To the casual observer, Susan and George looked like a mousey executive and a busty trophy wife. The reality, however, was opposite. It was Susan who was the big-shot executive, whereas George was only in his job because Susan was a major shareholder in the company he worked for. The couple lived in a large Manor house in a small village, where their only problems were that Susan sometimes said she felt lonely when he went away on business, and George seemed to think the house cleaned itself.
It was clear that the pair still loved each other, but it was an evening in October that was to remedy both the issue of George's tidiness and Susan's loneliness once and for all.
Unusually, George was at home working at his computer. He was worried because the last thing she'd said was, 'I'll be back early, probably by five.'
It was nearer eight when Susan called from a meeting on the other side of London sounding exhausted, 'I've just left. It went on and on forever and I've not even had lunch.'
'Oh babe, I'm sorry. Call me when you're nearly home. I'll get a takeaway.'
'Ah, no. I think I will get a hotel. I'm too tired to drive and traffic looks terrible.'
Then she explained, 'Something from the hotel bar and...and bed I think.'
At nine his mobile phone beeped, and texts flashed across the screen saying that she loved him. So far nothing was out of the ordinary for the couple, she often stayed at hotels.
One read, 'Booked in. Looks like some of the people from my meeting are here too.'
George then relaxed and sat back in his armchair to sip a glass of whisky that he'd poured hours before, but not touched while still worrying about when Susan would be home.
At nine-thirty, she called him and explained that she'd ended up having a drink at the bar with people from work, 'I was ordering food, I stayed for just the one rather than be rude.'
Above the clink of glasses and music she told him, 'Love you, night Babe,' but instead of the call ending, it was as if she'd dropped it in her handbag as George could still hear everything, albeit muffled and it sounded like she was then laughing and giggling.
George held his phone tightly to one ear and pressed a finger to the other so that he could hear slightly better words that began to send a shiver down his spine.
A man's voice asked, 'Do you want another drink?'
Susan replied, 'You're still trying to get me drunk to get me into bed, aren't you?
'I thought it was the other way around,' his deep gruff voice growled suggestively.
'I'm a good-girl, I'm tired and I've even told my husband that I'm going to bed.'
He replied, 'We both know you're a bad girl, so how about my bed, in my room.'
'Just give me your number, I'm not fucking you tonight.'
The man sniggered, 'I only come to these things to chat to you afterwards.'
George then heard his wife say, 'It crossed my mind as you only stare at my tits at them.'
There was more muffled laughter, a gasp as she said, 'Oh Shit,' then the call ended as if she'd suddenly realised the phone was still connected. At first, George didn't know what to think, his mind was swirling images of his sweet wife in a bar with another man, talking in a way he'd never heard from her before.
Then his mind began to wander. He thought of his wife kissing another man, and the man's hand groping her breasts in a dark corner of a hotel bar and her hand sliding down to feel a growing bulge in his trousers.
Stupidly sent his wife a text without thinking through what he'd heard.
'Hey, you didn't turn off your phone. Are you being chatted up?'
Her reply was a flat-out denial, 'No silly. Just here with the people from work.'
'I heard a man's voice and what you said.'
There was a delay and Susan called him, from the faint music and wind with cars passing by it was clear that she was now outside of the hotel.
She sounded angry. 'What are you asking? Do you think I'm having an affair?'
The conversation didn't go as George expected at all, instead of demanding to know who she was flirting with in a bar, he actually apologised to Susan for not trusting her wife and he even ended with, 'Sorry. Sorry... erm... Chat to whatever men you want.'
She replied with, 'Good. I Love you. Call you tomorrow. Bye,' and hung up on him.
To his surprise, when he put down his phone, he realised that his own cock was rock hard.
It wasn't long after that, when other texts arrived from Susan.
She messaged, 'Just going to another pub.'
'Hey sorry. Still out. All the men chatting me up takes time. 😊'
George replied to that one saying, 'Very Funny. I trust you.'
'You shouldn't. I'm very tipsy. I get very horny when I'm drinking. LoL only kidding.'
At midnight his phone rang again, another muffled call, that sounded like she was somewhere quiet fumbling around for something in her handbag and Susan's soft moans of 'Yes. Yes. Yes. There. God Yes!'
Those were the last words he heard before the phone went dead.
George didn't sleep. He couldn't sleep. He stayed awake all night with his mind in turmoil and his cock refusing to soften for long, no matter how many times he wanked and came over his hands. In his dreams, there was a clear picture of Susan kneeling with a large, rough looking black man's thick long cock filling her mouth.
When Susan arrived home the next day, George didn't say anything. He didn't ask, he even didn't hint at what he desperately wanted to know. It was an elephant in the room stomping around their relationship that sometimes whispered in his ear the words, 'Nothing happened, Susan just went for drinks.'
Other times his voice of insecurity said, 'She's been fucking behind your back for years.
For a week, all felt slightly strange, the conversation was stilted, they hardly spoke and when they did, it was so polite as to appear like a formal conversation between two diplomats. Kisses were on the cheek with the lightest, briefest of hugs. While in bed at night neither touched the other, it was only to sleep as if they'd become just friends.
***
The only other change George noticed about their day to day life, was that Susan took to dressing slightly more sexily as she walked around the house. Her normal business attire remained unchanged as her black suit, and satin blouse was almost a uniform for her, but at home it was as if she was trying to turn him on with every outfit.
In the mornings at breakfast, she began wrapping in a short silk dressing gown and little else, when back from work she began wearing tight Lycra gym clothes that clung to every curve of her tight assed, long legged busty beauty, and after dinner when getting ready for bed she seemed to now favour thin vest tops and silk pyjama bottoms.
George's cock was hard at every sight of his wife, even if they weren't chatting much.
Then at nine o'clock on a Thursday night, she smiled sweetly and said softly,
'When I text from upstairs. Come.' It felt like an order he had to obey.
Half an hour later, she sent, "Take a shower. Don't turn on bedroom lights."
George almost ran upstairs to present himself dripping wet in a towel at the closed bedroom door. On the threshold was a tumbler of whisky, a silken scarf and a note saying,
