Mrs. Vale's Secret

3

The pleasant effect of the champagne, and her illicit lovemaking, still lingering, Amy pulled onto the freeway linking the city's downtown to her quiet, suburban home. Setting the cruise control, she felt a swell of contentment. How many had what she had? A wealthy lover who lavished her with affection, and money; a magnificent home, purchased with that money; and a husband who was serious, responsible, and not too demanding in bed. The excitement, affluence, and stability that all these things brought made her a happy woman indeed. In fact, it often seemed to Amy, that a woman couldn't be happy without them.

Franklin had, in particular, been a blessing. She allowed her mind to drift to the beginning of their affair, a favorite memory. She was an eighteen-year old freshman at Whitmore College then, almost eight years ago, and her boyfriend at the time was Adam Wainwright, Franklin's son. And though Adam had professed his love for her repeatedly during their one-year relationship, he was not confident enough of that love to pit it against his mother's distaste for her.

And so, on a rainy Friday night, Adam had told Amy that he didn't want to see her anymore. It had become too difficult, Adam said sheepishly, to deal with his mother's dislike of her. Amy was shocked, and hurt. And she was angry. She raged at Rachel Wainwright's interference, furious that Rachel would suffer no consequences. Amy realized, as does everyone who has had a broken heart, that all things are permitted in matters of love - those who are cruel and dishonest are not bound by any law, or punished by any judge.

But as the days passed, Amy wondered why there couldn't be consequences for Mrs. Wainwright. What would happen, for instance, if Rachel were to suffer the same hurt as Amy? If Mr. Wainwright were torn away from Rachel as Adam had been from Amy? Why, nothing would happen, Amy realized, other than the upset that would race through the Wainwright family. All it would take, she mused, would be a seduction of Mr. Wainwright, and a means of making the dalliance known to Rachel and Adam.

Amy's thoughts frightened, and fascinated, her - it would be a horrible thing to do, wouldn't it? But what Rachel, and Adam, had done was horrible, too. And they would pay no penalty for their mistreatment of her - unless, that is, someone made them.

And it was for that reason Amy stood at the front door of the Wainwright residence on a sunny Saturday afternoon. Amy paused a moment before ringing the bell, her heart pounding, her tiny palms moist. Taking a deep breath, she pressed her finger to the doorbell.

"Hello, Mr. Wainwright, how are you?" she asked as Franklin appeared at the door. She hoped he hadn't noticed the tremble in her voice.

"Amy?" he replied, staring at her uncertainly. She could tell he was trying to determine the reason for her visit. "Well, this is a surprise. How are you?"

"I'm fine, thanks," she answered. Amy nodded her head, a little too emphatically, but she wanted to ease his concern that she was there to start screaming at Adam, or in his son's absence, at him. "I actually came by to pick up something I left in Adam's room. Would it be o.k. to go and grab it?"

"Well, sure. Come on in," he smiled, apparently relieved that there would be no shouting.

Amy tentatively stepped through the door, passed Franklin, and entered the foyer.

"Go right ahead, Amy," he motioned in the direction of Adam's room. "I'll be in the living room if you need anything." And with that, he plopped himself onto the sprawling leather couch, and resumed reading his newspaper.

"Um, Mr. Wainwright?" Amy said meekly. "I'd feel better if you would come with me."

Franklin looked up from his paper, perplexed.

"I just don't want anyone to think that I'm taking anything that's not mine," she started.

"Amy, I really don't think that's necessary - "

"I would feel a lot better if you did," she interrupted, hoping that he couldn't detect the trace of anxiousness in her voice. "I mean, with the way things ended with Adam and me, I just don't want there to be any doubt."

"Well, o.k.," he sighed, lifting himself from the sofa. "But, really, Amy - "

"I know, and I don't mean to be weird, but I would really just feel better about it." With Franklin in tow, she gave a quiet a sigh of relief, and walked down the long hall to Adam's bedroom. She glanced back at him a couple of times, hoping to catch him looking at her inappropriately, but his attention remained fixed on the newspaper he had toted with him.

Amy tried to suppress her worry. What if he got angry, or worse, didn't find her attractive? Franklin wasn't a high school boy, a pliable little thing desperate to be with a girl just because she was a girl. He was older, successful - and probably had turned down women whose beauty would humble her own. Why would he jeopardize his marriage, as rotten as it probably was, or his stature, just for her?

She walked quickly into Adam's room, almost hoping that Franklin would change his mind and return to the living room. But he didn't, so she swallowed hard, went to Adam's closet, and pulled open the door. Reaching to the back, beyond several pairs of battered gym shoes and a pile of crumpled laundry, Amy extracted a medium-sized, brown cardboard box.

For the first time, it seemed as though Franklin's interest was piqued. He watched Amy drag the box into the center of the bedroom floor, and unfold the top. Beneath an opened carton of condoms, several Penthouse magazines, and a few pornographic DVDs, Amy found what she was looking for. Her hands were slightly unsteady as she lifted the flimsy black thong and matching sheer camisole from the box.

"I know it seems silly," Amy said in a hushed voice, looking affectionately at the lingerie. "But I got this in Paris especially for Adam, and there are some special memories attached to it. I guess I don't want to leave it here, to just be thrown out with the trash." It was what she had worn when taking Adam's virginity, and he had kept it since as a kind of souvenir. "Please don't tell Mrs. Wainwright," Amy added softly.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, I won't," Franklin replied. His eyes were locked on the scraps of black fabric in her hands. And suddenly, Amy felt a bit of confidence.

"Thank you," she said, standing up. "You've always been so sweet to me."

Franklin paused several moments before responding, and Amy could sense something struggling within him. "It's because being around you is such a pleasure, " he said.

Amy's heart began beating faster. "You flatter me, Mr. Wainwright. But I'm glad that I give you pleasure." She smiled mischievously. "Oops, that came out kind of funny."

He let out a short laugh, but it wasn't followed by a smile. "Rachel is intimidated by you for a very good reason, Amy."

She took a step toward him. "By me?" she said innocently. "For what possible reason?"

"Amy, don't pretend as though you haven't a clue. You're a very - " he stopped, acutely aware of the danger. "A very desirable girl."

She noticed that his eyes quickly dipped to her breasts as he spoke, and it thrilled her.

Franklin continued, quietly. "Even though you're young, Amy, I'm sure you're well aware that you can make men do things they wouldn't normally do."

Amy moved closer still to him, inhaling the subtle scent of his cologne. She slowly lifted the small, black thong, smoothing it with her fingers. "Oh? And what types of things could I make you do, Mr. Wainwright?"

Franklin didn't reply, and Amy advanced even further, so that she could feel his warm breath on her.

"Would one of those things - that you wouldn't normally do, of course - " she said, lowering her voice to a whisper, "would one of those things include giving me a nice, hard, fucking?"

Amy let the words hang in the air, pleased with their effect. Franklin looked as if a brick had hit him in the face.

"I...would be lying if I didn't say I've thought of it," he confessed, an uncharacteristic flush appearing on his cheeks.

Amy felt triumphant. It was not, however, for the reason she expected. The attraction of a handsome, older man was certainly appealing, but it was not the source of the intoxicating rush she felt. Rather, it was his confession of that attraction that was responsible. There were so many barriers to his revelation - an undoubtedly vindictive wife, her involvement with Adam, the potential for scandal always haunting a man of his stature - but Amy had seemingly overwhelmed every one, and pulled the truth from him. It was her first real taste of female sexual power.

She took a deep breath - there would be no turning back now - and placed a gentle kiss on Franklin's lips. "I've always thought you handsome, Mr. Wainwright," Amy said, slowly running a finger down the front of his chest and letting it come to rest on his belt buckle. "And I've always wondered what it would be like to - "

"Take your clothes off, Amy," Franklin interrupted.

Surprised by the firmness of his tone, and delighted by its conviction, Amy immediately stepped back from him. Looking directly into his eyes, she slowly stripped every piece of clothing from her body, tossing each garment lightly at his chest as she did so. Franklin did nothing in response, and soon her tank top, jean skirt, bra, and thong were lying in a heap at his feet. Completely naked, Amy smiled suggestively at him, her hands on her hips.

Franklin sighed, unable to force his eyes from her body. "You are more beautiful than I imagined," he said solemnly, taking a step toward her, arms outstretched.

Amy fell into his embrace, gasping as his large hands slid down her back to cup her firm bottom. "Just perfect," he muttered, joining his lips to hers in a deep kiss. Amy pressed her bare body against him, quietly moaning into his mouth. They continued for several moments, with each kiss spiraling into the next one, until they became lost in each other's desire. The intensity soon drove Franklin's hands to her breasts, squirming hips, and soft thighs, while Amy frantically tried to pry open his belt buckle. Although she felt undeniably sexy grinding against him while he remained clothed, Amy couldn't wait to feel his skin against her.

"Let me see it," she whispered between frenzied kisses, still fumbling with his pants.

As Franklin cast his shirt aside, Amy finally succeeded in sliding his pants down his muscular legs. "Wow," she said, staring at his penis and backing herself onto Adam's narrow bed, "it's beautiful."

"Actually, it's more of a curse than a blessing," he answered ruefully.

Amy was transfixed - she had never seen anything like it, in real life anyway. He was nearly as thick as a soda can, and long. A small pearl of semen topped the large, tapered head of his member, which was completely stiff and pulsing with arousal. Amy was excited to touch it, but before she could, Franklin eased her down onto the bed and began exploring her body, liberally sprinkling kisses and compliments as he did so.

Breathing deeply, she allowed herself to enjoy the feel of his hands and lips on her neck, shoulders, and nipples. His touch was perfect - soft, but firm enough not to tickle. It felt absolutely delightful, and she welcomed the sudden sensation of the fat tip of his penis probing her vagina.

"Oh, yes," she encouraged, feeling the cock push aside the wet folds of her flesh, hungry for entry. She parted her legs a little wider, and his first few inches slid tightly in.

"I'm not hurting you, am I?" Franklin asked, stopping suddenly upon hearing her sharp intake of breath.

"No...just go slow, o.k.?" Amy replied, trying to relax herself. The thickest part of him wasn't even in yet, and she was beginning to worry that he wouldn't fit.

"Don't worry, I'm kind of an expert at this," he replied. Their eyes locked as he eased himself further into her, withdrew slightly, and then pushed back in a bit deeper than before. He gently repeated the process several times, stopping every few minutes to allow her body to adjust to him.

"Still o.k.?" Franklin asked her, kissing her lightly as a final push squeezed his full length into her. Despite the controlled manner of his penetration, Amy noticed that he was trembling.

"Mmm, it feels good," Amy lied, returning his kiss, and flicking her tongue against his. Although it did not hurt, the sensation of fullness was uncomfortable. But she would keep that to herself - she wanted to impress him, to reward him for the risk he was taking to be with her.

Wrapping her arms around his muscular shoulders, Amy began slowing grinding her hips upward against him. He responded to her cue, delivering short, gentle thrusts in time with her rhythm. And as he continued, the fullness she had experienced as unpleasant now became intensely arousing. Franklin's repeated forays into her body were wetting his penis more and more, and he began a rapid, firm pounding. Amy closed her eyes, taking in the delightful messages being sent from the soaked area between her legs.

Something, however, was holding her back, and she was irritated to discover that it was guilt. As far as Amy could tell, it was rooted in the pleasure she was taking from all of this - wasn't guilt always reliant on pleasure of some kind? - the ease with which she had seduced Franklin, the fury that his betrayal would certainly spark in Rachel, and even the location of the tryst, Adam's own bed. Amy knew it was wrong, and she even tried distancing herself from what she was feeling, to minimize the pleasure, and the guilt. But try as she might, her mind was soon overwhelmed by the sensations of her body, and her whimpers of pleasure rejoined the sound of his body repeatedly, and loudly, slapping against hers.

Urged on by her cries, Franklin's strokes came faster, rougher, less controlled. Against Amy's every effort, her world was narrowing to just one thing - the relentless friction of his sex against hers. If he would stop just for a minute - just for a second - she could reassert control over her disobedient body. But he didn't stop, and her voice wouldn't issue any type of protest. Finally, Amy's remaining resistance collapsed, and she surrendered to him, calling out for him to fuck her, to use her, to make her come. Franklin responded to her acquiescence, thrusting into her with a ferocity that took her breath away. All she could do was to lie there, and offer herself up to his pounding.

"Fuck me hard, I want it hard," she begged, her thighs pressing firmly against his flanks, her fingers pulling his flexing buttocks into her. "Please, I can't take it anymore." He kissed her suddenly and forcefully, and as she let out a squeal, an intense orgasm ripped through her body. Amy convulsed and pushed against him, instinctively trying to touch every part of the delicious creature responsible for her rapture.

Franklin slowed, and then stopped, his powerful strokes. But Amy, her arms locked around his neck, continued to rhythmically thrust her hips upwards against his, continued to force his distended penis in and out of her. Although she felt faint, she drew herself up to him and whispered, "Don't stop, darling. I want your cum inside my pussy."

And at her command, Franklin emptied himself into her, groaning. She marveled at how every muscle in his body tensed at the moment of climax, and how intensely the pleasure washed over him. Amy held him close, digging her manicured fingernails into his back as her buried his spurting member deep inside her.

"Oh, that's it, Mr. Wainwright, that's it," she cooed, feeling him spasm, "give it to me."

With a final mighty shudder, he withdrew, unleashing a thick flow of his ejaculate from Amy's gaping, soaked vagina. They paused for a moment, not saying a word.

"Oh my god, that was awesome," Amy said finally, laughing and raising herself on her elbows to examine the pool of milky liquid gathering on the bed sheet between her parted legs. "And this thing," she added, wrapping her fingers around his slippery, still-swollen member, "is amazing."

And, much later, as Amy left the Wainwright home that day, she knew she would be unable to betray Franklin.

-Continued in Part Three-