Betrayal Ch. 02

"Only a tramp would think of taking a penis in their mouth, not a happily married wife! Have you gone insane? Tell me what were you thinking, Emma."

There was no good answer to that and she only felt overwhelmed with dreadful shame as the spell she'd been under all day was completely shattered.

In her imagination, Peter would have taken her in his arms and thanked her for doing something so wonderful and brave, just to please him. Perhaps he would have offered to do the same for her, and their life together would have entered a new phase, a wonderful bond forged between them.

Peter stormed around the room, towel held against his crotch, yelling at the top of his lungs that his wife had just behaved like a common tramp.

Mortified beyond belief, she fled, thundering down the stairs and locking herself in the downstairs powder room where she wept bitter tears at having embarrassed herself and her husband so completely. She now saw clearly how incredibly immorally she'd behaved.

How could she ever look Peter in the eye again? It was even worse when she went to rinse off her face and saw in the mirror that it was still covered with ropes of her husband's sticky semen. She had been so upset, she hadn't even noticed.

Peter stayed upstairs and Emma was too ashamed to go up, so she spent the night weeping and dozing on the sofa in their study, vowing never again to look at filthy images on the Internet. From now on, she would strive to be a dutiful wife.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The repeated chime of the doorbell woke Emma from a deep sleep at 9:30 the next morning.

Momentarily disoriented, she sat up quickly wondering what was happening. It ding-donged twice more before her brain clicked into gear and she got up to run to the door. Her hands were already on the handle and lock when she realized that she was only dressed in a tee-shirt.

Counting her blessings, she scurried upstairs and threw on the loose-fitting jeans she'd worn the day before. Padding back down, she crossed their small foyer, looking in the mirror as she passed. Her hair looked like rats had set up house in it and her eyes had dark circles underneath them. She wished she had just hidden in the basement until Derek had given up.

He was dressed in running shorts with a nylon mesh athletic shirt above and a big grin on his face.

"You're wearing that today for our run?"

Emma blushed, since she just realized that her breasts would be obviously unencumbered by a bra if Derek bothered to look -- which he equally obviously did.

"I, um, I overslept this morning. I'm really sorry, but I can't possibly be ready for at least another 40 minutes to an hour."

She meant her comment as a way to put off the whole undertaking. After all, Derek had been partially the cause of her complete humiliation with Peter the previous evening. The last thing she wanted was to have to be around him this morning.

"That's all right. I have nothing else on today, so whether we leave now or an hour from now makes no difference to me. I'll be out in my back yard reading the paper, so come and fetch me when you're ready."

"Derek..."

He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. "It's okay. I understand. Take your time, but I was really looking forward to going out for a run with you."

With that, he turned and disappeared into his front door. Emma really was stuck. It would be quite rude to refuse to go now. Why hadn't she thought of saying she didn't feel well? It was true enough.

Forty-five minutes later, Emma stepped out onto her back deck. She had on the least attractive of her running outfits: long, baggy shorts, a big floppy tee-shirt and a sports bra that hid everything under its thick fabric. Still, Derek gave her an indecently long appraisal with his eyes.

"Ready when you are," she sighed.

Her attractive neighbor smiled and one again vaulted over the low fence beyond the deck, neatly side-stepping the flowers. He took Emma's elbow and led her towards the gate into the driveway.

"I'll let you set the pace. I'm a good 8 inches taller than you."

"I haven't stretched yet," she answered, as a way to get Derek to stop touching her. Every time he did, her heart went off like a trip-hammer.

As she used the house to lean against, he stood and watched, an appraising look on her face.

"You done a lot of sports over the years, haven't you?"

"What? Oh, yes. I have. Mostly field hockey and basketball. Going out for track and field got me interested in long distance running."

"I take it Peter doesn't run."

That was almost a laughable comment, considering the spare tire around her husband's waist. Emma glanced up and Derek was grinning. Was he having her on?

Soon they were 3 blocks from home, running at a comfortable lope, and Derek, true to his word, was letting Emma set the pace. Since she felt so rough after the poor night, her speed was slower than normal. If her companion found it frustrating, he didn't let it show.

As they ran, they chatted. The conversation, as opposed to the previous evening, centered around Emma, and she felt her apprehension draining away, and spoke more freely than was her usual want, being so shy.

They were gone for nearly two hours, not all of it spent running, as she showed him her favorite trails through the forest. At the far end, they rested in the shade of a large maple after drinking their fill at a fountain.

Derek had his hands behind his head as he stretched out on the grass. "What a glorious day."

Emma was sitting sideways on her left hip, her arm propping up her body. Being alone with Derek wasn't all that scary after all, she thought as she looked down at him.

He was powerfully handsome, but her resolve of the evening before was holding firm as she tried to feel sisterly towards him. With no brother of her own, it was sort of nice. That was it: Derek was no Don Juan. He was just a genuinely nice guy.

The next three weeks, the two ran every Saturday and Sunday, going farther and now challenging each other a bit more. Of course, Derek, with his long legs, could outrun Emma anytime he wanted, but she felt she had the better stamina. Occasionally, they ran when he got home from work early enough.

Also during this time, Emma was forced to listen to the string of women passing through Derek's bedroom, living room, kitchen, even hearing something once through the walls of the basement. Peter heard it sometimes, too, but never really said much, perhaps because the two men had become golfing buddies. Derek always kicked Peter's butt.

Emma and Peter had patched things up somewhat, but he remained distant, and she thought, a little suspicious of her. He did ask her once where she'd gotten the idea to fellate him. She'd made up a story about looking up something completely unrelated and winding up on a page about relations.

"The article said that all men enjoy it. I did it to please you."

"Well, it's wrong. People can stick up anything they want on the Internet, but you're an intelligent grown woman, a wife, a teacher, and you should have known better. Tell me, would you expect me to kiss you after you've had my penis in your mouth?"

There was no good answer to that, so Emma changed the subject as quickly as she could.

Peter's job was changing as he moved up in the company (a firm that sold conveyor belts, robotics and the like), and this meant that he needed to travel even more, going to various trade shows and meeting with the larger customers. Even though their relationship was strained, Emma was trying as hard as she could to be understanding with her husband, but the fact was, when he was on the road, she was dreadfully lonely.

It took only 12 days for part of her resolve to weaken, and she masturbated one evening when Peter was away.

She'd meant it to be a quick rub and cum, and had just pulled down her jeans and panties while lying on the bed. With a little bit of hand lotion, she wouldn't even have to wait until she got wet.

Two minutes in, she heard noises from Derek's bedroom, female noises and it was obvious he had another visitor. This one was unignorably loud and Emma felt her libido rise as Derek was apparently performing miracles with his tongue between her legs.

As Emma rubbed her hardening clitoris, she began to imagine, despite her own stern warnings not to, that her neighbor was doing these marvelous things to her.

Apparently, Derek was teasing the poor woman so that by the time he finally gave her the release she was begging for, Emma was also at such a fever pitch that she came almost as hard as she had on that afternoon in front of the mirror.

The next morning, she was at the complex's swimming pool when she heard her two neighbors talking. Now she had a face to the voice on the other side of the wall the previous evening.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Shortly after 7:00, Derek came out onto his deck and spotted Emma sitting alone at the table, her dinner plate empty and a novel open next to her.

"Hi neighbor," he said pleasantly.

Emma smiled. "Hi yourself."

"Is Peter still away?"

"Yup. Until Saturday. He's in Seattle."

"Um, sorry about last night. I hope we didn't keep you up."

Emma felt her face turn crimson. "I, um, didn't hear a thing. I was watching TV in the living room."

Derek disappeared inside and came out with a wine bottle and two glasses. Putting them down on his table and raising the umbrella, he asked over his shoulder, "Fancy a glass of wine?"

"Uh, sure," she answered as she closed the book.

"Come here."

She walked to the edge of the taller portion of the fence and Derek reached over, wrapping his arm around her waist as he flicked her right over the fence. She whooped involuntarily to feel herself airborne and wound up in his strong arms. He looked at her for a long moment, then set her down lightly.

"There. Wasn't that easier than going all the way around?"

Emma's eyes sparkled. "Of course, I could have done this just as easily."

With that, she walked off the deck, stepped back to the middle of Derek's yard and easily hurdled the 3-foot high lower fence, right over the flower bed as well. Turning on her heel, she did the return trip even easier.

The look on Derek's face made it all worthwhile.

"Hurdler all through college," she said simply, taking her seat at his table and holding up a wine glass. "You said something about wine."

His expression made it clear something was going on in his brain, but Emma couldn't figure out what it might be.

She'd been in a terrific mood all day, and had no idea why, and even Derek mentioning what had gone on in his bedroom the previous night, couldn't make her embarrassed, even after what she'd heard later at the swimming pool.

As he poured the wine, Derek said, "You're in a pretty good mood today."

Emma shrugged.

They enjoyed their first swallows in silence.

When he didn't say anything further, Emma looked up. Derek was staring at her.

"Emma, dear, I'd like to think we've become pretty good friends over the last month."

She nodded, wondering where this was going.

"I know you heard what was going on in my bedroom last night. In fact, I'd bet you've heard things plenty of times."

She nodded again, covering up her growing discomfort by looking down into her wine glass.

"It's just that, well, I don't want you to think any less of me. I do what I do, but I don't want you to get the wrong idea."

If she hadn't been feeling so strong inwardly, she never would have dared to say what she said next.

"Derek, you're screwing married women. How can that be a good thing?"

He was silent for a long moment. "I'm screwing bored, lonely women who happened to be married. There is a distinction."

"I fail to see it."

"I also have a confession to make. You see, I know you heard what was going on with Mar---, the woman I was with last night, because I heard you over in your bedroom."

Emma felt her heart start to pound and her face felt hot.

"I distinctly heard you have an orgasm, Emma, and it's not the first time, either."

"You...you've been eavesdropping on---"

"We've both been eavesdropping on each other." Derek smiled earnestly, trying to keep things light. "I also heard that terrible fight you and Peter had several weeks ago. Every word of it, I'm afraid."

Emma leapt to her feet, completely appalled by what this man whom she considered a really great friend, like a brother to her, was saying. Why was he doing this?

"I thought you were my friend! Are you some sort of pervert who get his kicks by embarrassing people?" she spluttered and then began to cry.

Derek was around the table in a flash, wrapping his arms tightly around her as she struggled to get away. This was all just so horrid!

"Let me go! I'll scream! I swear I will."

"Emma, please! Please hear me out. I knew I would embarrass you, but I really need to tell you some things. Look, why don't we go indoors? You know how the neighbors talk around here. Please listen to what I have to say, and afterwards, if you want to slap my face or kick me in the nuts, I'll gladly stand there and let you do it. Okay?"

She spent a moment thinking this over, then nodded her head. "All right."

He took her hand and led her in, and if any neighbors saw it, neither gave a damn.

In Derek's living room, he handed her a snifter of cognac. "Here. Knock this back. It will calm you down."

Emma sat at the far end of the sofa and he sat discreetly in another chair. In a few minutes, she knew he was right. She did feel a little more in control.

"I realized late in high school that I have a gift, Emma."

She frowned immediately. "You call that a gift."

He held up his hand. "I know I was born very, very lucky. I hope it doesn't come across as completely conceited, but I know I'm handsome. Women tell me that all the time. It started just before I turned 18. But they weren't people my own age, they were all older than me, and almost all of them were married.

"You certainly know by now that I'm what's called 'well endowed', but it goes much farther than that. A few weeks after I got to university, a teammate approached me after a touch football game and asked me if I'd like to take over the room he'd been living in since he was transferring schools.

"'It's a great place to live,' he told me. 'A widow owns the house and she takes in one boarder. I said I'd find her someone appropriate. You seem like a really nice guy, Derek, and I think you'd fit right in there. Are you interested?'

"Since I'd discovered that dorm life didn't agree with me, I took him up on his offer and went over to visit the widow with the room to let. I guess when everyone says 'widow', we think of a shriveled up old lady. The person who opened the door to me that evening was just over 40 and drop-dead gorgeous. I'll keep this part of my story short by telling you that she let her room to someone who could be her very discreet lover for the duration of his stay in school. She made that clear from the start. What made her offer completely overwhelming is she promised to teach me how to make love to women exceptionally well."

Emma took another sip of cognac and felt its glowing rivulet all the way down to her stomach. Odd sort of story, she didn't know if she believed it.

"Additionally, Doreen was a professor at the school, so any problems I had with classes, someone to help me with essays, it was all done in house. I cannot tell you how much I learned from this extraordinary woman. She made me what I am today."

"A philanderer?"

"Emma, that is very harsh, but it is understandable. I don't seek these women out, they come to me. I just give them what they want, what they need."

"They need to have their marriages ruined?"

"No. I try to help them improve their marriages. I have very simple ground rules. I will teach them about physical love, I will counsel them on how to get their husband's interest once again, how to make themselves desirable. I make it clear from the beginning that while I do enjoy their company, I will not get involved with them, and if they get involved with me, then it's over."

"And you expect me to believe this fairy tale?" Emma leaned forward to put her empty snifter on the coffee table. "What is it? You want me to become your next conquest?"

Derek banged his fist hard on the arm of his chair. "No, goddammit! I want to help you!" He came over and sat on the sofa, but at the opposite end. "It's clear to me that your marriage is in trouble. Isn't that true?"

A lone tear dribbled down Emma's cheek. "Yes," she whispered. "I'm afraid it is."

"You're changing, aren't you, Emma, dear?"

"Yes, and it's all your fault!" She managed a wan smile. "You and the builders of this complex."

"I know, and for that I'm truly sorry."

She could tell that he was and that made her feel marginally better.

"May I tell you the truth, Emma?" Derek asked. "And will you listen to it? It will be hard. I know how shy you are."

At that point, she excused herself to use the powder room. Looking in the mirror over the sink, her eyes were red from crying and her face looked puffy. Lovely. She should probably just excuse herself, go home and hide in the basement until Derek moved away. Instead, she splashed some water on her face.

Back in the living room, she sat silently. Derek had refilled her snifter, but not with much. It was implicitly there if Emma wanted it.

"What are you thinking, Emma?" Derek eventually asked.

She sighed a few times before answering. "This is all too much to take in."

"Well, would you be willing to listen to me for a few minutes? I'll stop if you're too uncomfortable. Just tell me."

More silence, then, "Okay."

"That night you had the fight with Peter, he said things that aren't true."

"Like what?"

"That you're a slut, a whore, not a good and proper wife because you took him in your mouth. What you did to him isn't depraved or wrong in any way. It was wonderful of you to want to do that for him."

Emma winced at the bluntness of Derek's words. These were very intimate things and here the man from next door, even though he'd become a good friend, was talking to her about something awful that had happened between her and her husband. She wouldn't have dared talk about this with another woman, let alone another man.

"What you gave your husband that night, dear Emma," Derek continued, "was perhaps the most intimate gift a woman can give a man, more intimate than intercourse. Peter treated you very badly. Things haven't been good between you since, have they?"

"It shows?"

"In little ways, mostly that you're sad a lot of the time."

"Things are gradually returning to normal," she said defensively.

"No, things are returning to the way they were. They never have been what I would call normal." Emma started to object, but Derek held up his hand. "Hear me out. One of the joys in marriage is to share intimacy, and that covers a lot of territory. You and Peter need to communicate. Your relationship seems to be based on him talking and you listening. Tell me this: does he ever ask you what you're thinking?"

Emma's brow furrowed. "I don't understand."

"Does Peter ever just say, 'What are you thinking, my dear?' It could be about anything or at any time."

"No. Not that I can remember."

"And do you ever ask him?"

"Not very often."

"Then you're not communicating much are you? That's how it starts. Each spouse wants to share, wants to know, wants to help."

"We help each other."

"Do you?"

Emma was silent for several minutes as Derek waited patiently. It was true. Most of what Peter and Emma talked about was his job, what he wanted to do. They occasionally talked about her. Peter also wasn't very spontaneous. Everything had to be planned out. He wasn't the sort of person to walk in the door and say, 'I decided on the way home that I want to take you out to dinner tonight. On the rare occasions when they went out, it was planned days or weeks in advance. Any social events were also with the people he worked with. Emma really had no friends -- except for Derek. She still felt a bit like an outsider in the staff room of her school, mostly because she couldn't just chatter away like everyone else. She was too shy.