Estranged: a Tawdry Affair

Ben Frost hurried into the living room of his suburban home holding a bottle of wine behind his back. "Look what I found," he boasted, presenting the label to Desiree, his recently estranged wife. "Only bottle in the store." He placed it on the coffee table beside two stemmed glasses, then sat on the sofa and began to pour. Patting the cushion, he urged, "C'mon and sit, Dez."

"You shouldn't have gone to so much trouble," Desiree replied in a soft tone. "I can't stay long." Brushing her long, sandy brown hair behind her shoulders, she sat to his left in jeans, a knit blouse, and flat shoes—modest attire for her petite frame, but fitting her gentle demeanor. A reserved smile dimpled her cheeks as she took a glass.

"I could play some music," Ben offered.

"Let's just talk. Like I said, I can't stay."

"I'd ask what you're doing, but I don't wanna sound pushy." The lump in his throat tightened when Desiree raised the glass to her glossy lips.

She set her deep brown gaze on him and sipped, then peered into her lap and held the glass on her slender thigh. "I appreciate that."

"You stopped answering your phone. I haven't heard from you all week."

"It was pretty clear you were just calling to check up on me. The agreement was—"

"Agreement? Dez, you just got up and left, then sent me a text about being gone a month. We've been married four years, a-and poof...you just walked out."

"You wanted to experiment with open marriage, Ben. I gave you a month to do so."

"Aw, c'mon," he moaned. "Andy and Calista brought it up. You're the one who invited them over, not me."

"I didn't invite them over to-to swap partners."

"Babe, when Andy asked I just...I guess I thought you were interested."

"I wasn't," she snapped back, setting her glass down.

"You and Andy were kissing. I figured—"

"I was playing that stupid pet challenge game you and Calista brought up. I told him to stop, but your dick was in Calista's mouth before I could get his paws off me."

"Look, it was dumb, and I'm sorry. When you couldn't handle it—"

"Couldn't handle it, Ben? You used me as collateral."

"No, I just thought you were starting slow...you know...like you do with me."

"Oh, that helps," she griped sarcastically.

"See? No matter what I say, you—" He stopped and huffed. "Look, I got carried away. I admit that, but you never said you didn't want to. You just left."

"What was I supposed to say? My husband was having sex with another woman. Did you expect me to stay around and clean up?"

"Honest, I thought you'd join us. I figured you were just watching...taking it all in."

"Oh, I took it in alright. You and Andy were banging her like bookends. What kind of woman has sex with two men at once?" She folded her arms and sat straight—making the angriest face her sweet features could manage. "I'm not stupid. I bore you. It bothers you that I never wanted to have sex on my hands and knees. I don't know what's so wrong with lovers being able to see each other."

"It was just supposed to be for fun, Dez."

"Going to a ballgame is fun. What you wanted was—" She took a deep breath and sighed. "I gave you a month to be free with no strings attached. Do you want another?"

"What? No! Hell no. I just want you to come back."

Desiree lifted her glass again. "But the month's not up for two weeks," she said before taking a sip.

"C'mon, Dez. You can't be happy living in Sandy's basement."

"It's a finished apartment. I'm comfortable, and her name is Sandra." Setting her glass down, she leaned forward and folded her hands on her lap. "Was Calista enough?" she asked.

Ben let out a sigh. "I told you, it was just a spur of the moment thing. I love you. What Calista and I did...that was just sex."

"Don't kid yourself. You were raving about what she did. I know you don't care for my oral sex. I bore you with that, too."

"I love what you do. I just wish you...you know...didn't hate the taste so much."

She paused and pursed her lips. "I came over to ask if you needed more time. You can have it if you want."

"You keep pushing that. You're coming back, aren't you?"

"I plan to," she claimed, checking her watch.

"Why are you in such a hurry?"

"Relax, Ben. I just...don't want to wake Sandra and her husband when I come in."

"So stay here. I'll take the sofa."

Bouncing her feet, she drew in a breath. "Thanks, but I'd better not. I think we should have all this out of our systems." She leaned forward and reached for her glass. "A full month of pretending we never met. We'll take it from there, no questions asked...like nothing happened." With that, she raised the stem high to finish off her wine and set the empty glass down.

"Cuz nothing else is gonna happen. Same with you, right? You're not gonna—"

"I didn't say that, either."

"What the hell does that mean?"

She shrugged and spun her wedding band on her finger. "I think...maybe I should."

"Stop it, Dez! This has gone too far!"

"Too far for who, Ben?"

"For us! You're not gonna feel better just putting out for some guy and pretending I don't exist."

"I don't plan to put out." she answered stoically. "I plan to enjoy myself...on my own terms."

Ben slapped his hands over his cheeks, fighting the warm flush of regret washing over him. "I can't believe you're saying this," he groaned—his voice trembling in angst. "I didn't cheat! I would never have done it without you there. We were all in the same room. I-I didn't just run off a-and—"

"Knock it off, Ben. You had it all planned. I was supposed to put out for Andy so I didn't get in the way while you and Calista went at it. Call it fun or whatever. It was all for you, not me."

"I made a dumb move, so now you're just gonna—"

"Fuck someone I choose? See if someone actually likes my foreplay and doesn't want to take me from behind like an alley cat?"

"That's not fair."

"Yes it is. Why is it too much for me to wonder about the same thing you did? Maybe I want to try having sex with someone who likes it the way I do...and still have fun."

"You just want revenge."

"I want an orgasm, Ben! A big one! I wanna squirt one over the wall at Fenway!" She let out a frustrated groan and shook her head. After a moment's pause, she lowered her tone. "We married young. I never got to know what it's like to just—I think I should go now."

"Who is he?" Ben asked through clenched teeth.

"It doesn't matter," she mumbled, standing up.

"Yes it does! You're my wife!"

Desiree bit her lip and squinted. "Not for the next two weeks, I'm not."

"I won't be able to take it! My imagination will tear me apart!" He stumbled to his feet. With his gullet burning, he ran for the toilet, dropped to his knees and dry-heaved. Catching his breath, he wiped a drop of drool and bolted back in to find Desiree stuffing her slender arms in her denim jacket. "Please, Dez!" he begged.

"I'm doing this, Ben," she asserted, picking up her keys.

"You say you're doing it because of what happened with me and Calista...so why won't you do it the same way we did?"

"And why won't you just let it happen...like I did?"

"I will, but please...please let me be there."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because that's what I did."

Desiree rolled her eyes and sighed. "This isn't about you, Ben."

"I-I know...it's about you, but agreement or not, it affects me."

"I doubt he has a wife, and even if he did—"

"I don't care!" Ben groveled. "I promise I'll just watch. You won't know I'm there. Just please don't do it without me. Don't do it in secret!"

"I shouldn't have told you. You're just trying to stop me or-or mess it up."

"No I'm not! I-I swear I'm not. You told me for a reason. If it's not to hurt me...if it's like you said, then you can't mind me being there."

"And just how am I supposed to present that idea to him?"

"Just tell him the truth! He knows you're experimenting, so tell him you—"

"He won't go for it, Ben."

"How do you know? Whoever he is, he'd fuck—take a married woman. You could ask!"

Desiree slung her purse over her shoulder. "I haven't even met him yet," she admitted, sorting through her keys. "Sandra's setting it all up with...with someone she knows from out of town. I'll ask her what she thinks and maybe...maybe get her to ask him. But if he says no—"

"He won't," Ben interrupted. "I know guys. He won't."

****

For the next ten nights Ben drank himself into a stupor, steeping in self-loathing anguish until he fell asleep on the sofa. He worked minimal hours, briefly checking in at the few car washes he owned before going home to sulk. Desiree seldom answered his texts, except to reply that Sandra hadn't yet arranged her rendezvous. A few short days before the month ended, he got the heartbreaking news—it was set up for that Friday night, but her date had yet to agree to his request to watch their tawdry affair.

Ben bolted home on Friday afternoon to check the answering machine, but there were no messages. He sat brooding for almost an hour before the wrenching in his gut proved too much. Pulling out his cell phone, he began texting Desiree, but she called before he sent it. "Tell me he said yes," Ben pleaded in anxious hope.

"Well, kind of, but—"

"But what? I've waited ten days!"

"Listen, Ben, it turns out Sandra set up a real big evening for me. She went to a lot of trouble. I think having you there—"

"Big evening? No wonder it took so long. It was supposed to be just sexual. You said all that crap about just knowing!"

"That's all it is, but it's...hard to explain."

"Look, I think I get it. You wanna wear a fancy dress and have him faun over you. I promise to stay—"

"It's more than that," she whined. "I don't think you should come."

"Dammit, Dez, you agreed! You can't just change your mind now. He's trying to win you over, and you're letting him. That's something I never did!"

"Oh for chrissake, Ben! Be here at nine."

Ben knocked on the door of Sandra's raised ranch five minutes before nine o'clock. She was prettier than he remembered from the few parties and cookouts at which they'd seen each other. Her shape was less petite than Desiree, but her athletic curves served her square facial features well. She answered the door barefoot in shorts and a tight-fitting white top that hugged her ample, well-rounded breasts but left her bronze midriff bare. Her long blonde hair was pulled in a tight ponytail with a scrunchie tie almost as blue as her eyes.

Sipping a takeout iced coffee from a straw, she looked him up and down, then finished her drink with a slurp and pointed to the intercom beneath the doorbell. "Just press the button and head around back," she grumbled before closing the door.

He took a breath and chugged down the slight grade beside the house to the walk-in basement. The glass door slid open as he approached. Desiree stood barefoot in a simple blue and white sundress, showing off her toned, slender shoulders and slim calves. "Ben," she urged in a pleading tone, "I don't want to see you get hurt. Please go home."

"What would kill me is knowing you're with someone but not being here. We've been through this."

Rolling her eyes, she stepped aside to let him by. Ben kissed her cheek on the way past. "Doesn't look like such a big evening," he grunted. "The way you spoke, I thought there'd be a guy playin' a violin and a—" He stopped short, almost bumping his nose into the thick neck of a massive dark-skinned man in well-tailored but leisurely clothes.

"You must be Ben," his deep voice boomed with a hint of West Indies accent. "I'm Marcus."

Ben hesitated before offering his hand. Marcus ignored the gesture, patting his shoulder instead. "I'm not sure whether to congratulate you or offer my condolences," he acknowledged.

"I guess I should thank you," Ben grumbled, sticking his hands in his pockets, "Not for...you know, but for not minding if I...you get it."

"I think I do."

Ben scanned the well appointed room and its party-style furniture. A tan slip-covered deep sofa faced a matching oversize loveseat with a plush lounge chair angled to the sofa's right. In the wide hallway to the left was a small kitchenette. Beyond that, he could see a bed through an open door. "Pretty nice basement," he noted, trying to keep his voice from trembling. "Sandy could have big shindigs down here."

Desiree slapped her hips and huffed—a nervous gesture Ben knew well. "Introductions are out of the way," she proposed. "I don't want to sound rude, Ben, but this is awkward. I hope you'll stay quiet and—"

"Of course. Maybe I should move the chair back...out of the way. O-or I could go in the kitchen thingy."

"Go wherever you like. Just don't think crying in another room is going to stop me. I told you I'm doing this. I have the right."

"I-I just didn't know where to sit. I wasn't arguing."

"Fine, but if it proves too much, I expect you to leave instead of—"

"Let me make a suggestion," Marcus interjected. "Let's all sit where we like and let the flow determine itself." Turning his dark gaze to Desiree, he offered a calm smile and sat on the sofa. "Ben and I will remain silent until you find your level of comfort. None of us are here to chat."

Ben slumped into the lounge chair, tapping his cell phone to check his email and avoid staring. An anxious pang shot through his solar plexus as Desiree sat beside Marcus on the sofa. A few uncomfortable moments later, she slid off and knelt before him. Ben dropped his phone and gawked, but she ignored him, primping her hair and brushing it behind her shoulders.

"I plan on being quite forward," she acknowledged.

"Forward has an honest appeal," Marcus answered with a smile.

Desiree shrugged. "Get ready," she peeped—her lanky fingers fumbling with the button of his shorts. She flinched as they burst open, then let out a nervous giggle and pulled down his zipper. Grasping his waistband, she tugged his shorts and underwear to his knees. Her eyes widened under raised brows—cheeks bright with blushing surprise.

Marcus' formidable prowess rose to a stout upward angle, lengthening in beats as his balls shifted in their sac. It wagged while he kicked his shorts aside, then returned to straight and plumb when he leaned back and relaxed his legs. Bold veins mapped its length and hardy girth, and a beefy brown knob topped it off, distinguished by a pronounced rim.

Desiree swallowed and let out a whimper. A clamping weight pressed on Ben's chest as she reached toward the bulky turret. He winced as her fingers clutched it—dwarfed by its circumference. She sat back on her heels and began a jerky, erratic stroke, but settled down in moments, slowing her pace to a rhythmic measure. Marcus smiled and tipped his pelvis, displaying his proud tool all the better.

Drawing back, Desiree knelt upright and paused. A promising sparkle shone in her eyes as she raised her arms and shed her sundress—all she had been wearing. Arms at her side, she posed naked before her sex date, taking in his composed attention.

Ben hadn't seen her breasts in over three weeks—medium size at best, but adorning her dainty frame with sprightly perfection. Dimpled curvatures outlined her tummy, set between the slender flair of her hips. Her well-toned buttocks had never looked so perfect.

"I'm sure Ben makes a point of proclaiming how stunning you are," Marcus offered in a smooth, deep tone.

Desiree didn't answer. Again she grasped his cock and began a steady stroke. "I've never had to use my elbow so much," she joked as her little hand travelled up and down. "Babe," she chimed, "there's wine in the mini-fridge. Would you get me a glass?"

"Uh, y-yeah," Ben stuttered, wobbling onto his legs. "You got a corkscrew?"

She pointed toward the kitchenette. "I saw one in the middle drawer."

He hurried into the open kitchen and looked back mumbling, "This was a bad idea."

Setting the wine on the counter, he fished through the drawer in haste, nicking his finger on a knife. "Ungh!" he grunted, sticking the digit in his mouth. Urgency overtook him as he sorted with his left hand, listening to Desiree's laugh over the clinking odds and ends.

Finally, he bumbled onto the cheap gadget—a souvenir relic with a ceramic Indian head for a handle. Unable to pull off the foil from the bottle, he scraped it open with his teeth and tore it away. Drilling the cork into chunky shreds, he poured a glass half full and hurried through the doorway, then cleared his throat as a reminder of his presence. It was all he could do to hold out the glass and croak, "Here, Babe."

Holding Marcus' chiseled beam in her ring-clad left hand, Desiree reached for the glass with her right. After a quick sip, she offered it to Marcus and asked, "You sure it's okay if Ben watches?"

"You're the one in control," he answered, setting it on the table beside the sofa.

"Yes, I am," she affirmed. Shooting Ben a defiant glance, she lunged over Marcus' meaty offering, only to find its daunting breadth too bulky for her wide-open mouth. Steadfast in her effort, she held her place and maintained a gentle stroke, lashing the top with her tongue and pressing her lips against the brim of his crown. After a deep breath through her nose, she lowered her jaw just enough to slide her lips over the rim and down over a quarter of his cock. With a self-approving hum she shook her full brown mane over his lap.

Ben hurried back to his chair to watch, lost in an emotional mishmash of heartbreak and unexpected excitement. Desiree's lips had never looked so capable­. The stroke of her palm—a contrivance she employed to avoid using her mouth—suddenly presented as the perfect accompaniment to her sensual technique. With a sweet laugh, she dropped down and lashed Marcus' jewels, letting his upper half poke up through her sandy locks.

Scampering up to straddle his hips, she pressed the brazen pillar against her tummy. Ben shuddered at the thought of how deep it would embed in her slender frame. She rose up so high her navel pressed against Marcus' breast bone as she aimed the blunt tip below the scruff of her thin-trimmed bush. With a quick wince, she dropped just enough to conquer his knob. The dark shaft toggled beneath her as she bucked her hips. "Uh," she groaned, wiggling to envelop another inch. "I want you inside me."

Marcus grasped her waist as she lowered inch-by-inch to the halfway point, cooing in dauntless accomplishment. Ben leaned forward for a better view of her slit stretching to accommodate its hefty occupant. With a wanton moan, she threw her head back and slid down the sculptured staff until her ass cheeks bottomed out on his engorged sac.

Ben fought to inhale. He searched his thoughts for what to bellow, but the battle in his conscience had taken an unexpected turn. The sight of his wife harboring another man in her intimate hollow was suddenly as compelling as it was heartbreaking. Dumfounded by a hodgepodge of emotion, he watched her rise, leaving a glossy sheen on Marcus' skin. Dropping again, she rested her forearms on his shoulders to give him a quick kiss. "Here goes," she cheered, straightening her arms.

The corners of her mouth dropped as she began bouncing on his lap. Her perky breasts jiggled in unison, breaking synch only when she changed rhythm. The dewdrop shape of her pelvis altered its curvatures each time she leaned fore or aft, bucking and moaning. Straightening her back, she broke into high bounds and deep landings, but her petite chassis kept Marcus' cock in battery, even when her knees left the cushion.

"I can't believe that doesn't hurt," Ben grumbled. "I need a glass of wine." He fetched his drink over grunts, groans, and squeals of delight. "Stay strong, Ben," he asserted, pouring with a shaky hand. After downing a hardy gulp, he filled the glass again. "Halfway done," he whispered. Drawing a breath, he charged into the living room, but stopped in place when someone knocked on the sliding door.