A Sweet Revenge Soon Regretted

From our very first meeting, I was totally smitten with Lesley. She worked in a local baker’s shop. Her hair, when not hidden away beneath the starched cotton hat she was obliged to wear, was long, black and very wavy. It complimented her olive skin and almond eyes beautifully. She would always blush furiously when I entered, to the great amusement of her co-workers, who diligently refused to serve me. I would stand back and watch her slender, tanned body, tightly wrapped in a white bakers smock, move gracefully behind the counter. Attempting to hold her gaze as she repeatedly darted her eyes back to mine. Finally, that most exquisite moment would arrive: she would smile at me nervously. Her small, full lips hid the mischievousness betrayed by her eyes. Her lean, flour-dusted cheeks glowed a deep red with embarrassment.

“What would you like?”

Slowly and conscientiously completing my order, she quietly responded to my friendly and teasing comments as if we were the only two people in the shop. Her small, button-nose initially suggesting to me an innocent, vulnerable quality; although the intervening two years have proved she can be those things, but much, much more besides. As mild-mannered as a fairytale princess, or as bad-tempered as a tight sack full of Persian cats, her temperament matches her appearance: hot, sexy and very Mediterranean.

A wonderfully petite five feet two, she retained the girlish frame of her teens, whilst adding the slender curves of a young woman. If walking naked around the house, she would gracefully raise herself onto her toes, accentuating the lithe firmness of her calves and thighs, her bottom perking upwards and outwards. Her breasts, a 34C, because of her slight-build look much, much larger. Full and heavy, firm and proudly upturned. The large, dark areola set unusually high with a slightly puffy appearance, giving her breasts a delicious fullness to the underbelly I find irresistible. Her bottom is small and firm, with cheeks that have a plumpish, fleshy quality, which I could never resist biting, or probing my hungry tongue between. She has always been, for me, perfect.

And I always felt that I didn’t deserve her.

Our two-year relationship was both passionate and tempestuous. Yet only one incident marred for both of us an otherwise perfect romance. Early in our dating, I had spent a night with a girl, following a drunken party with friends. My stupid, unforgivable act of infidelity was immediately discovered by Lesley, who angrily dumped me and promptly organised a holiday in Spain with her friends. I later discovered that she had slept with one of the hotel pool attendants. It evened-up the score, I guess. But I learned my lesson. After many nights of talking, and crying, we were soon back together again, and very much in love.

Although we’d been abroad for holidays together before, our trip to the north Yorkshire coast would be special. It was our first holiday together as man and wife. We’d been married for two months now, but because of the cost of the wedding, couldn’t afford the exotic honeymoon we’d planned. She is only 18, I’m 22, and we both came from poor families, and so we agreed it could wait. But we did want some time alone together. So, having saved a modest sum, we decided a trip to the seaside was exactly what we wanted to celebrate our marriage.

Our journey had started uneventfully enough, until I pulled over at a beauty spot in Derbyshire. We both loved sex and were, by now, pretty adventurous for our age, which often meant quick, frantic sex in public places. The place we stopped at was remote, with no one around for miles. Or so we thought. It wasn’t until Lesley was reclined on the bonnet of our car, her blouse open, breasts exposed, her jeans and pants around one ankle, and me thrusting frantically between her legs in hot pursuit of an orgasm, that we heard the Jaguar car pull alongside us.

We lay there, totally still. A horrified glance passed between us, and we both looked towards the car. The solitary occupant, a ruddy-faced old man of around 60, was just staring blatantly at Lesley, grinning broadly. His eyes hungrily wandering up and down her young, tender body, over her breasts, along her legs, and, inclining his head, longingly between her legs. I should have been annoyed and just told the old duffer to fuck off; but for some reason I was curiously excited. So, even harder than I had been, I again began to thrust into my wife, pawing at her breasts cruelly and lasciviously. Sucking on her nipples. “Richard, stop it. No! Stop it. Stop!” she whispered urgently, trying to pull her blouse closed over her exposed breasts.

I continued pumping my cock into her as hard as I could, whilst pulling her thin blouse open. Roughly yanking the material from her tiny fingers, and pushing her bra up, revealing her breasts once again to the excited gaze of the old man. Despite her angry protests, within seconds I came inside her, pumping my spunk deep into her pussy.

We both lay there in complete silence for a few seconds, breathing heavily, before hearing the car drive away. I looked up and indeed the old boy had gone. His day no doubt brightened by our indiscretion.

I have to admit that I have often overreacted to Lesley’s friendly interaction with other men. And my jealousy has often been the catalyst for many arguments. So it came as no surprise that moments later, having dressed in silence, and climbed back into the car, that she turned to me.

“What the fuck was you thinking of? Why didn’t you stop? I asked you to stop. Why didn’t you? I mean you of all people - Mr-fucking-Jealousy - why did you carry on in front of him?” She spat the last word out angrily and stared at me, waiting for an answer.

“I’m sorry Lez, I just got carried away”, I mumbled apologetically.

“Carried away? How do you think it made me feel?” she glared, furiously. “Try cheap. Try fucking humiliated. You had no consideration for my feelings whatsoever. You held me down, despite my protests, even holding open my blouse so that dirty old cunt got an eyeful. You fucking selfish, perverted wanker!” she shouted into my face. “I mean, what are you, some kind of fucking rapist? Do you get-off on fucking little girls who can’t fight back?”

I was absolutely stunned by the venom in her outburst. I had never heard her react like it ever before and lowered my eyes, guiltily. Many minutes passed before I could even look at her face again. When I did, I saw she was still obviously seething with anger. “I thought you liked people to look at you”, I offered, weakly.

“I’d rather people weren’t looking at me when I was tits-up on the bonnet of a car with your fucking spunk dribbling down the inside of my legs!” she yelled, her eyes wide with rage, challenging mine. Her face inches from my face.

I had no idea what to say, so I said nothing. She was absolutely right, of course. It had been a selfish and stupid thing for me to do. I looked back down into her lap as I felt my face burning with embarrassment. After a few seconds, she let out a deep breath, and turned away from me in her seat, looking directly forward out of the windscreen. Several more minutes passed in utter silence.

“I mean, you didn’t even ask me, or anything”, she said quietly, her voice calming down. “I might have been okay with it, but I just wished you’d asked me instead of thinking only of yourself.” She refused to look at me.

“Lesley, I am so, so very sorry. I really am. You are absolutely right. It was a completely selfish and inconsiderate thing to do. I’m...I’m truly sorry.” I spoke slowly, my eyes downcast, my voice wavering unsteadily with tearful emotion. I swallowed hard. I felt like a guilty young child who had been discovered committing some terrible act of cruelty. I still could not look at her face again. I listened to her breathing.

From the corner of my eye, I saw her turn and face me again. I could feel her looking long and hard at me. I turned away slightly, embarrassed at the emotions welling-up within me. She reached across and playfully punched me gently on the thigh with her closed fist. “You silly little sod”, she said, quietly. I looked up and saw a thin smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

“You’re not still angry then?” I said, hopefully. She shook her head slowly, the benevolence in her deep brown eyes searching my face. “I’m sorry”, I said, quietly, relief flooding through me. “I really am so sorry.”

“Don’t worry. I’m the one that’s gonna pin you down next time. See how you like it”, she smiled, more broadly now, and again punched my leg, a little harder this time. “But what about you? I thought you’d get jealous of people seeing me naked.”

“Yeah, me too. Maybe ‘cause he was just some old guy, I dunno.” I shook my head, as puzzled at my reaction as she obviously was. She finally reached across and squeezed my thigh, before letting her hand remain there.

“Come on, Spunky. We’re on holiday, remember?” she said, in the childish voice she often used to lighten the mood, letting out a little giggle. “Come on, driver. Get a move on!”

****

We arrived at the resort at 7pm. We had not planned our accommodation beforehand, but after driving around a few streets near the beachfront, we settled on a modest bed and breakfast house with a “Vacancies” sign in the front window. The landlady and her husband, Margaret and John, met us at the front door. Margaret was a plump, bosomy lady of about 45, with fair hair cut stylishly into a bob. She dressed smartly, with a touch of flair not shared by her husband, and was very attractive for her age. John, standing slightly behind her, appeared maybe ten years older. He wore a tan cardigan, which I suspect he rarely changed, and grey trousers, which fit snugly around his beer gut. But both were cheerful and friendly, the place was clean, neat and tidy, and we were more than happy to pay their modest charge.

“Just a few house rules, lovies. Please try and be quiet if you return late at night, I’ll give you a key to the front door. No guests after 10.30pm, if you wouldn’t mind. Oh, and breakfast is served from 8am-9am. There’s a bathroom and shower on the landing outside your room, and if you want anything, don’t be afraid to ask.” She leaned towards us, smiling brightly, squinting her eyes and clasping her hands to her bosom. “We’re there if you need us”, she said, unclasping her hands and pointing over her shoulder to a door at the end of a corridor.

Taking the key, we went back out to the car for our bags. “She seemed like a nice lady”, I said. “Yes. Not sure about him though. Did you see the cardy?” she giggled behind her hand. We settled into the room quickly, as we were both starving hungry, and after a quick shower, we both set out for a drink and a meal.

“You’re looking stunning tonight”, I said, looking down at her black blouse, blue thigh-length skirt and black shoes. The blouse was sheer, the fine cotton material clearly exposing her black bra and the mounds of her ample breasts beneath it. The sea breeze was warm and salty, and neither of us had bothered with a coat. Her legs were bare. She had slim, smooth, beautifully tanned legs. “Well maybe you should just spend the night thinking about what we’re going to do in our room when I take this all off. You might’ve had your kinky fun this afternoon; but I promise you, I’ll be having mine tonight!” She inclined her grinning face up to mine, offering her mouth, and I kissed her hard on the lips before taking her hand and setting off for the local pub.

The Anchor was a large and obviously popular watering hole on the main street of town. The sign outside boasted delicious hot meals and real ale, so we pushed open the heavy wooden door and forced our way through the crowds to the bar. “Popular place”, I shouted. Lesley nodded, smiling. We got our drinks and sat at a table at the quieter end of the bar. Annoyingly, the delicious food menu had ended thirty minutes earlier, with nothing now available but bar snacks. But we agreed to hunt-down the local fish and chip shop on the way home, and set-about our drinks instead.

The real-ale beers were cold and delicious, if rather stronger than we were used to, and very much cheaper than the city prices we paid at home. Although Lesley rarely drank, with my gentle encouragement and the convivial atmosphere of the smoky, noisy pub we both began to get pleasantly drunk. And with our seats backing up to the wall, we engaged in that popular pastime of married couples: people-watching. Throughout the night, several people joined us at our table. They all nodded and smiled, politely, and I saw each of the men sneak a quick, sly glance towards Lesley, and her breasts, when they thought I wasn’t watching. But I didn’t mind. I simply felt warm and contented, proudly watching this beautiful girl, as she chatted away, happily.

Only halfway through the evening did I notice a man leaning against the bar, standing directly in front of us 15-20 feet away. He was a tall, good-looking guy about 35, with longish fair hair, muscular build, and wearing a cool jacket and jeans. He must have been 6’5”, big-boned and his whole demeanour spoke money. I admit, that being young, fairly poor, and not tall and muscular, I felt a bit intimidated. Whereas most guys would politely avert their gaze when caught ogling my wife, he simply held my stare, or looked back at Lesley. I turned and looked at her. She, now very tipsy, was oblivious to his attention. She talked excitedly about our great vacation, laughing and joking. Every now and then reaching under the table to grab my cock through my jeans and kissing my neck, whispering breathily in my ear about what she intended us to do in our room. The man shouldn’t have bothered me; but he did.

Eventually, unable to hold-on any longer, I was desperate to use the toilet. I collected our empty glasses, saying I would get a refill on the way back. As I stood up, I stared defiantly at the guy, who merely held my stare, smiled, and returned his gaze to Lesley, sitting quietly in the corner. As I hurried to the toilet, I could feel his eyes all over her body.

It was the quickest piss I’d ever had. Steeling myself, I stormed-back from the toilet, my cowardly heart thumping nervously, determined to confront the arrogant bastard at the bar. But to my immense relief, he had gone! Taking a couple of minutes to calm down again, I ordered two more drinks, and a couple of shots, in celebration you might say, and, putting them on the metal tray, turned and headed back to our table.

That’s when I saw the bastard sitting at the side of our table, next to Lesley. They were chatting, animatedly, and both of them laughing. I stalked angrily over towards them, but before I could say anything, Lesley looked up at me, smiling sweetly, “Darling, this is Chris, he lives in the town and has been kindly telling me all about the local nightlife. And he bought us some drinks.” I looked down and saw that he had bought the same round as I had, including the shots, in doubles!

“Hi Richard, pleased to meet you”, he said, looking me directly in the eye and offering his hand. I shook it reluctantly, noticing it was much bigger than mine. I smiled nonchalantly as he deliberately squeezed it roughly, trying to provoke some reaction. Nevertheless, I sat down glumly, my anger deflated by Lesley’s cheerful demeanour, as he launched into a what’s-what of his hometown. Apparently, he was some big shot into property, and knew all of the local haunts. “If you want, I’d love to show you around my town. Seems a shame if you’re only here a couple of days not to see the best bits.” Rudely, he only addressed his comments to my wife.

In the end, we never did leave the pub all night. But with all the drinks on the table, and the ones our new friend seemed happy to buy us, we all three continued to drink much more than we should. Lesley did seem to be flirting with him, slapping his arm playfully, feeling his arm muscles and stroking his smooth hands, as he went on about his work. Obviously his hands, unlike mine, had never seen proper work. And she had stopped touching me under the table, focussing her attention on Chris. But maybe I was being paranoid and I resigned myself to the fact that the bastard wasn’t going to leave, unless I said something very rude indeed. And after today, I didn’t want to upset Lesley or embarrass myself again. So, truculently, I decided to enjoy his money and get drunk.

“How are you getting back?” Chris asked Lesley.

“Walking, same way as we got here”, she answered, overly coquettishly. Raising her eyebrows and tilting her head, she smiled up at him. Her eyes, beneath tired, heavy lids, strained to focus properly. She was obviously now very drunk. And I forced back within myself a fleeting moment of panic.

“Let me get you a taxi. I know the company and they have a rank nearby. Think of it as my way of thanking you both for your company tonight. Please, allow me.”

She turned to me. “Oh Richard, please! I don’t think I could face the walk home after all this drinking.”

Chris sat in the front seat of our taxi, directly in front of me. Allegedly, our guesthouse was on his way home! During the journey, Lesley began to flirt with me, outrageously. She kissed my neck and squeezed my cock, gently, through my trousers. Feeling me getting aroused, she unzipped me and leant down, taking my hardening cock in her mouth, despite my half-hearted protests. Chris turned in his seat and looked-on, smiling and making comments to the driver, who grinned in the rearview mirror. I felt humiliated that Chris, of all people, should be seeing my wife behave like this. And that’s when it hit me. I knew then exactly what she was doing: payback time!

After a few minutes, she stopped and giggled, zipped me up, kissed me hard on the mouth and looked at Chris. He indicated to her with his finger and she slid across the seat towards him, resting her right hand on his shoulder. Holding the back of her neck, beneath her hair, he whispered into her left ear, looking directly at me as he did so. I watched his hand on her bare neck, his mouth close to her ear. Touching her ear? I didn’t hear what he said, but Lesley nodded to him and looked across at me, before giggling back to him.

When we stopped outside our front door, Lesley suggested he came up and she would make him a coffee. “Darling, the 10.30pm rule? No guests?” I said, hoping that either she, or he, would take the hint. “Oh, nonsense. What will she do, throw us out on the street? Come on, Chris. If you want a coffee, you shall have a coffee.” Unsteadily, she climbed from the taxi, exposing her naked thighs to all three of us as she did so. We all walked into the house and tiptoed up the stairs. The driver tooted his car horn noisily as he screeched away.

The room was sparsely and cheaply furnished. A double bed sat in one corner, against the wall, with a bedside table and lamp at the side. A many-times-painted, white wooden wardrobe sat against another wall, and a solitary wooden chair, in the opposite corner to the bed, completed the functionary ensemble. The only small window in the room didn’t open; and at this particular moment, the room felt small, cramped and very claustrophobic. Lesley turned on the bedside lamp and turned off the main light. “Let’s make things a little cosier, shall we?” she purred to Chris. She took his coat off him and he sat on the edge of the bed.

“Are you going to make the coffees darling?” she said sweetly. Her now-naked feet tiptoed about the carpet, unsteadily. She tottered across to me, precariously, and kissed me lightly on the mouth.

I looked across at Chris, who stared at me.

“Oh, okay”, I mumbled. I turned reluctantly and headed downstairs to where the drinks-making facilities were kept. Unfortunately, being a cheap B&B, it didn’t keep such things in the bedrooms. Once outside the room, I nearly broke my neck running noisily back down the stairs. The kettle was empty and needed refilling in the kitchens on the bottom floor. And then I had to search for the coffee, which had been polished-off by the other guests during the evening. I stood in the lounge and watched the kettle boil. My heart hammered the inside of my chest. My blood coursed through my neck and pounded, mockingly, into my head as I tried not to imagine what was happening in the bedroom. Every worse case scenario my incipient jealousy forced into my mind, I dismissed immediately.