The Game - Chapter 3

The Game
by
Michele Nylons

White Blouse Blue Satin Pencil Skirt Sheer Pantyhose Black Belt and Black High Heels.jpg
Chapter Three – Translucent

22 September 2007

Petra awoke mid morning; she felt a little hungover and her anus was tender. Vignettes of the previous evening played across her mind as she lay in the bed under the pink satin comforter; she had a morning hardon tenting her panties which she lazily stroked as she recalled Mick ravishing her right here in this bed and she smiled.

David’s phone buzzed and reality came crashing down on her.

“Fuck!” she leapt out bed and stumbled across to the little bathroom.

She peed and then went about the arduous task of wiping her face clean of makeup using moisturised wipes. She shucked out of her stockings, which were laddered, and threw them in the bin and kicked her panties away. She took a long shower washing away the last of Petra. It was David who emerged from the bathroom followed by a cloud of steam.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” David opened the little closet and found his clothes.

He slipped into his underpants and sat on the bed and began to pull on his jeans; he opened the bedside table drawer and pulled out his phone.

Three missed calls and four text messages!

The messages from Marie started with ‘where are you?’ and got progressively more angry until the final one which read ‘fuck you! don’t bother coming home!’. It was timestamped 0213.

“Fucking, fucking, Jesus!” David pulled on the rest of his clothes, grabbed his phone and his keys and the keys to Petra’s apartment and bolted out the door.

He knew that calling Marie now would be a mistake; she would be livid and without a perfected alibi he would stumble and offer an explanation that was implausible. He’d told Marie that he was meeting an old friend from university for drinks so the logical excuse would be that they got drunk, went back to his friend’s hotel, drank more and he’d stayed the night. As for not contacting Marie as the evening wore on, he would say he left his phone in the car. Would she believe him? The devil was in the detail so he conjured up more supporting evidence, the name of his friend, the name of pub where they drank, the name of the hotel where they stayed.

If Marie tested his alibi by calling the pub or the hotel he was fucked; but Marie would be unlikely to suspect him of infidelity. He was forty and she thirty eight; they had been married for ten years and had been trying for a child all that time until finally Rachael came along a year ago. They loved each other and had a healthy sex life and catered for each other’s fetishes and foibles in the bedroom and there never been a hint of unfaithfulness. She was simply mad that he had stayed out all night.

When he got to the parking lot he was not surprised to find a lavender envelope under the windshield wiper of his Honda Civic. He snatched it away and opened the car and flung the envelope and the keys to 12C in the glovebox. He drove home stopping at a shop to buy flowers and chocolates for Marie.

He burst through the door of his house just before 11am and found the nanny playing with Rachael on the rug in the lounge room. He apologised profusely and gave her twenty pounds on top of what Marie had given her for standing in during David’s absence. He played with his daughter until she was tired and lay her down for a nap.

He raced outside and retrieved the envelope and the keys to 12C from his car and retreated to his home office. He tore open the envelope.

‘Petra,

Quite the performance last night I must say! Proves you can teach an old dog new tricks; especially when the bitch is you! Anyway you passed the first dare and I will have another one for you shortly; meantime you need to make it up to your wife because you are going to staying out past midnight quite often I’m afraid.

The Quizmaster’

David was rattled. What was the deal with statement ‘quite the performance’? If the Quizmaster was watching the apartment, which David was sure of, he or she knew that Mick had not left until after midnight as required by the Game but wouldn’t know what had happened inside the flat. Maybe the Quizmaster had seen David kissing Mick in the hallway outside the flat, but that was all they would have seen. Was Mick in on it with the Quizmaster? Had he reported Petra’s wantonness and willingness to fuck him? Anyway his head hurt and he needed a nap so he put the letters with the others in the blue-painted steel lock-box along with the keys to the flat.

He checked on Rachael who was now awake and cooing in her cot. He changed her, fed her and took her with him to the master bedroom and played with her on the bed until she was sleepy again and then father and daughter fell asleep; he cradling Rachael in his arms.

Marie came home early specifically to confront David. She found the flowers and chocolates on the breakfast bar with a card. She opened it.

‘Sorry, sorry, sorry,

I love you,

David’

For a man who made his living as a writer it was piss poor effort she thought.

With no sign of David downstairs she climbed the staircase, expecting to find him in his study but he wasn’t there. She walked into the master bedroom and found David fast asleep with Rachael cradled in his arms.

Her heart melted and her anger dissipated. The two people she loved most in the world asleep on the bed, David protecting their daughter and Rachael safe in the arms of her father.

She backed slowly out of the room so as not to awaken them. She made her way downstairs and put the flowers in water, ate a chocolate and poured herself a glass of wine.

She heard the staircase creak and turned around to see David standing behind her, his hair tousled and eyes puffy from sleep. He was dressed in just a t-shirt and underpants and was sporting a sleep induced erection.

“Dressed to meet the queen have you?” Marie said dryly.

“No I took off my jeans because our little bundle of joy peed on them,” David replied.

“Look Marie; I’m sorry. We got into it a bit and…” David began but Marie held out her hand to stop him.

“I don’t want to hear anymore; I can guess it involves a succession of pints of beer accompanied by old rugby stories and probably stories about old university girlfriends. Then you were too pissed to come home so you stayed with your friend; who was it again?” Marie eyed him over the rim of her wineglass.

“Tim err Timothy; he hates being called Tim, and he wasn’t much of a rugby man,” David replied.

“So you just swapped stories about old girlfriends then?” Marie wasn’t as angry as David thought she would be but she wasn’t about to let him off easy either.

“No! I mean probably… but you know what it’s like when old friends get together who haven’t seen each other for ages?” David took a wineglass down from top shelf and poured himself a glass.

“Thought you would have had enough of that last night. Anyway yes I do know and when my old girlfriends get together we always talk about our old boyfriends,” Marie was deliberately teasing him now.

“Really? And do you rank their performances?” David rose to the bait.

“No we usually rank them on the size of their dicks,” Marie smiled wickedly.

She reached out and squeezed his penis through his underpants.

“Yours could best be described as adequate,” she taunted him.

“You don’t seem to complain,” David smiled back at her and held her hand on him when she tried to remove it.

“It does the job,” Marie squeezed David’s cock and grinned.

“Adequately, apparently,” David put down his wineglass and stepped in close to Marie.

“You’ve got bed-breath and smell like baby pee so don’t even think about…” Marie started to say.

David slipped his hand under Marie’s skirt and squeezed her mound, he pressed his middle finger into her cleft and rubbed her labia through the layers of panty and pantyhose. He knew how to arouse his wife; pressing on her cunt while stroking her cunt lips always got her excited.

“David! Stop that…” Marie tried to reprimand him but he shut her down by pressing his lips to hers.

“You are shameless,” she said through muffled lips.

Marie put down her wineglass and put her arm around her husband and began to stroke him though his underpants. David put a hand down there and freed his erection so that Marie could stroke the sleek hard flesh. He pushed his hand inside the waistband of Marie’s pantyhose and knickers; his found her wet. He opened her labia like the petals of flower and pressed his thumb on her clitoris while pushing two fingers inside her.

Marie moaned and thrust herself forward, offering herself to David. He slipped his tongue into her mouth and she gripped his cock harder, stroking it purposely. David worked on Marie’s clitoris and her knees began to buckle. She surprised David by pushing him away from her.

“This is too awkward,” Marie gasped.

She took the hem of her skirt in her hands and pulled it up around her waist exposing herself. She pulled her knickers down so that they pooled around her ankles and bent over a kitchen stool.

“Here! fuck me, fuck me now!” Marie wriggled her buttocks invitingly.

David stared at his wife’s magnificent buttocks sheathed in the black control-top pantyhose that she wore for work and stroked himself to full tumescence. He pulled her pantyhose down her thighs exposing her creamy white globes and positioned his cock inside her outer lips; he could smell her.

He thrust forward and his cock slid all the way inside her until his groin pushed against her buttocks. He placed his hands on her waist and began to vigorously fuck her, easing his cock almost all of the way out of Marie’s sopping minge and then thrusting forward; impaling her. She writhed and wriggled as he fucked her and unashamedly used her own fingers on her clitoris.

“Jesus Marie I coming!” David slammed his cock in and out of his wife’s sodden cunt.

“Wait! Wait!… Now!” Marie screamed as she orgasmed.

David felt her cunt quiver and pulse around his engorged phallus and he ground himself against Marie’s soft, creamy buttocks and emptied himself inside her. He pushed hard, hoping his shaft was stimulating Marie and contributing to her pleasure as she fingered herself to climax.

When they had both peaked David eased out of Marie and lifted her off the stool and spun her around and kissed her. She kissed him back, holding him tight, her knickers and pantyhose still bunched around her knees and her skirt hiked up. They kissed each other for a while and then Marie eased herself from his embrace.

“Yes; best described as adequate,” she taunted him and began to pull up her pantyhose and panties.

“What about you?” David tried to taunt her back.

“What about me? I’m the best fuck you’re ever going to have David Cashmore and don’t think that little performance is getting you out of the doghouse either,” she smoothed down her skirt and patted his cheek.

“Now; I’m going up for a shower and to get changed. Put on some trousers and look after our daughter while I do so please,” Marie turned and walk over to the staircase.

David ogled her big beautiful arse in the tight dark business suit skirt and marvelled at her wonderful legs sheathed in the black nylon and shod in shiny black high heels.

As she turned at the landing a wave of guilt washed over him as he pictured Petra with her legs in the air and Mick between them on the bed in Petra’s flat.

“Jesus! This can’t go on!” he railed under his breath.

David heard nothing from the Quizmaster; he or she had gone silent it seemed. David tried to work on his current novel but was continually distracted; waiting for the next summons from the Quizmaster which hung over his head like the Sword of Damocles.

He did some detective work trying to find out who was leasing apartment 12C. He smoozed up to the attractive but rather large real estate agent who managed the property, telling her that he was conducting research for his book. He took her for coffee and she was a little starstruck; she had read all three of his novels. He tried very hard to flatter her and eventually she told him that the only information she could give him was that the flat was currently leased to a Ms Petra Cashmore who payed her rent monthly using online banking. David declined the offer of a drink and maybe ‘a little something else’ that evening when she had smiled and opened her legs invitingly during the proposition.

He went back to the flat and found it spotless clean; the wine bottles and other detritus of Petra’s last visit had been cleared away, the surfaces wiped, the floors mopped and vacuumed. Even the laddered stockings Petra had thrown in the bathroom bin were gone; her panties were washed, folded and put back in the drawer in the cupboard. Either the Quizmaster or a commercial cleaner hired by the Quizmaster had been in the property since David was there last.

He spent some time online trying to chase down the origins of the Petra Pantsdown email and Adult friend Finder accounts but came up with nothing. He tried the same ruse with the phone company that he had tried with the real estate agent but got nowhere; the best he could get was a listing for the landline and mobile phone numbers, which unsurprisingly, were registered to Ms Petra Cashmore.

He thought about this for awhile and arrived at the conclusion that someone was impersonating Petra and that person had to be a woman because at some stage she would have had to show up and present credentials at the real estate agency.

David tried to charm the pretty but chubby real estate agent again to see is she had actually seen Petra Cashmore and get a description of the leaser but David had burned his bridges when he declined her offer of ‘a little something else’. She told him in no uncertain terms that he was close violating privacy laws and that if he didn’t back off she would report him.

“Damn! Well it has to be either Sandra, Rachael or Bethany!” David was of a mind that he’d had a ‘Eureka’ moment.

Meanwhile his obsession with trying to expose the Quizmaster was taking its toll on his personal life. He was using the nanny more and more, paying her extra to work the additional hours. His writing was suffering and his publisher was pestering him for a progress report on the novel, and a short story he had promised was overdue.

Marie accused him of being continually distracted and of neglecting both her and the baby. The only thing that seemed to be stable was his sex life with Marie; if anything it was better than ever. David seemed insatiable whenever Marie was around; he couldn’t keep his hands off her, seldom allowing her to undress before he pounced on her.

“Fucking me in my business suit bent over the workbench in the garden shed while I’m supposed to be hanging out the washing is quite exciting; but it doesn’t replace you spending quality time with Rachael and I David!” Marie had chided him as she adjusted her underwear.

What Marie didn’t know was that increasingly during their lovemaking David imagined himself in Marie’s place, only he was Petra of course. He had even resorted to taking the incriminating pictures of William fucking Petra out of the lock-box and masturbating using Marie’s knickers. He was losing control.

David assumed that either Rachael, Sandra or Bethany were the most likely candidates to be that blackmailing bastard, the Quizmaster; but for the life of him he couldn’t think of a reason why any of them would.

Rachael was easy to eliminate; she had been living in Australia for the last ten years. She had married an Aussie and never returned to the UK and was still living in Melbourne.

It was Sandra’s dare that had led him to becoming Petra on that evening of in March 1986 so that made her a suspect but Bethany had facilitated his transformation. She had done his makeup and dressed him; Bethany had effectively created Petra. He would start with the girls.

The gamers had drifted apart early in their last year at university as they worked hard to make up for their lack of study due to their penchant for drink, drugs and gaming. They had all finally graduated and David’s degree in English with an emphasis on creative writing and a minor in journalism set him up well for his chosen career. Not all the others had fared so well.

He checked with the university alumni association and was able to find contact details for both Sandra and Bethany but Sandra’s details were somewhat dated. Some further investigation led him to finding a phone number listing for her and the address where she was living near Birmingham. He called her and asked if he could meet up with her for old time’s sake. To say that she was sceptical would be to put things mildly.

“Why David? Why after all these years? You cunts wanted nothing to do with me after we graduated. I watched you become a successful writer while I tried to eke out a living as a journalist. Do you know what I do for a living now?” Sandra sounded bitter and a little drunk or stoned.

“Fuck it David. Don’t answer that! Come and see for yourself if you want to, you twat!” she slammed down the phone.

David’s suspicions were aroused. Sandra was aggrieved and obviously jealous of his success and that made her an excellent candidate as far as he was concerned. His attitude changed however when he went to see her.

Sandra was living in a council flat on a housing estate west of Birmingham. Most of the flats were abandoned and the tower block was scheduled for demolition once alternate accommodation had been found for the last of the tenants. The lift didn’t work and David was out of breath after he’d climbed the twelve flights of stairs to take him up to the sixth floor. He made his way past the usual detritus one expected to find in a building of this type: prams and pushchairs left outside doors, abandoned shopping trolleys, discarded furniture. The walls were graffitied, tagged by various youth gangs and the stairwell smelled like stale piss; David had had to step over a coil of human shit during his ascent.

He knocked at the entrance of Sandra's flat; layers of old paint were flaking from the water damaged wooden door.

Sandra came to the door and David hardly recognised her. She was wearing a cheap black vinyl miniskirt, a stained nylon leopard-skin blouse open to the third button, and scuffed black high heels. Her hair was teased out and her makeup garish; the tops of her laddered stocking were just visible, her large bosom cupped in a black lace brassiere was exposed, and she reeked of cheap perfume, cigarette smoke, and gin. She had a cigarette hanging from her red-lipsticked lips.

David was shocked and it obviously showed on his face.

“Go on say it! I look like a brass! Come in if you want to or piss off if you don’t; I couldn’t give a fuck either way,” Sandra turned and tottered on her heels into the kitchen.

David followed her and entered the dingy flat and closed the door behind him. The flat reflected the dilapidated state of the rest of the building; peeling wallpaper, filthy floors, clothes strewn around the place, overflowing ashtrays and rubbish bins. It smelled putrid.

“Did well didn’t I?” Sandra sat at kitchen table making no effort to pull down her skirt, which had ridden up to the roll of fat at her belly.

“Go on! Tell me I look like a brass, a prossie, a hooker! Well I do because I am one,” she stubbed out her cigarette and immediately lit another.

David took a seat opposite her after brushing away something that resembled dried gravy.

“I’m sorry to see you like this Sandra; what happened to you?” David asked sincerely.

“I never made it as a journalist and ended up with a deadbeat husband, three ungrateful kids and no financial support. I have a useless degree, no marketable job skills after my husband and kids pissed off, so I work part time in the chippie down the road and make up the rest doing this,” she replied around a cloud of cigarette smoke.

She looked at her cheap watch.

“I’m dressed for work so to speak; I’ve got a punter coming in half hour so be quick about your business. Unless you’d like a quick one for forty quid,” she nodded towards a pullout bed in the lounge room made up with tacky stained satin sheets.

David blushed.

“No thanks Sandra; I was just looking up the old gang; you know for old times sake,” David lied.

“Well you tell those other three cunts to go and get fucked if you see them; none of you ever bothered to look me up or offered to help. I suppose I can’t blame William; he’s at the bottom of the sea somewhere but I never heard from the rest of you fuckers once we graduated,” Sandra let her venom loose on David.

“Now we’re all caught up with each other. No need for you to tell me about yourself, I can read a dust jacket. So if you’re not paying me for a shag, you can fuck off as well,” she nodded at the door.

David opened his wallet and put two fifty-pound notes on the table; it was a pitiful gesture but it was at least something. He left without saying goodbye.

Bethany was in a totally different situation. David tracked her down to a small estate in Surrey; his research indicated she had done very well for herself.

She met David at the door wearing a white sleeveless sundress with red roses embossed on it, strappy white high heel sandals, perfect makeup and hair that had obviously been professionally coiffured. She still had a tiny waist and was still gorgeous; blonde haired, tanned and her breasts had been enhanced to perfection. She looked like a Stepford Wife.

“Please come in David, I'm so pleased to see you after all these years and not a peep,” she teased him.

David gave her his biggest smile.

“I’m looking up the old gang; the Gamers; I’m thinking of writing an article about us and our little dares,” he lied.

Bethany invited David through the huge elaborately and expensively furnished house and out back to the garden. David noticed four packed suitcases under the staircase in the entrance foyer.

It was sunny day but not particularly warm; best described as pleasant so David left his jacket on. Bethany led them to a tiled patio with a white lattice pergola where there was an outdoor setting. She invited David to sit and smoothed her dress under her as she sat in the white wicker chair opposite him. She poured them both a glass of sangria.

“To old times then,” Bethany offered her glass and gave him a big red-lipstick and bleached-white-teeth smile.

The ice clinked in their glasses as they tapped the rims together to seal the toast.

“So! A visit from the famous author after all these years,” she crossed her legs and swung her foot, either unconsciously or deliberately, but either way it got David’s full attention.

David thought Bethany was barelegged but then he noticed that she was wearing the sheerest hosiery that David had ever seen; gossamer thin, translucent. The only way he could tell she was wearing nylons was when she turned her leg a certain way and the sun made the hosiery shimmer. He couldn’t help but stare.

Bethany noticed him staring and blurted out a little nervous laugh; covering her mouth.

“So you still have a fixation for tights and knickers; or pantyhose and panties as you call them in your books,” she smiled at him beguilingly.

David blushed a deep crimson; how did she know about his fetish?

“I write for an international audience. The word tights is very English and to me evokes images of those horrible opaque things women wear in winter and knickers is also such a British word,” he explained; but he was still embarrassed that she knew about his fixation.

“How did you know about…” David was about to ask but Bethany put down her glass and waved a hand at him to stop.

“All of us girls knew David. You used to masturbate with our tights and knickers taken from our laundry baskets when you visited our flats; didn’t you think we would notice the stains? You were so pissed or high most of the time you probably forgot to clean up your mess,” Bethany continued to smile.

She took a sip of her drink and continued.

“One night, one of the girls, I think it was Rachael, raised her suspicions. Then Sandra said she thought so too and I told them I had also found evidence that you’d wanked in my sheers. In fact I think you stole some of my underwear. Were you a knicker nicker David?” she tormented him.

David was now extremely embarrassed and he looked down at the ground guiltily.

“How do you know it wasn’t Timothy or William?” he mumbled.

“Come on David really! You know all three of us fancied the pants off you back then but we had that stupid rule about no fucking other Gamers.

“I missed my chance to seduce you that time I had you in my bedroom when I feminised you. Do you remember? I’d done your makeup and unsurprisingly you got a hardon when you put on my knickers and stockings. I was kneeling on the floor right in front of you, straightening the seams of your stockings and you tenting my panties but I was too naïve to make a move,” she chuckled.

Bethany had inadvertently taken the conversation exactly where David wanted it. He wasn’t particularly comfortable discussing his penchant for ladies underwear but they were at least talking about The Game and in particular, the dare where he was feminised.

“I didn’t miss my chance with Timothy though,” Bethany drained her glass and refilled it while she continued to talk.

David realised that Bethany was more than a little tipsy which probably explained her chattiness and frankness.

“You know I got that dare to dressup as a brass and hang out under the railway bridge with the other prostitutes? I just shooed away any potential ‘punters’ is what I think they called them. You all fucked off to watch a band leaving Timothy behind to keep me safe and make sure that I kept the dare going until midnight. You all drove away in that awful Combi that William owned leaving Timothy behind to watch me from afar. Well he came over after a while.”

“He said he was worried about me with all these strange men hanging around but I could see he wanted me; me being dressed like a trollop must have turned him on. I took him into a cutout under the bridge and let him fuck me up against the wall. I came like a train. Pardon the pun, but it was so naughty. We both pledged to keep it a secret.”

“I think there were a lot of secrets between the six of us back then,” she stared knowingly at him.

‘Did she know about Petra and William? Was she the Quizmaster?’ David pondered.

“Anyway; I’ve read all your books and almost everything else you’ve written. I know that you are married to a wonderful lady named Marie who is a lawyer and that you have a little girl called Rachael. Is that a coincidence or did you fancy Rachael? Did you two ever…” Bethany's eyes shone as she sipped her drink and regarded him capriciously.

“How do you know all that? The dust jackets of course! A little potted history of the author’s life. So much wank; but my publisher insists,” David answered his own question and filled his glass and topped off Bethany's.

“And my life is so boring by comparison,” Bethany smiled wanly.

“I got my degree in computer sciences, which back them was a fledgling industry. I was studying for my doctorate while I worked at one of the emerging tech giants and that’s where I met Ian. He was ten years older and so much smarter than me. I fell for his mind as much as anything else.”

“I gave up my studies and worked under Ian while he rose up the corporate ladder until I just didn’t need to work any more. I became a lady who lunches. I play tennis twice a week, I go to tanning and nail salons, I have a gym membership; bet you’d like to see me in my gym tights?” she winked at him.

“Anyway we were married for five years and I never guessed that Ian was gay until one day he just came out and told me. He did such a good job of hiding it. We now have what’s known as a ‘marriage of convenience’. He hunts down hot-bodied young gay men and I’m allowed to play the field; all we demand from each other is discretion,” Bethany looked at the bottom of her glass.

“I think the young men refer to me as a MILF, or a cougar, or some such rubbish. I don’t care; I just like to travel the world fucking handsome young men with hot bodies,” she looked up and drained the last of the sangria into her glass.

David was stunned that Bethany was so candid with him. Throughout her story Bethany had dangled her sandal from her foot and rotated it in little circles; David was mesmerised by her gossamer-clad toes.

“Are you discreet David? Would you like to explore my legs a little more, see how far under this dress they go? I bet you would. I can see the bulge in your trousers from here,” she reached out and patted his knee.

David was speechless as she rose out of her chair and sat in his lap, sitting astride his thighs facing him. She tousled his hair and lowered those full red lips down to his. She tasted like sangria and cigarettes; she was wearing Poison, his favourite perfume. Had she worn it for him? He didn’t care.

He slipped his hands under Bethany's sundress and stroked her thighs. They felt so smooth and silky, encased in the sheerest of nylons.

“Come on David! No time for foreplay; I want you to fuck me! You can take me to bed and have all the foreplay you want later,” Bethany gasped into his mouth.

Her breathing was ragged; her breath hot and spicy, her need so manifest.

She half stood on her heels, still straddling him and clawed at his jeans, impatiently working on his belt and ripping down his fly. David half rose so he could pull his jeans and his underpants down to the top of his thighs allowing his erection to spring free.

Bethany pushed him back down in the chair and hiked up her dress; she clawed at the gusset of her sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose ripping out the crotch; she was not wearing knickers.

She impaled herself on David’s rampant penis and took his face in her hands and kissed him arduously, driving her tongue into his mouth. David put his hands on her waist and held on as she rode him, driving her pubis down into his crotch and grinding it; extracting every scintilla of pleasure that she could from him.

She was using him. She was fucking him. David was just her sex toy.

Bethany's cunt was sopping wet; warm and odorous. David could smell her sex as she rode up and down, fucking him hard, grunting and gasping into his mouth. Her cunt clung to his hard phallus, almost milking him as she gyrated and ground into him.

“Fuck! Fuck! Yes! Yes!” she screamed, her head flung back in wantonness as she orgasmed.

She pounded herself up and down on David’s cock, holding onto his shoulders, writhing with delight as she came. She kissed him, bit him and raked her nails on his neck as she climaxed.

It all happened so fast that David didn’t come.

When Bethany was finally satisfied she collapsed in his lap; her head resting on his shoulder as she panted, trying to catch her breath.

She could feel him still hard inside her.

“You didn’t come did you?” she looked questioningly into his eyes.

“No,” David smiled at her.

A wicked grin crossed her lips.

“Good! Let’s go upstairs and you can do me properly,” Bethany stood; the sinister grin still on her face.

Not even bothering to pull down her dress she yanked David out of his chair and half-dragged him up to her bedroom; he wasn’t even able to pull up his jeans.

She was insatiable.

When she had fucked David to the extent that he could no longer gain an erection she pushed his face into her crotch and made him perform cunnilingus on her; orgasming almost continually. When David’s jaw got tired she threw him down on the bed and suckled him until he became erect again and rode him until they were both exhausted.

David fell asleep some time after three in the morning and awoke to Bethany poking him with a finger.

She was dressed in her travelling clothes; a two piece suit. Her hair and makeup were perfect and her eyes sparkled. David once more thought of the Stepford Wife analogy.

“I have a car waiting. I’m off on a two-month cruise around the Caribbean; thanks for a wonderful day yesterday. You can put it in one of your books if you like, just don’t use my name. You can’t stay here sweetie so get up and get going,” Bethany bent down and kissed his cheek and then rubbed her lipstick off his skin.

David was stunned but that explained the suitcases in the foyer. Bethany was undoubtedly some sort of nymphomaniacal lunatic cougar but he doubted that she was the Quizmaster, especially now that she was leaving the country for two months.

He heard the clatter of her high heels on the marble staircase and her shrill voice giving orders to her driver and then he rolled out of bed and dressed hurriedly.

David felt uncommonly guilty when he returned home. He’d told Marie that he was taking a road trip to do some research for the book he was writing and that he’d been gone two days. He still needed to locate Timothy as he was now convinced that none of the girl Gamers was the Quizmaster, which meant that Timothy was now his prime suspect.

David wished he’d had time to shower before he left Bethany's but Bethany was running so late that she had just about thrown him out the door. He thought that he could still smell her on him; her perfume was cloying and her bedroom had reeked of sex when he’d awakened. He convinced himself that it was his imagination but he felt so guilty about fucking Bethany. When Petra had sex it didn’t count as adultery because she was Petra not David; but this time David actually felt like he had been unfaithful to his wife.

He had hoped that Marie would still be at work but she was home and came into the hallway when he came through the front door. He threw his jacket on a coathook and kissed her cheek and raced upstairs hoping to shower.

He ripped off his clothes and was about to go into the ensuite when Marie called up to him.

“David can you come down here. Can you come down here now please!”

He dressed in his bathrobe and padded barefoot downstairs. He was thinking of an excuse that he could use so as to not have sex with Marie; he doubted he could get it up after Bethany had drained him.

He needn’t have bothered.

Marie was standing at the bottom of staircase holding his jacket in one hand and something else in the other.

She tossed the something at him; she was seething and her eyes were red and filled with tears.

He caught the something. It was Bethany's discarded pantyhose with the crotch ripped out. Pinned to the pantyhose was a note written on lavender notepaper.

‘Enjoy these lover! I have some great memories of you until I return, B’

The ‘B’ was enlarged; the writing stylised, handwritten with a fountain pen. Bethany had placed a big red-lipsticked kiss on the bottom of the note.

“I can explain,” David lied.

“Explain! Explain those scratches and bitemarks on your neck? You reek of her David!” Marie screamed at him.

Marie regained her composure.

“Pack your bags,” she said calmly.

To be continued



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