Chapter 4: Home Wrecked

I helped Sam prepare for his Bar Mitzvah. I helped Benjamin too, mostly just by listening and discussing politics or letting him turn me on to some cool band or letting me turn him on to the music I loved--mostly Miles Davis and Chet Baker and Gerry Mulligan and cool jazz. In other words I came home relatively early and got to know my sons. We got on surprisingly well. And my wife remained mostly pleasant. We only made love with Bess. She made love with George. Evenings and absences she lied using female friends. She even visited an old school chum for a weekend. I knew the girl and didn't trust her. However I never felt as bonded to my family as I did that year.

Our birthday approached. "Keep it open. Don't plan on going to work and don't tell Lisa we talked," Bess insisted.

At home, Lisa echoed mystery. "Before school starts next week, Sam and Ben are staying at your dad's."

"Why?" I asked.

"Your father thought it would be a good bonding experience."

A few minutes before leaving the office the day before my birthday, Clara transferred Bess's call.

"Lisa plans on taking you out tonight for dinner and a club. I'll meet you at the club at precisely midnight. You'll be mine from then on. Don't tell her I told you." Bess hung up.

Dinner turned out delicious and romantic. Lisa seemed oddly nervous at first--she tended to be high strung but that usually translated into one sided conversations and over assertiveness--the latter making her submissive nature that much more of a surprise. She rarely combined nerves with silence. After three glasses of Moet et Chandon, she calmed and loosened and we cuddled, kissed and touched like furtive teenagers. Getting each other horny, heading to the club disappointed me. We hadn't fucked alone in over a year. And the club--some hip new wave nonsense--did nothing for me. We danced and flirted and it helped ease the pain of the place. I noticed her glancing distractedly and saw a man even less likely to be where we were. Older by ten years and gray haired, he wore a much younger outfit than seemed fitting: leather pants and a silk shirt unbuttoned to the navel. He looked away every time I glanced at him.

Finally Bess arrived looking fantastic. Her deep blue wrap around dress clung to every curve and begged me to unwrap it. "Hurry," she said to me in a loud whisper over the noise of the ugly pop music. I followed.

Once outside in the relatively fresh air of a muggy late August night we hugged and kissed. She led me to a stretch limo where we had plenty of room for her unwrapping. I did the honors. She unzipped me. We drove slowly through Manhattan sucking genitals, cumming, reviving and fucking. She rocked in my lap, dancing the way I preferred. We locked eyes between loving lip locks. Leaning towards the seat, she lay on her back--her leg draped over my shoulder instead of pressing into the seat back-- and demanded to be fucked hard until I spent my seed.

"I'm cumming," I moaned. "Fill me," she yelled and accompanied me in bliss.

"I love your hot cum burning inside me," she whispered--her lips nibbling my ear. The sensuality delayed my declining penis, but eventually it fell from her pussy--our shared spend releasing onto the leather seats.

"I love you," I said simply.

"I love you," she responded. For the next ten minutes we kissed. My cock hardened, but neither one of us cared. We concentrated on the kiss.

A tap on the privacy screen startled me. "It's time," said Bess.

Through the tinted windows, I watched as the City disappeared behind us. We took the Tri-borough Bridge and headed east. Eventually we arrived in East Hampton at a small but expensive house. The driver got out, removed his jacket and tie and grabbed a rolled up leather kit. We watched him pick the lock and rush inside to disable the alarm. "We've been spying," said Bess wide eyed with excitement. My heart seemed audible as it thumped heavily in my chest. "Thanks Brian," said Bess. We snuck up to a large master bedroom and nestled together in a walk in closet.

"George's house I presume," I said as calmly as possible.

"She's making her move," explained Bess. "The kids await her and George in Maryland where he's bought their house. She claimed to be the forgiving adult, letting us have a romantic night together to celebrate our birthday. Instead she steals the kids and herself from you. After a night of fucking, she and George will spend the day packing and head to their new home. A note sits in your mailbox explaining the terms of the divorce using me as an excuse. I've had enough of her deceit and so should you."

"But we've gotten along well."

"It's bullshit, Joe."

"But the kids..."

"They're victims. If you want them, we can show her cunning and her cuckolding and her stealing them."

"I want them."

"I thought you might."

"Bess?"

"Ssshh," she intoned as the door downstairs opened. Sounds of giggling made me nauseous. They got louder. The couple burst into the bedroom and proceeded to have sex, George changing suddenly into a demanding disciplinarian.

"Strip you whore! I saw you pawing that pathetic man. You'll do anything for a fuck."

"I just pretended."

"Shut up bitch. Bend over!" Slaps echoed.

"I never..."

"Lying bitch. " Slap. "Pull it out. Do what you do best, whore. Suck me. Make me cum! Stop touching yourself. Who said you could cum before me?"

"I need to..." Slap.

"You make me cum and I might let you. You better do better." Slap. "Look at you, you fucked up bitch." Slap. "I treat you the way you deserve, and you're such a whore you're leaking like a faucet. Unless that's piss you filthy whore."