When it was over, he leaned forward and lowered his belly onto her chest, which put him in exactly the right place to bury his face between her legs. Sandy clutched at his hips and drew her legs back, opening herself to him. He sucked her clitoris, and chewed her labia, tasting the flood of moisture. She groaned at the force of it and writhed under his weight, and came with a yelp of release in about a minute.
“Good heavens,” she said faintly, as they got up. “What’s come over you, Mickey?”
“You have,” he said, laughing. “And don’t think that’s going to get you out of a back rub, you gorgeous bitch.”
“Did you just call me a bitch?”
“How about cunt?”
“That’s awful, honey,” she said reproachfully, then grinned. “Just please don’t call me that in front of anybody.”
“Okay, cunt it is,” he said, rolling onto his stomach. “Now get to work, cunt, before I pass out.”
“Yes, master,” she said, laughing with him.
“See? You’re catching on,” he said, and groaned as her hands came down on his back. “That’s it, girlfriend. Oh, man, that feels good.”
“Us cunts, we aim to please,” she said softly, and climbed up to sit with her wet crotch pressed against his bare behind. “You mind if I wiggle some while you’re passing out on me?”
“Not a bit,” Mickey said, and was asleep in a minute flat.
He was up again at five, checked on the baby and made coffee and went to the bathroom to clean his teeth and shave. Sandy had grumbled when he got out of bed and when he went back to dress. She wriggled into the warm spot he’d left and was sound asleep. He re-set the alarm for six-thirty, her normal time, and put on his clothes, thinking that what he’d really like to do was to crawl back in there with her and carry on with things. He wondered why that was. Why he wasn’t just coldly, unforgivingly furious with his adulterous wife.
The house was quiet. He sat in the kitchen to drink coffee and scrambled two eggs and ate them with a bowl of hot oatmeal. The trip to Miami was ahead of him, and he packed a lunch of apples and a banana and two granola bars. That would do. He’d overeat if he went to a fast food joint, and Mickey was too fond of his thirty-two inch waistline to add any belly.
For something to do, he took the family checkbook out of Sandy’s purse and looked at it. It was something he hadn’t paid much attention to, and it was a sad thing, how carefully she had parceled what money they had. He spent half an hour with a notepad and pencil, laying out a budget. It made his eyes ache, how impossible things were, and how heavy the burden was on Sandy. He made up his mind to fix that.
At six, he took a second cup of coffee back to the bedroom and sat in the faint light from the outside security light and watched Sandy sleep. It was something he used to do all the time, but he had not done it lately. She was very still, breathing soft and evenly so that the sheet moved just enough for him to see.
One bare foot was uncovered. He liked her feet. Sandy thought they were too big. They were long and slim, with long slim toes and small ankles. Her first tattoo, he though, would be a valentine heart with his initials in it, maybe on her belly like he’d said, maybe on her chest. Mickey thought he’d like to suck those toes just a little bit before leaving, but he didn’t want to wake her.
Being alone with her unaware and safe and warm was just too good. He knew that he could walk over there and put his hands on her if he wanted, and that she would let him, and maybe even be happy that he did. It made him feel good to have that, and to resist the impulse. She needed her rest, and she would get it because he gave it to her. That was a powerful thing for so small a boon.
He sat for twenty minutes, happy to look at her, and to think about her. He had cum in her mouth and she’d let him. Had worked pretty hard to help him, in fact, and then she had cum herself. There had been very little of that kind of sharing between them of late. Mickey was very happy and content in a way he did not as yet understand. Finally, ten minutes before the alarm went off, he got up and went out to the car and went to work.
Ponz didn’t fuss about the extra hour when he got back from Miami. Mickey had pulled out in the truck at seven on the dot, and was back just before two. Ponz gave him cash again, two fifties and a five, no questions asked. Darrel Jones said he’d have the big props ready Saturday afternoon and Mickey could pick them up any time after four. They talked a minute about scrubbing the big boat and changing zincs, and then Ponz came back around and asked if Mickey wanted to paint some fixtures that had just come back from the sand blasters.
“What’s the rate?” Mickey asked.
“Back to nine bucks,” Ponz said, unfazed by the disgusted look.
It took two hours to get the primer on and dry enough to take the first coat of blue epoxy on top. Ponz gave Mickey a twenty, which made a hundred and twenty-seven for the day.
“You come back in the morning and get the urethane over the epoxy,” Ponz said. “Same deal.”
“I’ll be here,” Mickey said, already figuring what kind of excuse he would have to use with Cindy, who was expecting to go to the beach.
He stopped to pay Schwartz the month’s rent, and then went to the bank on the way home and deposited everything Ponz had given him. He paid the light bill at the at the Florida Power & Light office with his debit card. He thought it might be the first time he’d paid one of those in his life. Sandy always took care of it. Mickey left the office feeling ridiculously proud of himself.
Surprise, surprise.
Chapter Eight
As it turned out, Mickey didn’t have to make excuses for the next morning when he would be working, instead of taking Cindy to the beach. His daughter had been invited to her best daycare pal’s house to play and have lunch. She wouldn’t be home until mid-afternoon, which would be too late. They had their pizza and the grown-ups drank a couple of beers. Mickey gave Sandy the electric bill receipt.
“I need you to show me where this goes,” he said.
“In the file, is all,” Sandy replied, giving him a curious look.
“Maybe we can go over it this afternoon,” he said.
“Why?”
“They’re my bills, too,” he said. “About time I took an interest, don’t you think?”
“Be still, my heart,” she said.
When the house was quiet, he undressed Sandy and tied her hands behind her back. She was quiet while he did it, and kept looking at him like maybe he was somebody else wearing a Mickey McCord suit.
“You haven’t done this in a long time,” she said finally.
They were sitting together on the living room couch with the television on with the sound turned low. Neither of them was paying attention to it. The muted voices were just cover in case Cindy woke up. Any noise from her parents would blend in with the Tide commercials, and if the baby called, her parents would have a little scramble time to get decent, or at least out of sight.
“Do you mind?” he asked, holding a wine glass to her lips. “There was a time when you liked being tied up more than just about anything.”
“I’m surprised, that’s all.”
He put the glass down and kissed her. “I’ve got an idea,” he said. “You feel like a little adventure?”
“You’re starting to worry me,” she said, but smiled to let him know that maybe it wasn’t all that bad, being worried.
“Yes or no?”
“Of course, yes,” she said.
“Whatever it is?” He grinned wolfishly. “You might not want to.”
Sandy shrugged to illustrate her bound arms, and gave him a teasing little smile. “Like I’ve got a choice,” she said.
Mickey went to their bedroom and got his favorite pair of shoes out of the closet. Sandy’s shoes, not his. Her fuck me shoes. They were silver strap sandals with Lucite platforms and ridiculously thin heels.
“God, what made you think of those?” she asked when he took them back to her.
“Are you kidding?”
/> She turned awkwardly on the couch and lay back on her elbows with her feet in his lap. Mickey dusted her pink soles and kissed her toes, then slipped the shoes on and buckled the ankle straps.
“Am I going to be standing up?” Sandy asked.
“And walking,” he said.
“Better tighten those straps some more, then,” she said. “I’ll break my neck if they’re too loose.”
He did as she asked and then helped her up. “Christ, you’re something to see,” he said, looking at the long elegant shape of her and the way the shoes cranked the muscles in her calves.
“You’re making me blush,” Sandy said, shifting around a little to settle herself into the towering shoes.
“I will in a minute,” he said, caressing her breasts. “We’re going outside.”
“The backyard is soft,” she said, fretting already. “Honey, these shoes are just about impossible at the best of times. If you make me walk in the grass...”
“Out front,” he said.
“What?” She backed away a step. “What do you mean?”
“We’re going for a walk, you and me.”
“You are not going to parade me jaybird naked around the neighborhood in slut shoes and my birthday suit,” she said flatly.
“Yes, I am,” he said, grinning. “I’ll take a blanket or something to wrap around you if any cars come by.”
“What’s wrong with you, Mickey? Have you lost you mind?”
“Nothing, and no, to answer your questions in order.” He unlocked the front door and held it open. “When I thought of this, I thought I’d get you to do it just because you wouldn’t want to. Now, I’m thinking that you’ll do it because I want you to.” He smiled a little. “I’m a subtle guy, don’t you think, paying attention to details like that?”
“You expect me to...?” She glared at him, sputtering. “What, just because you want me to? That’s just...crazy. I won’t do it.”
Mickey sighed, making it theatrical. “I could carry you, easily enough,” he said.
Sandy’s face had closed down tightly. “And what do you think the neighbors will say, seeing you carry a screaming naked woman down the street?”
“I think they wouldn’t have seen her unless she screamed.”
“Jesus Christ, Mickey!”
“You’ll wake the baby up, Sandy; I’ll take a belt to you.”
“I’m your wife, Mickey. Not some whore you can...”
“Walk or carry? Your choice.” He took the afghan off the back of the couch and draped it over his shoulder.
“This is ridiculous, damn it. We can’t leave the baby.”
“I can carry a hundred and forty pounds easy,” he said in the same even tone, moving around toward her.
“One thirty-five,” she said.
“Whatever. And don’t worry about Cindy. I’ve got the walkie talkie.”
“I don’t care,” she said, and blew out an exasperated breath. “Damn you, Mickey. We can’t...”
“You said that already.”
Sandy shied away from his touch and stalked toward the front door. The stilettos were very loud on the terrazzo floor, and her breasts shook with each step. “If anybody sees me,” she grated furiously, “it’ll be on your head. Mrs. Kline next door will call the cops. Just you wait and see.”
“You can give them blow jobs when they get here,” he said cheerfully. “Trust me; nobody will arrest you after one of your hummers.”
Sandy stopped at the open door and bent forward, holding her arms out in back for balance, completely unaware of how pretty she looked with her back arched like that and her ass thrust out. “I don’t see anybody,” she said. “And I’d better not see anybody. Do you hear me, Mickey?”
“You keep complaining, I’ll get the belt,” he said, and slipped an arm around her.
Sandy took a deep breath and stepped out onto the porch with him. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she said, and shivered. She was like that, talking with the little emphatics to make her point.
Mickey made sure the deadbolt was locked back on the door and closed it behind them. It was very quiet out, as he had expected. Their neighborhood was mostly young families or retired couples. In either case, the sidewalks rolled up pretty much automatically at nine o’clock, even on Friday night.
“Couldn’t you at least untie my hands,” Sandy whispered, wide eyed.
“Don’t be silly,” he replied, and led her down the sidewalk. When they reached the road, Sandy stopped.
“Okay, that’s enough,” she said in that same fierce whisper. “Take me back inside now. You’ve had your fun.”
“Next time I’ll remember the ball gag,” he said, and motioned to the right. “Let’s go down to the little park.”
“But, it’s a block away!”
“Keep your voice down,” he said firmly, and swatted her on the behind. “You get people peering out the windows; I’m going to whack you harder than that.”
“Damn it,” she said, with a lot of feeling.
They set off for the park walking side by side, Mickey keeping a sharp eye out, and Sandy naked and bound beside him. She was furious with him, but had her pretty lips pressed into a thin line, not speaking. He didn’t mind. It wasn’t all that unexpected, in fact. And he was nervous, anyway. The whole thing had started off as a kind of joke in the first place, and then there he was doing just what his wife had accused him of, parading her around jaybird naked.
Sandy’s continued, fixed silence gave him a little time to think about it. He’d thought she might get giggly and silly, but she didn’t. She walked like she had a poker stuck up her ass, and she wasn’t going to let him off the hook on this one, no sir, and fuck you very much. The problem was that he kind of liked the circumstances. It wasn’t something he had talked her into, like licking his ass. This was something he was making her do, and she didn’t like it.
He wondered as they went along what the hell he was doing. Did he like making her just for the fun of it, or...? Well, there wasn’t really another reason. It was kind of kinky to break through the innately conservative persona that she put on every morning like make-up. But no, that wasn’t quite true, either. Sandy was conservative in a lot of ways. She didn’t put on anything like make-up, she was the make-up.
So, what was he doing?
He wondered.
They got to the park and he took her over to the covered picnic tables. Under the free standing roof was deep shade, and Sandy moved into it with alacrity. At least she’d be out of sight for a minute.
“What a fucking turn-on,” Mickey said.
“For you, maybe.”
That was the first thing she had said to him since leaving the house. Mickey took her in his arms and held her, even though she was stiff as a board, resisting him with every inch of willpower she had, which was considerable.
“Lighten up, you gorgeous cunt,” he said softly. “Have a little fun for a change, why don’t you?”
“This isn’t my idea of fun.”
“I’m going to fuck you, right here on this table.”
“Jesus, Mickey. We can’t...”
“We can,” he said. “Just watch.”
“Mickeyyyyyy...”
He spread the afghan over the end of the bolted picnic table and lifted her bodily to sit on it. Sandy reached back with her bound hands for support, and lay back on her elbows. Mickey unbuckled his pants and reached down to lift her legs. She wrapped them around his hips, ankles crossed behind.
“See?” he said.
“I’m dry as a bone,” she said, and swallowed hard.
Mickey rubbed the head of his cock into her soft center, and she squirmed with the sudden pressure.
“You’re wet enough,” he said, and pressed into her.
Sandy’s head dropped back and her mouth sagged. The breath gusted out of her throat and her legs tightened spasmodically around him, pulling him in, which was probably not what she intended.
“Easy,” s
he groaned. “Ow...hey...ow! You’re hurting me. Take it...easy.”
“That’s a song, I think,” he said, and bent to suck her nipples.
Sandy had been right. She wasn’t wet enough. But Mickey fucked her anyway, driving hard and then harder until she was gasping with the thrusting impacts and sucking air in harsh gulps. He couldn’t get enough of touching her, squeezing breast and hip and shoulder, anywhere he could reach. And when he came, it felt like someone had punched him in the belly. He cried out, spurting into her, and Sandy forced herself up to kiss him with sudden wild heat.
He clung to her for a long time, and when they were calmer, he got her up and walked her naked back to the house. Sandy was very quiet. Sperm slid down the insides of her legs, making her skin shine in the streetlights. Mickey had never seen her looking more beautiful.
It made him wish he had spanked her, too.
Chapter Nine
The paint job at Ponz’s was done by nine-thirty the next morning. When Mickey got home with his newest twenty dollar bill, Sandy was in full housecleaning mode. He spent an hour getting his dive gear sorted out for Monday. There wasn’t much for it. She wasn’t talking to him. Eventually, he went to try to break down some walls.
“I’ve got to go down to the dive shop and have a tank refilled,” he said when everything else was done. “How about come with me? We’ll go to lunch.”
“We had lunch at the beach yesterday,” she said. “And you bought flowers, too, which we couldn’t afford. Besides, I’m busy.”
“Too busy for the beach? We don’t get to go laze around together very much, and with Cindy gone...”
“No,” she said, stiff backed, and then unbent just a fraction. “There’s just too much to do, Mickey. I’ll never get this house cleaned up if I take off for the beach whenever you decide we ought to go.”
“Come on. A couple of beers and a towel, like we used to do.”
He was wheedling, and knew it. She’d put her pretty foot down, end of discussion. He’d gotten his way and done something she absolutely, positively didn’t want to do, and she was damned if he would have another chance. That didn’t sit well with Mickey. Not the refusal so much, but the reason for it. With great deliberation, he tipped the mop bucket over and spilled dirty water onto her clean floor.
Redemption For Two Page 5
