Red Roc

Red Rock

A hot wife blooms in the desert

This is the prequel to "The Lineman." It is the story of how Daphne became a hot wife.

No part of this work may be reproduced for distribution by any means physical, mechanical or electronic without the express written permission of the copyright holder.

This is a work of fiction intended for adult consumption only. All characters and locations are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Copyright Kelly Lovall, July 2020.

I hope you enjoy this story. Please feel free to comment. Thanks.

XX, Kelly

***

I like the idea of a self-licking lollipop. Especially the sound of the words. I heard the term recently on a podcast and I was so taken with the phrase that I missed what they were actually talking about.

I Googled it later and it's a basically a self-fulfilling prophecy. You know, you do a thing that leads you to do another thing that leads you back to doing the first thing over and over - a cycle. It can be a bad cycle, 'vicious,' or a good cycle, 'virtuous.' There are tiny, private and harmless versions like biting your nails which lead to hangnails which leads to more nail biting, and epic literary versions like Oedipus killing his father, and versions of it that last several lifetimes - karma.

But a self-licking lollipop. The phrase is so piquant, almost salacious, that it just captures the messy, navel-picking, neurosis of human behavior perfectly. Once I heard the term I started seeing examples of it everywhere. Then I saw it in myself.

***

We'd drawn the black out curtains and the room was confusingly dark when I woke. I looked at the bedside clock, 2:37. My eyes adjusted and I could tell there was light coming from under the bathroom door at the far end of our room. I closed my eyes and waited for Chris to come back to bed.

I started awake. Room still black. Faint light from the bathroom. Clock, 2:51. I moved the covers back and slipped from the bed, walking toward the bathroom expecting Chris to be feeling ill. The door was ajar and just as I was about to knock and call his name my eye caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

His big body was leaning over the vanity, his knees bent, his head down looking at his phone. His thick cock was in his hand and he was stroking it furiously, silently. Startled, I turned to walk away. I paused.

With curiosity, and a strange feeling of betrayal, I turned back to look again. One finger slid along the screen of his phone and his knees dipped. His strokes became shorter and his body began to tense in preparation of an orgasm that was overtaking him.

He cupped a hand and pointed the head of his penis into in. His strokes slowed and he began to ejaculate into his hand. I could hear him breathing rapidly through his nose, his mouth opened and his head tipped forward. He milked his shaft into his hand. A twinge of desire fluttered through my gut.

Within minutes he was slipping quietly back into the bed. I lay awake next to him. I wanted to ask myself why but I knew better. I wanted to feel, not exactly betrayed but, maybe worse, ignored. But I couldn't. I wanted to cry that we had come to this. I didn't.

I lay awake for a long time feeling sad. The only thing I felt I had a right to.

I fell into an uneasy sleep.

***

I was sitting in a chair shaped like a bird outside the El Abre hotel in Las Vegas reading work email on my phone while waiting for my husband Chris to pull up in our rental. Water was cascading down a long wall behind me creating a pleasant white noise bubble around me.

It was my birthday and we had come to Las Vegas to celebrate for an extended weekend. Cheap airfare and nice hotels and fun restaurants made it seem like a good way to celebrate 45 years.

Physically, forty-five was okay. Three or four days a week at the gym kept me fit. My ass was staying tucked and my legs looked great actually - maybe my best physical feature. At 5' 8," I was long and I was maintaining 125 lbs., more or less. And I basically felt confident, I knew who I really was. Maybe for the first time in my life.

I could feel the low morning sun on my face. It was early December but the temp was already around 50, pleasant for 8 a.m. We were on our way to Red Rock for horseback riding so I was togged out in sturdy but stylish boots, yoga pants under a light pant shell, a quarter zip over a base layer and a cute pink and green upper shell with a light scarf loose around my neck. I had my hair pulled back into a ponytail. My hat, sunglasses, and a small backpack sat on the ground next to me. I'll say it, I was cute.

"Are they running on time?" said a voice next to me. It was a sweet, high, baritone, slightly dry and salty on the long 'i' of time. I could have listened to it read the phone book.

I looked up to see a well-dressed man in a light green sport coat over a white dress shirt open at the collar and tight, dark jeans and dress shoes. A messenger bag hung from his hands as he sat in the bird chair next to mine. He was about 6' 2" and trim. Athletic. He had deep, warm brown skin and tightly cropped hair.

And as I took him in, I saw he was quite handsome with bright golden brown eyes, a light, tight scruff on his face, and the most pleasant smile. Maybe in his late thirties. And after a moment I could smell him, just a hint at first. It was part cologne but also him, his scent. It was an almost sharp, clean essence - vigorous and natural. It filled my nose and as it settled in my brain it became slightly spicy, arousing, almost seductive.

"I'm sorry?" I said, smiling back at him unexpectedly distracted by his whole presence.

Faint dimples appeared on either side of his mouth as the wattage of his smile dialed up. His face was kind and earnest. He looked at me as if I were the only person on earth. As I looked into his smiling face something clicked like a combination lock finding home. A circuit was created, something new came online inside me. A tiny electrical burst bloomed across my diaphragm and faded. I liked him. I trusted him. I wanted to reach out with my hand and touch his face. I wanted to take a long walk with him. We could have probably been old friends.

"You look like you're waiting for a coach to take you off into the desert for an adventure," he said, gesturing 'out there' with his outstretched arm. "A stylish adventure at that," he said as his eyes moved slowly down to my boots and back up to my face.

"Oh, yes," I replied, my own smile intensifying as I felt a blush rising along my neck and cheeks, "I'm waiting for my husband. We're off to Red Rock for horses. He's the coachman today I guess." I looked out into the roundabout for the rental. "He must've been held up."

"Oh, I hope not." He replied raising his hands in the air as if being robbed at gunpoint, old-west style. "That's terrible,' he said chuckling, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean..." We both laughed.

He extended his hand to shake. The topography of muscle and bone and veins under the shiny skin of his hands was pronounced and fascinating. They were the hands of a man who worked, yet they were manicured. I reached out and took it, he squeezed briefly and released it saying, "I'm Marcus." His hand was large and strong and warm.

"I'm Daphne," I said.

"Well, Daphne it's a pleasure. Are you staying here, at the El Abre?" He asked.

"Yep," I said dopily, "It's ma birthday," I said with a giggle suddenly feeling girlish and giddy and a bit off balance by my own reaction. What the hell?!

"Today? Today is your birthday," he said, pointing at the ground and leaning toward me. I nodded. And suddenly I detected just the hint of an accent. "Well happy birthday Daphne," he said.

"Thank you," I smiled, trying to think of something else to say. "I like your bag." I said, pointing between his legs.

He looked down at the bag and chuckled. "Oh, thank you. Funny, I just got this." He said and looked back up. "You know for years I just carried a backpack. Buuut, things change. And lately it didn't seem to fit anymore." He said, shrugging.

"Did you hit a growth spurt?" I said facetiously, raising my eyebrows, looking him up and down.

He pressed his tongue into his cheek and suppressed a grin. "I might have done." He said, enjoying the flirting. "But no." He said, fixing me with a faux serious look. "My career has taken me far away from backpacks." He said with a dismissive gesture.

"All the way to messenger bags?" I said, my finger pressing against my upper lip, literally pushing down a smile.

"Yes," he began to chuckle. "But," he said, raising a finger into the air to make a point archly, "Not as far briefcases. Yet." We both laughed.

"So what do you do? Between backpacks and briefcases." I said, wanting the flirting to continue. Wanting his smell to continue. Wanting to walk back into the hotel with him and sit at the bar for the rest of the day listening to his voice tell me the story of his life.

"Ah, yes. What do I do?" He said. "The essence of an American identity." He said, looking to the roundabout. "I manage a few restaurants and bars in town. I use to cook but, I don't do that as much anymore." He said, almost wistfully.

He leaned back and reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a business card and handed it to me. I looked at it. It said - Marcus S. Coursi, General Manager, Hospitality Venture Group with a phone number at the bottom.

"If you give this card," he said touching it with his index finger in an almost conspiratorial tone, "to anyone at the front desk," gesturing through the doors, "it's good for a free meal. Just tell them where and when and they'll arrange it for you." He said with a more detectable accent, something European. "Now before you say you can't accept it, I just want to say it's my gift, my birthday gift to you. Daphne." The smile again. The fluttery feeling. His smell.

"Well...thank you," I said looking into his eyes as they searched my face. I smiled. He smiled back holding my gaze.

"Wonderful," he said and touched my knee briefly then gestured to the roundabout. "And this will be your coach, I'm sure," he said.

"Huh?" I said dumbly.

I looked up to see my husband pulling up in the rental.

"Oh yes," I said. "My husband. It's my husband. It's Chris."

I stood and gathered my things. Marcus stood and waved to my husband. He offered his hand again to shake, I took it, he squeezed briefly and let it go. "Chris," I heard him say, sotto voce. Just then I dropped my sunglasses. I turned to find them, searching the ground around me and as I found them I saw Marcus' hand pick them up.

"You'll want these," he said and held them out to me. "Very bright today." He said, pretending to shield his eyes from the sun. That smile again. He took my hand, placing the sunglasses in my open palm. I looked into his face smiling, blushing furiously. "Thank you." I said, wanting to say more. He nodded slightly, smiled warmly and gestured toward the car with his eyes.

"Have a wonderful day with the horses," he said as I walked to the car.

As I closed the door to the car Chris leaned over to kissed me on the cheek.

"Who was that?" He said looking through the passenger window.

"Oh, that's Marcus. His name is Marcus," I said, handing over his card, reaching for my seatbelt. I turned to wave to him but he was getting into a car. I turned back. "He says we can use this for a free dinner. He runs some restaurants in town. I told him it was my birthday and ... he just gave me this card" I said, smiling brighter than I intended and feeling a little foolish, maybe a little guilty.

He looked at the card briefly and handed it back as he started to drive.

"We have reservations for tonight, babe," he said.

"Right, well maybe another night. Maybe tomorrow night," I said as we drove away from the hotel.

Chris looked over at me. I looked at him. He kept looking at me.

"What?" I said.

"You told him it was your birthday?" He chuckled. "Marcus, huh? What else did you two talk about?" He asked, pausing and looking at me, "You seem...funny," he said, grinning slightly.

"What? What's that smirk?" I said and turned to look out the window into the clear, bright morning sky.

I knew the smirk. He could tell from my body language, my tone of voice, or who knows what, that I found Marcus attractive. Chris was very good at picking that up, sometimes before I knew it. Some kind of superpower. He liked it when I found other men attractive. It didn't happen often and he knew it embarrassed me.

***

He stopped kissing my mouth, pausing with my lower lip between his teeth then started moving down. Kissing my neck, brushing his lips along my shoulders, my chest. He was on his hands and knees over me as I lay on the big bed.

My eyes were closed and I could feel his breathing on my skin. I could smell him. He smelled horny, physical, aggressive. His fingers lifted and pinched the clasp on my bra and it popped open exposing my breasts. His lips enclosed my erect nipple and a sensation shot through me like a current. I arched and gasped. His tongue swirled around the tight, tiny areola, sucking gently, intensifying the sensation ejecting a moan from me.

He continued down, kissing my stomach, sucking and swirling his tongue around my belly button. His hands came to my hips and his tongue slid down to the top of my panties, licking back and forth along the waistband.

Am I really letting this happen I thought? My mind was whirling with doubts, doubts that were submerging in rapidly rising passion. My eyes opened and I looked down. I could feel his tongue searching along my waistband, pushing it down. This is the time to stop this, I thought.

His tongue reached the top of my mound and brushed against my pubic hair. His hand slid up from my hip and his thumb found my clit, pressed and began to circle. My head fell back and another moan escaped me. My hands came to the back of his head and my hips flexed up. I could feel his fingers curl around the edges of my panties.

***

"Daph?" Chris said.

"What?" I said distracted by an email thread from work I was trying to follow on my phone. "Sorry, what?"

"The sign, what does that sign say? I can't read it." He said, leaning over the steering wheel peering through the windshield at a rusty sign at the side of the road.

"Um, Red Rock Trail Rides I think," I said.

"This must be us." He said and turned onto a gravel road.

I pressed my palms onto the tops of my thighs and arched my back to stretch. I realized I was moist. I cursed under my breath. I could feel my heartbeat between my legs. What's this? Thump, thump, thump my heart beat.

How is this happening? How am I horny all of a sudden? Is it traveling? Something I had for breakfast? Was it that guy, Marcus? Really? A cute boy talks to me for five minutes and I turn into a randy little school girl? "Horses, horses, horses," I thought. "You're a grown woman. Get a grip."

"What?" said Chris distractedly.

"Nothing," I said.

It had actually only been a few months since I had been on a horse. My girlfriend Amy keeps a couple of "old-lady" mares at a stable back home and I go out with her several times a year. These horses looked like "little-old-lady" mares. Ponies that worked for a living.

Bill, the stable-hand, helped me adjust the saddle on a small Palomino walker. "You're a long-legged thing ain't ya?" He said to the ground as he adjusted the length of the stirrups. He looked up and smiled through his thick mustache. He spit tobacco juice into the dust and said, "Let Jenny know if you need those adjusted." Jenny was our guide for the day.

He handed me the reins. "This is here is Petunia. You said you know how to ride. I believe that. You seem to handle yourself and Petunia likes you. She's a good judge of character. She won't give you any trouble." He patted her neck. "She knows the way." He said and looked up at me and winked. "You have yourself some fun darlin'."

"Thank you, Bill," I said and gave him my warmest smile. Bill was flirting with me. Two boys in one day. I marveled and laughed to myself. He touched the brim of his and hat, tapped Petunia on the rump and she moved forward.

Soon Chris and I and a group of six other tourists were on the trail swaying back and forth in our saddles. As we rode my legs gripped and released my horse. I could feel my heartbeat in my pelvis. I was still moist.

We climbed single file at a walk through the scrub and rocks along a well-worn path. Jenny was talking up front but I couldn't make out anything she was saying. Chris rode in front of me and was talking to her. He rarely, if ever, rode horses and he looked slightly uncomfortable sitting bolt upright and trying to find the rhythm of the animal's gait.

He was shaped like a barrel of muscle, wider at the shoulders, with powerful arms but thick all the way to his hips. He wasn't what I thought of as a big guy. Just stocky. He was maybe 5' 10" and 215 lbs, heavier than when we met, a bit of a belly, but he was active. Eventually he seemed to relax and settle into the ride.

The air was starting to warm and every once in a while I caught a whiff of that pavement-after-a-rain smell and wondered what it was. It hadn't rained here in months it seemed. I had been in the desert before but it had been years and the terrain seemed raw and strange and fascinating. Long-legged birds skittered between bushes calling to each other. The rocks and hills and bluffs were painted with beautiful shades of tawny ochres and reds, and short scrubby cacti dotted the hard landscape. Large dark birds circled in the updrafts above us.

Petunia plodded along under me, swaying and undulating. As she climbed over the steeper bits of the trail I leaned forward and could feel my still swollen vulva press against the saddle. As she descended the steeper bits I leaned back and could feel my swelling vulva press against the saddle. My legs squeezed her for grip when I needed and released when I didn't. The hot, pulsing sensation between my legs was growing, at once annoying and pleasant. Mostly, I felt embarrassed and not a little confused.

At one point Petunia had to descend several steep steps and I leaned back and grabbed the saddle horn. I gripped hard with my legs as she tilted and jolted under me, my thighs flexing, my kegels tightening, my pelvis banging against the saddle. For just a second I thought I was going to orgasm. My face and neck grew hot. The feeling passed and I chuckled to myself. That would have been too much. Like a scene out of a cheap erotica novel. After about a half hour of riding the sensation seemed to settle into a generally pleasant, if slightly engorged, buzzing sensation.

For lunch we stopped at a clearing on a high ridge. Below us in the distance was Las Vegas. We all walked around stretching our legs for awhile as Jenny set up lunch.

Chris and I sat together on a rock that was, more or less, flat.

"How's your birthday?" He said.

"This is awesome. So fun." I said. "I'm glad we did this. Thanks for setting it up." I said and leaned over to kiss him. He held the kiss and pressed his lips against mine and began to open his mouth. I reciprocated briefly and pulled back. Our eyes held each other then looked away.

He grinned and looked back at me. "What's going on with you?" He said. "Your mouth tastes horny. Your breath smells like sex." He said.

I blushed and rolled my eyes. "I know. I know. I don't know what's going on. Must be all the fresh air." I smiled and looked away, taking a bite of my sandwich.

He kept looking at me with a grin. I made a face like "What?!" and blushed again and chuckled. He laughed and reached over and grabbed my thigh and moved his hand up and down my leg.