. 05

Life returns to something like normal the next week. Anne calls the day after our time together to check on me, to see if I'm at all uncomfortable with what happened. I assure her I'm not, and regale her with the details of Rich's greeting for me when I returned home, how he had me twice before we fell asleep, how he demanded the details of my day, how he was particularly interested in my friend's looks and likes. I'm amazed how much I share, how much of my restraint has been stripped away.

Anne groans. "Oh, God, I really hadn't thought that part through. You told Rich everything?"

"Everything."

"Now he thinks I'm an annoyance AND he knows I slept with his wife. I can't talk to him ever again."

"I think he'll be more embarrassed than you when he sees you again. He knows I tell you everything."

NOW you do, or at least I think so."

Our talk lasts for a few more moments, each of us feeling good about what has happened and the lack of apparent emotional aftereffects. We don't talk again for almost a week, until my husband receives an e-mail from Tim.

Rich gives me to him for the following weekend, not even checking with me this time. My phone rings with the familiar tones from "Annie" less than ten minutes later.

"Ummm, are you doing anything next weekend?" Her voice is hesitant, like she is afraid to hear the answer.

"Rich says I am, yes," I reply. "I'm guessing you are, too?"

"God I can't believe I'm doing it, but yeah, I am. Do you know anything? His e-mail just said details to follow."

"No, but Rich has got a pretty big grin. He knows, and he's not telling."

Anne and I talk a few moments more, making R-rated guesses as to what is in store. We promise to share any news we may get, and begin the process of fretting over the details to come.

The information we get over the next week is scant, both of us receiving our instructions on what to wear, Anne getting a packing list she is not allowed to share with me. Rich gets my list and sends me out of the house Friday afternoon while he selects the items from what Tim has sent him. I make my way down to Anne's to share a cup of coffee while I wait for the time I can return home. She is shaking slightly as we sit at her breakfast counter, each of us dressed in jeans and a sweater, our hands wrapped tightly around our mugs fortified with Bailey's Irish Cream.

"Karen, this is so scary," she confesses. "It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now..." she stares off into space. "I mean, what if this is some sort of trick? What if...he does something... something bad?"

I laugh gently, trying to project more confidence than I feel at these times. "Now you sound like me. He's always treated me fine. He makes me do things, but I'm sure I can back out any time." I'm not convincing myself of that last part. While I don't think he would actually use force on me, there's always the possibility in the back of my mind.

She smiles and stands, then pulls her sweater over her head, revealing her bra-covered breasts. Dropping it on the back of a kitchen chair, she looks over at me. "I should probably shower and get dressed. You want to hang out while I do?"

The possibility of seeing her nude and wet makes me want to take her up on her offer, but I decline. "No," I tell her, getting up from the barstool, "I should probably go home and do the same. I'll pick you up at four?"

She nods and heads for her bedroom. I linger a moment, watching her strip off her jeans, revealing underwear barely covering her round ass, and she looks over her shoulder at me and smiles. I return the smile and reluctantly let myself out.

Rich is finished by the time I get back. Sitting in front of the TV watching basketball, he looks over and nods as I come through the front door. I make my way up to our room and begin the process of getting ready.

Tim has selected a business suit for this meeting, as he has done for Anne. Grey skirt, white blouse and a grey jacket, along with a string of pearls and low heels. All in all, the same outfit I might wear any day to the office. I note that the bra and panties are standard issue, as well—nothing terribly sexy about them. I'm ready to go by quarter to four.

My bag is waiting downstairs by the door. Shaking slightly, I begin the search for my garage door opener and keys, wanting to give my hands something to hold onto before kissing Rich goodbye. Instead, I see him standing by the kitchen table, jacket on and keys in hand.

"Ready?"

I pause, confused. "I'm, uhh, going to pick up Anne..."

"The kids are taking care of themselves for dinner when they get home. I'm driving."

"Oh, you don't need to—"

"I want to. Let's go." He picks up my bag and waits for me at the door. I realize he won't give up on this one, and begin rehearsing my apology to Anne.

We pull into her driveway a few moments later, and Anne comes out her porch door carrying her bag. She stops short when she looks into the SUV and sees Rich in the driver seat. She hesitates, then slowly makes her way to the door behind where I'm sitting.

"Hi Karen, Rich," she says quietly, and even in the relative darkness of the car, I can see her blushing furiously.

Rich smiles at her in the rearview. "Anne."

We drive, a silence blanketing us as we all contemplate the next forty eight hours. We are on the highway before Rich is the first to speak.

"Anne?"

"Yeah?"

"Tim wanted me to ask if you are wearing underwear."

I don't look back, not wanting to embarrass her any further, but I hear the discomfort in her voice. "Yes, not that it's any business of yours," she growls.

"He said you should take them off and give them to me as proof."

There is a pause, and then the sound of fabric rustling. A hand shoots past my head into the space between myself and my husband, a pair of black panties poking out from between her clenched fingers. Rich takes them from her without taking his eyes off the road and briefly holds them by the steering wheel to examine before slipping them in his jacket pocket. There is a smile on his face, and I have to resist the urge to elbow him and remove it.

We eventually reach the hotel, both Anne and I fervently hoping Rich will just be dropping us off. It is not to be, however, and he walks with us through the lobby as we wheel our bags along. To the passers by, we appear to be nothing more than business women coming in from the airport. If only they knew what was in store for us. If only WE knew.

My husband grabs an elevator and presses the 7 button once we are all inside. A short walk down the hall to 704—at least any naked trips to the elevator will be short this time, I think to myself—and he turns and knocks. I expect him to make his way back to the elevator, as he did before, but instead he waits along with us. The door opens.

Tim stands there, dressed similarly to the first time I saw him—jeans, white button down shirt, barefoot this time. "Rich, good to see you," he calls out. Thanks for delivering them." My husband returns the greeting, along with a mumbled, "no problem at all."

"Did Anne give you what I asked for?"

"Yup." Rich reaches into his pocket and removes the black underwear.

Tim takes them from my husband and examines them briefly. "She didn't give you an argument, did she?"

"No, no, she did it right away."

Tim hands them back to my husband. "Good. Well, why don't you keep these? She won't be needing them this weekend. A little memento for your trouble. Now, if you'll excuse us, I have quite a weekend planned."

Rich takes the panties from the outstretched hand and kisses me on the cheek. "Be nice, have fun. See you both on Sunday." With that, he moves back to the elevator.

Tim looks us over and addresses us for the first time. "Come in, please." He stands off to the side of the door and holds it, looking at us expectantly. I move first, Anne taking a deep breath as I cross the threshold. She is right behind me, and the door closes behind us with a thud and a click, as good a signal as any that our service has begun.

The room is laid out similarly to my first visit here. A large sitting area is off to our right, couch and chairs, armoir, television all in the same spots I remember from my first weekend. A door to our left leads into the bedroom. I continue to look about, a feeling of déjà vu washing over me. Anne stands next to me, roller bag still trailing behind her, unsure what to do next. Tim has already turned away from us, slipping on a pair of loafers near the coffee table and reaching for a grey twill jacket. He slips the coat over his shoulders, then turns back to us.

"Forgetting something?" He is looking at me, a mildly disappointed look on his face.

"Oh, uh, sorry, uh sir," I stammer quickly, and remove my London Fog, hurriedly hanging it on a nearby coat hook.

Tim smiles. "Stop. In this case, since we're going out for something to eat, I'll let you leave it on for now. Anne, I expect both you and Karen to be nude whenever you are in this room, unless I tell you otherwise. That means as soon as you enter the room. Do you understand?" She nods, looking at the floor. "Good. Now, I'm going to assume two of us are still wearing underwear. I'll be keeping mine for now, but it's only fair that you two match. Anne, why don't you remove Karen's for her?"

We look at each other, two old friends in a strange new world, and Anne flashes an embarrassed smile. She steps behind me and drops to one knee, her hands reaching up under the hem of my skirt. I feel her hands travel up the outside of my thighs, not trying to avoid contact, rather smoothing the way up them, before she reaches the lower edge of my panties. Her hands hesitate for a moment, then continue up to the fabric to find the waistband. Fingers curled around the edge, she reverses motion and begins to pull them off of me, her nails scratching their way back down my ass, my thighs, my calves. They puddle around my ankles and I step out of them. Anne begins to rise, but Tim stops her. "Bring them to me, please." She dips slightly, gently picking them up as if they were made of tissue paper, then steps towards him, arm outstretched with his request. Tim takes them from her, smiles and lifts them to his nose, inhaling my scent. "Nice," he says. "Here, smell for yourself." Anne hesitates before taking them back and giving them a quick sniff. She hands the underwear back to him and waits for further instructions. Tim stuffs them in a pocket and pronounces us ready.

The elevator to the parking garage is a quick and quiet ride. Tim standing to the side of Anne and myself, humming a tune as we descend. The doors open and he leads us to his truck, opening and holding the passenger door for us. I decide to get in first, taking the center of the large bench seat, and Anne slides in beside me. Tim closes our door, walks around the rear, and opens his own.

"I've got early reservations for us at a little restaurant downtown, I hope that's OK," he tells us as the roar of the engine starting echos through the garage. Anne and I both voice our approval, both of us knowing it's more of a statement than a question.

We are seated less than ten minutes later, the closeness and warmth of the restaurant a welcome contrast from the cold outside. There are only ten tables in the room, and only one couple besides us at the moment. The service is excellent, and cocktails soon appear before us.

As always, our conversation is one of complete normalcy to anyone who might overhear. Tim seems to be very interested in mine and Anne's friendship, keeping us talking about our good times and bad times through the meal. Again he is getting her to reveal things about herself without her even realizing she is doing so. I, in turn, realize with a start that I have done the same thing for him on past occasions.

By the time our plates have been cleared, the room is half-full, mostly couples beginning their evening out. I note that we are the only party of three in the room. The conversation lulls, each of us thinking ahead to what is to come. It only lasts a moment before Tim speaks.

"So Anne, are you wet?"

Her eyes open wide and she looks around nervously, wondering if any of the other diners overheard. Seeing that nobody seems to have taken notice, she leans over to him and says in a quiet tone, "I don't know..."

"Do you feel like you could be?"

"I...think so..." I notice she cannot make eye contact with him, her complexion turning crimson.

"Why don't you check?"

Anne hesitates a moment, then begins to get up. Tim smiles. "Where are you going?"

"The ladies room." Her voice lowers again. "To check."

"You can do that here, I'll bet. Why don't you sit down and find out?" She does indeed sit down, but doesn't move, her cheeks still flushing brightly.

His voice remains conversational. "I can have Karen check for you, if you'd rather..."

"NO—no, I can do it," she says quickly, and slouches a bit in her chair. The tablecloth hides her movements, but I see her hand slip under the covering, returning a moment later. "I am," she admits.

"Well, THAT's good," he says with mock seriousness. "Hate for you to not be enjoying yourself. Why don't we head back and see if we can keep that going?"

Anne self-consciously straightens and smoothes her skirt before standing. A few moments more and we are back in the truck, me once again next to Tim, Anne next to me. During a downshift, Tim's hand continues on to my thigh, then pushes its way up to the junction of my legs. I open myself to him without a second thought, knowing he wishes to play with my sex. He spends a moment running his finger up and down my slit before withdrawing and bringing his hand to his nose.

"Wet and fragrant," he says. "Karen, can you check your friend and see if she's still enjoying herself?"

It's my turn to flash an embarrassed smile at my friend as my right hand finds the edge of her skirt. I can only look at her for a moment, her eyes a mixture of nervousness and anticipation, before I self-consciously divert them to her lap. The glow of the dashboard gives the skin of her upper thigh a bluish tinge as it is revealed by the push of my wrist towards the junction of her thighs. Her triangle lies just beyond the bunch of her skirt, the fabric having nowhere else to go. Anne's eyes and thighs are still closed to my advances. I can go no further.

"Ummm..." I say, unsure how to ask my best friend to open her legs to me.

"Oh. Sorry," she squeaks, and opens herself just enough for my index finger to find its way down to the base of her slit. It is now my turn to hesitate and consider what I'm about to do. "No different than that time at her house," I tell myself, not quite believing it. I push the thoughts out of the way and dip my hand into her valley, my finger drawing up from her opening to her clit. It glides easily, ample evidence she was not lying at the restaurant.

"Well?" Tim asks patiently.

"I think she is," I reply, unsure if I'm free to remove my hand. Anne, for her part, as opened herself wider, giving me more access to her lips.

Tim reaches over and gently takes my wrist and brings my still extended finger to his mouth. He suckles on it for a moment, enjoying the flavor, before moving my wrist back to my lap. "Nice."

His taste test is followed by a left turn into the parking garage. I wait for some sort of instruction in the elevator, but none comes, just Tim's pleased humming. He opens the door to our room, lets us in, and closes it, still without a word being said. I remember my instructions this time and remove my coat, hanging it on a hook near the door, Anne's hands stay on her lapels, seemingly frozen. She sees me reaching for my suit jacket and her mind seems to be made up. Her own trenchcoat comes off with purpose, hung next to mine. She too is reaching for her jacket when Tim finally speaks from his spot near the liquor supply. "Wait," he orders again, and we both freeze in place. He allows us to stand in suspense while he pours himself a whiskey on the rocks, then kicks off his shoes. Settling into a chair facing us, he puts his feet up on the Ottoman and smiles. "Karen, you can continue. Nice to see you remembered this time. Anne, you can wait for a moment." She and I steal a glance at each other, wondering what is about to transpire, and I resume removing my jacket, followed by my shoes, shirt, skirt, and bra. I am quickly naked save for my pearls. Anne's gaze is on me, only occasionally diverted to the man sitting before us.

"I think we enjoy the same taste in women," Tim tells my friend. "Karen, why don't you get yourself a drink and come sit on my lap." I pour a glass of wine and set it down on an end table before settling myself on a still-clothed Tim. His arm circles my waist and pulls me to him as he begins to raise his drink. The glass is pressed against my nipple, causing me to sharply inhale from the sudden cold on my sensitive bud. The glass moves on, and he takes a sip.

"Anne, I love to see women revealed to me, to see what so few others have had the privilege of viewing. The thrill of seeing the female form for the first time—it's incredible. Today, Karen's going to unwrap your treasures for me to get a look at. Karen, if you don't mind...Anne, could you stand in front of me please."

Tim's arm moves from my waist and I take this as my cue. Getting up as Anne approaches, I move behind her and help her off with her blazer. Tossing it onto the couch, I briefly wonder what to remove next, but he does not make it my choice.

"Karen, I think the shirt should be next. Before you do, though, you have had the advantage of seeing what I haven't yet. Can you describe her skin to me?"

I think a moment. "It's darker than mine," I begin. Her Mediterranean heritage is clear. "And it's so soft, so smooth...I never realized how much softer a woman is compared to a man."

"Any tattoos I should know about?"

"Just one," I tell him. "She has a Tao symbol on the small of her back." I think back to the day she had gotten it—I had gone with her for moral support, certain I could never have one done myself. A half-dollar size Yin and Yang. The tattoo was her declaration that life moves in a circle, that good times follow bad times...

"A tramp stamp, eh? They're always nice to look at when the owner is bent over in front of you...ok, let's see the artwork."

I pull her shirttails out of the back of her skirt, then reach around her and repeat the process up front. My fingers move to her top button and begin to work, surprisingly steady considering I am undressing my best friend for a man she has met once before, the man I am fucking despite my commitment to another. My hands brush her bra-covered breasts as I work my way down the line of buttons, their mass apparent even from the casual touches. I reach the last button and finish, then move to her shoulders and gently pull the shirt down her back. She moves her arms to allow me to slide the garment off of them, and then returns her hands to her front, clasping them together as if it is a form of self-defense. She seems unaware that her gesture only pushes her mounds together more, presenting them for her audience. I only allow him a moment to take in her partially-covered breasts before reaching around her, my erect nipples pressing against the bare skin of her shoulder blades, to unsnap the stays on the skirt and unzip it. Anne keeps her hands together, but raises them a bit to allow me to work at releasing her remaining cover. Finished, it drops to her feet.

"Very nice," he says. "Please turn her around." I place my hands on her bare shoulders and turn her gently until she is facing me. She smiles weakly and I return the gesture, fighting the urge to comfort the helpless figure in front of me. We look into each other's eyes for a moment before we both become self-conscious and look down, me at her covered breasts, she at my bare ones.