Innocent Milf Ch 04

Chapter 4

Late February. It was Cary's birthday. Once again Jack and I found ourselves dressed up for a party; this time it was in our Mountain Man re-enactment duds. Her husband had decided to throw her a big surprise party at one of the fancy restaurants in town. It was an old pioneer-era coach house that had been converted into a five-star fine-dining "experience." To our surprise, Jack and I had been invited to do some flashy knife-fighting demonstrations and a little axe-throwing. The other guests had been encouraged to dress up as well.

"Gotta admit," I grunted as I pulled on my buskins and double checked the laces on my jacket for the third time, "I wouldn't have expected her jackass husband to spring for this whole thing."

Jack nodded, looking around. "Yeah, it's weird. I think we're only here because we're free. Do you recognize any of these people?"

I shrugged. "Must be her friends. She has other friends than us, you know."

Jack shot me an exasperated look. "Duh. But none of these people were at her exhibition a few months ago."

The thought of the exhibition made me angry at her husband all over again. Almost as much as the recollection of Cary's slipped dress strap and torn pantyhose aroused me. To distract myself, I looked back and forth at the guests. They were all dressed in pretty awful Wild West costumes. Here and there I caught sight of somebody in a slightly less-terrible Davey Crockett getup, but

none

of them looked familiar. I didn't see Cary's friend Lori anywhere. "Yeah, you're right. I bet none of Cary's other friends would even give Eric the time of day."

One of the men sauntered towards us and tipped his ridiculous bright red costume ten-gallon hat. "Howdy, gents. Guess you're the entertainment."

"Sort of." I smiled and made a show of pulling out the stage-fighting Bowie knife I had brought. It was made of metal and would sting if it hit--it might even break fingers--but its edge was rounded. Jack and I were perfectly safe as long as we kept our cool. "We're friends of the birthday girl. Just doing a favor."

"But tips are appreciated," Jack added with a smirk. "College isn't going to be free."

We high-fived. The cowboy looked momentarily confused. "Oh, right. Birthday party. Eric's wife, right?"

Jack nodded. "Yeah. She's into early American and pioneer-era history. She does knife-fighting with us and our Mountain Man group."

"Sure, sure." The man was already losing interest. "I mean, obviously I've met her at company parties. Pretty gal--dressed as slutty Catwoman for Halloween. I guess I thought she was still trying to make that painting career work. She could model if she wanted to."

As he wandered away with a genial wave, I frowned. Cary would have been mortified that her husband's coworker remembered her as

slutty Catwoman

. "Did her husband just invite a bunch of

his

friends and coworkers to this party?"

Between setting up the straw targets for axe-throwing and getting into our historical clothing, I hadn't really had time to pay attention to the rest of the guests except in passing. Now that we had a moment to mingle, I realized that Jack was right--there wasn't a single person that I recognized from Cary's art gallery party. But they all looked like they would fit right in with a regional distribution office for a mid-sized retailer, which was where her husband worked.

"They're coming down the driveway!" somebody shouted. We all trundled into the foyer to hide behind various pieces of furniture. There were too many of us to be hidden, but at least Cary wouldn't see a bunch of us all milling around out front. I glanced around with mild interest at the rest of the attendees' costumes; the men's array of cowboy and pioneer garb were pretty unremarkable. To judge by the women's getups however, every costume store in the area was sold out of its "sexy cowgirl" and "bordello barmaid" sets. A smaller handful of the women were wearing what could be best described as Old West prostitute outfits, with incongruous gold anklets.

The crunch of gravel beneath car tires announced the arrival of Cary and her husband. We could hear car doors closing and hesitant shuffling footsteps. Cary's voice carried uncertainly through the air. "This way? Don't let go." She sounded both excited and suspicious.

As their silhouettes filled the doorway, I could see why she said that. She was wearing a blindfold and her husband was leading her with his hands on her hips. Of course, it was the rest of what she was wearing that caught my attention. A flouncy maroon dress that looked like it belonged on a saloon girl doing can-can dances clung to and accentuated every curve. The bodice of her dress squeezed her breasts together and up with a notched open V loosely laced between them halfway down to her belly button. A glittering golden-and-crystal necklace wobbled on top of them with her every tentative step. She was wearing a feathery headdress, black silk stockings held up with garters, a ruffled skirt not quite to her knees and split on each side all the way up to her hips, and a golden anklet. Decidedly modern high heels hampered her every step in the gravel. She was blushing faintly.

"What the hell did he put her in?" Jack whispered, annoyed.

I couldn't answer. I was pretty sure that if I stood up, I'd impale the lady squatting in front of me. How on Earth could Jack be immune to how hot Cary looked? It seemed like more than half of the men there were fucking her with their eyes as she stumbled unwittingly into their midst.

As they crossed the threshold, her husband pulled the blindfold off. "Surprise!" we all shouted, springing from our hiding places. Cary stood in mute shock for a moment, and her blush deepened. A smile worked its way uncertainly onto her face, but as soon as she caught sight of me and Jack, it settled firmly there. I could tell by the way her eyes scanned the group that she didn't recognize a lot of people, either.

Then as she scanned, her eyes widened and a stricken expression shot across her features. It was only there for a moment, but it looked like somebody had just told her that her kids had been hit by a bus. It was a look of anxiety, panic, and betrayal. As soon as it had come, it was gone, replaced by a pleasantly neutral expression. I frowned. Where

were

her kids? Surely her husband hadn't thrown a surprise party for her and then left her children somewhere else?

"Happy birthday, babe," her husband said. He looked very pleased with himself.

"Wow," she answered, her tone falsely bright. "This must be

everyone

from your office!"

For the next half hour, I found myself distracted enough by Cary's barely-concealed bouncing boobs in the dress that when it was time for Jack and I to do a demonstration fight I almost got a finger broken by missing a backhand parry. Cary gasped audibly as I hissed and switched the knife to my left hand. I got a chance to pull off the hat-blinding-and-kick move from the practice that Jack had missed while screwing Jenna. A few of the other spectators cheered, booed, and got theatrically into the moment as if they were at an old-timey melodrama.

Cary came to hang out with us as we set up the axe-throwing targets. Once in a while, she would shoot a glance towards one of the women in the group, and then back towards her husband. The woman was dressed in a costume fairly similar to Cary's, although even more revealing--as if somebody had told the costume designer "saloon girl but only use half the fabric, and put more sequins on it." I noticed that she had a little gold anklet as well. I would have bet my entire meager savings that Eric had chosen the dress code so he could ogle all the women. In this case, I almost didn't blame him, since it meant I got an eyeful of Cary every time I turned around.

The other woman and Cary were standing far apart, and I didn't understand what Cary was looking at. After a bit, we had the straw bales backed by plywood tied together. Folks started lining up to take a shot at the target with one of our tomahawks. A procession of middle-aged office workers in Old West costumes gamely hurled our axes at the target with widely-varying results. One guy even managed to get the axe stuck handle-first into the straw bales, blade protruding out towards the direction from which it had been thrown.

The woman that Cary kept sneaking glances towards took a shot and bounced the throwing axe off the straw, halfway back towards us. A couple of people ducked needlessly, and everybody laughed. "Better luck next time!" called Cary's husband, clapping encouragingly. Cary looked furious. Wordless, she retrieved the axe and hurled it at the target, burying it expertly square in the center. One of her boobs nearly popped out of her sequined satiny dress as she did so, and I found myself trying not to stare so obviously. The guests all cheered as she strode away purposefully into the restaurant.

"What was that all about?" Jack murmured.

"Starting to get the idea that Cary doesn't like that lady," I answered, gesturing vaguely in her direction so as to not make it too obvious. Jack turned and looked directly at her. The lady in the skimpy costume caught his glance and leaned forward, blowing him a melodramatic kiss. "Whoever she is, she's lucky Cary didn't throw that thing at

her

, from the expressions I've been seeing. That was a skull-splitter throw."

"Classic Cary," Jack smirked. "Zero or sixty, and no in-between."

"It's what makes her cool," I responded, before waving another contestant over to take a shot at the much-abused straw bales.

Dinner wasn't bad, although it wasn't great either; I began to think that maybe Cary's husband had gotten a good deal on this package. It certainly wasn't five-star worthy. A small band led by a decent but not fantastic harmonica player had gathered in the corner and started to play some passable saloon-style tunes. I found myself tapping my foot a little even as I noticed every sour note and thought that my bluegrass band could have done a better job of it. Ty and Randy wouldn't have fumbled the opening to

Old Chisholm Trail

.

It was about that time that I also noticed a few of the guys paying Cary special attention--more than even her dress and stripper-heels could explain. One or two of them always seemed to be in her vicinity, and looking for excuses to touch her shoulder or leg. She kept smiling, but it was a frozen, dismissive sort of smile as she flicked their hands away or shrugged away from their touch. Even across the room, I could tell she was sort of uncomfortable, but they seemed immune to picking up on even the most obvious cues. Jack and I wandered over towards her, and one of the older attendees in snakeskin boots blocked our way.

"Sorry boys, this game is for the adults," he drawled drunkenly. He looked like he was leering.

I smiled, feeling mildly creeped out. "Then we're both in. Personal friends of the birthday girl. Excuse us." We half-pushed our way through. Another guy--I thought it was the one who had asked about my knife earlier in the evening--looked sourly at us. "Hey, you've got plenty of girls your own age back at school. Why don't you bug off?"

Jack gave the guy a "what the hell?" look, and we moved over to Cary.

She was nursing a half-drunk flute of champagne and starting glassy-eyed into the distance. As we approached, her face lit up. "Your guys' fight was great! I wanted to get in on it, but..." she gestured to her saloon-girl getup. I snuck a glance at her boobs and the glittering necklace dipping down in between them. "I can't believe Eric picked this thing out." I could, based on what she had told me about her Catwoman costume.

"Yeah, there are a couple of you gals in the same sort of costume tonight," I said. "Did he get a bulk deal on them or something?"

Cary rolled her eyes. "If he'd asked

me

, I could have told him what a proper pioneer lady would have worn, and gotten a decent birthday present out of it. It wouldn't have been so chilly, either. Eric seems to think that all folks back then were either desperadoes or sexy dancers." She shook her leg and the little golden anklet sparkled. "He must have spent a fortune on this thing. Ridiculous. I don't even

wear

anklets normally."

I shrugged noncommittally. "I mean, at least it fits and looks good on you," I said, hoping to cheer her up. "I would have expected Eric to not even know your clothing size." Cary colored slightly when I said 'looks good on you' but quickly smirked at my observation.

"You've sure got his number," she said, rolling her eyes. "I bet he

did

get a good deal on them, now that you mention it. He'll be sure to brag about how much he spent, but also complain about how--" she stopped and glanced at Jack, "--how we can't afford it." I was certain that wasn't what she had started to say.

Jack snorted. "Your dumb dress and shoes didn't give you any problems with axe-throwing."

Cary got that tense look on her face again. "That was... something else. Anyway, thanks so much for coming, you two. I hardly know anybody here. Typical Eric--throws a birthday party for me that's really all about himself." She took a drink of her champagne, draining the flute. She took my hand and looked at my injured thumb with a critical eye. "Are you okay? You missed that backhand block--I thought I heard a 'crack'."

I shrugged. To tell the truth, it was pretty sore and tender, but I wasn't going to let on in front of Cary. Another woman in a sort of halter-top Annie Oakley costume came up to the bar and gave Cary a perfunctory "Happy Birthday," before glancing down at the purpling bruise on my thumb.

"Ooh, that looks nasty," she said. She leaned over Cary towards me, grinning. "Want a kiss to make it feel better?" I could smell alcohol on her breath from a few paces away.

Cary gave the woman a calculating look, as if trying to figure out whether she was being mocked. Then, without warning, she pulled my thumb to her mouth and kissed it, almost defiantly. I froze, and the woman looked me up and down, as if re-evaluating me.

I slowly withdrew my hand from near Cary's mouth. "Uh, thanks," I stammered.

"Better than antiseptic," Cary said breezily. "I do it for my kids all the time."

The woman smiled blandly and walked away with a newly-filled wineglass. Cary watched her go and turned back to Jack and me. "Patricia, Eric's secretary," she explained. "Probably snooping on me at Eric's suggestion." She tapped the bar and indicated her champagne flute. The bartender sauntered over and replaced it, with a remark about the 'birthday girl special.'

"So, your kids aren't here?" I asked, hoping to change the subject and draw attention away from the fact that I was probably flushed. "I haven't seen Patrick or Annie."

Cary shook her head with a sour twist of her mouth--whether because of annoyance or because she wasn't used to swigging alcohol, I couldn't tell. "Eric thought that they'd 'get in the way' of his surprise. I think he just wanted to be able to drink without them around."

I wasn't sure what to say. Eventually, I just murmured, "Well that must be disappointing. Sorry."

"You should have seen the cake they tried to make me. If Eric had helped at all, it would have been delicious! As it was, it was just shy of a fire hazard. I guess I'm lucky--nine and six are hardy the ideal ages to be messing around in the kitchen." She smiled, but it had a wistful cast to it. "I'm just happy that we didn't get a visit from the fire department for my birthday."

"If your cake here sucks, we'll take you out for celebratory Frosties some time," Jack promised.

"Extra large, if you like," I chimed in. "

Nothing

is too good for our Third Musketeer."

Cary smiled at us both. "Hey, it's great having you guys here." Taking a deep breath, she stood. Her legs were a little wobbly. "Well, it's

my

birthday--I'm going to enjoy it! Once I've opened my presents, I'm going to give him something to think about." Neither of us had to ask who 'him' referred to.

"Want some help?" I asked, mock-brandishing my knife. "We can make him disappear."

Jack sneered theatrically. "You want we should... snuff him out, boss?" he said in a mock-mafioso voice.

Cary smiled and hugged us. I turned a little to the side so that she wouldn't feel my dick already at half-mast from the thumb-kiss. "You're both such good friends. I wish they were all like you."

"What's going on with these guys?" I asked, looking around at the moderately sullen cadre of office workers around her.

Cary took another sip. "This always happens. Eric thinks I'm incapable of looking after myself, so he always asks his coworkers to keep me company. He had me practically constantly surrounded at the Halloween party. As if I wouldn't rather choose my own company. I intend to mostly hang out with you guys after presents and cake." She started towards the main room, gait only slightly uneven.

The handful of middle-aged men dispersed around us with a few grumpy glances towards Jack and me. Some of them looked down towards her anklet as she passed. I couldn't figure it out. We ate some snacks, sneaked a few sips of alcohol, and listened to the cowboy band. A couple of the guests asked about our gear and knives, and how we knew Eric. We answered that we were friends of Cary's.

The cake was carried out by restaurant staff, and we all sang happy birthday. Cary blew out 34 candles, and a few of the more drunken partiers shouted things like "Only a few years left now!" Jack and I gave her our present--a real antique 1850's Bowie knife. We'd both had to save for it, and had haggled quite a bit with the guy at the gun and knife show. It was chipped and a little tarnished in places, but you'd think we gave her Excalibur for as much as Cary squealed with delight. We both felt a little vindicated after her having given us such nice, personal Christmas presents. She made the blade dance in front of her, eyes shining. Some of the other guests leaned back in exaggerated caution as she did so. I wondered if Jack noticed that her cuts at the air were a little wobbly.

"Okay, stop playing with that thing," her husband groused. "Open mine next." Cary reluctantly put the knife on the table in front of her and accepted a small, rectangular box. To my eyes, she looked a little nervous as she opened it, like she expected a live snake or a

Godfather

-style horse's head. Instead, as she peeled the paper away and opened the top of the box, a chagrined, resigned expression settled on her face, and she folded the paper back over.

A bunch of the other guests began to hoot and holler, demanding to know what was inside. After a moment, one of the men who had been hanging around her earlier swiped it while she was distracted and held it above his head. It was an illustrated

Kama Sutra

. The scantily clad saloon-girl who had bounced the axe off the straw bales earlier called out "Try page 94!" in a too-loud drunk voice.

While most of the increasingly intoxicated partygoers whooped and whistled, Cary leaned over to her husband with that same pasted-on smile. I heard her hiss, "Here? You invited

her

to

my

birthday party?! For God's sake, Eric, it's bad enough that you both still work together. Are you

trying

to humiliate me?"

I didn't hear his response, but he looked more offended than contrite. After what seemed like some tense words, he sauntered away frowning. Cary took another drink, and waved away some of the jokes of her husband's co-workers as they leafed through the pages of her present. Snakeskin-boots-guy pointed to one picture and made some comment drowned out by distance, eyebrows waggling. Cary rolled her eyes, and I could hear her answer, "Dream on, cowboy."