Polly Ch 04

[Author's note: this story is in four parts. Yes, there's something unusual in the way Polly is able to process the world around her (check the tags). Does it excuse her behaviour?]

---

SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL

When I get home, Mark is waiting up for me. He's surprised when I walk in through the door, and I remember that I was supposed to have called him to pick me up.

"Hey, you didn't ring," he says.

"No, just got a cab. Harrison dropped me off and then carried on home," I reply.

My husband comes up to me and wraps me in his arms, giving me a kiss. I know what's on his mind, because I know what I'm wearing under my wrap-around dress. Mark wants to unwrap me and see me in my lingerie. He wants to take me upstairs and lay me out on our bed and dive between my legs. I dangled that promise in front of him all night, but I can't let him do that now. I can't risk him discovering Harrison's seed inside me.

"How was Erica? Did you get her home okay?" I ask, diverting.

"Yeah. She was pretty hammered. I haven't seen her like that in a long time. Do you reckon everything's okay between her and Harrison?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't it be?"

"I don't know. She just seemed a little off, and she was knocking the drink back. She was oblivious. I had to sort out the babysitter."

"Did you put her to bed?"

I smile as I say it, but he can read between the lines.

"How was she naked?" I continue.

"Pol, I didn't. I just got her inside and paid the babysitter. I wouldn't, I..."

I kiss him, forestalling his rambling defence.

"I know, babe. You're all mine, right?"

"Yeah, Pol. I'm all yours. You're all mine."

"Of course."

I kiss him again, longer this time, even as I feel Harrison leaking out of me. At least, I think I can feel it. Maybe it's just my own moisture as I contemplate having two men inside me in the one night.

"Ready for bed?" Mark asks.

I give him a lopsided smile, cocking my head to one side. I could put him off, feign a headache, but what the hell, why not?

"Yeah, I just need to go pee. Give me a couple of minutes."

My little lacy panties smell of Harrison. In the end, I make up a story about dribbling piss on my panties to explain why I emerge from the ensuite in just my stockings and my basque. I let him lower his mouth to my crotch, watching how erect and eager he is. He slides his tongue into me, and I settle back onto the bedsheets to enjoy my husband's attentions. He knows what I like; I've trained him well. I douched to make sure he can't taste Harrison inside me.

I wouldn't feed my husband another man's seed. I'm not a monster.

---

Sometimes, life just rolls your way. Harrison went radio silence for a couple of days, but then he popped back up again. We had a quick chat on the phone, and I made sure that he was still on-side. He hadn't said anything to Erica about fucking me in the park after the quiz night. Equally, he hadn't confronted Erica about her infidelity either. That last thing was a relief, because it was the one factor I couldn't control. If Harrison launched into accusations of Erica fucking my husband, my exquisitely concocted narrative would unwind very quickly. There's something fine and rare about living on that razor's edge, trusting other people to lie to each other. As far as I could tell, Harrison never asked, so Erica never refuted, and all the while, the idea of my husband and his wife having an affair was left to bloom. It was just perfect.

But, it's not as if I didn't have a contingency plan, just in case Harrison needed one more nudge. I have a pregnancy test at home that I've stencilled a cross on. It's an oldie, but it's a goodie.

Over coffee a few days after, Erica told me that Harrison was heading up the coast to oversee the building job later in the week. She sounded different, like it was more than him going away for work, like it was maybe a bit of distance between them. It made me squirm in my seat. Erica would be staying put, since it's the school term and she has to get the kids to school, so Harrison would be up the coast on his own.

When Mark latched onto my suggestion of taking our kids camping for the weekend on a daddy-daughters adventure, I felt like I'd won the lottery. With my family under canvas somewhere away from me, and Erica stuck at home, Harrison was on his own an hour north of us. As luck would have it, I manage to corner him at school pick up in the middle of the week.

Harrison is in his usual jeans and a t-shirt. The t-shirt's old, with a rip at the waist and a paint mark on the chest, but he carries it off, his unruly hair and three-day-old stubble somehow blending perfectly. I drift over to him through the groups of mothers.

"Hey," I say.

"Polly."

"How are you?"

"In general?"

"No, specifically. How did it go after the quiz night?"

Harrison shrugs, scanning for eavesdroppers.

"Oh, as you'd expect after she'd emptied the bar. She was fast asleep on top of the bed, still in her dress."

"Any sign?"

"Of?"

"You know what I mean."

"Look, I couldn't tell. Maybe she just passed out cold."

"Or maybe she just went to sleep after."

"I certainly didn't check, not after...."

He trails off, and I know I need to address it.

"Yeah, after," I mutter, "I just wanted to say thank you. I felt, uh, I guess, passed over. You were so kind."

"You were hot, Pol. I've never... I mean. I wouldn't ever have thought."

"You're a good man. You deserve better. You were so kind to me."

I give him a quick smile, and he smiles back. It encourages me.

"You were so hard," I murmur.

"You were amazing."

"Look, I was wondering. We should maybe have some time, work out what happened. Erica says you're up the coast from tomorrow."

"Yeah, two weeks."

"On your own?"

"Why?"

"Mark's taking the girls camping, leaving after work on Friday."

"What are you asking, Pol?"

"I'm not asking, I'm saying."

I leave it there, watching his reaction. Caught up in the heat of the moment in the park in the night, that's one thing. Agreeing to an encore in the cold light of day waiting for our children to come flooding through the school gates, that's another. I feel like I'm holding my breath.

"Okay, come up. When?"

"Friday night?"

"Sure. I'll give you the address."

I can't believe it was that easy. I know my blowjob was probably the best one he's ever had, but it's like he's turned a corner. I can't believe I'm going to drive up the coast on Friday evening and fuck Harrison. I'm already planning what I'm going to wear.

"Here they come," Harrison notes, turning towards the gates.

I turn too, but my thoughts are a million miles away. I'm imagining laying under his body, entered by his exquisite manhood. Spending the night with him, waking up with him, like we're actually together? I can feel it, deep down inside. I just can't wait.

---

The drive up the coast road starts slowly, fighting the traffic. I could have left an hour later and missed it all, but the idea of delaying by even a minute is unthinkable. I'm in the car, in a cotton summer dress that's a little too short but is long enough to cover my new lingerie. I'm going to slide the spaghetti straps down my shoulders and undo the zip, and reveal myself. I'm going all out, with the new underwear, with the makeup. I've had a manicure, I've been to the hair stylist. I want to drop this dress and become Harrison's fantasy.

The fascinating thing is that Mark doesn't enter my head. Good old Mark, the father of my children, the faithful husband, the breadwinner. Reliable Mark, the guy who can always be counted on. It's like I'm someone else, let out of jail for the weekend, able to roam freely. It's awful, what I'm doing, but in a way, it's only fair. I should be able to live my life. Why did that stop just because I had his kids, put his ring on my finger? If I have a chance to have Harrison's rugged, naked body in my arms, why would I turn that down? My mind is racing through all the things I'm going to do to him when I get up there. I'm tingling down below in anticipation.

The address isn't easy to find, a turn down a side street in one of the little beach settlements on the coast. The house is nestled in the lee of a hill, with views out across the ocean. It's one of a number of weekenders scattered along the road, owned by families up from the city. Right now, it's empty, home only to concrete mixers and stacks of timber. I pull up in the dusk and get out of the car.

I walk up to the front door and knock, but there's no reply. I look through the window, seeing a lounge with all the furniture under plastic sheeting. Walking around the side of the house, I'm struck by the fact that the back is just missing. I step around a muddy hole and find a way through the fencing. Harrison is nowhere to be seen. My phone beeps.

It's Harrison. His message tells me to find the guest bedroom and wait there. He's on an errand and will be back soon. He's left something on the bed. Intrigued, I pick my way through the building works, until the house starts to look more normal, the dust and the mess giving way to a living area. The kitchen is untouched, and down a little corridor, there's a bedroom. On the bed, there's a little bag. On the bag, there's a note.

I pick it up and read it twice, making sure I've comprehended it. Really?

It's handwritten, in a man's bold, ungainly script. The message is straight to the point, and entirely unexpected.

He's been thinking about me. In the park, what I did, it wasn't like his wife. Erica would never have done that in the dark in a public place. He feels like we're more similar than he'd suspected, that he has secret feelings that he would never disclose to his wife, but that he feels safe sharing with me. He wonders if we should explore this together, keeping it separate from our partners. He's never met anyone like me.

I stare at the note, then the little bag, in shock. A secret world inside Harrison's head? The promise of discretion? The idea of fulfilling his fantasies in secret, then carrying on normal life with my husband? It thrills me, having them both, the best of all worlds.

Tentatively, I unzip the little bag and extract the contents, gawping at them. Oh, Harrison, you twisted, delectable piece of man-flesh, I will happily be your fantasy. This is just too good to refuse.

There is a blindfold in the bag, and a set of handcuffs. I pick them up and stare at them. They're just about the least likely thing I would have expected Harrison to own. I've never done this, but only because Mark was always too staid. He'd have run a mile at the suggestion. I make a decision: if this floats Harrison's boat, if it turns him on to see me cuffed and blindfolded, I can do that for him. I can lie down on the bed like that and wait for him. I'm happy to be his fantasy if he'll be mine. Quid pro quo.

I send a message asking where he is. The bedroom's neat and tidy, the only thing out of place are the two battered lighting stands in each corner of the room, trailing a thick yellow extension cord back through the door. I try the light switch on the wall, but it doesn't work. The electrics are out. I look back at the bed with a thrill. I'm wet already, anticipating the moment that Harrison arrives.

This isn't like the park, where I'd plied him with beer and then tipped the balance with words and then actions. I'd left nothing to chance, wrapping my lips around his cock until he was desperate enough to let me impale myself on him. This time, it'll be different: really, properly our first time. In a few short minutes, we're going to consummate our affair on this bed. He's going to take me as his mistress, and I'm going to fuck him whenever he wants.

Erica has an office job, like Mark. Harrison works builders' hours, coming and going during the day. He can come round to my house any time, and no-one's going to know. I'll be able to enjoy Harrison's sturdy cock in the afternoon, then pick up the kids from school, then have dinner with Mark. It's going to be perfect.

The phone pings. Harrison's two minutes away. He wants me to be ready when he gets there. I'm to be kneeling on the bed with the blindfold on and my wrists cuffed behind my back. I shoot back a smiley face and tell him to hurry. I want him to know how hot I am for him. I strip off eagerly in the dusk, down to my lingerie, then take up position on the sheets. I've never used handcuffs before, I'd never think about doing this for Mark, but I want to be Harrison's fantasy. I want him to want me in a way that he doesn't want Erica, to have that special thing between the two of us that makes him keep coming back to me. I'm going to be as wild and wanton as he asks. I'm done with fucking in missionary position on a Tuesday night.

I slide the blindfold on. It's black satin, and sits comfortably over my eyes. I arrange my panties one last time, tugging at my stocking tops as I kneel. I spread my legs, feeling the moisture on the gauzy front panel. I'm so excited for him that I'm actually leaking. Mark has never made me feel like this. I close the cuffs around one wrist, listening to the snick as it locks into place, feeling the cold steel over my wrist. I put my hands behind my back and close the other wrist, and suddenly I'm helpless.

I realise that I didn't see the keys anywhere. If I want to get out of the cuffs, I can't. He must have taken the keys with him, forcing me to wait to be unlocked. I quiver, deep down inside, aroused by my predicament. It's so out of character for Harrison, but I'm so very hot for the man he's unexpectedly revealed himself to be, so much more creative than my dull husband. I'm going to be his secret fucktoy. I'm so eager, it's like I'm drunk.

I hear footsteps and I freeze, turning my head to try and locate him.

"Polly."

It's a grunt, but my body responds immediately. Light seeps in around the edges of my blindfold, blocked momentarily as he passes in front of a lighting stand. He's looking at me, I can feel it. I arch my spine, rising up on my heels a little, shifting my knees wider, displaying my needy body for him. A hand caresses my cheek and I jump in shock.

"Harrison, I...."

A finger presses against my lips and I fall silent. I want to tell him how ready I am, but he doesn't want me to speak, so I don't. I feel his hand in my hair and my body shudders. He doesn't say a word. I hear footsteps, other sounds, but I can't identify them. It's infuriating, trying to work out where he his, what he's doing. Is he undressing? I hear a rattle. I want to ask.

"Ssh."

There is a pause, and then I hear the sound of a zip, and then silence. I'm straining to hear him, maddened by it all. There are footstep so close, then nothing. I can't speak, I can't move, and I need him so desperately. It's never been like this, in all my years of marriage. Harrison has turned me into his willing toy without saying a word.

A finger touches my chin and I understand. I open my mouth wide, eager for him, my tongue questing into air to find him. I know what I must look like to him, handcuffed and blindfolded, kneeling prettily in my lingerie in front of him. I imagine his straining, rigid cock in front of my gaping mouth and I lean forwards, seeking him out.

He parts my lips with his tip, and I almost recoil in shock. I taste him with my tongue, hesitating for a moment, savouring him. He's giving himself to me. We're going to join together on this bed. I'm going to have everything I want: a man at home to give me the life I want, and a man in this bed to give me what I need.

I draw him in, sliding down his manhood, enveloping his erection with my lips. I suck, feeling him react, rock hard for me. I'm driving him wild with my body, my show of willingness, and I realise I'm saturated down below. I'm so very ready.

I rock back and forth, letting his head pop out of my mouth, licking the precum that's leaking from him, then taking him in as far as I can handle. He feels different to the night in the park, but it's because he's in control, no longer plied by drink into a biddable state. For some reason, that feels better. It means he's looked at me in the cold light of day and made a rational choice to fuck me. I smile around his shaft. It means he's finally mine.

I suck and tease, feeling him pulse in response as he gets close. I pop off the top and tilt my head up, asking a silent question to the man I can't see.

"Finish," he whispers.

It's not what I want. I want him to fuck me, I desperately need to feel him slide his length deep inside, but I find myself taking him into my mouth again, complying with his order. I want to please him, I want him to want me.

He gasps as I step up the cadence, pushing down onto him, sucking him in deeply until I nearly gag. I want to show that I can take all of him, I want him to see how good I can be. I know I'm out of practice, it's been years since I gave Mark any head, but I need him to know how willing I am to make this good for him. I hear him groan and he twitches in my throat, making me retch a little. I know I've brought him to the edge.

I pull up, sucking hungrily, pursing my lips around his swollen head, pausing for a split second. Then I ram down all the way, taking him in all at once. Harrison jerks and then suddenly I'm choking, trying to swallow as his cum coats the back of my throat. I take it all, sucking and teasing as I feel him empty himself into my mouth.

He withdraws, and I feel a thumb on my chin, parting my lips. He tilts my head, making me display his seed on my tongue, and I open my mouth as wide as I can to show him. He closes my mouth and I swallow, automatically opening my mouth again to let him know I've taken all his seed. I hear footsteps and then a click.

There are footsteps again and a hand tugging at my blindfold. I'm dazzled, looking directly into the lights, and my eyes water. A shape blocks the light and I blink rapidly, trying to focus on the face of the man I've just blown. I smile up at him but then my face freezes and my stomach clenches like I'm going to be sick.

It's Mark.

"I think we'll keep the wedding ring on, Pol. It can be your little thing, your point of difference."

"What are you talking about?"

"That's how they'll know that you're a slut wife, being whored out."

"Who? Mark, what's... what're you saying? Who?"

"Your fans. The ones who'll pay to see you fuck your toys."

I gasp, staring up at my husband. I look around the bedroom and I can see it now: the lighting on stands, the positioning. Behind him there's a tripod. A tiny black lens is trained on my body. I struggle, pulling at my cuffs, but he's been thorough in his planning. I'm tied up until he chooses to release me. Then, at last, as I realise what he's done, I look up into his eyes and see the anger.

"How?"

It's all I can get out, my mind reeling as the reality of my predicament comes crashing in.

"Harrison went home and confronted Erica, right after you fucked him like a street whore in the park. She broke down in tears, denied everything, and then do you know what happened?"

"No," I reply in a tiny voice.

"He believed her."

Mark's expression is grim; there's a strange energy in his posture, like he's teetering on the brink of motion. I don't want to find out, I don't want to provoke him. I've never seen him like this.

"He went down on his fucking knees and asked for her forgiveness, and she gave it, because that's what people do when they love each other, Polly, when they trust each other. When they can tell when their spouse is lying by just looking in their eyes."

The energy seems to drain from him now, like the storm has passed. Now, he just looks tired.

"The kids are staying over with Harrison and Erica. We never went camping, Harrison drove back down the coast as you were driving up. You probably even passed him. They'll keep the kids for a few days while we sort out what we need to sort out."