Cuckold Two For One

Nestled within the gentle embrace of her private thermae, appointed tastefully as it was with ornate gold fixtures and the soft surround of walls laden in Venetian kilned tiles, Michelle was as far and removed from common reality as she could possibly get.

Her time and place was an effortless occupation, involving nothing more energetic than to lounge with shameless abandon in a tub of meticulously perfumed water while contributing absolutely nothing in return. As the woes of the world at large continued on in mute witness to such indulgence, Michelle successfully mortgaged her idleness to her best advantage. Warm, wet and somewhat somnambulant, she was unencumbered, unaware, and indubitably unperturbed, particularly of anything other than herself. And who could have blamed her for succumbing to such an alluring offer of solitude, especially one which included an unearned respite from the ugliness of a world far removed?

Michelle's dalliance was a daily seduction of spirit and flesh. While that in itself was therapeutic, it was also an appalling extravagance that she participated in for no other reason than to satisfy her own exclusive needs.

Such a paradise as she envisaged, however ignoble or undeserved, still demanded constant attention from her. So with renewed attention to the details of her ongoing agenda, Michelle prepared to withdraw from the silky water and begin to focus more on the events of the coming evening. Any trepidation to remove her body from the nook of the tub was resolutely put behind her.

Michelle stepped ever so lightly from the tepid pool and daintily reached out for the towel. She took time and due care to pat herself dry, delivering the same loving attention equally to all of the flat and round parts of her lean body. Then, with undeniable grace but in a style of sensual haughtiness, she abandoned the damp towel to the floor as she would discard a piece of unwanted tissue.

It was mid afternoon now, bright and slightly breezy, with just a hint of noise from the outside which was allowed to drift in through the slight opening of the large opaque glass window. The rays of the sun were becoming more oblique and the lightly medicated saffron tea she had enjoyed earlier was just beginning to relinquish its sophomoric effect on her libido. Life was good and Michelle luxuriated in all of its temptations.

//

As a modern young woman existing in the 21st century, Michelle had everything in life that a woman would possibly want. She was healthy, well educated and socially balanced. Her husband of six years was an executive at an international investment brokerage firm and both of them loved and respected each other impeccably. Their home was situated on a prime tract of land in a very exclusive part of the city. They had bought it more than a year ago, paying off the principle in cash dollars, receiving the title and deed without the restrictions of a mortgage. Yet there purchase amounted to more than just a plot of land and a residence, it was actually an event; more of a destination for the curious, really.

Uniquely constructed with attention to detail, their home was a large and rambling replica of classic Romanesque architecture. Walls of alabaster supported a flat but slightly inclined roof of tangerine sun baked tiles. The body and the rhythm of the building complimented the curved and smooth lines of its copied antiquity. It presented an odd shape amongst the more traditional mansions that existed in the same neighborhood and the notoriety driven by its odd looks was hard to suppress.

All around the house, the gentle roll of manicured lawns were pocked with kidney shaped areas containing crushed white rock. There were numerous varieties of sculpted cedars as well, all hovering low to the ground. Each of these components tended to showcase the natural environment. The landscape rendered more of a feeling of a private golf course, than that of a residential setting in suburbia.

Even though Michelle and her husband cherished their privacy, they were courteous enough to allow three national home magazine writers to invade their retreat in order to take pictures and further, to write feature stories in their respective magazines.

Sharing all of their financial resources, they easily afforded three cars; a Porsche; a Mercedes, and the most recent acquisition, a Mitsubishi built SUV. There were two snow mobiles and an all terrain vehicle, all Honda's. The Harley Davidson motorcycle was their purchase statement regarding America and the United States. It wasn't a toy for their more adventurous moments; it was their Stars & Stripes on wheels.

On the social scene, they hosted elaborate and well choreographed parties at their Alpine-like retreat. This was an authentic chalet that was perched on an outcrop of land at a private lake located some 30 minutes from the city. When they purchased it they decided to never close their cottage, but rather to enjoy all of the seasons to which it had originally been built to accommodate.

In addition to all of this and just to make life less arduous, they employed a full time maid, and two grounds keepers.

While her husband earned a top salary, Michelle came to the marriage with a considerable dowry. She was the only daughter of a family of old wealth who had guarded their well-earned money for the sole purposed of forfeiting a large portion of it to their daughter, when she married. Despite the fact that Michelle was without any sisters or brothers, she had avoided the pitfall of being weak of character simply because of the family's largesse. To the credit of loving but wise parents, Michelle grew into her adolescence with a resolve to never settle for 'less' when 'more' was available. In adulthood, Michelle always insisted on acquiring only the very best of anything she wanted. Second best was, well, second!

The softened water in her bath was just one example of the way in which Michelle ran her life. Her creamy bath was the result of the blending of a bevy of special oils and elixirs. These were discriminative preparations, exclusive to only a few. Certainly, none of the ingredients that Michelle anointed her body with could ever be acquired by the regular mob of pedestrians who trampled the malls on weekends. Michelle's were special and unequalled aqueous concoctions, certainly without brand names or familiar logos. Her's were individually imported, quietly, under the auspices of such landmark importers as Lloyds, Harrods, and Marks and Spencer. Like pornography, her cross-borders booty was delivered in plain brown boxes of untraceable origins, all by the efficacy of global air cargo couriers.

Indeed, her vanity hosted a diverse selection of seductive perfumes, fine grain powders, and exotic salves. By far, her collection was a suitable cache of sultry ingredients fit for the sequestered Queens of powerful Sheiks, all of which in Michelle's case were for her singular, selective, and very private use.

The cost of such pampering was of no consequence to Michelle because no expense was too much. Only the results were what mattered to her. One at a time or copiously blended together en masse, her customized creativity with the more sovereign of emollients at her disposal, rendered a suitable alchemy within which she could ease her youthful and creamy body.

//

Now that she was dry from the time in her bath, there were other personal preparations to achieve. After retrieving her pamper glove and dusting it with lightly with poudre de camellia, she stood quietly in the middle of her private spa and slipped the glove over her right hand. First, she patted her face then her breasts, followed shortly by stroking her gloved hand twice across her taut tummy.

With due care she gently rubbed her mittened hand between her legs, pausing momentarily, before repeating the movement.

After several swipes at the entire crotch area, she cast the pamper glove to the floor and drifted in a regal motion of smooth and effortless gait, towards her vanity.

Michelle choreographed everything that she did. When she moved, stood up, or sat down, the impression she strived so hard to leave with others, was that she was confidently in control. Not just of herself, but of the occasion as well.

The reality of her impression upon others however, was somewhat different than she intended. Contemptuous histrionics aside, most considered. Michelle's behavior to be easily compared to the antics of a virtuous ballerina on an opening night when the jitters of performing newly written operas can make or ruin a career.

Understandably, comparing Michelle, a 26 year old 'girl-next-door' American beauty, to a schooled translator of operetta musical intent isn't meant as a frivolous after thought. Frankly, the points of comparison don't start and end with just the mechanics of their bodies. There is much more to compare between Michelle and a ballerina than just that!

By any standard, Michelle was a gorgeous creature, both of habit and youth. When weighing her accrued age to that of human durability; she would be considered to be hardly out of the packaging of her birth.

While it was true that every bit of Michelle's 120 pounds was petite and compact, it was how she used this arsenal of her physical bits and pieces that was important. After all, she was no gamine, to be sure!

At first glance it was obvious that the muscle tone and structured proportions of her body had been honed lean through disciplined exercise. While she was slightly larger than a wisp, she broadcast a decidedly healthier look than those gaunt Vogue models that painfully exist on the fashion runways of the global centres of haute couture

Admittedly, Michelle was not that tall, standing perhaps 5 feet 5 inches without shoes. At the same time, what she lacked in height she more than made up for in substance. The overall presentation she offered to anyone who took the time and interest to notice, was of a taut and supple bundle of pleasurable possibility.

Yet Michelle wasn't at all dedicated or disciplined like a ballerina; there was the departure. Michelle was a mere child who, because of the passage of time, had accumulated a few years under her belt. She feigned adult responsibility, choosing instead to ignore convention with a capricious intent. If her friends thought that making out on a dry white sandy beach shouldered up to a Caribbean lagoon was sensual, Michelle would tell them she'd rather run buck naked through a field of daisies in Maine with a couple of men in hot pursuit.

Michelle's bath routines therefore, were only an extension of this adolescent behavior and as such she followed various protocols in order to achieve the planned end results. Sitting in the tub was just one component of her holistic purpose.

Apart from the application of creams and such, the other custom to which she had become addicted to après bath, was to rummage about her body while standing naked in the centre of the room. While this effort could have been predicated on eroticism on Michelle's part, her true goal was nothing more than achieving her own piece of mind.

As sensual as her efforts might appear, her objectivity had absolutely nothing to do with sexual stimulation. Nor did she have any motivation to detect cancers or tumors or any of those other malignancies that can impinge the longevity of the human race.

Michelle's touchy-feely was nothing more than an anatomical self-affirmation that her body was as 'near to perfection' as any human body could expect to be.

So when she was ready, she would start at the top of her pink tantalizing frame and work her way south in a slow and appreciative way.

She had always been pleased with her hair. It was thick and naturally blonde and she'd shake her head just to watch the tresses tumble and fold. Each wave of shiny strands would undulate back into place, all in unison like a field of ripe wheat being pushed to and fro by a gentle prairie zephyr.

She touched her face and ran her delicate fingers over the smooth skin, then licked her lips to make them shine and pout. There wasn't a wrinkle, not even a laugh line. Nor was there a crease or a fold anywhere that would support or deny the truth of her nascent age. There were no blemishes to be seen either, or any of those other irregular contours, appendages, or skin tags that fuel the ambiguous promises of the cosmetic industry as they allude to the protective vanity of western women.

To most of Michelle's female friends, they'd have quickly bet the cost of their next spa treatment that her breasts were her most cherished attribute. But they'd all lose that bet. Michelle's breasts were her second most beautiful feminine feature.

For Michelle, it was her ass that came first. And to any man who had ever viewed it, there was no doubt in their minds either that her derrière was absolutely outstanding. Stunning, to be more precise!

Michelle's exquisite hind quarter was formed by the most perfect petite pair of solid half moons of tawny flesh that ever existed. Covered as they were with a velvety cuticle of firm skin they were as impressive as they were enticing. Each cheek was sculpted and formed as if cleaved from a single slab of recently quarried marble from a pit in Spain.

The left one complimented the right and like twins of Venus, they quivered as one at the touch. But when Michelle moved her body forward, an enchanting symphony of lascivious activity began and solicitous as this was, no man could ever avert his eyes or deny his lust for them or her, even if he tried.

Her golden rump as she sometimes called it; her hind quarter; her voluptuous tail; it didn't matter the nomenclature. For Michelle, it was her mark; her statement of territorial omnipresence; and her manifesto and warning to all other females, that she was Queen.

For all men and any of them who made the mistake to 'wonder' at her rear too long, to set his eyes upon that sanctimonious area of the female anatomy where virtue ends and prurience begins, Michelle would offer up to them her tight cheeks as a showcase of the credentials of her authority.

And as if the power of telepathy actaully existed, she would deliver her message to the violator without so much as having to utter a single word. The meaning of her invective was unmistakable; 'My ass will dictate all of the future terms of your total surrender to me.' Then, she would turn away in a coquettish huff, leaving the inept male isolated and having to suffer angst and denial without the slightest chance of peer support. Suitably awash in his own perdicament, Michelle ensured that the voyeur was rendered powerless to even ward off the drizzle-down goo of humiliation to which she had sentenced him.

She twisted around ever so slightly and allowed herself a brief but appreciative glance at her two perfectly formed buttocks. She plied the naked globes with all 10 fingers, wanting to confirm the fact that hers, beyond any doubt, was the definitive flawless 'ass' of all woman kind. She was so impressed with her luscious appendage that she'd have bent over and kissed it herself if only she could.

As the manipulation of her body continued, her eyes fell further down her frame, coming to rest on her abdomen. The skin here was tight and stretched, not unlike a swatch of raw leather set out upon tenterhooks during the final phase of curing. She poked and prodded her index finger into her navel. She giggled, and then licked the same finger, pushing it repeatedly in and out of her mouth between pursed lips.

Below that again, lean and muscular thighs extended out from hips that were just the right size for her delicate frame. The thighs protected Michelle's core femininity like a pair of suits would deflect harm from a rock star being escorted from the building after a concert. It would be difficult to get anything by these two, unless of course, Michelle desired something or someone to get by them.

Michelle's vagina was naked, the result of an excruciating Brazilian bikini cut which had taken Manuel, her personal salon attendant, one hour and twenty minutes to exact. Oh, she knew he was toying with her but she accepted his lassitude to complete the job by enjoying her own fantasy, slyly watching the ever growing load in his tight pants as he shifted and changed position while working his magic upon her crotch.

Yet the area wasn't totally clean even after Manuel's attention to every detail. There was the briefest of outcropping of hair, just a smattering of close cropped strands which Michelle had color treated to a dark brown hue. These succinct follicles had been allowed to cling to the pudendum to appear as if they were an error of shaving and not, as she had really intended, more to act as a directional arrow to point the way to the goods available, just below! It was a directional offering in Braille for who were erotically challenged.

Michelle regarded herself as a beautifully formed female who could easily beguile any man, regardless of his persuasion; perhaps even a woman, who knew? And while she would never admit openly that the term narcissistic applied to her in any which way, she had an unconscious and natural affinity for just that sort of behaviour.

Now, with her basic preparations concluded, she was ready to continue on with the rest of her day and to make all of those niggling decisions that were connected to her planned evening.

But, there was one final act yet to be accomplished. Stretching out her right arm Michelle snuggled her gold watch around her petite wrist and locked it into place. She thought of this piece of jewelry as a single arm cuff. She loved the feel of its restriction on her body! The utter thought of it excited her more than anything else. It was a relatively new experience for her and it felt slightly strange and foreign. Yet, she was unable to deny its intoxicating influence.

She had admitted once to a friend that the feeling she experienced with the watch tightly bound around her wrist was like standing in front of a door that she was hesitant to open, lest she became powerless to close it.

//

Danny was Michelle's husband. He was waiting for her by the back door. When Michelle descended from her upper domain to meet him, it was exactly 5 p.m. Danny was very punctual. They had been married for six years now and he still knew exactly how to please his wife.

Michelle emerged from the darkened hallway into the bright sunny afternoon light as it streamed in through the kitchen windows. She was wearing a short pleated skirt and a flimsy blouse of a fine mesh weave. Michelle stood out amongst her surroundings like a single pearl necklace would stand out on the sleek black silk of a Versace cocktail gown.

Danny's gaze never left her face.

"Hi hon," she offered warmly. "Did you have a busy day?" she asked with sincere interest.

The sun was at her back and she stood in profile between the main window and her husband.

He nodded his head up and down.

"Good," she murmured, "I am always happy when you have a good day."

Danny smiled at her comment.

"Did you bring any work home with you?" she asked like a dutiful wife who was concerned for her husband's well being.

Danny shook his head back and forth, left to right.

"Good," she said with a slight giggle, "I'll be going out tonight and there'll be lots of work for you to do here."

//

It had been two years since Michelle had discovered her husband's otherwise unknown sexual desires and an equal amount of time since their new relationship had evolved to where it was now. Danny and Michelle lived a lifestyle that only few other married couples could possibly understand and perhaps even less could attempt to duplicate. Danny was a cuckolded husband and Michelle was his very attractive and seductive wife.