Promises

A steady, soaking rain fell as they drove up to the house. Debbie felt a sudden knot in her stomach when she saw the truck in the driveway. Eileen, who had been kind enough to drive her home, pulled in behind Kyle’s pickup.

“Okay, kiddo. You’re home,” Eileen said as she shifted into reverse.

“Thanks. See ya tomorrow,” Debbie replied as she opened the car door. “I’ll give you a call if I need a ride, ‘kay?”

Then she was hurrying up the drive to the front door through the rain. As she unlocked the door, she saw Kyle jump out of his truck and run toward her. She opened the door and went in, not waiting for him.

“Hey, Deb,” he said as he stepped inside. “How’s it going?” He ran a wet hand through wet, chestnut hair. He gave her a friendly smile that was enhanced by the sparkle of his eyes, which were bright blue.

“Hi, Kyle. The car’s out in the garage,” she said without looking back at him.

“Great. I’m on it. Mind if I grab a beer?”

She was standing in front of the hall closet hanging her coat. She waved a hand over her shoulder, wordlessly indicating her consent. She heard the pop top on the can and then the door to the garage opened and closed. She took a deep breath and managed to relax a little. She went to the mirror and ran a brush through her shoulder length blonde hair, whisking droplets of water out with each stroke. Debbie wanted to change into sweats and relax, but with Kyle here, she felt better in the skirt and jacket she was wearing. She wouldn’t let him to see her with her guard down.

This morning, when her car wouldn’t start, she had been lucky enough to call Eileen in time to get a ride to work. Paul, her husband, was out of town on business, his car in a parking lot at the airport, and wouldn’t be home until Friday. She had called his cell when she got to work and asked what she should do about the car. She had never had to have a car towed before and wasn’t sure who to call.

“I’ll call Kyle,” Paul had told her. “Maybe he can swing by after work and take a look at it.” She had wanted to say no, but at the same time needed her car and didn’t want to argue with Paul when she knew he was right. Kyle, besides being one of Paul’s oldest friends, had worked several years as an auto mechanic. And was a good one, by all accounts. If he could fix it, and he probably could, it would only cost them for the parts.

She knew, even though she tried to suppress them, Paul was aware of her feelings toward Kyle. And that was before Debbie’s sister, Donna, had dated him. Kyle was a blood hound when it came to women. At Paul and Debbie’s frequent barbecues Kyle was always escorted by a different and sexy, if somewhat vapid, woman. Being a womanizer was bad enough for Debbie and her reception of him had always been a little cool.

But then a year and a half ago, Debbie’s younger sister, Donna, had dated him for about four months—which seemed to be about as long as Kyle dated anyone. For Debbie it was nothing less than a betrayal. She had told Donna everything she knew about Kyle. All of it bad, of course: what kind of man he was, how he would treat her and how he would use and dump her. But Donna had only smiled and said, “He makes me happy.” Which only drove Debbie even further though the roof. Insult to injury came after they had stopped seeing each other. Debbie was giving Donna a healthy dose of ‘I told you so’ when Donna hit her with a comeback that completely shut her up.

“Yeah, maybe you were right about him,” conceded Donna. “But in my book, he’s still the fuck of the century!”

Debbie poured herself a glass of wine, thinking it would help her relax. Kyle made her feel edgy when Paul was around. To be alone in the house with him was enough to have her drinking on a weeknight. She resented him all the more for making her feel uncomfortable like this in her own house. She was sipping her chardonnay when he burst back into the kitchen, holding some car part she could not identify.

“Think I found the cause of your troubles,” he said, grinning. “Got to run out and get some parts. Back in a flash.” With that he was gone. But Debbie did not go upstairs to change. He’ll be back, she thought, and drank off her remaining half a glass of wine. The tension had not dissipated. She poured another glass of wine.

It was not only that Kyle was a womanizer, she thought. He was an indiscreet one, too. He liked to talk to his buddies about his conquests. Not long after he and Donna split, stories circulated around the bowling league, of which Paul, Debbie and Kyle were all members, about how he had fucked his last girlfriend—Donna—in the ass. And, according to the rumor mill, she had loved it. He had always been a bit too smug, a bit too arrogant for Debbie’s taste to begin with. But then this jerk had not only dated her sister, but had somehow convinced her to let him put it in her ass! And then, after that, Donna had called him the fuck of the century! He had put his cock in her little sister’s asshole, and it seemed she would be glad to let him do it again any time he so desired! Debbie’s skin crawled at the thought.

Donna, obviously, had never confided in Debbie about her relationship Kyle. But she had tried to make Debbie understand the attraction: Kyle was a rather muscular six-foot-one, tan, with captivating blue eyes and, she said, he knew how to make a woman feel like a woman. She had also dropped some less-than-subtle hints about specific parts of his anatomy.

He had never been forward or flirty in any way with Debbie, of course. As the wife of one of his oldest and dearest friends, she was in a different category. Safe from his sexual innuendos, not-so-subtle body language and… well, any of that sort of thing. But watching other women, bimbos though they might be, fall all over themselves to be with him, was like fingernails on a blackboard to Debbie. The fact that he left her alone actually made things worse, because it denied her the opportunity to reject him. She would have loved the chance to watch that smug little smile of his shatter and slide off his face as she cut him down to size.

She was pouring a third glass of wine—more than she should be drinking on a weeknight, she knew—when he returned.

“Got the stuff I needed,” he said. “Should have you back in the saddle in no time. Can I grab another beer?” He was opening the fridge even before she nodded, she noticed. More arrogance.

She watched him as he walked out to the garage, noticing, not for the first time, how well his jeans fit. She could understand a woman would get aroused by that. But not if she knew him, knew what he was like, of course.

He had always treated Debbie politely and with great deference. Conversations he had with her were always conspicuously absent of flirtations and sexual content. In fact, she was more likely to find herself in a conversation about local politics, world events or some other sexually neutral topic with him than with Paul or one of her girlfriends. It was probably a defense mechanism on his part, she cynically told herself, to keep his mind off of sex while talking to the wife of a friend. Still, face to face, he had always been quite friendly and respectful, never flirty or condescending.

But that smug little smirk of his still went right through her. He wasn’t God’s gift to women, as he so obviously thought. Some day some woman will put him in his place, she thought. And what she wouldn’t give to be there! She finished her glass of wine.

“I’d like to fuck him just so I can tell him he’s a lousy lay,” she said into her empty glass. Her cheeks flushed immediately at what she had said. She stood up quickly and poured herself more wine. In the garage she heard the car trying to turn over. The engine caught and sputtered to life. It revved a couple of times and then fell silent. She could still feel the heat in her cheeks when Kyle came back into the house.

“Got it taken care of,” he told her.

“Great!” she said, a bit too quickly and perhaps a bit to enthusiastically. It made her embarrassed all over again. “Let me get you another beer,” she offered, quickly ducking her head into the fridge. He’ll probably be staring at your ass, she told herself as she grabbed a can off the bottom shelf. From the waist up she was hidden by the door, but surely he was feasting his eyes on her ass and legs. Her skirt stopped above her knee and when she bent over she knew she knew she’d be showing off a little bit of thigh. At thirty-one, her legs were lean and tight and her ass still turned men’s heads. He would be checking her out. She stood up quickly and looked right at him. He was facing away from her, checking his pager.

Suddenly, and for no reason she would ever be able to explain, she shook the beer can while his back was to her. She handed it to him as he turned around, flashing him an obligatory smile, the kind he was quite used to getting from her. Foam spurted from the can as he cracked the top, spraying him with beer. He quickly held the can out at arms length, but not before it had gotten all over his face and shirt.

Debbie laughed as he stood in the middle of the kitchen, holding the overflowing beer our before him. She laughed maybe a bit too quickly, or maybe it was a bit too loud, but she knew that she was over the line. Somehow, this did not deter her though.

“Good one! First day with the new mouth?” she laughed.

He just stood there, still holding the beer away from himself and staring at her. The expression on his face was not one of anger or even surprise. He just looked at her, as if unsure what to make of the situation. In point of fact, her brain whispered to her, he had been completely ambushed on this one.

She watched the beer trickle down his arm and drip onto the floor. As her eyes followed the trail, they suddenly locked onto something she had noticed before. More than once. Although he clearly wasn’t aroused, there was a bulge that extended down the inseam of his right pant leg.

Yes, she had noticed it before. Especially when he was dancing at Paul’s cook outs with one of his bimbo dates and started getting turned on. Then, to her disgust, he would reach a hand into his jeans to manipulate himself into a better position to accommodate his growing erection. She had wondered, especially after Donna’s comments, just how big he was erect, if he was that big when limp.

He was still staring at her with the same uncomprehending expression, clearly unsure of what was going through her head. Then he put the can down on the counter, wiped himself off with a paper towel and turned to leave.

“Maybe I better pass on the beer,” he said, as if nothing had happened. “Talk to you later. Tell Paul everything’s cool and we’ll settle up when he gets back.”

As he walked from the kitchen toward the front door, Debbie thought, The bastard doesn’t pay a fraction of the attention to me that he does to his tramps! A shiver went through her abdomen as it hit her: she wanted him to want her. Or did she simply want him?

Of course she didn’t like him—he never gave the slightest sign of wanting her. She wasn’t some cheap tart who would worship his cock like it was a god, so why would he? Yeah, with all those sluts willing to drop to their knees at the altar of Kyle, why would he waste time talking to her? At five foot four, blonde, and an hourglass figure with C cup breasts, she was used to turning heads. Those tramps he brought to the picnics weren’t better looking, she knew—only more willing.

Maybe she did want him—a little, anyway. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t want to put him in his place; tell him he wasn’t the best lover or biggest cock she had ever had. If she could get his attention enough to make him want her, then she could laugh in his face. That would be sweet. Or maybe, she considered, it was time that a woman used and discarded him without a second thought. She could prove she was every bit as desirable as any tart he had ever fucked and at the same time deliver a devastating blow to his all too smug ego. That he might want someone more than they wanted him…. A real eye opener for him, she thought.

But Debbie had never cheated on Paul in the eight years they were married and certainly wasn’t about to start with the likes of Kyle. It would have to be enough to peek his interest and then slam the door in his face. And in the process she just might make him feel as uncomfortable as he made her.

“Kyle!” she called quickly, trying to think of an excuse for him to come back. “Let me get you another beer. I, uh… feel terrible. I, uh.. dropped that one and gave it to you anyway. I’m really sorry.”

He walked back into the kitchen, shaking his head in indication that he was declining her offer. Even as he opened his mouth to speak though, Debbie was improvising a plan B.

“Show me what you did to the car. I won’t understand it, “ she giggled slightly. “But it’ll impress Paul if I tell him when he calls.” She could think of no previous occasion where she had giggled in front of Kyle, and it embarrassed and infuriated her to do so now. But outwardly, she gave no sign. It was the wine, she told herself. They went into the garage together and Kyle lifted the hood of her car. If he realized that she had giggled, he did not show it.

“Okay, see this starter motor,” he pointed. She leaned over the car and looked where he pointed. At the same time she wrapped her left hand around his thigh as if to steady herself. She made sure, however, to reach around far enough to touch his cock.

“I don’t see where you mean,” she said innocently, as she moved her hand up and down the bulge in his pant leg. He stepped back quickly; surely must have realized that her hand had not caressed his cock by accident. He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Her cheeks started to flush again, and she quickly bent over the car again. It allowed her to hide her embarrassment and at the same time give him an eyeful of her ass, which she wiggled ever so slightly for him. She knew he wouldn’t be looking at his pager this time. She spread her legs just a bit and stood on her tip toes, leaning further under the hood. Debbie had never been so sexually forward as this, and it made her feel slutty. She found she kind of liked the thrill it gave her though. She half expected he would come up behind her and lift her skirt. But after a long moment, she turned around and saw he hadn’t moved. Perhaps the bulge in his pants was a little larger now, but his expression hadn’t changed. She wanted to see him reach into his pants and rearrange himself, as she had seen him do so many times with his little tarts. Heaven help her, but for some reason she wanted to know she was making his cock hard.

“I think I’ll have a glass of wine,” she said, darting back toward the kitchen. “Sure you won’t change your mind about that beer?”

“Uh, okay. Guess I will,” he replied and followed her back inside.

Good, she thought. If he had no interest in her, he would have turned down the beer and would be on his way out the front door right now. He at least wanted to find out where this was going, friend’s wife or not.

Just keep leading him on until he whips it out, she told herself. Then, after you’ve had a chance to see it with your own eyes, you can laugh in his face and tell him if his cock was the last one on earth, you’d go lesbian.

“Pour me some chardonnay,” she instructed. “I’ll be right back.” She stepped into the downstairs bathroom and took off her pantyhose and stashed them in the cabinet under the sink. She hesitated for a moment and then, not sure why she was doing it, she removed her panties too. She slipped her shoes back on, admiring in the mirror the way her ass looked in her two inch heels. Two inch heels and no panty lines, she thought with a very naughty smile. She brushed her blonde hair and undid another button on her blouse before returning to the kitchen. Surely, he would notice the blouse—there was a bit of cleavage showing now. And, knowing Kyle, he probably wouldn’t miss the fact that her pantyhose were gone. Just get him to want you enough that your rejection actually hurts him, she thought.

Debbie back came into the kitchen, sat at the table and took a sip of her wine. She began to realize she was quite buzzed. She was doing and thinking things she never would have done sober. Or even imagined.

He was standing at the counter. She sat facing him and made a show of crossing her legs. She wasn’t sure how much he could actually see, but it must have been obvious to him what her intent was.

“Mind if I use the bathroom?” he asked. The bathroom door closed behind him and for a second she was worried he would find her panties. So what? she thought. Even if he did, he wouldn’t know if they were the ones she had been wearing. And the uncertainty might drive up his temperature a bit. At the same time it made her stomach flutter—the stakes were getting higher. She wasn’t sure what was nerves and what was the wine at this point, but she felt a giddy excitement she had not known in a long time. She took another big sip from her glass.

When he came out, the bulge along his inseam had now moved up behind his fly. He was getting aroused, she knew, and had gone to the bathroom to fix himself. She was disappointed that he hadn’t done it in front of her. He denied her that little victory, but at least she knew he was getting a hard on. As he walked past her, a gentle breeze went up her skirt and tickled her clit. That, and watching his bulge go by at eye level suddenly made her wet. She knew that after he left, she would have to pull out her vibrator. And, so help her, she would be thinking of him and his big bulge when she did. The thought made her resent him even more.

As he sipped his beer and looked at her, she uncrossed and re-crossed her legs. He was looking directly into her deep green eyes though, ignoring the show. A grin slowly broke out on his face, and she couldn’t maintain eye contact. She looked away.

“What?” she asked, suddenly feeling very defensive.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the black lace panties she had been wearing just moments before. He tossed them on the floor in front of her.

“Bastard!” she gasped, grabbing them up quickly. She was blushing furiously now. “Get out of here!” She had never been so flustered. The arrogant prick had not only found her panties, but had the audacity to bring them out and throw them in front of her. Who the fuck was he to even touch her panties!

He put down his beer and shrugged.

“Okay,” he said. “But…” He nodded toward the floor where he had thrown her panties and shrugged again. He walked past her and down the hallway toward the front door. Watching him walk away filled her with momentary panic. She couldn’t let him leave now; had to do something to keep him here.

“Kyle,” she called softly, just as he reached for the knob. She was still sitting, but had turned to face down the hallway. As he turned back to her, she started unbuttoning her blouse. She had no idea why. Her hands seemed to be moving of their own accord. When all the buttons were undone, she pulled her blouse open so he could see her bra and the firm, c-cup breasts inside. He stood at the end of the hall, looking at her, not moving. She slipped her jacket and blouse off of her shoulders and sat facing him in just her bra and skirt. He started toward her, taking off his jacket as he strode down the hall. He stopped directly in front of her and looked down squarely into her face. There was something so arrogant about the slight smile as he gazed at her. It was like he knew something she didn’t want him to know. She looked away, unable to meet his eyes.

“Take it out,” she whispered without looking at him. She heard his zipper and turned back just in time to see him pull out the most gorgeous cock she had ever seen. He was at least eight, maybe nine inches long and with hefty girth. He was rock hard, she noticed with some satisfaction. Her eyes widened as she though, Donna had that in her ass? She took it in her hand, noticing that her fingers did not come close to going all the way around it.