Haley Ch 03 04

On the monitor, I watched Haley cover the phone and ask John, "Really? Mila's happy for us?"

"Yes, I told you that," John said, his answer muffled by the nipple between his lips. He looked up, his lips making a wet smacking noise as they released Haley's erect nipple. "Talk to her. She's waiting. Or, wait – let me talk to her for a second. Give me the phone."

Haley handed the phone over. John eased his fingers out from between her legs, then used his still-slick index finger to press a key and turn on the speakerphone. He reached down again to push Haley's thighs further apart and began rubbing her clit in lazy, slow circles. Haley closed her eyes, then let her head fall back upon the pillow, disappearing from the camera's view.

"Hey, honey, I put you on speakerphone," John greeted me. "Haley's worried you're pissed at her. Tell her you're not mad."

"Haley, I'm not mad," I said again.

"Tell her you're happy that I'm seeing her again," John prompted. He lowered his head back down to her breast and began sucking her nipple again, hungrily. He thrust his fingers back inside her dewy opening, forcing a small cry from her lips.

"I AM happy. I'm happy you're seeing her again," I said, earnestly.

"You know we've been having sex," John said, mumbling, his mouth pressed to Haley's soft flesh. "Are you happy about that?

Haley gasped and tried to pull away, slapping John's hand between her thighs. John only laughed at her embarrassed protests and continued fingering her hole as she lie pinioned beneath him.

"Yes, I know you're having sex..." I trailed off.

"And?"

"And I'm happy..." I said, faintly. "I'm happy that you're having sex," I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. Even though John knew just how much I enjoyed this, I was mortified that Haley could hear me. To realize how desperate for John I'd become. That I'd do anything. Accept anything. For him.

John slid down between her outstretched thighs and was licking her swollen lips, nibbling her engorged clit. Haley's hips were moving, grinding, undulating beneath John's expert tongue.

"I'm tasting her pussy right now," John said, "How's that make you feel...?"

"Happy," I murmured. "Excited."

Briefly, John turned to face the camera. His cheeks glistened with her juices.

"You love this," John said, "Tell Haley you love it when I fuck her. How you've been begging me to fuck her. Tell her."

"It's true, Haley," I admitted. "I love that John is fucking you again...that's what he's been wanting – needing – all these years. I've always known that. So, yes, I begged him to start fucking you again..."

John slid himself upward, covering Haley's body. He raised himself up and leaned back on his knees. He grasped his cock, which had sprung up stiffly between them, and rubbed the head between Haley's slick pussy lips.

"I'm rubbing my cock on her pussy, Mila. Beg me again," he urged his wife.

"Beg me to fuck Haley."

"Please, please..." I whispered. "Please fuck Haley, John...I want your cock in her... Please."

John thrust forward, plunging his cock inside of Haley his groan of satisfaction.mingled with the long moan that seemed to have been torn from Haley's throat. John withdrew his shaft slowly, maddeningly, and remained poised above Haley, leaving just the tip of the head of his shaft inside. I knew it was entirely for my benefit. I gazed at my husband's erect manhood, enthralled and astounded – it was harder and thicker than I'd seen in years. Or ever, The sight of Haley's slick juices shining on every bit of his exposed shaft caused my own wetness to overflow and slide down the insides of my thighs.

"You love it, don't you, bitch? Love that I"m fucking Haley...I love fucking Haley...God, I love fucking Haley....love her tight, wet pussy...I love fucking her...she feels so good wrapped around my cock...."

I heard myself whimper in response, my hand pressed against my throbbing cunt.

I watched Haley as she raised her hips upward and tried to engulf his cock within her. John forced his hips forward, burying his entire length in her...and fucking her, hard. John kissed her, his full lips and tongue seeking the sweetness of her mouth just as his plunging hardness was drenched in her honey below.

"Oh, yeah...." John said, "I've always loved fucking you...so sweet..."

I felt cold, suddenly. My hand dropped onto the bed, useless.

Haley's lips traced their way up John's neck in a path of liquid heat, then she started whispering into his ear. Whatever she told him excited him even more: he fucked her harder and faster until her whispers became a frenzied litany of her love,her need, her desire for him and him alone. I watched Haley, beg, plead, lick, suck, and finally, lose herself in her orgasm. Just as John lost himself in Haley, murmuring her name over and over as her rocked atop of her, urgently driving towards his own release.

With one mighty thrust, John emptied himself into Haley, his cock pulsing, pumping his seed deep into her depths as he called her name over and over again, before collapsing, spent, on top of her.

"I love you," John said. "I always have."

Haley's hands caressed my husband's back and buttocks.

"I know." Haley said. .

I pushed the laptop lid down until it clicked, grasped the power cord in my shaking fingers, popped the plug from the outlet and let the limp power cord slip from my numb fingers onto the hotel carpet under my feet.

Chapter 4

The hotel curtains were still drawn tightly shut. The television screen remained dark. The battery to my cell phone perched atop the hotel alarm clock/radio as it blinked in silence: 6:47. The handset to the hotel phone dangled by its twisted cord over the side of the nightstand. The laptop sat untouched and stripped of its power, with the lid mercifully down, on the dark cherry veneer of the hotel desk.

The bottle of Grand Marnier, however, had not only been touched - it had been relieved of almost half of its contents. The silence of the cold hotel room was only occasionally broken by the musical tinkle of ice being swirled in my glass of liqueur. I'd succeeded in my quest for the day: I was drunk. Drunk as a skunk. Loose as a goose. High as a fly.

Unfortunately, though, not drunk enough, loose enough, or high enough to shake my feelings of fear and foreboding.

John was in love with Haley.

He wasn't just horny for her. She wasn't just an ex-lover. He didn't just feel obligated to her as the mother of his child. He was in love with Haley. I'd witnessed their undeniable passion for each other on the laptop. Only three hours ago. John had started fucking Haley with the intent of putting me in my place. Which was good. Then, things went south. I watched him fuck her and get completely lost in his desire, his need for HER. He'd completely forgotten about me, I knew. The sex - or, love-making - had been their bridge back to each other. Whatever feelings they'd had when they first fell in love had been resurrected. "Re-ignited" would be a better description, I thought. They were burning for each other, consumed by desire for each other. Being witness to their passionate love-making went from arousing to painful. But that wasn't what had driven me to drink myself into oblivion.

I took a large swig from my glass. The cognac blazed a path of liquid heat to my belly and brought tears to my eyes. Unfortunately, I wasn't drunk enough, I knew. Not drunk enough to unhear my husband tell another woman "I love you." It wasn't just the words - it was how he'd said them - with such stark honesty and undisguised need - that filled me with cold terror.

What a fool I was. What a blind, naive, egotistical fool to think I could pull John and Haley's strings, that their relationship could be dictated by any person. I was the one who suggested he start seeing her again. Because I was horny and wanted to watch him fuck another woman that he could make use of on a regular basis. An obedient, pliant woman who would spread her legs for him whenever he wanted. Haley seemed perfect: she'd loved him unconditionally, she'd accepted - even encouraged - his relationships with other women, and (even though he didn't understand it back then) she was, like me, a woman who got off on her submission to her man. A woman who knew her place. And loved it. Again, like me. I'd concluded that Haley was the woman for him; that she'd satisfy his needs, yet not threaten his primary relationship with me.

What I'd seen and heard proved my conclusion to be wrong. What the fuck had I been thinking?!!

The room tilted. Then spun. Uh-oh, I thought. I'm fucked.

I clung, nauseous and with no control over my body, to the vicious tilt-a-whirl of party hell also known as "drinking way the fuck too much." I staggered to the bathroom and collapsed on my ass in front of the toilet. I've become a bobble-head, I thought, as my head lolled around, loose, atop my neck. Sheer luck plopped my forehead down upon the toilet seat so that I'd puke right into the bowl. I gagged. I retched. I stuck my finger down my throat. Stupid not to eat anything, I chided myself, seeing and smelling the only thing I'd manage to expel - bile. Weakened, I slid down to the floor. The tile was hard beneath my body, but wonderfully cool against my cheek. The tilt-a-whirl spun, hard, and fast enough to transform everything into a swirling blur - I scrabbled desperately to hang on, but centrifugal force, as usual, won out. Unable to hang on, I was flung out, flailing and panicked, into the deepening black.

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I woke up - relieved to have escaped the madness of my stupor and the nightmares that had descended and tortured me before bursting into half-remembered fragments. My hangover was like a medieval torture device combination tool: My skull was being crushed inward by a steel headband on which enough hammers were attached to encircle and beat a staccato of agony into my brain.

I had been put into the bed and covered with the down comforter. John must have finally come to the room. I didn't see him. Or hear him. Or hear anything, for that matter. But he'd been here. I should have been on the cold bathroom floor instead of tucked into the bed. Plus, the television had been turned on and then muted, apparently. CNN, of course. A concerned-looking Cooper Anderson was no doubt reporting the most recent world disaster - but his moving lips made no sound. Thank God, I thought, cradling my head in my hands. My headache was pounding. Excruciating.

I glanced at the nightstand. The blinking red numbers read 9:18. A glass of water and four extra-strength Tylenol had been placed to the right of the alarm clock. I slid the pills into my hand, tossed them into my mouth and washed them down in one swallow. John must have left them there before going down to engineer the band for their 8:30 start time. How sweet of him, I thought, my lips curving into a gentle smile.

I slid my legs out of the bed and shakily stood up. It took a few seconds to feel steady enough to make my way, slowly, to the bathroom. I glanced at the image reflected in the mirror – I gave a small start. I looked like shit. My hair, which usually hung straight and shone like black silk, was a matted mess. The mascara I'd applied earlier had smeared around my eyes, making them appear sunken and creepy. I looked like a zombie. The mirror, usually my friend, had become a fearsome thing to turn away from as quickly as possible. So I did. I stepped into the shower, planning a quickie clean up job in order to get down to the club ASAP. He was probably getting impatient, waiting. I was already late. Funny that he hadn't called me. Usually, he wanted me at his side from the first down beat.

I stopped in mid-motion, frozen, letting the shampoo run down in rivulets over my face. My eyes burned.

Haley.

I'd forgotten about her. Probably because of my throbbing headache. Images of the my husband and Haley entwined, caressing, looking into each other's eyes....declaring their unwavering love to each other flooded my thoughts with a vengeance. My heart felt as if impaled by an iron stake. A rusting iron stake.

I could just imagine the scene at the hotel nightclub. Haley was probably perched on the bench seat next to the soundboard. In my spot. And, from what I'd witnessed on the webcam, they probably couldn't disguise their desire for each other. They probably hadn't even considered it. John had probably been kissing her, nuzzling her, touching her – unable to help himself. Just as he couldn't restrain himself in front of the webcam. I knew he was. In full view of the entire band performing within a few feet to John's right. With a sinking heart, I realized that all of the band members had seen Haley. And were no doubt entertaining explanations about the identity of John's mystery chick. And what the fuck had happened to Mila. His wife. ME.

I cringed, utterly humiliated.

I didn't want to go to the club. What I wanted was to run away. I stood still, eyes closed, and allowed the hot water to cascade over my head and down my body while I considered what to do.

I heard the shower curtain rings slide open, felt cool air on my skin. My eyes snapped open, but I small scream escaped my lips before I realized that the intruder was just my husband. He was holding the curtain open and was smiling at me. Strangely.

"You scared the SHIT out of me!" I shrieked. I hit him square in the chest.

John laughed, unmindful of the punch. He leaned into the shower and pressed his lips to mine, softly, lovingly. I felt my anger and panic melt away. As we broke away from our kiss, my eyes searched his face. He looked back at me, the expression of love and amused indulgence he wore was familiar and beloved. He was still mine, I saw. Relief flooded me. My ragged hole torn through my heart shrunk in upon itself until it disappeared. As if it had never been.

"I missed you," he said. "I'm on break for the next, um," he consulted his watch " 28 minutes."

"Sure didn't LOOK like you missed me," I said, tartly. "Those vid–"

John had put his index finger to my lips and shook his head.

"Ssshhh," he told me, then leaned over to turn the water off. He reached up and pulled a huge, fluffy white towel off the rack and slowly dried my body with it, his eyes locked with mine the entire time. The intensity of his gaze increased until his eyes seemed to be burning into mine like a laser.

"What?" I asked, piqued.

"Close your eyes," he said in a low voice.

He grabbed my arm and helped me out of the shower. A quickie during break? Had to be. I let him lead me, blind, out of the bathroom and toward the bed. Waves of arousal traveled from my loins and outward through my body. I bumped into the mattress and stopped.

"Keep your eyes closed," John said, sternly. "And don't move."

I did as he ordered, and stood quietly, waiting. I heard him unzip his pants. I heard the soft thump of his pants hitting the floor. My anticipation increased. I waited for the touch of his hands on my nakedness. But no touch came. Instead, I heard the mattress sinking under his weight.

"Shhhh..." he warned.

I heard him moving on the bed, followed by a quick intake of breath. He began to moan, but stifled it quickly.

"What are – " I began.

"Quiet, Mila. I told you not to talk. And to keep your eyes closed," he reminded me.

Again, I obeyed him without question.

"Okay," John said. "NOW, open your eyes."

I smiled and opened my eyes.

My smile faded.

John was on the bed, facedown, his neck craned toward me standing on the side of the bed. I realized that he was laying between the outspread, dusky brown and shapely thighs of another woman. I could see his cock completely engulfed inside the welcoming depths of the woman's vagina.

Haley's.