Ascending Lauren Ch. 07

This narrative is part of a multi-part story that explores the sexual exploits of a Midwestern couple who wanted a change in locale, but are experiencing much, much more. Subject matter includes hotwife/cuckold topics and group sex. If you do not care for these types of tales, move on. You are your only enemy if you continue reading.

Those that do choose to continue, please know reading previous chapters will help you better understand the characters and their journey, but is not a requirement.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters are over 18.

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The Millers knew they were changing. Changing as partners, lovers, and individuals. Five months prior, when Lauren left for Miami, they swore the 1,500 miles between them would not alter their relationship. Corey would remain in Iowa, finish his construction project, then join his wife of 28 years for a blissful life in sunny South Florida. They would simply pick up where they had left off.

Yet every night now, as each lay alone in their respective beds, they knew nothing could be further from the truth. Not the way things were now. Not with Lauren's newfound sexuality. Since coming to Miami, she had slowly acquiesced to Corey's burgeoning kink without fully understanding where that would take them. At first, it was simply a matter of placating her husband. Then it evolved, and now Lauren herself was beginning to embrace the transformation in ways not anticipated by either. The couple didn't think of it in terms of a "lifestyle" or any of the myriad labels people tried to tag it with: cuckold, stag, vixen, swinger. They only knew each had changed in a way neither had imagined possible.

Shy Lauren was now the aggressor in many ways. Her traditionally conservative makeup and clothing had given way to an edgier, provocative appearance. A once passive lover, she was now surprisingly raucous in bed. Her husband's own hand had shown the 48-year-old beauty that men still found her quite desirable. This ignited her inner lust, and as Corey was quickly learning, that itch was a genie not easily put back in its bottle.

Of course, Corey had changed as well. With Lauren's willingness to experiment, he now felt emboldened to further encourage the journey. Eleven years her senior, he genuinely wanted her remaining prime years to be sexually fulfilling, a feat the graying 61-year-old with an expanding waistline could no longer accomplish. As noble as that was, his gratification was driven by a much darker reward: the craving for the compersion that accompanied her exploits, and the cocktail of emotions when thinking of his wife making love to another. Much of this he kept to himself because he didn't feel Lauren would or could understand. Little ancillary things. Like how to explain while he didn't care for outright humiliation, he was inexplicably turned on by watching her enjoy sex with a more proficient lover. This then indirectly called attention to his aging inadequacies, which in itself was a form of humiliation. For years, fantasizing only scraped the surface of these and other feelings, but now, having experienced them firsthand, he too had a genie that could never again be bottled.

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Fall in Miami is quite different from Iowa. Palm trees do not turn pretty colors and people do not huddle around roaring fires on frosty nights roasting marshmallows. Living in the Midwest her entire life, Lauren felt a tinge of sadness as Halloween approached. No more long Sunday drives in the country admiring the changing landscape. No nose-tingling aroma from wood-burning fireplaces wafting through the neighborhood.

As it turned out, drinking white wine was a pretty good way to drown these sorrows, and Lauren was making good progress in that respect. As she sat around the rooftop pool deck for her apartment building's Thirsty Thursdays happy hour, she was just glad to be off work. Her good friend and coworker Amy Rosinner had accompanied her to the event to unwind after a long day, and the young blonde secretary patiently listened as the office manager waxed nostalgic. After sinking their first round, she walked to the pool bar for a refill. With no bartender that night, the management had simply set out bottles of chilled wine and champagne in a decorative tub for residents to help themselves to a glass. Instead of a single pour, she grabbed an entire bottle and returned to the table.

"How's Corey doing?" Amy asked, popping the cork.

"He's lonely," Lauren replied with a long face. "The girls and I are headed back to see him over the Thanksgiving holiday. That will cheer him up. And the main construction will be done by February."

"It will be nice to have him down here. I think you get a bit lonely too."

"I do, in spite of his attempts at helping me make friends."

Amy cocked her head. "Yeah? How's that?"

Lauren told her about his gift a few weeks prior. It was good to share that with someone.

A hotwife anklet?" the younger woman repeated, leaning across the wobbly cast iron table. The 26-year-old was quite plugged into the sexual trends of the day and immediately recognized the significance. "I know you guys experimented a couple times, but now he wants to make it official or something? Bold move."

"I thought so too."

Lauren pulled her chair closer and glanced around. "It gets crazier, though" she whispered.

The wife and mother of two proceeded to tell her friend about the night she wore the suggestive jewelry, which resulted in some heavy flirting.

"And?" Amy prodded. She loved a juicy story.

"And nothing. He asked me back to his hotel room, I got cold feet, end of story. But that's not all," Lauren hinted. "After dinner I ran into Stephan Jones and his wife. Yeah, that Jones, our CEO. Like, literally crashed into them when leaving the restaurant. He saw me with Ethan and knew the guy wasn't my husband. When Jones saw the chain, he put two and two together. Amy, I might as well of had "floozy" tattooed across my forehead. I mean, he knew!"

The blonde frowned, sensing Lauren's distress. "Do you think he'll say anything?"

"I...I don't know. He said he wouldn't. But I can't let my husband's fetish get me fired."

Amy noted the irony in her friend's statement. She needed to tread lightly.

"Um, look, you know I love you, right? The way I see it, Corey has idiosyncrasies. There's no denying it. There's also no denying that while it took some time for you to warm up to his...ideas, you seem to be all in now. Hell, you don't need jewelry for guys to know you're open to hooking up. Look at how much you've changed since getting here. Your makeup and the way you dress clearly already send that message. I'm not judging, I'm a bit slutty myself. But that's me. I've always been this way. Even people at work have noticed the change in you. And remember, it wasn't your husband that arranged the cruise with Max. It wasn't he who willingly went to Tommy's apartment. Corey didn't fasten the anklet around your ankle. Point is, I don't think you can put all the blame on hubby anymore, do you?".

Lauren's eyes began to water. She knew Amy was right. It was all true.

"You know," the blonde said quickly, trying to break the tension, "Jones seems like he might have been a player in his day. Who knows? Maybe he still is, just a shriveled up old one."

Both women laughed nervously. After wiping away a tear, Lauren confessed she was more than a little concerned about the changes.

"I don't know what's happening to me. Back in Iowa my libido was at an all-time low, Corey had to pester me for sex, and when we did make love, I was so dry. Only a well-lubed piece of rubber could bring me to orgasm. Now, sex is all I think about, I get wet when the wind blows, and I find myself having some weird urges. Like a nymphomaniac or something." Lauren thought of mentioning her fascination with the spirit Kumiho but decided against it.

A faint smile crept across Amy's face. At her age and single, she was horny ALL the time and didn't see that as a problem.

"Awe, honey," she sympathized, "I think you just forgot what it's like to be young and fucked. Not your fault, not Corey's, not anyone's. I'm sure you wouldn't trade the life you've built with your family for all the sex in the world. But being horny isn't the issue. To me it seems your passion bolt was jammed. With the rust gone now, how far you turn it is up to you."

"And my husband," Lauren pointed out.

"There is that dynamic, yes," the young woman conceded. "He's really into you hooking up with other guys, isn't he?"

The executive peered into her wine glass. "I guess we all have our peculiarities."

Amy picked her glass up and clinked it against her friend's. "And now you have yours."

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Lauren woke the next morning sweating profusely. It took her a moment to realize she had only been dreaming. The images seemed so real. Two faceless men using her as their plaything, taking what they wanted right there in her own bed. Hard, muscular bodies contributed to multiple orgasms, but none as much as the finale when they unloaded their seed on her face.

She shook the fog of sleep off and looked at the time. Six thirty in the morning. No time to relieve herself. Even a cold shower was not helpful. After dressing for work she caught a glimpse of the small white box containing the anklet from her husband. The sight did little to extinguish the fire that was smoldering between Lauren's legs. Corey had given her that chain for a reason, and tonight she may have to put it to use.

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The licentious desires did not abate during the day. At least once Lauren considered stealing away to the privacy of the ladies' room to douse the steam. Returning home that evening, she was as horny as she'd ever been. It took great willpower not to pull The Chairman out and relieve herself right then.

A great debate raged in her head. Should she resist the urge and stay home? Or hit the bars like a tramp? Five months ago, her Midwestern sensibilities would have easily won that argument, but tonight, she could not shake the lure of a strange cock impaling her without mercy. Lauren decided to skip dinner. Tonight, she was craving far more than food.

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Corey answered his phone on the first ring. He was in his truck traveling to the local high school to meet some old friends for a big Friday night football game between two rival teams. Not the most exciting way to spend an evening, but he was up for anything that got him out of the house.

Lauren listened without much interest as he described the difference in playing styles between the two schools. Eventually she flat out interrupted him. "I'm going out tonight. I need a drink."

"Girls' night out?" Corey asked as he pulled into the school's parking lot.

Lauren sat down at the vanity and began applying makeup. "No, just me."

Okay, that wasn't unusual, he thought. She went out for solo dinners quite a bit.

"Do you have a place in mind? I read there are a few good new restaurants on First Street."

"Not interested in food."

Corey pondered this as he parked his truck. "Then what?"

"I told you. I need a drink," Lauren reiterated, smacking her lips together with freshly applied deep ruby lipstick. "It's been a rough day."

"In that case," he joked, "I hear Randy Sandy's is known for their great Sex on a Beach."

She closed her eyes. I'd take sex anywhere right now. "The strip club? Nah, a good margarita and some regular dancing for me, thank you."

Corey's pulse quickened and his cock twitched beneath his denim jeans. As always, the thought of her dancing with strangers aroused him. Was she looking for more than just a drink?

"Clubbing by yourself might be dangerous, Lauren."

"Randy Sandy's is only three blocks from Club X," Lauren quipped. "Don't worry, my friends will protect me."

Corey swallowed hard. X was Max's club. "Your friends. Your friends used to be my friends too, but I guess you run with an entirely different crowd now, huh? Is there something you want to tell me, babe?"

She giggled. "I'm just trying to get you riled up, perv."

His wife had gotten very good at pushing his buttons. Maybe too good.

Lauren heard her husband's breathing deepen. She knew exactly where his thoughts were going.

"It's working, too isn't it, perv? Did you get hard when I mentioned his bar? Should I stop by and say hello?"

The 61-year-old watched through the windshield as fans stream into the stadium through the windshield. He rubbed his aching crotch. It sounded like she was asking permission. "I want what you want, babe."

"Right now, I don't know what I want. Or where I'm going. All I want is to blow off some steam."

"Is that all you're going to blow off?" Corey sputtered softly as he walked up to his friends at the ticket gate.

More giggles. "Goodnight, love," Lauren cooed. "Enjoy the football game."

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The raven-haired beauty pulled the tiny metallic mesh crop top over a sheer white bandeau bralette. She hadn't worn it since the pub crawl, and loved how the combination showed off her small breasts, trim waist and firm abs. The opaque bra barely hid her nipples, and the gunmetal mesh rubbing against them only served to heighten her arousal.

Next came the thin shiny black leather leggings. She shimmied into them carefully, pulling them up over her buttocks as they snapped into place, forming a second skin. Lauren completed the look with a pair of 3-inch black leather corset heels, also a previous crawl purchase.

Lauren approached the dresser and the large mirror that hung above it. Leaning in, she stared at her reflection. Amy was right. Everything about her had changed. Her makeup, once a light powder and a subdued shade of pink lipstick, now favored eyes outlined in heavy black pencil, lids coated with metallic blue eyeshadow, and devil red lips. Once a fan of pencil skirts and sundresses, she now preferred outfits that invited sex.

What the hell was she doing? Going out with Amy was one thing. Her young friend was still in the game and knew the guardrails. Whatever Lauren knew about traversing bars on her own was lost a long time ago. It wasn't too late. She could wash off the paint, throw on sweats and spend the evening with The Chairman instead.

Standing upright, the mesh top grazed her nipples, sending an electric current directly to her vagina. At the same time, the leggings tightened between her legs and pulled into her labia, forming a very conspicuous cameltoe. Lauren listened to the signals her body was sending. It was almost as if it was protesting any thought of staying home.

Turning away from the dresser, Lauren's hand accidentally knocked off a small box which landed in front of her stiletto heels. It was Corey's gift. Wow, the signs were all there.

Picking it up, she knew what she had to, no needed to do. How ironic that the fate of her evening had just been sealed by this simple gesture of freedom from her own husband?

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It was a warm October night, even by South Florida standards. Lauren weaved on foot through the busy streets to the area which had months earlier hosted the pub crawl. The dance clubs wouldn't start to fill up for at least another hour.

She stopped in a couple bar-and-grills, sipping a seltzer at each. A few groups of men came and went. Some eyed the older woman in the tight and revealing clothes with appreciation, but none approached her. Lauren didn't encourage company right then either. She was taking it slow. While undeniably horny, if the right "outlet" for her pent-up passion came along, fine. If not, she wasn't going to throw herself at a stranger; there was always The Chairman waiting back at home. For now, she was content to just talk to the staff. At her request, a doorman took her photo, which she promptly sent to Corey. Bartenders, a friendly lot by trade, kept her seltzers coming and were more than happy to chat in their spare time, which evaporated as more patrons filed in. One barkeep warned her that undercover vice was in the area and to be careful. That was odd advice, Lauren thought as she paid her tab. I'm not exactly drunk in public.

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Corey's phone signaled an incoming text. He ignored it at first, waiting for a field goal attempt by the team that was down six points with eleven minutes to go in the game. Finally, he pulled the device from his jacket pocket.

LAUREN: At The Majestic Sloop.

A photo followed. The older man's eyes widened at the sight of Lauren standing in a bar's foyer. Her straight black hair was splendidly glossy and her makeup as slutty as he'd ever seen. Impossibly tight liquid black leather leggings hugged her curvy hips and a not so discrete cameltoe peaked out from between her legs. No way was there panties underneath that. The camera had perfectly captured the outline of those luscious tomato-sized breasts as they strained against a translucent white bralette. The gunmetal mesh crop top covered only her chest area, leaving a bare midriff that was tanned and ripped. "Damn," Corey uttered aloud, momentarily forgetting he was sitting in the bleachers with others.

One of his buddies looked over to see what was so interesting. Corey tried to pull his phone back, but it was too late.

"Holy crap, dude, is that Lauren?" his friend Sean blurted out. "Shit, she's SMOKING HOT!" Realizing what he had just said, he apologized. "Sorry, I just mean, she's always been pretty, but c'mon man, you gotta admit, that's a whole new level of sexy there."

Another friend, Toby, leaned over for a look and whistled. "Sean's right. Didn't recognize her. That's not the woman who used to bake cookies for the PTA. You're one lucky fuck," he agreed, shaking his head. "And you left her down there by her lonesome? Jesus, man, was that wise?"

Sean elbowed Toby hard in the ribs. "Don't be a dick."

Corey knew his friend was right, and neither of them were aware of half the story. Not only did he leave her alone in a big city - Miami of all places - but also encouraged her to dress exactly like this. And inspired her to play with others. That would really blow their minds. Seeing their reaction to that photo invoked conflicting emotions. On one hand, he was excited Lauren was finally dressing provocatively without being asked. On the other, he found his friends leering over her photo a bit disconcerting. Why was that? Probably because they'd known her for years as a proper Midwestern soccer mom who's most daring outfit was a one-piece swimsuit. What would they think of her now?

Just before sliding the phone back into his jacket pocket, Corey took one more look at the photo. His eyes were drawn to something he hadn't caught the first time. Squinting, he zoomed in and exhaled loudly. There, secured around Lauren's ankle just above her heels, was the gold chain he'd given her. It all made sense now. His wife wasn't looking for just a drink. She was hunting.

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Lauren continued to pop into bars that looked fun. Crowds were thickening and players seeking a playmate for the night were beginning to cast their net. Many men who approached her were egotistical assholes. She didn't hesitate to flash her wedding ring at any she wanted to avoid. This deterred some, but not all, especially those who caught sight of the jewelry around her ankle. When she did dance, only the really cute ones were allowed certain liberties, if they dared at all.

Just after midnight, Lauren's stomach growled. Skipping dinner might not have been the best choice, especially now after four hours of drinking. Judging from the sea of humanity, getting anything to eat quickly in the bars or restaurants was out of the question. Remembering a food cart from earlier, she wandered to the street and looked both ways. Damn, it was gone. Was there nothing else? Peering down the road, far away from the bright lights of the strip, the sign of a small food-mart glowed. It was about five blocks away, well off the beaten path, but it did appear to be still open.