Loreal: a Tale of Betrayal

LOREAL

A TALE OF BETRAYAL

by

Vandemonium1

This one could reasonably have been posted under my and CreativityTakesCourage's joint profile, SemperAmare. She helped me develop the plot and did her usual superior editing job but was too busy with her professional work to do any of the writing. Keep an eye on the new release list though, Semper's 'Nurse Penny' will be out soon.

As is my habit for longer stories, this one is 15 Word pages, I'll give you enough info to inform whether this will appeal to you or not. I've self-rated it at 2.5/5 pickaxe handles on the rating system you can find via the SemperAmare bio.

No, I haven't invented a new discovery method or justification for cheating. It's more a woman's journey of self-discovery and the consequences of that. It will probably leave the hardcore BTBers hungry. I think it's safe to say that most stories in LW here go one of three different ways. The guy catches his wife and either gets excited, gets violent, or steals away to plot his revenge. Welcome to the 4

th

approach. WARNING, this story contains subtlety! Yes, I finally learned what that means.

On a final note; Luedon, you'd better not read this one.

++++++

CHAPTER 1

Loreal felt her orgasm building. Aaah, she sighed; finally. She moaned into the ear of the guy above, pounding into her, to enhance the experience for him. He continued grunting and sped up. Loreal turned her head away to the side to try to get away from his breath. Beer and stale cigarettes, yuck. Certainly not an aphrodisiac. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and just concentrated on the delicious sensations. They were good, but not enough to tip her over the edge, at least not yet. Maybe with a bit more pounding.

It didn't help that his foreplay had been minimal. She'd tried to remove the hand roughly caressing her sex and encourage him to go down on her. That's how her husband, Dave, had learned to satisfy her fully. Not only had the prick ignored her hand trying to push his head downward, but he'd pushed her back onto the bed, shuffled up and stuck his cock in her mouth. Once in, he'd knotted her hair, effectively stopping her from pulling away to breathe.

In the battle that followed, she'd managed to insert a hand onto the base of his cock to limit the penetration. Thus, able to breathe again, she concentrated on making it an outstanding blowjob for him. Strangely, she wanted to convince him that an older woman held advantages that the girls his age didn't. She braced herself for him flooding her mouth, listening for the giveaway signs he was close to climax. She hadn't allowed Dave that pleasure in years but was willing to make the sacrifice to ensure it was good for this stranger.

Loreal was pleasantly surprised when he pulled out voluntarily. Manoeuvring her again, the twenty-something guy—was his name Frank?—forced her legs wide apart with his knees and, with little fanfare, impaled her with his above average cock.

On a purely physical level, Loreal thought the experience was a bit of a bust. Then, in the dim light of the turned down bedside lamp, she looked in his eyes. She loved what she saw. An early twenties guy, so turned on by her forty-six-year old body that he had little or no control. For the first time, her brain stopped long enough to allow her body to react automatically. She felt her diaphragm contract with a wave of lust and pushed her hips up to meet the guy's thrusts.

Following the habits of a married lifetime, she tried to kiss the guy above her. That's when the reality of his breath almost made her come down from her high. She could feel her clitoris being massaged every time his pubic bone ground into hers, causing her to surrender to feelings of intense pleasure. If she'd been capable of rational thought, it would have been along the lines of, 'here it comes... aaaahhh'.

It was one of the most intense orgasms Loreal could remember. If the guy had come right then, she would have upgraded it to the best in memory. Then he ruined it.

If the guy had been Dave, he'd have known she liked him to slowly wind down after she came, over a period of half a minute or so, even if he hadn't come yet, safe in the knowledge she'd see him right after a little rest. A rest that included him nuzzling her neck and telling her she was the love of his life.

Instead, the guy just kept hammering away; seeking his own release. Physically, it just felt uncomfortable and caused her conscience to attack her soul.

She was a cheat, and, as of ten minutes ago, a multiple one at that. All the self-justification that had made so much sense to her pre-orgasm was now vaporising as she came off her high. Had it been like this last month or was she too drunk to notice? Her mind tried to shy away from last month.

Last month. The first time she'd been unfaithful.

She'd begun the night out with her friends as a totally faithful housewife of twenty-four years. A wife who'd never even been tempted to stray. A recent empty nester, whose husband was away on yet another business trip, and a woman who was entering nature's deadly trap. One who increasingly saw in the mirror the ravages of time and three children on both her face and body, and one who subconsciously missed lustful eyes following her when she walked into a room.

That first night had been a near perfect storm. She knew and accepted why Dave had to travel so much. They'd put everything they had into giving the kids the best possible start in life, including debt free tertiary educations. Reviewing their finances after Laura left home, they realised Dave would have to put in a hard five years if they wanted a comfortable retirement. That meant travel, and lots of it. She realised all that and had been comfortable with the decision. That hadn't made the loneliness easier to cope with or reduce the time for introspection it gave her.

She'd taken to going out with three young, single friends after their volunteer charity nights. Well, two of them were single; the third just acted like it. If the rumour mill was correct, her previous job had been one of... negotiable value. She told her friends, 'I love sex' no more than six times a day.

One of the girls had brought some special cookies to give the evening a kickstart. Against her better judgement, Loreal had partaken of her share. That was followed by slugging back a quick succession of strong drinks. Loreal had learned to get fuzzy early. That way she could 'not see' that within an hour of entering a bar, she was the only one of the group buying her own. The sharks provided lavishly for the other three, younger women.

It wasn't uncommon for one or two of the others to leave with a guy, this time it was all three. The last, one of the single ones, apologised to her when she retrieved her handbag before leaving with her partner of the night. The look of pity she gave Loreal even penetrated through the chemical influences. That left Loreal alone. Alone, stoned from the cookie, swaying from the alcohol and, in her own mind, over the hill.

The final crisis came when she went to the bar for yet another drink and saw herself in the mirror behind it.

Loreal didn't know it but the plain, nothing special guy sitting next to where she stood, had been almost totally discouraged that night; four knock backs, including one slap in the face, will do that to a man's ego. Almost. A cheery greeting, some cheap compliments, and one drink and both he and Loreal got what they wanted—he was invited back to some broad's place, she got attention from a younger man. He drove. Neither took any notice of the sticker in the collection behind the bar. It read '

Alcohol, helping ugly people have sex since 3,000BC'

.

Loreal was on cloud nine. She still had it. A younger guy had been unable to help himself and wanted her badly. She'd been too drunk to take much notice of the first brief episode once they got to her place, but it revived her feelings of value even in the stoned and inebriated state she was in. However, she was cold stone sober when he fucked her again in the morning. She was hardly even moist yet when he got off within a minute. While he lay back, panting, Loreal went for a shower. When she returned, he'd gone. No note, no hurried thanks. Nothing. The value of the whole interlude was dashed, and her ego sank lower than before the whole episode began.

She was horrified at her own betrayal, not to mention that he hadn't even tried to arrange another meeting. How bad was she that he didn't want a repeat performance? She was also terrified by the fact the guy obviously hadn't worn a condom either time. Pregnancy was still a real risk and who knew what diseases she may have picked up? Her self-opinion plummeted as she made the trip of shame to retrieve her car from the bar carpark.

When Dave arrived home from that trip, she did the right thing and avoided having sex with him until any possible diseases had manifested themselves to a blood test. Then she just sweated until her period arrived later that month.

The whole episode was emotionally devastating and threw Loreal into a temporary insanity. Why else did she come up with the solution she did? Would she have continued on her self-destructive path if she'd just accepted the fact it wasn't any fault of hers, the guy had just been a prick?

Therefore, on Dave's very next trip away she went to the bar with her friends again, prepared. She refused the offered cookie, nursed one wine, patted the box of rubbers in her pocket and scanned the room like a predator. Pointedly taking off her rings and stuffing them in her pocket, then undoing a couple of buttons on her blouse, in full view of her friends, she turned and approached her target. Young, passably good-looking and already smiling the smile of the tipsy.

Her ego soared and she smirked at her companions when she retrieved her handbag from the table, before strutting out with her stud.

She'd meant to go back to his place, but he was from out of town and sharing a room with two other members of his rugby team. She was too smart to have a motel bill appear on her credit card statement and didn't want to push her luck asking him to stiff for another room. So, back to her place she went. Again.

He was ripping off his and her clothes as they ran up the stairs. Then, well you know what happened next.

Loreal silently wished the guy would hurry up and get off. Then, learning from the previous mistake, she would ask him to join her in the shower to clean up before round two. This was going to be so good. She could bury thoughts of Dave and his lonely existence in a motel room on the other side of the country until morning. By that time, she would have proven to this guy and herself just what an older woman was still capable of. Oh yes; he'd be drained of every drop of semen he possessed when he staggered out in the morning. She vaguely hoped his coach wasn't angry with him for sapping his strength before the game. He'd said he was the team's Number Eight, whatever that meant.

'Christ, get on with it,' thought Loreal, unconscious of the irony. Younger women would kill for a guy that could perform like number eight could.

Remembering to provide little grunts of appreciation, Loreal couldn't help her mind wandering to her husband, wondering what little gift he'd bring her back from his latest trip. He always brought her something that was not necessarily expensive but was always thoughtful. Every single time, since shortly before they married, they would undertake their little verbal ritual. On accepting the trinket, Loreal would say, "Why do you always spoil me, Dave?" To which he would unerringly reply, "Because you're worth it."

Although it was by no means an expectation, Dave's homecoming and thoughtfulness was usually rewarded with an intense lovemaking session. Although, now she thought about it, the frequency had dropped off in the last couple of years. Was Dave's libido flagging with his advancing age? Loreal didn't think so; he still propositioned her every second or third night. Or was it her sex drive waning and causing her to decline his advances more often?

Thoughts of her husband caused a chill of guilt to suffuse Loreal's soul. Post-orgasm, she finally thought of what she was risking by doing this. The guy pounding into her grinned with pride as he interpreted the tensing of her entire body as her coming again. Loreal relaxed as she decided once and for all that after this spectacular session there would be no repeats. Then relaxed further as she concluded that Dave would benefit from all this. With her sexual ego bolstered, Dave wouldn't be getting near as many knockbacks in the future.

With a sigh, Loreal concentrated on making it spectacular for her conquest. She was getting increasingly uncomfortable down there, and hoped he finished soon.

The events of the next few minutes were so crowded and full of emotion for Loreal that later she had trouble remembering the exact sequence.

The main bedroom light came on suddenly. The first thing Loreal noticed was that her lover's eyes were squeezed tightly shut. Confused, she turned her head toward the bedroom door and froze in a whole-body clench. There was Dave. Her darling Dave. She watched him walk to his closet and take down a large suitcase from the top and lay it on her prized antique blanket box at the foot of their bed. Loreal felt like a surreal spectator as he hardly even glanced at her as he did this.

Her sudden scream, seconds later, shocked the young guy above her out of his thoughts, which had he been able to articulate them would have been along the lines of, 'Fuck, she's coming again.' This wasn't that sort of scream, though. His eyes shot open, then he turned his head and followed the gaze of the terrified woman beneath him. He saw the guy he presumed was the slut's husband—he hadn't asked if she was married and she hadn't volunteered it—saw what a vulnerable position he himself was in; leaped up, out, and off Loreal, to stand and face the threat. With his testosterone and adrenalin levels at a peak, his next words were almost an automatic response.

"I could make mincemeat of you, you know."

Dave merely turned to face the guy who was half a foot taller, considerably bigger, and about half his age.

"Yes, I suppose you could. But isn't it bad enough that you fucked my wife and destroyed my marriage without assaulting me? Now, cover up, you look ridiculous standing there like that."

Number Eight, or Frank as he was more commonly known, cooled down quickly under the assault of that calm voice and non-aggressive expression. He looked down at his slimy, rubber-covered, rapidly deflating erection, saw the guy once again turn toward the closet and start stuffing clothes from hangers and shelves into the suitcase, and felt really, really silly. Sheepishly, he started gathering his clothes and putting them on, never turning his back on the guy who may have been in shock and could soon explode at any moment.

Loreal just made like an ostrich and kept her head buried under the sheet. She was in severe shock and was minutes away from reacting.

It took Frank about one minute to get enough clothes together to be decent. With the last of them in his meaty paws, he mumbled, "Sorry, man," and headed toward the door.

Dave looked over his shoulder as he continued packing.

"Wait."

Frank stopped; eyes downcast. Dave turned toward him.

"Look at me."

Frank forced himself, through his shame, to comply. He saw a man in total control, whose expression wasn't anger, in fact, if anything, it was pity.

"Married?"

Frank shook his head.

"Well, hopefully you'll meet the love of your life some day and get married. One day you'll be on a business trip and won't be able to get your wife on the phone. When that happens, think of this exact moment."

Dave held Frank's gaze as the absolute shame of the situation sank in. The big guy mumbled another, "Sorry," and walked out the door.

With a glance at the bed, Dave went back to his packing. Overwhelmed, Loreal continued hiding under the covers.

After a couple of minutes or so, Loreal risked a look from under the sheet. A quick glance to confirm that Dave was staring at her accusingly. He wasn't. Instead, he was concentrating on zipping up the second of two suitcases. That meant he was leaving! What? Without discussion? From what she could see of his expression, he was behaving just like he was packing when leaving a motel room after a week of travelling. This penetrated even Loreal's stupefied brain as... bizarre.

After watching him ignore her for another half minute, Loreal tried to speak. She opened her mouth. The words were there, ready to be given voice, but nothing came out. It wasn't until Dave put both suitcases upright and side-by-side, preparing to walk out the room, that utter desperation forced her hand. She shuffled to a sitting position against the pillows. She decided against standing in his path to prevent his escape because that would mean being naked in front of him and she couldn't guarantee there were no overt signs of her betrayal on her body. For some reason that seemed important.

It wasn't until Dave picked up both cases and began walking to the door that Loreal summoned up the strength to croak, "Wait."

Dave stopped, put down the cases, then did something that wouldn't register as strange to Loreal until days or weeks later. He sighed and looked at his watch.

Loreal studied his face, expecting to see what? Disapproval? Anger? Rage even? Condemnation and devastation, surely? There was nothing like that. In the heat of the moment, Loreal couldn't guess what the mind behind that all too familiar face was thinking. It was mainly neutral but with strange hints of other things. Other things that built large in her imagination over the ensuing weeks. She could have sworn he looked like he was trying to suppress a smile of pride, a modest kind of look, but that couldn't be right. He stood there watching her, waiting.

"Dave, I-"

"Please, Loreal, don't say it wasn't what it looked like or that it was just sex, or that this was the first time. If possible, my opinion of you would go down even further if you trotted out those tired old clichés.

"And before you say you were bored with our sex life, remember, I've been in exactly the same boat as you since we married.

"Or were you going to say that you were worried about getting old and infertile? Well, I reckon men worry just as much about the decline in their performance as they age as women do about their fading looks and sex drive, yet that didn't motivate me to have affairs.

"Maybe, you justified this behaviour as being acceptable to me. I reckon we've had about a thousand conversations over the years that told you otherwise."

Loreal's brain was reeling. Dave seemed to be looking into her head and seeing her thoughts sometime between when they were generated but before they made it to her mouth. She knew him. She knew she had to accept all blame and throw herself on his mercy.

"Dave..."

"I just don't care, Loreal. I know I'm the good guy here. I know to the very bottom of my heart that I gave our marriage all I had to give. I gave you everything I had. Tell me if I'm not still more romantic than any other husbands you know. Point out one time I missed an opportunity to tell you or show you I loved you. No, it just didn't happen.

"I suppose some guys might castigate themselves at this point that their best just wasn't good enough, but not me. We drilled into our kids that their best effort was always good enough and it would be hypocritical of me to judge myself by another standard to that. So, Loreal, it obviously wasn't good enough for you, but I did my best and I'm satisfied with that. That means the blame is all on you and your expectations. Goodbye, Lori."