Guilty Pleasures Ch. 05

Welcome to my latest series, mashing up a few more tropes. This series turned out to be a crazy ride, so get ready for something that ends quite unlike it began.

One thing you can be sure of, even though this is Literotica, and this story could easy veer off into... THERE, it does not in fact, go THERE. So either don't fear, or don't get your hopes up, whichever your preference.

Lastly, as always, I am not going for deep truths or gritty realism. The aim for me is a plausibly ridiculous course of events.

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Guilty Pleasures - Five

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"I want you to say yes to Wanda's idea," Yancey said earnestly over the phone, and I could hear just a little stress in his voice.

"Um, what?"

"You know what I'm talking about. I am on board with the idea," Yancey said seriously. "I want you to fuck my wife." He sounded serious, but I had a hard time imagining he was certain.

"She told you about it?" I asked, somewhat incredulously.

"Immediately upon coming home after talking to you," Yancey said.

"Wow..." I mused, more than little stunned. "Uh, you seem... I mean I'd have thought you'd be..." I stammered to a halt.

Wait.

Just how much had she told him?

"Yeah, I about came out of my shoes when she said it," said Yancey with a short, almost sheepish laugh.

Uh oh.

"But after five minutes back and forth, I began to believe she was making sense. In another ten, I was agreeing."

Oh thank God. She hadn't said anything about Mary.

Yancey gabbled on. "Five minutes after that, I got downright enthusiastic."

"Enthusiastic?"

"Um, she was providing some encouragement by that point," Yancey muttered.

Wow.

"I said no, Yancey," I said quietly into the phone.

"No, you didn't."

"You were not there. I very specifically said 'no'."

"Uh huh. Wanda told me that you said you wouldn't do it to me," he said. "But I'm giving permission. Actually, I'm asking."

"What? Why?"

"My reasons are pretty much the same as hers. I love her. She loves me. But I did... what I did. And it had been there between us ever since. It is like I'm privileged or something. There is an essential inequality in our lives. She hates it. I've hated it too." He paused. "I try to make up for it, but that just doesn't work. For instance, I'd like to win an argument with my wife."

The surreality of the conversation, combined with both of them being unhappy about the same example made me laugh out loud. "Yeah, like that is going to happen regardless, dude."

"I want to be able to give it my best shot," Yancey grumbled.

I was silent for a moment, my phone trembling in my hand. "This is a very bad idea," I said at last.

I heard Yancey heave a sigh. "I don't think so, but yeah, it could be. This could blow up... everything," he said, pain in his voice. "I know it. Wanda knows it too. We talked about it. But I think it will work, Clark," he said, his voice suddenly strong. "It still won't make everything right. But it should make everything be able to be made all right."

"This is crazy, Yancey," I said. Some variation on that was all I seemed to be able to say in this conversation.

"Undoubtedly," he replied. "I have some conditions about Wanda's idea. Conditions without which, it definitely won't work. She endorses them all."

I just waited. What fresh Hell was I getting myself into now? Could I escape it? Could I reject a condition or two and make this whole appallingly appealing idea go away?

"First," Yancey said quietly. "She gets four hall passes."

"That is an oddly specific number," I observed with foreboding.

"It is the number of times I... that Rebecca and I got together," he said quietly.

"I don't want to derail this discussion until we deal with it," I said just as softly, "but you and I are going to have a much longer talk on that subject."

"Yeah," he said. "I... yeah. Very soon."

"If this is about evening the two of you up," I admitted grudgingly, "that makes sense."

Why the fuck was I admitting that any shred of this made sense?

"And second, these hall passes only apply to you."

"Me?"

"Yes. You are the other wronged party here. And you are my friend. You and I are and will forever be unequal too, without doing this. Anyone else, and Wanda and I might as well just go straight to divorce court."

I just sighed. That was obvious, alas.

"And there's more reasons," Yancey said again, earnestly. "I trust you, Clark."

Don't do that, Yancey. You have no idea.

"I trust you not to hurt her... obviously," he added almost as an aside. I actually let myself snort in agreement. Obviously. "But I can also trust you not to fall in love with her. And to not let her fall in love with you." He paused. "Do any of those things not work for you, Clark?"

"Who says that I even want to have sex with Wanda?" I asked peevishly.

Yancey just laughed. "Pull the other one."

*

I told myself that I would give it two days to marinate in my mind whether I could do it or not. This was too big for a snap decision.

But it was less than two hours later than I dug my phone out of my pocket. I found to my surprise that I did not actually have her cell number, so I called her office.

"Human Resources, Wanda Franklin speaking. How can I help you?"

I sighed. "You can let me take you to dinner Friday."

There was a brief silence, in which I could hear the faint noise of movement. "Before I say yes, can I assume that Yancey convinced you? Or is this just how you want to let me down easily?" Her voice sounded... careful. Fragile?

"Wanda... Look, you have, unfortunately, seen how depraved a lunatic I am. Since you are obviously a lunatic too, I... I couldn't say no if I wanted to. And I do not want to."

A soft, self-satisfied chuckle was her initial response. "Well," she said almost hungrily, in a deep rich alto that was lower than her usually tone, "then how could I say... that sounds excellent," her voice suddenly shifted to crisp, businesslike tones. "Let me check my schedule and see how that will work out." I heard her typing on her computer for a moment. "Yes, thank you," she said, her mouth away from the receiver. Suddenly, she was speaking to me again. "I don't have anything until Friday, end of day. Why don't you bring by the pictures and paperwork from the board, and we can go over the plans."

"Somebody walked in, I assume," I said in amusement.

"Dinner? Um... sure, why not? I'll tell Yancey that he is on his own," Wanda answered. "No, he won't mind. He'll just use it as an excuse to go to Flanagan's, drink beer and eat chicken wings." I heard her do something with some papers. "Here you go, Melissa. Yes, see you tomorrow." Her voice returned to the phone. "Don't worry, we are not going to go join him," she laughed.

"Are you alone again?" I asked, amused. The byplay had relaxed my jittery nerves about the call... marginally.

"Oh, yes," came the once more deep voice.

"Are you really sending Yancey to Flanagan's?"

"Of course. You know he'd get fat in a month if I let him go there as much as he'd like. And ordinarily, I'd send you with him if I had an after-work conference. But you will be busy."

Oh God. I wished that she wouldn't sound so confident about this crazed scheme.

*

I left my work a few minutes early on Friday, and after a nervous drive I made it to Wanda's company by 5:25. I grabbed the beat-up old manilla envelope I had stuffed with some random papers and photos in case anyone looked, and slid out of my car. I walked straight in the front door. It is not a huge corporate office, just a large, two-story building in a mid-sized suburban commercial park. A receptionist was still on duty at the door--a nice enough looking young woman, maybe thirty years old.

"I'm here to see Wanda Franklin," I said diffidently. "Would you let her know that Clark Howard is here?"

"Certainly," she said, asking my name and punching a button. After a moment, she said, "Mrs. Franklin? There is a Mr. Howard here to see you. Do you have someone left around to come get him?" She listened for a moment, then said, "Sure thing," and hung up.

"She says most of her people have left already, and she trusts you not to get lost on your own," the receptionist said with a small smile. Apparently, such trust was not a common thing. I was dead bone certain that what I there for was not a common thing... "Just take the hall behind me to the left. HR will be on your right, just a few steps along. Just go on in. Pass the cubicles in there, and Mrs... Wanda's office is on the far wall. You can't miss it."

"I'm honored she thinks I can follow those directions without getting lost," I snorted, and headed back. I'm not normally sarcastic like that with strangers, but I was feeling highly nervous and wasn't hiding it well. I felt better that my departure was followed by mild but apparently genuine laughter from the woman I'd been talking to.

I clutched my envelope of 'materials for our meeting' uncertainly as I went. Wanda and I had not established the story of exactly what we were 'meeting' about. What if someone stopped me and asked? What if I said something different from Wanda?

I duly found Human Resources and entered almost cautiously. It was a small department, with only two rows of cubicles, all but three or four of which were empty. I passed them to the far wall. There were two office doors on the far wall, and the closer one read, 'Wanda Franklin - Director'. I knocked.

"Come in, Clark," Wanda called easily.

I opened her door and entered, to see her rise from her desk to greet me.

I've seen Wanda hundreds of times. We have been friends practically since she and Yancey moved into our neighborhood. I've always thought of her as a good-looking woman, who made any room she was in a little more attractive.

But today I was seeing her in the context of picking her up for dinner and to eventually take her to my house to... well, to fuck her. It made a difference in the impact of her appearance.

Not that she was bombshelling it up or anything. She wore a nicely tailored business suit in charcoal grey with subtle fuschia pin-stripes. The skirt, as I could see when she arose from her desk, was an inch or two shorter than you might expect in a business suit. Not actually short, mind you. It was not 'Secretary on the Make' short or anything, but the hem was definitely tailored to draw the eyes to how nice her legs were, despite Wanda's overall diminutive stature. I doubted that she was more than three inches taller than Mary, if that.

Under Wanda's open suit jacket, she wore a white, cotton broadcloth, button-down dress blouse, starched at least as stiff as the similar shirt that I wore, and it betrayed the bare outlines of a sturdy, supportive white bra. She accented her outfit with a flowing red sort of cravat that functioned like a man's tie. It was still business-like without making her look androgynous. This was a power business suit for a woman--feminine, yet authoritative.

I admit that I kind of froze in her doorway upon seeing her. It was a little bit terror, a little bit appreciation. And a little bit of shame over why I was there.

Wanda only smiled, and caught sight of the fat envelope of papers I had brought, instantly divining the prop's purpose. She approached me rapidly where I stood in her open door, in easy earshot of her few remaining employees. "Brought those? Good? Can I grab them? I need to freshen up before we go," she said briskly as she nabbed the envelope from my hands.

"Don't show that around," I murmured. "It is just my last four days' worth of junk mail I dragged out of the recycling."

Wanda only waved at the sofa in her office and disappeared. I wasn't positive, but I felt pretty sure she had more sashay in her walk as she headed off than usual. I was not complaining about the sight. Part of me, in fact, was complaining that I had not spent more time in the past observing that ass. Other parts of me were acerbically reminding my how crazy it was for me to be staring at it so intently now.

Virtually all of me was speculating about how marvelous it was going to look when bare...

With her gone, and nothing better to do, I shrugged and sank into her couch. Sank is the wrong word. It was hard as a rock. It was perfect HR interrogation furniture. You felt like you were being offered hospitality, and should be thankful for it, but you could only be uncomfortable.

I was not worried about being called into HR. I was on edge about leaving HR... along with the head of HR.

I actually shuddered a little bit as I sat on the couch, waiting. Damn her, why hadn't Wanda hit the john before I got here, instead of leaving me here waiting? As I sat there, waiting, the enormity of what we were planning on doing was weighing on me.

She took her sweet time, but it was honestly quicker than my imagination had dreaded she might have left me there.

"Okay, Clark," I heard Wanda say from the door, just as I was mentally peeking down another dubious potential alley in this crazed situation. "Let's figure out how we are going to do this project." I started to rise from the sofa, looked up and saw her. I froze again, just as I had when I had first entered her office.

Wanda, unlike me, is apparently one of those people who like to signal the end of work by ditching their tie. The missing cravat was probably in her purse, and she had unbuttoned the collar of her blouse. She had her jacket slung over her shoulder with one hand, while the other clutched my fat envelope of gadget catalogs, power washing flyers, and line of credit applications to her chest.

What arrested me was that she seemed to have taken most of her time to let down her hair. Her workday do had had her hair up in a tight bun that pulled her red hair back away over her ears. Now that corona of fire flowed loose around her face and down along her shoulders. Stray curlicues dangled along her smiling cheeks and set off her broad, black-framed glasses, through which her huge, emerald eyes gleamed at me. Her gaze seemed calm, almost passive, but since I was desperately looking for it, I easily perceived at least a touch of the nervousness that was running rampant through me. And excitement, too.

Yeah, well I guessed that I was excited too, especially now.

I ushered her out of the building and we ambled to my car. On an impulse, I moved to open and hold the car door for her, a gesture that I had not bothered with for anyone for at least a decade, but which had once very much been a part of my regular routine.

As I pulled my door open and stood back, Wanda casually handed me the envelope again and I gawped. She had not just opened the top button of her blouse, she had undone it halfway down between her breasts! The cleavage show was fabulous, but the thinness of the blouse's fabric, which had just betrayed her sturdy bra before, now betrayed the incontrovertible fact that she had ditched the bra when she had ditched the cravat. Her breasts bounced a bit as she smoothly sat on the side of the passenger seat, and she leaned forward to give me a view even deeper down her front. I could see the faint dark impression of her nipples right through the fabric. Slowly, she turned and folded her sleek legs, encased in perfectly flesh-toned pantyhose, into the car.

Struck dumb, I gently closed the door, then hopped around to get in behind the wheel.

"Thank you, Clark," Wanda said softly.

"Thank you? For holding the door?" I asked, confused and still deeply bemused.

"Nonsense," she snorted. "But your leering was both complimentary and very reassuring."

"That leer was exactly what you were fishing for," I retorted with uncomfortable amusement.

"It was still nice to get it," Wanda said primly. "Now, where are you taking me to dinner in hopes of getting lucky?" she asked, turning toward me and making her blouse gape open even more.

I shook my head to clear it from the view and told her, "I have a reservation for us at The Understudy."

"Wow," Wanda breathed in surprise. "I've only eaten there once, and it was fabulous."

I put the car in gear and exited the parking lot.

"Seems like overkill though," she mused. "We could be headed for the drive-thru at Zaxby's and you would still be going to get lucky."

I grinned at her in open-mouthed amusement. Then I just stared. For a woman who seldom rocked more than the most modest cleavage, at least in my own experience, she knew lots of ways to show off that valley. At the moment, she was subtly pulling the left side of her shirt tight, which pressed down her left breast a little flatter, accenting its obviously erect nipple, and getting it out of the way so I had an easy, full view of the inner curve of her large, full, braless right breast.

My car's lane-departure warning beeped at me angrily, and I jerked my eyes back to the road. The car lurched as I swerved it back between the lines. Wanda laughed again in satisfaction.

"You are going to have to put your jacket back on," I groused, still a little scared at nearly leaving the road. I tried not to look at her. She just purred in satisfaction and reached back for her jacket. I refused to look as she twisted around, and immediately regretted missing whatever majestic sight that would have been. With some maneuvering, she shrugged her suit jacket back in place.

"Thank you," I said, looking over at her with a grateful smile.

Yeah.

She had put the jacket back on, but she hadn't buttoned it. And in the process, she had undone one or two more buttons on the blouse. I looked across to find myself treated to a side view of her breast from neck to several inches below. Her smooth, firm breast might have been forty-four years old, but it was clear that droop was still more of a suggestion than a reality.

I groaned and tried unsuccessfully not to drink in that sight, and the fun it presaged. "Wanda, I'm glad that at least one of us is having fun with this."

"You aren't having fun?" she asked, her voice suddenly serious.

"Wanda, my body is a hormonal soup of fear, uncertainty, lust, confusion, guilt, anticipation, and lust. I am eager and excited, but I am not having fun."

"Well," Wanda said airily. "At least I get 'lust' twice," she said as if to herself. She calmly did up a few buttons on the blouse, then a jacket button. You could still see the Grand Canyon, but in comparison to the view all the way to the bottom of moments before, the cleavage now looked almost demure.

She had put them away! Now I could add disappointment to my list of emotions. At least I could look over at her more now that it was merely an awesome sight, not life-threateningly mesmerizing.

Wanda lifted her hand as if she was going to grasp mine, but she pulled it back hesitantly.

"I'm all those things, too, Clark," she said quietly. "I'm just being kind of gonzo to keep up my nerve."

"Thank God," I replied. "I was starting to get an inferiority complex in the face of your massive certainty."

Wanda just laughed. But I could now hear the uncertainty from her, too.

"Look," I said quickly. "This is a crazy situation we are in, and a crazy plan we are trying to execute. I am still not sure this is smart, either. I need some normalcy. I think you do too," I rambled. "I know this isn't a date, but let's just treat it as one. Let's have a nice dinner and see where the evening takes us."

Wanda considered that for but a moment. "I am with you, Clark. But for the record, I think this is a date, of sorts."

"You are married," I managed to say, not snap.

"So? Married people date, and not always with their spouses... see Yancey Franklin and Rebecca Howard. A date is just two compatible people leaving work and home behind to socialize, maybe eat or drink, and see where things take them." Wanda smiled brightly. "It is especially a date when the guy takes his prospective girl out to a swanky place like The Understudy. It shows he is bringing his A-Game."