Ron Taylor: Wife on the prowl

She poured out heart and soul, not to mention her pussy and all its seething bubbling juices, and her head rocked, long hair swirling across her face and back again. She could smell his cum in her hair, where stray gobs had squirted, and it helped. A little. But this orgasm was nearly all her on doing. Her fingers. Her memories. Melinda's ass bobbed up and down on the john's seat cover, and by now the cloth was scorching hot, set afire by the heat of her quivering body.

She wrapped her legs around the hands in her cunt, and she squeezed herself up into a seated knot, pressuring her pussy even as it shuddered and convulsed with its juicy release. Her toes curled and uncurled in mid-air, clenching, grasping. Her pussy was clenching and grasping too, and it sucked at the fingers inside it as if the sly little snatch never meant to let them go. Melinda threw her head back, shaking hair from her face, and she gave her snatch full rein. Do what you will, she thought. You deserve what little pleasure you can get.

She rocked and rippled and came, and she leaked pussy milk until the entire bathroom seemed to be suffused with the aroma of her climax. The flutter of her cuntal muscles finally relaxed, and she was able to extract her wet aching fingers.

"Ohhh," she sighed, "it seems to get better each time I do it. Practice makes perfect? God, how much longer will I have to reply on my hands? Neil, what is wrong with you? What is wrong with me?"

She raised her hands, stared at the sticky cream which covered them, and then, as she had done before, as she knew she'd do again she began to suck her fingers dry. The taste of her orgasmic juice was delicious, but she already knew that. She'd kissed her cum from Neil's mouth, she'd sucked his cock greedily after it had spent several minutes reaming and fucking inside her cunt. Once upon a time. When their marriage was good. When they were good. Together.

"I just don't know," she lamented. "I just don't know."

When she could stand, she went to the sink and took off her makeup. The face that reflected from the mirror was plainer, with lipstick and eye shadow and rouge removed, but it was by no means a plain face. She had good bone structure, good coloration. She was not an unattractive woman, neither in her face nor in her body. So why did her husband now choose to devote ninety-five percent of his time and attention to his work and none to her?

"This," she said aloud, "is what happens after 'They all lived happily ever after'. The Prince gets bored with Snow White and…" Tears glistened in her eyes, tears of self-pity perhaps, but if she didn't feel sorry for herself, who would? Certainly not Neil. He was too busy at the office.

"Maybe I'll call his boss," she said. "Tell him he's working my husband too hard, that it's ruining our marriage."

Oh, God, what a fantastic idea! It would screw up everything that isn't already screwed up. Little as that may be.

Melinda shook her head sadly. She went to the closet, found a robe, and sheathed her body in it. An old robe, terry-cloth, floor-length, frowsy, the kind of thing any housewife might wear around the house. Especially a housewife who no longer had anything to be glamorous for.

Neil's clothes. She might as well carry them down to the hamper. Tomorrow was washday. And she didn't feel like going to bed quite yet.

Better check first, see if he'd left anything in his pockets. Neil was pretty good about cleaning his pockets, but once he'd forgotten to remove a half of important notes and Melinda had sent them through the washer along with his clothes.

Nothing in his shirt. It smelled of tobacco. Neil didn't smoke, but everyone else at the office did, and he came home reeking of the foul stuff. Well, the wash would take it out. Until the next time he wore his shirt to work.

She picked up his trousers, rummaged through the pockets, and then nodded sagely. Good thing she'd looked. Melinda extracted a rolled-up piece of paper. Probably something highly important. Neil had a habit of writing things down on tiny scraps of paper, scraps he was always losing. Well, she'd saved this one. Wonder what it might be? The outline for an important contract? Melinda unrolled the paper.

Darling Neil,

I feel like a schoolgirl passing you a love note, but, that's what this is. Oh darling I don't think I can wait till tonight. Why don't you call me out of the typing pool and we'll lock ourselves into your office and fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck… And then well fuck some more. Mmmm! I'm getting all wet and creamy, thinking about you, and me.

Oh, call me, or I'll just volunteer myself to your office, door. Who said you couldn't trust anyone over thirty? You're thirty and I trust you. To give me enough hot hard cock for three women. Please call me, darling, please. My pussy is pouting for you. It's hungry. Feed it your cream.

Melinda dropped the note and it fluttered to the floor. "Good God," she said aloud, then knelt and retrieved the note. It was typed and, she recognized from her own secretarial days, typed on an IBM Electric with Courier Italic font. The "K" was handwritten, in black ink, and she was certain that it was a female hand. "Oh, Jesus," she said, shuddering. Of course a woman had written that "K". If her husband was fucking around with anyone on the side, it wouldn't be with a man. Fucking around? On the aide? Her vision, went black for a moment and she didn't know if she were still standing. Melinda had a flash of the floor making up to meet her but it was a delusion. When her eyesight returned to normal she was on her feet, the piece of incriminating paper quivering in her fingers.

Not for a moment had she even suspected that there might be another woman in Neil's life. But… could it… could it be?

The note was explicit, full of X-rated language. A woman wouldn't send a note like this one to a man. Not unless – K. Had Neil ever mentioned a "K" from work?

She didn't remember. Someone in the typing pool, apparently. Melinda rubbed her fingers and mouth, wanting to burst into tears or fall into a coma. But she couldn't. She needed all her energy, all her concentration. Had he come to her tonight – and how many other nights – fresh from another woman? Instead of working late at the office, instead of working weekends in a natural junior executive's passion to get ahead, had Neil been gripped by another kind of pension? An adulterous relationship?

She read the note again, though she knew she could never forgot a single word of it, as long as she lived. And then she wiled it, carefully, into the same thin twist it had been when she found it. He mustn't know she'd seen his pornographic love letter. Not until she was ready to tell him. And when she was… Anger blazed in Melinda. She was glad she couldn't see her face in a mirror now, for it would not be an attractive face. It would be the face of a woman outraged, a woman determined to fight for what belonged to her. This bitch "K" could not take Neil away from Melinda. No matter what Neil thought, no matter what "K" thought.

She replaced his clothes, just as he'd left them. As far as Neil was concerned, she hadn't touched anything. Melinda tied the robe tightly about her and went into the living room. The thought of going back to bed, of lying down beside a man who had cheated her, betrayed her – she couldn't handle that. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.

"But first," she told herself, "I have to find out. Who she is. How long this has been going on. I can't fight until I know the details."

She wanted to sit down, but her feet would not cooperate. They carried her past the couch, into the kitchen. She drank a glass of milk but it curdled on its way down her digestive tact. Something I can do, she thought, but what?

The next morning, after Neil had kissed her cold lips goodbye and started for the office, Melinda was drinking her third cup of black coffee, trying to read the morning paper. But not even Peanuts seemed funny. Not today.