Message-ID: <37878asstr$1029449403@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Message-ID: <200208151822.g7FIMJC09600@mw1.texas.net> From: sandia@texas.net X-User: sandia X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Thu, 15 Aug 2002 13:22:19 US/Central Subject: {ASSM} "Fallen," Chapter One, M(M)F, Cheat by Sandia Rev.'d Date: Thu, 15 Aug 2002 18:10:03 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: kelly, gill-bates Fallen Chapter I Part 1 1. "Michael," she said, "We did not have sex." Her gaze shifted to somewhere over my left shoulder. "Not really." "Not really?" I stared at her. I watched as a flush began to spread across her face. I held up the now crumpled piece of paper I held clenched in my hand. "Maria?" My tone was rising. "Tell me what you mean by that?" I glared at her. She took a tentative step back. Just a moment before, I'd been happy, when I'd come in through the door. I'd thought it was a prank, a joke, a silly rumor. I thought she would explain. I hadn't expected this. "Michael," she said. She took another step back, almost tripping against the low table near the sofa. She glanced quickly back. "Michael," she said, "Please listen to me." She dropped the paperback she'd been holding onto the table. "We didn't do it," she said, "I mean we did not have sex. At all." She watched me carefully. I took a step toward her, and watched as she continued to shy away from me. "What do you mean by that?" I asked. "Listen to me," she said. "I am listening," I said, trying to control my voice. She backed up against the counter that separates our kitchen from the living room. "Michael," she said, finally, "I did it for us, for the baby." "For the baby!" I stared. She watched me with round eyes. I found myself wondering if she was afraid of me. I felt my own face begin to burn. The paper - the anonymous note I'd gotten that day at work - slipped from my hand. I took another step toward her. "For the baby," I repeated, yelling, angrily. "What the hell do you mean by that?" "Michael," she said, "Don't use that tone with me." Her face was quickly losing its color. She sounded angry, ashamed, and frightened, all at once. I began to feel a little frightened of myself. I stared at her another moment, and then I turned away. The screen door was closed, but the main door was standing open. For the baby, I thought. The thought of it made me dizzy. Outside our neighbor's little girl rode past, on a new bike without training wheels. She's going much too fast, I thought. "Maria-" I said. She interrupted me. "No, Michael," she said, "Listen." I felt her approaching me from behind me. "I'm trying to explain." She stopped somewhere in the middle of the room. "Listen," she began again, "It's not the same - it's not the same with us. I mean with him. It's not the same with him." I felt my stomach drop, like it does, when you come up over the top on an amusement park ride. I opened my mouth. Not a sound came out. I took a step toward the door, intending to go out. "Michael," she cried out. "Stop! Don't leave." Her voice was shrill, plaintive. I stopped, looking out. The little girl was gone. I felt Maria coming up behind me. I felt her fingers on my arm. "Michael," she breathed, "Don't go." I felt her fingertips in the muscle of my arm. This is vertigo, I thought. That is what they call this. I could feel her breathing on my neck, her nipple through her blouse, her thigh through the thin cotton of her small summer skirt. "Michael," she said, "I'm doing it for us." I swallowed, feeling a fierce hot anger building inside me. I started to pull away, but she pressed her nails into my flesh. "Don't go!" she said. I turned on her. "Michael," she said, "Don't." Her blue eyes were rimmed with red. Her blonde framed face was smeared with tears. "Michael," she stammered, "I don't- I don't enjoy this!" "Don't enjoy it!" I yelled back into her startled face. "You don't enjoy it?" I breathed, panting through my mouth. A little spittle landed on her cheek. "I don't-" she moaned, eyes darting, clinging tightly to my arm, "I don't enjoy it!" I stared at her. I had a premonition: a vision: "You're blowing him," I said. I felt a preternatural sense of calm. Her mouth was open, looking up. I saw her small pink tongue. I watched her touch her lip with it. Her face was turning red again. "Michael, I-" I pushed her. I shoved her. I shoved her small body with all my strength. Her nails tore into my arm as she fell backwards. Falling backwards, she was unable to break her fall. She cried out, falling badly. She landed on her butt, and then continued, rolling up onto her back. Her legs went flying in the air. Finally she curled into a little ball, lying on her side, on the floor. I stood over her, staring down. She lay there and began to sob. An enormous rent exposed her legs all the way up her thighs. "Oh God," she moaned. "Oh God, Oh Michael." I swallowed, still breathing hard. I unclenched my fists. I stared. "Maria?" My voice sounded hollow, rasping. She hugged her knees up to her chest; her hair had fallen across her face. I couldn't tell what I'd done to her, if I had hurt her. I thought of the baby - our baby - inside her. Finally I knelt down. I touched her gently on the shoulder. "Maria?" "No," she mumbled wetly, quietly. "No." she said. "I'm sorry, Michael. I never meant it. I never meant to hurt you." I felt a painful swelling growing in my chest. It rose into my throat, choking me. "Maria-" I tried to swallow. She shook her head. I could see her pale cold cheek, her necklace, the one she always wore, tangled in her hair. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I really am." I opened my mouth. Not a sound came out. I knelt there and watched her breathing. A pool of tears had gathered along her nose. "Maria-" The buttons on her blouse had broken open. The small gold cross she wore fell off her trembling breast onto the floor. "Maria- I'm sorry." A narrow slit of blue appeared between her eyelids. She was looking up at me. I gathered myself and stood. "Maria," I said, "I'm sorry too. I should not have done that, no matter what-" I turned away, but I heard her call my name. She was crawling. Crawling to me. "Michael," she asked, looking up at me, wiping her tears and hair from her swollen eyes. "You believe me?" I inhaled. "I didn't say that." She kneeled there, trembling. "Say it!" she said, "Say that you believe me!" We stared at each other a long moment. Then I turned to go again. "No!" she cried. She wrapped her arms around me, around my knees. "Wait!" I inhaled, and slowly let it out. I turned. "Don't go," she breathed quietly. I could see the smooth white contours of the insides of her breasts. Her hair was tangled, her blouse and skirt were torn, and eyeliner streaked her face. "Maria-" "No," she said. She squeezed tightly, pressing her face against my jeans. "Don't go." I reached out to her, to keep my balance. "Michael," she said, "I want to make it up to you." She turned her face, and pressed her other cheek against me. She was rubbing her makeup and her tears into my jeans. "I want to win your trust again." She paused. I felt her swallow. "Ask me what you want. About what happened." I thought about that, and shook my head. I blinked my eyes, trying to clear my vision. "No," I muttered quietly. She looked up. "Michael?" I shook my head again, not daring to breathe. She leaned into me. "Michael," she asked, "Do you still want me?" I stood there swaying, clutching at her head. "Maria-" "No," she said. "Answer me." She tilted up her head. "Do you? Do you want me?" She squeezed my legs, pressing me against her breasts. "Anything you want," she said. I knew that she could feel me. I knew that she had felt me. I knew that she would know what it was that I would want. I closed my eyes. I had to. They were rolling back inside my head. I felt her rub her other cheek against me. "Do you?" I had a vision of her kneeling there, it appeared inside my lids. "You can," she whispered. "If you want." I suppressed a groan, but it came out as a sigh. I couldn't help it. "Maria-" I gasped out. "You don't have to answer me." She slipped her fingers inside my pants. "Yes," I hissed. I looked. Her lips were shining wet. Her makeup had smeared into angry looking bruises on her cheeks. "Yes?" she asked. I closed my eyes again. I inhaled and let it out. "Yes," I breathed. I didn't see it, but I imagined her sharp white teeth showing in her mouth as she heard me say it. "I'll show you," she said, "I'll show you how it's done." No, I thought, please God no. She continued on. "I don't know why I wouldn't," she said. She pulled my pants apart, and drew them down. "I guess I was afraid." I swallowed, my dry throat hurting me. "Maria-" "No," she said, "Just hold on." No, I thought, please no. Then she had me out. She'd released me. "Maria-" I tried again. "Shhh." I imagined her pouting lips. "Let me do this." I felt her soft cheek rubbing up against me, against the underside of my cock. Oh God, I thought, Oh God. I felt the wetness there, the mingling of her tears and the semen leaking out of me. Oh God. She paused, and I reached out. I touched her hair. I touched a drop of slickness there. "Shhh," she said, "Let me take my time with this." I groaned, my mental picture of her changing inside my mind. She continued to rub me with her wet slick face. "Maria-" I gasped. Oh God, I thought, Oh God. I moaned, open mouthed, and started coming into her hair. I felt her hands on me, her face as she moved her head. "Oh, God," I moaned out loud. I felt her lips, her tongue. I heard her voice. "Go ahead," she said. I groaned unintelligibly as the last of it squirted out. When I looked down, she was still looking up, eyes closed, smiling, my come glistening on her face and in her hair. I took a half step backwards and fell against the couch. Oh God, I thought, Oh God, Oh God. She wiped her eyes with her fingers, fluttering her sticky lashes. She did not say a word, but got up and walked around into the kitchen. She ran the tap, and came around the counter where I could see her. She wiped her face with a kitchen rag. She was smiling. I tried to smile back. She turned the rag, looking at the mix of makeup, come, and tears on it. She turned it again, and wiped her eyes with it. "Did you like that?" she asked. I couldn't answer. She smiled with one half of her face. "Do you think less of me?" she asked. I slowly shook my head. She was wiping my come into her skin. "Good," she said. She came around the counter, her torn skirt swishing on her legs. "Michael," she said, looking down. "Look what you've done." She drew the skirt apart, showing me the tear. I licked my lips, and then I saw her grinning. She was teasing me; she was showing off her panties. She dropped her skirt and reached up to her blouse. "You're going to have to pay for this," she said, fingering the threads where her buttons used to be. She came around, and knelt beside me. "Michael," she said, "Come into the bedroom?" How could I refuse? Fallen Chapter I Part 2 2. She took my hands, and tugged, smiling through her hair. When I continued sitting there, she ducked her head and grinned, pulling harder. I couldn't help but smile a little; this was an old game we used to play. She strained, as if she was really strong enough to pull me up. When I did stand up, she almost lost her balance, but I held on, and she took a quick step back. "Michael!" she said, putting her hands onto her hips. "Don't DO that!" She grinned. It's what she always did. I wondered if I'd always feel so helpless at her smile. Turning, she led me to the bedroom. Once there, she gently pushed me down. "Sit down," she said. I sat down on the bed. "What, exactly, do you have planned for me?" I asked. She played with the strands of thread on her blouse where her buttons used to be. "That depends," she said, looking down, "on you." She put her hands on my shoulders, and climbed onto the bed. She straddled me, sitting on my lap. "We'll have to see," she said, "how it all turns out." She leaned down and kissed me. She kissed my cheek, my ear, my neck. I smelled her as she kissed me. Her skin smelled of the scented soap she used. But of something else there as well; the briny taste of come, and tears. I thought of the ocean, before the tide comes in: the naked sea creatures struggling on the beach. She smelled primordial to me. "Michael," she breathed, "Be gentle with me." I felt the cold links of Maria's chain slip down along my skin. "Maria-" I called out. I couldn't breathe. "No," she said, "Don't stop." She hugged me to her chest. "Don't ever stop," she pleaded. I fell back, and she fell with me. Her breasts pressed into my chest. She rubbed her lips against my neck. "Don't ever stop," she whispered. She pressed herself down on me. I felt the wetness of her panties. I inhaled, and let it out. I ran my fingers through her hair. She pushed up. She ducked her head, and took off her chain. Looking down, she pulled apart her remaining buttons on her blouse, stopping at her belly. I took my eyes off hers and let them fall; to her shining lips, her smudged chin, her sculpted neck, her pale white breasts. Her gaze followed mine. The dying light of the setting sun came through our bedroom window, setting off the rubies in her engagement band. "Michael," she said, "Finish me." I sat up and reached between her fingers and pulled apart the remaining button. She twisted her arms behind her, to let it slip off her wrists down to the floor. She studied me. She wrapped her fingers in my hair and pulled me close, leaning forward. "Kiss me here," she said. She arched her back at me. I took her nipple in my mouth, kissing it, and sucking. "I like it when you do that," she sighed. I kissed her other breast, exhaling, and felt it harden against my tongue. "Oh-" she said. I sucked, nibbling, and felt her fingers pulling at my hair. She pulled her nipple out of my mouth. It made a soft, wet sucking sound. She twisted, at her shoulders, rubbing it on my face and mouth. I looked up and saw the sly smile playing on her lips. Her movements slowed, and I caught it in my mouth, and this time also with my teeth. "Oh-" she said. After a moment, she began to try to move again, to pull her nipple out. I bit. "Oh!" she said. I felt her fingers clinching in my hair. She arched her back, trembling. "Oh Michael. . .!" I pressed down a little more, and then released her. Her breath was rasping in her mouth. "Thank you, Michael." She began to rock her hips against me, pressing down. "I like this," she said. "So much." Her skirt tore along her hips. I leaned back. Her panties made a squishing noise as she rubbed them up against me. "Wait," I asked. She looked down at me, and then down between us, and then she brought her knees together, making space. She reached into her skirt, into the tear, and found me. She brought me up, and rubbed me, rubbed my cock against her pantied cunt. "Is this what you want?" she asked. I groaned, nodding yes. She stretched her panties to the side, and then leaned down, pressing my cock against her slick wet cunt. "Michael, I'm going to fuck you. I'm going to fuck you hard." I groaned. I'd never heard her use that word before. I watched her lick her lips, preparing to impale herself on me. I pushed up, arching, trying to get inside her cunt. I felt my cock slip off her slick wet hole and I started coming. "Oh, God," I moaned, eyes closed, as I sprayed my come into her pussy hair. She continued stroking me until I was done. After a moment, I felt her climbing off of me. My cock slipped out of her hand. "Maria-" "It's ok," she said. I watched as she wiped her hand against her skirt. She leaned down. "I don't mind," she said. I felt her hot breath against my face. I swallowed, reaching out. "Maria-" "No," she said, "Don't talk." She leaned against the headboard, sitting up. I watched her chest rise and fall. She was breathing through her mouth. Her face, and neck, and breasts were flushed. "Maria," I said, reaching out again. She blocked my hand. "No," she said, "Not like that." I dropped my hand. "I mean," she said, "I don't want to - like that." I listened while her breathing slowly eased. She touched my head. The ceiling fan above our heads turned slowly. A grit of dust and grime had built up along the flat edges of the blades. I felt her fingers in my hair. "Maria-" "Michael," she interrupted, "You believe me don't you?" I inhaled and closed my eyes. I didn't want to think about it. A mental picture emerged before my eyelids: her, kneeling before another man. I swallowed, gasping. "Maria." I felt her getting up off of the bed. "Maria!" I turned, and watched her naked back recede. "Maria, how long?" I asked. She paused in the doorway, glancing back. "Not long," she said. She closed the bathroom door. I lay there for a minute, feeling tense and weary. I got up and pounded on the door. "Maria, tell me!" She turned off the water in the bathroom sink. I heard her footsteps on the floor. "Go away," she said softly. I pounded my fist again, causing the door to shudder. I heard her catch her breath. "Go away," she repeated. I stared at my clenched fist. I slowly put it down. "Maria, come out," I said. Suddenly the door swung open. She was standing there, her skirt and panties on the floor. "Do you think this is easy?" she asked. She was crying again. "Do you think this is easy for me?" She stared at me a minute, panting, eyes wide. "It's NOT." She slammed the door shut again. This time I heard it lock. I heard her toothbrush wrapping on the sink, and then the shower faucet coming on. I turned, and went, and sat back on the bed. While I listened to the shower, I dressed, and watched, as the last light faded from the room. When she came out, it was dark, except the light coming from the bathroom. Her hair was wet, and dripping. She was wrapped up in a towel. She adjusted it, pulling down on the lower hem, like it was an extremely short dress that she was wearing. She did not look at me. She gazed across the room, at the window. I could see her reflection there. "Michael," she said. "I'm sorry, for what I said before." I sat silently. "I didn't mean it. I want you to know-" She paused, swallowing. "Everything." She turned, facing me. "Michael, do you love me?" I looked down. "Maria, don't ask me that." She came over, standing over me. I watched drops of water falling to the floor. She touched my chin, and gently turned my face up. Her towel was too short to cover her. Beads of water stood out against her chest. Her dark-looking hair clung wetly to her neck, and trailed down around her shoulders. Her eyes were wide, but I could not see into them. "Michael?" I inhaled, and held in my breath. "Maria," I said, "Don't ask me that." She started to turn away, but I caught her by her towel. "Maria," I said. She turned. "Maria-" I looked up at her. "Nothing could ever change that." She smiled as she caught my face in her hands, and kissed me. She kissed my lips. After a moment, she stepped back, looking down. "Michael," she asked, "Is there any way?" She fingered the towel, where it crossed her breasts. I thought there was. I caught the towel where it crossed her thighs and pulled her closer. "I'm so glad," she said. She kneeled on the bed, spreading her thighs across my lap. "Michael," she whispered in my ear, "I was thinking about it - about you - in the shower." She kissed me, nibbling on my ear. "I touched myself," she said, "in there." She pressed down with her teeth. "I'm really, really wet," she said. "Would you do something for me?" She had me lay back. She gripped the headboard, crouching over me. I saw she'd put back on her necklace. "Michael, make me come," she asked, looking down at me. She pulled off her towel and threw it off the bed. The hair between her legs was wet; it smelled of soap, and of her pussy. But I didn't taste the smell of come that I had left there. I searched her out, searching with my tongue, until I found her little nub of skin. I touched it with my tongue, licking it. I blew a little puff of air. "Oh-" she cried out. I felt her adjusting herself against my jaw, pressing it up, and in. I licked my already wet lips, and sealed them around her, sucking down. "Oh, yes," she cried, "Oh suck me, suck!" She rocked herself back, like she was fucking me. I teased her, rubbing the soft underside of my tongue against the swollen nub. "Oh God," she cried, "Keep doing that. . .!" She pressed down, pressing my teeth into her soft flesh. "Oh God," she moaned, "Suck, oh please suck." I sucked, rubbing with my tongue. She began to come, crying out. My jaw ached from the pressure of her cunt pushing down. My chin was pushed up inside of her. Her juices seeped slowly down my cheeks. She let out a long, high- pitched whine, unlike anything, quite, that I'd heard from her before. I was suffocating; I could not breathe. But I waited; I waited for her to finish. "Ah. . . ah. . . ah. . ." she moaned, shoving down. Finally I released her, and she rolled off of me. Drops of sweat stood out against her forehead, mingling with the water from the shower. "Oh, God," she breathed, "Oh God." She held my hand. She reached out and took my hand. "Thank you." After a moment, she looked over. "Michael," she said, "I didn't know." She was smiling. She crouched over me, and lowered herself down. It hardly took a moment; she was so slick and wet inside. She fucked me slowly, looking down. "Do you like this?" she asked. I groaned "yes," and briefly closed my eyes. I started coming when she leaned down, her lips touching mine. I thought that she was coming too. Maria is small inside; she cries out if I press too hard. This time I came against the very bottom of her, while she moaned against my mouth. Fallen Chapter I Part 3 3. That night I had a dream. In my dream I was standing in the hallway leading to John's office. I was standing there alone, but I knew that they were in there. I was by the door. It was a heavy wooden door, I knew that from when I worked there, and I stood there, listening. I couldn't hear anything. The handle on the door was steel. I was expecting, I think, an electric shock when I touched it. Instead, I had the sensation like I was falling. I touched it, and it began to turn. I watched it turning, and then the door slid silently open, slowly. I saw her there. She was wearing nothing but a pair of stockings - slutty, black, fishnet-style - and a corset that ended below her breasts. Her head was down. She was sucking him. In my dream, his cock was huge. It could not possibly have fit inside her mouth. But it did. Then she lay on his desk, on her back, legs spread, pleading for him. As he entered her, she turned her face to me, her lips smeared with cum. "Oh, yes!" she moaned, "Oh God, yes! Please!" Around three am, I woke up. I was sweating; panting. I looked over at my wife. She was sleeping on her back, her face turned to the side, breathing lightly. She was wearing a thin cotton nightie, one she knew I liked. I watched the material shift along with the rise and fall of her chest. She looked beautiful, her lips parted slightly; I've known Maria to talk sometimes, in her sleep. She'd thrown off the comforter; the sheet was twisted around her hips. I touched her lightly, tugging at the sheet. She turned her head. I watched her wet her lips. But her expression didn't change. I pulled it back, exposing her thin legs to the summer air. She closed her mouth; the breeze tousled her hair. She didn't move when I separated her legs; nor when I crept between them. When I entered her, her eyes flew wide; I covered her open mouth. I shoved myself into her. Hard. I felt her bite my hand; and didn't care. I released her mouth, just before I came. "You didn't fuck him, did you?" Her eyes glittered in the dark. She stared, and then she shook her head. "Only you, Michael" she cried, "You're the only one." I came, for the second time inside of her, inside her cunt, moaning into her mouth. I slept much better after that. She left a row of little scratches on my back. In the morning I drank coffee and juice in the kitchen, and watched my wife preparing breakfast. She was wearing a thin cotton sundress; I could see her figure clearly when she stood, stirring at the window. When she reached up into the cupboard, to get a box of sugar, her hem rose well up on her hips; I saw the floral pattern of her underwear. "Did you talk to the mechanic?" she asked, turning around. I nodded. The Camry's transmission was going out; I could not afford to get it fixed. She started talking about her new doctor. She was excited that she didn't have to go to the clinic anymore. We'd finally re-qualified for health insurance with her new promotion down at work; though it was not as good as the insurance we had lost when I had left there. She was going to have a sonogram. I pushed back my cup. I stood up. "I'm going," I said. Even with the insurance, I wasn't sure how we'd make the co-pay. "Wait. You haven't eaten." She held French toast with powdered sugar in her hand. I stared at it, and then up at her face. "I'll grab something on the way," I told her. She pouted, but when I started to turn away, she put down the plate and put her arms around me. She rose on tippy toe and kissed my neck. "I love you." I grimaced. "You better," I said. That old joke again. I waved at the neighbor on the way to the car, hoping it would start. On the way to work, I thought about the last thing she'd said: "I liked," she'd whispered in my ear, after she had kissed me, "What you did to me last night." I drove to work with my cock straining at my pants. By early afternoon, I'd done everything I could. I'd had three projects at the time: the first two I awaited payment on; the third still needed client go- ahead. I balanced the checkbook twice, looking for mistakes, and went through our stack of bills again. And then I put them back into my briefcase. There was only one that I could pay. I called the bank, and then sat there, staring at the phone. Around three I called my sister, in Arizona. She told me all about her latest girlfriend, and complained about wanting children again. She was afraid she'd never have them. She was thirty-one, the same age as my wife. I told her the same things I always did. "If anyone would make a perfect parent," I told her, "It's you." We'd had this same conversation several times before. She was a social worker in New Mexico, and she couldn't afford to quit her job, and didn't want to raise her kid in daycare. Then I found myself telling her about the situation with Maria. There was a long silence at the other end. "Michael," she finally said. She sounded worried. "I don't know what to tell you." "I know," I said. "I know how you feel about Maria." "Yes." "You remember what I said." She laughed. "She's too beautiful for you." "You never told me THAT." "Well," she said, "I've always thought it." I snorted, shaking my head. She sighed. "I'm worried about you, Michael. Women like Maria are always trouble for men like you." She laughed again. "I should know." "Don't," I said, smiling. "Besides, you're not a man." She laughed, and then we listened to each other in silence for a moment. It was painfully obvious to me she thought I loved Maria more than I should. "Michael," she said at last, "They're calling me. I have to go." "Ok." "I love you." "I love you too," I said. "Michael," she said, before she got off the line. "Always remember, sex is not the same as love." I nodded, not smiling, and put down the phone. After that I grabbed my stuff and headed home. The Camry didn't make it. I had to spend the last twenties in my wallet to tow it home. Maria wasn't there. It was a little after four. She hadn't said anything about going anywhere. I watched a game on TV, with the sound on mute. I couldn't really concentrate. When she came in, she was holding a couple bags of groceries. "Where were you?" I asked. "I went shopping," she said, holding up the groceries. She put them down. "Michael, what's wrong?" I looked at my watch. "You were gone for hours." She motioned toward the car. "I bought some clothes." I sat down, staring back at the TV. I had half a beer in my hand; we were out of wine. "Michael, you believe me, don't you?" She knelt down on the floor, across from me. I stared down into her ocean - colored eyes. It didn't take long, I admit. I discovered when she pulled up her skirt and climbed onto my lap she wasn't wearing any panties. We made love on the chair while ice cream melted onto the floor. On Thursday, I drove Maria's Celica, and dropped her off at work. Its inspection was overdue. I borrowed ten bucks from her so I could get it done. She'd left her purse behind, and I picked through it, one-handed, while I waited in traffic for the cars ahead to start to move. At the bottom, I felt a crinkly, plastic package, with a squishy slimy ring inside. It was a condom. The cheap kind, like we'd used to use, when we'd first got married. I swallowed, staring, until the asshole behind me leaned into his horn. I took my foot up off the brake. "Exp. 2002," it had said. I wondered what that meant. I never even saw the light at the end of the next block. The front grill of the BMW passed within inches of the side of Maria's car. I saw it like a movie on TV, slowed down. Afterward, I pulled over to the side, breathing hard. I still had that condom in my hand. I slipped it into my shirt pocket. After a while I put Maria's car back in gear, and pulled back out again. We'd made an appointment for lunch, and I sat there outside the office tower, in the street, and waited. I was fingering the slippery condom package in my hand again. When she approached, I noticed the dress that she was wearing. It looked two sizes small for her. Not her normal style, I thought. "Michael," she asked, when she got in, "What's wrong?" I'd put the car in drive, but held my foot down on the brake. She looked over at the condom package I was holding in my hand. I took my foot off of the brake, and eased the car into the lane. "Michael?" she asked. There was a UPS truck stopped ahead of me. I shifted to the next lane out. "What's this?" I asked. I glanced over. She was staring straight ahead. "I don't know," she said, "-anything about it." I sped through a yellow light. I realized I had no idea where we were going. "Don't lie," I said, "It was in your purse." "Michael, slow down." I took my foot off of the gas. "What is it?" She has on too much makeup, I thought. She put her hands up on the dash. "It's one of yours," she said, at last. I pulled into the next lane over, but couldn't merge. We were about to pass under the freeway, into the "bad" part of town, and I still did not know where we were going. "What do you mean by that?' "I got it out of your drawer." She was right of course. I had a handful of them left over, from the first year of our marriage. "Why was it in your purse?" I slowed down. We'd left the business district. There was a man in a wheelchair trying to cross the street ahead. "Michael," she said, "I told you, I'm not fucking him." I gritted my teeth. The guy behind me honked his horn. I resisted the urge to get out of the car and kill him. Barely. "What it was doing there?" "Michael," she said, softly, "Pull over." There was a parking lot across the street, next to a sleazy run down motel. "There," she said. She pointed. I pulled in and stopped. I put the car in park. "What was it doing there?" "Michael," she said, "I put it there, because I thought we'd use them. But we don't." Images filled my mind I didn't want. "No one does," she said, "Not - not for that." I stared out across the parking lot. "Vacancy," the sign said. The windows were boarded up. "Michael," she said, "This will all be over soon." She reached out and touched my hand. "What do you mean by that?" I watched her eyes drop to my lap. "Soon," she said. She rested her hand on my thigh, leaning toward me. Her blouse fell forward, away from her chest. She was naked under it. "I promise." She squeezed my thigh. "Michael," she asked, "Will you let me make it up to you?" I looked away. I could feel her eyes on me; I felt naked already. "Maria-" "It's only at the office," she said, "You have me all the rest." "Maria!" She was touching me now, rubbing me through her pants. "Please," she said. "Right here. Right now." I inhaled again. A homeless looking black man and his dog were wondering along the sidewalk on our left. I felt her fingers begin to undo my pants. "Maria!" "Shh," she said. "Let me do this." She unzipped me, and pulled me out. Her fingers felt cool against my hot, hot skin. "Maria-" "You haven't come yet in my mouth." She smiled and lowered her head. The inside of her mouth felt warm, compared to the outside of her skin. I knew I was already leaking, but she didn't seem to mind. I watched her cheeks hollow out. I held back her hair. I stroked her throat as she swallowed, sucked, and swallowed. I felt her Adam's apple move. She stroked my cock with her fingertips, and gently cupped my balls. When I came, I saw the a little bit of come bubble out from the corner of her lips, and seep slowly down my cock onto her hand. She continued swallowing until I was done. She touched her fingers to her lips, and then sucked them in her mouth, looking eye to eye at me. "I liked that," she said. She found a tissue and wiped her chin. I pulled out and we drove in silence after that. I didn't ask: "Is that what you do for him?" I didn't ask is she liked it too. As we approached the office tower, she said she had to hurry, because she was had a meeting she had to go to, and she had to brush her teeth. "Maria," I asked, as I stopped the car, "Does he know?" She looked at me and smiled. "No," she said. "I would never do that." She kissed my cheek and left me there. It was two days later I went to Maria's office, at a little after one. Fallen Chapter I Part 4 4. Nina, the floor receptionist, smiled broadly when she saw me. But a look crossed her face when I told her what I wanted. "She's in a meeting-" she said, turning her head, but keeping her eyes pinned on mine. "Do you want me to let them know you're here?" Her hand hovered above the phone. "No," I quickly said. "I'll wait." I took a chair, but realized I couldn't see from where I was. I moved it halfway across the room. Nina watched me through her long dark lashes. When I looked up, she looked away. She pretended to be busy. I watched her typing on her keyboard. Every once in a while she'd glance up at me. Finally she stood up. "I'm going to take my lunch," she said. But instead of heading for the door, she came around to me. She leaned down, and pressed a torn off piece of paper in my hand. "Call me," she said quietly, glancing down the hallway. "If you want to talk." I watched her head out of the room. She did not look back again. I opened up my hand. "Call me," her note said. She'd written down a number. At one twenty I got up and walked slowly down the hallway. The door was solid, heavy, like it had been in my dream. The handle was burnished steel. I stood there. I couldn't hear a thing. I touched the handle, but I didn't try to turn it. I stood there, and then I turned and walked quickly back to my chair. She came out at one thirty-one. She paused, at the doorway, looking back. The sun from John's picture windows washed her face and body, lighting up the hallway where she stood. Her lips glistened in the sunlight. She touched them lightly with her tongue. Her hair was mussed. She wore a pair of gold rim glasses. She was listening to something he'd said. She nodded, and turned to go. The back of her skirt was badly crinkled. As she shut the door, I saw one of her dark thigh-high stockings had ridden down her leg. The whiteness of her thigh between her stocking top and her hemline flashed briefly in the sunlight, before she shut the door. Then she was gone, walking quickly down the hallway. I hadn't even known she owned a pair like that. I confronted her at home, feeling angry and afraid. I couldn't quite bring myself to say it - to tell her what I saw. So I asked her about her stockings. We were in the kitchen. She was standing by the sink. She whirled at the tone I used, looking angry, and concerned. "I bought them," she said. She put her hands on her hips. "I told you that." "Why-" I demanded, "Are you wearing them to work?" She stared back at me a moment, before she dropped her eyes. She turned around. She said something I couldn't hear. "What?" I demanded. I noticed the back of her stocking top was still showing underneath her skirt. "What?" I demanded, louder. She put her hands on the counter, and lowered her head. "He takes pictures," she said. "I was going to tell you-" I took a half step forward, so I was standing inches from her back. "Don't hit me!" she cried. She hunched her shoulders, as if bracing for a blow. I held my breath, angry with her for saying that. "Maria-" "No," she said, "Please don't." I stood over her, breathing hard, watching the muscles in her neck. "Maria, turn around." She looked up at me, like a frightened little child. "That's all it is," she said, "I didn't tell you because I was afraid it'd be like this." "Maria-" "No," she said, "I mean, I'm sorry. I should have told you before. It's just - I don't let him touch me, so we do - other things instead." I stared at her, afraid to ask. "You don't let him touch you?" "No," she said, shaking her head, "Except, you know, my mouth." I turned away. It was like a punch in the gut, to hear her say it; though of course I'd already known. "Maria-" "No," she said, "We'll talk later." She was creeping from the room. "You're too angry now." I watched her turn her back on me. "Maria," I said, "Your stocking top is showing." She craned her neck to look behind. I watched her face turn red. She looked at me. "All day?" I sat down and watched as she adjusted it, pulling up her skirt to pull it up. "I'm so embarrassed," she said. She stared at me. Then she came and sat down at the other end of the table. "Michael," she said, "They're just pictures. I promise." I shook my head, not looking at her face. "Why," I finally muttered. I looked up. "Why are you doing this?" "Michael," she said, "You know that." I stared at her and then I got up and left the room. I got up quickly and walked away. I headed for the bedroom and shut the door. I sat there, staring at my hands; I was trembling. After a few minutes she knocked lightly and came in. I glanced up and then looked down again. She knelt in front of me. "Michael," she said, staring up at my face. "In the future I'll tell you anything you want to know. Promise. Anything at all." Her eyes were watery, dim. "Maria-" She took my hands. "Don't talk. Look at me." She put my hands on her chest. "Feel my heart." I did. "You know I'm telling the truth to you, don't you?" she asked. Three days later, Maria's voice rang out from the bedroom when I came into the house. I'd forgotten she'd been to the hospital. "Honey," she called out, "we have pictures!" She'd left her bag lying on the table in the living room. The top of the bag had fallen open, and some of her things were spilling out. There was a hairbrush and a compact. There was also a stack of cards, black squares with white borders. "Honey," she said, "Look." She handed me a series of grainy black and white images; she'd had her first sonogram. I saw her glance down where I was looking as she handed them to me. I examined them smilingly as she pointed out the little body parts. "Wait," she said, "There's more." She started to turn, reaching down for her purse, but I stopped her. "What are these?" I asked, picking up the cards. "Michael," she said. "What are they?" She blocked my hand, crossing my arm with hers. "Don't look at that." We stared at each other a moment, but I took her arm in my other hand and squeezed, dropping the sonograms to the floor. "Michael," she said, "Don't." She paused, staring at me. "I told you about them." I gently moved her arm away. "Don't get mad, ok?" she asked, still staring up at me. The first one showed her just standing there, in front of the windows in John's room. She wore her conservative Dior business suit, the one I gotten her in New York. She was standing casually, partly turned away but facing the camera. You'd think it might be a candid shot. She wore her gold-rimmed glasses. "When did he take these?" I asked. She said nothing, but shrugged. "A couple days ago." She started to turn away, but stopped when she felt the pressure from my hand. "Do I have to stand here?" she asked. I let go, but she didn't move away. "Do you have to?" I studied the picture. She looked good. Her hair was neatly put up, and the suit still fit her perfectly. Her glasses gave her a look of professional competence. You'd never guess she was an entry-level worker. In the next one she'd taken off her glasses and let down her hair. She was smiling. I glanced up at her. "Are they all like this?" She shook her head. In the third one, she was looking down, unbuttoning her blouse. A lacy white teddy was showing underneath. She put her hand up, covering the picture, but when I looked at her, she quickly put it down again. "You don't have to look at these," she said. I shook my head and turned to the fourth. She was mostly naked now, wearing only her stockings, bra and panties, and high-heeled shoes. I felt my face begin to flush. She was leaning up against the windows, giving the cameraman a kind of sultry smirk. I glanced up at her. "You look like you're enjoying this," I said. She shook her head, staring down at the photo. In the next one, she was lying on her back on the sofa. Her right leg was lifted onto the sofa's back; the heel of her left shoe was on the floor. The camera angle was from between her legs. Her eyelashes hid her eyes, though she appeared to be looking at the camera. Her right hand was in her underwear; her left clasped a heart-shaped necklace around her neck. Her necklace and her wedding and engagement rings reflected light. I'd given her the necklace for mother's day. "Proud of that?" I turned the picture so she could see. She flushed more deeply, but lifted her eyes to mine. "Do you?" I felt the heat rising to my face as I turned the picture back. The next photo showed her from behind, completely naked. She was leaning forward, with her hands pressed against the window, legs apart. She wore only shoes and stockings. The light from the window filtered through her pussy hair. The next one was the same, except she was looking back, smiling. I grimaced. I didn't want to show it, least of all to her, but the pictures were--affecting me. I shifted on my feet, uncomfortable with her body heat. She was standing so close to me. She held my hand, steadying the photo. "Michael?" She glanced up. Her lips were parted and I could see her tongue. "You like them, don't you?" I looked back down at them. Her nails were a dusty shade of pink. She moved her finger out onto the image. "It's ok," she said. "So do I." I was weakening. I moved to turn it to the next one, but she spread out her hand. "Not yet, Michael," she said. "Not yet. Take me to the bedroom." I looked at her hand; it was trembling. Her wedding and engagement bands were tight around her finger. She was gaining weight, due to her pregnancy; her rings needed to be re-sized. She pushed the pictures down and leaned into me. She kissed my face. She rubbed her breasts against my chest. I felt her little belly pressing against me. I dropped the photos to the floor. With a shy, mischievous grin, she took down my pants. She took my cock out and led me by it to the bedroom. She fucked me slowly on the bed. She fucked me with her stockings on. She bottomed out on me several times, but did not complain; instead she wiggled her hips in pleasure. As I felt her climax coming on, she leaned close and kissed my lips. "Of course that's only some of them," she said, "John still has the rest." Her pussy clenched and squeezed my cock, slippery in her juices. I came and came and came, and felt her come on top of me. -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}| |Archive at Hosted by | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+