Young Widows Club

by Bridy McAvoy

  Angie took a deep breath. “What about monthly…you know?”

  “You mean your periods?”

  When both Angie and Pattie nodded, he shrugged. “Are you all regular?”

  One by one the four women nodded. “Then we’ll work around it. Not really an issue if you let me have your calendars.”

  Angie couldn’t think of any other questions and looked around for one of the other three to chip in with something—anything she hadn’t thought about.

  Robert was the one to break the silence. “Do we have a deal, ladies?”

  Nobody answered him, as none of them were prepared to speak first.

  Robert turned to her. “Angie?”

  She sighed, closed her eyes for a second and offered up an apology to Darrell’s spirit in case he was watching her. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Good. Pattie?”

  Angie looked over to see the blonde looking at her in surprise, but, after a couple of seconds, she too nodded. “Yes.”

  “That’s two. Becky?”

  Becky bit her lip as all eyes turned to her and Angie could see her friend wrestling with her conscience. Instead of answering she just nodded.

  “Three. Trish?”

  “I guess so, yeah.”

  “Good. All four of you then. I’m pleased with that.”

  Angie drained her glass and rose to her feet. “So, what happens next?”

  “Well, I’m not going to hold the parties in my house except for the first couple of weeks, but over the next few weeks I’m going to furnish number five. It’s empty, and the same size as mine. Three reception rooms, four bedrooms, two en-suites. It’ll make a fine house for our purposes.”

  “I see. Our own private house of ill repute.”

  “Absolutely. The first party will be next Friday at mine. I’ll let you know the details nearer the time, what you need to wear, etcetera.”

  Angie interrupted Robert as he finished making the arrangements for their collective fall from grace. “Right, then, if that’s all the details settled, I’d like you all to leave. I’ve had too many, too strong Margaritas and I want to lie down.”

  “You okay?”

  She nodded in answer to Becky’s question then turned back to face Robert when he coughed.

  “What?”

  “If you’re going to sleep that alcohol off, set your alarm.”

  “Why?”

  “First payment, sweetie. I want you on my doorstep in that dress, but with stockings and heels and sexy underwear, at seven. You got yourself nominated to be the first side benefit.”

  Angie knew her mouth hung open in shock and she gasped, her alcohol-fuddled brain struggling to deal with his words.

  Robert moved close to her and put both hands on her shoulders. She stared into his eyes, forcing herself a swallow to lubricate her dry throat.

  “My place, seven tonight, dressed to thrill. Understood?”

  She forced herself to nod, and he smiled as he stepped back.

  “Good. Goodbye, ladies.”

  She looked at her friends who were all looking at her in a state of shock as he disappeared around the corner of the house.

  “Shit!”

  Part II

  Angie checked her clock one more time. Three minutes past seven. She was already late for her appointment across the road.

  Make him wait!

  Her subconscious told her to be fashionably late but her brain told her otherwise. Her stomach knotted again and she thought about heading for the downstairs toilet again, but knew nothing would happen if she did—it was nerves, nothing more.

  “Come on, girl. Get gone!”

  Her voice seemed to echo around the empty house, and she’d startled herself by speaking out loud. Although the idea of not going flitted across her mind, she didn’t really think she could back out, nor let the other three women down—her friends. Each of them had rung and spoken to her in the last half hour, interrupting the process of getting herself ready for her date. She’d been polite, but pleaded to let her get on so she wouldn’t be late. Now she stood just inside her own front door, already late.

  She checked her appearance in the hall mirror for a last time, anything to gain another few seconds. The short summer dress with its spaghetti straps hugged her figure nicely. Usually she’d wear it without a bra, but for tonight he’d said luxury lingerie so she’d put on a black strapless lace one that covered without concealing. The thought of Robert seeing it made her shudder but that was the deal she’d signed up to. The black fishnets attached to a garter belt didn’t, in her mind, go with the dress at all, but he’d specified stockings, and she guessed she’d have to get used to wearing them a lot more often now.

  She had tried not to smile when Pattie had questioned her about what she was wearing and told her to wear the panties over the top of the garters, stripper style. The thought that another man, Robert, would be removing them, or asking her to remove them in front of him, horrified her. Why Pattie called it stripper style, she didn’t know. It was the most obvious way, anyway. On impulse at the last minute she’d added her black lace fingerless gloves to the ensemble and picked up a black clutch purse for her mobile and her keys.

  Definitely slut-wear, not ladylike.

  She checked her watch again—ten past, definitely late, and any later would be even worse. She closed her eyes for a second, taking a deep breath before turning the handle and opening the door. It was still light outside, the sun at a low angle throwing long shadows across her front lawn. A faint breeze waved the hem of her skirt as she walked down the length of her drive. She’d wondered if the other three would be outside to watch, to call out good luck, or to beg her not to go through with it. There was no committee of the Young Widows’ Club in sight. The short cul-de-sac was empty, although she could hear the traffic on the road just beyond the heavy iron gate. When she reached the property line that marked the end of her territory and the entry to more public space she hesitated, then, squaring her shoulders, walked forward, trying to disguise the trembling in her legs brought on by nerves.

  At the foot of Robert’s driveway, she paused again, then put her left foot in front of her right and walked onto his property. She climbed the two steps to the porch and stood there looking at the bell for several seconds before summoning up enough reserves of strength to push it before her nerve gave out.

  Robert answered the door with a tight smile and a mobile clamped to his ear. He waved a finger in front of his mouth in a vague gesture asking her to keep quiet. She did as he asked and then followed his outstretched arm as he pointed to the family room. His hand went back and covered the microphone on the phone.

  “Take a seat, make yourself at home. I’ll be ten minutes, tops.”

  She smiled, grateful for a few moments alone, as he turned his back and moved toward his study on the right from the front door. He closed the door and she couldn’t even hear his muted voice as he continued his conversation.

  The family room was neat and tidy, just as it had been earlier in the day. This time, though, it felt different, somehow.

  Is he going to fuck me here? Or in the bedroom?

  She lifted her hand to her mouth to keep from voicing her thoughts as another one crossed her mind.

  Or both! Or will he strip me naked down here, before taking me upstairs?

  Her mind was a kaleidoscope of thoughts—some sexual, some not—as she tried to calm herself, slow her fast pumping heart, and try to make sense of why her nipples scratched against the lace of her bra as if they wished to escape. Angie shook her head. She couldn’t believe her body was reacting to the situation like this. She sat on one end of the couch facing the window and noticed a tray with two glasses and an opened bottle of Merlot sitting there.

  Only two glasses. He hasn’t invited anyone else. Thank God.

  A moment later another thought struck her and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth to stop crying out.

  That’s assuming one of them is for me.r />
  Robert had said these weekday evening visits were just for him, but he hadn’t explicitly ruled out anyone else being present and participating.

  Get a grip! Stop being silly!

  She forced herself to calm down and smoothed her dress down over her legs, deciding sitting knees together and upright was altogether too prim and proper for the reason she was there. A quick glance confirmed the study door was still shut, so she crossed her legs and arranged the skirt so a little more thigh than was necessary was showing. She swallowed hard and sat back, trying to look nonchalant and at ease, despite the way her heart pounded in her chest. Remembering the moves of the dating game from before her marriage didn’t come easily for her.

  * * * *

  A few minutes later the study door opened again and Robert appeared, sans phone, and crossed the hallway to join her. She studied him, noticing the casual way he wore his well-fitted shirt, the top three buttons open to show some chest hair. As he approached her, she noticed he didn’t carry a paunch and he looked elegant and athletic, although a good ten years older than her late husband. She tried to find something to like about him, and in truth there wasn’t anything to intensely dislike, except for the situation she now found herself in and the fact he was the one placing her in it. By rights, that was enough to make her hate him at a visceral level, but something was holding that in check.

  “Sorry about that. The west coast office wanted to discuss a project, and they forgot I was working from home and had finished for the evening. It’s still not six over there. Jeez, will they ever learn?”

  She smiled at him as he stood the other side of the coffee table. She knew, without any doubt, the smile was weak and wan, but she couldn’t manage anything better.

  “Wine?”

  “Thank you, no.”

  “Ah, still suffering from an overdose of those Margaritas, then?”

  “Just a little.”

  “Well, you don’t mind if I do?”

  She shrugged. “It’s your place.”

  “Then, please, have a glass with me. I insist. I don’t like to drink alone.”

  Robert was being completely charming, playing the perfect host, but Angie didn’t want that, she felt she wanted to establish some reality here.

  “You don’t need to get me drunk to have your wicked way with me. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

  For a moment he looked hurt, then his face seemed to close up, the twinkle in his eye dying. Sitting on the couch opposite her, he reached for the wine bottle. He didn’t respond while he filled the two wine glasses and leaned across the table to put one of them in front of her. He sat back, holding the other glass and took a sip at the wine.

  Angie knew she’d pushed too far and decided to retreat before he did answer. “I’m sorry. That was a bit bitchy, wasn’t it?”

  “Just a little.”

  “Sorry.”

  The twinkle came back to his eyes. “You can make it up to me later.”

  She could feel heat rise to her face as the implication of his meaning sank in. “Oh.”

  He chuckled and sipped again. “You really must try some. It’s a good vintage.”

  Robert nodded to the glass in front of her and she leaned forward to retrieve it. She saw his eyes widen and quickly glanced down to see why. As she’d leaned forward her dress had gaped open at the front, exposing her cleavage all the way down to the black lace of her bra. The blush intensified and she could feel her face heating up and quickly grabbed the glass and sat back again.

  Robert chuckled. “Maybe you should have left the bra off.”

  Angie couldn’t suppress a giggle at his off-color remark, then decided to respond in kind. “You want me to take it off and repeat?”

  Her directness threw him a little and he nodded, causing her to gasp. “Maybe later. After all, we’re both adults, and we both know why we’re here, don’t we?”

  She nodded.

  He leaned forward and put his wine glass on the table. Once again he steepled his fingers in front of his face, his eyes boring into her as he watched her. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? Why are we here?”

  Angie swallowed convulsively, and tried to fight a sudden feeling of nausea that rose in the back of her throat. She tried to speak, then stopped and cleared her throat before trying again.

  “To…to fuck… We’re here so you can fuck me.”

  Robert shook his head and she cocked her head to one side, raising an eyebrow at him.

  “We are not here to fuck, as you put it. We are here to make love.”

  Angie shook her head. “No. Not that. Anything but that.”

  She closed her eyes trying to fight back the tears. Suddenly she felt the couch beside her shift and realized Robert had moved across the room to sit next to her. Before she could move, he wrapped one arm around her and curled her in to rest her head against his chest.

  “Sshhh…”

  She tried to stifle the last of her sobs and, after a minute, placed one hand on his chest and pushed gently. He took the signal immediately and let go, and she pushed herself upright once more.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “I shouldn’t be so sensitive, I guess. I don’t really have the right to be.”

  He shrugged. “No, it was me being insensitive, Angie. I should have thought that one through.” He placed his hand under her chin, ran one finger up the side of it and turned her face toward him. “Are you really ready?”

  She knew what he meant but her mind was still in turmoil. After a few seconds of staring into his eyes she nodded, although she felt sure the reluctance she felt communicated to him through every line in her body.

  “Good. Then do you mind if I kiss you?”

  Angie thought about that before giving any kind of reply. She’d heard somewhere that real hookers didn’t like to kiss their clients—well, not on the mouth. She shuddered as images welled in her mind then decided she needed some stimulation, some sign of tenderness to get through this. She shook her head and allowed him to draw her back toward his chest, this time with her head angled up so they could maintain eye contact. She felt the fabric of his shirt brush against her earring and then the side of her head as he brought her closer, lowering his face toward hers. Unable to look into his eyes, she closed hers and allowed her lips to slightly part in anticipation of kissing her late husband’s ex-boss—the man she’d agreed to allow to become her pimp. That thought sent a shudder through her body. He pressed his lips against hers for a moment then drew back and waited until she opened her eyes to look at him.

  “You do need to kiss me back, you know.”

  She swallowed hard. “I know. This isn’t easy, you know.”

  He smiled down at her. “Would you like more wine to help you relax?”

  She nodded again and pulled herself back upright so he could reach for the bottle.

  “Is there anything else that would help you relax?”

  She giggled, the high pitch of her laughter conveying her nervousness like nothing else would. “To go home. That would work.”

  He chuckled and she tried to force herself to calm down. “I meant it seriously. Anything to help you relax?”

  She looked out the huge picture window onto the road and, more importantly, onto the house that was her home, and had been her husband’s home too. She stifled a sob and bit her lip before taking the glass of wine he held out to her. Without thinking about it, her gaze returned to her own house across the road as she sipped the merlot.

  Robert must have seen where she was looking because he rose to his feet. “I think you’d be more comfortable elsewhere in the house, perhaps with a different view?”

  She nodded, grateful for his attempt to put her at ease. Then he snapped his fingers. “In fact, I know just the place for you to take it slowly, which I guess is what you want. Come with me.”

  He took her hand and pulled her gently to her feet, continuing the movement of his arm and lifting her
fingers to his mouth, then kissed the backs of them with a gentle brushing motion that sent another shiver through her.

  “Bring your wine. In fact, hang on a sec. I’ll bring the bottle.”

  Carrying the bottle of wine and his own glass in one hand, and towing her behind him with the other, he headed out the door and turned left, then left again into the kitchen. He kept going and she realized he was heading for the stairs down to the basement.

  “The basement?”

  “Yes.”

  “What have you got down there? A dungeon?” Even as she said it her eyes widened at the thought she just might be right and she baulked.

  He must have felt the increased pressure on his hand and looked back over his shoulder as he laughed. “Now that’s an idea. I might get one of those installed at the other house. Let me think about it.”

  Angie stopped dead in her tracks and stared at him.

  “Sorry, I forgot. You’ve never seen my man-cave, have you?”

  “Man-cave?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Sure, every reasonably well-off businessman or executive has one. You know—bar, home cinema with surround sound, pool table, and more importantly for you, no windows, no distractions, okay?”

  She still held back a little, although his words had reassured her.

  “I promise you, no handcuffs, no chains, no whips—not my thing, all right?”

  Angie knew she couldn’t hesitate any further. She had agreed to this after all, and he’d been a perfect gentleman up until now. The little exchange about BDSM gear had been triggered by her, not him. The glint in his eye did unnerve her a little, though. He might be behaving like a perfect gentleman but, at the same time, this particular gentleman considered himself on a sure thing for the evening. Come hell or high water, she was going to get laid—by him. That was what she’d agreed to, after all. An agreement she’d confirmed by dressing as she had done, and by crossing the road and ringing his doorbell.