It was just before three on a boring Friday afternoon in late July. Except for our secretary, and one of my assistants, I was the only one in the office. For most of the day, I had been kept busy reading the bored minutes from a client my team and I were about to audit. Each meeting was a bad case of S.S.D.D. (same shit, different day). By lunch time, I was ready to fall asleep. By two thirty, I couldn't think about anything beyond the cryptic message Aaron had left on my voice mail asking if I was up for a weekend of fun-and-games.
"Jaime asked me to give you this. The courier service just dropped it off."
The sound of Rachel's voice shattered the tedium.
"Who's it from?" I asked.
My assistant checked the return address on the manila envelope, and smiled. "Aaron."
Rachel is a newlywed. Twenty-three years old and naive as hell when it comes to sex. By choice, she had remained a virgin until marriage. Considering all the nasty little (and not so little) things playing-the-field can get you now a days, this fact is not so shocking. What is extremely disquieting, however, is her overall lack of knowledge about all things carnal.
Case in point. Four months after she and Jeff had gotten married, she came to me with a question.
"Last night, Jeff asked if I was willing to let him take my backdoor." She began.
"So what did you tell him?" I asked.
"I told him I'd think about it. I was too embarrassed to tell him I didn't know what it was he wanted to do."
Without further prompting, I translated: "He wants to have anal sex with you. You know; fuck you up your ass?"
Once the initial shock wore off, she asked if Jeff's request was "normal" and if Aaron and I had ever tried it. I told her yes to both, and that not only had Aaron and I tried it, but that it had become a regular – though not too regular – part of our repertoire . . . along with other things.
Since that day, Rachel and I have talked often and open about our respective sex lives. She's still a bit reluctant to spontaneously agree to Jeff's requests; but she's getting better. As for why she smiled when she saw the envelope was from Aaron; well, perhaps I've told her a bit too much.
On with the story.
Once Rachel had gone back to her office, I opened the envelope and took out the single sheet of paper within. I read: "If you want to play, turn off your cell phone, now. Leave work at exactly three thirty, go to your car and check your cell phone for messages. Do exactly as you're told. If you don't want to play, call my cell phone now. If I don't hear from you by three fifteen, I'll take it to mean that you accept my terms and will do exactly as you are told. Remember; three fifteen."
Without hesitation, I reached into my purse, took out my cell phone and turned it off.
The next forty eight minutes seemed longer than had the entire day. Finally! It was three thirty. I turned off my office lights and made my exit. As I passed Rachel's office I leaned in.
"Looks like you were right." I said.
"Have fun."
"You better believe it!"
I got into the car, started the engine and turned on the air conditioner. I took out my cell phone and turned it on. It beeped. I pressed the button to check for messages. "Last chance to call me and back out." Aaron's voice cautioned. "Okay. Here's what I want you to do. In the trunk of your car is an old audit case. It's locked. I'll give you the combination later. When you're done listening to this message, I want you to turn off your cell phone and drive to WalMart. When you get there, turn your cell phone back on and check for messages again."
I turned off my cell phone and retrieved the audit case from the trunk. Ten minutes later, I was in the WalMart parking lot. Once more I took out my cell phone and turned it on. Once more, it beeped. I pressed the button to check for messages. "I'll give you the combination in a moment. What I want you to do next is this. First, take the case and go into WalMart and find the ladies restroom. Once in there, go into the handicapped stall and strip naked. Put on only what's in the case. Second, go back to the car and put the case back in the trunk. Third, go to the newsstand and buy a copy of Playboy. Fourth, go to the Pharmacy Shoppe and buy a box of condoms. Fifth, go to Lacie's Lingerie and buy five large silk scarves. Last, go back to your car and check your messages. That's it. Turn off your cell phone and get going. Oh, yeah. Seven, one, nine."
Once more I turned off my cell phone. That done, I wasted little time dialing-in the combination. I could only imagine what Aaron had packed for me, but I was pretty sure it was going to be good. I was right. Inside the case, on top, was a pale blue, strapless, wonder bra from Victoria's Secret. Beneath that, a short, white camisole. Beneath that, a pair of white stockings and a black-leather micro-mini skirt. And on the bottom, a pair of six-inch, black, high-heel sandals. (No panties.)
As I carefully re-packed the outfit Aaron had bought for me, I couldn't help but think about the fact that (had it been much more revealing), I would probably get picked up for indecent exposure.
For a long moment I considered backing out. Why? Well, although I am not the least bit shy about wearing sexy clothes when Aaron and I got out for the evening, this was different. I mean, consider the list of errands I had been given: buy a copy of Playboy, a box of condoms and five silk scarves from a lingerie store. It was three forty five in the afternoon! Dressed like that, I was definitely going to stand out!
The ladies room was vacant when I went in. I stepped into the handicapped stall and quickly closed and locked the door. Safe from public view, I set the audit case on the toilet and folded down the baby-changing table. Footsteps outside the door. I held my breath and waited. The door to the men's room opened and then closed. Quickly, I unbuttoned my blouse and took it off. I folded it once, then laid it on the changing table. With less urgency, I unzipped my skirt, stepped out of it and put it on top of my blouse. Next, I took off my bra and tossed it onto the pile. I hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my french-cut panties and began sliding them down my hips.
More footsteps. The door opened and two women came in. I froze. As quietly as I could, I set the audit case on the floor and sat down on the toilet. I was completely naked. Except for my flats. My heart pounded as one of the women took the stall next to mine. The dividers were tall; but were they tall enough? What if she decided to look over the top?
The second woman began talking to the first. Planning their shopping strategy. Their chatty conversation did little to allay my fear-of-discovery.
Suddenly, the air conditioner kicked on. An ice cold blast of air cascaded over me. Instantly, my nipples began to stiffen from the cold. Within no time they were jutting out their full one-inch length. Images of high-school phys-ed flashed through my mind. The embarrassing stares I always got when the locker room was a little on the chilly side. The embarrassment.
An eternity passed. Finally, the restroom door opened. The two women left. Relief washed over me. A warm wet rush filled the toilet. I reached for the toilet paper and dried myself.
I stood and kicked off my shoes and panties. As quickly as I could, I retrieved the bra Aaron had bought me and put it on. The satin, padded cups pressed gently against my aching nipples. Even more quickly, I retrieved the skirt and camisole and put them on as well. Covered up (at last) I took my time putting on the stockings and heels.
Not wishing to press my luck any further, I hurriedly stuffed my clothes back in the case and beat a hasty retreat.
Once outside, I delighted in the hot dry air. (Almost) oblivious to the stares and gawks I crossed the parking lot and deposited the audit case into the trunk of my car, then proceeded to the newsstand. An older woman was working the counter, her attention focused on a copy of Better Homes and Garden. Toward the back, a couple of teenage boys were thumbing through the latest issue of some video game magazines. One of them saw me and just about broke his buddy's ribs elbowing him to "check it out"! The attention was flattering, so I decided to give them their money's worth. Bending at the waist – my butt facing their direction – I picked up the August issue of Playboy (Women of Enron), then quickly made my purchase.
Next stop: the Pharmacy Shoppe. With WalMart right next door, it is beyond me how this little pharmacy manages to stay in business. But it does. Anyway, as I entered the store, I headed straight to the pharmacy window to make my selection. The pharmacist – a girl of fourteen maybe, with a body that matched – eyed me up and down, then let her gaze focus on my chest. "Like what you see?" I asked, annoyed by her attention. "Very much." she said, "I'll bet your lover really gets off fucking those." Her forwardness floored me! All I could say was: "That he does. Jealous?" "A little." she replied, "Now what can I get you?" I pointed to a package of ribbed Trojans. "Good choice." she said, as she rung up my purchase, "Have fun." "I intend to."
Lastly to Lacie's Lingerie. Unlike Aaron's favorite lingerie store, Victoria's Secret, Lacie's was not so upscale. In fact, it was downright sleazy. For the most part, the outfits they stocked could best be described as: stripperesque. Flattering, for those with tight young bods, but strictly for short-term wear only. If you catch my meaning.
Having grown tired with this phase of our little game, I quickly scanned the shop for their "silk scarf department". They were kept behind the counter.
"Excuse me. Miss? Miss??"
Annoyed by my intrusion on her sexplicit phone call, the gum-chewing twenty-something sales girl (who was dressed in an outfit even skimpier than mine) bade a "Call you back." to the person on the other end, and came over to wait on me.
"Can I help you?" she said in a surprisingly polite voice.
"Yes. I would like five of those silk scarves. Assorted colors."
The young woman bent at the waist to pick out the scarves. Her skirt rose high along the curve of her ass. Like me, she was wearing no panties. Unlike me, her pussy was unshorn. Her pussy-lips were full and glistening. Her puckered asshole looked as if it was begging for a cock. I guess no one ever told this young slut never to bend like that when going bareback in an ultra-micro mini. Unless she wanted to flash a free show, of course ;-).
As I left Lacie's, I shook my head in disbelief at the events of the last half hour or so and at how turned on I had become after my last two stops.
To clarify, for those of you who may be wondering if my being "turned-on" after having been questioned so explicitly about the fuckability of my chest by another woman, coupled with the delectable shot of such a wanton puss and ass means that my sweet husband is married to a bi chick (as he calls them); well, the answer is: no. What it does mean, however, is that the confirmation of my busty look, together with the visual proof of just how unobstructed a view bending at the waist offers an attentive audience, only served to make me more than HOT in the knowledge that my two young admirers back at the newsstand, were most likely having an embarrassing time dealing with their uncontrolable hard-ons.
With renewed purpose, I returned to my car and turned on my cell phone. Impatiently I waited. It seemed to take forever for the "check messages" to appear. I pressed "send" and waited. "Hello my darling." came Aaron's voice, "Twenty eight minutes to change. What were you doing in there for so long? Never mind. You can tell me later. And by the way, I just love the way your gorgeous breasts spill out of your new bra. We can discuss that later too. Your next stop is a little bar called O'Mally's at the corner of Pennsylvania and Fifth. Think you can find it? Park on the top level of the parking garage next to the Post Office. Go straight to O'Mally's and have a seat at the bar. I'll join you there. You know the rest. Turn off your cell phone and get going. And remember, follow my instructions completely or the game's over. Bye. Love you."
Call it intuition (or the quasi predictability of my lover), but I knew my dear husband had to have been watching my every move. In fact, I think I would have been disappointed if he hadn't.
Fifteen minutes after leaving the WalMart parking lot, I was entering the bar.
After ten on Friday and Saturday nights, O'Mally's was THE place to be. The rest of the time, it was rather quiet. The decor was that of your archetypical speak-easy. Only thing, most everything – including the ornately carved massive oak bar with its heavy marble top – was brand new. To one corner, was a small stage where the live bands would perform. In front of it, the rather spacious dance floor was ringed with a dozen or so tables for four. To the left of the bar, in a dimly lit corner, three small tables for two.
