"Tell me again why we're doing this?"
My husband looked at me for a moment, and then leaned in close. I could see his face better, now; the street lights and porch lights on the house in whose driveway we'd just arrived didn't do much for the inside of our parked car. Proximity helped.
"You know why." He cast a nervous look at the large house.
I shrugged. "Yes, I know why, but I'm still not sure this is a good idea." He swiveled his head towards me, eyes widening. "Convince me."
He grunted in annoyance. "This is stupid." After a moment of silence, he sighed heavily and continued. "Those pictures we took of you... of us... last week were on my tablet, and I left it in my boss's office this afternoon." His hands fidgeted nervously in his lap. "We just came from there and didn't find it, so he must have taken it home."
I remembered that night. Sexy poses and lingerie, ending up with some POV pics as we concluded the festivities. It was fun at the time, but now it didn't seem like such a good idea.
He pointed at the house. "So unless you want Roger looking at pictures of you naked, of us fucking, and maybe posting them on the internet, we need to get that tablet back."
A thought occurred to me. "He doesn't know the password, right? So how can he log in to it?" Mike didn't say anything, his eyes focusing downward on his suddenly still hands. "You... do use a password to log in, right?" Mike shook his head slowly.
"Damn it, Mike!" He hadn't mentioned that before. "What kind of idiot doesn't password protect his tablet?"
He glared at me. "I made a mistake, all right?" He shifted in his seat to turn more towards me. "Can we just get this over with?"
"Well, why can't I sneak in and look for it while you keep him and his wife busy?"
"Have you ever been in his house," Mike countered, "do you know where his study is?"
I sighed. "No." I fought it for a moment more, then acquiesced. "Okay, you sneak in the back, and I'll keep them busy in the living room." I hefted the packet we'd brought, eighteen pages of bureaucratic forms required by the City's sports league. "I'll try to get him to sponsor Samantha's soccer team. Filling these out should take a while."
"Right." Mike kissed me on the cheek, then opened the door. "Try to give me at least fifteen or twenty minutes. I'll text you when I find it." And with that he was gone into the darkness, the closing door sounding very loud in the suddenly empty car.
The walk to the front door wasn't long, but it seemed so. The cool night air pebbled the skin on my arms. Bracing myself for a moment, I smoothed the strapless sun dress I was wearing of imaginary wrinkles, and then rang the doorbell. It opened far sooner than I wanted it to.
Roger opened the door, his trim, athletic body dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. No shoes. He looked puzzled.
"Can I help you?"
I stuck out my hand. "I don't know if you remember me, but I'm Sandy, Mike's wife."
Recognition dawned on his face. "Oh, yes, we've met a few times." We shook hands in greeting.
I nodded. "Do you and your wife have a few minutes to spare?"
He stepped back and to one side. "Certainly." I entered and headed in the direction he indicated as he closed the door and followed behind me. The living room was a spacious one, and I couldn't help jealously comparing it to ours at home. Wow. The flat screen was huge and was easily visible from either of the two recliners, as well as the couch.
He indicated the couch, and I sat down as he headed towards a small bar against the wall near the TV.
"I'm afraid Cynthia isn't here tonight; she's visiting her mother and won't be back until tomorrow afternoon." He poured himself a drink and cast a glance at me. "Would you like anything?"
I demurred. "No, thank you."
He crossed to the recliner nearest me and sat, placing his whiskey on the table near his right hand.
"Now, what can I do for you?"
I was still nervous, but I launched into my spiel.
"Samantha... our daughter... plays soccer in the city league, but their normal sponsor said he may not sponsor them this year. Mike mentioned that you've sponsored some teams in the past, so I figured I'd ask if you'd be willing to do it again."
He nodded slowly. "Yes, we've sponsored teams before, mainly boy's baseball. We've never done the girl's soccer bit." He glanced at the papers in my hand. "Are those the forms I'd have to fill out?"
I nodded. He picked up his glass, took a large swig of whiskey, then set it back down and crossed to the couch. He sat down at the far end and held out his hand. As I passed the papers to him, my phone bleeped.
I shrugged in embarrassment. "Text message. Let me check that real quick." He glanced at me once, then began reading the papers I'd handed him.
The text was from Mike.
"I'm upstairs. Keep him busy. Remember, if he finds me in his house, I'll probably get fired. Thanks!"
Asshole.
I locked the phone and placed it on the end table, then looked back up. At some point, Roger had shifted position and was now sitting next to me, still looking at the papers. His knee brushed mine lightly.
"Well," he said after a while, looking up at me with a serious glint in his eye, "these look in order, but I'm not positive it's something I really want to do at this juncture."
I looked disappointed, pouting my lips just a little. "Really?"
He placed the papers on the coffee table, then slid closer and put one hand on my knee. "Convince me." With that, he kissed me.
I was too shocked to move immediately, and he must have taken that as encouragement, as he moved even closer, and I felt one hand gently cupping the back of my head.
Now, Mike and I have been married for almost ten years, and we've never been fans of open marriages. Oh, he wasn't my first, not by any means, but he was most definitely my last. So I was out of practice at responding to this kind of thing.
My first impulse was to respond angrily and push him away, but then I remembered Mike. He was upstairs trying to find that stupid tablet, and if I left in a huff he'd likely be caught and fired. And this amorous asshole would be left with all those pictures.
I needed to keep him busy... but this?
Roger took full advantage of my uncertainty, his hand sliding slowly and sensuously down my leg, and I could feel his tongue flicking lightly against my lips, requesting entrance.
He was a good kisser, and I bet he'd be even better if I... no, this wasn't the way.
I raised my hands up and pushed them against his chest. He was too strong for me to totally break away, but I did manage to pull my head back. Instead of pausing or looking at me, he shifted immediately and began nibbling on the side of my neck.
I loved that, was a real sucker for it, and a pleasant tingling began to spread down my neck.
"Please, Roger," I objected. "We're both married."
I know, it's the cliché response, but I was getting a little flustered at that point. His left hand was lightly stroking my calf, while the other was lightly brushing my ear lobes. I don't know how he knew, but he was hitting all my sensitive, foreplay spots.
I pushed harder against his chest. He stopped nibbling my neck and looked me in the eye. Instead of answering, as I expected, he kissed me again, pressing me back harder into the couch as he did so.
Startled as I was, I made a fatal mistake, and my lips parted slightly in surprise. His tongue took full advantage, dancing in and exploring my mouth, pressing gently against my tongue. I was being frenched by an expert, and my tongue responded automatically, pressing back and even darting into his mouth. The taste of the whiskey he'd been drinking tantalized me, as he thrust his tongue deep into my mouth, causing me to suck on it as it withdrew. I was shocked at myself, and recognized the growing warmth that was beginning to spread through my body.
I tried to sit up. This was ridiculous. No matter what Mike needed, I wasn't going to...
At that moment I realized that Roger's hand was no longer gently caressing my calf, but had in fact wandered upwards and was... the pressure of his fingers against my crotch sent an electric shock of pleasure through my body. My hips reflexively pressed back against his hand, and he responded by rubbing harder. I felt myself becoming wet.
"No, no," I mumbled against his mouth, even as my hips bucked gently again towards his hand.
The pressure relaxed, and then I felt his finger press against the edges of my panties where they covered my crotch, sliding under, and his questing fingers touched flesh for the first time.
Instead of dipping directly into my pussy, he slid the edge of his hand perpendicular to it, insinuating his index finger between my lips, and sliding them gently up and down.
My juices flowed even more, feeling like they were actually squirting from a faucet, and the jolt of pleasure blanked my mind. My head twisted to the side, freeing my mouth from his questing tongue, but instead of renewing my objections I heard myself hissing in pleasure.
"Yesssssssss!!" His head dipped downwards and he resumed nibbling on my neck. His right hand was caressing my shoulder, now, and I was beginning to breathe heavily. I could feel his saliva on my skin, taste the smoky flavor of the whiskey he'd left behind. My head was spinning, and I found it impossible to think coherently.
His other hand slid down to the side of my chest and rubbed downwards. I felt tugging, and realized that his fingers had curled around the top of my strapless sundress. Though I couldn't see it, I pictured in my mind's eye the floral patterned fabric sliding down my smooth skin, felt it catch slightly when it reached my nipples, and then popping free and sliding down even further. I felt air brush against my suddenly bare breasts.
His head shifted again, sliding downwards, and I felt his eager lips latch onto one nipple. Like a child, he suckled hungrily at my breasts. New pleasure flared outwards, and my hips squirmed in response.
His left hand shifted again, fingers curling around the elastic of my panties, tugging gently but insistently downwards. Pleasure was roaring through my body like a runaway freight train, and without thinking I lifted my hips slightly. It wasn't much, but it was enough.
