Chapter 9: The Players and the Played

Collette's heart raced as she walked to the door to let Mike in. All day long, she'd been telling herself that Mike was doing something nice for Mikey and Bobby and that the evening had nothing to do with her. She shouldn't expect nor try to win any attention from this man who was going through hell—a hell she'd known herself.

So why am I wearing this low-cut blouse, these form-flattering pants, and open-toed shoes with freshly painted nails? Why did I spend so much time choosing my lipstick? Why I am even wearing lipstick?

She'd already seen Mike once today—when he'd dropped Mikey off. He'd been gone for a while, but now he was back, grocery bags in hand. Collette led him to the kitchen and helped him unload.

"So, what have the kids been up to?" he asked.

"Everything! They played outside for a while. Now they're up in Bobby's room."

"Wish I could play with them, but we've got to get started. Now, we're going to need a large frying pan, a sauce pan..."

Collette collected the items Mike requested and watched with interest as he began cooking. She'd expected to have to help him, but to her surprise, Mike knew what he was doing. Before long, the kitchen smelled wonderful.

Quite a contrast to the smells of frozen food coming out of the microwave and whatever I was drinking at the time.

When the meal was ready, Collette called the kids down to the dining room. It had been some time since she'd used that room. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time.

Might it have been ... my god ... when Richard was still here? Have we been eating off that little table in the kitchen ever since?

Peter's pulse quickened when he heard the doorbell. He'd dismissed the servants for the night, so he answered the door himself. Before opening it, he checked to make sure Jennifer had come alone. She had.

"Jennifer, you look lovely. Please come in."

He took her long coat and hung it by the door. Jennifer was dressed in a short, black skirt. Her legs were bare. Peter felt a throb in his groin, and a stronger throb when he noticed that Jennifer's chest looked a little unusual.

No bra! I didn't actually expect you to follow that order, Jen. Is there a submissive streak in you after all?

Peter escorted her to a small, candlelit dining area off the main dining room and kitchen. This was Peter's "dinner for two" nook: a semi-circle of a room, lined along the curve with windows overlooking a wooded canyon. A small, high table with two high chairs was the room's main feature.

The table was beautifully set, with covers on the plates to keep the contents warm. Peter helped Jennifer sit down, then removed the covers and set them on a counter. The meal was well-presented and no doubt delicious; Peter's cook had done an excellent job.

From the wine bar in the room, Peter poured two glasses and brought then to the table. Sitting down, he offered a toast.

"To reconciliations!"

The dinner at the Davis home was boisterous and filling. When Mike brought out the ice cream, Bobby and Mikey broke into surprised but gleeful grins. The ice cream surprised Collette, too—Mike had slipped it into the freezer when she hadn't been looking. He offered her some, but while looking at it longingly, she tried to decline.

"Thanks, Mike, but I'm trying to ... you know, lose some weight..."

Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, Mike forced a bowl into her hands. "Don't be silly, Collette. You do nothing but turn heads every time you cross that school yard."

Collette blushed. Then, remembering how she'd turned around that day and seen Mike watching her, she blushed even brighter. Sometimes it was terrible, having fair skin.

Maybe I should get a tan ... would that help? And Mike seems to like tanned women ... oh, stop it, girl!

Before Mike and Collette had barely begun, Bobby and Mikey had wolfed down their portions, excused themselves, and gone back upstairs. The dining room was quiet for a moment. Looking up from her bowl, Collette noticed Mike staring at a small, framed photograph on a corner table. A photograph of a much younger Collette, a much younger Bobby, and a man Mike had never met.

"That's Richard," Collette said. "I don't know why I keep that photo. I had reasons, once, but now ... I don't know. And I hardly ever come in here anymore."

"The three of you look very happy in that photo."

"Yeah ... we were happy then, I think. And people used to say we were a hot couple. Maybe that's why I kept the picture; to show that I was pretty, once."

"Once?" Mike said, disagreeing with her use of the past tense. Then, he hastily added, "Um ... this is pretty good ice cream." Collette was glad to see him peering at his bowl; it kept him from seeing that she'd blushed again.

"So," Mike prodded, "what happened ... if you don't mind my asking?"

Collette hesitated. Her past embarrassed her. She was afraid to tell her story and seem like a loser, like a failure, especially to the man at the table with her. She remembered, however, that this was a man who might be able to relate. Plus; it might feel good to talk to someone.

So Collette talked. She talked about meeting Richard, about the earliest years of their marriage, and Bobby's birth. There were some rough patches, it sounded to Mike, but some good times too.

"But as Bobby got older," Collette said, her tone darkening, "things started to change. Richard started to change. While Bobby was in preschool, things just got more and more ... off ... between us. We seemed to have less and less time together, and we weren't communicating well. By the time Bobby started kindergarten, we were fighting a lot.

"That's when I began drinking more than usual. And Richard just got increasingly distant, cold. We still ... god, I can't believe I'm telling you this ... we still had, um, 'relations' fairly often, but it was different. He wanted more from me ... different things ... and there just wasn't much love in any of it.

"By the end of kindergarten, I was on my way to being an alcoholic, I guess. It was around that time that Richard ... well, he had these ideas for 'spicing things up' and I ... um, let's just say things got very complicated.

"At the end of summer, right as Bobby was starting first grade, I found out that Richard had been having an affair. He didn't deny it, didn't apologize. He blamed me, said I wasn't... 'interesting' or 'exciting' enough anymore, that I was just this 'boring mom.'

"That's when the divorce started. And that's when I really hit the bottle hard. Fortunately I found a lawyer who did a pretty good job of looking out for me.

"Richard went off with the ... other woman ... didn't even try to get custody of Bobby or much in the way of visitation rights. He kept in touch for a little while, but then they moved out-of-state. I'm not sure if they're still together. I doubt it.

"You know, I don't ... I don't think Richard totally loved her. He may not even have liked her. It was more, I think, that he couldn't resist her. Once his dark side was out, he just lost control."

Peter stared at Jennifer, searching for signs of the animal he'd seen in the video. For signs of the woman, once an unshakably loyal wife, who had moaned as James had played with her nipples. The woman who had sought out and kissed James' cock. She was in there, somewhere; he just needed to utilize the right combination of carrots and sticks to coax her out.

Before tonight, he'd been all sticks, but this was carrot time. As they ate, there was no hint of the sinister insinuations he'd made at the park and on the phone. Instead, Peter dialed up the charm that had made them friends those many years ago. He reminded Jennifer of good times past, of places and people mutually known, of experiences shared.

It seemed to Peter that Jennifer was relaxing. Perhaps it was the conversation, the first good meal she'd had in weeks, the wine, or the combination thereof. Perhaps she felt a respite from the exhaustion and loneliness that had plagued her of late.

Peter, in contrast, was anything but relaxed. Here was Jennifer Chancey, the former Jennifer Robertson, his holy grail—alone in his house, wearing next to nothing, and at his mercy. When the time came, he did not intend to show any.

He wondered, however, how much resistance she would actually present. After all, her life had fallen apart. Now, she was with a man who desired her and was getting a glimpse of the lifestyle he could offer her. It was better than the other future she was facing.

Suddenly, Peter thought he should check on something. Surely his man would alert him if something was wrong, but still ... you could never be too careful. The last thing Peter wanted this evening was an unanticipated and angry knock on his door. So, he excused himself, went to another room, and placed a phone call.

"Is he at his hotel?" Peter asked his investigator.

"No," came the answer.

Shit.

"He's taken the boy to another family's house. A blonde lady, a pretty one, with a kid; haven't seen a husband."

Sh—what? No ... could it be?

"Run a check. Use the address."

"Checking ... listing is for Collette Davis. No other name. Let me run some other checks ... hmm ... yes, here's something: Collette Davis. Divorced."

Peter could barely contain his glee. Just when he thought this evening couldn't get any better! And to be handed this by the Boy Scout, of all people!

Ex-Boy Scout, apparently. I wonder if I made a mistake, all those years. Trying to chip away at Jennifer ... hiring James to seduce her. What if, all along, Chancey was the weak link? Should I have hired a woman to seduce him? Does James have ... a female counterpart, out there, somewhere?

Oh well, no point second-guessing himself, Peter thought. It was all working out.

You had James' dick in your mouth, Jen. You must have wanted it! But your misplaced sense of duty to Chancey got in the way. Well, we can dispose of that, now.

Returning to the dining room, Peter smiled at Jennifer.

I'm glad, Jen, that you held out. I'm glad I get to finish the job. I was never happy with the idea of James getting you first.

"So," Collette continued, "Richard left, and I found myself alone, with Bobby. Money wasn't too much of an issue because Richard had done pretty well and so had my lawyer; but still, I had to go back to work, part time. Despite the drinking, I managed to function."

"But it must have been terrible."

"Yes. My self-esteem took such a big hit, Mike. And I was lonely, and worried about Bobby not having a man's influence, a father figure. All that, plus the alcohol, and I ... well, I made some bad decisions, if you can call them that. Threw myself at some men, out of desperation. And I thought ... after Richard ... I thought that's what a man wants, a—you know,.someone sleazy. So, that's what I became."

Mike shook his head. Collette wondered if was in disapproval of her—or Jennifer? She couldn't bear the thought that it might be the former.

"Mike, it's not half as bad as what you've probably heard! Women's gossip—it's brutal. I haven't, you know, done the whole town. But yes, I had some sorry experiences.

"Then Bobby and Mikey ended up in the same class, and I met you ... well, you know the rest. I said some things, did some things that were inappropriate. I probably don't even remember most of them; I was so wasted much of the time. Again, I'm sorry about all that.

"Thanks to you, though, I'm cleaning up my act. I realize that the person I was becoming ... the person I thought Richard had wanted me to be ... that kind of person was attracting the wrong kind of man. I don't want to be that person, and I don't want another Richard."

After a long silence, Mike spoke. "You'll do okay, Collette. You'll find someone better."

Collette shrugged. "I don't worry so much about finding someone else. The problem is that the better ones ... well, they're already taken."

She took Mike's bowl, placed it in hers, and went to the kitchen.

"Sorry for that interruption," Peter said, returning to the dining room. "I just had to check on something. Let's have dessert."

As they started in, Peter couldn't wait any longer.

"Jen, I'm so glad you're here. I hope you're not worried about Mike or feeling guilty. You certainly have no reason. I'm afraid Mike has shown his true colors, finally."

The mention of Mike's name startled Jennifer. She looked at Peter apprehensively.

"You see, Jen, I just checked up on his whereabouts. I have the resources, as you know. Anyway, Mike and your son are spending the evening at 512 Cottonwood Avenue, which I understand is the home of a lovely blonde divorcée named Collette Davis."

Peter nearly squealed at the look that passed over Jennifer's face when he mentioned the blonde's name and address. Perhaps they meant something to her? Peter could not believe his luck.

That's right, my dear, think that you've lost him forever. Perhaps you have! So now, what do you have left to fight for? To be faithful to? When your body is on the verge of orgasm, what strength will your heart and mind have to stop it?

"I'm sorry, Jen," Peter said, placing a hand on Jennifer's bare thigh. It was one of the things he liked about the small table: it kept his dates within easy reach. Despite a slight hint of discomfort at his first touch, Jennifer voiced no objection.

As they ate and sipped an expensive Port, Peter continued, slowly caressing her skin. By the time they finished dessert, Jennifer's eyes were half-closed, her breathing deep. Peter sensed that she was giving up; that it was time to make his next move.

Mike and Collette were putting Mikey and Bobby to bed. Mike had brought in a sleeping bag and pad from his car. They were in Bobby's room, reading a story—one of the Harry Potter books.

Mike and Collette took turns voicing some of the characters. The two boys loved it. Mike noticed that when he was reading, Collette also watched him closely; raptly, even.

Eventually the lights went out, and Mike and Collette went back downstairs. While Collette made coffee, Mike wandered into the dining room and stared at the old photograph of the Davis family. It brought to mind a lyric.

Spare parts / And broken hearts / Keep the world turnin' / Around...

Bobby and Mikey, Collette and Mike ... spare parts, and broken hearts. But the world keeps turning, Mike thought, as he joined Collette in the kitchen.

"So," she said, "if you don't mind me asking ... how are you doing?"

Like Collette, Mike was hesitant to talk about himself. If anyone would understand, however, perhaps it would be her. And, she'd opened up to him; it would only be fair...

"I'm ... terrible. That's how I am: terrible. I think I have my mind made up about something, then I'm not sure. I have moments where I think everything could be okay, like I just had a bad dream. But then I actually have a bad dream, and it makes me think nothing could possibly be okay again."

"Do you, um, have a plan ... for what you're going to do?"

"Well, I saw a lawyer this week. I've even got a divorce petition all drafted."

"Wow," Collette exclaimed, shaking her head. "I'm really sorry, Mike. Is it really that ... I mean, when you told me last week that you'd moved out, that Jennifer had cheated on you, it just seems so unbelievable. Are you really sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. I got a video, Collette. At my office, a damn video of her at this guy's apartment, kissing him ... and more."

Collette winced.

"And that's not all. There were lies, omissions ... The thing is, she swears it's over, that she wants to stay together, that she loves me, but how can that be true? Why should I believe any of that?

"Plus, even if that's truly how she feels now, why should I trust things to stay that way? How can someone go off the rails, fall into a gutter like that, and not fall in again? Don't they say, 'Once a cheater, always a cheater?'

"And even if I could trust her, what would be the point? How could I forgive her—and even if I could, how could I forget? I think about what she did with him, and it turns my stomach. Like she's used goods, and I'd be getting sloppy seconds."

Mike noticed that Collette had begun to sob.

This cuts close to the bone, I guess. The cheating ... she had it even worse, it sounds like. And—no ... No! Was it ... what I said about the gutter?

That's where Collette was, and I'm telling her ... sooner or later, she'll be back there? Once a slut, always a slut? Once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic? That no one could trust her, or want her? That she's used goods, sloppy seconds?

"Collette, I'm sorry ... I didn't mean that you..."

Collette's sobs became a torrent of crying.

"Collette, please," Mike said, leaning over. Reaching out, he took her hand. "Listen, you made some mistakes, but you were a victim. Nobody should hold anything against you. You're taking responsibility for your life, you're doing the right things now, and..."

Should I say it? Maybe not, but the way she's looking at me ... No one before Jennifer ever looked at me like that.

"Look, Collette ... I think you're very beautiful. I think you've gotten more attractive since you ... cleaned up your act, as you said. And you're not boring. You're growing, changing, maturing. A man would be a fool not to be interested in that."

Collette's sobs ebbed. A smile broke out on her face. In her eyes, even.

Jennifer looked at me like that when I asked her to marry me.

Jennifer ... shit, everything I just said to Collette—could it apply to Jennifer too? Jennifer wasn't a virgin when we met. I wasn't either. We were both "used goods," if that's what having sex with someone else makes you. That didn't stop us from dating, having sex, or getting married...

But no, there's a difference. Collette didn't fuck around while she was married. And Collette was a victim. Yeah, she could have handled it better, but it could have been worse, too. And there's something ... worthy ... about her, the way she tells the unvarnished truth, the way she's learned from her experience, the way she's changing.

Despite his lofty thoughts, Mike was noticing earthier things about Collette. Things like her lips, the line of her neck, the shape of her breasts. She was the most beautiful woman, other than Jennifer, that he'd spent time alone with since he'd been married—maybe ever.

She's listening to me, looking at me...

That night, at the fundraiser, maybe that wasn't just alcohol talking.

"That was a great dinner," Collette said, interrupting Mike's thoughts. "I should just tidy up a bit."

"I'll help."

"Gosh no, you've done enough—"

"Hey, I don't just make messes. I help clean them up. Full-service is what you get."

Mike smiled as he caught Collette blushing at his last remark.

"I hope you enjoyed the dinner," Peter said to Jennifer as he eased out of his chair. "Now why don't we top off our glasses before we move on?" He gestured towards the wine bar in the room. "Ladies first..."

Stepping down from her chair, Jennifer strode over to the counter. She poured some wine into her glass, then set the glass and bottle down as Peter approached her from behind. Before she could move away to make room for him, Peter pressed his body against her. He felt an amazing rush.

Finally, Jen, you're here with me. Alone. As it was meant to be.

He placed his hands on her shoulders and ran them down and up her arms. Jennifer stiffened but took no action to stop him. Then he brought his hands to her neck and up to her face. He tilted her head slightly, leaned his head in, and kissed her below the ear. His hands fell to her waist and caressed her hips.

Jennifer startled but again offered no resistance. Peter wondered if it would really be this easy. He didn't want it to be; he'd long since abandoned any delusions of getting Jennifer to fall in love with him and live happily ever after together. No, he wanted to use her for a while, then throw her away. He wanted defile her.

To do that, he needed to put some fear into her. He needed to cast off his soft cloak of warmth and kindness and reveal his true self. The more he thought about it, the more aroused he became.

Why did I ever want to make her love me, to give herself to me happily? This will be so much better. Yes, time for a little dominance game. Then, her submission will be sweet indeed.

"Hold very still, Jen," he whispered in her ear.

Bending at the knees, Peter lowered himself, dragging his hands down Jennifer's hips as he did. When his hands reached her thighs, they reversed course. Bringing his hands up under the hem of her short dress, he felt his way to the narrow bands of her underwear on her hips. Hooking his fingers under them, he slowly lowered her panties, all the way to her ankles.

Along the way, Peter's hands grazed her inner thighs. They felt moist. He smiled, imaging how wet her pussy must be. Perhaps he'd misjudged her; perhaps James had done more damage than he'd thought.

Yes, you're just like any other woman now, Jen. Unable, as all others have been, to resist me. This isn't the way I used to imagine it ... but it's better! More real, somehow. More me.

Taking her ankles, he lifted one foot—then the other—until her feet were free of the tangled underwear. In so doing, he spread her legs wide. Then, rising, he ran his hands up her gorgeous calves, tight thighs, and fine ass.

Pressing against her again, Peter placed on hand around her waist and another on her shoulder. He nuzzled her neck and cheek. She was sure, he thought, to feel the heat coming off his skin and notice his fine cologne—not that garbage that most men wore, but a few dabs from a tiny bottle that cost a thousand dollars. A scent that had always drawn compliments from women fortunate enough to get close enough to him to catch it.

Jennifer's eyes were closed. Her mouth was open. While Peter studied her luscious lips, he could hear and feel her excited breathing. He brought his own lips just behind her ear and whispered.

"You're going to come, Jen."

Jennifer trembled. Her closed eyelids fluttered. She inhaled and exhaled sharply.

I can't imagine the Boy Scout has ever fucked you in the ass, Jen. Or that you would have let anyone before him do it, either. Well, Jen, I think that's how it's going to be. I'm going to take you from behind ... in your virgin ass. After I do many other things, of course.

As Peter continued to touch her, Jennifer continued to tremble. Her breathing had reduced to short, little gasps.

"Yes, come. I'm very good, Jen. I'm going to take it slow and work you up to it. You'll be ready for it; in fact, though you'll deny it, you're going to want it."

Jennifer was shaking now and panting. Her hands shifted, moving up the counter, as if her legs were getting weak and she needed support. Peter looked down her dress at her heaving, unrestrained breasts. His cock throbbed as he discovered that her nipples were erect.

I'm afraid it may hurt a little at first, Jen—but only a little, and only at first. Then, you won't believe how it feels. After everything I'm going to do to you to get you ready, my cock in your ass is going to feel fucking incredible. And when I start playing with your clit...

Softly but audibly, Jennifer gasped as Peter's hand came to the center of her waist and began to travel downward.

"You're not going to be able to help it," he whispered. "Fighting it will only make it stronger when it happens. And it is going to happen, Jen—I assure you. I have much practice with this, and I know things about women's bodies that they do not know themselves. Until they find out, of course ... and you are going to find out."

Peter's dick was so hard, pressed up against Jennifer's ass, he thought it might slice through her. For a moment, he thought to take her right then, right there—she was so ready! But no, he had other plans. He'd waited so long for a night like this; he could wait a little longer, to make it perfect.

And get it on film. For my own enjoyment, of course ... but why not share? Maybe I'll send the Boy Scout another present. I'm disappointed that he hasn't killed himself by now.

Peter imagined Jennifer, unknowingly facing a camera, crying through a forced orgasm as he rammed her from behind.

Or maybe it won't be so forced. Maybe she will beg. I shouldn't underestimate myself ... or her.

"Let's go upstairs, Jen. You know the way."

Collette was amazed as Mike helped clear the table.

Richard never gave me the slightest help with dinner, before or after. None of those losers I threw myself at would have done this either. They'd be too impatient to get into my pants ... can't blame them, I usually let them. I was so thankful that anyone would even spend time with me, and so hopeful they'd take a shine to Bobby. What a waste of time. What a waste of myself.

But this guy ... he can bring home the bacon, and fry it up in the pan, and then wash the fucking pan? Hmmm, what do you let a guy like that do to you? Anything he wants, maybe.

Shit, Collette, stop daydreaming, and stop taking advantage of this man! Is this what Jennifer made him do? What a poor reward she gave him.

"That's great, Mike, just leave the dishes on the counter. I'll wash up in the morning. You've done more than enough already."

"Wash up in the morning?" he said, rolling his eyes. "That's a lousy thing to look forward to, going to bed on a Friday night. Even lousier to wake up to it. Take it from me, I've been the Friday night cook and Saturday morning maid a lot."

Mike opened the dishwasher and started to load a plate, but Collette stopped him.

"Um, Mike ... the dishwasher ... it's broken. Been broken for ... well, just one of those things I could never seem to get around to. That was one thing Richard was good for, actually—handyman stuff."

"Well, I can't claim that I'm handy with fixing dishwashers, but I'm pretty handy at washing dishes. Set the record, I think, at the last pack camp-out ... and that was what, twenty kids? This'll take no time at all."

While he was talking, Mike found a sponge and the dishwashing liquid. Before Collette could protest, the water was running and the first dish was under it, getting a good scrubbing.

You're going to let him do it, aren't you! Okay, Collette, you bitch ... rationalize it ... um, if we get this done now, I won't have to do it in the morning and ... I'll have time to make a hell of a breakfast instead! If he doesn't insist on doing that, too ... wait, Mike's not going to be here for breakfast, it's not his sleepover...

Collette suddenly felt flush.

Ooh. Oh god, that felt ... you stop that, my pretty pussy! You're not getting fed tonight. Now let me concentrate and help with this before he does it all himself.

Mike washed. Collette dried. As dishes passed, their fingers touched. Arms too. While they washed, they talked ... and here and there, a hand would fall on a shoulder, a back, a waist ... just to emphasize a point, of course.

Despite the admonition she'd given her "kitty," Collette's flush had not gone away. In fact, it was growing. And despite Mike's boast about his dishwashing speed, the wash was taking a while. Collette found it harder and harder to keep her composure. She was starting to say stupid things again, as she'd done on the phone the day before.

Eventually, everything was washed and dried. Collette assumed that would be the end of it, and she was amazed at how she felt. To be disappointed that the dishes were done!

"Not done yet!" Mike said. "Let's put this stuff away. I'll pass, you place."

Okay, Collette, you need to say no. Are you going to make him vacuum, too? Send this man home already, you bitch! Send him home...

Home...

Home? He doesn't have a home. Is that why he's still here? He'll clean this whole house if you let him, won't he? Anything, not to have to go back to that hotel ... alone...

"Okay, Mike ... quietly, though. We don't want to wake those munchkins."

Collette moved over towards the cabinets, which were on the adjacent wall. Mike took her place by the drying rack. As Mike passed the dry dishes, their fingers met again ... and again. His shoulder grazed hers. Their hips, their thighs, even their rear ends touched. Now, along with flushed, Collette felt a little tingly too.

Once the plates and silverware were put away, the glasses remained. Some of them belonged on a high shelf. Collette leaned against the counter and elevated on her toes, but she was having trouble reaching. She was about to go get a footstool, when Mike noticed and came up behind her.