Janet McCoy - Wife on the loose

Heather's Irish heritage, which included red hair and a temper, helped her keep her resolve. The more Tom threatened her, the more determined she became.

Tom was looking at her suspiciously. "You mean you went right ahead and applied for the job and went for the interview and accepted it, without telling me a Goddamned thing about it?!" His voice rose to a sharp crescendo. "Who the fuck's the head of his house anyway?"

"Marriage is a partnership, Tom… made up of two individuals. I'm sure if you thought about it, you wouldn't want me to be staying at home if I was unhappy with that. Which I am."

"What are you up to, Heather?" His voice was calmer now, but it seethed with repressed emotion. The thought of his wife going to work chipped at the very care of his security.

"I'm not up to anything, Tom. I want to make my life more interesting, that's all."

"And what kind of job have you got that's so much more Goddamned interesting than being a good wife?"

"I'm going to be a hostess at Vesuvio's Lobster Grotto."

"A waitress?" he laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. "A waitress! What's so fucking interesting about being a waitress?"

"I'm not going to be a waitress. I'll show people to their seats, make sure everything is running smoothly. I'll be like the head girl."

Again he looked suspicious. "How come you got to be head girl? All the experience you've ever had is two months in a hamburger joint! Oh, I've got it. The boss likes redheads with big tits, right?"

Heather was finding it more and more difficult to control her anger. Tears of rage were brimming her eyes. "You think you're so Goddamned smart! You think you're the only person in this house who can make money!? Well, I happen to have a couple of brains in my head, if you haven't noticed. Maybe Mr. Martin chose me because he saw I had potential."

"Yeah, I bet he saw potential. The potential for sticking you with his fat prick in the back room one night!"

Heather rose to her feet. She was glaring at her husband, her face hovering only a couple of inches from his. "How dare you? How dare you! So that's all you've been thinking of me all these years! That all I'm good for is an easy lay. Well, I'll show you, mister! I'll show you!"

"Well, you'll have to show somebody else! Because I won't be here when you get home tonight!" He grabbed his hat and jacket and stormed out of the house.

For a moment, Heather was tempted to go after him. Was he really going to leave her? But her Irish pride held her back. "I'm not apologizing to that bugger," she murmured vindictively. "Hell be back. He needs me too much. He'll be back with his tail between his legs."

Her first, day at work took Heather's mind off her troubles at home. The day seemed to fly by. When she got back from work that night, Tom was sitting in the living room, waiting for her. They made an uneasy truce. He was willing to let her have a try at working. He was sure she wouldn't like it, but if that was what she wanted, well, she could have it. He didn't want her to be unhappy.

They kissed and made up. But they didn't fuck. Not for ten whole days.

Heather was petting unbearably horny. She was tempted to go over and visit the Whitcombs'. But work restricted her time schedule. When she wasn't at work, Tom was usually at home, too. She could hardly go over to Linda and Jake's for a quick fuck with her husband sitting right at home. Too dangerous.

But the frustrated redhead was getting close to the point of desperation.

On the tenth day of her enforced celibacy, Heather was busily at work serving the dinner-hour rush. As things began to slacken off, she could pay more attention to the people that came in. She noticed one table of young businessmen seemed to be paying a good deal of attention to her. One man among them, a handsome blond about thirty, was a regular customer. She returned his smiles as she passed back and forth in front of their booth.

It was almost Heather's quitting time, and she was tired. She was ready to get off her feet. She didn't notice when the table of young businessmen rose to leave. But she was surprised to find that her regular customer had remained behind.

"Hey, Heather," he called out to her as she walked past. She wasn't surprised that he knew her name. She wore it plainly displayed on the bosom of her flattering black sheath dress.

"Yes, may I help you, sir?" Her question was formal, but there was a twinkle in her eye. He was very handsome, and she felt unusually responsive to his self-confident masculinity.

He grinned. "I sure hope so. I was wondering if you might like to have a drink with me after work. I'd be glad to pick you up after you finish."

"I finish in ten minutes," she answered without thinking.

"Good." He seemed to assume a date had been made. Heather hadn't really intended to give that impression, but then again, she was intrigued. She was full of energy, full of need. She needed something to happen to her.

When she had finished work, she gathered up her coat and her handbag from the back room and went out to meet the man. Only now did she realize she didn't even know his name.

"Brad Clayborne," he told her when she was standing in front of him. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Heather."

Despite her heart fluttering excitement, Heather had to be practical. "I can't stay long. I have someone waiting for me at home."

"Like your husband?" he asked, his eyebrows arching as he looked meaningfully at the ring on her left hand.

"Yes… like my husband."

She suffered a moment's guilt. But when she realized that her married state didn't bother Brad, she brushed the feeling off. It wasn't as if she was totally running around on Tom. She was just going to have one drink with a very nice young man.

"Why don't we have a drink here? Then we don't have to worry about time. My car's right outside. I can drive straight home afterwards."

They sat in a dark booth in the bar and talked. The conversation was thick with courting ritual, pregnant with suppressed passion. The more they talked to each other, the more wine they drank, the more electric became the attraction between them.

"You're a beautiful woman, Heather." His hand naked under the table and stoked her thigh through her dress. "The most beautiful I've ever seen. I've always had a weakness for redheads."

"Have you?"

She felt stupid, but she couldn't think of anything else to say. She was loot in his deep blue eyes, in the softness of his touch as his hand caressed her thighs. She was vaguely aware that he was working her dress gradually up over her leg. When his fingers finally brushed her bare flesh, she moaned.

She closed her eyes for a moment. The intensity of her own desire overwhelmed her. That gentle touch on her leg made her whole being pulse with need. Already she could feel her pussy-lips flaring open, becoming wet with passion, with hunger for cock.

"You're a very nice person, Brad," she said, her fun red lips tilted up towards him, begging to be kissed whether Heather knew it or not.

Brad obliged her hunger by closing his mouth eagerly over hers, by shooting his tongue deep inside. At the same time, his finger grazed over her pussy-mound through the thin film of her panties. He could feel his cock vowing large, engorged with blood, as her tongue dueled with his own, urging him on.

She was begging for it.

And Brad wasn't one to disappoint a lady.

"Let's go outside, Heather. We can talk better there. It's getting stuffy in here anyway."

Wordlessly, she took his hand and followed him out of the bar. Somewhere in the back of her mind? Heather knew she was playing with fire. Knew she was well on the way to becoming what she had called Jake a couple of weeks ago – "an adulterer".

But the word didn't mean anything to her any more.