tagLoving WivesTaking the Good with the Bad

Taking the Good with the Bad


My boss is a sociopath. High-functioning and very successful. But a sociopath. He has a kind of burning intensity, physical swagger, and insistent personality that makes him very hard to resist.

I first met him a little over a decade ago. He was an intern in my office back then, and immediately managed to polarize opinion. I found him scrappy. Others thought he was a raging jerk. None of those folks is still around. Fired. Harassed into leaving. Downsized. In the past decade, I've done pretty well, gotten promoted from an account manager to an office director to a division head. Roger's done even better, rising from intern to corporate VP in that time, which is why he's now my boss.

Get a couple of drinks into him and he'll start pontificating about his strategy for success. "No isn't an answer, it is an opening position in a negotiation. If you take no for an answer in business, you're a loser. If you take no for an answer from a broad, you're a fag." He's also the kind of guy who takes the word "never" as a challenge. Say it to him, and his eyes light up, and a thin smile crosses his face. He never forgets a challenge and never concedes defeat. Frankly, to be honest, he scares me a little.

But more than that, he makes me scare myself. I've done things under his influence that I would never have normally. And I have to admit, they've almost always worked out.

Roger is the kind of guy who won't let what he considers a "mere technicality" get between him and what he wants. One year, we were close to missing our sales targets, until Roger convinced me to back-date a bunch of contracts. Intellectually, I knew it was wrong. Illegal and wrong. And probably stupid. But with him looking over my shoulder, I couldn't refuse. I changed the papers. We made our targets. Got our bonuses. And happily never looked back. But I still shudder when I think about the potential consequences if we'd been caught. Fired. Sued. Maybe even facing criminal fraud charges.

That was the worst, but far from the only similar case. Working for Roger was always a high-wire act of dicey deals, creative accounting, and most often bait-and-switch negotiations carried off with little more than his lunatic audacity. I've burned a lot of bridges, usually with little more than the vague expectation that Roger would look out for me.

My wife Julie hates Roger. Hates him. She think, and I guess she's right, that he brings out the worst in me. "You're going to end up in jail because of that man," she often warns. But the truth is, we owe our lifestyle to his wheeling and dealing. We paid for our honeymoon, bought our house, and saved up enough for Julie to plan to quit work so we can start a family thanks to the firm-high bonuses in Roger's divisions. As I argue to Julie, you have to take the good with the bad.

Every year, our division has a big Christmas party. Roger's one of those guys who reveres the 1950s, "when men were men, and getting drunk was no big fucking deal." And with Roger in charge, it is always a blowout -- open bar, rocking band, the works. He sends out an email saying, "what happens at the Christas party stays at the Christmas party." And he means it. Two years ago, he got into a shouting match with one of the account managers, Todd, and they ended up trading a couple of jabs before we managed to break them up. Todd was cleaning out his desk the next morning when Roger drops by, pours two glasses of Scotch, and toasts, "no hard feelings." Todd still works with us.

This year was an extra big year. We got in heavy into buying up bad mortgages, including a big swath of litigation cases -- mostly assholes who stopped paying off their loans and then lawyered up to drag out the foreclosure process. Roger put together a tiger team to attack these cases one by one. We called them the "sharks and goons squad" and soon with Roger turning a blind eye to the complaints clogging up our email system, they started clearing the deck with impressive speed. According to rumors, our bonuses this year were slated to be extra juicy, making the party that much more festive.

Roger had booked out nightclub and we had a crazy spread. Champagne tower, cigar room, and a surf and turf buffet with 3 lbs lobsters as decoration. The wait staff welcomed everyone with a double Martini getting things off to a raucous start. Roger arrived late, making a big entrance. He was flying solo as usual, though these events often ended up with him taking a secretary (or two one year) home for an "after party." He was wearing a tailored black suit, cut perhaps a little too tight for my tastes, but he did make a pretty dashing figure. He ran up on stage, gave a few quick words of congratulations, wished everyone a merry Christmas, and then hoisted a glass for a quick toast, "you worked hard, now let's party hard!" And with that the band came out and got the place jumping.

We were having a great time. Even Julie who usually hates anything work -- or Roger -- related was having fun. She'd broken out that little black dress that I always encourage her to wear. Classic party dress. Real short showing off her great legs and with a cleavage displaying V neck. Julie had her dark brown hair up in an Audrey Hepburn bun. Diamond studded silver mesh earrings and necklace completed the look. Super stylish and super sexy.

We danced and drank and generally made merry. At one point, the band took a break, and Julie and I went to sit over at the bar to refill our glasses and catch our breath. Then Roger showed up.

He sidled up close to Julie and from behind his back pulled out a mistletoe branch. He held it over their heads.

"Looks like you owe me a kiss, pretty lady," he beamed.

Julie rolled her eyes. "Fat chance, Roger."

He laughed, "You can't refuse. It would violate Christmas party rules."

He reached around her and pulled her against his chest. Julie spun out of his grasp and pushed him away.

"No Roger, I'm going to kiss you. I'm never going to kiss you!" She exclaimed, a little too loudly. A few other people noticed and were now discretely looking our way.

"My, my," Roger replied in an amused tone, but I noticed a manic gleam momentarily in his eyes. "You're quite the wildcat tonight. Is there anything else you're never going to do with me?"

I was praying Julie would let it go. But she couldn't.

"What I won't do with you could fill a book!"

He smiled. A thin, dangerous smile. "Well, then, Jules, looks like I should find someone else to play with." He turned to me, raised his glass, and said, "Well, cheers Jack! Merry Christmas."

We watched him go off and pull the same stunt on several other women, all of whom gave him at least a quick kiss, which Roger routinely topped off with a furtive ass grab. And after each success, he gave a quick glance back in our direction.

Julie gulped down her drink and hissed, "Oooh, that man! God, I'd like to knee him in the balls."

"Oh come on, he's just having a little fun," I replied without thinking.

She rounded on me. "Goddamn it Jack, do you always have to defend him? The creep grabbed me."

"He just wanted a little kiss. No one else seems to mind."

She looked at me incredulous. "I can't believe you just said that. Really?"

But before I could reply, Roger suddenly reappeared. He handed Julie a refill.

"Julie, I just wanted to apologize," he began.

"No, no," she cut him off. "I'm the one who should apologize. It's just that you caught me off guard," she continued, now batting her eyelashes at him.

For a second, he seemed surprised. Then he gave her a grin, "Well, I still have that mistletoe." He held out the twig.

"It only works if we're standing under it," she flirted back.

He started to lift it up, then seemed to get a sudden inspiration. He handed me the twig. "Jack, would you mind?"

I stared from him to Julie. He had an amused look on his face. She was regarding me with a frozen smile and piercing eyes.

Almost as if under some weird compulsion, I raised the mistletoe and held it over them.

Sadness and disappointment flashed across Julie's face. Then she turned toward Roger, her face again composed into a tight smile. They leaned in and kissed. It was nothing particularly erotic. Just a peck on the lips, though held maybe a touch too long giving Roger time to brush his hand down the nape of her neck.

Just then the band came back on stage and started back up. Roger held out his hand to my wife, "How about it Jules? A quick dance to make up for before?"

She turned toward me, "Well, only if it is okay with Jack. Is it okay with you, honey?"

God, I wanted to say no. To grab her and just walk out. I started to refuse, but then Roger gave a withering glare, and instead what came out was, "Um, yeah, sure, if that's what you want."

Julie's shoulders seemed to slump just a bit, but before I could say another word, Roger took her hand and led her out to the dance floor.

Julie was angry. I could see it in her eyes when she looked back at me. Roger was handling her expertly on the dance floor, holding her hands, spinning her around, ocassionally pulling her close to his body. Her eyes went to me repeatedly, almost imploring me to cut in.

Several times I started onto the dance floor, only to realize after what I thought were a few steps that I hadn't moved at all. It was like my feet were nailed to the floor. Finally, the song ended, and I breathed a sigh of relief as Julie took a step back toward me. But then the band broke into a ballad, and Roger pulled her back into his arms.

"No, no," I saw her mouth.

Roger leaned in close and whispered something in her ear, nodding in my direction. Julie followed his glance and looked back at me. For a moment, they were both observing me. Uncomfortably, I lamely just gave them a little wave. Roger chuckled, Julie rolled her eyes and then mouthed, "okay, whatever" and allowed herself to be pulled into his arms.

They were dancing very close, Roger nuzzling close to her ear, whispering something that made Julie giggle. I became aware that other people were now aware of the scene, and were watching Roger and Julie on one hand and me on the other. I could see them out of the corner of my eye exchanging glances and whispered comments. I was paralyzed, staring out onto the dance floor, a rictus smile on my face.

Roger was growing bolder by the minute. He caressed the side of her face and ran a finger along her ear and across the nape of her neck. His other hand slid down the length of her back coming to rest in the valley of her lower back as he pulled them close together at the waist.

He whispered another something in her ear, and again they both looked at me. I was uncomfortable and embarrassed but somehow still frozen. He whispered to her again, and again they seemed to shared a laugh at my expense.

She turned back toward him, and he gave her another quick, closed mouth kiss, but given their embrace, it was anything but chaste. She glanced back over the shoulder at me, but I remained mute and still, she turned back toward Roger again and now stopped looking back.

Julie's back was to me, and they were no more than 10 paces away swaying gracefully together to the music. I watched as Roger's hands were now gently massaging Julie's lower back, slowly, but consistently, moving lower and lower until his fingers were tracing small circles across her butt. Then suddenly, he gave her ass a firm squeeze. I jolted upright and our eyes met. He held my stare until I look away.

I think the whole time, I kept expected it to just end. Roger had proven his point, whatever point it was. He'd had his fun, damnit. Why couldn't he just let her go. But even those thoughts couldn't compel me to intervene.

Instead, my eyes went back down to his hands, now possessively cupping and kneading my wife's shapely ass. As I watched, he began to bunch up the fabric of her dress, pulling the hemline further and further up. By then he'd yanked the dress up far enough to expose Julie's black lace panties, and I realized the entire club was now watching. I felt lightheaded, like I was going to black out. But instead, I just remained there, now almost standing at attention, trying to wish the situation away.

Roger then slid his hands under her waistband, both his hands now palming her bare ass. He yanked her close again, grinding their crotches together. I could see his left hand now sliding up and down the crack of her ass, and then suddenly he flicked his wrist. Julie stiffened. There was an audible gasp from some in the crowd as people realized he now had at least a finger inside her.

They finished the dance like that, pelvis to pelvis, his hand moving rapidly under her panties. And when the music ended, I look up to see them kissing again, open-mouthed this time, though still more teasing than voracious.

They walked back to me, holding hands.

"It's getting late. Let's go back to my place for a nightcap," Roger stated matter-of-factly.

I look from him to her and back again. They regarded me with expressionless poker faces.

"Um, well, Roger, the thing is, I'm pretty tired. Maybe another time?" I offered.

He clapped his hand on my shoulder, and I was immediately aware it was the same hand he'd recently had wedged between my wife's legs.

"Oh come on, Jack. We've had a great year. You're not going to deny me the pleasure of having a private toast with my favorite division head, are you?"

I folded. "Okay, you're right. Sure, why not?" I said, trying to convince myself, even as I deliberately avoid making eye contact with Julie.

"Great!" Roger bellowed, and then he putting one arm around each of us, he led us toward the exit.

Roger's car was parked right in front, and we approached it, he pulled his keys out of his pocket and and handed them to me.

"Hey, buddy," he said, "you better drive. I'm a bit bombed."

I'd had more than a few and I was not really comfortable with driving his expensive Mercedes. I was still pondering that when he pushed me into the driver's seat. He opened the back door for Julie, and after it shut, I waited for him to come around to the passenger seat, but then I realized he'd slid in beside Julie in the back.

"You remember where I live, right?" He said, prompting me to start driving.

"Um, sure," I muttered under my breath, but I realized he wasn't listening to me. He and Julie were again sharing a whispered conversation.

I had just turned onto Grant, the main avenue uptown toward his place, when he tapped me on the shoulder. "Here take these, Jules doesn't want to lose them," he said as he dropped her sheer panties in my lap. I felt my throat catch. I was speechless.

I adjusted the rearview mirror to see into the back seat and was greeted with a lewd tableau. Julie's legs were spread wide, her dress bunched up around her waist. With one hand, Roger was roughly fingering her exposed twat. With his other hand, he'd pulled one of her full boobs from her dress and was rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

And Julie seemed to be loving it. Her pussy was making obscene, wet squishing sounds as he repeatedly jammed one, two, then three fingers into her over and over. Her nipples were rock hard, her areolaes puffy and waxy. Her head was thrown back against the headrest, eyes closed, and her mouth making a perfect "o" as she moaned softly.

The alternating light and dark as we passed under street lights created a near-psychadelic strobe-light effect. At one point, Roger leaned in and took a firm nipple into his mouth, and Julie's orgasmic groan nearly caused me to run off the road.

"Keep your eyes on the road," Roger growled. "Sorry," I muttered in response.

Thankfully, we were almost there. We pulled into his garage, and he directed me into a reserved space. I opened the door for them, and Roger helped Julie out of the car. She seemed dazed and maybe a little unsteady, but he grabbed her firmly around the waist and led her to the elevator. I was left to chase after them.

He pushed the button for the top floor, and then pulled Julie into another embrace. They kissed wetly, tongues thrusting into each other's mouths. He had his hand inside her dress, casually cupping her breast as they made out. When we reach his floor, he and Julie again led the way, limbs impossibly intertwined.

Roger opened the door and turned on the lights. He's got a stunning penthouse loft, with amazing views of the city. I closed the door behind me.

"Hey Jack, why don't you go and fix us some drinks. You remember where the bar is, right?"

I nodded and stumbled mutely into his living room. "What do you want?" I said, looking back just in time to see Roger lifting the little black dress over Julie's head, leaving her naked save for her jewelry and heels.

"Scotch, neat," he replied as he led my now naked wife over to the sofa. "Chardonnay," she added.

When I returned with the drinks, he motioned me over to an armchair across from the sofa they shared. As I sat, he addressed me without a glance in my direction.

"What a stunning, lovely creature you have here," he exclaimed as his hands roamed over her body. He pressed a finger into her mouth. Then he cupped and lifted each of her breasts, pausing to trace the outline of her nipples. His fingertips then traced a line between her breasts down over her flat belly. He massaged her closely trimmed muff, and then slide a finger between her labia. She gasped as he gently rubbed her clitoris.

After a few moments he spoke again, this time to Julie. "I've been pleasuring you for a while now, isn't it about time you reciprocate?"

She gulped and then nodded her head slightly.

"Good girl," he replied. With his right hand he unzipped his pants, and with his left he pulled her head toward his lap. She took it from there, snaking her hand into his pants and fishing out his rapidly swelling cock. She stroked him several times with her left hand, her diamond engagement ring and wedding band rubbing up and down his shaft.

He was big. Well, bigger than me at least, which was all I could really focus on. As she jerked his prick, she helped him out of his pants while he shucked off his jacket. Then she took him in her mouth. At first, just the head, alternating between sucking him and swirling her tongue around the base of his glans. Then as she wet the shaft with her saliva, she began to take him deeper and deeper, until his entire cock disappeared into her mouth, and her face was buried in his pubic hair. She bobbed up and down, up and down, making loud slurping sounds as she repeatedly devoured his dick.

Roger closed his eyes, a big happy grin on his face. "Oh God, Jack, you never told me what an expert cocksucker you had here in Julie Jules. Had I known, I'd have taken a shot a long time ago."

Julie looked up, beaming at the compliment, before returning to her task.

"Damn, that feels good," he moaned. He turned to me. "Jack, go get my video camera. It's on the the kitchen counter. This is too good to leave to alcohol-clouded memory."

I was shell shocked and too battered to refuse. I stumbled forlorn to the kitchen and returned with his little Flip camera. I handed it to him, and he began filming my wife giving him head. But after a moment, he threw up his hands.

He patted Julie on the head and exclaimed, "Jesus, I can't focus on filming when you're working my crank like that, baby." Then he tossed the camera to me, "Jack, you be the cameraman. I'm counting on you buddy."

"Fuck you asshole. I'm not filming you with my wife..." I wanted to yell. But instead, I caught the camera and began filming wordlessly.

As she continued to stroke his shaft, she also helped him out of the rest of his clothes. She opened his shirt, one button at a time, pausing to kiss and lick his newly exposed chest, wetly sucking on his nipples. He let out a deep, satisfied rumble of laughter.

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