Sherrys New Job Ch 02

Friday evening. Ray arrived late after work. He had stopped at the bank on the way home and withdrew several hundred dollars. He knew he would probably have it out with Sherry about that later, but he hoped it was going to be worth it. He had also stopped at the liquor store, and by the time he got home, Sherry had already climbed up on her high horse. Ray was glad she had chosen to act the bitch tonight. It was going to make the rest of the evening so much easier.

"You're late!" She yelled, from her seat on the sofa. As she did every Friday evening, Sherry had already dropped their daughter off with her mother for the evening. They probably thought Sherry and Ray used Friday nights for some quiet, romantic time alone, Ray reflected. Hah! Fat chance! "I didn't feel like waiting, so I ate without you. Get yourself something out of the fridge. I'm tired. And why didn't you..." Sherry's voice faded into a drone as Ray entered the kitchen.

He sat at the table, chewing on a bite of the bologna sandwich he had made, and watched as puddle of yellow white mayonnaise slowly oozed onto the plate. Not exactly the fare one would see on the Cleaver's table, he thought. Ray had already left three empty beer bottles in his wake, testimony to where his mind was really at. He fingered the plastic baggie in his pocket, feeling the diamond shape of Freddy's tablet, both relishing and dreading its promise. He looked up at the clock on the stove. 8:17 PM. Soon it would be dusk. It was time.

"Dear," Ray said, walking in to the living room, "I thought you might be thirsty, so I brought you a drink." He handed her the lemonade he had prepared, and sat down on a nearby chair, taking a drink from his beer. Sherry looked mildly surprised, but took it, sipping from it slowly. She let out a "Hmphh!" as Ray flicked the television to CNN and began scanning the news. Within minutes Sherry had left the room, the empty lemonade glass sitting on the coffee table. Ray glanced at his watch. 8:32. Freddy had said it would take about half an hour for the pill to take effect. With a few minutes extra to be sure, Ray figured all should be set by about quarter past nine.

Forty-five minutes took forever to pass. The clock on the TV screen crawled along interminably slow. Each news story seemed to be more insipid and longer than the last. Ray flipped through the channels, start to end, mindlessly thumbing the remote without really pausing too see what was on. After what seemed like the hundredth pan through the channels, Ray watched the clock flip to 9:10. Close enough.

Ray hurried upstairs, pulling off his tie and jacket. He wheeled into his bedroom, seeing Sherry sprawled on the bed, a paperback open in front of her. He dug through the closet, pulling out a pair of jeans and a casual shirt, and reached into the far recesses for the bag of items carefully selected over the preceding days.

It was time for the test. He unfastened his belt and dropped his trousers to the floor. Stepping over the crumpled mass of cloth, Ray walked around to Sherry's side of the bed. She didn't even look up. "What do you want now?" Ray heard her ask. He took a deep breath as she looked up at him questioningly. He knew it was time to leap in with both feet...

"I want you to get on your knees and suck my cock," he said. It came out almost as a question. She just stared, a look of what? Shock? Confusion? crossing her face. Ray had an instant sinking feeling. The pill hadn't worked, he realized. How was he going to explain this away? With a loud, slow sigh, Sherry closed her book, set it gingerly onto the bedside table, and swung her legs off the side of the bed. In one fluid movement, she slipped off the bed, dropping to her knees, her fingers hooking the waistband of Ray's underwear. Within seconds, he felt the warm, soft texture of her mouth wrap around the shaft of his dick. "Oh my god!" he thought, "This is so perfect." He didn't know if the ecstasy he was feeling came from the release of months of pent-up lust, the triumph of seeing Sherry on her knees, sucking his cock – something she had steadfastly refused to do for their entire married life - or from the anticipation of what he had planned for the rest of the night. At that moment, it really didn't matter, and it wasn't more than a minute before his balls tightened, his shaft jerked a few times, and he erupted, spewing hot spunk into his wife's mouth.

Ray wasn't sure what she did with it. Maybe swallowed it. Maybe spit it out. At that point, it really didn't matter to him. After a few moments, he caught his breath, opened his eyes, and looked to where Sherry sat, wiping away the last gobs of gooey white spunk that decorated her chin with the back of her hand. "This is perfect," he thought. He should have about another eight hours, which was just about right for what he had in mind.

He walked back around the bed and scooped up the plastic bag, tossing it across the bed to her. "Here," Ray said, "Put this on. And do something with your hair. And maybe some makeup. Lipstick would be nice for a change. Try to look sexy for once. And try to be quick about it. Come down when you're done." With that, he strode from the room, pulled on his jeans and shirt, and heading for the washroom to get ready for their evening.

Sherry had never been the quickest at getting ready for an evening out, but this time she surprised Ray. As he sat in the living room, he heard the telltale click of high heals on the stairs, and craned his neck to watch her come down. Despite his lack of fashion sense, his instincts had been perfect, and Ray saw that Sherry was showing just the image he had hoped for.

In the two years since she had given birth, late in life for a first child, Sherry had biked, jogged, pilatesed, and walked to the point that she was trimmer now than she had been before the pregnancy. In recent months, she had allowed Ray only quick glimpses of this, but now he could see the results of her workouts in exquisite detail. For a woman of her age, she looked superb. Her long slim legs were toned, the calf muscles sharply defined. Her legs were wrapped in stockings, black, sheer, printed with a subtle vine pattern that drew the eye up the leg to promise of what was above. Ray had looked for fishnet, with no success, but as he looked her over, he realized the effect was just as good with what he had substituted. He couldn't keep his eyes from following the pattern up her legs until, somewhere midway up her thigh, the stockings ended, the dark tops giving way to the smooth, creamy skin of her upper thighs, cut only by the twin black lines of her garter belt straps. These disappeared under her short black skirt, a skirt so short Ray had laughed when she first showed it to him, pulling it from a trunk in the back room, surprised she still had it. Ray couldn't understand when or how anybody would wear a skirt that short, until she explained that it was a part of a costume for a dance recital from her college variety show. It was intended to be worn over a body suit, like a tutu, hence the reason it barely dipped below the cheeks of her ass. Now she wore it not over a body suit, but over a tiny pair of black G-String panties, the front consisting of less material than an average tissue, the back and sides nothing more than tiny strings jokingly referred to as "butt floss".

On top, she wore a thin, red silky tank top, cut low with only the tiniest of spaghetti straps to hold it up. Ray knew it was meant to be worn under something else, but now, by itself, without even so much as a bra underneath, it clung to Sherry's small, upturned tits, emphasizing the fact that, unlike many of her larger friends, her B-cups had yet to show any sign of sag, a fact Sherry was exceedingly proud of. She had bragged that even some of the younger girls at her health club had commented jealously on how "perky" she was. Ray was happy to help her show off this fact this evening.

To top off the ensemble, Sherry had twisted her hair into an enticing up-do, exposing her slim neck, creamy white shoulders, and trim jaw. It probably crunched from the amount of hairspray she had had to apply, but that didn't matter. On her feet, she was wearing the bright red high heels Ray had picked out for her, and she had applied lipstick that almost matched. "Fuck me pumps," thought Ray. "And let-me-suck-you lipstick." It was too perfect. Pulling his digital camera from his pocket, Ray snapped a quick shot to record the image for posterity.

"Come on," he said, pointing at the door, and grabbing his coat and the brown paper bag beside it. "We're late."