I’m your typical junior office worker but hidden under those grey suits are a fit and very healthy body. I’m an amateur road cyclist and love riding whenever I can; it keeps me very fit.
I’ve found I can read people very well. Records, on their own, rarely tell the whole story, as I’d found numerous times. A person who is intelligent enough to steal money is more than capable of laying the blame on some poor patsy.
My favourite ploy is to ... no, wait we need to get back to the issue at hand. My wife is being seduced, and she’s completely unaware that it’s happening. It sounds so cold when you say it like that, but that’s what is happening. I’ve no intention of letting the bastard succeed, so back to my story.
