Ascending Lauren Ch. 13

The 61-year-old husband's thin arms were shivering as they fumbled with his zipper, eventually freeing the wrinkled and underutilized cock. Quirky shadows cast on the dashboard revealed the increasingly jerky movement of the weathered hands as they played with the forlorn shaft.

Fuck me! Lauren screamed at the faceless man as he drove his substantial meat into her waiting beaver.

Yes, fuck her, take the whore! Corey shouted aloud to the empty garage as he encouraged the imaginary suitor to take his wife. That's it, slut, move your ass! Let him cum in you, you know you want it!

Fap, fap, fap.

Before too long, Lauren's apparition turned towards her husband, somehow knowing he'd be there watching from afar.

This could be you, baby, but no, you're so far away!

Without warning, the man's long, thick and unprotected penis slipped from her sopping hole, heavy strands of precum shaking from the tip. Looking down at the enormous tool which had just given her so much pleasure, she began to giggle uncontrollably.

"So sorry, sweetie," she put a finger in her mouth apologetically, "my mistake. Look at the size of that thing! THAT could never be you."

"Oh, Lauren!" Corey cried out, spittle landing on his flannel shirt, fingers stroking the pale shaft protruding from the denim fly.

Fap, fap, fap.

Pushing Mr. Lucky over onto his back in dramatic fashion, the ghostlike figure of Corey's wife knelt before her lover, coaxing the love she desperately wanted from the throbbing appendage.

"Gimme that hot spunk, stud!" the pretty face clamored for his sticky goo. As if on cue, the man howled and came, flooding Lauren's makeup with an obscene amount of thick white jizz. The maniacal laughing continued as she pressed a dainty left hand to a cheek. As a steady stream of cum flowed like a waterfall over her wedding ring, it dulled the precious stones within, and with it, any witness it bore to their undying love. In an instant, the wedding vows it stood for were suddenly and wantonly obscured at the hands of a lustful wife, content to bathe in another man's seed.

Corey screamed at the windshield and lurched forward violently, then slammed back into the creaking driver's seat. The lone bulb above the truck suddenly blinked off, its timing impeccable, plunging the garage into complete darkness. His body shook the bench seat as thin but unseen ropes of semen shot from his lap, and onto the dashboard. As wheedled cum slowly slid down the cheap plastic tachometer, Corey savored the image of Lauren being fucked by the faceless man. It was a lonely husband's version of cuddling with his wife after sex. Demented and perverse, but again, what else did he have?

And through it all, the burning question remained.

Just how far do I want her to take this?

The answer was now dripping onto the floorboard next to his work boots.

As far as she wants to go.

+++++

December 8th.

As December plodded on, the mood in Rekrap's Miami office was somber. Raw materials continued to be a problem in the supply chain. Client churn was up, and revenues were tanking. It wasn't that the grass was any greener on the other side. The entire industry was hurting; loyalty was fickle when perception was reality. Because of this, the entire office had been working overtime. Unfortunately, several of their largest revenue generators were still on the fence. Something had to be done to guarantee retention.

That something appeared to involve Lauren and several of her colleagues. Just before five that afternoon, CEO Stephan Jones called a few members of his executive pool into his office and informed them they'd been selected to chaperon a customer appreciation party. He'd gotten wind that two of their biggest clients, The Detrevrep Consortium and Polymer Thermoset LLC, were considering going elsewhere, and together accounted for almost 30% of Rekrap's revenue. The chief executive made it clear that he wanted to pull out all the stops: sit down dinner, dancing, live band, open bar. Plans were already in the works to host the event at the posh Jamais Vu hotel. Rekrap had rented a ballroom large enough to hold 50 people, catering to be done by the venue, with 15 suites and additional 10 rooms guaranteed. As a perk for chaperoning, each executive would be provided with comp'd rooms for the night.

Lauren was impressed, and there were worse ways to spend an evening. Schmooze with the clients, prime rib, and free drinks. She noted the date: December 23rd. What better way to usher in the holiday week? Since the Miller family had gotten together for Thanksgiving, they had all decided to spend Christmas in their respective cities. This then would be a perfect way to spend her time.

+++++

It was just after five o'clock when Corey pulled up to Dusty's Roadkill and Tiki Bar. He liked to stop by the hole-in-the-wall every now and then after work to have a cold one. Upon ordering a beer at the bar, he was waved over to a table occupied by a few guys he recognized as mechanics from Zane's motorcycle repair shop. Corey occasionally played rec football with them as a sub. Reluctantly - and a bit apprehensively - the project manager grabbed an overflowing mug and headed their way. He felt suspicious eyes evaluating him as he sat down, making things a bit uncomfortable. Shit, did they know? Did they know my best friend bedded my wife? Roughed her up and fucked her to within inches of her life?

"Hey man, how's it hanging?" one of them asked with a pat on the back.

Corey nodded. It was definitely hanging.

"Missed you at the ceremony when ol' Zack got his Top Mechanic award," another one chimed in.

Uh oh.

"Yeah, well, something came up."

"Speaking of that," a third said, "did that asshole ever bring in his award? I didn't make it either, but I bet boss man wants to display the damn thing in the waiting room."

"To hell with the award," the first guy snapped back, "he needs to bring in his girl! What was her name?"

"Ashley," a fourth offered.

"ASHLEY," they all said in unison, a bit more fondly than Corey would have liked.

He looked at their faces. Why were they all looking his way? Were they stringing him along?

"Zack didn't waste any time replacing Abby, did he? Damn, his new squeeze is a hot mess."

"Dude, she was flaunting that body. Not a young gal by any means, but she must live in a gym. I'd fuck that tight ass and abs all the way to Montana."

There was a murmur of agreement.

One of them elbowed Corey and pulled out a phone. "Recognize this leathered up bitch?"

C'mon, guys, enough with the games. I'll admit it, she's my wife. Okay?

With immense trepidation, Corey took the phone and stared at the photo. Lauren was straddling the big hog named Bessy, hands on its handlebars, while Zane sat behind the sexy brunette, arms wrapped around her thin waist. With the slyest of smiles, his fingers were draped over the crotch of her black leather pants. The equally shiny biker jacket was hanging open, tantalizingly exposing the corset which had been unzipped to just below those luscious breasts.

"Look at them little titties. Suck on them all night is what I'd do."

"Yeah, man she was fucking fire!

Corey swiped the screen and gawked at yet another photo, this one showing her playing darts, covering her mouth laughing. So erotic.

"Your pal's got one hot ol' lady, my friend."

Hot indeed. The next photo showed her bent over a pool table with a stick, preparing to take a shot, tight leathers pulled against her little ass. She was looking back over her shoulder with a sly smile. There was no question every guy in the room was looking at that tush, wishing they were dogging her right there on the spot.

"Any more of these?" Corey croaked at the phone's owner, his dick tingling.

"Oh, hell yeah, dozens. She was really mugging up the place. Like she was an exhibitionist or something. Broad could be in the MILF edition of one of those spank mags. But you already know that, right?"

Corey felt like curling up under the table. Fuck, they DO know.

The men continued to chat as he shuffled through the images. There were at least 20 pics of her. A few on the dance floor with Zane, some of her being sandwiched between two other bikers, hands in places they shouldn't be.

"Gotta tell ya though, as much of a flirt as she was, that girl was only into your boy. Couldn't keep her hands off him. Bet she fucked him into oblivion that night."

Corey gulped, a growing erection pressing against his jeans.

"Look at that fat cameltoe. Man, I'd love to get my tongue up in all that."

Swipe, swipe. Here she was shooting whiskey at the bar, another where she was flashing devil horns with her hands, arms draped around the bartender. Universally known as a proclamation for "Long Live Rock and Roll", in recent years it had been adopted as a subtle sign of cuckoldery. Was his wife celebrating the venue's choice in music, or sending a subtle message to her husband? Either way, Corey's cock swelled knowing what was to come.

"And you know what?" a mechanic named Bennie asked the group. "Damned if she didn't blow Pic in Freddy's, right there in the fuckin' john."

Another shot of Lauren sitting on Zane's lap, his fingers were creeping up under the bodice of her corset. In support of Bennie's claim, above the two was a large sign pointing to the restrooms.

"Yep, sure as shit. Rooster saw them through a crack in the stall. She was sitting down on the pot going to town on Picardo's knob. Ol' boy was face-fucking her good."

Corey choked. That must have been the mysterious visitor Lauren told him about.

Bennie's mouth wouldn't stop running. "Zack's nut sack was slapping her upside that pretty little chin. Had her gurgling like a swelled creek. Rooster said if he had opened the door, she probably would have done him too."

Oh my God.

"That girl was nasty, for sure," the phone's owner agreed, looking directly at Corey. "Not skank nasty, mind you, more like movie star hoe nasty. Jerry and Marcy heard them outside Zane's room later, both groaning like cattle, yelling like banshees. Jer knows it was them cuz Picardo's trike was out front. Next time though, he needs to share that hoe."

Corey's dick was so hard he thought it would explode. The entire table looked at the older man oddly when he moaned, subconsciously processing the image of his wife being ganged by a bunch of bikers in a seedy motel.

"Hey, you and Zane are tight, right?" another mechanic asked. "You hang with them much? Is she really that slutty? Maybe just wasted that night?"

Wait...maybe they didn't know!

"Uh, well, I wouldn't..."

"Never know, maybe he'll let you bang her sometime. Some guys are into that,"

The irony of that unwittingly astute statement caused blood to rush to Corey's head and cock at the same time, nearly shattering both. Saying nothing, he slid the chair back and walked quickly to the bathroom, a dingy one-person stall behind a faded door. Sliding the small, discolored brass latch into place, he tugged his jeans down and squatted on the stool. Grabbing his throbbing tool, he assaulted it with fury, recalling what he'd just seen, knowing all those photos had preceded his best friend thoroughly laying pipe to his wife. It didn't take long before Corey punched the wall above the toilet paper rack with one hand, while using the other to point the quivering shaft downwards. With a squeaky yelp, he blasted a stream of opaque cum directly into the bowl where it landed on the dirty porcelain just above the water line.

Jesus, Joseph and Mary. She must have really whored it up that night.

A hard knock on the door jolted him out of his cuckold bliss.

"Hey pal, you done in there? Pinch it off, will ya? I gotta pee."

+++++

December 16th. Ten Weeks to Go.

Lauren sipped her Hurricane and took a seat to the left of a large screen TV in the small bar. It was half-past two, an hour before kickoff of a highly anticipated afternoon matchup between the Texas Longhorns and her beloved Iowa State Cyclones. Before moving, she and Corey used to watch the team every Saturday in the fall without fail. Since then, she'd only seen a couple games while sitting alone in her apartment. That was decidedly boring, so this day, she wanted to spend it with other fans.

The Taffy Snapper was located in downtown Miami, a couple blocks off the main boulevard. More local than touristy, it was a nice clean place to unwind. The music was varied and the atmosphere unassuming. A place where a construction worker felt as comfortable as a banker. Lauren had become somewhat of a regular there, sometimes using their lame excuse for a happy hour as a quick dinner on particularly hectic workdays. That afternoon, it teemed with transplanted Longhorn and Cyclone fans decked out in their regalia, and Lauren was no different. She had brought from Des Moines her authentic team jersey, which she proudly wore as she settled back against the vinyl booth to watch the pregame show.

"Cyclones by 21?" Sally asked as she passed by, dropping off a couple extra napkins. A feisty bleached blonde, the waitress had come to know Lauren by name over the last few months. Some nights the weary office manager and a handful of marina workers were the only ones in the place.

"I'll just take a win," Lauren chuckled.

"That husband of yours still not down here?"

"End of February. Can't wait."

Sally shook her head. "You must be a saint. Not sure I could stay celibate that long."

Lauren smirked. "What makes you think I have?"

"Well, you go girl," Sally nodded, acknowledging another customer's raised hand. "Listen, if in the meantime you need to keep the pipes clean, you need not wander too far."

"What?"

The waitress leaned in. "I hear things. There are regulars who've had their eyes on you since you started coming around. Very enamored. Guess that big ol' diamond ring is keeping them at bay though."

Lauren nearly choked on her drink. "Really? Here? No way." She didn't take the Taffy Snapper for that kind of place.

Sally scrunched up her face. "Honey, this might not be a meat market, but we aren't a church, either. Listen, seeing whose playing today, one of those admirers will probably be here. We call him Tex, cuz that's where he's from. Has a travel agency around the corner."

"Wait, the one with the white cowboy hat?"

"Yep, that's him. Nice guy, big tipper. Western shirt, tight jeans, boots and a big belt buckle." Sally lowered her voice as she wiped the table. "And if you ask me, looks like he's packing a whole lot of Texas heat under that belt too."

"Uh well," Lauren chuckled, briefly distracted by an incoming text. "I appreciate the reconnaissance, Sally." Taking the phone from her purse, she smiled. It was her hubby.

COREY: Ready for a beat down?

Lauren took a pic of her drink. The TV behind it showing the players warming up

was the perfect backdrop.

LAUREN: Damn right! Go Cyclones!

COREY: That's the spirit. Where u at?

LAUREN: Taffy Snapper. Big crowd today. Where r u?

COREY: Home

She frowned. Normally he'd be at the local bar and grill doing the same thing with his buddies.

LAUREN: Sick?

COREY: Too cold to go anywhere

Lauren furrowed her brow. "Too cold" was NOT in an Iowa football fan's vocabulary. There had to be something else. Then it dawned on her: Zane would likely be at any watch party, and Corey had not spoken to his pal since she went to Bakersfield with the biker. Was this the fallout she'd feared?

LAUREN: You should go

A long pause...

COREY: I'll think about it

"Can we buy you a drink, beautiful lady?"

The question broke Lauren's train of thought. Looking up, she saw two dark-skinned men staring down at her. Before she could answer, they slid into the booth, one on each side.

"Raul," one smiled with a thick Spanish accent, two gold teeth shining under the bar's garish lighting. He pointed to his companion, "and Juan." Looking down at her drink, he scoffed, motioning for the waitress. "You should be drinking mojitos. They are a favorite in our country. Here, let me get you one."

"I-I-I already have a drink," Lauren's hand closed around her clutch.

"But mojito, MUCH better," Raul assured the small woman.

A waitress with pink hair and a nametag of "Bonnie" on her blouse strolled over and smiled at the trio.

"What can I get cha?"

Raul looked her over appreciatively, then ordered three mojitos. "And use the rum on the top shelf, none of that rail shit."

The server glanced at Lauren and then back to the men. The woman's eyes were downcast. It was clear she was uncomfortable. Bonnie jotted down the order and quickly disappeared.

"So, where you from?" Juan spoke for the first time.

"Iowa," Lauren replied, trying to remain civil.

"Ah, so your team is playing today, yes?"

She nodded, looking around, trying to think of polite way to excuse herself. Across the room, Sally and Bonnie were chatting and discretely looking her way.

"Bah," Raul shook his head, "American football is piss."

Juan agreed. "They took a European game and bastardized it."

Seeing her wedding band, Raul lifted her hand into his. "Hmmm, married and all by yourself. How is it your husband is not by your side? Maybe you're out looking for some company?"

As the men scooted closer, one of the biggest belt buckles Lauren had ever seen appeared at eye level in front of the booth. All three raised their heads to see a large man standing over them, decked out in a western shirt and off-white cowboy hat.

"Sally says there might be a problem over here," the Belt Buckle said matter-of-factly. He could see the uneasiness in the woman's eyes.

Raul scowled at the sizeable man. "Fuck off."

"You sure you want to go there, friend?

Out of the corner of his eye, Juan saw an equally massive guy in a muscle shirt take up position behind Raul.

"You need help taking out the trash, Tex?" Muscles asked the Cowboy.

"Nah, Vinnie, I think our friends here were just leaving. Weren't you...friends?"

Juan and Raul frowned at each other. They were looking for action, but not this kind.

"Of course," Raul nodded. "We were just discussing the differences between American and Cuban culture."

Belt Buckle stood aside as the pair slid from behind the table and headed towards the door. Muscles came round the front of the booth and the two men watched the troublemakers leave.

Visibly relieved, Lauren drained the rest of her Hurricane. "Thank you, boys."

Cowboy tipped his hat. ""Alex. Alex Cartwright. This here is Vinnie Amato."

She smiled at both. "Nice to meet you. Lauren Miller."

"Sorry for intruding. Sally said you might need a hand."

"I had it all under control," Lauren laughed.

"I'm sure you did," the tall man grinned. "Well, good day."

Cartwright and Amato turned and headed back to their stools. Lauren chewed her lower lip. I had it under control? That's how I thanked them?

"Guys, wait. Care to join me?" she called after the men above the din of the room. Her tone was cautious.

Alex looked back and then at the television. "I don't think we're rooting for the same team, ma'am. You sure you want to sleep with the enemy?"

Lauren blushed. "I uh..."

"Metaphorically speaking, that is," Vince quickly covered for his friend.

The sexy executive brushed those black bangs from her eyes. "Oh my god, does that line EVER work?"

"Sometimes," the Texan replied sheepishly, sliding into the booth. He called Bonnie over. "Mojito was it?"

Lauren punched the Good Samaritan in the arm and thanked the observant server for getting her out of the jam.