Chapter 2

My bride’s panties lay under the couch for the rest of the night, right where she kicked them. He eyed them – the smallest part of the thing sticking out from under there, the part she couldn’t quite get kicked completely under – he eyed them every time he leaned up to set his drink on the coffee table. He eyed them from the dining room from time to time as the three of us ate, his eyes glancing to the spot where he sat. Starting to wonder if that really even happened.

It had. I’d let him lick my beauty’s pussy for a few seconds, generously sharing a few of her juices, tart and savory. A perfect appetizer for the meal she’d put together. If he noticed that my steak was bigger than his he didn’t let on. He needed to have a lighter meal. I could eat what I wanted; it takes little energy to sit and I wouldn’t need to be active until hours after he left, hours after she was allowed off the floor. But that was later; this was now.

She ate salad.

The discussion at dinner stayed benign. Truth is we barely knew each other. As I mentioned, I only used our dim connection at a local country club as a pretext for this dinner, one he gladly embraced due to his lust for my wife. Just cocky enough to confess it to her boss, someone who wasn’t a member of the club, probably not the member of any club, wouldn’t likely ever be. But no doubt her boss also lusted her – who didn’t, with that shocking red hair, enticing freckles, compact but extremely shapely body and those eyes that somehow betrayed deep trust and dark thoughts simultaneously. I loved her more than anything I’d ever known in my life, spending years wondering what other people felt when they talked about love only to have her land in my life and burrow into a place inside me. She’d never get out, either. She knew it and I knew it. Our fates had been sealed a long time ago.

That chemical bond is what allowed me – really forced me – to share her. Like owning a hovering gleaming of raw energy, I couldn’t only use the light or feel the warmth myself. No matter what happened, I’d always own it. Benevolence seemed the only option. But make no mistake; I had cruelty in mind as well. Give them a little. Make them know what they are missing. What I have that they’ll never own because only I can own it. Only I will ever own it.

We sipped wine after dinner, banal conversation continuing. Steered away from politics (she hated Trumpian semen inside her, on her breasts, in her mouth.) Sports bored her, not that I really cared. She liked movies, but he didn’t really have much to say about the stars of the upcoming sequels.

At the same time there was a magic to drawing him through it. The casual homogenized conversation just enthusiastic and vanilla enough to put a doubt in his mind. Had it really happened? Had his tongue really been on her clitoris, her hands on the back of his head, gently guiding him? For what, four maybe five seconds? Had he felt the warmth of her stomach pull away from his forehead as she inhaled when he hit a certain spot? Or had it been a brief daydream? A new fantasy he’d invented as he watched her move in her summer dress. Only his glances to confirm the panties still peeked out from the couch kept him more or less sure he’d been there.

As we moved past an hour of post-dinner conversation, my most valuable possession yawned and stood.

“I don’t want to break this up, but I’m getting a little tired,” she volunteered, as if the thought only just came to her. My love is a brilliant actress.

He seemed somewhat crestfallen. His willingness to hang in this conversation was mostly fueled by his desire to remain present in front of her. Have her hear him. In his mind his stories of boat maintenance, rightly-timed stock purchases and sales and gossip about club board members was fascinating her, impressing her. He couldn’t have known her less. To be fair outside of me no one really did.

“I’m getting ready for bed,” she said, her eyes then widening and looking directly at him, “but don’t run off on my account. I know you boys are having fun and I know the other game is apparently coming on. Plus I’ll be back out to say goodnight.”

The key line. He’s going nowhere now.

She headed upstairs to the bedroom, and the amount of wine in his bloodstream allowed him to watch her make her walk with little or no concern that he might be gazing a little too long.

We moved back to our respective chairs, him choosing to sit exactly where he had been, the corner of the thong now between his feet, an inch or two between each heel. I heard water running upstairs.

As another game started, he worked hard to keep up the conversation, looking for something to share, something to rejuvenate that comradery we’d shared hours before, something that in his mind had led to the brief white light of an interaction he was holding onto, waves of first wine, and now bourbon washing over it, making it tougher to see, tougher to hold focus on. Especially when describing the various physical attributes of wives of the club members I barely knew.

His description of the ass of a teenager who worked the pool last summer trailed off as my love began to descend the stairs, barefoot with a white robe on. Her legs alternated flashing out of the robe then disappearing back in as she took each step down, spending just maybe a second on each step, pale skin in the sepia light, alternating left right left right left right...

The white robe had the effect of making her amazing hair and eyes more striking. The freckles on her face, shoulders and neck more noticeable. I congratulated myself on that purchase. Both purchases, actually, if you counted her. Then again, do you have to purchase what you’ve always owned? Our expensive house and choice of cars said yes, but there’s no surety that she wouldn’t still be mine in a subsidized apartment. The only difference would be we’d be less choosy about who spent nights like this in our abode, and that they’d most assuredly be leaving us cash at the end.