J is for Josie

I stopped. I giggled.

"I mean, the tie Joseph got for you, at Christmas."

"Dinner? Josie, we can't surely. I mean, maybe you fooled Ruth on the street but how sure are you that you can keep it up in company?"

I thought back. I couldn't tell him. Not tell my husband, not about my 'affair' with his boss, not about sucking Neil's cock. But I knew damn well I could get away with it.

"I can do it, Mark. So, you scoot upstairs and finish your work. You'll need to shower before we start to get ready. I think the black dress will do again, don't you?"

"THAT black dress? You can't be serious, you can't go out and wear it in public."

I turned to face him. I scowled just a little.

"Mark, I've discussed this with Ruth. The black dress it is. And I'm going to do you proud tonight. You're going to talk golf with whatever-his-name-is, and I'm going to look gorgeous and flirt a bit with Julian, maybe, just a little. And he's going to be oh-so jealous of you because you've got such a fuckable wife. You're a senior manager now, Mark. We need to socialise more, be seen, you're on the way up. OK?"

He looked at me.

"Yes Josie."

"And then we're going to get just a bit tipsy, maybe. And when we get to bed you're going to fuck me all night. OK my darling?"

I smiled, and kissed him. Kissed my husband, and patted his bum as he started out up the stairs to finish off his work. I went through what was now becoming my routine, showering and smoothing my skin again, slipping into my sexy lingerie and making myself up before donning the black dress again. Maybe I'd try that dark blue one next time? Or go into town and buy another one. Or two.

I walked into the living room just before eight to find Mark sitting there, ready for the party. He really is a handsome guy, or rather was. We had a great time at the party, our first proper social occasion together. And we did fuck all night.

Epilogue.

That summer we 'got rid of' Joseph. In early September we reappeared from our vacation suitably dressed, in black, and spread the tale of Joseph's tragic accident. We were both 'very brave' as Ruth said, and got more used to our new life together. Neil? Well, he never did get the chance to fuck me. Just as well really, he'd have found a big surprise between my legs. He got promoted himself and moved to the west of Scotland - poor guy, cold and wet, but Gwen was happy to get back to nearer to her family. I don't think Neil was.

The company brought in a caretaker manager for six months, a guy who was going to retire soon. And when he did Mark got the job! Partly because of his own outstanding performance in the preceding six months. And partly because I spent all of one Friday night snogging with, and groping, and being groped by, one of the guys on the selection committee. Oh yes, and sucking his cock dry three times that evening. He really didn't have much of a cock though I did get it up to about five inches a couple of times during the evening. But it was fun anyway and it worked!

I only ever did that once more, about three years later. By that time my hair had grown out, and I was having it dyed red on a fairly regular basis or course. Mark really wanted his 'wife' to be as perfect as possible if you see what I mean. Of course by then I had all the mannerisms sorted, and the voice and all the basics of being female.

Which is why, for my '40th birthday' (though I was really in my 20s!) Mark gave me a special present. Two special presents. We had a brief holiday in Italy and had arranged a visit to a surgeon over there, and the 'Josie' who returned to Brum sported a splendid pair of implants. I'd picked 38-DDs so that I wouldn't have to buy all new bras and bustiers, and I knew Mark really liked a couple of handfuls.

It was not long after that when Mark had the chance of the directorship. OK so I did help out again. I've always been surprised what guys will promise in return for a night out with a sexy-looking woman and a night's sex, even though as usual I restricted myself to oral. Like I said to Sir Henry, the MD, 'Mark's the only man whose cock I'll allow up me.' I think he heard what I said even though I had my mouth full at the time.

Mark retired last year after the company got taken over. We made a real killing on the share options he'd got as part of his salary. And we moved out of town to this glorious house on the edge of the Cotswolds. Lovely views, nice walks around, and golf courses a-plenty, for Mark of course. Everything was going swimmingly - until last Thursday. Then my world fell apart.

Mark was playing golf with a couple of his pals - and collapsed on the ninth tee. We'd found out he always had a heart condition but -- the end came even sooner than we'd expected. The funeral was yesterday. OK so everyone has been very kind. I've had a constant stream of visitors. Mainly male. Our solicitor, of course. And the local doctor. And two other men from the village - one of them is married, even.

All keen to help. To offer condolences, all saying 'if there's anything I can do....' And I've played my part well, the grieving widow. I'm not really surprised. After all, how many rich widows do you know with six million, with bulging tits and long red hair? Widows who look good, way less than their years and who like wearing skin-tight ultra-short dresses and impossibly high heels? Wouldn't you be offering assistance?

Actually I do rather like the look of our solicitor, he's the son of the old guy we used to deal with. Tall, darkish and very handsome and by all accounts according to a couple of women I know in the village, hung like a horse. But exactly how would I offer him access to my love-hole? It could be fun finding out.

But there's a problem.

At the funeral, yesterday, there were lots of friends, obviously. And someone else. I couldn't help but notice - a woman on the edge of the assembled mourners. I was holding onto some guy's arm at the time, knowing full well everyone was watching me. Some with interest, some with envy, some with lust. Well, I always did look good in black.

But it was this woman at the back of the crowd. In a long, rather tatty black coat. Like the coat, she seemed to be past her best, mid or late 40s I thought to start with. Originally a redhead, I thought, or at least her hair had been though the dark roots are showing through clearly now. Then at the end of the funeral when almost everyone had gone, she came up to me.

"Hello - er - Josie. Can we have a word please? I'll come up to the house, if I may. About ten o'clock tomorrow morning?"

And she went. That was yesterday. It's nearly half past nine now and I still don't know what to do. Offer her - what - two million, maybe? I didn't sleep much last night, worrying about this morning. Not just my usual worry, what to wear, that is. I ended up choosing a tight grey sweater and black micro-skirt. And my six-inch stilettos, of course.

But. What to do? Three million, maybe? Half each. That seems fair.