The runup to the big party at Johnny’s place turned out to be a little romantic but confusing in Les’ and Carolyn’s house. Pre-party week circumstances dictated Les had to go in to work, a fifty-mile commute in one direction while his wife required a longer commute in the opposite direction. Thus, in that early October, they saw each other in still-dark mornings and darker evenings.

Carolyn seemed chipper, rising before her husband. Breakfast call brought several of his favorite dishes. Les reciprocated with some of her favorite dishes when she arrived home at mid-dinner prep.

On Wednesday, Les left at his usual time, but circled back home when he was positive Carolyn had gotten underway. Sure enough, the wife had left her laptop at home. Les stared at it for a few minutes, then picked it up. Two clicks and he discovered the date of her last entry: Tuesday, one day before.

Johnny! I am so excited about your party. What to wear? What to wear? Were we missed Monday? I told Les I was going in and might be late coming home. How did you cover your tracks? I know we have to be discreet, but that motel you reserved next to a fast food joint? It probably had hourly rates! It should have charged us by the hour. I waited at the burger joint parking lot next door for almost an hour for you to get there. I’ll pay for a nicer place next time, if price was the object.

Yes, you were a gentleman, always are. The customers eating lunch must have gotten a thrill, seeing you carry me across the threshold of our room. Honestly, it wasn’t as sleazy on the inside. Actually, you fit the role of secret lover.

One line from my high school days was that guys should treat ‘A lady like a whore and a whore like a lady’. Today, you treated me like a whore, so I must be a lady. I realized I like being taken like a whore. You pushed me down and made me pull off your shoes, socks, pants and underwear. You left your shirt and tie on. Why didn’t you let me look you in the eye while I sucked you? Ace taught me how to deepthroat and I did my best on you. When I felt you were about to climax, I did it as good as I could.

Frankly, I don’t like being slapped, so don’t do that again. Pulling my hair is okay, though. But I didn’t know you were going to lead me to the bed like that. Still, I couldn’t look at you. You just told me to get on the bed and stick my ass in the air.

I was your whore. I felt your dick rub up and down on my cunt. I like it doggy-style, but need to be mentally prepared for it. I guess a whore has to take what the john gives them. You gave it to me, all the ––way in, all at once. You shocked me when you slapped me again. But I was surprised when you stuck a finger in my ass and I moved forward a bit. That’s when I got the hardest slap ever on one cheek and four bruises on my other cheek, from your grip. Damn, you are strong! I guess I didn’t learn my lesson, because you fingered my ass hole again and I moved forward. Now I have matching bruises and matching paw-slap prints.

We usually have time afterwards to cuddle and talk about our future, together. This time, you sent me to your car for a six-pack. You knew if I had a beer, I couldn’t show up for work, but we drank anyway. Four beers before lunch for you and one for me.

Those drinks didn’t seem to affect you, as you talked to clients for the next two hours. You paced for a while, then stretched out on the bed next to me. Neither of us bothered to put on any clothes.  Me? I was in a daze. Finally, I’d had enough of looking at that marvelous body and climbed aboard. You didn’t mind, just kept on chatting. I wish I’d had a tape of your side of the last conversation, because I would be able to tell exactly when your dick stiffened, when it was rock-hard, when I could tease pre-cum from it. Do you think they could hear the bed squeak when I mounted you? Your breathing changed, got faster, then I had you. The guy on the line must have been surprised when you abruptly ended the conversation mid-sentence.

Then your whore took over and rode you to a ball-busting climax. Eventually, I needed a shower and a re-do of makeup and hair. I understand that you had to go, so I didn’t argue. One thing bothered me, though. In college, we talked about the ‘walk of shame’, when the girl leaves the guy’s dorm at daylight. This was a three pm walk of shame. No, I don’t think anybody from the burger joint who saw us go in was there when I came out, but I’m not sure.

See you Saturday, Love, Carolyn

On Thursday evening, Les was not in the kitchen. Carolyn wondered, “What is going on?”

Les met his wife in the den. He was as dressed for romance as any husband ever was. He suggested, “Why don’t you have a flute of the chilled bubbly beside your tub, take a nice bath and meet me back here in an hour or so. Dinner will be delivered in about two hours. That should give us some time to relax and get to know each other.”

Carolyn was disconcerted. They’d not made love or even cuddled much since she took her new position. She reasoned, “Yeah. This new job is a bitch and I’ve been a bitch too, neglecting my husband. Do I still love him?”

“Yeah,” again she thought. “My dalliance with Johnny is a fact. God, is he good in bed! I don’t know how long this is going to last, though. Office snoops are already stopping conversations when I enter a room. Johnny is now my official boss, but he’s not thrown any leads my way. He wants to keep me on a short leash and I am ready to prove my worth to anybody.”

Neuroscientists can prove that the last sixty or so words in two paragraphs only required two seconds of brain to process. Two seconds after Les’ offer, she turned and took his face in her palms, forgot she’d not brushed her teeth or freshened up, and kissed him passionately. He didn’t care what her breath was like; he just appreciated the gesture.

An hour later, she called to him. She coyly asked, “There’s one more glass in the bottle. I’ve had my share, so let me pour you the dregs.”

Then she thought, “Dammmit. Dammit, Dammit! Did I just offer Les the dregs, like what was left, like I’m offering him the dregs of my pussy, too?”

If Les caught the slip, he did not show it. He just picked up the clean glass and held it out for her to top it off.

“Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

For a man to be horny can be a plus or a minus, performance-wise. One type of guy would dive right into his unfaithful wife, fuck the woman as hard and as fast as he could, perhaps with a vengeance driven by revenge and cum as fast as he pleased. He’d have no consideration for the married slut beneath him.

Les’ type took his time, kissing as long as his lady needed, then worked his way down her front, caressing her tits, getting just rough enough to feel a response, listening for sighing, hmm-ing, and reciprocal gestures. With time and champagne, Carolyn succumbed to the digital ministrations.

She got closer. One of hubby’s fingers in her pussy, searching and finding that sweet g-spot. Les circled it from just far enough away for her to feel it. She humped up and he gave her more pleasure. Then he moved it away, circling her cunt opening. Then he massaged her clit with the same distant circling motion, getting ever so closer. Finally, he hit both g-spot and clit simultaneously.

She couldn’t hold back; she let herself go. Somewhere in her psyche, she reassured herself, “Surely, I can finish again and maybe a third time tonight!”

Les could tell from her reddening labia, the upward hip thrusts and her shorter breaths, his wife was responsive enough to have sex.

But he wasn’t. He wanted more. Husband asked, “You ready?”

Her nod, no, nods, because she wasn’t sure he saw the first head bob, motivated Bob to knee-crawl up her side and throw a leg over her at her shoulders, bringing his dick to her chin.

From that kneeling position, she had no choice but to open her mouth and accept the inevitable fat, blood-engorged dickhead into her mouth. She took it.

Carolyn had learned to suck cock years ago, but Ace and Johnny had forced her to take it deep and like it. Even if one of them dumped a cumload, the other was there to satisfy her vaginally.

This time it was different. She was savvy enough to know that Les was going to fuck her mouth, fuck it so long and so good for him that he’d need no other satisfaction tonight.

That thought took about the same time as her previous realization. The rest of the time, all she could do was accommodate her husband’s desire. The load she got was the load of weeks' accumulation of bodily fluids. She’d never experienced so much volume from him, but there it came, in two long spurts, three more deep thrusts and one satisfying (to him) fast jerking end.

Both were glad it was over when Les finally had had enough and rolled over to her side of the bed.

“No,” he reasoned, "I won’t even let her have her side of the bed. And when this weekend is over, if she wants to stay with me, she’ll have to get tested. I won’t wear a rubber, even if she continues this affair.”

Carolyn was glad too. Her satisfaction, beyond a good climax, was that she stayed loyal and faithful to Johnny. Johnny hadn’t specifically forbidden her from fucking Les, but he cautioned against it. Her pussy now was company property. Yes, Johnny already told her she may have to do some entertaining, but if that was what she had to do to keep him, she’d do it for him and the company.

Phase One of Les’ plan worked as keenly as he could imagine. Saturday noon, when Carolyn’s phone rang, she was nowhere near it.

Johnny and his wife’s party Saturday had dawned gray and gotten worse. The darkening sky was the gray of ashes, gray of a too-early autumn, the gray of old people’s hair. The rain was of that style that soaked everything and washed nothing.

Les heard Johnny announce in his boss-voice, “Hey, guy or guys. This is a group message to all invitees. The weather is miserable. Not a good day for a swim and cookout. Let’s try for next weekend.”

Later, Carolyn lounged in the den and Les looked at the game on television without registering even who was playing. His game was afoot!

Les tried to start a conversation, saying, “My college professor said that he pitied a person who pined for eternity, but could find nothing to do on a rainy Saturday afternoon.”

“We have plenty to do,” she answered.

“Party prep must be keeping Johnny and his frumpy wife busy right now,” he said. “Is it to be a cookout?”

“Yeah,” his wife said absentmindedly.

Husband sounded sincere as he sidled in beside her., “You haven’t been your old self for a while. Is it the new job? I don’t feel as close to you since you took the new job. After Thursday evening, I might owe you one.”

She ignored the reference, arguing, “It’s a period of adjustment. I am learning so much, but there is so much more to the position than I ever imagined.” She sounded sincere, too.

He pressed the issue, suggesting, “Next trip, you could post some pictures on Facebook, send me some notes or call. It’s like when you leave, you don’t exist. Or you exist as a different person. Chicago has a lot to offer, like museums and fine dining and lectures and touristy stuff. They must give you guys time off in the evenings.”

Les planted a seed, “And we really haven’t exactly made love in a while. I miss the intimacy. That body of yours must need a lot of attention by now. Tell me you aren’t getting that action elsewhere.”

He’d settled next to her, close enough to whisper, “I know I could use some hot action, too.”

The term ‘hot action’ was one of their private buzzwords that might trigger some sex.

He knew she caught the subtle message when she leaned in to kiss him. It landed on his cheek.

He accepted the gesture, saying, “Maybe we can get together after the party. Or we could leave early. Or just blow it off and make up for lost time?”

That caused Carolyn to scoot away.

As she got up way too quickly for him, Les said, “I guess ‘No’ to all three?”

No answer.

Husband thought, “That is NOT a denial!”

Carolyn is the type that fits the tautology, “We get there when we get there.” Les’ type hates being late.

Les suggested they get there early, voicing his desire to have some time with the hosts before the party got really going.

Wife relented. She reasoned, “Okay, we can get there at the tick of the clock of six. Nobody ever comes early, but we can be fashionably ‘on time’ for once.” 

Despite the weather, Carolyn wore the same outfit she’d worn home from the airport (pink button-down oxford blouse and khaki shorts. Her rain-slicker protected her, so she’d be dry when they got inside the house. She recalled that she’d worn the outfit braless and mostly unbuttoned for her boys on their last night in Chicago. She’d climaxed in the back seat of a cab with her nipples being milked by two guys groping her tits while she sat spread-legged, pants down and two sets of fingers in her cunt. Johnny had paid the driver to take his time getting back to the hotel.

“I guess we’re early, way early!” Les’ words sounded genuine. He tooted the horn and switched off the ignition. “I am so, so eager to meet the frumpy Mrs. Johnny and to get to know this guy you’ve been traveling with. I want to learn as much as I can about how you two do your job. I suppose you guys are very close, because you spend so much time together.”

Les considered this a master stroke, conflating ‘frumpy wife’, implied coworker intimacy and interest in the specifics of what duties she performs.

The wife sat there for a moment, cowed. She seemed enchanted by the workings of the clasp on her pocketbook, shocked at Les’ hints, fearful he might actually use the word frumpy. By now, she knew, people were suggesting that all she did was fuck Johnny for her salary.

The last was becoming painfully true and her sole mission tonight was to nail Johnny down on exactly what her company role was. He had not given her any accounts to manage. He’d blown off her hints about it, saying she was still in trainee mode, not ready for the big time.

Yes, he’d hired her, but she assumed she’d be part of a team. And the ‘trainee' reference clearly meant that if she did not perform, she could still be demoted to her old position or fired outright!

Now, this fresh hell of Les sounding suspicious. What if he had read some of the stuff she’d left on her computer?

The woman who exited the car felt soft and mealy. Gone was the peppy, nimble woman on the way up the corporate ladder.

Les could see her shoulders slump. He thought, “Maybe it’s the atmosphere? Naw. She's sweating."

It was the fear of public ignominy. Those two office bitches who playfully quizzed her were sure to be there tonight. She hated being teased and she might get it from those two again, or Les, or even (God forbid!), Johnny. Every bit of her liveliness vaporized as the couple approached the door.

The next five minutes was hell for Johnny, pure hell for Carolyn, distressful to Mrs. Johnny and educational for Les.

The surprised hostess opened the door and the two rain-soaked guests were ushered into the foyer. Mrs. Johnny was not frumpy, but rather good looking in her powder blue oxford blouse and khaki shorts. Almost Carolyn's doppelganger.  Johnny was already in a silk smoking jacket and in his cups as well. He flourished his glass of whiskey and managed to spill a bit on the slate. Mrs. Johnny was not amused. Carolyn was terrified that he might let out words that would expose the dalliance.

It took only a few minutes for all to realize the breakdown of communication that led to this debacle.

No invitations to stay, not even ‘maybe for just one drink’.

Halfway home, Carolyn exploded, “You bastard. You must have gotten Johnny’s call.”

Les replied, “Did you think Mrs. Johnny frumpish? I thought she looked pretty good. In fact, you two have the same taste in clothes. And about the same size, too. How about taste in men? And his taste in women?”

She sounded less angry and more prosecutorial, “Answer me! Did you get the message and sabotage this evening?”

Les dropped the bomb. “I’ll tell you the truth if you tell me the truth. Are you fucking Johnny? Are you fucking anybody else?”

A movie director should take lessons from their body language and words. Les pulled over to the curb, leaving both hands on the wheel, at racing positions ten and two o’clock. Both stared straight ahead while they talked.

It was the first honest conversation they’d had since her promotion.

She started, “I never wanted to hurt you, but Johnny is a fantastic lover. You play a good game of checkers on my body; he plays chess.”

Les took his time, was thankful for the silence, then, “My knight made some good moves Thursday night. You know, knights don’t move in a straight line, they angle off to one side, sort of tricky.  That is what I did Thursday night. We will not be making physical love until you get yourself tested. It’s your move, now.”