The Exploits Of Claire Ch 02

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Please do not read this story if you do not like the theme of cheating partners. If you read this story regardless and then tell me to burn in hell, I'll assume that you secretly enjoyed it and are ashamed of yourself. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Read chapter one if you want this to make more sense...

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It was Monday dinnertime and Claire had agreed to meet Chloe, her best friend, at the Cafemet during her lunch hour. It had been two days since she'd cheated for the first time on her boyfriend, James. Chloe knew all about it, and in fact, had encouraged it.

"So when are you going to tell him its over?" asked Chloe surprising Claire as she sat clutching many assorted bags of shopping. She peeked over her dark sunglasses at her childhood friend waiting for a response.

Claire winced at the masses of Selfridges bags, "I see you've been hard at work!"

"You haven't told him, have you?" asserted Chloe incisively.

"No." Claire wistfully looked down at her latte, stirring the last dregs in the bottom with the plastic spoon. Chloe took breath to speak but Claire interrupted, "I'm not going to. I, I care about him." She sounded like she was still persuading herself.

"So why did you cheat on him, then?" retorted Chloe. She'd never really had any patience when it came to James and his cerebral way of life and she'd be damned if Claire was going to throw her life away with him.

"Because," Claire paused. "Well, I just, I didn't meant to, it was just..." She faltered again looking up at the pale ceiling, eyes transfixing on a darkened stain around one of the chrome lights.

Chloe decided to lay the law down to her stumbling friend, "Every week it's the same thing; you get drunk, you go out and you dance all night with some guy who is not your boyfriend. Each week you've got more and more daring until finally you had sex with one of them!"

Claire was struck like a deer in the headlights as Chloe continued, "It's plain to me that you want to have some fun; you don't want the commitment of a boyfriend. You want to go out every week and pick up a different guy and have a wild time. You're 23, there's plenty of time to settle down!"

Chloe removed her designer sunglasses, replacing them in their leather pouch, as Claire again searched the room for something to look at trying to mask her rising emotion.

"I know you care about James and live with him, but you can't stay and cheat on him." At this last statement Claire found her eyes meeting Chloe's. Silence.

"What? Are you going to stay with him and cheat on him?" Chloe choked. Claire exhaled heavily but didn't answer, eyes searching the room again.

She began to wonder about James, whether she did actually care for him. Too many times during social occasions James remained the silent party. In fact, that's what initially attracted her to him. Every other guy gave her all she needed to know within the first five minutes of meeting her. But James wouldn't give anything away; it was like he was on the other side of a soundproof pane of glass, mainly because he refused to get drunk.

Claire remembered the months just after they'd met, how she had showered him with letters and phone calls to get him to open up. He didn't reciprocate at first, but he did give her the time to express herself to him like a friend. "I do love him," she whimpered, staring glazed beyond the table. That sounded like the first genuine comment.

"You know how it is when we're drunk. We think things, do things, make promises that will never be kept" contemplated Claire wistfully. "It's not me. Or at least not the greater part of me."

She continued, "I become destructive, I deliberately risk the things I treasure the most, just for the thrill of it." Her eyes were engorged and brown as she bit at her fat bottom lip.

Chloe angled her head slightly, "So what are you going to do next time you're drunk?"

"I'll have to try and keep control. I can do it." Claire's tone was a determined whisper.

"Sure you will. I love you Claire, but you're a really mixed up person!" lamented Chloe. Not for one second did Chloe believe she was going to keep her word. Claire was like this all the time making whimsical promises one moment, then breaking them the next. No matter how sincere she seemed, Chloe knew her better.

That evening Claire arrived home from work. The apartment was deserted, its wood brick floors reflecting every slight noise cavernously. She kicked off her shoes, collapsed on the settee, drew her smooth legs up beside her and switched on the TV with a sigh.

James wouldn't be home until at least 10. He'd had an interview for a potential new job 2 weeks ago and the manager wanted to get to know him in a more informal surrounding. Around 2 weeks previous to that James had given up his stable 9-5 job in favour of pursuing his dream of writing; any sort of writing that sparked his esoteric imagination, as long as it wasn't the drudgery of predictable work.

This gave Claire time to think. While her heart made her feel guilty for betraying James, the thought of the way she'd done it still ignited an inferno of raw nerves and lust deep within her. She felt that uncontrollable feeling welling around her thighs. Closing her eyes, she clenched her legs together trying to make the feeling dissipate. No, you can't keep acting on your impulses, she kept thinking.

20 past 5 slowly turned into 6 o'clock. She put her tea in the oven. The illicit thoughts kept recurring: fragmented blurry images of Carrick, dancing with him, feeling his hard biceps in front of James. 7 o'clock: his hands roving down the back of her dress, kneading her ass cheeks, she took her tea out of the oven. 8 o'clock: wantonly kissing him on the dance floor, being unfaithful, still picking at the cold remains of her lasagne. It would be so easy to slip her hand between her legs to relieve herself of the ghosts that haunted.

But that would be too much like cheating again. She hadn't really thought about her illicit act in the toilets with Carrick since it happened. Claire figured it was down to the fact that she'd only just managed to recover from the fug of hangover this morning. The more and more her clarity returned however, the worse she felt. She glanced at the clock again – 8:30pm. Time was slowing down. It was hell being in her own skin, it felt dirty, unclean like the devil had tricked her into selling her soul and was now waving it in her face with a smirk. And the feeling of lust in the pit of her stomach continued to gnaw.

She gave an anguished look around the clean, modern apartment room. Her knickers had been wet for the past 3 hours, as thoughts of Carrick returned like a rocketing comet. She tried to inspect her well-manicured fingernails perched on her thigh but found no interest in it. Subconsciously, she moved her hand further up her leg, pawing at herself causing the feeling grew more intense. Turning to the TV, she tried to concentrate on that. It lasted barely 60 seconds.

She closed her eyes again. Carrick was there, they were in the club toilets, and she was nervously but lustily feeling his hard rippling chest as she sank to her knees. "No, you've got to stop these thoughts!" she protested to herself aloud. She could hear James outside the toilets asking for her. Without a second thought for him, she ripped Carrick's boxer shorts down and enveloped his veiny, hard member with her ravenous, expert mouth.

Her breathing became more purposeful as she lay there. Her hunched up legs instinctively parted slightly as her toes curled. No, she couldn't do it; she couldn't act on these impulses, no! Was she so weak? Her hands ached to touch herself as the TV flickered to her side. The anxiety was killing her.

She couldn't take any more. "Oh for god's sake!" she breathed impatiently, before reaching beneath her skirt with her left hand to yank her lacy blue knickers to the side. Two forefingers traced her swollen entrance, before probing deeply into her willing pussy. In sexual release, she tossed her head back, her free flowing mahogany hair dropping back over her porcelain face. Her right hand massaged and worked away in circular motions, buried in the sweaty heat of her own flesh, tweaking those sensitive areas. With her forefingers embedded, she pressed her thumb onto her engorged clitoris. The yearning touch caused her to inhale sharply.

This wasn't simply masturbation, it was an expressed desire to cheat again. In her mind's eye, she was on her knees in the toilets lewdly and unrepentantly plunging her head up and down Carrick's rock-hard penis leaving streak marks of lipstick along the shaft. She imagined her loving boyfriend wondering where she was, what she was doing, only a matter of feet away.

"How could I be so horrible?" she thought before adroitly arching her back and whisking off her knickers, flinging them to the floor. She unbuttoned her silky cream work blouse exposing her 34c bosom embroidered in a navy blue bra. Her left hand slipped beneath the lace-flowered fabric to pinch the nub of her hardening nibble as her right found its rhythm again between her legs. She let out a soft, sensual groan of longing. Her shapely, toned limbs spread out and she wiggled her toes in delight, with their blood red nails gleaming in evil intent. The entirety of Claire's body was a vessel of pleasure and release, curled no longer by anxiety or denial.

She mouthed his name under her breath as the scenes in her head progressed and her right hand sent shockwaves of pleasure dancing up her spine. Behind closed eyes Carrick had picked her up from the floor and planted her firmly on his penis, his strong, muscular arms holding her firm as his pelvis pumped deeply into her expanding pussy mouth. Claire groaned louder over the sound of the television, "Oh, Carrick, fuck meeeeeeee!" Her hips gyrated as her fingers tried vainly to replicate the fullness of Carrick's hard 8 inch penis.

Her cheeks were flushed red with illicit fantasy as her fingers began to make slurping noises in her weeping pussy. An orgasm was building up; she could feel its onset, the event horizon and inevitable black hole of her own character. Carrick's eyes bulged as she imagined him cumming too, his semen hitting her cervix as he slammed into her with James outside asking what's going on, suspecting his girlfriend was being fucked in the toilets. The thought of James suspecting something, when in reality that night he suspected nothing, propelled her closer to the edge.

Her mind fast-forwarded to later that Saturday night, back at home with James, having freshly cheated on him. He had expected to have sex with her, like they normally do after a night out, but she refused, excusing herself to the toilet to make double sure she was up-to-date with her birth control pills. She straddled the toilet and stuck her fingers inside her vagina trying to coax out as much of Carrick's seed as possible, just in case James insisted on having sex with her.

That was the clinching thought; her hips bucked, her back arched and her head buried in the cushions as the tingles of static electricity sparked and fizzed along every nerve in her body. She bucked and twinged for the next minute or so before her consciousness slowly returned. As it was, James didn't insist on having sex with her that night, and was sound asleep when she re-entered the room.

It was 9:45pm when she decided to go to bed, having remembered to retrieve her knickers from the front room floor. Feelings of guilt, however, soon began to wash over her in heavy persistent waves. Maybe sleep will anaesthetise it, she reasoned. Her mind, however, was taunting with increasingly uncomfortable thoughts. She loved her boyfriend – why would she do this?

Undressing, Claire dropped her clothes where she stood. How could she be so disgusting, emptying herself of one man's seed, just in case she'd have to take another? How could this happen? Did she have so little self-respect?

The cold bed offered no warmth as she submerged into its depth. She grappled the pillow close to her chest, burying herself facedown in it. The inquisition continued, why was she slave to the demands of her body? Why couldn't she remain faithful to James?! What had he ever done to her? After a couple of minutes the material became wet with her tears. The icy feelings of self-loathing froze through.

Still, the riot in her mind wouldn't quieten. She thought of James, those memories that made them boyfriend and girlfriend. She remembered how she used to harangue him about his telescope when they were still at university. More tears. He'd tried to keep it hidden, as he was ashamed of his interest in astronomy whilst everyone else loved going out and getting plastered. That was the first time they kissed, after he reluctantly sat her down in front of it and showed her his favourite places in the sky.

She often said being in James' room was like being in a bubble unreachable by conventional means. No one ever rang; there was no TV, just soft music, shadows, warmth and dim light. Frequently, the room was strewn with his writing and sketches in various forms. He often looked dazed and ruffled, half asleep during these times. It still felt like she was in his bubble now as she lay in their bed, in his apartment. But, instead of it feeling like a privileged comfort, it made her feel like a traitor, a whore in the convent.

Around midnight, James arrived home and rolled into bed. Claire was still awake, and without lifting her head above the line of the quilt she placed it immediately on his warm chest. Slowly all those caustic thoughts stopped and sleep descended. This is what her boyfriend could do for her.

James couldn't help but smile at how tight their embrace was when he awoke the next morning. It was as if she was clamped to him and would never let go, like a fearful little girl to her father. He traced the lightly tanned skin of her shoulder blade with his fingertips savouring how alive and tender her body felt. Its vibrant heat pulsated outward from every pour scenting the sheets with her being. He loved the smell of her, that distinctive musk which always drew him near. It reminded him of her large eyes of contrasting blacks and browns. He wanted to see them now, but she insisted on keeping her face nuzzled in his chest.

He knew she was upset. Sometimes its better not to ask, he thought. So he reflected on the previous night with his new boss, how Tony had seemed pretty impressed with his outlook. Tony was one of those chairmen who had so much money they could afford whatever venture flighted their fancy. He'd had had the idea of several ongoing novels to be published in a monthly magazine. It was meant to be subversive, reminiscent of the values of many beat writers like Alexander Trocchi.

Anthony had been impressed with the obscure visions James had put down on paper. He was warned however; the job wouldn't pay an awful lot to begin with. But at least it wasn't 9-5 James thought smirking as if he'd somehow managed to con life, to sidestep true responsibility, at least for a bit.

9 o'clock had arrived and it became apparent that Claire wasn't going to go to work. When James tried to make the motions to move, she gripped him tighter, vice-like. She must be really upset, he thought.

By 10 o'clock, she was still moping in bed after James had disentangled himself from her needy arms. He was still ambivalent about asking her what was wrong. Maybe she'd volunteer the information if he asked her how she felt?

She didn't emerge until 11. "No work for you today then? Are you feeling alright?" he asked.

Claire studied his face deciding how to take his comments as she propped against the doorway. "Yeah, I'm okay. I just didn't feel well last night" she replied turning for the kitchen. Having taken her time to regain some self-control she felt able to deal with the world on her terms again.

"Are you sure?" he questioned, appearing behind her. She studied his faint concerned reflection in the window for a few seconds before turning to him with a smile.

Placing her arms around the back of his head she insisted, "Yes, I feel fine now! Maybe we should make something of today? It's looking nice outside." James' brow furrowed as she hugged him. Over her shoulder he mulled the strange sensation that his girlfriend was somehow insincere, holding something back...