Prologue to a Problem - Vignette

This is the third vignette to Prologue to a Problem. It is a continuation of Vignette 1 beginning eight hours after Richard innocently, and unexpectedly, came home one afternoon arriving within minutes of catching his wife Karen being fucked by his boss, Jeremy.

It is written from Jeremy's perspective and ended up being a little longer than what I would consider a true vignette.

This story does not resolve or fully explain Jeremy. It exposes him.

I don't pretend to know why a man would take pleasure in sleeping with another man's wife, but I wanted to write about it, so I guessed.

To my female readers, if the language seems unnecessarily coarse, please forgive me. I attempted to get in character as I wrote.

To my male readers, if Jeremy lacks depth, nuance, or accuracy, I apologize.

To all, admittedly, the subject matter is unvarnished and far from noble, but oh so fun to explore.

Enjoy.

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Disquiet.

Jeremy tossed the word around in his head.

Hard to argue, he thought as he reflected on the definition and his mood.

He leaned back in his office chair. Took another sip of scotch poured from a bottle he kept in his desk. Exhaled deeply. "What a fucked-up day," he whispered as he shook his head.

He was talking to himself as there was no one around to hear him. It was late and the office had emptied out long ago. Rather than leave with everyone else he chose to stay.

I can be alone here just as easily as I can at home, he irritably thought.

He glanced down again at his phone.

Nothing.

He had texted Karen at 3:00 pm, an hour after she had dropped him off at his car. That was eight hours ago.

"Fuck," he muttered.

More unease.

He hated uncertainty. He was not use to it. He prided himself on a clear head, a calm demeanor, and an ever-present confidence that derived from knowing he was in control of his circumstances.

Does Richard know? Did we not cover our tracks? Was there an ugly scene? Is this affair about to blow up in my face? Is she okay? he wordlessly asked himself in rapid succession.

The last thought pulled him up short.

When did I start getting emotionally vested in her? he wondered.

He didn't remember. He just knew he was.

Like Karen, who at this very moment was 33 miles away, wide awake, lying in her bed alongside her peacefully sleeping husband Richard, and also in a state of deep unrest about the affair and the day's events, Jeremy played the afternoon over again in his mind.

Everything about it was fine, that was, until it wasn't.

Scrambling to remake the bed upon realizing Richard was on his way home, pulling the sheets and the comforter up over their freshly made and rather large wet spot. Racing around to get dressed and watching Karen untangle and slip on the same sexy as shit underwear and bra she had willingly allowed him to remove. Darting to the car consumed by self-preservation without a trace of remorse for having fucked another man's wife in that same man's house.

And now eight hours later, sitting here alone in his office with her red lipstick still smudged on his white collar, and God knows where else, he still had no idea what was going on.

He had quietly inquired about Richard when he got back to the office. Several said he left early to go home. None mentioned anything out of the ordinary.

That's a relief, Richard thought. He just left work early. So what? No big deal. Nothing to worry about. Right?

But if there was nothing to worry about, why was he so worried?

Her radio silence was spooking him.

Why hasn't she texted me back? he wondered. Something is off. Something is way off, but what?

Jeremy didn't know what that something was, but he did know that in the last eight hours, as he sat here and stewed in his office, the relationship with Karen that existed earlier in the day, as he lay stretched out on the guest bed in his employee's house with that same employee's petite, beautiful wife panting, dripping and naked beside him, had changed.

In all the uncertainty of today, this was the one thing he felt sure of.

He was not wrong.

Jeremy had no way of knowing Richard had playfully but firmly insisted on sex from Karen when she returned from dropping Jeremy off. Jeremy had no inkling that she, at this very moment, was torturing herself for having held, stroked, sucked and fucked two men in two hours. Or how distraught she was for betraying her husband so thoroughly by opening up her home and legs and denying Jeremy literally nothing over the past two months.

He was unaware that she was wide awake drowning with self-loathing with the impossible to deny cold hard fact that, despite all her frenzied effort wipe herself clean, there were traces of both men at this moment mingled inside her delivering an unavoidable mental and physical reminder of the depth of her depravity.

No. Jeremy didn't know any of this. But he did know how rattled she was when they parted ways. She had been a bundle of nerves. He also knew how this close call must be torturing her.

He attempted to put himself in her shoes.

She comes home. She walks in the house. She's still somewhat disheveled, nervous, and self-conscience over her need to freshen up. She forces herself to to act normal and greet her husband as she enters the very same kitchen where less than two hours before she had kissed Jeremy deeply, dropped to her knees, allowing Jeremy to place his cock on her lips, and push it into her warm, inviting, mouth using his interlaced hands on the back of her head for leverage as he arched his back and neck and allowed the sensation to wash over him.

"Damn," he muttered aloud. This train of thought wasn't helping as he felt himself stir at the graphic memory.

No, it wasn't helping at all. In fact, his replay of today was making his mood worse. She's terrible at hiding her emotions. It's one of her traits he loved about her, but could she block out the guilt? Could she act normal? If Richard were half paying attention he would undoubtedly know something was up.

The million-dollar question, however, was would he suspect that his beautiful wife standing before him had freely just allowed his boss to cum in her mouth and cunt?

He doubted it.

Besides Richard sensing something was off was not the same as Richard knowing something was off. There is no way he would know what she had been doing.

This conclusion brought him some comfort because "what she had been doing" was unforgivable.

Over the last two months Jeremy was no stranger to Richard's house. When Richard was at work and the boys were at school, he had come come over often. He had fucked Richard's wife in the guest room, the shower, the kitchen and even on the living room couch. He had bent her over the breakfast table in one particularly memorable, frenzied fuck (one that he later repeated in this very office) with her legs stretched out on her pedicured tippy toes, calves taunt, cute tennis skirt pushed-up above her hips, his hand pressing hard on the small of her back to pin her to the tabletop, with his pants bunched up at his ankles.

In Richard's house he had eaten her pussy while she sat on the dining room table with her legs draped over his shoulders. And on every occasion, he had left behind at least one ejaculation across her lovely face, inside her lipsticked mouth, down her slim back, up her tight abdomen, or deep inside her wet, trimmed and very married vagina.

There was never any preamble to his repeated visitations. No small talk. No "have a seat and make yourself comfortable, while I get you a cup of coffee." None of that. No hesitancy. No games. No awkwardness. From the moment he walked in Richard's house, he had one aim. Fuck his loyal employee's readily available, beautiful, petite, introverted and compliant wife.

And that, Jeremy allowed, was a big part of his current angst. Richard was not only a great software engineer, but he was also well liked and certainly well respected.

I should leave her alone and find some else, he thought. Someone that when the affair inevitably blows up won't ripple through the company like a goddamn earthquake.

But that, he allowed, would be a tall order because the odds of finding someone that could replace Karen would be long indeed.

Karen at 5' 6", 120 lbs, great smile, small but firm tits, was an ego boost for sure. He could tell that she worked out and worked hard at putting herself together. She always wanted to look good for him, be available to him, lose her inhibitions to him, and certainty try to please him.

And please him she did. Every time she touched, sucked or allowed him to push into her, his sexual gratification was off the charts.And although he would never acknowledge it to Karen, a big part of that gratification came from the thrill of knowing he was fucking another man's wife.

It was this truth, more than the sex, that kept him coming back. He didn't hate Richard. In fact, the opposite -- he liked and admired Richard. He wasn't trying to exact some revenge or punish Richard. Richard had never done anything to him. But knowing what he was secretely doing to Richard's wife gave him a perverted pleasure that he knew was fucked-up but was, nonetheless, intoxicating.

Long after the sex was over, he loved reliving it. Knowing his cock was in her mouth. His mouth was all over her pussy. His hands had roamed freely over every inch of her body, teasing her tits, clit and even her sensitive puckered asshole. How he was free to choose whether to cum inside her or somewhere on her. How, regardless of where he came, she would, albeit with a little encouragement, overcome some initial resistance and lick his cock clean.

All these acts gave him unimaginable sexual imagery that he revisited often.

Every time he saw Richard, or God forbid Richard and Karen together, these pictures raced through his mind like a locomotive firing more dopamine into his brain then at any other time in his life, thus perversely stoking his reward system and reinforcing his desire to see Karen over and over again.

Yes. He was aware his behavior was unhealthy and loathsome. He was not some clueless narcissist that assumed the world revolved around him. He knew what he was doing was wrong. He was quite capable of empathy but, in this instance, he chose to ignore his inner voice and the moral code of his upbringing in order to allow his selfish pursuit of pleasure.

Sure, he loved the sex. The free access. The newness. The energy and rawness. The positions. The moans. The ability to bring this shy housewife to orgasm. But long after the sex was over, it was, more than anything, the knowledge that he had done those things to another man's wife that drove his excitement and occupied his thoughts.

His need to feed this kink was not the way the affair started. He did not seek Karen out because he wanted to cuckold Richard and stash away memories of compromising images of his wife that he could silently relive in the presence of his employee.

No. He started the relationship because Karen offered him the sex he wanted without the commitments he dreaded. No dates. No dinners. No gifts. No constant demands on his time. It was a match made in heaven. He briefly wondered why he hadn't aggressively pursued married woman sooner as he thought back to the moment where the possibility of the affair spontaneously started.

He remembered the party at his condominium and the first time he kissed Karen. It wasn't planned. He, of course, knew Karen. He had met her many times. On that particular day, he had been casually talking with her when she mentioned something about contemplating a bedroom/bathroom re-do. He told her that he had just finished a similar project putting in a new bathroom and an expanded custom closet. He innocently offered to show her and brought her down the hall to the master bedroom. She liked what he had done and asked about his contractor.

Nothing preplanned or untoward in the slightest.

And yet, standing there talking to her away from her husband and the other guests, it was as if he noticed her for the first time. Radiant smile. Thick long rich hair. Nice body. Shy. Interesting and a little playful.

Without any forethought he just reached out, cupped her face in his hands, and firmly kissed her.

Jeremy smiled, remembering her shocked look. How flustered and confused she was and how all of those predictable reactions played across her startled face just a split second too late. A delayed second where she did not instantly pull away and the reaction was not so "predictable" as she ever so lightly kissed him back.

The fact that he had seen her slight surrender to the kiss was not surprising. He noticed everything. That was his superpower. He remembered names. He studied people. He listened intently. It helped in negotiation. It helped in motivating his staff. It helped in recruiting new talent.

And it helped in picking up women. Not that he needed much help. He was confident, good looking and rich. But even with all these traits going for him, he was, at the time of that first kiss, single with no interesting prospects.

The lack of a girlfriend in his life was entirely of his own doing. Single women were plentiful, but they were also a distraction. They were needy. They wanted to move too fast. They wanted his time in ways that he was not ready to give.

So, after the party broke up, he found that he kept thinking about Karen. The fact that she was married, didn't complicate his thoughts. In fact, it had the opposite effect, adding some titillation to the possibilities.

Why not pursue her, he thought. A married woman would be discrete and not looking for a long-term commitment. The idea certainly had merit, he remembered thinking. Yet, despite the elegance of initiating a relationship with a married woman, if he were successful with Karen, she would only be his second.

His first experience was as a rising sophomore in college. He had just turned 19, living at home for the summer and helping his neighbor Ms. B with private swim lessons in her backyard.

Ms. B and her husband were friends of his parents. Their youngest daughter Erin was 18 and a senior in high school. Jeremy and Erin had "talked" the previous year when he was a senior and she was a junior. They had dated for a month or two in the spring and gone to senior prom together. Much to his chagrin, he had not been able to coax her to sleep with him then and so he was not interested in her now.

Ms. B, of course, wanted to know why?

"You know Jeremy, she liked you a lot. Although she didn't show it, she was heartbroken when you broke up with her last year. Why was that?" Ms. B casually asked one afternoon after the last class had left for the day.

"I dunno. Going to college. You know. It's complicated having a long-distance relationship."

Ms. B thought about his answer. "Or said another way, you didn't want to be tied down."

"Yeah. That's true too," he said with a mischievous grin.

"You should ask her out this summer."

"No. I think it's best we leave it alone."

"Are you seeing someone at school?"

"No. No one regularly."

"Okay. What is it? Don't you think she's pretty?"

"No. That's not it. She's very pretty."

"Then what?"

"Geez. I don't know. Let's drop the subject."

"No. Tell me."

Jeremy paused. What the fuck he thought. She asked. "Okay. I stopped dating your daughter because she wouldn't put out."

Ms. B, to her credit, didn't react. Rather she took a moment to reflect.

"Thank you for your honest answer," she finally said.

That was that. Ms. B didn't say another word. Both busied themselves putting away the equipment.

The next day after the last swim class had left and Jeremy was straightening up, Ms. B approached him.

"Do you have a second?"

"Sure."

"Here. Have a seat.

"I was thinking about what you told me yesterday. On the one hand it made me happy. I'm glad Erin is being careful. She's got college this fall and the last thing her dad and I need is an unplanned pregnancy. But I can also appreciate your dilemma. Given the choice between spending time with someone that 'puts out' as you say, versus not, I can see why a healthy college boy would want the sex. So, I tell you what. How about we come to a little arrangement?"

With that she reached across his lap and laid her hand on the crotch of his suit. She slowly began to move her hand back and forth while she continued to talk.

"Here's my deal. I take care ofthisand you ask Erin out. For this deal to work you must never tell a soul. I mean it. No buddies. No fraternity brothers. No one. And you must be okay with handjobs as I am not going to sleep with you."

She kept rubbing.

"Do we have a deal?"

He couldn't breathe. Here was the very sexy Ms. B stroking his cock. He had masturbated to this moment many times. He didn't trust himself to speak so he nodded. Although his voice failed him; his cock did not.

"Good," she replied. "Let's consider this a down payment. Please call Erin this week."

With that she reached over with both hands, hooked her thumbs in the side of his trunks, and pulled them down and off over his tan feet. She then turned to face him, applied some lotion to her hand, looked him square in the eyes, wrapped her warm, lubricated hand around his cock and began slowly stroking him up and down, never breaking her gaze.

Jeremy, at 19, was not a virgin, but it would also be accurate to say that none of his sexual experiences were ever with someone that had...well...experience.

Ms. B was in complete control. She was not tentative. Her hand applied the perfect pressure and pace. Her eyes stayed locked on his. Her demeanor changed instantly from cheery swim teacher and next-door neighbor to hot as shit MILF.

His cock was as hard as he could ever remember. His eyes eventually closed as he could not hold her gaze. His head fell back as he gave into the sensations.

Ms. B, for her part, knew exactly what she was doing, and she knew he was powerless to do anything but surrender to her.

Well, this is fun, Ms. B mused as she continued to stroke the young man up and down.

She had thought carefully about this decision last night. This wasn't impulsive. She had planned it and rationalized it: I'm doing it for Erin. I know I am old enough to be his mother, but Jeremy is mature for his age. He won't tell. It's just a hand job for Christ's sake.

But Ms. B knew deep down that there was no such thing as "just a hand job." Married women are not supposed to see, let alone, touch with the intent to arouse and ultimately ejaculate other men.

But here she was doing just that.

She also knew that she had opened a door that was not easily closed. Although she only had daughters, she knew how insatiable young men were. She knew the desire to 'empty their balls' was all consuming. Hell, Jeremy had admitted as much to her yesterday. Her agreeing to provide on-demand "relief" was an open-ended obligation that was certainly going to come due with much frequency.

But that's the point, she thought - jack him off whenever he demanded it, so that he didn't spend his summer in constant pursuit of sex and could, in turn, go out with Erin without pressuring her to sleep with him. There was a simplicity to her plan that she liked.

But that was not the only thing she liked. As she stroked Jeremy, she became fascinated with the effect she was having on him, his shallow breathing, taunt young abs, eyes rolled back in his head, rock hard erection, and the appearance of pre-cum on the tip of his penis. She also realized how wet she had become.

Firmly planted in the middle-life stage of her life, she had all but forgotten the thrill of sexually arousing and thus controlling a young man. How, at this moment, Jeremy was completely hers. She marveled at how easily he had become fully erect and how fun it was to be the source of his arousal.