tagLoving WivesLincoln Park Mommy Ch. 07

Lincoln Park Mommy Ch. 07

byISawYourMommy©

Chapter 07 (The Bachelorette Party: Kelly's Last Dance)

Disclaimer: This story is about an unfaithful wife. That means she cheats on her husband. Yes, it also means she is a whore, and you can probably think of many other names to call her and fiendish fantasy's you wish to be imposed upon her. But here's a guide: (a) if you like stories about cheating wives, please read on; I hope you enjoy; (b) if you really, really, really don't like stories about cheating wives, then the "back" button is a quick click away; or (c) if you SAY you don't like stories about cheating wives but way deep down inside you really DO, read on and at the end of the story rate it as a "zero," then hit the "leave public comment" button and enter your flame therein. Better yet, if you choose option (c), enter your public comment anonymously; after all, that's what the "wimp-hubby" would do, isn't it? Oh, and please forgive the oxymoron – public versus anonymous – but you're just full of contradictions, aren't you?

Dan had not heard from Kelly in months. He had hooked up with her two or three times since she had related the story about Miami, but since then, not a word. She usually called him within a few weeks after last seeing him, but her call never came. In December, he figured that the holiday season had tied her up, and he let it go for a while. But when January rolled around and he still had not heard from her, he tried her cell phone. Getting her voicemail, he left a message, and then another a few weeks later. A third attempt, made in late February, informed Dan that her cell phone had been deactivated. 'Maybe,' he thought, 'the little whore got religion.'

She did, in a way.

In early April, Dan got a call from Dave Jacobs. Dave had gone to USC with Dan, Marc and Ryan, but did not really socialize much with them. He was engaged to be married this summer, and spent most of his time with his fiancé and her friends. When he called, Dave suggested that he and Dan get together for drinks after work on the upcoming Thursday, and Dan readily agreed, just to catch up with Dave.

When Thursday rolled around, Dan left his office in the Loop and grabbed a cab up to John Barleycorn on Lincoln Avenue, right by DePaul. He found Dave at a table talking to a guy who was vaguely familiar to him. He approached the table and Dave looked up and saw him coming.

"Dan, what's up?" he said, extending his hand. "It's been a long time."

"Too long, my friend. How's everything goin'?"

"Not bad, not bad. Hey, this is Mike. Mike, this is Dan. Mike and I used to work together before I left the meat grinder." Dan's throat constricted upon realizing why he recognized the guy with Dave. He'd seen him at a charity event several months ago, the delicious Kelly on his arm. He'd seen pictures of him in his bedroom, his office, in the house he shared with his adulterous wife. More often than not, when he saw these pictures, Dan's cock was buried in Kelly's dripping, bald cunt, ensconced in her wet mouth, her shiny lips leaving trails of saliva along his shaft, or trapped between her massive, sweaty tits, her wedding and engagement rings hovering inches from his engorged cock.

"Good to meet you, Mike." Dan extended his hand, which Mike accepted.

"You, too." Turning back to Dave, Mike continued, "I gotta run, Dave. Good to catch up with you. I'll let you know how it turns out." Mike MacGuire said his good-byes and departed.

His chest still pounding, Dan took a seat and ordered a Sierra Nevada from the waitress. His heart rate had returned to normal by the time it arrived.

"Jesus," Dave said. "I feel sorry for that guy. You would not believe the story he just told me. Listen to this. The guy's been married a few years, okay? A real hottie, if you ask me. Beautiful face, porn star body. I knew her when I was still working with Mike. She worked with us, but on a different team. Typical office romance: they date, get engaged then married, and have a kid. Everything's going great. He makes partner, pulling in tons of cash, and they buy a walk-up in Lincoln Park and renovate it. So he's out of town on business a few months ago, and ends up in Denver through Sunday. He gets home Sunday morning, and guess what he finds?"

Dan, of course, could easily guess what Mike MacGuire found when he got home. His seemingly innocent wife was probably impaled on a thick cock, her distended nipples gripped tightly between the fingers of her fuck-toy, filth spewing from her luscious lips. This story also explained why he hadn't heard from Kelly in several months. But he said, "I dunno. What's he find?"

"His wife is passed out on their bed. The room's a mess, sheets ripped halfway off the bed. She's naked as the day she was born, and – I'm reading between the lines here, because Mike didn't give me all the details – but it seems there's no question that she had recently been fucked. Turns out the bitch was cheating on him."

"Jesus Christ," Dan muttered. "Sucks for that guy."

"No shit. And apparently, this was not the first time. I guess she confessed that this was a routine thing for her. And not just recently. Mike said it goes back to before they were married, even before they were engaged. Sounds like this chick is nothing but a whore."

"Well, you can't really argue with that." 'I certainly can't,' Dan thought to himself, knowing full well the extent of Kelly's corruption and depravity, having been on the receiving end of it so many times. "So what did he do?"

"Kicked her out," Dave continued, taking a pull from his beer. "He filed for divorce immediately and got temporary custody of their daughter. He thinks the divorce should be pretty quick, given her history of fucking around on him. Stupid bitch even admitted all of it an e-mail to him."

"When did all this shit go down?"

"Right before Christmas, I guess. Merry fuckin' Christmas, huh?" Dave quipped, downing the rest of his beer.

Dan and Dave stayed at John Barleycorn for a few hours, catching up on their lives. Around 9:00 they parted ways, and Dan made his way home. He took a shower and hit the couch to watch SportsCenter for a while before going to bed. But he couldn't really concentrate on the television, instead wondering where Kelly was and what she was doing.

He felt sorry for her, in a way. Not that she didn't deserve what had happened. She was completely faithless, and was blatant in the way she trampled her wedding vows. Still, she was generally a good person, kind and thoughtful. Unfortunately for Kelly, her one flaw – a complete lack of sexual morals – was a major one, and it seemed to have finally caught up with her, wrecking her family in the process.

Introspectively, Dan felt an almost suffocating guilt for his part in Kelly's downfall, and that of her family. Certainly, he could rationalize away his role in the process. It wasn't like he led her astray. By her own admission, she had been cheating on Mike since the day they started dating. And it was Kelly that started the ball rolling that summer night that seemed so long ago, when she and Dan shared a cab from Bucktown to Lincoln Park.

And even had he repelled her advances that night, Dan knew that she would not have remained faithful. Kelly MacGuire, as innocent and classically beautiful as she appeared, was a slut. Married or not, with child or without, she would have willingly spread her legs and admitted almost any man, no matter his age, race, color or creed. Dan was merely a tool to her, and if he hadn't obliged her, someone else would have.

But it had finally caught up with her, and she was presumably on her own now. Dan's thoughts returned to her whereabouts and what she was doing with her life, but quickly moved onto another question: under what circumstances did Kelly MacGuire's infidelity come to light?

* * *

There was a girl named Donna. She was one of Kelly's best friends from high school. Donna lived in New York City with her fiancé, and was getting married in Palm Beach just after New Years Day. A few Saturdays before Christmas, Donna and some of her New York friends flew into Chicago for the weekend for her bachelorette party.

As was to be expected, Lisa, Kelly's maid-of-honor, made all the arrangements for the party. She rented out the basement of Stanley's in Lincoln Park for a few hours, and sent invitations to thirty or so girls. Even when compared to Donna's permissive nature, Lisa was a wild woman. So it was no surprise to anyone that Lisa had arranged for some male entertainment to appear toward the end of the party.

Mike was in Denver on business that weekend. He had tried to get back Friday afternoon, but a few last-minute issues arose, keeping him there. He called Kelly on Friday to tell her that he wouldn't be back until Sunday afternoon. She was counting on him coming home so he could take care of Evelyn while she was at the bachelorette party; now, she didn't know what to do with Evelyn at this late date. But she hung up with Mike and called Esmerelda, their part-time nanny, and Esmerelda agreed to watch Evelyn Saturday night. That taken care of, Kelly went about her day.

Esmerelda arrived Saturday afternoon around 4:00. While Kelly was getting ready for the evening, the nanny played with Evelyn and did a little cleaning around the house. She had just finished with the kitchen when she heard Mrs. MacGuire's heels on the stairway, descending from the second floor. She left the kitchen and met Kelly in the living room at the front of the house.

Kelly was standing before a vanity mirror, her bright red fingernails holding a tube of red lip gloss, smearing it across her lips. Esmerelda took in the sight of her boss. She stood atop four-inch Manolo Blahnik heels. Her trim legs, hips and ass were squeezed into body-hugging Seven jeans. As she leaned toward the mirror, applying the lip gloss, a simple diamond pendant swung from her elegant neck. Her large breast hung from her chest, covered by a white tank top.

Kelly slipped the lip gloss into a Prada handbag, and reached for a navy blue blouse that was resting on the table below the mirror. As she swung the blouse around her, slipping her arms into it, Esmeralda saw the printing on the front of Kelly's tank top: "yes . . . they're real," it said. Kelly closed the blouse over her chest, as Esmerelda thought, 'Puta. How can a respectable mother dress like that?'

"Alright, Esmerelda. I'm off," she announced, pulling a Burberry coat from the closet. "I might be late, but should be home by one or two, at the latest."

"Yes, Mrs. MacGuire."

"I have my cell with me. Call me if you need anything, okay?"

"I will, Mrs. MacGuire," Esmerelda said to the door that had already shut. She simply rolled her eyes. Esmerelda had begun wondering about her boss these last few months. She often disappeared during the middle of the day, saying she was going shopping. But almost without exception, Mrs. MacGuire returned with no shopping bags, no clothes or groceries or anything. And increasingly, Mrs. MacGuire had been asking her to watch Evelyn on weeknights when Mr. MacGuire was out-of-town. She would come home at ten or eleven, smelling like alcohol, her hair in disarray, her clothes wrinkled and disheveled.

Esmerelda was not an educated woman, but any fool could see that something was going on. The pretty Mrs. MacGuire was running around on her husband. 'Puta,' Esmerelda thought again, before putting a DVD on for the entertainment of Mrs. MacGuire's daughter.

Outside her walk-up, her handbag slung over her shoulder, Kelly hailed a cab and directed it down Armitage to Stanley's. She had arrived somewhere in the middle of the pack. After the bouncer at the top of the stairs admitted her to the basement, she found ten or twelve girls at the bar or sitting at tables. The boring, conservative ones were sipping chardonnay from wine glasses. The rough-and-tumble ones drank from beer bottles. The more hardcore girls were downing vodka or gin, mixed with tonic.

Kelly threw her coat over an empty chair that held other coats, and ordered a vodka-and-tonic from the bartender, whose eyes lingered too long on her jutting breasts before meeting her eyes. Drink in manicured hand, Kelly found Donna and gave her a big hug. They spent a few minutes catching up, and Donna introduced Kelly to her friends from New York.

More girls continued to arrive, and Kelly mingled with them, greeting those she hadn't seen in a while with hugs and platonic kisses. After a while, the wait staff brought down a number of large plates of food. Kelly placed a few finger sandwiches on a plate, and joined Donna's New York friends at a table. "Are you girls enjoying Chicago?" she asked, removing her blouse and hanging it off the back of her chair.

"Fun so far," one of them said. "But we can't wait for the real fun to start. Donna told me that her maid-of-honor – what's her name, Lisa? – that Lisa hired a few male strippers."

"I heard that, too," Kelly responded, laughing. "Should be interesting. What time are they coming?" she asked, swallowing a bite of food.

"I don't know. Soon, I think. I think we have the basement only until eleven." Kelly looked at her Cartier watch. It was 9:30. "By the way, I love your top, Kelly."

"Thanks. It's my fun top. It's just a tease."

"I'll bet," one of the girls responded, laughing. "Where'd you get it?"

"Found it online. I thought it'd be fun to where once in a while," Kelly responded.

"Where should we go after this?" one of the New York girls asked Kelly.

"There's a few places we could go. Tillie's, Zella's, if we want to stay around here. Or we could take a cab down to the Rush Street area, and go to Tavern-on-Rush or one of the bars around there." Kelly looked over toward Donna. "I don't think she'll be joining us, though. She looks pretty wasted."

They all looked over at Donna and laughed; Donna was swaying slightly, a champagne glass dangling from one hand; her eyes were slightly hooded. "No problem," one of the girls said. "You lead the way, Kelly, and we'll follow."

The girls finished their dinner, and their plates were cleared away. As they refreshed their drinks, the entertainment arrived. Kelly saw a heavily muscled police officer coming down the stairs, and laughed. 'How typical,' she thought. The first officer was followed by a second, equally built, cop. Laughing, she leaned across the bar toward Lisa, and yelled over the din of twenty-five gabbing women, "Nice job, Lisa. You couldn't have picked something more cliché."

Lisa laughed back, and said, "Yeah, but who cares, as long as they loose those uniforms." Kelly continued laughing.

The male strippers cleared an area in the middle of the room, and created a circle with enough chairs for each woman to have one. The screech of a traffic whistle brought the girls to their chairs, and the show began. It was typical of cheesy strip shows. The cops ripped off their uniforms as they placed Donna "under arrest." Kelly merely rolled her eyes, but as they rubbed their near-naked bodies against her friend, she felt her already thick nipples harden, and she rubbed her legs together.

The strippers did their thing with Donna, and then parted and moved about the room, rubbing their oiled bodies against the other women. The shy and conservative ones blushed and kept their hands at their sides. The wild ones laughed and yelled and rubbed their hands across slick chests and squeezed greased ass cheeks. The even bolder ones discreetly rubbed the exterior of tiger-print thongs that housed thick cocks, straining to be let loose.

By the time one of the strippers found Kelly, she had already downed four or five drinks. Her mind was clouded with growing lust. She took a pull of a refilled vodka-and-tonic as the stripper shimmied his way toward her.

Marcos, the shimmying stripper, saw the gleam in Kelly's bright blue eyes as he approached her. Her distended nipples were evident, and he tilted his head to read the writing on her tank top, which was slightly distorted due to her generous breasts. Kelly watched his eyes move and saw his face light up in a broad, leering smile.

He straddled her legs, and wiggled his groin close to her face. Kelly laughed as the girls around her yelled and hooted and cheered her on. Marcos squatted so that his thong-covered cock rested against her belly, and Kelly took the opportunity to grab his ass and pull him into her. She felt the thick cock press against her stomach as those around her roared. Her nipples stiffened further, and her vagina moistened with the contact.

But almost as soon as it began, Marcos moved on to the next girl. Kelly downed the rest of her drink and went to the bar for a refill. She again took her seat as the strip show continued. After about an hour, the strippers wound down their show, and donned their 'uniforms.' Kelly, now on her sixth or seventh drink, returned to the bar, grabbed a matchbook, and wrote in it.

As Marcos was bent over picking up five- and ten-dollar bills from the floor, Kelly approached him, vodka-and-tonic gripped between the manicured fingers of one hand, the matchbox in the other. From his kneeling position, Marcos looked up into the sparkling eyes of Kelly MacGuire, her hip cocked to one side. With a sultry smile on her face, she tossed the matchbook toward him, and it landed on the floor at his feet.

As he picked it up, he looked at her inquiringly. "It's for you," she said in a husky voice. "Not for the other one, just for you." She turned on her heel and walked away, joining the New York girls at the bar. "Ready, ladies?" Marcos put the matchbook in his pocket without opening it.

"Let's go!" came the chorus. Donna was about to pass out, and Lisa offered to take her home. Some of the other girls were going home, too, or meeting boyfriends or husbands at different bars. Kelly and Donna's friends left Stanley's and found a cab to take them to Tavern-on-Rush.

Marcos and his companion finished cleaning up, and they, too, left the bar. They were done for the night, and parted on the sidewalk outside the bar. Marcos took a cab home. When he entered his apartment, he emptied his pockets and dropped the contents on his kitchen counter. As change and keys clattered on the cheap Formica, he spied the matchbook. Lifting it, he opened it and read on the inside of the cover Kelly's neatly printed message: "I want to fuck you. 773-555-5555." He grunted and shook his head, tossing the matchbook aside.

Kelly and the girls had no problem getting into Tavern-on-Rush, despite the bar being crowded. Once inside, Kelly wedged her way to the bar, and ordered drinks for everyone. Two older gentlemen at a high-top table invited the girls to join them, and they agreed, if only for the seats and free drinks the men were sure to offer.

An hour-and-a-half later, a few more vodka-and-tonics coursing through Kelly's blood stream, Donna's friends announced that they were done for the night. They thanked their hosts, and got up to leave. Kelly, too, was rather drunk and left with them. On the sidewalk the newfound friends all hugged each other, and Kelly made sure they got safely into a cab.

Before Kelly could hail a cab for herself, her cell phone chirped from inside her Prada handbag. She pulled it out and looked at the Caller ID display, but didn't recognize the number. Shaking her lustrous blond hair from her face, she hit "Send" and put the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

"I will let you fuck me," she heard from the earpiece.

Kelly's heart skipped a beat, and lusty smile spread across her beautiful face. Adjusting the bag on her shoulder and moving the phone to her other ear, she slurred, "Where are you?"

"Where are you?"

"Tavern-on-Rush. Wanna meet me here?"

"Do you want me to fuck you there?"

Kelly closed her eyes, and her nipples throbbed. She moved away from the bouncer and the valets. "No. I want you to fuck me in the bed where my husband and I sleep."

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