Sarah: Eleven Forty Four

"David are you still there?" This maddening little voice on the phone, the jester. His cock angry and hard. He is waiting now, trapped, and perfect, just waiting for their lips to touch. He could see this, see this and nothing else, this one perfect kiss and it would hit the spot they could never hit by themselves...the agony of his pretty wife's warm soft lips touch this other...this...this cold fucker across from him...with the fucker's crazy wife on the phone, pushing the tempo, narrating without seeing.

"David, Daaaaaaavid," the voice girlish again, almost pleading.

"What?" he says, a sharp whisper.

"You never sent a picture."

"What?"

"You never sent a picture of yourself. If you had, I would have a copy of the picture right now and I would be rubbing it on myself."

"Oh Jesus."

"No, really, I'd be rubbing your picture on my tits and on my pussy right now, while my husband seduces your wife in front of you."

"I don't even know... what..."

"So instead, Arthur found a picture yesterday on the net of some kind of young good looking and said to pretend it was David. And I took the picture and I wrote the word "David" on it like a bunch of times, with hearts and stuff."

"Maxine!"

"And I have that right now, my fake David picture, and I'm pushing it right against my pussy, doesn't that just fuckingrock? It's not like you're getting anything yourself tonight, sweetie, but I did feelsoooorry for you because my husband can be quite good with the younger ladies, so at least I felt sorry for you and wanted you to know I have a picture of a young pretty man that I named David and I am really, for real, rubbing it on my clit and my pussy right now and youknow that I am telling you the truth."

His head is spinning, now, surreal.

"After I cum on it I'm going to kiss it and keep it, you know."

This cannot be happening. These really are freaky people, freaky rich people with the time and energy to think up strange horrible shit to do to his cock and his wife and he is dropping the phone to the floor now because his wife, his love, is slipping her hands inside the other man's suit coat and they are kissing, open and hot, and he is positioned over her and she is giving, giving her mouth to him, yielding, lovely Sarah, perfect and he is...about...to....

* * * *

Wait...

* * * *

Two and half minutes earlier, in the lobby bar of the Swissotel in Chicago....

* * * *

Sarah hears the familiar chirp of her husband's cell phone. He is fumbling for it. Every time she feels any slight pang of regret for the situation she looks down at the rock hard bulge in her husband's pants and this power justsurges again, through her veins, through her crotch. Her head is a bit light now, like it should be. She hears the phone and sees him grasping for it, offering to turn it off. Arthur calmly telling him to answer it. She slips her hand inside his suit coat, around his waist.

"Arthur, that's our cue. You didn't give me any further instructions." And she places her mouth close to his.

"You don't have to think about anything else tonight. All those times you've worked and dressed up, no more. Not tonight. No more work for you tonight. All play for you, pretty girl." His voice soft, almost kind.

Oooh, she thought, this was the right man for this, for this thing between her and husband that sooner or later would be inevitable because David just wouldn't let it go, wouldn'tshut up about it. This cocky blonde man felt so right, in his black suit and red tie ...his hand around the back of her head, just brushing her hair, softly, sending current from the ends of her hair into her scalp, spreading down now along her spine. His breath smelled like champagne.

"No more making you think up things...no more work for you."

"Mmmmyess," she wanted to kiss him now,really kiss him, kiss him good. Kiss a grown man (I love David, I love David but a grown up real man is about to kiss me, hold me) to take care of her and oh (daddy thing? Is this a daddy thing? He sure as hell doesn't look like dad) god she just wanted to melt under him then, just let go, just quit thinking about anything and have this strange cool grown up man fuck her, fuck her until she couldn't think anymore, fuck her and hold her until she would just come and come and come and their would be no more thoughts and no more dreams and no more bills and no more life beyond the cock filling her, moving her, senseless and hot and just live there, under that spell, under his soft/hard words:

"Sarah you are so beautiful, you are the most beautiful, desirable woman and I am thrilled to be here with you, god you're such a pretty woman" her eyes closing, feeling the trace of his lips across hers as he was somehow moving on top of her, "and you're done thinking of him and you're going to think about you aren't you, I am so glad to be the first you do this with..."

And his mouth on her then, and she – always the expert kisser – but now, now -- she just lay back and opened her mouth to him, his teeth finding her tongue and holding it lightly, pulling ever so, his breath exhaling into her lungs and his hand now on the back of her neck and the other moving quickly, lightly, up between her thighs, light and fast, a deft knowing stroke andoh shit will he think it's funny how wet I am will I look foolish? The thought comes to her and then a sound...

* * * *

"SHIT!"

Uttered in agony, loud, too.

It's what maybe thirty customers of the lobby bar of the Swissotel Chicago USA hear, at around 8:04 PM. It's a loud word, brittle. Heads are turned momentarily, from various positions in the room.

They see something not even worth registering. A man, sitting with a well-dressed couple, who are embracing, has dropped his cell phone. The heads look away again. Not even worth noting. It happens, you drop a cell phone while discussing something important. Guy's probably wired a little tight. Whatever. Back to being rich and busy at the Swissotel.

What they do not see: they do not see David Brooks, all around nice guy, hard worker, conscientious cuckold, almost jizz himself in his light colored Chino dress pants because his beautiful wife Sarah is passively, delightedly French kissing Arthur Robbins, while Arthur's seriously crazy wife talks the dirtiest talk he's ever heard from a woman to him over his own cell phone. (She seemed so cute in the e-mails and Arthur's prose rings back so flat and precise and true:You're nice people, we're not).

He's buckled over in his chair, looking down at the gray carpet floor and pretending to look for his phone (which is right in front of him) fighting off the orgasm not yet, not yet not yet he curses himself, his steel-hard cock leaking now, and he is bent over, self-conscious of putting a wet spot on his trousers. Christ, the ache in his balls! Not psychological now, but a real ache, a real hurt to move himself, to get himself upright.

He picks up the phone, a dial tone, now. Maxine gone or cut off or God knows what. He forces himself back into an upright posture on the chair. Looks over at them. They are both sitting quite upright now, their moment interrupted by him, by him lookingstupid. The kiss, the kiss that he saw...gone now.

"Everything all right?" she says to her husband, familiar and friendly.

"Just dropped the phone," he struggles.

"David, it's okay," Arthur says to him – warmer, now, as if talking to an insider, a conspirator, "I have had that happen to me too. Seriously. I'm not making fun of you for that. That's part of the deal, so if I make fun of you later, I won't make fun of you for that. I know, I know, you almost just came in your pants. It's not me kissing your hot wife, David, it washer kissing meback. I know how this feels."

And that motherfucker, he has been at this edge many times (fucking crazy wife, no wonder) and is, momentarily sympathetic, a real gentleman about the whole messy affair. David makes up something in his head, hears Arthur saying in some crazy English accentGood sport, David, old boy, you're quite the admirable fellow in this whole business the both of us have to get through.

"So I will not make fun of you for almost staining your pants," Arthur continues, without any trace of a humorous English accent.

"I will," volunteers a cheerful Sarah, "he looks silly."

"Shush up!" Arthur says to her quickly.

"Ok," she says, her voice as girlish as Maxine's.

And Arthur turns back to him and says, calmly, "Iwill, though, ask you to take a picture of your sweet little wife here, good looking girl, really nice, I want you to take a picture of her running her tongue over your wedding ring after I've shot come all over it. I mean, you knew both of us would be aiming for something like that, David?"

"You are a badbad boy," coos Sarah, her arm around Arthur, looking up at him.

"Yes," says David, through his teeth. "I'll bet you already have the camera for it, don't you?"

"Nikon D-100, David," Arthur pauses, "with a zoom lens. You know why a...."

"Yes, a zoom lens. I get it, Arthur."

They are all standing up now. Sarah leaning on Arthur. She is buzzed. David knows the look, all affection and good cheer.

"I think it's better if we eat later, and not yet, is that okay with everybody?" Arthur says, not asking but directing. "I have to use the men's room, now, let's meet back at the elevator."

* * * *

She watches him walk away, toward the men's room. When the door closes behind him she turns around and throws her arms around David, beloved partner, and almost cuckold husband. "Ilove you!" she says, hugging her weak kneed husband, "I love youso much. You are the most wonderful man and I want to be with youforever!"

He is lost now, no ground beneath him, he is hugging her, embracing her back, no point of reference anymore. He is close to tears now, and exhaustion. "I love you, I love you Sarah" is all he can say, hugging her, holding her – that scent, that scent of hers that she's wears when out for parties. His hand, in familiar gesture, drops down to her heart shaped ass, clothed in the unfamiliar fabric of a new black dress.

She backs up abruptly, the embrace over. "I love you so much, please, please don't ruin this for me David. Handsoff! That's what youwanted. Forreal, no morefakes. Other men want me, they hit on me all the time and I am finally going to pick a few out and enjoy myself, starting tonight. No more faking it ever! By a grown up! Doesn't he lookawesome in that suit? Maybe you should find reasons to wear one more often."

They are standing by the elevator doors now. She looks over as Arthur reemerges from the men's room. She whispers back to her husband. "David, I know you're not a sissy or anything like that...but from the way that he was starting to hunch me in the bar I just know this guy has agreat cock. I mean, not like I complain about yours, but, you know, I think...."

"I know, I know," says David.

"I love YOU," she says, kissing him dry and quick on the cheek, and then turns her face toward the other man, approaching, and runs her tongue across her lower lip.

* * * *

It is 8:18 PM in the dark mirrored number 4 elevator car of the Swissotel, Chicago, USA. She is flushed now, almost breaking a sweat although the elevator car is cool and dark and silent.

Arthur tells him to punch up floor 35.

Arthur is up against her now, while her husband (a vague presence, growing vaguer and more distant now) meekly watches them. She can feel his fat hard-on pressing against her, through his pants, into her stomach. His hands are holding her breasts, now, more forcefully than her husband would, withauthority. Her skin tingles there, as the fingertips roll more closely to the center, she is already stiff there against her bra, and the thin silk of her dress. She has never felt moresexy, more desirable, there, as the sensation moves, circling, and her eyes flutter and close.

You're beautiful, Sarah, beautiful and important and I want to push in to you and bottom out and just hold you there for hours and hours and when his fingers finally close in, brush softly (too softly too softly, teasing) against her tight hard nipples she sucks in her breath and feels the current shoot through her breasts and directly down between her legs.

"You're such a peach, Sarah," he says low and slowly, "That nice guy behind me loves you, loves you so much...I want you... to.... break...his...heart...and...bust...his...balls...isn't that sexy?"

"Yessss" the reply not a word, but a sigh.

"David," he says, in that irritating,controlling businessman's tone, "Straighten up. I'll stop feeling her up as soon as the bulge in your pants goes away."

She giggles at this, not kindly. "Think I look good now?" she says to her husband, and what she does not say, but what they both hear:Wait until I'm wearing his cock. And now she is not smiling, not giggling as she stares across at her miserable husband, her love and friend.You asked for this you asked for this you whined for this.

It is 8:24 PM in Suite 3504 of the Swissotel, Chicago, USA. The suite is beautiful. White carpet and soft lighting. The view looking downward a thousand feet to busy darkened streets awash in traffic and noise.

He aches so much now that he is having trouble staying hard. The pain has moved from his balls northward, into his insides. Sweat visible on his face, around his neck.

From Arthur: "David, I want you to strip off your clothes. Don't worry – I don't want anything homo to do with you, I just need you naked. Strip and sit down in that chair over there."

He looks back at them now; they are still fully dressed, as he sits naked and exposed. He his sweating, sweating everywhere and shaking, visibly. His cock is hard again, freed from clothing. Rock hard, straining, clear drops of liquid from the tip.

"Sarah, who looks better right now?"

"You look better."

"I know."

"You look better in a suit than he does naked. He doesn't look so good." She frowns.

"Who would you rather get fucked by, tonight?"

"Definitely you."

"Tell him."

"I love you, David, so much." Turning to him.

He says nothing, his breath is short and heavy.

"But you know this guy is...just...better than you."

Arthur is now whispering in her ear, the good suffering husband cannot hear them. She is giggling again, nodding her head up and down.

Again, Arthur: "David, you really need to get off soon, or you won't enjoy the rest of the night. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about. But I want to give you an image, a specific image to jack off to." He produces a beautiful little camera. "I want you to take a shot of this, just aim and click this little button here, and then you can put the camera down and whack off."

Sarah is slipping off her dress, now, off with the bra and panties. She turns back and forth, deliberately smiling at Arthur, and coldly staring at her husband. The sight of her, his beautiful Sarah, his kind happy wife, lovely and naked, in the arms of another man – fully dressed in his serious rich man's suit – patronizing and menacing, she is kissing him, not playing or acting now, kissing him deliciously, fully, her arms around this man's neck as he forcefully squeezes her ass cheeks in his hands.

One click of the camera, and then another.

And she sinks to her knees in front of the businessman, rolls her head slightly back, closes her eyes, and sticks out her tongue.

"You see David, I know just from kissing your hot wife's mouth in public in front of you, you know, back there in the lobby. I know that she is going to give a great blowjob. But, for a minute or two, I want to give you theperfect image, to think about, to burn into your skull forever you miserable helpless good man."

His head turns downward to the wife. "Sarah, pretty little girl, put your hands behind your back."

"Like this, sir?" she says, her tone achingly compliant, a good little girl. The betrayal the betrayal, the husband's head feels like it could explode.

"I just need to use your mouth for a moment. God you look so good like that, sweetie."

"Yes sirrrrr," she says, deliciously.... artificially...playing little school girl, forhim, sticking her tongue back out.

Arthur is unzipping his fly now, "David, steady the camera. I want this shot to be good...the shot where your pretty naked wife is on her knees, in front of me, an obnoxious jerk, and she's waiting for me to stick my cock in her mouth."

"Yes Iam," she agrees.

"Lick your lips, Sarah, make them wet."

"Yes sirrrrr."

He is pulling her head forward, forward toward his hard cock sticking out from his suit pants, her mouth wide and eyes open again, looking up sweetly at him, and in a moment it is inside her mouth now, down over half way, and he is holding her head, moving her head back and forth, her tongue swirling and...he bucks hard now, his hands controlling her. David knows the man is emptying himself into his pretty wife's mouth, good girl, and always a swallower.

And as Arthur pulls his cock out of her throat, dragging spit and cum across her chin, Arthur is for once breathless and silent. She is looking up at him, at Arthur, not her husband, her hands unclasped and rubbing herself slowly, shamelessly, on her knees there.

And then comes the moment, the photo of a lifetime....

Arthur lifts her left hand up in front of his still rigid and soaked cock and squeezes one last clean shot onto her wedding ring. She slowly holds her hand up to her chin, turns to her husband, winks flirtatiously, and drags the glistening ring across her soft tongue. "It tastes like money...." She murmurs.

It is 8:52 PM when Arthur and Sarah make good on the promise, the promise to burn an image into David Brooks' head for the rest of his life.

He manages one last shot, one click, before dropping the camera and reaching desperately for his own cock and he closes his hand once around himself and is shooting, shooting coming. A great wave inside him, the great silent roar rolling out from his balls into the end of his cock, back through his body, shaking his heart, spreading upward into his shoulders. Coming and coming his seed expulsed with such force it will travel two feet before landing on the carpet. Coming and coming and continuing like never in his life...the image in his mind. Permanent, the picture of evil, betrayal. Arthur the perfectionist.

He has fallen to the floor, his cock still throbbing in his hand. His naked wife is standing over him now. Beautiful.

"David, that's gross," she says, pointing to the huge pile of semen streaked across the carpet in front of him. "Clean that up."

"Sarah," the man says in the background. "Lie over here on the bed and play with yourself while I get my hard on back."

"Hell yes," she says, turning away from her husband.

* * * *

At 9:00 PM, precisely,to the second, in suite 3504 of the Swissotel in Chicago, USA....

A familiar sound. A cell phone chirps.

It dawns on him.He set this up. He told her to call because he knew, he knew where we would all be at this very moment. He's using us, all of us.

"David, bring that here," she says. "I want to talk to Maxine."

"Call her Trixie," mutters Arthur, "she just hates that."

She presses the little green button and sighs. "Helloooo, Trixie."

A pause, and then, a tiny cell phone voice, "Oooh, he told you to say that."

"I think your husband is reallyswell."

"Arthur ROCKS!"

"He can be kind of mean."

"Arthur is a cold mother fucker!" the voice agrees, too loudly – drunk now, most probably.