My Wife’s Seduction
By
Laran Mithras
Cover art courtesy of StockPhotosForFree.com
My Wife’s Seduction is a work of fiction. Names, locations and incidents either are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2014 - All Rights Reserved
It is not enough to conquer; one must learn to seduce.
~ Voltaire
CHAPTER 1
Not once during my year-long marriage to Monique had I ever thought of sharing her. I had never imagined her with another man or dreamt about her moaning underneath another man’s humping body. It wasn’t in me. Was it?
I thumbed Porter’s number in my cell.
Two rings.
His voice was sleepy. “Dean?”
I shook my head and rolled my eyes. “Hey, bud. We’ll be over in about twenty-five minutes?”
I heard him shift his phone around. “Oh, yeah.” He sounded a little out of it.
“Tough night?”
“No, I’m all right. I’ll shower and be ready.”
I shook my head and sighed. “See you then.”
This was our big day, a Sunday out on the road in the rural areas of the state. Hot, dusty, and holding several properties on a tax-default list I had with notations on a cheap map.
Monique came up behind me and slid her arms around my waist. “I bet he was asleep?”
“Sounded like it.”
Porter and I were long-time friends and both of us good at taking a fixer-upper and making it livable for a profit. We worked together on some things, though we each had our own separate businesses. There seemed to be some dislike between Porter and Monique, though he had been the best man at our wedding. They just didn’t click, so Porter stayed away.
He did, however, like to party it up and often slept in: hung-over from the previous night’s drinking.
I locked the back door and checked the front door. Our house was small, but comfortable. I hoped that we could find something on the tax-default rolls this year that would either promise a large chunk of dough or a nicer place to live.
You never knew with tax-defaulted properties. Could be a dump. Could be in pristine condition. You just had to go look.
“You see my camera?” I said. I looked on the counter where I had placed it. It was not there.
“Yes, over here on your map. I put it there so you wouldn’t forget it.”
I smiled. Monique was a willowy brunette with large dark-brown eyes. Her hair hung long and straight, silky to the touch and flowing like a damned television commercial. She wore it parted in the middle and just hanging down her back, but cut so she had bangs in front. She had small boobs that I thought were large enough for her frame. She didn’t agree.
I admired her bare legs. It was too hot to wear anything else other than shorts. Even I was in them.
I picked up the camera and made sure the battery was in. I had a spare and also a couple extra chips in case we had a lot of pictures to take. I picked up the map and clipboard. “Well, then. He’s showering now. Let’s get going.”
We climbed into my old Chevrolet Caprice Classic. I kept it up, not wanting to buy a new car every couple of years. It was comfortable and Porter could sit in the backseat. My work-truck would not be very roomy and it didn’t have air-conditioning.
Monique was showing a lot of leg and I rubbed a hand along it with a sexy grin plastered on my face. Is your pussy available for a little play? But we didn’t have time.
She said, “What’s that goofy look on your face?”
Her skin was so soft and I couldn’t help feeling the hardening in my shorts. “That’s my I-love-you look.”
She put her hand on mine. Her ring flashed in the morning sun. It was a nice gold ring with some inset diamonds. “Are we going, or are you wanting to go back to bed?”
I gestured out the windshield. “We’re driving, aren’t we?”
“Hmm.”
I loved her dearly. She was beautiful and spunky in a way that hinted at her bedroom passion. Once in the privacy of our home, she was very affectionate. Outside, she seemed distant – even cold. It was an odd quirk of hers that I had forced myself to become used to. In bed, she was heavenly.
~ ~ ~
I pulled the car to a stop at the curb. “I’ll be right back.” I started to open the car door.
Her hand stopped me. “There he is.”
I grunted in approval. “At least he’s ready. I usually have to go get him.” I reached over behind her and pulled up the door lock.
Porter ambled over to the car wearing a clean but wrinkled shirt and shorts. He was not a tall man. At five foot six, he relied on his full mustache, his dark eyes and his rail-thin frame to have his fun. He carried a plastic travel mug in one hand trailing steam and was busy pocketing a pack of cigarettes with the other.
He got in and grunted at us.
Monique said, “Good morning.” But it wasn’t delivered all too friendly.
In his gravelly voice, he said, “Bah.”
I said, “So it was a good night?”
He grunted, “Get bent.”
I laughed; it was our way.
Despite his shower, he had the lingering smell of long-term tobacco use. It oozed from his skin even when freshly scrubbed.
I drove the car along the interstate out to exit one-fifty-one. “First one is a little unusual for us – an old school building.”
His growl was impatient. “Sheeit. Why are we looking at that? Probably has asbestos all over the damned place.”
Monique twisted in her seat so she could see him. “It was my idea, actually. Someone else had owned it after the school district. They could have renovated it and it’s showing only eleven hundred dollars on the bid.”
Porter grunted.
I knew his grunts. That was his, “Okay, that makes more sense” grunt.
I said, “Hear from Tanya, lately?”
He growled. “No, and she can go take a dive out an airplane without a chute, for all I care.”
I felt bad for him. Tanya was a pretty enough gal and they had been married for nine years. She had run out on Porter with a body-builder at the gym she managed. Fortunately for him, they had no children. Divorce had been a simple thing and finalized a few months back.
“Sounds like you miss her.”
Monique slapped my arm.
Porter said, “You can go suck a dick.” Then he said in a slower, lower voice, “Pardon me, Monique.”
She twisted around to see him again. He was sitting behind her. “You loved her, didn’t you?”
I adjusted the rear-view mirror to see his face better. He was bushing out his thick mustache - a sign he was trying to be diplomatic. “You love him. What would you think if he ran off with some blonde, big-titted bimbo with a fake tan?”
“That he lost his mind.”
“Well, then. Would you still love him?”
She turned back around without answering.
I pointed. “There it is.”
The school building was a simple square three-story structure with basement windows.
“Looks like a schoolhouse,” said Porter.
Monique twisted around again. “How did you guess?”
“Watch yourself, Missy. I haven’t finished my first cup of coffee. I bite.”
We got out and wandered up to the front. The door was firmly bolted and padlocked with a taped noticed on the door in faded ink.
Porter said, “Built by the Masons.” He fished a cigarette out of his pack and stuck it in his mouth.
“Hmm?” I said.
Monique walked past us around to the back.
He pointed to the cornerstone and I saw t
he masonic symbol there. The date said: 1901. The smell of a lit cigarette filled the air around us.
I sighed. “Asbestos.”
“Unless whoever lost this place had it removed.”
“Expensive.”
“Maybe that’s why they lost it.”
It was impossible to see in the windows, the first floor was up six steps and set higher than our heads.
Monique came around the other side of the building. “Nice stonework, but the back half of the roof is rotted away.”
Porter and I groaned together in disgust.
“No thanks,” I said. “Let’s hit the next place.”
Porter puffed faster on his cigarette and then stamped it out. He took a huge draw of coffee before he got back into the car. I saw him look over his cup at Monique as she climbed into the passenger seat.
Was he just checking out my wife’s legs? I looked over at them as I got in. They sure were pretty. I suppose I couldn’t blame him for taking a peek.
We drove back along the lonely road to the interstate. It was already getting warm outside and I turned up the fan.
Porter said, “What’s next?” He sounded more awake.
Coffee and cigarettes: the breakfast of champions.
Monique looked at the list. “A house on twelve acres.”
“Too small to be a farm,” he said.
I looked in the mirror. “Maybe orchards. Or stables or something.”
He looked around at the barren landscape. “Out here?”
I exaggerated a shrug.
My wife twisted around to face him better. “Anything with land—”
He nodded. “Yeah, I know.”
She shook her head and her voice was dry. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
We had all gone to high school together – even Tanya - though Monique had only gone our freshman year before transferring to a Catholic school.
Porter gave a half-grunt, half-word. “Eh?”
“Talking to you was impossible.”
“What do you mean?”
She said, “You didn’t seem to want to talk to the girls.”
He laughed. “I seem to remember you being Little Miss Stuck-up—”
“What?”
He said, “No one could talk to you. You were so much better than all of us.”
My wife’s mouth dropped open. “I was not.”
I didn’t want to hurt my wife’s feelings, but she had been viewed by most as a very snobby person. She wasn’t, though; not when you got to know her. I said, “She’s actually very sweet when…” When you break through the ice. That would have sounded bad. I couldn’t think of a way to say it that didn’t sound chauvinist or insulting.
She turned back to face the front. “I was not a snob.”
Porter snickered in the backseat.
The house on acreage turned out to be a pre-fab surrounded by scrub. Nothing was on the land.
Porter growled. “Pre-fab. Forget it. You’d have to scrap the whole thing and there’s nothing—”
“But there’s land,” said Monique. She turned to look back at him.
“Sure, with nothing on it but field mice.”
She looked down at the next on the list. “Head out to Tannerville. First Street.”
Without even getting out to look at the pre-fab, I flipped the car around and accelerated back towards the interstate.
Porter said, “Tannerville?”
My wife nodded. “Commercial building.”
“They have businesses out there? I thought it was a dust-depot with a couple of rust-stops.”
I snorted. “Might need gas there. Half a tank and still more driving.”
Monique stretched her neck as if feeling a pinch. “Ow.”
“Am I a pain in the neck?” Porter said with amusement in his voice.
That meant he was in a good mood.
“Yes, actually.” She rubbed the side of her neck where it met the shoulder. “Could you sit over there so I don’t have to turn as far?”
He grunted. “Yeah, I guess so.” He moved. “A gas station would be good. I could get some more coffee and use the facilities.”
“If you didn’t drink all that coffee—”
“Don’t you wag your finger at me about my coffee. A man has to have his vices.”
My wife gave a slow reply. “Does he now?”
“Yes, a man does. It’s what separates us from the metrosexuals.”
She giggled. “How many packs do you go through a day?”
“Ehh… Not as many as before. Too expensive. Been trying to quit.”
“Oh?”
“Problem is, it feels good to light up and take a break.”
“I think smoking is nasty.” She wrinkled her nose.
“Nasty habits for nasty men.”
I chuckled. “I guess I’m not too nasty.”
She turned her head to me. “I think you’re just fine.”
Porter roared in laughter. “Just fine? Oh boy, did you just get slammed.”
She looked back at him and winced. Her hand came up and rubbed her neck. “There’s nothing wrong with Dean—”
“Nothing wrong with him? Dean, you’re getting your ass handed to you.”
He was teasing, but I knew what he meant. He believed men should be men no matter what anyone thought of their behavior. I agreed with him, in principle.
Monique’s face was screwed up in pain. She was trying to press her fingers into the side of her neck. “Ow.”
Porter leaned up. “I’m sorry. Face back forward and I’ll see if I can work that kink out.” He motioned for her to turn with his finger.
“That’s okay,” she said.
“Shut up.” He drew it out. “I caused it; I’ll fix it.”
She turned and let him reach over and work her shoulder and neck muscles.
Her happy moan sounded like relief.
He scooted up more to get a better grip. “Bend forward a little so I can stretch my arm. This is awkward.”
She did and he worked more on her shoulder muscles.
“Tannerville coming up,” I said. The town or collection of buildings was a mile off the interstate. All that was off the off-ramp was a Conoco gas station. I pulled the car off and stopped at the stop sign. The gas station had three cars parked in front. It had a mini-mart that probably served as a grocery store for the people of Tannerville.
Monique sat back up, her face red from dizziness. “I guess I shouldn’t bend over while the car is moving.”
“Better?” Porter said.
She moved her shoulder and stretched her neck around. “Yes, a little.”
I pulled into the gas station next to a pump. It was a modern thing, even out here. The mini-mart looked clean and bright. A slice of civilization in the middle of dust and scrub.
Monique got out and walked into the mart.
Porter followed her a few feet back.
Is he looking at her legs again? My wife’s shorts were very short. You could see the crease of her thigh where it met her ass. I guess I would be looking at that, too.
CHAPTER 2
Porter and Monique were in there for several minutes and I finished filling the tank.
She came back out first, carrying two water bottles.
He came out after her carrying his coffee mug. His mustache was bushed out and he was definitely looking at her legs. I could tell he liked what he was seeing.
From the front, Monique’s shorts displayed a perfect camel-toe. She had unbuttoned her blouse in the growing heat of the day. It was unbuttoned halfway down and she looked very sexy.
“Stop drooling at me,” she said.
“Better look behind you if you want to see real drool.”
She turned to look at Porter. She reached up and grabbed her neck. “Ow. Son of a…”
Porter frowned. “Need a better massage on that neck?”
She looked irritated. “It had felt better. I thought it was gone.”
“Sit
back here with me and I’ll do a better job of it.”
“Is that okay, honey?”
“Yeah, I can’t massage and drive.”
“I meant reading the list.”
“Take it back there with you.”
She nodded and collected the list and map.
We piled in and got back on the road into Tannerville.
Porter worked his rough hands over her neck and shoulders.
“Ow, ow. Right there,” she said.
I looked in the mirror. Her back was to him and head tilted down. He was digging a thumb in a slow circular motion into her shoulder.
“Mmm,” she purred.
“What was the address?” I said. We were coming up on the buildings.
“Three,” she said.
Porter snorted. “So that will be the last of the three buildings in town.”
I looked around. There were more than three buildings, but most were boarded up. What could you do out here? I pulled over to a building with a three over the door.
We got out. It was a corner lot and a storefront along the main street.
Monique stretched and walked around to the side.
I pulled out my camera and noticed Porter watching her go.
Yes, he is definitely looking at her ass and legs. Can’t blame you, buddy; she’s gorgeous. I took a picture of the store. It had been built in the 20’s or 30’s and featured a scratched glass front that was angled in the style of that day. I said, “It looks like it’s in good shape, but what could we do with it?”
Porter was shaking his head. “Not much, I think.” He kept shaking his head as if trying to think of anything and nothing was coming to mind.
Monique came back the way she had come, hips swaying in that aggravatingly feminine way. It made me want to throw her down over the hood of the car and ravish her. I glanced at Porter out of the corner of my eye. He was grinning, hands on hips and feet spread – looking at her.
“I think this is a scratch,” I said.
Porter jerked. “What?”
“Scratch this one, too.”
“Oh. Yeah, I was a bit distracted.”
Monique was in conversational range. “Hmm?”
“I said this is a scratch and he said he was distracted looking at you.”
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