Seduction Or Betrayal Ch 04

This is part four of a seven-part novella; it should stand alone, but beginning at the beginning is the recommended pattern. I'm posting all the chapters at the same time so you shouldn't have to wait long for the rest. A

Literotica

Box Set for the summer.

The original idea for this work came following a discussion at the authors' hangout about frustrations with the black-and-white depictions of adultery in the section-which-cannot-be-named. So thanks to all who chipped in to that debate.

As usual, comments, criticism and support welcomed.

*****

'So what's next? More booze? A joint? You don't really want to watch a film, do you?'

'Your birthday, your choice.'

John and Yvonne were back from an almost-date at the town's best restaurant.

He had followed her into the front room and sat on the sofa and they talked while she adjusted the lighting and closed the curtains. She fell silent and flopped down at the opposite end of the comfortable seat folding her stockinged legs underneath her.

'But you're a guest, so it puts us in a bit of dilemma, doesn't it?'

She smiled at him, inviting for him to speak.

'I haven't watched a Hugh Grant movie for ages.'

He could see from her expression that she was pleased.

'And you have been going on about him all bloody evening.'

'Sorry about that.'

'No problem. When Hugh's in a woman's life, the rest of us just have to take a step back. And he's better than the muscled-hunks in some movies these days.'

Yvonne picked up the remote control and quickly found what she wanted on one of the streaming channels. She pressed hold just as the first fanfare of the production company burst through concealed speakers.

'So that's all set. Now what would you like my sober, long-suffering friend? Wine? I think we might have some beer and there's a bottle of Irish whiskey somewhere. I could dig that out. Or are you itching to get to the illegal substances?'

John looked at her trying to gauge what she would prefer. He couldn't. She was clearly less tipsy after the drive home and walk in the cold air. Did she want to restock as it were, or just enjoy the moment?

'I know this is going to sound boring. But what I'd like most is more coffee. When I smoke I tend to get quite dozy. I'd hate to fall asleep while Hugh weaves his magic.

'To work.'

John was impressed at the agility with which Yvonne unfolded herself and jumped to her feet. He rose more sedately and got to her in time to support her firmly by the forearm as she swayed. They stood for a minute while she regained equilibrium. Clearly the booze was still affecting her.

'There's real coffee in the freezer. Second drawer. We usually just drink instant, but I know you don't.'

He watched as she unselfconsciously reached into higher cupboards retrieving a filter cone, papers and mugs. Each time she stretched the hem of the dress seemed to reveal more thigh. The artist in him admired the stretching of the suspender elastic and the tension in the thin material of her stockings against her smooth thighs. His inner man became conscious of blood pumping to his cock. He busied himself with kettle and final preparations as Yvonne hopped onto a high stool. Was she aware that the material of her skirt was dropping away revealing more leg? Was she teasing him? He smiled in pleasant speculation.

She was active again after he opened the fridge to get the milk. She disappeared momentarily into what he assumed was a laundry room and returned with a medium-sized white bucket with the scratched transfer of a plump cherub adorning its side. He was mystified as she went back to the freezer and pulled out a bag of ice which was emptied into the container. All became clear when she took the champagne bottle he had given her earlier and screwed it down into the bed of cubes.

'You've got some catching up to do. And I'm buggered if I'm sharing this with Paul after he pissed off with some floozy for the weekend.'

'Floozy. Now there's a word you don't hear every day.'

John assumed she was joking, but she scampered out in her stockinged feet, returning with her phone.

'Tell me he's not grabbing her tits.'

He had to take her wrist to stop her waving the phone around in front of his face. There was an image of Paul, his arm around a dark-haired woman with a cleavage of Caroline Simpson proportions. They were grinning as they took the selfie and John had to admit it

did

look as if his thumb was stroking the underside of the woman's boob.

'He sent me a text on Friday night to say him and Bridget - she's another teacher at the school - were having to share a tent. Some mix up about numbers. I didn't think anything about it until I saw this.'

'You're upset aren't you?'

'Come on. You've been in a tent before. Modesty is impossible. I've been thinking about the two of them together since I got this this afternoon.'

He stood up and put his arms around her. He was surprised at the strength with which she clung to him and pushed her face into his shoulder. The flood of explanation and suspicion was muttered against his chest. Not once did she raise her face to to look at him. He just maintained the loose embrace and let her talk. It was probably no more than five minutes before she eased herself away from him with a final barb.

'What really pisses me off is that he arranges this on my birthday. He

knows

the day. He shouldn't have done it. Come on, let's go back to Hugh and get wrecked.'

She spun on a heel and went back to the front room. He followed with the tray of coffee and went back for the wine and a couple of glasses. Yvonne was staring at the opening credits, coffee in hand, when he got back. He sat quietly next to her leaving about a foot between them and reached for his own mug. She closed the distance and slipped her arm under his without speaking.

Say what you like about Hugh Grant, he knows a good scriptwriter when he meets one. They couldn't help but laugh at the well-crafted jokes. John found himself admiring how the character Hugh was playing - another well-heeled naïf - was always kept just this side of upper-class twittery. Enough, anyway, that you had to empathise with his romantic dilemmas. It would have been so easy to get irritated by the sense of unexamined privilege which pervaded this, like all his other, films.

About fifteen minutes in, John felt Yvonne relax as she began to laugh. They started chatting about what was going on on screen; exchanging views on the physical attributes of the leading players; speculating about how they, themselves would look in some of the outfits the stars were wearing. John reminisced about living in some of the London locations the movie was filmed in, in the days before the poor were priced out of them. At some point he had slipped his arm over her shoulder as she snuggled closer.

About half-way through, the coffee long gone, Yvonne stretched over him to reach for the champagne. The baby bucket was at his feet and she ended up lying across his knees. It was a natural gesture and at first he didn't think anything of it. She was heavier than she looked and he had to adjust his legs to take her weight. He enjoyed the sight of the dress sliding around as she strained to get to the bottle. She was reaching out with one and had had to put the other down to the carpet to take her weight. When the crease of her buttocks appeared beneath the green, however, he could take it no more. He brought the flat of his hand softly down on her nearly-exposed rump. Yvonne let out a small cry and moved the hand from the floor to cover herself. He immediately felt the soft cushioning of her breasts press down on his leg. It was only then that he became aware of the increased pressure coming from his own groin.

'Here, let me. You'll pull a muscle or something.'

They were both laughing as Yvonne struggled upright. John was pretty sure the hand which pressed on his balls was put there for leverage only. She ended up in a heap at the other end of the sofa, a picture of indecent exposure. One of her breasts had fallen out of her dress, the skirt was bunched around her waist and her splayed thighs revealed that the triangle of lace had somehow got pulled sideways exposing her perfect pussy, the inner labia fully enclosed.

'If that was spanking I don't get what all the fuss is about.'

'That was just an opening shot to get your attention.'

'Again with the promises.'

Yvonne was looking down at her

deshabille

. She was frozen for a moment, unsure which part of the wardrobe disaster to deal with first. Then she tugged the skirt front between her legs with one hand and clamped the other over the exposed boob. She laughed nervously.

'Get a good look?'

'You're gorgeous.'

John put on a moony, young-lover-type voice hoping to indicate he just considered it a fun moment between friends. He pointedly turned his head away to pick up the bottle which was the cause of all the confusion. He could feel the sofa undulating as Yvonne covered herself up. When it stopped he considered it safe to turn to her again.

'I've got something between my legs that all women crave.'

He grinned at her and indicated that his thighs were clamped against the sides of the bottle as he played with the wire holding the cork in place.

'Ooh, it is a big one, Miss Jones.'

Yvonne put on a little schoolgirl voice and they both sniggered. She made a grab for the bottle.

'Here, let me. I've never opened a champagne bottle before.'

'Careful, it'll go everywhere if you shake it.'

'That's what my first boyfriend said.'

'I thought you said you'd never done this before?'

'No. That's what I said to him. And the two that came after him.'

'There were three of them?

'Not all at the same time. Not on that occasion.'

The pair were cackling with laughter as they tried to out-banter each other. That meant the bottle was shaking too.

'You need to gently ease it out.'

'Nah, a vigorous wrist action is always better.'

'It's coming.'

'That's the way, come for me big boy.'

'Oh, oh, oh.'

John started making girly pre-orgasmic noises and Yvonne let out little grunting sounds in a boyish tenor. Whether that was because of the effort, or just to join in, wasn't clear. Her cry of

shit

as the cork popped out, thudded against the ceiling and then tinged against something glass, followed by a fountain of bubbles was genuine enough. She clamped her mouth over the top to try and stem the flow as John dived for the glasses. She was gagging noisily as she swallowed hard, but even then there was a trickle of white coming out of both sides of her mouth and her nose. In between shouts of laughter John took the bottle from her and quickly poured. Even though they were both tumbler-sized they filled quickly and he had to put his own mouth over the bottle to catch the end of the eruption.

'Wow.'

'That's what the boyfriend said too.'

'Did you send him a dry cleaning bill? It's gone everywhere.'

'Were you spying on us. I'm pretty sure

I

said that.'

'There are people who'd pay good money to watch something like that.'

'When he said that I dumped him. Cheers.'

They clinked glasses and surveyed the damage to each other's clothes.

'You look like you've wet yourself.'

John brushed at the front of his suit trousers. The pale material quickly absorbed the spillage. The same couldn't be said for Yvonne's shiny dress. There was a trickle of dampness running from her chin to her tits which grew to dark patches over her nipples. They were now clearly defined, especially when she rubbed a finger over the offending stain. There were sprays of dark bubbly stains on the skirt of the dress which she picked at when she spotted them.

Hugh was struggling manfully to keep their attention and not really succeeding. Yvonne held onto the bottle and kept pouring into John's glass while they heckled him.

'You trying to get me drunk?'

'Yup.'

'Glad that's clear. I was wondering about my role.'

They both giggled. The champagne was having its effect.

'Come on Hugh, give her one.'

'D'you think he will?'

'Not in the three times I've seen this before, but we live in hope.'

'Does he ever take his clothes off?'

'Well he must do. They're always spotless and usually different in every scene.'

'Good point. Probably has a whole team looking after his gear.'

'It's always neat.'

They looked into their glasses and then at each others smirking. They were both pleased with how witty they were being. Drunk people are like that.

'Shall I roll?'

'Thought you'd never ask.'

'Pass the tin over then.'

John nodded to his jacket which Yvonne had dropped on the floor next to the sofa. She picked it up by the back flap and everything fell out of the pockets onto the floor. She gathered everything up in both hands and dumped it unceremoniously on the coffee table. John took the tobacco tin from her and she poked with a finger at the rest of the debris.

'Who has a Peppa Pig key ring?'

'A man who looks after twin boys while their mum goes flouncing round the neighbourhood in skin-hugging clothes.'

'Sounds like a slut.'

'She has got a nice bum though.'

She waved Rachel's note around.

'You going to call her?'

'No.'

'Sad. I think you were in there.'

'

You

are.'

'Me?'

'Yeah. You're my agent remember? Booking models is part of the job description.'

Yvonne looked back over her shoulder at him.

'Seriously?'

'Sure.'

'Right then. What have we here?'

She was waving one of the condoms he'd picked up at the Pump House. The branded-packaging gave it away.

'You got a date later?'

'Unfortunately not. I picked them up on the off-chance I might get lucky.'

Yvonne laughed and looked around excitedly until she spotted her clutch bag, opened it and produced one of her own prophylactics.

'Me too, but looks like Hugh's run off with a posh slapper. Again.'

'Bet she's a mate of that Caroline Simpson.'

'Bitch. You rolling or what?'

'Yes ma'am.'

He set to work sticking papers together and sprinkling on the grass; the work of a moment when straight, a little harder when the person you're with is giving a running critique of your technique and somehow champagne-affected fingers don't work quite as well as they should. At last it was finished and John stood up indicating with a jerk of his head that Yvonne should too.

'We should probably take it outside. The smell tends of hang around.'

'Gotcha. Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?'

'Nope. Though, of course, I reserve the right not to incriminate myself.'

'What happened with your wife? You're so great, I can't imagine why any woman would leave you.'

John was quiet as he led her though the kitchen and opened the back door. Yvonne plumped herself down on the back step as the motion-activated patio light flooded the area. John eased himself down beside her and gave her the joint. Then got up again and went to the stove to light it when they both realised they didn't have matches or a lighter. He took a drag and held the smoke in for a long time before letting it out in a long stream.

'Same old story, I guess, we were young, we got pregnant, then married and woke up years later realising we didn't like each other that much.'

Yvonne coughed and spluttered. She had tried to copy John, but didn't have the lungs for it. She slapped the top of her chest hard.

'Wow, this is a bit harsher than I remember. You couldn't sort it out?'

John was silent as he took his toke.

'Maybe. If either of us had been older and wiser. We'd got into swinging and she met someone on the scene she

did

fall in love with. And, well, split.'

'Swinging? You mean like wife swapping?'

She was examining the joint suspiciously as she prepared to take another hit. John smiled at her use of words.

'Wife-swapping. Very nineteen-seventies.'

'Flared trousers and long hair?'

'I prefer to remember short skirts and no bras, but yes, that's when wife-swapping was big. The swinger scene was a bit harder, a bit more organised. Well it was when we got involved. And that was a long time after the nineteen-seventies.'

'Whadja mean?'

Yvonne spoke through gritted teeth as she tried to keep the smoke in again and tapped him on the arm for him to take the joint.

'More communal, less privacy. We got into bondage, BDSM.'

Yvonne giggled.

'Spanking again.'

'Uh huh. Gang bangs.'

'I had one of those once.'

'Really?'

'Oh shit, did I say that out loud?'

Yvonne grabbed the smoke and made a show of concentrating on inhaling as much as she could.

'Like it?'

'Mmm.'

John couldn't work out whether that was a

yes, no

or

maybe

.

'My ex was never happier than when she had a cock in her pussy and another in her mouth.'

'And you didn't mind?'

John was holding smoke down again while he thought. His mind was buzzing. He could feel the effect of the grass behind his eyes. He grinned.

'Not really. It made her happy and we didn't have too much of that at home. And I was no angel.'

He looked at the roach. Declared it dead and squeezed out the last grains onto the patio before stashing it in his pocket. Yvonne let out a groan of disappointment.

'You want another?'

'Of course, it's my birthday. I can feel my toes tingling, but I've not started floating yet. I'll get it.'

She stood up quickly and had to lean on John's shoulder with a straight arm as her head swam. He sat up more erectly to support her. The hem of the dress had somehow snagged against her left suspender clip distorting the line of the skirt. It was inches from his face, so he nudged it with a finger to make it drop.

'Maybe I should go. Don't want you dropping it all over the place.'

'Were you trying to put your hand up my skirt?'

'No, but it was tempting.'

Yvonne let her thighs fall against his shoulder which John took as an invitation. He slid his hand up the back of her leg letting his fingers slide between her bare thighs once it was over the stocking tops, and then cupped one of her naked buttocks in his palm before giving it a gentle squeeze. His fingers could only just make out the trace of thong cord between the cheeks. Yvonne closed her eyes and enjoyed the warmth of his hand against her arse which had cooled considerably on the cold of the step she realised. She unconsciously tensed her thighs pressuring her labia together and exerting a gently pressure on her clit. Her grin widened.

They didn't speak as John withdrew his hand, stood up and helped her to sit down again before disappearing. Yvonne pushed her hands down between her legs tangling her hands in the material of her skirt. She squeezed her thighs together again. This was naughty. She shouldn't be doing it, she told herself. She breathed in the night air and enjoyed the buzz of the alcohol and dope. Sure she was playing it fast and loose, for her anyway. She had been a bit of an exhibitionist when she was young. Her boobs and bum had been seen by more lads than she cared to calculate. Thank god it was before cameras on mobiles and social media, she laughed to herself. And when word got out that she got off on being touched up, she had become

very

popular. But John's hand on her bare bum had been the first that wasn't Paul's since she had married.

She found herself thinking again how she had never really noticed her neighbour before. He was fit. Funnier than she'd realised. And more flirty. He really was a bit of a lad underneath the avuncular exterior. She felt comfortable and safe around him and whatever else she was thinking, he'd certainly given her a birthday to remember. So was flashing her tits or letting him grope her such a bad thing? She was certainly having a good time. She found herself squeezing her legs together to send that enjoyable clitoral tingle on its way through her body.