This is the fifth installment of the "In a World..." series, detailing the erotic journey of Ginnifer and Rick. This narrative can stand alone, but it's at its best when read in the slowly-building sequence. This is also a cross-category story that leans deepest into the prurient parts of the "Loving Wives" category. More sensitive readers should check the IaW Foreword (a stand-alone chapter) to see if this story is right for them.
Also, this is a COVID-free story. It was planned and mostly written when Corona might lead to a hangover, not a virus. If this story happened during lockdown, the characters would've done very different things. If you need an escape from social distancing, keep calm and read on.
Yours truly,
Wilson Spalding
###
My eyes popped open.
It was still dark out.
I was instantly awake, though I hadn't moved a muscle. Adrenaline flowed through me, but I hadn't heard anything. I knew why: she was sleeping next to me.
Normally, I hate waking up before my alarm, but these days, there were moments I was astonished I could sleep at all.
We'd passed out early last night. Woke together, brushed teeth and went right back to sleep. Yesterday had been exhausting.
See, we'd just come back from a week-and-a-half Grand Sex Tour of the Great Southwest (Southwest in the States, for my friends overseas). That had been the adventure of a lifetime, but arriving home didn't let off the pressure. The whole day was an emotional rollercoaster.
The slow chik-chik-chik of yesterday's coaster started on the long drive home, as we picked apart the aftermath of our first "swing." Semi-swing? It was all her, but I'd more or less set it up.
Were we okay? Was this the right direction?
It seemed so, so we talked about venues and how open we'd be. It was pretty much standing hall passes for both of us, but there was an emergency-lights/alarm-bells danger zone on Ginny's side: her office. The office she'd be going back to this morning.
Yeah, that was part of what woke me up.
Fooling around in that "environment" was part of her kink and I encouraged it. If worse came to worse, she could get another job. Of course, it could go far worse than that - and those unknowns were fraying the edges of my confidence. Let's be honest, though: all that risk was part of the rollercoaster excitement.
So, yesterday, back in the home town after our vacation, we brought her cat to the duplex. It was the next step of my fiancée slowly moving in to my place. What was now "our" place. That was another peak on that relationship rollercoaster.
We picked apart some of where her Old Guy fetish came from. It unearthed some painful memories, making a high-speed, roaring valley for that rollercoaster.
This morning, at my work, the office was going into crunch mode: two weeks until shooting started on our next project. All that pressure would reset everything, right? That was real life? Any concerns about sex would be on pause and I'd be off the rollercoaster, right?
This morning, she'd go into her office with the proverbial "safety" switched off. And I'd just ignore that. Suuuuuure.
Nope, we were still on the rollercoaster. Not even sleep is an escape, it's only a slow, ratcheting climb up the rollercoaster's first morning hill.
As I laid there, I remembered the texts. Saturday night/Sunday morning, after the "swing" I'd set up, the two guys each texted video of their threesome with Ginnifer. She'd given them my number.
Yeah, that kind of kink. Double-corkscrew rollercoaster moment.
That was what woke me up.
I saw they'd sent it, but 24 hours later, I still hadn't yet watched it. Sounds strange, but by the time it came in, the real deal was already in my arms. She had described everything; it was foreplay to reclamation sex that was... well, it was mind-blowing.
I quietly rolled out of bed and headed down the hall to the office. A few clicks later, as the files were transferring, I noticed Ben and Harry both included contact information. Smart in a dozen ways and I logged them as "friends" in my address book.
We'd met the duo at a motel in Palm Springs on our way home. They were on a business trip, down from Modesto, the stars aligned and... Ginnifer started her "Veronica Count."
Actually looking at the video, now, at four-thirty in the morning? Another neural nova. It was dark and grainy, but clear enough to see Ginny blowing them both in the jacuzzi.
Fuck.
They sent little video snippets of the sex that followed, including fucking under the parking lot's sodium lights. As a production professional, let me confirm for you: the camera loved her.
I was getting hard to my favorite porn star: my future wife.
Ben and Harry were a couple of characters on their own: bearded hippy stoners with mild pot bellies, mumbling and laughing a lot. The porn reality was that they barely rated as props for Ginny. She was relaxed, laughing and enjoying every second as "the goddess" (their words) connected with a couple of mere mortals.
Funny bit: I'd seen porn about what I was now watching: little single-panel pics on Tumblr about receiving a photo text of "your wife" from an unknown number. Being the voyeur that I am, that seemed pretty hot. In real life...?
It was hard to describe the chaos that raged from my brain to my balls.
My alarm went off in the bedroom and I dashed back to turn it off.
Ginny barely stirred.
Good. I jumped in the shower for a quick rinse, put on a pair of clean jeans and a tie and gave her a kiss on my way downstairs. A snack for the cat and I was out the door before sunrise.
###
The commute was short but we were in preproduction with a two-week window before we headed out to location. It was going to be insane for the next couple weeks, then I'd be gone for the next six weeks after that. Once I hit that production office, it hit back like a prize fighter.
The pace was non-stop: I didn't have time to think, much less dwell on the wolf den where my fiancée worked. I sent a "Love You" text somewhere around lunch and lost track of my personal phone for hours after that.
It was pushing seven before I checked my phone on the way back to the ol' Bronco. Sure enough, she'd answered the text.
"Love you too!" Then: "Humungous news, but not what you're thinking. Talk tonight!"
My brain was racing on the long walk back to parking. If you haven't read about us so far, a quick sum-up: Ginnifer was the eye-candy receptionist for a legal firm that specialized in divorce and sexual-harassment settlements.
They must be the most carefully appropriate workplace in the world, right? Wrong. So, so wrong. They were often in flagrant violation of everything they helped their clients sort out (despite being the firm that handled the found-guilty payouts).
Her office would be a hostile environment for most, but there was that fine line of legal reality. Atmosphere and expectations balanced with intent and established patterns. One thing was certain: they had latitude with Ginny. My future wife once described herself as "very forgiving."
I'd since learned that translated as a mild submissive streak flavored by a kink "for old guys." It wasn't full-blown daddy issues, it was more a devious kick from being a Lolita, with a sprinkling of neuroses, obsession-compulsion and other complications for flavor.
My Bronco only reached third gear in traffic, but my brain was in overdrive as I raced home...
###
By the Miata in the driveway, I knew Ginny was home.
I walked in the back door and called out: "Honey, I'm home!"
Aiming for Ward Cleaver, I may have had just a touch of Jack Torrance.
"Welcome home..." came the slightly stifled, raspy reply from the living room. If I was announcing in Jack Nicholson, she was answering in Demi Moore.
We still didn't have much furniture in the place, leading to a slightly echoey acoustic. Through the rear laundry room, through the kitchen, she was the centerpiece in the otherwise empty living room. Upside down on a thick yoga mat, her legs were in the air like she was riding an invisible bicycle.
I grabbed her ankle, gave it a kiss, then dropped to floor level to follow suit with the lips. Honestly, I was sniffing for salacious evidence, but smelled no sign she'd increased her Veronica Count.
"How was your day?" was our mutual question.
All small talk the next five minutes and I quickly got the vibe that nothing "happened" at work. I suppose, in the grand scheme of things, that was impressive. Maybe even good: she wasn't as crazy as I thought she was.
That's when I held up my phone. "So, um, 'humungous news'?"
Not sure if it was coincidence that her legs, still in the air, went into upside down side-splits, immediately inspiring thoughts of yoga sex.
Ginny saw me look and got a sly smile, but otherwise shook her head. "No, nobody else has had this view today. Or any other interesting view."
"Not sure if I'm relieved or disappointed."
"Sounds like the words of a voyeur who's in love..."
"I resemble that remark."
She flowed to her feet to lay a tantric kiss upon me, then went right back into yoga. "Okay, so I mentioned how the partners use eye-candy as a tactic to catch the clients off-guard, right? Before I left, they wanted me to find someone that could fill the role while I was gone. They even promised to be on their best behavior. Surely they could be professional for two weeks, right?"
"Right! Wrong?"
"Wrong. Very wrong."
"Oh, shit."
"Yes. Exactly. Five old fogeys work out of our office..." She paused as her body achieved some gravity-defying pose, then relaxed. "I should've hired an actress... or an escort. Instead, I hired a temp from a legal agency like they asked for. Tried to find a girl with the right look, and the temp's contract included a Non-Disclosure and confidentiality agreement, plus a workplace conduct waiver."
"Conduct waiver? That's covering your bases."
"Yeah... By the time someone signs those, they should have a good idea that they're not working in a church office, right?"
"Right?"
"Wrong. Instead, I came back to find they hadn't just earned harassment claims but assault claims against three of the five office regulars."
"Holy crap."
"So, this last Friday, I think we'd just left Juarez...? The firm had to access the security footage from the office cameras and handed it over to Glendale PD. It wasn't felony assault, but borderline misdemeanor if the temp wanted to press charges. By Friday night, the temp agreed to a settlement instead."
"Wow. Just fucking wow."
"This morning, the dust was settling. Every single one of those Old Farts is married, and they have never been more polite or more appreciative to see their 'forgiving girl' return to the job."
"Any danger they'll be disbarred?"
"Oh, god, no. There's a strict Business and Professions Code but conduct investigations are handled by the Office of Chief Trial Counsel... half of whom have been clients of our firm. For anything to happen, this would've had to make front page news, not page six. Still..."
"What?"
"They are on notice. Which is..." Gin flowed into a standing, majestic pose, one that I finally recognized: the warrior pose. Once in position, her breathing stabilized, she continued: "...Good for me, I suppose."
"I would imagine," I nodded. "Leverage."
She did a few poses in silence, and it was artful and athletic and sexy to watch. She was focused, and that was a good thing.
