Chapter 3
The weekend passed and when Ken slipped out the door late Sunday night, Lori felt her loneliness sweep across her suddenly. Now she was alone. The thought terrified her. She moved around the apartment slowly, looking at the things she and Jim had shared together -- and feeling the pain stab into her; it was going to be tough not having Jim around.
Then, after the loneliness partially went out of her in response to the passage of time, another sensation stood glaringly in her mind. The impulse to strike, to inflict pain, had come on her entirely without volition on her part. She suddenly felt that she wanted to hurt somebody, and the somebody she wanted to hurt was Jim, the ex-husband who had deserted her for another woman.
She looked at her reflection in the mirror. She licked her lips. Yes, there would be pleasure in seeing that Jim felt the same kind of pain she was experiencing. Pain and love were like two faces of a single coin, completely separate yet still a whole, the intensity of one heightening the intensity of the other.
But hurting Jim would be difficult, she knew. If he still cared for her even a little bit, then she could hurt him by letting him find out that she was going to bed with Jim's good friend and employee, Ken Bowman. That should cause a rift, however slight, in their relationship, she reasoned. But Ken surely wouldn't tell Jim that he had been to bed with Lori. He was too honest and frighteningly sincere.
The idea of hurting Jim occupied her thoughts for some time. She walked about the apartment aimlessly, thinking. Suddenly and impulsively, she picked up the phone and dialed Jim's office. The receptionist informed her that Mr. Cameron was out of town for a few days on business. Could anyone else help her? Before she could answer, there was a buzzing on the line that told her she was being put through to someone else.
The voice that came over the line was heavy and honed to business sharpness. "Finance Department, wood speaking."
Art Bond! Lori recognized the voice before he identified himself. In an instant, Lori recalled all the office parties, all the informal get-togethers when Art Bond always managed to find a moment alone with her and put the make on her. She recalled, too, what a loudmouth he was, how he always boasted of his prowess with women. That loudmouth braggart would be better than the tabloids for getting word around that Jim Cameron's ex was playing mattress games with his best friend. Well, Art, hello. This is Lori."
There was a pause. The voice of Lori over the phone like waving a beefsteak at a hungry dog. She could almost see his nostrils flare.
"Hey, Lori," he said cheerfully. "How've you been? Lonely for me, I hope." Just dying," Lori laughed. "I don't know how I've stood being away from you, Art. It's been sheer hell." She paused to listen to his brief laugh, then added, "Actually, what I'm calling about is my dear ex-husband. They told me he was out of town. There are a few minor details in connection with the divorce" that I wanted to get straightened out."
Art's voice became serious. "Yeah, Lori. Sure sorry about the way things turned out between you two. Hey, how come they put you through to me? Or did you ask for me? Sure, that's it. I knew you couldn't stand not getting in touch with your old lover-boy."
Lori laughed. "Actually, it was a mistake. I think somebody got the wires mixed up. I'm glad though."
"Of course you're glad, sweetheart," he burbled.
"Gee, I'm so lucky," she said.
"Hey, how about having a drink with me after work? We could talk over old times, right?"
"And after one drink, there's another. After that, well, you know the bit."
"Yeah, yeah, just like that," he laughed. "And I promise I won't use the old come-to-my-place-and-I'll-show-you-my-etchings line."
"What do you do now-come right out and ask a woman to go to bed with you?"
"Why not? It's a time saver."
"Still chasing married women?"
"Anything that moves," he laughed. "Hey, how come you never let me get to first base with you before? You don't know what you missed."
"It was a different ball game then," she said.
"That shouldn't have mattered."
She could almost see his leer over the phone. She had always denied Art Bond, but not because he was unattractive to her. It was merely because he was such a big windbag that she had put off his advances, fearing he might spill the beans. In fact, had it not been for his fear, there were several times when Lori might have been happy to go to bed with him. He was big, ruggedly built, and a lot of fun to be around.
"Well, this is a new ball game, Art, with new rules." "Baby, I'm all suited up and ready to play," he said,
sounding a bit too eager. "Got any plans in mind?"
"No, nothing at all. Of course, I'm going back to teaching when school starts. Right now I'm basking in loneliness."
"I read you, baby-loud and clear. There's only one thing to remedy your loneliness-me. Why don't you let Dr. Bond turn you on and make you forget about yesterday?"
"An apple a day keeps the doctor away," she laughed.
"Forget the apples, sweetheart. Just think about how I can heal you up. How about it then? You and me? I can already hear the sweet music we're going to make together. You know, I've thought about you and I being together many times. When can I see you?"
"My time is quite free," she said. "Any time you say."
"Tonight," he blurted.
"Make it around eight."
"Get your dancing shoes on, baby, Big Art is heading your way. Now you're going to see what living is all about."
Lori was elated. Not only could she hurt Jim by associating with Ken Bowman, but now the finance officer of the company Jim headed would also be on her list. That would annoy Jim, she knew, for he had always frowned an any shenanigans from his employees. And she realized, too, that Jim could ignore what she was doing, now that they were no longer man and wife, but she knew it would make him feel uneasy to know that two of his higher ranking employees were fooling around with his ex wife.
They talked a few minutes more, making arrangements where and when to meet, and what they would do afterward.
"See you at eight," he said.
She told him goodbye and hung up.
She stood by the phone for several minutes after she hung up. Then an idea sprang into her head. She picked up the phone and dialed Jim's number again. When the female voice answered, Lori said, "I'd like to leave a message for Mr. Ken Bowman, please. I don't want to disturb him. Would you please tell him that I won't be able to keep our dinner engagement tonight. I'm Lori Cameron."
"I can put you through to him," the girl said.
"No, please don't. I know he doesn't like personal calls while he's working. Just give him the message."
She hung up.
Her two calls completed, Lori felt wonderfully at peace with herself. It was divine, this feeling of being on the verge of doing harm to the one who had hurt her so badly.
She poured herself a double Scotch, feeling that Scotch would be better for her than her usual martini.
While the warm water ran into the tub, she thought that an evening with Art Bond might not be too unpleasant. If he was all he said he was, well, then it could prove to be very interesting. He looked like more of a stud than Ken. She prepared herself mentally to enjoy the evening.
She had two more drinks while the bath was filling. She added perfumed bath oil and got into the tub, leaving her drink within easy reach. She let the warmth of the water soothe the dull ache from her body. She couldn't get over what Ken had done to her. And she couldn't get over how she had cringed at the idea, then learned to enjoy it.
The warmth of the water coupled with the inner glow of the whiskey was making her drowsy. Her head nodded peacefully and she gave herself up completely to the dim memories that began crowding their way through her mind. She remembered what a lovely day it had been the time she had asked Jim to come in and wash her back while she bathed. There had been the same bath oil in the water that day. But what a different day it had been.
He had started out laughingly, muttering something about how he felt like a slave to an empress of ancient Rome while he used the soft sponge on her back, soaping it gently and massaging her body while he did so. And she had felt like an empress as he caressed and washed her at the same time.
Then the tone of his conversation had changed. He said she ought to be more careful about the slaves she let into her bathroom because not all slaves were to be trusted. His hands worked their way lower, under the small of her back as he spoke, and Lori found herself raising a little in the tub, wanting his hands where they were now, on her tight buttocks, pressing, rubbing his rigid cock into her like a painter stroking boldly over his canvas. He had climbed into the tub and was on his knees behind her.
"Slaves need to bathe, too," he laughed, getting down in the water in front of her. His stiff prick stood out from his body, and gleefully she reached out and soaped it and the balls that hung below. Then she had kissed the reddish head lightly, spitting lightly as the soap came off on her lips.
Then he pushed her over backward, sloshing water out of the tub and onto the floor.
"You crazy nut," she screamed. "We'll drown."
"That's if I don't break my back first," he groaned.
"Ooh, you feel so good," she cooed.
"Let's stand up," he suggested, wincing from his cramped position. He pulled her to her feet, then got behind her. "Bend over."
She turned around and bent over, her soaped ass directly in front of him. She felt his wet, soapy body come over her. She felt his hand go to her pussy and pry it open gently with two fingers. With ease, his soapy cock slid into her, gloriously smooth and hot.
Tiny pulsations passed between them when their minds entered upon the same plateau of desire and fulfillment. Embers of lust burned hotly, kindling their passion for one another, then dying momentarily as they stopped to soap and wash. But only for moments, brief seconds, and then it flamed again, sending shivers of desire through their systems as they stood and held each other and passed whisper-kisses to each other, enjoying the wetness of their skins.
She had moved from her bent-over position to one in front of him. Both of her hands, one holding the soap, went to his sagging cock; she soaped it and then his ball bag. She handed him the soap, then took the rapidly rising shaft in both hands and slid her soapy hands over its entire length, cupped his balls and worked them between her soap filled fingers.
Jim could feel the excitement rising quickly in his groin. He reached out with his own soapy hands and massaged her titties.
With trained, vigorous strokes, she worked the skin back and forth, grasped him tighter when he groaned and increased the tempo.
"Hey, you're going to make me pop if you keep that up," he said.
"Shut up," she giggled.
Jim knew she had gone too far. He clutched at the towel bar in front of him as the water kept pouring into the tub.
She was bent down slightly in front of him and seemed determined to jack him off until he came. And he did.
For a moment he clung to the bar, not moving, felt the tension mount at the base of his agitated prick, felt the sudden unleashing as the first charge spurted from him. It splattered against the wet tiled wall in shooting blobs of gray-white cream. Then it ran slowly down the wet surface in globules and into the tub.
Her hand worked in unison with the bursts, thrusting forward as each spurt emerged from the slit in the reddened head, then retreated, milking the sperm from him.
Then, as the spurts diminished, she slowed her movements to a gentle, easy pace until there was nothing but a silver bead at the head of his cock.
He clung to the towel bar for a moment, then dropped his arms around her. She snuggled in his arms, making soft little sounds and rubbing herself against him. They kissed. They kissed again, a long, sensuous, sucking kiss that had each of them nipping on the other's Bps; then they rubbed together with a slow, deliberate grinding, a mashing.
She recalled what they had done in minute detail. It bad been fun, she mused, and right here in this tub. Then she looked at the toilet.
She and Jim had been in the bathroom together, naked. She had just kissed him.
"You keep that up and you're going to get laid," he said.
"All right, let's go over there." She pointed to the toilet.
"On the john?"
"Of course," she said. "Sit down."
He sat down and she came to him. His cock was already hard. She put one leg on each side of him, then lowered herself slowly, reaching under her to find the head of his cock and to open her pussy. Then, when she had eased herself down on him so that his entire length was buried inside her, she began to bob up and down with the rhythm of her passionate demands. Then her arms caught and held around his neck, and he heard her whisper, "Help me, you big stud."
He could feel the end of his blunt cock poking up inside her, deep in the soft crevice of her inner womanhood. He made the mushroom head pulsate, twitching his groin. There was an instant response from her as her inner muscles milked at his cock, squeezing and releasing.
"Oooh, baby, what you do to me," she said hissingly. "Come on, sweetheart... fuck."
She slammed herself up and down, moving around in circles, scraping his cock around inside, against the membrane walls, and working the inner muscles so that she created a sucking action that made his crotch tingle.
"What a beautiful, sweet hard-on, darling. Ooh, I love it!"
"Come for me."
"I'm ... going ... to ..."
"Explode, baby, explode."
She trembled spasmodically, shuddering and grinding against him; Then she stiffened and clutched his shoulders. Her whole body trembled, her eyes went tightly shut, her jaws clamped harshly. She moaned something unintelligible.
Then it was over. The hot embers began to die.
How he had loved her then, she thought. Loved her for her womanliness, the female passion of her, and yet never questioned any act that she might suggest. That was their physical love. He had always enjoyed her body, yet found something lacking otherwise.
She finished her drink and got out of the tub. Naked and dripping, her small feet leaving wet prints across the tile, she went into the other room and made herself a fresh drink to take back into the dressing room with her. She needed the drink, she told herself. She needed it to keep from going crazy thinking about Jim. But she had always needed drinks, too many of them according to Jim. That had been one of the troubles that sprang up between them.
Lori set her drink aside; it wouldn't do for her to be too drunk when Art Bond called.
The memories began to mix with images of the date with Art. Damn that booze, anyway. It was making her feel warmer and warmer. She peered into the full-length mirror. Slowly, her hand crept between her legs. She shuddered as the hand went into a slow but determined motion.
Then she made herself come.