Unfaithful Girlfriend
Chapter 9
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 9 -
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa NonConsensual Reluctant Swinging Novel-Pocketbook
Mrs. Jessica Wright dumped her tired body into the decorator-designed barrel-based leather chair at the closest corner of the plush loft-type apartment, kicked her shoes off onto the Persian carpet that stretched across the huge room and panted to regain her breath. It was nearly ten o'clock, and she had been on her feet, mostly in front of banks of bright lights and flashing strobes since nine this morning. But she wasn't really tired; physically a little worn out, but that would pass. What counted was inside and there she felt nothing but contentment and happiness at her new life. Across the room, a half dozen of her more recent magazine covers, blown up into enormous proportions by some of the guys down at Dodge Company, dominated the room. The stereo system was blaring at peak capacity, and she knew what that meant... her husband Phillip, was working. He was the only commercial artist she knew who insisted on ear-splitting decibels before he could settle down to work.
She tried to recall what it was he'd said this morning he was working on now. The Ford campaign? No, it seems it was food of some sort... maybe I should go ask him, just to let him know I'm home.
But there was no need, for Phillip had spotted her from his crow's nest work area, perched on the top half of the two-story main room in a sort of shelf-like corner, accessible by a pull-down set of ordinary attic stairs. "Hi, honey... how was the shooting?"
She turned quickly, startled at hearing another voice. "Oh, you're not working!" she shouted over the din. "I was just thinking of coming up to say hello, but l didn't want to bother you!"
"Sorry, I can't hear you!"
"Turn down the stereo then, silly!" She waited for Phillip to disappear through the doorway into his private little world, then descend the stairs to the main room below. His shirt was streaked with acrylics and tempura from the day's work, though sometimes she wondered if he just doused himself with colors to look busy. Not likely, though, not for the man who'd just won the Art Director's Soho showing.
"Hi, that's better," he said softly right in her ear this time.