Doubling Down on Mistakes

"That's the third time Molly has gone to the door," my wife said, referring to our four-year-old yellow lab while looking at me with a strange expression.

I knew her odd look was really one of concern, but since I didn't think there was anything to worry about, I gave her an answer intended to allay her fears.

"Honey, we're in the country now. Molly's nose is getting assaulted with all kinds of smells. It's probably a rabbit and she wants to chase it," I answered dismissively.

"It makes me nervous," she said, admitting her worry.

"Give her a few weeks and she'll be so use to it all, she won't get up," I replied with a little laugh and was happy to see a smile appear on her face.

Susan and I had recently moved to a small agricultural community and purchased a house on ten acres a few miles outside the city limits. It had more or less fallen into our laps, and since it was a relatively new three-bedroom home at a good price, we decided to give it a go. Besides, the detached workshop that came with it got my "man cave" juices flowing, and the small inground pool was a real rarity.

The reason for our move was the opportunity I accepted to join the staff of a community bank. After several years in a large city, we decided we wanted a better environment to live and raise a family, so we put out some feelers and after several months, I landed the position. I would essentially be the number three man in the bank, and although it sounded good, the truth was it came with a pay cut. Fortunately, my wife was able to land a job as a program lead for the school district and was even allowed several months to settle in before she had to start.

Susan and I met through mutual friends six years ago, when I was twenty-five and trying to get my career going in banking. She was just coming out of a long-term relationship and was reluctant to get serious too quickly, however, there seemed to be a natural draw between us and soon we were spending most of our free time together. Three months after we met, we were intimate for the first time which eliminated any remaining barriers in our relationship, and a year later, we married. Susan was working in the admissions department of a community college at the time, and for the next few years, we lived the life of big city suburbia. However, we both found it repetitive, cold, and impersonal, so we started to explore opportunities for change, which led to our current situation.

My wife is three years younger than me and very pretty in a natural way. Meaning, she puts little effort into looking good, but still manages to attract lots of attention. She is a graceful 5'7" tall and is slender, with long, shapely legs that merge into a nicely toned rear. Her light brown, shoulder-length hair is offset by a pair of dazzling blue eyes. Also, she has full C-cup breasts that sit high on her chest, but with her conservative style, they are usually well-hidden beneath modest clothing.

The next day, I arrived home before my wife who was out picking up some things for the house. Deciding, to make sure there was nothing to Molly's behavior, I started to make a half-hearted inspection outside and was stopped cold when I saw in the dry earth a set of scuffed footprints at a spot that would provide an observer a direct view through a picture window into our living room. Instantly, my mind churned with questions concerning who it might be and for what purpose. After all, it wasn't like there were houses next door, and whoever made the imprints had to have purposefully crossed a significant distance to get to the spot. In fact, as I thought about it, I wasn't even sure where the closest house to us was located.

Later that evening, when Susan was settled in front of the TV, I went to the computer on the pretext of some work issues and began to use the satellite feature of the mapping program to learn about the nearest houses. It didn't take long, and doing some scaling I identified two houses that were within a half-mile of ours. I decided that the next day I would drive by them, but for now, I decided to return to my wife.

Susan was as I had left her, curled up on the sofa in her robe watching a reality show. I moved next to her and immediately my eyes went to the window, wondering if our peeping tom was out there again. Molly seemed relaxed, which gave me comfort, but it wasn't long before I moved towards the curtains.

"Why did you do that?" my wife asked when I closed them.

She liked the house to be very light and airy, and for some reason, it meant open curtains after dark, too.

"I don't know. It just seems off keeping them open. We never did it in the city," I answered, not wanting to worry her with the truth.

"We aren't in the city," she replied, although she let the subject drop.

After work, in the soft evening light of early spring, I looked over both of the houses I had identified. The first was on the same road as us, about a quarter-mile further from town. It was a small, well-maintained brick house set back from the road. There was the name "Davenport" on the mailbox along with the address, which I took note of, and then headed for the next place. This one was not on the same road and required that I drive another half-mile out, make two right turns and proceed down a gravel county road. The property backed up on our parcel, and as I drove slowly by, I spotted an aged double-wide trailer, a large barn-like structure, and several other smaller buildings. There were numerous pieces of farm equipment scattered about which made me think the resident might be a mechanic.

It took a few days to discreetly gather information on the two homes. I learned the first one I had scoped out belonged to a Mr. Carl Davenport, who was retired from the Soil Conservation Service and lived alone with his wife. He was a deacon in the Baptist church, so I quickly decided he wasn't the likely culprit and turned my attention to the second house.

This one, I learned, was inhabited by a family named Gass, which consisted of a mid-thirties husband and wife, and two boys, aged thirteen and fifteen. Instantly, I suspected one or both of these boys were the likely peeping tom, which actually allayed my concerns. The pubescent adventures of two young boys were infinitely preferable to some sinister adult pervert and certainly understandable, so at first, I decided to just let it go. However, when I found fresh marks in the same spot the following week, I decided it would be worth it to discuss it with the boy's father.

"Got any proof?" Hardin Gass asked after I had explained my concerns.

I had arrived at his place and found him working on a diesel truck. We had chatted for a few minutes before I brought up the peeping and in that time, I learned that in addition to mechanic work, he also occasionally did general handyman work. I guessed him to be around six-feet tall and he appeared to be in pretty good shape with the most noticeable part of him being his extremely well-developed biceps that stretched the t-shirt he was wearing. In addition, he had a full beard with a few specks of gray that stood in contrast to his tight haircut.

"Well...no...other than you're the closest house," I stammered.

"So, nothing then," he countered.

"Look, I'm just asking you to have a word," I said, suddenly becoming frustrated.

He stared at me for several seconds and then gave me a simple nod. With that, he returned to his work and after a few more awkward moments, I turned and left.

I had no way of knowing whether he spoke with his sons, but checking around the house for the next few weeks, I found no new marks. For some reason, I felt bad about the tense beginning that had occurred, so when I decided to get some things down on the workshop, I decided to contact Hardin. It required me to drive to his place once more, and I could see the disdain on his face as I approached. Even as I offered him the opportunity, his expression stayed hard, and I considered telling him to forget it, but we ended the discussion with him agreeing to drive over the following weekend to have a look.

It wasn't a big job, mostly carpentry work that would take a few days, and we were almost finished when Susan appeared. She wasn't dressed in anything special, just jeans and a pullover sweater, but I saw Hardin's eyes light up immediately. There was a brief introduction, and for the next few minutes, while I explained to her what I had in mind, I watched as our neighbor's eyes roamed her body.

The work turned out very good, and a few weeks later I hired him to do another small job. Several times during those efforts, there would be an occasion where my wife would come into contact with him, and in each case, he exhibited the same leering behavior. It should have been a warning to me, making bells go off, but it wasn't uncommon for Susan to attract attention, so I overlooked it.

At about the same time, more out of charity than need, we hired a young Hispanic girl, who was barely twenty-one, to clean the house on Saturdays. She was already divorced with an infant daughter, and to her credit, was doing her best to make ends meet. We had been approached by our parish priest to help out and being new to the community, we thought it would be a good gesture to give her a try. She didn't do the greatest job in the world, but it was adequate, and considering her situation, we decided to maintain the arrangement.

Elsa Lopez would best be described as ripe, as she was voluptuous with large breasts and a full ass. You could tell that in a few years her body would likely yield to weight, but for the moment she was definitely alluring. In addition, she had an understated way of flirting that appeared through quick glances and demure smiles. After a couple of weeks, I started to secretly return her playfulness with occasional winks when my wife wasn't around. I had no intention to take it further, although I suspected that Elsa would be up for it, and we continued the game as the weeks went by.

The day of my profound mistake happened when Susan was away for the weekend visiting her sister. Elsa was dressed in tight jeans with a simple blouse that highlighted her large breasts. She seemed to be moving her body in a way designed to entice me and would occasionally lock eyes with me and smile. Several times, I went to another part of the house to get away, but as if she had me under a spell, each time I would return within a few minutes. Finally, I found myself piddling in the kitchen, pretending to be getting something to eat, while she cleaned just a few feet away. I'm not sure how it exactly happened, but suddenly we were connected in a deep kiss with our tongues entwined like mating snakes.

When it ended, Elsa without prodding, dropped to her knees, and as I looked down, she unzipped my pants, fished my dick out and inhaled it into her warm, wet mouth. I groaned loudly, and then quickly started pulling on her top until she was naked from the waist up. I thought about just enjoying the first-class blowjob from the talented young woman, but as my passion grew, I knew I wanted to experience her pussy. So, just a few seconds later, I pulled on her shoulders and when she stood, I began to fumble with her jeans while she worked on the tie to my sweatpants.

As soon as we were naked, I backed her against the breakfast table and buried my face into her neatly trimmed pussy. She had a definite taste, as if she hadn't bathed that day, but rather than repulse me, I found it strangely erotic and lapped at her freely flowing juices.

"Put it in..." she whined a minute or so later as she squirmed, and when I didn't immediately respond, she cried out again, "Please..."

Giving in to her plea, my mouth left her pussy and my tongue licked its way up her body until it found one of her large nipples. With my hard dick teasing her opening, I sucked on her fat titties until she finally reached between us and pulled me inside. Like her mouth, her pussy was warm and wet, and I couldn't keep from moving as I continued my oral assault on her breasts.

Elsa started to whine and whimper in synch with my movement, and almost immediately a wet slurping sound started from our connection. I would have liked for our sex to continue for hours, as I took her in multiple positions, but the reality was I was way too excited to last, and just a few minutes later I shot my semen into her wonderful pussy with our lips locked in another kiss. Now, with our movements over, the only sound in the house was our heavy breathing as we both came down.

When my dick started to soften, I stood and pulled away, and was stunned to see a figure looking at us through the window of the backdoor. It took a second for it to register, but when it did, I realized it was Hardin, who at that moment suddenly disappeared. We had him working on adding a simple bathroom and shower to the workshop, and in my lust, I had completely forgotten about his presence.

"Shit!" I exclaimed, and then quickly added, "Elsa, get up! You need to get dressed."

"What's wrong?" she asked in confusion.

"The guy...our handyman saw us," I told her.

She didn't need any further motivation, and quickly both of us pulled on our clothes. Once dressed, I guided her to the door, and with a peck on the cheek, sent her on her way. Now, my full attention went to Hardin, and after taking a deep breath, I went outside to confront him. Unfortunately, he too had departed, which left me struggling to decide on the best way to proceed. I was torn on whether to follow him and seek his silence or wait until the next time I saw him. Going after him would signal how serious I took the situation, which was not ideal, but in waiting, I ran the risk that he might tell others. Despite my anxiousness, I decided to wait and was fortunate when he showed up at the house the next day to continue the work.

"Hey, how's it going?" I asked, unsure about where to start.

"Just makin it happen," he replied.

In the time I had known him, I had grown use to his strange ways which included odd quips and often long periods of silence. I had expected I would have to lead the conversation, but now faced with it, I was very nervous. In reality, he had my marriage in his hands, as well as my standing in the community, and I had to determine how he was going to act.

"Look, can we talk about yesterday...with the girl?" I probed.

"Go ahead," he responded, while he continued working.

"Well, I would really appreciate it if you kept it to yourself," I said.

He stopped what he was doing and we stared at each other in silence for several seconds before he replied, "I already thought about it and there is something I want."

"What?" I asked as the hair on the back of my neck stood on end.

"I want to have your wife," he answered.

My initial suspicion was he was after money, so his words caught me off guard.

"What? What do you mean?" I asked, not completely sure what he was saying.

"I want to fuck your wife," he replied crudely, leaving no doubt about his message.

"What? Are you crazy," I shot back, then quickly added, "That's not going to happen."

"Up to you. I'm sure she will be interested in the video," he replied.

"Vid...you took a video? Are you kidding?" I fired back, fighting back a wave of panic.

"Yes sir, a good two minutes," he said unashamedly.

Instantly, I realized that if he was telling the truth, I was fucked. My wife is an understanding and forgiving woman, but I knew it would be a major blow to our marriage and one that might not be recoverable. In addition, I knew that as an officer in the community bank, this sort of thing would not be tolerated.

"Hardin, you're not going to be with Susan. How much money do you want?" I asked, thinking maybe he was just trying to raise the price.

"Don't want money...want your wife. You go think about it for a while," he said dismissively.

His tone infuriated me and I had a momentary flash of anger, but holding my tongue, I left him to work and went back in the house. Now, I had the dilemma of Hardin, with his claimed evidence, working nearby while I expected Susan to return at any time. After brooding for almost an hour, I went back to the workshop to try Hardin again.

"Look, Hardin...Susan isn't going to sleep with you," I blurted out when I found him.

He looked up at me without speaking, giving me a cold stare for an uncomfortably long time, before he said, "If you don't want her to get the video, you better hope she does. You better find a way."

"How? You can't rape her," I replied, nervously.

"No one mentioned rape," he said quickly, giving me an annoyed look.

"Then I'm not following how you think it will happen," I answered.

"I guess you're going to have to help...talk her into it," he responded.

At that moment, I heard a car pull up and I knew my wife had returned. Hardin realized it too because he gave me a hard look that showed no sympathy.

"I need to go," I said.

"I'm serious now. You get ready. I'll let you know what comes next," he said, making a chill run through me.

I left him to go to Susan with a feeling of dread, knowing I had no good options. For the next few days, I was on edge expecting a call from the man, but it was quiet until Thursday evening when I noticed his number on an incoming call.

"Yes, Hardin," I said when we connected.

"I'm going to work at your place tomorrow. Now, you tell your wife to come see me to decide on the bathroom tile," he instructed me.

"Hardin, I'm not going to let you attack her," I whispered nervously.

"She ain't going to be attacked. Nothing will happen she doesn't want," he replied.

Our neighbor held firm, despite my protests, leaving me with the hard choice of deciding whether to let my wife go into harm's way. In truth, I had no certainty on his intentions other than his word not to attack her, which felt wholly inadequate. That night, as I watched her move about the house, I was taken by the fact that she was the innocent party to a sordid set of circumstances happening around her. It wasn't until the following morning, as I poured a cup of coffee to go, that I told her about discussing the bathroom design with Hardin. With no knowledge of the conspiracy, she was quite happy to meet with him to provide her input.

I tried to call Hardin several times, but he didn't answer, so I was anxious all afternoon. When I finally arrived home, Susan informed me that she had met him earlier, and nothing in her demeanor indicated anything untoward had occurred. I tried several probing questions, however, I learned nothing other than the color and size of the tile she had selected. It wasn't until later when we were drinking a glass of wine, that we returned to the subject of her meeting.

"I didn't realize how talkative Hardin can be. I learned all about his family," Susan informed me from out of the blue.

"Oh? What did he tell you?" I asked, hoping I might pick up some clue on his intent.

"Well, his wife's name is Melanie and his kids are Todd and Daylon," she started, and when I nodded, she continued, "They met in high school and have lived in the area their whole life."

"Does Melanie work?" I asked, wanting to keep her talking.

"She's a nursing aide at the retirement home," she replied.

"Dang, how long did you two chat?" I asked, trying to be lighthearted.

"I guess an hour or so. There were lots of options on the tile," she answered.

The conversation left me wondering what Hardin's goal had been. When he arrived on the following Saturday, I gave him thirty minutes and then went to try and find out.

"What were you trying to accomplish with Susan?" I asked after a few awkward minutes of discussion on the project.

"Just getting to know her a little," he said with a smirk.

"She's very sweet and very conservative," I said in her defense.