My Wife, the Seductress

by Max Sebastian

  My Wife, The Seductress

  Copyright © 2014 by Max Sebastian | MaxSebastian.net

  All rights reserved.

  Cover image © bibacomua | Bigstock.com

  Cover design by Kenny Wright

  First digital edition electronically published by KW Publishing, April 2014

  This is a work of fiction, any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or events, organizations or locations, is purely coincidental. Reproduction in whole or in part of this publication without written consent is strictly prohibited, other than limited quotes for purposes of review.

  The author greatly appreciates you taking the time to read this book, please do consider leaving a review wherever you bought this title, to help others find this story.

  Also by Max Sebastian

  Available via MaxSebastian.net

  Novels

  Anarchy of the Heart

  Submitting to Her

  Madeleine Wakes

  Madeleine Plays

  Madeleine Strays

  Short stories

  Two Anonymous Souls

  Inside Source

  Sexual Healing

  The Wives with Benefits Collection (Wife-sharing short stories)

  Playback

  The Other Guy is Paying

  Retribution

  The Female-Led Collection (Light femdom short stories)

  Stockholm

  She was a Good Girl

  In Her Service

  The New Adult Collection (Coming-of-age short stories)

  Waiting in Line for a New iPad

  A Kiss is Just a Kiss

  A Girl in the Library

  Part One: All Grown Up

  Chapter One

  We moved back to my wife’s home town when we finally got pregnant. It seemed logical - it was the great small town environment highly suited to raising children, and there was family around to provide some of the support we’d need.

  I could still commute into the city - Baltimore, where I was born and raised - with a daily drive along I-83.

  I thought Tessa would feel comfortable in familiar surroundings, which was what she needed after a turbulent first trimester.

  Oh, she didn’t complain. We were just trying to cope with the radical change to our life plans that an accidental pregnancy meant for our otherwise career-minded five years of marriage. Neither of us felt like facing the added onslaught of traipsing around the Baltimore suburbs, small town Maryland, southern Pennsylvania or even Delaware to find a quieter, safer part of the world for the new member of our family.

  I didn’t even really hear about her reluctance to return home until we were out grocery shopping, and I noticed her looking furtive, hunching her shoulders, suddenly changing direction for no apparent reason — as it turned out, to avoid certain people.

  "I went to high school with her," she explained, embedded in the fresh produce aisle of the Giant store local to our new home.

  For Tessa, who had dreaded falling pregnant in the first place because she didn’t like the idea of giving up her career in law, moving home to raise kids somehow meant that her life was moving into parallel with the high school girls who had stayed home and done nothing but drop kids out here, there and everywhere.

  From the final trimester, and long after the birth of our beautiful baby boy Marcus, Tessa virtually isolated herself in our cozy little suburban home, other than highly localized walks down to the golf course for a little fresh air now and again. When we weren’t out together, she shopped online, and had most things we needed delivered.

  I tried to encourage her to see things differently, that she’d excelled at school, gone to college, achieved in a highly competitive field before returning home to live in a nice house in a comfortable if quiet part of town.

  Don’t get me wrong: she was perfectly content to be a stay-at-home mom. She did not feel the drive to get Marcus into daycare all day every day and pick up the pieces of her legal career again. We’d discussed it all, and though we’d both be fine about the other choosing to continue working, cut back or end work to focus on parenting, this was the solution that best suited us. I would continue my run in the rat race, as a trader in the investment firm T. Rowe Price.

  It took until Marcus was probably about seven or eight months old before I managed to persuade her to allow her parents to take their grandchild for a few hours, so that we might venture out into the real world for dinner and/or a movie, a little shopping at the outlets, or even an evening’s bowling.

  Fred and Jean, Tessa’s parents, were happy enough to spend more time with Marcus, the youngest grandchild by some margin. Yet Tessa still wasn’t particularly comfortable going out, venturing into public spaces.

  I remember being in line for the Ridley Scott science fiction movie, Prometheus, and seeing Tessa taking on that furtive, hunched look again. Thinking her old high school friends or rivals were somewhere near. But then I saw she was staring at a bunch of college-age kids. Or maybe high school seniors — I couldn’t tell young people’s ages nowadays.

  Tessa seemed to straighten up, no longer threatened by other moviegoers, although apparently she recognized somebody over there in the other line for the box office, though she couldn’t quite place him to start with.

  "And what are you doing staring at other men at the movie theater anyway?" I teased her. I was in a jovial mood, as often seemed the case after we dropped Marcus off at the grandparents’ for an evening all to our own.

  "Oh Jesus, it’s little Robbie Donovan," she said, briefly sucking her breath through her teeth.

  That caused a raising of the eyebrows. "Little Robbie? Tell me that’s a nickname in the same vein as Robin Hood’s best mate Little John?"

  The guy my wife had been staring at was probably 18 or 19 years old, 20 at the outset, with short-cropped black hair and enviable amber skin — but more to the point he had to be six foot four and 220 pounds of fairly solid brawn.

  "It is him. God, he’s grown up." She glanced at me briefly, and I caught a funny glint in her eyes I could not quite translate at that moment. Then she finally explained: "He used to live — well, I guess he still could — round the block from us. I was his babysitter."

  Then we were in the movie, and from what I could tell from Tessa’s face as she focused on the Alien-prequel, the moment of her noticing Little Robbie Donovan had passed.

  Only, I couldn't help dwelling on it. I think it was a look I hadn’t seen on Tessa’s face before, and I wanted to understand it. Was it nostalgia for those easier times, when she’d been a teenager just about to head off to college herself? Or was it the same fear she had for others who knew her in the old days, that they might judge her for going away with grand ideas of making it big in the city, only to come back with her tail between her legs to raise her children where other girls her age had started long ago.

  No. Watching the movie, I began to suspect that my wife’s eyes had dwelled on Little Robbie Donovan for a different reason, though she probably wouldn’t admit to appreciating the trim yet powerful physique her former ward had grown into, his bulging muscles barely concealed by a sleeveless t-shirt, his smooth tanned skin effortlessly enticing the women around him, apparently even those eight or nine years older.

  Tessa had felt faint lust for that young man, and it probably horrified her a little who it was she had briefly lusted after. For me, it was a source of amusement that she should be so uncomfortable about such a thing — but also, as the movie rolled on and I thought about it, it all seemed intriguing to me.

  I suspected that I actually wanted to see how my wife responded to illicit attraction.

  I figured I was just a little crazy. Since Ma
rcus had come along, Tessa had very rarely been in the mood for anything physical between us — I was probably just overly wound-up from that. The prospect that something — even if it was the sight of another man — that might spur her on, shake her out of her sexual malaise, made me hopeful and a little exhilarated.

  A faint flicker of lust in my wife’s eyes had tweaked some kind of fascination in me.

  A faint flicker of lust was how we would have left it, too, except that fate intervened once we had all filed out of the theater with the movie credits rolling in the darkness.

  "Hey, Miss Kovac, isn’t it?"

  We turned to find Little Robbie Donovan looming over us, a broad lopsided but charming smile plastered all across his undeniably handsome face.

  "Oh, it’s Mrs Shaw these days," Tessa grinned herself and stuck out a dainty hand for him to shake. "Hello Robbie, how are you? You’re looking good."

  I was impressed at how she was handling herself in his presence, but it was exciting to me that she could not quite control every aspect of the powerful desire flowing through her body. Her face was faintly flushed, and the delicate pink also appeared in her chest as she smiled at him. Perhaps it was my paranoia, but I swear that as he gently took her proffered hand in his, her pupils dilated, her breathing deepened. There was a very slight sheen of perspiration on her forehead.

  God, her nipples were faintly visible pushing through her blouse — and she was wearing a bra.

  And I was reacting to her reaction, it seemed.

  "I go by ‘Robert’ these days," he said, his teeth so white as he smiled at her, contrasting with the tone of his skin. For a man with such an Irish surname, he had something of a Mediterranean complexion.

  "Robert," Tessa nodded, appearing to me to be road-testing the new version of his name, the grown-up version. She was gently stroking the ends of her long, cocoa-brown hair as she spoke to him. Almost forgot I was there. Then, remembering, "Uh… oh, this is my husband, Josh."

  We shook, and I read a hint of something I could only describe as admiration in those cool brown eyes of his. It somehow fanned the flames of curious exhilaration inside me, made me think that this guy here had probably once had a crush on his babysitter, one 16- or 17-year-old Tessa Kovac.

  She said: "You must be in college these days."

  "Penn State, of course," another of those winsome smiles from not-so-little Robert Donovan. "I guess I’ll be a sophomore in a couple months."

  "Home for the summer?"

  "Yeah, you know how it is. Looking around for some summer work. Not much about, I guess with the recession, and I’m not into the whole flipping burgers thing."

  I seemed to be the third person making the crowd, the two of them seemed so engaged in catching up. Once or twice Tessa glanced at me with the kind of expression that attempted to reassure me that she was only being polite. Robert, though, seemed more than a little absorbed in my wife’s cool green eyes, her pretty face framed by long flowing brown hair, and his gaze flicked down when he hoped it wasn’t noticed, to take in her pleasingly feminine figure.

  "Well hey, I hope you find something," Tessa was being polite to him, though her eyes were also darting all over her admirer’s frame when she thought she was safe.

  She was clearly about to leave it at that, except that yours truly stepped in.

  "You’re not one for a little painting and decorating, Robert?" I said. God, I wasn’t even really thinking with my head, the words just seemed to tumble out of my mouth.

  He looked at me with faint surprise, as though he assumed my role as husband would be to make someone like him back off as soon as possible — not prolong an encounter with his wife with the faint suggestion of a job offer.

  "That’s the kind of thing I’m looking for," he said.

  Tessa gave me a sharp look, managing to keep Robert from noticing. It amused me hugely — she was uncomfortable in this guy’s presence, simply because she was attracted to him. It was probably something of a taboo as well, an attraction between babysitter and babysittee, even if the intervening years had taken away the shock factor.

  I grinned at Tessa, teasing her for her body’s implicit infidelity.

  And said: "We’ve been thinking about getting our basement fixed up for years and years — I wonder if it’s something you’d be interested in trying."

  The corners of Robert’s mouth turned down and he gently nodded his head as he considered my suggestion. Then another momentary glance at Tessa seemed to confirm to me his underlying crush was still present and correct.

  He said: "If you want it done, I can do it, Mr Shaw."

  "Josh, please," I grinned. "Why don’t you come to the house Monday or Tuesday — we’re at 1648 Blessington Street."

  "I know Blessington," Robert smiled. "Nice neighborhood."

  "Come over. Tessa will show you the basement — see if you think it’s something you can help with."

  Tessa waited until we were in the Subaru on the way home before she chided me for inviting Robert Donovan to visit our home.

  "What’re you talking about?" I asked, all fake-innocence. "We’ve been talking about getting the basement done for ages — and we’ve never found the time."

  "And where do we get the money from to get it done now? I thought we were supposed to be saving everything we could for Marcus."

  In the light of the long summer evening, I could see that faint flush in her cheeks again, merely from talking about Robert Donovan.

  I could have just kept turning the screws and arguing how much we needed the basement done, offering valid testimony in terms of her recent struggles for space in our modest-sized home. But I couldn’t help give in to my amusement.

  "You’re just pissed because you’ve got the hots for the guy you used to babysit," I taunted. Meanie.

  She opened her mouth, her eyes, wide in silent outrage. "I do not have the hots for Little Robbie Donovan."

  I couldn’t help but laugh at that. Her tone of voice virtually confirmed it.

  "If you’re not secretly lusting after him, why are you so angry at me for offering him a little work?"

  I had her trapped with that particular point.

  She persisted: "We don’t have the money right now to splash around on painting and decorating."

  "Sure we do. With a little imagination."

  She pouted, unable to really come up with a retort as we now turned onto our sleepy tree-lined street, then pulled up in the little driveway next to our three-bedroom house.

  I gave her a break, saying no more as I followed her inside — in part because I didn’t want to spoil the rest of the evening. When we had a rare night to ourselves, it didn’t always come to pass that Tessa was in the mood for anything, but I had hopes she would be tonight, and I didn’t want to spoil it by going overboard on the teasing.

  As we got inside, to my surprise I found my wife all but dragging me upstairs, tearing off my pants almost before I’d had a chance to hang up my coat, I couldn’t resist a little light teasing.

  "He has got you all hot and bothered."

  "What?" Her voice was sharp — she knew exactly what I was talking about.

  "Little Robbie Donovan. You can’t stop thinking about him, huh?"

  I was awarded an eye-roll for that one, a useful expression for Tessa to divert my attention from her faint blush, from the way her bullet-like nipples were straining against her blouse again, her chest rising and falling with increasingly heavy breathing. It wasn’t the thought of making love to me that had her so wound up, much as I would have liked it to be.

  Jesus, her pupils were so dilated her eyes appeared black.

  "You’re not still going on about that, are you?" she sighed.

  "I’m not going on about anything. I just think it’s funny you have a crush on him now, when 10 years ago he probably had a huge crush on you."

  "He never had a crush on me."

  "Are you kidding? You were gorgeous in high school, like you’re gorgeous now — a
nd you were probably the first girl anywhere near Little Robbie Donovan. Of course you were his first crush."

  "So?"

  "So now he has you as horny as I’ve ever seen you."

  "You shouldn’t complain," she said, kneeling before me as I perched on the edge of the bed, my erection prominent between us.

  "Oh, I’m not complaining."

  I don’t remember the last time she devoured me so hungrily. She never made love like this — always, it was lights off, clothes off, then by-the-numbers missionary. Rarely anything other, rarely oral, rarely her on top, rarely me from behind.

  But she’d been exposed to the young but grown-up Robert Donovan, and now even before her own clothes were removed, she wanted cock. She wanted it now. She seemed like a woman possessed, squeezing my hardness, stroking it over her soft face, breathing in its scent, licking slowly up its length before stretching her lips around the tip.

  She was looking up at me with those big smokey green eyes as she took me deep in her mouth, and we both knew she was thinking about another man as she did it.

  Chapter Two

  It was a real surprise. Tessa had never looked at another man the six years we’d been together, never even thought about another man as far as I was aware. She’d always been the perfect, respectable young wife. For the first time, she was quietly admitting to a flicker of attraction for someone else, and it made her seem frighteningly sexy to me.

  I think she was assuming that as a man, I’d be simply too grateful to be having a blow job to start getting jealous about where her thoughts might be.

  Oh, I was thankful that she was hornier than I’d ever seen, but it also wasn’t lost to me why she was so horny — and that, to me, seemed sexy in itself, though I couldn’t entirely explain why.

  I looked at her sucking my cock, knowing she was imagining sucking Robert, perhaps she was already tingling and wet beneath her long skirt as she did so – and that seemed hot to me. The little twinge of jealousy was overwhelmed by the arousal I felt, but somehow it was corrupted by it. The jealousy almost seemed to enhance the experience of the arousal, like the seasoning in a delicious meal.