Proust’s Muse – A New Partnership

***The following is the first installment in a series about the collaboration between a neglected housewife and a successful author to create a series of experiences to be used as inspiration for an erotic romance novel. I plan to add a minimum of seven more chapters in the weeks and months ahead. This installment contains more than it’s fair share of exposition that I deemed necessary to introduce the main characters and the circumstances under which their partnership began. I tried to add in spice along the way to liven up the narrative while still adequately setting up the series.***

The boy couldn’t believe his ears. Who was this stranger and why did they care who he was fucking or why?

“My employer’s offer is final,” said the slightly overweight, greying man.

“I…I don’t understand. Why?” the boy stammered.

“It doesn’t matter why, kid. That has nothing to do with you. The only thing you need to know is that you have an opportunity to leave here with ten thousand dollars in your passenger seat. It’s that clear-cut. You can use that money to wine and dine and bed as many sorority girls as your heart desires. That’s what nineteen year olds are supposed to do ya know.”

They boy shook his head in disbelief. It was all so surreal. The man making him the offer was right. It was pretty damned clear-cut. “And all I have to do is never see her again?”

“That’s all,” the man nodded, “You’re in the grocery store and you see her- walk down the next aisle. You’re at the movies and she comes in- find something else to do. No contact. And, most importantly, no explanation as to why.”

“What am I supposed to tell her?” the boy muttered incredulously, “she’s in love with me.”

“Kid, that just ain’t so. Go live your life. Be a kid. Enjoy college. Just never see her again.”

The text conversation that ensued the next evening confirmed the hired man’s report that the boy had accepted the money and the terms, though Leanne nor her best friend had any idea the meeting had ever taken place.

L: Get ready for this shit

J:?

L: Psycho says she doesn’t want to see me anymore.

J: Why?

L: He says he needs to focus on school and live the “typical college experience”

J: That’s good news, right?

L: I mean…yeah…it’s just random. Two days ago he’s going on and on about going away together, and now he never wants to see me again? Weird.

J: Aren’t you relieved? You refer to the kid as “crazy” after all.

L: I am relieved lol It’s just that I think I just got dumped by my nineteen year old former student. Kinda a blow to the ego, ya know?

J: You’ll find a new one in no time. Homecoming is a smorgasbord I hear.

L: Oh fuck you lol No more students. Never again.

Leanne laid in her bathtub, scrolling through social media, and waiting for the snoring to start echoing from her bed. If she lay there long enough her husband would be asleep and she wouldn’t need to feign any affection or intimacy. The day had been long enough without having to fake it with Sam.

After a while, she laid her phone on the floor beside the tub before sinking farther down into the soapy water. Her ample breasts broke through the layer of bubbles and floated on the bathwater in clear sight. What a sight she was, too. At thirty-two she still had it and she knew it. Her hips had bared a child whom she loved with all her heart, but they still flared into her midsection in a way that drew attention all over town. Attention she craved. Attention she got from seemingly every man she knew- except for Sam, whose snoring had just begun in their bed. She hated herself for going outside their marriage, or so she told herself, but a woman like Leanne had needs, and Sam seemed disinterested in even noticing- much less fulfilling them.

And so, Leanne had cuckolded her husband in the most cliché way imaginable. The curvaceous, beautiful teacher with a kind smile and smoky eyes had climbed into bed with a former student a mere seven weeks after he’d graduated. Bed wasn’t exactly accurate, though. Typically it was the back of her SUV where they’d climbed, having to avoid her daughter’s car seat while they ravaged each other in the darkness.

It was harmless fun. He was headed off to the state university where he’d find some PYT to steal his heart and his chiseled body, and she’d go back to domestic anything-other-than-bliss. Except he didn’t find his PYT. He didn’t even look. Instead he became more and more obsessed with his own personal Mrs. Robinson. He’d dreamt of seeing what was under his gym teacher’s sweats, but never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that he’d one day get to rip them off and bury his cock inside her. Now that he had, though, he had no interest in giving her up. No girl in any of his classes to hold a candle to his woman. His woman. Technically she wasn’t his. Not yet. But that piece of shit Sam was no real problem. He could keep the kid for all Sam cared, but Leanne was his.

Leanne started to pick up on the boy’s growing obsession after more than a few warning signs, but by that point she felt trapped. The kid revealed himself to be more unstable by the day. She cursed herself for creating the situation, but what could be do now? If she broke things off with the boy, she was confident he would at least tell Sam. That was the best case scenario. She feared he might try to do more. So, week after week, she moaned in empty parking lots and enjoyed the orgasms she’d craved for years, despite the fact that they came from a boy she no longer saw as stable. The situation was unsustainable- she knew that much. Yet there seemed to be no way out that didn’t involve her life in shambles. And now, for reasons passing understanding, it was behind her.

Reception near her school was shotty at best on most days, so it wasn’t unusual for to receive a deluge of missed calls, voicemails, and texts on her way home once she’d driven a mile up the road where the reception was better. This day was no different. Mixed in with the text from her husband asking about dinner and a half dozen other texts from JD and other friends, was a notification for a voicemail from a blocked number. Odd. She tapped the icon and the message began to play over the Bluetooth in her car.

“Hello, Leanne… or should I say Muse?” it began. The voice wasn’t menacing; in fact, the deep baritone was quite pleasant, but his words, which he let hang in the air for a moment, turned Leanne’s face ashen. Her eyes darted to the stereo as though there was something to be seen from where the voice came.

The voice continued, “A mutual acquaintance of ours seems quite taken with you, and now that I’ve found you I can see why. He also proved right about your former student. That boy seems…off-tilt…and his behavior was starting to become unacceptable. You must have been worrying yourself sick trying to figure out what to do. I was more than happy to resolve that headache for you. We’ll discuss that more this evening when I call at nine-thirty. In the meantime, let’s keep this between us. No need for our friend or anyone else to know about our interactions. Remember, Leanne, nine-thirty.” The line went silent.

Leanne’s knuckles were as white as her normally tanned face as she gripped the steering wheel. Her mind was somehow whirling in circles and completely blank. She pulled into her driveway ten minutes later without any memory of her drive across the winding roads between school and her home. For a long while she sat in the blackness of her garage in complete silence, staring straight ahead but not looking at a thing. “Mommy?” a voice called out, “are you coming in?” Her son’s voice broke her trance, but did nothing for the fog in her mind. She smiled and hugged him as she walked through the door. Mommy mode is a strong force. It can overpower hunger, sickness, anger and a million other distractions, but not after a call like that. She did her best to fake it and remain engaged throughout the hours that followed. Homework led to dinner, which led to bath time before the first half of a movie and then bedtime. At one point she slipped away to call her best friend. She was furious at him, and wasn’t sure how much she could keep her voice and tone in check with little ears around. What had he said to this mystery caller? How could he tell this man her phone number? “Taken care of the boy?” What the fuck did that mean? Fear of being overheard wasn’t the ultimate factor that kept her from calling, though. The voice on the phone had said not to tell JD. She couldn’t explain why, but she chose to acquiesce to the instruction.

Sam was playing poker down the street and her son, Liam, was sound asleep by nine. For thirty minutes she paced, then sat motionless, then paced again. There was nothing she could do. The previous two weeks, the ones since it had become clear that her affair was spiraling out of control, had left her paralyzed with anxiety. That worry seemed tedious now. Whoever that man was, whatever he wanted, and her powerlessness do anything but wait for him to call was crushing.

At 09:30:01 her phone finally rang. A form of relief washed over her. Whatever he might say had to be better than the way she’d felt since the voicemail had ended. Knowing what he wanted had to be better than the uncertainty of being left in the dark. Leanne inhaled deeply and set her face into a granite scowl. It was time to stop waiting on the back foot, she told herself. The moment she accepted the call she launched into a rapid-fire torrent of questions- not bothering to wait for an answer to any of them. At least they were out of her head and out in the open.

“Who are you? How do you know my name or about Brian? What did JD tell you? How could he? How dare either one of you meddle in my fucking life? What do you mean you ‘took care’ of Brian? Did you hurt him? Where is he? I’ll call the goddamned police and have the both of you thrown in jail within the hour.” She paused for a moment to let her threat settle and regain her breath. No sound came from the other end of the phone. She continued the inquisition, “What. Do. You. Want?” she asked in an exasperated tone. “Forget trying to blackmail me. He wasn’t a student anymore. I didn’t break any laws, or even any rules for that matter. And I’ll tell my husband myself before I let you bully me…”

Another long paused ensued before the man finally spoke.

“Are you finished?”

Silence filled the line.

“Do you want answers to any of those questions or did you just want to rant?”

Still Leanne said nothing.

“Let’s go one at a time. I am a writer. You can call me Proust. I know your name, flatly, because I have a substantial amount of money. I’m a fairly prolific author of best selling, mainstream fiction, almost all of which have spent times on the New York Times bestsellers list, but I’ve decided to take a crack at the Romance/Erotica section of the market. If the drabble of Shades can set the mommy porn world ablaze, I figure I can make a quadruple the sales of my last novel with minimal literary effort. Because I have many plates spinning at once in my work, I have a researcher. When I read our friend’s stories on the site about his “muse” I set my researcher out to find you. He found you completely unbeknownst to our friend. He didn’t betray you, Leanne. He told me nothing and I didn’t ask. The only thing he did wrong was use his full name as his email address to login to the site. His email address led us to his personal social media, which led us to you. With me so far?”

Leanne offered only an icy, “Yes.”

“We didn’t do anything to the boy. I’d rather not use his name. I’ve never actually met him. My researcher incentivized him to stop his irrational, borderline psychotic refusal and to let things end quietly. He wasn’t hurt. In fact, he wasn’t even touched. I have no intention of blackmailing you, Leanne, nor do I have any intention your husband ever finding out about anything- quite the opposite. I mean to help you keep things from him for as long as you wish. Regardless of whether or not we ever speak again, I can assure that your husband will not hear a word of your infidelity from me, nor from anyone under my employ.”

“You answered every one of my questions- in order by the way- except for the biggest one of all,” she said, her voice noticeably less hostile than before.

“It’s a tick of mine. My brain is very organized.”

“Sure,” she spat, “now answer my goddamned question. And tell me what you did to make Brian go away.”

“I paid him ten thousand dollars,” he said in a matter of fact tone, as though what he’d said was perfectly normal.

“I don’t understand,” she said after a slight pause.

“My employee went to his house and offered him ten thousand dollars to never speak to you again with the exception that he was aloud to respond to you one time to break things off. He accepted. End of story,” he explained in the same tone.

Leanne was bumfuzzled. “You…you…what…why…but what do you…I…I don’t get it,” she stammered. She couldn’t quite believe her ears. The biggest mistake of her adult life, the one she was convinced would eventually destroy her life, was gone. A sense of relief washed over her for a moment. There was an audible sigh that her new mysterious benefactor could hear through the phone. As quickly as the relief came, it left, replaced by a pang of fear and a great deal of confusion.

The Benefactor broke the silence. “What I want is quite simple, Leanne. I want you to be my muse. I want to write your story. Or, rather, I want us to craft a story together based on your interactions; interactions we’ll make sure are far less reckless.”

That answered zero questions, she thought. “Interactions?” she asked indignantly, “what interactions? Are you asking me to fuck you?”

He laughed through the phone in a way that made Leanne feel small. Her temper flared, but before she could speak, he apologized in his own way.

“I’m sorry. No. You’re a beautiful and intriguing woman, Leanne, but I’m not trying to sleep with you.”

“I’m hurt,” she spat in a tone dripping with sarcasm, “then stop beating around the bush and tell me what you want from me- specifically.”

“I want you to keeping finding a release for the sexual frustration caused by your relationship with your potato sack of a husband. He really is a bizarre little man. I hope you don’t mind me saying so. Keep sleeping around as much as you have been- or more if you wish- just do it on my terms.”

“Your terms?” she said in a voice somewhere between confusion and blind rage.

“Yes.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I fuck somebody you choose or you let psycho off the leash? Is that it?” Her temper was flaring more now, yet she felt no choice but to keep her composure and listen.

“I have no intention of telling you whom you have to sleep with Leanne. Nor do I plan to take my money back from the boy or allow him to contact you with money still in hand. My intention is to write a story about the sexual liberation of a neglected, interesting woman. You’re the only one of those that I know. I need a muse. Or rather, I want a muse. But only if that muse is you.”

“You know nothing about me. How could you possibly need it to be me? And I still don’t understand what you mean by ‘terms.’ What is that? How can I be the muse for a complete stranger who has never seen me in the flesh? JD has known me since we were kids. I assume you know that. It’s different.”

“Yes it is. He’s interested, but not engaged. He seems to struggle with each new person you sleep with. You two clearly have a history, a deep emotional connection. You and I do not have that barrier. It allows us to be more open. Raw, if you will.”

“But…I still don-”

He cut her off. “Have you ever slept with a man you met on a dating app? At a tailgate? Have you ever been tied up, or tied up someone else? Had sex with a perfect stranger? Have you ever been to a sex club?” She answered no to all of those. He smiled on the other end of the line. He’d guessed right. “Well there you go. That’s what I’m talking about. Those are some of the terms,” he grinned, placing the same emphasis on the word that she had, “that I have in mind. I’m not interested in who you sleep with, Leanne. That’s entirely up to you. My terms would simply be the how.”

He waited for a response. Leanne, on the other hand, had nothing. Her mind was spinning and blank simultaneously.

“It would go like this, my dear. I would say, ‘within the next 12 hours you need to download a dating app, find a man you’re attracted to, and take him to bed- or wherever else you choose to do the deed. I hear you have a thing for cars.” Leanne blushed bright red. She was glad he couldn’t see her face. He continued, “Then, when it’s over, we talk about your experience. What you liked, what you hated, whether you’d relive that experience again, and whether it’s a an experience fitting for the Leanne I eventually write. That’s it.”

A lump rose in her throat. Her phone rattled in her hand as it shook. Was she really about to let some stranger tell her how to find people with which she would cuckold her husband. For a long while she stared through the windshield of her SUV into the darkness of the parking lot where she had parked. Finally she spoke, “I don’t want to be made a fool of.”

“You won’t be,” he assured her.

“JD can never know. That’s a deal breaker. I won’t risk our friendship.”

“Never,” he answered in with the same warmth. He had her hook, line and sinker, and he knew it.

“And I want twenty percent of the gross sales,” she said. Her voice had a confidence in it that told him she was as fascinating as he’d hoped.

“Clever girl.”

Silence filled the air and he let it hang there for a nearly a full minute before speaking. “Sounds like we have a deal. I’ve never had a muse before,” he laughed in a self deprecating way, “This will be a first for the both of us. Goodnight, Leanne.”

Leanne was taken aback at the sound of the click. She checked her phone to make sure she’d heard correctly, but she had. As suddenly as he’d jolted into her life their conversation was over. What had she just agreed to? And with whom?

Three days passed with no contact from Proust. None from Brian either. That part brought so much relief that it almost drowned out the uncertainty of her relationship with her new “business partner.” She was surprised that someone who’d laid on such a full court press in their first interactions would now slow play.

When she woke on the morning of the fourth day she found that the silence had been broken. The voicemail was beyond curt in her eyes. It bordered on rude. She’d have told him so had she any way to contact him. That was the oddest part of the whole thing for her. How was this ever going to work if she couldn’t contact him? She’d bring that up when they spoke again she told herself. That, and she wanted the cloak and dagger shit to stop. No more “your mission, should you choose to accept…” nonsense. She’d play on his terms, but they could at least communicate on equal footing.

Leanne made her way back to bed an hour later and opened the app store for the fifth time in ten minutes. She was alone in the house, so why was she so afraid of actually downloading the damned app? Her husband was at work, her daughter was at school, and she had called in sick for the day after they had left for the day. She had no risk of interruption and zero immediate responsibilities. She hovered her finger over the flame logo for a long moment before she finally tapped. She was thirty-two years old, married, and she’d just downloaded a goddamned dating app.”This is ABSURD,” she yelled out loud, laughing wildly, “I’m downloading a fuck buddy app because a writer I’ve never met just left me a voicemail telling me to,” she deepened her voice to imitate Proust’s as repeated his instructions, “Choose whomever you like. Meet them. Fuck them. And do it before midnight. Have fun, my muse.”

It did flatter her a bit how quickly the matches poured in. Many of them weren’t anything to write home about, but she’d cast a wide net. She narrowed her list of potential options to three. One was leaving town that night, so he was out of the equation. Brad and Alexander were available and handsome. Leanne began flirty conversations with both in her own little dating game show. Brad was casual and funny while Alexander was far quicker to spice up their conversation. It was a fair assumption that she’d be game given that she’d just ask about same day availability.

He asked who took the boudoir style pictures she’d posted on her profile after making sure to blur out her face. Leanne admitted sheepishly that she’d taken them herself to send to a guy. She left out the part about that guy being nineteen years old. Alexander began telling her his favorite parts of each photo in detail. Brian was a sweet kid, but he wasn’t exactly a Rhode’s scholar. To hear her body compliment in a polysyllabic fashion was a nice change of pace.

A: The best part about the third one is the glasses.

L: The glasses??? Lol not the come hither eyes or the naked thighs or the clear display of my bedroom flexibility

A: Nope. Glasses. I want you to wear them later while I ravage you in front of the full-length mirror in my office. That way I know you’re able to see everything I do to you with perfect clarity.

Leanne’s breath caught in her throat. Ravage. She’d made love and had sex and fucked recently, but it had been a long time since she’d been ravaged. No one had ever used the word to describe it then or since.

L: You’re fucking me in your office later? Is that so?

A: No. I’m going to ravage you. There’s a difference.

L: Enlighten me

A: 1417 West Elm. Ninth floor. Last office on the left. Come by around 8 and I’ll be happy to show you.

Leanne dropped her phone onto the bed as she bolted toward her closet. She dug her vibrator from the back of her top drawer and returned to the bed with equal speed. Before she’d met Brian the bubblegum colored wand and her favorite porn site were all that had kept her sane. Faster than she’d ever typed anything she searched “mirron, porn”. The result was perfect. A leggy French woman who seemed too pretty to be anything other than a super model was standing in the restroom of a nightclub with her skirt up around her waist, her right arm leaning against a full length mirror for support as a suit-clad man pounded her with all he had. Leanne yanked her flimsy pajama shorts down only as far as her knees. She lay on her side watching the scene and toying her clit with a precision of a skilled craftsman. Ravage. It was the only thought in her head. The word had taken root in mind as she was all the happier for it. The stars on the screen were growling back and forth at one another in what she believed was French, but her inability to understand was perfect.

Soon, the star wasn’t the one being ravaged at all. Leanne had transported herself into the woman’s body and Alexander had taken over behind her. It was her face that was now pressed against the glass and it was her moans that echoed off the ornate tiles on the walls of the dimly lit room. Her lover was merciless. Again and again he pounded her so that her lipstick smeared the glass across a broad area. She was the one begging him for more. It was her fiery red hair, rather than the black locks of the actress, that he wrapped around his fist and pulled backward until she could see the lust in her reflection and his. By now, Leanne had flipped her vibrator off and turned it the opposite direction. The ridged silicone base was moving in and out of her in unison with the strokes on her screen, both her hands guiding it deeper with each thrust until finally her orgasm washed over her. Her hands moved to the sheets, leaving the toy buried inside her, and held onto the sheets for dear life as wave after wave of ecstasy sank her further into the mattress. When she tried to cry out nothing came, but her mouthed remained wide open through it all until she finally went limp.

A soft smile spread across her lips. It may have been Proust or the conversation with Alex or some combination of the two that brought on an orgasm that intense, but whatever the catalyst, she laid there in a disheveled state thankful for the result.

Alex did not disappoint. The man had ravaged her. The thin layer of sweat she’d worked up over the course of his poundings brought an extra bit of chill to the nip of the night air as she walked the two blocks back to the lot where she’d parked. Leanne picked up her phone to fill Proust in on the details of her night- that was the whole point- before remembering she had no way to reach him. She stopped by school on her way home to shower in her office. More often than not she would go on home after seeing Brian, but that wasn’t an option tonight. Not after that. She let the hot water wash away the cum that stuck to her breasts and neck, and she made sure to wash out any remnants of what he’d filled her with at her urging shortly after that. Her small nipples hardened at the memory. She let her fingers trace across her folds long after she was fully clean until she’d teased herself into enough of a frenzy that despite the ache of her pussy and the fatigue in her legs from standing and pushing back against him for that duration, she rubbed herself to orgasm- her fifth in the last two hours.

Proust had said it needed to be done before midnight, so she assumed that was when he would call. Despite her exhaustion, she willed herself to stay awake until twelve-twenty before deciding he wasn’t calling. An odd sense of disappointment fluttered in her chest. Why should she care about filling him in, she asked herself. Alexander had just given her one of the great fucks of her life whether she told Proust about the experience or not. Still, she glanced at her phone twice more as she faded off to sleep in hopes that maybe he’d at least sent her a text.

Sub plans are a pain in the ass. Leanne hated making them out. They almost sucked the joy out of the prospect of being away. A substitute teacher was going to play a movie or let the kids play basketball in gym no matter what she put on the piece of paper in front of her. Principals don’t see it that way, though, and so she toiled away at the frivolous exercise. She was still working when the phone rang.

“Good evening, Leanne. I trust you had fun last night?”

“Hi Proust. I’m a little embarrassed to say just how much fun I had. I met hi-”

Proust cut her off. “That’s excellent. I’m truly glad to hear that you enjoyed yourself. You deserve it. I’d like to discuss my thoughts about your nex-”

It was her turn to interrupt. “My next? We haven’t even talked about last night yet. Isn’t the whole point that I tell you the grizzly details to inspire something to put on paper? Otherwise, why did I just fuck some accountant on his desk and every other surface in his office?”

“Because you wanted to Leanne.”

“I’m confused.”

“Last night had nothing to do with the story whatsoever,” he said with a laugh that burned Leanne’s face with embarrassment. “I don’t mean to sound like an ass, I’m sorry if that’s the way it came off. It’s just…I have no interest in writing a story about a dating app hookup. Not a lot of creativity required for that one.” He paused for a moment and then continued in a voice that sounded warm and almost concerned, “Before we did anything out of the box, you needed an adult inside your box.”

Leanne and Proust both laughed at the word play. When she spoke he could hear the smile on her face. “Ok ok, fine. But why the urgency? Why did it need to be before midnight?”

“It didn’t,” he laughed, “I’m a writer. Sometimes I just enjoy the needless dramatic flourish.”

She groaned and rolled her eyes. Dramatic flourish did jog her memory though. “That reminds me. No more of the cloak and dagger stuff. I’m all for surprises and anticipation, but I have enough drama in my life without the needless variety. The story on the page can have all the flair your twisted writer brain can conjure, but ours can’t. We’re partners, Proust.”

“That’s fair. I’ll keep the flourishes to a minimum.”

“And I need to be able to contact you. I don’t do well with being ignored.”

“I haven’t ignored you, muse.”

She blushed at his use of the word. However unusual the case, there was something intoxicating of being someone’s inspiration. It gave her a sense of power. “Technically, no, well…actually not at all, but it feels that way damnit and I don’t like it one bit.” Leanne recognized that tone she’d just used. She hadn’t brought it out in a long time. It was her playful, cutesy, pouty voice she’d used to make boys putty in her hands once she’d hit puberty. The memory only added to the sense of power.

“Ok. I’ll come up with a way for you to contact me. I still plan to use voicemails from time to time, but at least now you’ll have some way to respond. Fair?” He took her silence as a yes. “I’m sorry if you feel like last night was a waste of time.

“Ohhhh no,” she over-emphasized, channeling her own dramatic flourish, “I didn’t say that. It was…phew. I’m not complaining,” she paused, “there’s no way you can use it?”

“Let me think about that. Now, lets talk about your conference in Nashville next week.”

“How the hell do you know about my trip?” she asked honestly, with an undertone of feigned outrage that he’d snooped so much into her life.

“My researcher asked the school last week. It was a very elaborate bit of sleuthing. Cloak and dagger shit if you will.” She laughed at this mimicry. “Anyway, I’ll need you to send me your schedule of things you have to be present for as soon as you get there. That way I can plan around your schedule.” She agreed to the request. “You know what,” he added, “Check your inbox in a few minutes. I’m going to send you a link. I want you to use your experience from last night to replicate the scene on your own. I don’t need the video. It’s just for you. I think it’ll be cathartic.” With that he said his goodbyes and set about sending the link.

Leanne knew within thirty seconds what her partner meant by cathartic. The woman in the scene faced the camera she’d hidden out of sight in her bedroom. She addressed it directly in a hushed tone. She explained how she’d fuck a man a week before and was going to tell her husband all about it, but with a twist. She wouldn’t admit to cheating, but would frame it as a story about an encounter she’d had before she and her husband had started dating. Jesus. That’s pretty wicked, Leanne giggled. She couldn’t quite bring herself to film her husband without him knowing, but she could modify and replicate the video solo guilt free. Again she felt that surge of power.

Once her family was asleep she made her way to the basement and set up her camera on a bookshelf. When she appeared on camera she was dressed in the same clothes she’d worn to Alexander’s office the night before. She had started to wash the stains away, but decided it was hotter if she didn’t.

“Hey babe. I have a random question,” she said as she stared into the camera as though it was Sam’s eyes, “what’s the best sex you ever had with someone other than me?” She waited a beat, as though listening to his answer. With a pouty lip of disappointment she continued, “Really? Come on! There has to be something! What about that chubby girl with the dark hair? Or the one right before me- I can’t remember her name.”

She acted out listening again with the same disappointed pout. Then she began to slowly undress, eyes still glued to the camera lens. “What baby? I’m in a mood tonight. Christy reminded me of a story while we had some wine and now I’m horny as hell. Play along. Tell me.” Same disappointment. Same pout. This time she added an eye roll and put her hands on the flesh at the top of her ample hips. She was naked from the waist up now. “Fine,” she groaned and started to pick up her clothes before stopping as though she’d changed her mind. “No. You know what. You’re going to play along. You’re going to help me get off. You’re going to sit right there and listen to my story if you’re too uptight to tell me one of your own.”

“I met this guy at a bar my senior year of college,” she began as she slid her skirt down her thighs and let it pool on the floor beneath her. She hadn’t worn panties last night, so she didn’t tonight either. “He was older- probably early forties. Handsome; just a few hints of grey in his hair. He worked downtown. His name was Alexander if memory serves me. He flirted with me a bunch, but I could see the tan line where his wedding ring normally was, so I didn’t let it go anywhere. At least not that night. A couple weeks later I was pretty drunk on a Thursday night when he text me. It took me fifteen minutes to get to his office. I was drenched. Just like this. ” Leanne spread her legs wide and spread her lips to show the camera her arousal.

She slowly made her way around the coffee table that had been behind her and knelt on the floor. The camera angle was such that it couldn’t see the pink suction dildo she had waiting beneath the table. It didn’t come into view until she raised it up and secured it to the lacquered table. Slowly she began to stroke her hand up and down the shaft. “Does that make you hard, babe? Really? No? Then what’s this?” she said tilting her head toward the stand-in phallus. “Do you want to hear more? It sure feels like you do.” She continued to work her hand up and down the shaft at a tantalizing pace.

“Alexander was the oldest person I had ever been with to that point. He didn’t fuck like it, though. I’d slept with a football player with less stamina.” She glanced down at the dildo for a couple pumps glaring back into the lens. “I used to have these heels that made my legs look like they belonged to a model. I was wearing them that night, and he complimented as soon as I walked in to his corner office. He offered me a drink, but I’d already had plenty to drink and had no interest in waiting any longer. I used my smokiest voice to ask ‘did you invite me here to drink?’ All he said back was ‘strip.’ It wasn’t a question. I did as I was told. Something about being given a command took me to another level. I didn’t try to make the stripping sexy. I tore my clothes off as quickly as my drunk hands could manage.”

Leanne stopped her slow pumping and stared a little harder into the camera. “Alexander knew what he wanted and he was going to take it. He was an alpha. Do you think you could ever be an alpha, babe?” She paused for the faux response. “I don’t know, babe. Not like that anyway.” The grin on her face was diabolical. Even imagining a scenario in which she could torture her husband like this after years of frustration was enough to turn her into a puddle. She could have buried the fake cock inside her at that moment and cum in an instant. Summoning every ounce of self-discipline she possessed she found a way to carry on.

“He grabbed me by the hips and lifted my naked body onto a ledge in front of a floor to ceiling bookshelf. He dove between my thighs and worked on my clit like a man possessed. I’ve never felt a tongue that skilled. I came in seconds. Seriously, maybe like forty-five seconds. Then two minutes later I was coming again. I covered my mouth with my hand to try not to scream in an office building, but I don’t know how much it helped,” Leanne cooed. She’d made a point of saying have, not had. It happened to be true, but it also twisted the knife nicely. “He made a comment when he stood back up and helped me to my feet; something about how I ‘was ready when I got here’ because of how wet I was already before he licked me. He had this confidence about him. I can’t explain it. He pushed me to my knees with one hand on top of my head. It wasn’t hard, just firm; not that I needed any encouragement at that point.”

She tilted her head a bit as though being asked a question. “Yeah he was still completely dressed. I undid his belt and let his pants and underwear fall.” Without warning Leanne dropped her head to the dildo and took as much in her mouth as she could handle. She bobbed and drooled all over the thing as images of Alexander’s cock, covered in her spit, standing at attention before her filled her mind. After a while she raised her mouth off the dildo and addressed the camera again. “Just like that. He wasn’t all that big. Probably average. I was able to get most of it into my mouth. I wanted to impress him and I think I did. He groaned a lot and kept saying things like ‘just like that’ and ‘good girl'” Leanne brought both hands up to her nipples and began to rub and pinch them. “He started playing with them as I sucked…just like this. That was a first for me. I almost came again.”

She went on, “Then he pulled me up to my feet and told me he ‘needed that sweet college cunt’.” He’d actually called it her cheating married cunt but she couldn’t exactly admit that now to her “husband.” From that point on, she chose to insert the word college for cheating in her retelling. She didn’t like that word. But when he said it in that animalistic tone, it was music to her ears- and to her cunt.

“I pushed him back into the overstuffed chair in the corner. That really surprised him. He’d controlled everything up to that point, so I enjoyed the look on his face when I threw him off his game. I straddled him just like this,” she explained as she climbed up onto the table and straddled the dildo. “I hovered over him like this for just a couple seconds. I used to be such a tease in hopes someone would make me pay for it. Well…he did. He spanked my ass. Hard. It stung so good baby. That was all the encouragement I needed. I didn’t ease him into me either; I dropped into his lap until his cock was buried to the hilt.” Leanne reenacted the move onto the cock beneath her. “We both let out a groan when he bottomed you inside me. I rode him as hard as my legs would allow. His hands were everywhere. He went back to work on my nipples, mauled my tits, gripped my hips and ass so hard that he left bruises on both, and then he spanked me again and again. I cried out with each blow,” she timed her thrusts downward onto the shaft with each word, “Yes! Yes! Yes!.”

She came on the final “Yes”, but did her best to hide it. As soon as she regained her composure she stood and smacked dismissively at the stand-in for her husband’s penis. Leanne glared into the lens with an unmistakable anger.

“That’s all you get. I’m going to bed. If you ever decide you’re capable of satisfying your wife, and if you ever prove it on a regular basis, I might tell you what he did to me in front of the mirror and against the full wall of windows in full view of anyone looking up into his well-lit office. You’re harder than I’ve felt you in years. I know you want to hear about how another man fucked your wife. Quit being such a pussy and fuck me right, and I just might tell you.”

With that as punctuation on her performance she strode out of frame.

The weekend passed without a word from Proust. Leanne and Sam conversed only slightly more despite being married and sharing a bed. She and her daughter spent the weekend exploring the parks near their home sans Sam. It was invaluable mother-daughter time, particularly given the fact that she was about to be gone to a work conference for four days. Proust and Brian and everything else seemed miles away for the two days.

Monday morning brought goodbyes and gate changes and checked bag annoyances. Leanne assumed that Proust knew her travel schedule and expected he’d contact her once he knew she was at the airport. Again she felt the inexplicable sense of disappointment when he didn’t.