Viola James - Getting Hubby Promoted

"Where are you going?" "Out."

"Give me a minute to find my head, and I'll go with you."

"I'd rather be alone," Jill said shortly, and moved out into the other room.

"Oh, for Christ's sake, I'll only be a minute."

"Take your time. I'm going out alone."

Tom cursed under his breath, and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling with exaggerated exasperation.

"What do you want;- An apology? All right, I apologize. Satisfied?"

"No." Jill answered sadly, from the other room. "No, I'm not. Not by a long shot."

"Well, that makes two of us," Tom groaned, and turned on the bed.

"Fuck you, you bastard!" Jill spat at him, angered again, and made her way to the front door.

"Fat chance with you around!" Tom yelled after her, but she was already gone, slamming the front door with a crash that sent Tom's hands to his head again, and made his temples throb with the pain of the previous night's excesses.

Tom didn't know how long he'd fallen asleep after that, when a knocking woke him at the front door. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, numb from sleep and his hangover. Hell, Jill must have forgotten her key!

"Go climb in a window, bitch!" he shouted. "I'm not getting up!"

But then he was surprised to hear the melodious, purring voice of a woman filter in from outside, and it was a woman who was not his wife.

"Tom? Is that you?"

That certainly wasn't Jill, Tom thought quickly to himself She hadn't sounded that sexy in years. In fact, she had never sounded that sexy.

"Yes… Who is it?" Tom called out, wincing from the pain that shot through his head with the effort.

"It's Gay… Gay Sommers…" said the voice. "Could I talk to you for a minute?"

Gay Sommers? The boss' wife? God, what could she want with him so early in the morning? Automatically Tom checked the small clock on the bed stand, and realized it was not nearly so early as he'd thought.

"Yeah… yeah, sure… I'll be right there." He stumbled upright, a searing blast of hangover almost making him topple over, and he was forced to steady himself with a hand on the nightstand. He winced and rubbed his forehead, then staggered for the door.

He almost opened it before he realized he was completely naked. He grabbed his pants, which were thrown to one side from his burst of passion the night before, and hastily buckled them. Nude save for that, he opened the door.

His hangover was forced into submission by Gay Sommer's provocative beauty. She was fascinatingly sensual in a pair of lemon yellow shorts and a stretched brassiere of overloaded cups. He leaned against the door jamb, breathless, drinking in her long, statuesque legs, bronzed nude belly which showed flat and wrinkle free between the shorts and her halter, and the top twin halves of her barely concealed breasts. can I come in, Tom?" She asked hesitantly.

"Yes, please do." Tom said. He held the door open for her and she entered. As she brushed past him, he smelled the faint fragrance of her musky perfume, and the headiness of her scent was like nothing he'd ever dreamed of He shook his head, images of soft music, and crystal chandeliers, and brandy flashing briefly in his mind… The sudden provocative thoughts made him redden slightly, and he turned to the stunning brunette almost apologetically. Still, there was no denying it, he thought. She would probably be one holy terror in bed. The way she looked, the way she talked, smiled, and smelled were irrefutable testimonies to that.

"What can I do for you?" Tom asked as she sat down.

"I… I" she faltered, her eyes looking up at him. "Could I have a drink?"

"A… drink? This early in the morning?" Tom grinned, attempting a joke.

"Yes. I need one. It will give me strength."

Tom padded to where the bottle he had brought along was standing. "It's bourbon, Mrs. Sommers," he said, "It's all I've got."

"That'll be fine. Anything, so long as it's straight. And my name is Gay, remember?"

Tom went into the bathroom and brought out two water glasses and poured her a stiff shot. He looked at the other glass, tasted the dryness in his mouth and throat, and then poured a larger shot into the other glass and took a swallow.

The alcohol burned a path to his stomach and water welled in his eyes. Gasping a bit, he said, "What… what's the matter, Gay?"

"It's so embarrassing. I don't know how to put this."

A cold wave of apprehension began to creep along Tom's backbone. It was as if he had a premonition of some disastrous happening… in the back of his head a small warning bell tolled and the pit of his stomach rolled.

"Tell me" he urged.

"All right." Gay Sommers lowered her eyes from his. She took a long, low sip from the bourbon as though she was kissing its amber liquid. Then she blurted, "Do you know where your wife was last night?"

Tom was taken aback. What a crazy question! Of course he knew! "Right here," he replied, frowning. "Asleep."

"Oh God, if that were only true!" wailed Gay.

"I don't understand!"

"I can't tell you! I… I must show you."

Tom took another deep swallow. What was this beautiful woman saying? If Jill wasn't here, where the hell had she been? He could only watch as Gay reached across the tiny purse she had brought with her, and pulled out a stack of what looked like Polaroid photographic prints.

"Harry… my husband… is an amateur photographer. You know that Tom." Tom nodded in confusion. "Well, I found these in our cottage last night. Don't ask me how he took them, or how it happened, because I don't know. All I know is that I don't believe any of it."

Tom took the four prints that Gay handed to him, totally unprepared for what greeted his disbelieving eyes. There, in undeniable black and white, were the unmistakable images of his Jill, his own wife, and his boss, Harry Sommers! Jill's legs were lewdly spread wide open and Harry's outstretched middle finger could clearly be seen outlined under the flimsy little panties; but all in all, the worst thing was Jill's expression of wantonness. God! She looked almost as if she loved what he was doing up between her thighs.

"Oh no! It can't be!" Tom moaned in sudden anguish, turning the photos in his hands. "I don't believe it!"

"Neither did I, Tom… at first," Gay said to him, his face a study in righteous indignation.

"No, this is all a mistake. Jill wouldn't let herself… wouldn't let herself be pawed like that!" Tom insisted, his brain unable to comprehend the enormity of his wife's betrayal. "There must be some other explanation."

"There isn't, Tom. There isn't," Gay said. "And I think it's even worse than those pictures show."

"What do you mean… worse?" asked Tom, afraid to admit what Gay obviously was trying to tell him.

"I mean that these weren't the only pictures, Tom," lied the scheming seductress. "There were others, and I'm afraid those others showed even more damning evidence of what happened."

Tom stood, swaying from the combination of his hangover and the earth shaking news he was hearing, and tried to fight off the suspicions that they were gradually forcing him to come to.

"Where are they, these other pictures? I want to see them."

"I don't have them," Gay said. "When I woke up this morning, Harry was asleep, and I found all the pictures when I went into the living room of our cottage. I couldn't believe it at first, of course, and then, since Harry wasn't up yet, I went in to take a shower. When I got out, Harry was up; and by the time I got back out to the living room, the pictures were gone. All except these four, which I found in a wastebasket."

"And the other pictures…?" Tom asked in an agonized whisper.

Gay dropped her head, and said nothing, but to Tom it was answer enough. His wife, whom he had thought so cold, was actually cheating on him! Tom's mind whirled as he stared at the horribly incriminating photographs.