© Copyright 2007 - Wiccedwoman - Used by permission
Storycodes: M/f; quickie; reluct; X
In her solitary misery, she didn’t hear the latch open.
“What’s the matter luv? What’s wrong? Did you slip or something?” The voice was concerned.
Carol looked up and caught the cellar man’s worried gaze, “I thought you were on holiday Ken, what are you doing here?” She forgot her distress for a moment.
“Well luv, I’ll be seventy next month – I need to pack it in. I popped round to talk about it, then I heard the other bloke let you down this week – I thought you might need a bit of help.” Ken was a kind man. Mostly retired, he only did the odd day here and there.
Suddenly, Carol felt embarrassed, “I must have skidded on something.I’ll be all right.”
“Do you need a hand?” He put out an arm.
“No, no – I’ll be fine.” She grabbed the corner of the table and pulled herself up. She smoothed down her designer jeans and brushed some dust from the shoulder of her jumper, her favourite clingy pink one. She loved cashmere – though she suddenly noticed a fresh coffee stain on the expensive material. Her eyes came to rest on Alan’s broken cup; she hadn’t heard it smash – but now, she saw the jagged pieces scattered on the floor. “Just like my marriage” she thought darkly.
Ken noticed her tear streaked face, but didn’t mention it – it wasn’t his business. “Can I make you a cuppa luv? You look like you need one.”
“No Ken, it’s OK – I’ve got to get changed. Look, make yourself a drink and some breakfast if you want. You’re right - we could do with a hand today.”
“OK then luv, I’ll stay – got any bacon?”
“Yes, there’s a pack in the fridge, help yourself,” she replied, heading towards the door. The old fella made her smile for a moment. He always dangled ideas of retirement, but the pub was his second home. She knew he was cold and lonely in his council flat; here he was part of things; here he was needed.
Ken watched Carol’s elegant behind with pleasure as she departed, and then cheerfully started cooking.
Sitting in front of her mirror, Carol slowly surveyed her puffy eyes and smudged makeup. “Oh fuck,” she thought, “I slip up just once and that smug bastard has to find out. God must have it in for me, but they say he’s a man . . . it figures.” Carol’s irreverent thoughts didn’t drift towards regret – it was hard to be sorry for a sin that made her tingle every time she remembered.
She opened the dresser draw, searching for some cleansing pads and saw the bottle of codeine again. She picked it up and held it for a while, thinking about the soothing effect. It would be easy to take one – or two – and then retreat to bed. The brown container said, “Open me.” She did, and then stared, indecisive. Suddenly, she threw it back, scattering the pills in her jewellery. “Bugger it!” she thought, “I’m not going there.” Pictures of her mother’s endless trips to the chemist flickered in her head.
The next few days passed in an unnerving truce. Alan silently moved into one of the guest bedrooms. He spoke to Carol only when he had to, mostly eyeing her with contempt. He turned away if she tried to talk.
Carol's attempts at openness were falling on stony ground, and it was difficult for her. By nature, she was expressive and passionate. She hated the silent treatment. It drove her crazy, which was probably the point. At night she was restless; 'There’s nothing worse,' she thought, 'than staring into space with a hundred gloomy thoughts going through your brain.' In the morning, she’d gaze at the black circles under her eyes and frantically try to hide them with makeup.
Alan had been with Carol a long time. He knew the effect he was having, but he needed revenge. He wasn’t quite sure why. Parts of him were logical, but when it came to his marriage, reason had fled. He loved her, and her indiscretion had wounded him deeply, despite his own infidelities. Of course, Jason was a younger guy – perhaps, just perhaps, he did it better - though Alan would have denied it.
Carol soon noticed her young Lothario didn’t come into the pub any more. His absence was conspicuous. She knew why. Alan must have put the hard word on him; she just hoped he’d done it with grace. She winced at the other possibilities.
This frozen sea of emotion was too fragile to last, and soon something fractured.
The place was busy with the usual evening crowd, and Carol was distractedly serving a customer when Di the barmaid brushed past, “That’s nice perfume, what is it? It smells like mine.” It was only a casual comment.
When Di said, Carol realised the girl was wearing her favourite one. “Oh,” she said, “that’s funny; it is mine.”
“It was a gift,” replied Di coyly.
“Oh really? Who from? Has that useless boyfriend of yours reformed?”
“Alan” declared Di, “Alan gave it to me.”
Carol took a sharp breath.Alan hadn’t brought her anything in a while. She’d also clocked his habitual glances at the siren’s large breasts, though she’d never said anything. Let’s face it; he was only a man. The unambiguous “Alan gave it to me,” stabbed her in the gut. Her eyes narrowed and she spun in Di’s direction, completely ignoring the customer she was serving, “Alan!” She yelled, “Why the fuck is my husband buying you perfume?”
Di’s neck coloured, but she maintained her cool. “It’s nothing Carol, he was just showing some appreciation for all the hard work I put in around here. He’s sweet isn’t he?”
Carol’s stomach curdled. If thoughts and looks could murder, Di would have keeled over. In any case, the older woman pounced on the naïve child with unforgiving savagery. “Listen here, you little slut – I don’t need you to tell me how sweet my husband is,” and then, if it were possible, Carol got more direct. She gently grasped the collar on Di’s blouse and tightened it, pulling the bitch closer, “Di, you stay away from my old man. If I catch you batting your eyelids in his direction just once, I’ll kill you, got it?”
Di trembled. She’d pushed it too far. She’d underestimated Alan’s wife. Then, despite her nerves, she managed a reply, “You’re paranoid!” she spat.
“Yeah,” replied Carol slowly, “I’m paranoid, so you’d better be careful . . .” The statement hung in the air between them like an icicle.
The next morning, Alan sat in the kitchen as normal, eating his breakfast, sipping coffee and engrossed in the paper. Of course, he hardly spoke two words to Carol. He didn’t notice she was at snapping point until it was too late.
Carol watched him with silent rage - although Alan was blithely unaware of her intentness. He merely munched through his lavishly buttered toast and turned the pages of his broadsheet.
Thoughts of perfume, gifts and hypocrisy churned inside his wife. “Alan, darling, would you like some juice? I squeezed it for you this morning, there’s a jug in the fridge.”
Alan was smug about her attempts to make up, and didn’t want to let her off the hook. She had to suffer first. He’d come around when he was ready, not before. “OK” he replied coldly, not even bothering to look. It was a mistake, he should have; he would have seen what was coming.
She stood behind him, perfectly still, perfectly focussed – and then poured it in a steady stream.
Alan sputtered with shock as the coldness ran over his head. It trickled into his eyes and dribbled disgustingly down the back of his neck. Large droplets gathered on the end of his nose, before tumbling to the floor.
Carol didn’t stop until the jug was empty, and then calmly set it on the table. “Like I said Alan, I squeezed it specially for you – enjoy.” That statement hanging behind her, she flounced out of the kitchen, leaving him to fulminate in a sticky orange puddle.
When Alan emerged from the bathroom, he almost collided with his tormentor. He saw she was dressed to go out. An expensive leather handbag hung from one shoulder and she was jangling car keys. “What was that about?” he spat, and then looking at her more closely, he asked, “and where are you going?”
Carol’s eyes narrowed, “Perhaps you should buy your slut another perfume – and as for the other question, I’m seeing Elaine – not that it’s any of your business.”
He watched mutely as the door slam behind her, “Bloody women!” he thought. She’d upset his composure again; something she was good at.
Di the barmaid arrived at the pub earlier that morning, though after the blast she’d had from Carol, she thought about quitting. One thing stopped her – Alan. He was on her mind all the time lately - she couldn’t get him out of her head, not that she tried. She had this thing for older men, particularly older married men oozing self-assurance. Alan had it all. Every time he looked at her, she weakened.
Until recently, Di had a boyfriend – Danny, but she tired of him. Love turned to hate and then turned into the worst passion killer of all – indifference. He promised to get help for his violent temper, but it was too late. The last black eye had been the end. Making an overdue decision, she’d kicked him out. Of course, Alan’s support and fatherly concern played a large part in her sudden verdict.
Reaching up to deposit a beer glass in the rack above the bar, Di felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. A thumb softly circled the base of her neck. She smelt Alan’s aroma, a musky aftershave. She’d seen him watching her as soon as she arrived. Each time she looked in his direction, he’d caught her eye. She wondered where Carol was. “Don’t Alan,” she said, “not here.” He didn’t listen; she felt him massage her more insistently. She noticed she was breathing harder and then glanced at the clock; it was just past closing time. Suddenly, Di spotted Helen’s lingering gaze. She was one of the other barmaids, a bit too chummy with Carol for Di’s liking. She felt uneasy.
Alan saw Helen’s stare too, “You can go now luv, everyone else has – see you this evening.”
Helen pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow, “Yeah right Alan, thanks for that – see you later.” Her voice was businesslike; it didn’t betray the disapproval. She replaced the glass she’d been drying and got her handbag from the cupboard below the counter. A clipped “Bye” was the only parting shot as the door closed behind her.
“Time gentlemen please.”Alan’s voice echoed through the almost empty pub, prompting the stragglers to drain their glasses. He locked the last customer out with growing anticipation.
From behind the bar, Di watched him secure the bolts. Her heart was beating faster. A few seconds later, she felt his groin against her ass – and his arms round her waist. The hairs on her spine stood up when he lowered his mouth to her neck, and they stood even higher when he delicately nipped her flesh. She instinctively wriggled her buttocks, and then melted some more when he pushed even closer. She let out a sigh of pleasure when his hands held her breasts and squeezed in a slow, sensuous rhythm. “Oh God Alan, you’re too much . . . you’ll get me into trouble.”
“I thought you liked trouble,” he whispered back.
She just moaned in reply when she felt him play with her nipples.
“Come with me Di.”Alan grabbed her hand and led her towards the stairs. He guided her to his bedroom, at least, to the guest one he was using now.
Di panicked a bit, “Alan, where’s Carol? Won’t she see us?”
“Nah – Carol’s out for the day. She’s at her mates place. We won’t see her for hours. Her and Elaine go way back. They never shut up; beats me what they talk about.”
“Oh” replied Di, a little stunned at his off hand comment, but she didn’t question it as she heard the door click behind them.
Alan put his hands on her shoulders and met her eyes. “Get undressed Di – now.”
She was a bit unnerved at his lack of romance, but who was she to argue?
Alan’s pupils widened as they drank in the sight. He found her bare curves hypnotic - and when he wiped the back of his hand across his forehead; it was damp. His stare didn’t falter as he took off his clothes. “Kneel here babe, on the bed.” He patted the satin quilt to underline his point.
Her eyes searched his for some softness, but they seemed almost glazed – like they were seeing her, yet not seeing her. It was weird. She nearly said no, but somehow didn’t dare. He wasn’t aggressive; it wasn’t that – she was simply out of her depth. She obeyed.
Alan felt pleased.
On her knees, Di felt vulnerable – like she was part of something she couldn’t control. She was right.
Alan stroked his dick; Di’s buttocks were beckoning. Then, with no explanation or tenderness, he positioned her to his taste. He pushed her torso down, until one side of her face lay flat on the bed and her ass curved up higher. He wasn’t sure he’d hold it together for long like that, but he didn’t care.
Di felt his fingers slide inside and twist a few times.
“You’re very wet Di – you like this don’t you?”
She just whimpered and squirmed.
Concentrating, Alan stroked his glans along her pussy. His erection was already weeping; the juice mixed with hers. Then in one fierce lunge, he started fucking her.
“Ouch!” she yelped, “That’s too deep!”
“Shut-up Di” he growled, “just take it.”
Gripping her ass, he stabbed even harder. Dear God, he loved it. Carol wouldn’t allow this rough treatment – at least, he’d never tried it with her.
“Owww” Di moaned again.
“Just shut up!” he snapped a second time. He could feel himself coming. His groans bounced off the bedroom walls when he couldn’t hold it in any longer. Jerking out his load, he pushed a centimetre deeper. He heard Di scream, but it was too late, he’d finished. Soaking with sweat, he spread himself on the bed beside her.
Her eyes locked his; they were angry. “You bastard!” she shouted.
“Ssshhh” he gently replied, resting a finger on her lips. “I can’t help it Di – you’re too sexy, you turn me on too much.” Alan felt her soften - he knew she would. He stroked her hair and then kissed her brow in contrition. He felt her snuggle towards him; he’d prevailed – though he never doubted the outcome. Some women are easier to influence, and Di made it simple. Right now, he didn’t want the hassle of some difficult bitch. Di was perfect – at least, he thought she was. Mistakes are never obvious at the time.
Carol’s elbows rested on the breakfast bar while she slowly sipped some fresh perked coffee and watched her friend bustle about in her kitchen. She knew Elaine had a domestic streak, never one of her failings. She paid a cleaning lady and used the culinary skills of Marks and Spencer’s. She saw Elaine pull a tray of biscuits from the oven, “I don’t know why you bother.Your lot wouldn't know the difference from packet ones, and they eat them in five minutes anyway.”
Elaine smiled weakly, “Yeah, you’re probably right – I don’t know why I do it sometimes, force of habit I suppose.”
“Well my girl, it’s about time you changed your routine – no-one gets thanked for being a martyr.”
“I’m not a martyr!”
“Yes you are” Carol stressed the words, remembering their shared history. She’d known Elaine for years, ever since they worked together as teenagers. Elaine had married young like her, and got pregnant at once. She’d had four boys in quick succession and at one point; Carol thought her mate would drown in nappies. Jack, Elaine’s old man, seemed OK– but Carol often heard Elaine say she didn't see him enough. He’d built a successful haulage business from scratch and was away for days on end – though Carol knew the rewards had been good. Elaine lived in a large terraced house, in an upmarket London suburb. Blackheath Common and Greenwich Park were on her doorstep.
“You’re a bitch Carol, you know that don’t you?”
Carol grinned, “Yeah – that’s why you love me. Come on - leave that stuff. Sit down and have a coffee. I’ve got some gossip.”
That was enough for Elaine – scandal was her weakness. She poured herself a brew, adding large amounts of cream and two spoons of sugar. This wasn’t a diet week, though she’d pay for it later. She seesawed between ten and twelve, not huge – but she always battled her curves, as well as a tendency to neglect her looks when she got down. Sometimes the household minutia just consumed her – but Carol a spark. “Friends,” she thought, “are better than those pills from the shrink.” Anyway, she did as Carol said, hanging out for some juicy bits.
Both women were happily barefoot as they curled in two well-padded leather armchairs.
Before she began, Carol studied her friend for a moment and noticed her worn black leggings and the baggy shirt with ripped pockets. She also saw she hadn’t bothered with make-up, and her silky brunette hair was scrunched in a ponytail. She knew that below this uncaring front lay real glamour. Coiffed, made-up and wearing some sexy outfit, Elaine was a stunner. Carol remembered their working days in that dodgy Soho bar; it was where they’d met Alan and Jack. Those guys were slick, smooth talkers – but Elaine and her matched them. It was a wild time. Gathering her thoughts, Carol made a mental note to prod her mate later, and then began to spill the beans.
Elaine listened intently.
Carol recalled her passionate cellar interlude with Jason – and then Alan’s anger and the way he’d turned cold. Naturally, she didn’t leave out his gift to that slut of a barmaid, livening the story with the orange juice incident.
“Oh my God!” exclaimed Elaine, at the point where Carol painted a graphic picture of Jason’s size and passion.
“Yeah – you could say that,” replied Carol wistfully, “the trouble is, I can’t get it out my head. I’m a very bad girl Elaine – I know I shouldn’t say this, but I’d almost kill for more. I mean, don’t get me wrong – I love Alan, but I might as well be made of plastic for all the sex I get. I was beginning to think there was something wrong with me . . .”
Elaine raised an eyebrow and sighed in recognition, “Yeah, I know what you mean. My closest male friend is Harry. We’ve been getting down and dirty quite a bit lately.”
“Harry?” said Carol, suddenly curious, “whose he? What about Jack?”
Elaine giggled, “Well, he’s about eight inches, a bit thick and made of rubber – but at least he’s always willing and doesn’t snore.”
Carol grinned, “You’ve missed something.”
“Yeah, What?” Elaine was intrigued.
“He doesn’t play around.”
“Yeah – you’ve got a point. I wonder about Jack sometimes; he did have that affair a few years ago; I nearly killed him – as you know. He swore he’d never see her again, and I think he kept his word. It cost him a bit too – he was desperate to make up. If you remember, I got a holiday in Barbados and that very pricey diamond.”
“Yes, how could I forget?” said Carol with a glint, “it was a major drama. Didn’t you give the slut something to remember you by?”
Elaine giggled, “Yeah, I think I did now you mention it. . . .”
“Come on Elaine, there’s no need to be shy. There was something about a broken nose – hers.”
“Well, as you’ll recall,” began Elaine, savouring the memory, “the bitch turned up on my step one morning when Jack was at work and said she was fucking my husband. To be honest, I’d already had a pig of day. The baby had yelled all night, the toddler was throwing up and shitting through the eye of a needle – and the school was on the phone, telling me to get the other one, he was sick too. The house was a dump and I felt terminally gross – you know, like I’d just crawled from under a stone. This cow rings my doorbell and as calmly as you like, tells me she’s screwing my old man. There she stood – not a hair out of place. I had vomit stains on the tatty jumper I’d been wearing for two days and felt like death. All of a sudden, this red curtain fell – I don’t remember punching her, though I remember her screams – I thought she’d never shut up. I just closed the door. Never heard from the bitch again – though Jack paid, I made sure of it.”
“Yes – he did. Didn’t you leave him for a while?”
“Yeah – I left him with three sick kids, a sink full of washing up and one loaf of mouldy bread in the cupboard.”
“Mmmm – as I remember, he begged you to come back. I liked your style though – you made him suffer.”
“Yes,” said Elaine, “it was a key moment. Anyway, that’s enough about my drama – tell me more about yours; I mean, how are things with you and Alan now? Do you really think he’s fucking that new barmaid?”
Carol sighed and raised her eyebrows, “Do I think he’s fucking her? Well, let’s put it this way – men don’t buy expensive perfume for young blondes with big tits because they happen to be good at serving pints. I’d say he’s sampling other skills – he’s certainly not sampling mine.” At that, Carol’s eyes welled with tears and she felt a catch in her throat.
“Bastard!” said Elaine.
Carol reached for the tissues on the coffee table, took a couple and dabbed. She made a brave effort to regain her composure. “I just don’t understand Elaine. I mean, when he found out about Jason, I thought he was going to kill me. I haven’t seen him that mad in years, yet he’s fucking some brainless little bimbo and ignoring me. What am I supposed to do? Turn cartwheels?”
“Mmmm” agreed Elaine, “I see your point. Perhaps he’s going through a mid-life crisis. It can’t be you. Let’s face it, you and Alan have always been good together, and you’re beautiful. It’s not like he’s married to some old hag.”
Carol smiled weakly, “Oh Elaine, you’re just saying that – I’m not young any more.”
Elaine frowned, “You listen here Carol – you’re stunning. Jesus Christ woman, I’d kill to fuck some young stud like Jason – trouble is, I haven’t been asked.”
Carol’s smile widened, “Yeah, I must admit, it did me good – even though he’s a conceited little prick.”
“Actually Carol, from what you said, he wasn’t that little. . . ”
Carol grinned, “That’s true,” and then another thought struck her, “do you think Alan’s pissed off because Jason’s half his age?”
Elaine lifted an eyebrow, “Well, honey – you don’t have to be Einstein to figure it out; serves him right. I hope it burns him up.”
Carol nodded in agreement, soothed by the thought of Alan’s discomfort. However, it didn’t change things - she wasn’t getting any and her old man had a fresh source of excitement. Her thoughts crystallised, “What am I going to do Elaine? I mean, it can’t go on like this – something’s got to give.”
“Well, if you ask me, the only way is honesty – real honesty. It’ll either make or break things, but at least you’ll know where you stand. You don’t have the kids to consider any more, Damien and Chelsea are off hand. It sounds to me as if Alan wants to have his cake and eat it too. He can’t stand the thought of you screwing around, but it’s all right for him. Let’s face it, he can hardly complain – he hasn’t touched you in ages. What does he expect?”
Carol’s throat tightened again and she felt her eyes sting a second time, “Yeah – you’re right. You know, Alan asked me what my biggest fantasy was once. I told him I got turned on when a guy was so hot for me he couldn’t wait. He didn’t seem to understand. ‘Is that all?’ he said.You know what I mean though, don’t you Elaine?”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” said Elaine pensively. She remembered how insistent Jack had been when they first met – how he couldn’t get enough of her. Now, he just slept and worked. She might as well be invisible.
“Well then,” Carol’s voice cut through Elaine’s brooding, “What do you think? What should I do?”
“Mmmmm,” Elaine was thinking aloud, “well, the most important thing is you.What do you want?”
“You know Elaine, that’s a good question – I’ve never thought about it like that.” She reflected a moment before continuing, “I suppose the first problem is that slut – she has to go. I know she’s a symptom of deeper things, but to be honest, I can’t bear to look at her.”
“That’s normal – what else?”
“What else? Well, Alan and I have to start talking. He’ll have to climb off his high horse and act like an adult, not that I’ve been grown-up lately...” She thought about the orange juice and the way it splashed down Alan’s neck. She knew she’d been childish, but at least it was satisfying.
“That’s good – talking’s good. Do you think he’ll agree?”
“What?” Carol was lost in thought, “Oh – do I think he’ll agree? Well, I’m not going to give him a choice – it’s either that or the divorce courts. I can’t go on like this.”
Elaine nodded in agreement, silently wondering when she’d reach her own breaking point. It seemed close, but fear held her back. Some how though, she felt a few seeds of change. Perhaps they would burst; she just didn’t know when. Anyway, after pausing for thought, she answered, “You’re right, things can’t go on the same way forever. Alan’s had it his own way too long. He’s too comfortable, too sure of you . . .”Elaine pondered as she spoke; perhaps she was really talking about Jack and herself.
story continues in Indiscretion 3