Losing Myself to Eve

"I'll get the coffee," I said, kissing my wife on the cheek. We often met for coffee mid-morning on work days. "You get us a table. Maybe over by the window?" The coffee shop was at a sort of midway point between her office and mine. It was a local place, not one of those national chains, in an old renovated warehouse, with high ceilings and polished concrete floors, one of those places where the drinks were all named something cute with reference to local locations and culture. The place was noisy, with the cacophony of everyone talking ringing off the high ceilings, and a hip soundtrack playing underneath it all, the periodic buzz of the espresso grinder, the bursts of steam as baristas made lattes. The window seats were actually around the corner from the shop's main seating and the counter, which gave them a little privacy.

I went to turn the corner and stand in line, looking back at my wife as she secured us a prime spot right by the window. She smiled at me, blowing me a kiss. Then I rounded the corner.

My wife, Jennie, is a hot, petite woman, with pouty lips, mirthful, wide hazel eyes, a curvy figure, olive-tinted pale skin, and wavy, long auburn hair. She was was raised on a farm in the midwest and has a relaxed, girl-next-door style. We met the year after she moved to the city for school. We'd dated all through college, and were married a few years afterward. She was smart, much smarter than I, with a playful sense of humor, a quick wit, and a penchant for sarcasm. Our dating life was a whirlwind of hot sex, adventurous dates and more hot sex. Life had, quite honestly, been blissful, though, over time, as our careers advanced, the hot sex became more vanilla, and less frequent, but still often enough to keep us both happy. I was a blessed man.

Just as I approached the counter, an older, Black woman, perhaps in her 50s, coming from the restrooms, stepped into line in front of me. She was wearing a flowing, block-print dress that accentuated her voluptuous figure. Her skin was radiant, her hair was cut short and greying in some places. Long gold earrings dangled from her ears, and her neck was willowy. She was wearing colorful strappy high heel shoes, her toenails painted a bright turquoise, matching her fingernails. She had small, lithe wrists and ankles and toned, long legs leading up to her plump and shapely ass... Yes. I, the happily-married man was checking out this older woman in the coffee shop line. I shook my head to clear it just as she completed her order and turned to find a table. As she passed me I couldn't help but take in her regal, gorgeous face - commanding, brilliant brown eyes, full lips, elegant cheeks. And her figure was equally stunning from the front- her dress was cut low in the front to accentuate the cleavage between her generous and seemingly perfect breasts. Dammit, I was doing it again. I consider myself a feminist and here I was ogling this woman like a randy teenager. She smiled at me as she passed, almost flirting.

I smiled back, then stepped to the counter. I ordered an almond-milk latte for my wife, and a matcha latte for myself. I paid and tipped and went to gather my drinks when I noticed the woman in front of me in line had left her coffee on the counter. Her name was on it: Eve. I collected that cup as well, and stopped at her table on my way to where my wife was sitting, bringing the cup to her.

"Excuse me, ma'am?"

She looked up from the newspaper she was reading. God, she really was stunning. I forced myself not to stare too hard. 
"Why, what a good boy you are," she said to me, her voice mellifluous and warm. She smiled again, and I stood there thinking I'd do anything for that smile. "I see you have a matcha latte. Why don't you leave me that, pet, and you can have my coffee?"

Her beverage, according to the writing on it, was a plain black coffee.

"Absolutely," said, "I'd be happy to trade with you."

She smiled again, accepting my gift, and then, without a further word, turned back to her paper. I took my wife's latte and the woman's cup that was now mine, and then I turned the corner and went to the table where my wife waited.

"Thanks babe," my wife said. "What was that all about?"

"Oh, the lady in front of me in line left her coffee on the counter. I took it to her."

"You're always such a sweetheart," Jennie said.

We started chatting, telling each other how work was going for each of us, making plans for the evening. I'm a computer programmer for a startup; my wife is a fundraising executive for a nonprofit. I sipped my drink, making sure to cover the woman's name with my thumb, remembering, as I always do when I have this instead of something fancier, how much I love the taste of it, the strength of it, the way it almost feels like drinking it makes me a better, stronger person.

Nursing my drink, I thought about the woman, about the smile she'd given me passing me, and then how she'd thanked me by saying "good boy." Jennie was telling me about a coworker of hers who was often passive-aggressive, and how she was trying, not always successfully, to ignore the coworker's drama and focus on her own work. She finished her story and I said, "Maybe you should reach out to your manager if this is becoming such a problem?"

"Yeah," she said, "I haven't wanted to be that guy but I might."

"Hey hon," I said, "I gotta visit the men's room - talk to you at lunch?"

"Sure thing sweets," she said. She got up and kissed me lightly on one cheek, stroking the other with two fingers slowly and lightly, our eyes locked in a loving gaze. Then she left, turning heads as she did.

The men's room was on the far side of the coffee shop. I made my way through the grid of tables, and went in, found a stall, and pulled out my phone, opened the video recording app, and pressed record. I balanced it on the toilet paper dispenser, pointed at me, and pulled the lid off my coffee cup. I showed the final dregs of its contents: Eve's warm piss, and something small and metal at the bottom of them cup, then drank down the last of it for the camera. I fished the metal object out of my mouth; it was a small key.

"Thank you, Mistress Eve, for your delicious piss," I whispered. Setting the cup aside, I unzipped my pants to reveal my penis, encased in what was essentially a small metal cage. On it was a padlock. I slid the key into the padlock, unlocked the cage, and gently removed it from around my penis, which was quickly growing to full arousal. I slipped the cage and lock into my pocket, took hold of my now fully-erect penis, and began to jerk myself off, whispering with every stroke, "thank you mistress, I don't deserve you, thank you mistress, I don't deserve you," over and over until I erupted into orgasm. Catching my semen in my hand, I lapped it up with my tongue, looking into the camera. "Thank you mistress for letting me be your slut," I said, "I love you." I wiped my hands off with some toilet paper.

Then I opened my phone's app store, downloaded a chat app, logged in, entered my mistresses's username and sent her the video. Having done that, I deleted the video, deleted the app from my phone. Then I went to the bathroom sink, washed up, brushed my teeth, gargled some mouthwash. By now my penis was flaccid once more and I went back into the stall and replaced the cage around my cock, snapping the lock shut. Finally I pulled a small envelope from my pocket, already addressed, with a FedEx sticker on it. I placed the key in the envelope, sealed it, and on the way back to work, dropped it off at a FedEx store. Mistress Eve would have it within the hour.

I was happier than I have ever been, living this double life, but just months ago, I was a normal vanilla guy. How had I become this?

It began a few months ago at the local Farmer's Market. I was there early one morning with Jennie. We liked to go there for fresh produce and high-quality meat products. The market is large, with something like a hundred booths, farmers bringing their wares to sell from as far as two states away. As such, it was a weekend destination, which meant getting there early to avoid crowds and have one's choice of the best offerings. We often bought our fresh vegetables, dairy and meats there, which was more expensive than the grocery, but everything tasted better. The market took place in a public square surrounded by medium-height skyscrapers, and in the mornings, the sun cast the buildings in gold and that, along with the wide-open feel of the square always made me feel like anything was possible. It was while my wife was browsing through tomatoes looking for just the right ones, chattering on about her current project at work when I saw Eve for the first time.

She was browsing in the same booth, looking at the fresh greens. She was wearing a spaghetti-strap sun dress that came down to her knees. Her full, apple-shaped firm ass filled out the little dress perfectly, and it barely contained her breasts. She was wearing gold sandals and I couldn't help but admire her legs, her ankles, her well-manicure toes, whose toenail polish matched her fingernails, lipstick, and even the floral design of her dress. I noted her beauty, the stern, royal symmetry of her face, and then I turned my attention back to my wife, and our shopping.

We finished up, and were heading to leave the market when my wife suddenly said "oh, crap, I forgot to get bacon."

"It's getting crowded though," I replied, and pointed to the foldable cart we had piled our canvas bags into. "Why don't I stay here with these and you run get the bacon, and meet me here?"

"Sounds good," she said, and pecked me on the cheek before weaving her way into the crowd of shoppers.

"She has a cute ass" a woman's voice said, admiringly. I turned to find the Black woman I had noticed earlier, who was not looking at me, but seemed to be using her phone's selfie camera to check her makeup. Her skin seemed to glow from within. I could smell the aroma of coconut oil and jasmine.

"Um, hi," I said. "Thanks? I guess? On behalf of my wife, I mean."

"What would your wife think if she learned I'd caught you starting at my ass earlier?" she asked, looking up over her phone, which was still raised.

"I'm so sorry ma'am," I said. "You are a beautiful woman with an eye for fashion and color, and I didn't mean any disrespect."

She lowered her phone. "You think I'm beautiful?"

I hesitated.

"You're worried your wife will return to find you telling another, older woman she's beautiful? Don't worry, I can see her standing in line at Frank's Organic Meats."

I looked over. Jennie was in line, looking at her phone.

"So," said the woman. "You find me beautiful."

"Hey," I said, "I am really sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable, and I truly apologise."

"I don't want your apology. I want an answer to my question. Or perhaps I should go show your wife the video I have of you telling me I'm beautiful from earlier?"

I felt dizzy and angry. She had recorded our interaction.

"Please," I said, "don't do that. Yes, yes, I do think you're beautiful."

She smiled. "My name is Eve. But you can keep calling me ma'am. What is yours?"
Panic began to rise in me as I realized this was not going to be a short encounter that an apology would resolve and I really couldn't figure out what this woman was after.
"Gavin," I said, and noted her disapproving look, so added, "Ma'am."

Her expression softened a litte. 'Well, Gavin, tell me, am I more beautiful than your wife?"

I could feel the world tilting, as anxiety clotted my throat and made my stomach lurch. If I said yes, she'd have something else on me; for all I knew she was still recording me. If I said no, then she'd be displeased and who knows what she'd do but it would probably involve playing that video for Jennie. I paused, unsure of the best course of action.

"I can see you're not ready to admit the truth to yourself," Eve finally said, coldly. She handed me a business card. On it was nothing except an address.

"Come to this address in the next twenty-four hours, ready to give your answer to me. It's an apartment building. Give this card to the doorman along with your answer. If you don't, I'll find your wife the next time you come to the market and show her the video. Understood?"

I couldn't believe this was happening.

"Understood?" she asked again, more sternly.

"Yes." I said, softly.

"Yes what?" she demanded.

"Yes ma'am."

And with that, she was gone, just in the nick of time, too, because Jennie walked up with the bacon just a moment later.

"Got it!" she said, perkily, then noticed my demeanor. "You ok?"

"Yeah," I lied. "I think I might have a little stomach bug. I'm suddenly not feeling well."

"Oh, well, let's get you home then!" she said.

All the way home, and then while we were unloading the groceries, I was in problem-solving mode, the world around me receded to blur and white noise as I tried to figure out a solution to the problem. Jennie was in a good mood, talking about a documentary she'd watched about education reform. Her voice sounded far away, and I struggled to pay attention and participate in the conversation, which only served to make me more upset and anxious. I wanted to be enjoying my weekend with my wife and instead I had to deal with this woman blackmailing me. I couldn't go to the police; firstly, what would they do to a Black woman, secondly, pressing charges for blackmail would not be something I could hide from my wife. So I would have to deal with Eve alone in one way or another.

Having decided that, I willed myself to focus my attention on Jennie, who was at her sexiest when she was fired up about a cause. I felt a surge of desire listening to her outline plans she had to reach out to some local ogranizations and volunteer to help them raise money. Then I felt a little sad; I knew how the night would probably go: I'd flirt with her and she'd flirt back and maybe we'd make out a little. But once it got hot and heavy, Jennie would pull away, her brow furrowed, and say something like "Hey babe you know I want you, but I have a lot to get through before Monday's presentation." Then she'd spend the remainder of the night buried in stacks of papers, fingers pattering away on her laptop's keyboard, while I watched a show or tinkered with the guitar I'd never quite learned how to play.

We got home and put the groceries away. With that completed Jennie asked how I was feeling.

"I'm okay, I think, but I want to pop over to the pharmacy and pick up some ibuprofen and maybe flu medicine, just in case," I said. I felt a little sting of guilt for lying to her.

"You want me to go?" she asked. She was so caring, which made me feel even worse.

"No, I think maybe more fresh air might also do me good, and I know you have a presentation to work on."

"Makes sense," she said.

Given that I met Eve at the Farmer's Market, it made sense she would live in my neighborhood. I went to the pharmacy, bought the medicine, then walked to the address on the card. The sun has set and the streets were quiet in the way they are in the early evening, cool and breezy. Eve lived in the nicer section of the neighborhood; her building was clean and tall. Looking up at it, I noticed the apartments all had floor-to-ceiling windows, and proper balconies. Going inside, I found there was a doorman, who, when I approached, knew to expect me.

"Mr. Gavin?" he asked. Eve must have shown him a screengrab from the video she'd shot. Jesus. What the fuck was I mired in?

"Yes, that's me."

"Miss Eve says you can just indicate yes or no."

That's it. That's all. Yes or no. It made everything so simple. But I was saying yes or no to the question: was Eve more beautiful than my wife. But I had guessed the consequences if I said no. I stood there for a moment, feeling like I was about to step off a cliff into thin air. I could hear the steady whisper of the building's HVAC, the tiny buzz of the incandescent lamp on the doorman's desk, footsteps of residents walking across the marble floor to a distant elevator. I breathed. I steeled myself, and then I made my small betrayal, which I hoped would end this and save Jennie from greater pain.

"Yes," I said to the doorman.

"Very good," he said, and then gave me a pen. "Miss Eve asks that you write your work telephone down on the card she gave you."

I fished the card out of my pocket, wrote down my work number and gave it back to the doorman.

"Thank you sir," he said with a smile.

And that was it. I went home.

Walking home, I noted the night had warmed a little. The breeze had gone and the people whose lives begin after sunset had come out, their cars booming with music, their sleek, stylish outfits shimmering under streetlight. People sat at sidewalk tables outside restaurants, talking and drinking. Folks waited in lines for clubs to open. I walked through it all, shaking, feeling pulses of guilt wash through me. What had I done? All I had said was "yes," and if that satisfied this woman, it would all soon be behind me, but at the same time, I would always know what I had done, the way I had betrayed sweet, beautiful Jennie with a single word.

Arriving home, I found Jennie already deep in her research, sitting on our bed, computer in her lap, papers and books strewn around her.

"Hi sweets!" Jennie said from her perch. "Get your medicine?"

"Yep," I said, pulling off my shirt. "And the walk helped; I feel better."

"That's great hon!" Jennie said. "Come kiss me when you've showered."

She knew me well; I loved a nice cool shower after walking around in the city. I undressed and stepped under the lukewarm water. We had a nice apartment, all things considered, but it was small, because rents in the city were really high. The price of being near a farmer's market and great restaurants and coffee spots and a beautiful public park. So our shower was pretty standard, but small. and whoever had built the shower had clearly not known many people taller than 5'8", because as 6 feet tall, I had to duck a little to get the crown of my head under the shower head.

I washed myself, thinking about what a weird day it was. I thought back to Eve in the market. She was beautiful. I started thinking again about her figure, about her dress. I wondered what kind of underwear she wore. Everything else about her was so elegant and stylish that I bet she wore silky, lacy underwear. Jennie preferred plain white cotton which always looked great on her. I'd bought her several sets of lingerie but she only wore it for special occasions. I found sexy underwear a turn-on, just like I found a stylish, put-together woman sexy. Of course Jennie wasn't really that kind of woman and she was still very sexy, so I had given her gifts that she'd appreciated but rarely used: the silk kimono, the Christian Louboutin high heels, the form-fitting sexy dresses all spent most of their lives in the closet. But Jennie has a natural sexiness that meant she didn't need all that stuff to be attractive.

Of course, imagining Eve in lingerie, and then naked, without makeup, I realized Eve was also a natural stunner. Jennie was unspeakably pretty, but Eve was something else, regal, divine almost, she was beautiful and then I realized that maybe I really did think eve was more beautiful than Jennie.

I felt the guilt rise in me all over again. I sighed, leaned my head against the tile of the shower wall. I was a bad husband, a bad partner, daydreaming about some other woman in the shower like a horny teenager. I opened my eyes and saw then that I had a furious erection; thinking about Eve in lingerie had made me hard. I could try to coax Jennie into sex, but I knew she'd turn me down. Fuck it; I'd already committed the mental sin, so I may as well ride it for all it was worth. I summoned an image of Eve at the market. Before she'd noticed my staring, her back turned to me, her sexy shoulders, the breeze teasing the hem of dress around her knees, her unbelievable ass. I imagined crawling to her, kissing my way up her lovely leg, then burying my face in her ass, feeling it press against me, my hands caressing her thighs, then finding the damp of her pussy. I imagined she was unshaved, so i imagined what the softness of her pubic hair must be like, how it must taste and feel grazed by tongue. Then I imagined myself going down on Eve, tasting her, breathing in her butter-and-jasmine scent.