Loose Ends

British English spelling and grammar.

And it has a finish!

(More or less)

***

Loose ends

I always told myself our sex life tailed off after a few years of marriage. But the truth is, it went downhill straight after the honeymoon. Before Helen and I married, there was sex of course, and enough oral foreplay to hold promise for the future. And she seemed to like me fingering her arse during conventional sex. In fact once, while doing it doggy style, I pushed my thumb up there and she climaxed.

But after the honeymoon, it deteriorated. I thought perhaps Helen enjoys the chase and gets bored after the capture. Now it's mummy-and-daddy missionary position; and not as often as when we were courting. The sad fact is, my beautiful wife is a boring fuck. I don't find sex exciting any more.

I set about spicing things up. Different positions, different rooms, times of day and so on. Then flowers and chocolates; but nothing stimulated her. We tried porn and that didn't work either. I say that, but she did get excited once; when we did it in a field. I thought maybe she got turned on by the element of danger; or of discovery. I also suggested involving another man. That sparked interest for a while, but she rejected the idea.

On the way home from work one Friday, I stopped off at the hairdresser.

"Hi Patrick, here again?" said Sally. "You only had it trimmed two weeks ago."

"I'll just have a quick wash Sally."

We don't mention it, but we know. Sally's waterproof apron is thin and does not disguise her braless state. Her breasts are large, and who wouldn't enjoy feeling a soft pair in their face? Sally acts professional, but she knows she's doing it. I often wonder if she pushes this close with other customers. Having your hair washed is sensual anyway, but warm breasts in your ears are the icing on the cake.

Then I got a surprise.

"I'm knocking off now, fancy a drink?" Sally asked.

I couldn't help thinking that should have been my line.

"I'd love to."

In a nearby pub, she came straight to the point.

"Your wife is having an affair with my boss."

I wasn't entirely surprised; it made a kind of sense. Helen had been making a lot of visits to the hairdresser recently; probably enjoying the pursuit again.

'Just going to get my split ends tidied' was what I heard most often. So hhere it was; the element of danger again - the thrill of getting caught? If I was going to get anything for myself out of this, I'd better be quick. Her affair wouldn't last long. Once her new man found out he was only getting vanilla, he'd move on to more exotic flavours. And Helen would probably get bored once the novelty wore off.

"How... I mean, please tell me everything Sally."

"Anthony has had sex with loads of women customers, sorry, I'm supposed to call them clients. He always prefers married ones because they've got as much to lose as him. The shop, sorry salon, is owned by his wife. So he has to be careful, and always does it there."

"What - in the shop?"

"Yes. He uses the back office."

"I take it his wife doesn't visit much."

"No, she rarely drops by."

"If she holds the purse strings, we might get some leverage."

"That's what I thought, especially as Anthony has been creaming off the profits. He wants to set up his own place."

She placed emphasis on the 'th' - pronouncing it 'Antony' like everyone else is not posh enough for a hairdresser.

"And my Helen is his latest."

"She is. And the prettiest one so far for what it's worth. I wouldn't mind a session with her myself."

"You're gay?"

Sally thought about it.

"No, I have a boyfriend. I think the term is bi-curious. What I'm really curious about is whether or not it's true."

"Whether what is true?" I asked

"They say women do a better job than men. You know, down there, understanding exactly what another woman is feeling. I'd like to try it. Giving and receiving."

I was lost in thought for a moment. Uninvited images of Sally with another woman. I snapped out of it.

"Anyway, how long has this affair been going on?"

"A couple of months, two times I think. He always has sex with his conquests after closing time - on his office desk actually. Then he tells his wife he's been working late."

That made sense: danger and discomfort. Like when we did it in the field. Sally sailed on.

"I want a promotion Patrick, I'm properly qualified. I've been washing hair, and doing trims, for too long. So I was thinking perhaps we could help each other."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Last time your wife was in, she was chattering away about you, and said you do your own photography. Is that right?"

"Yes. I have a darkroom on the back of my garage. It'd for proper photography; the wet process."

"That's what she said. Anthony started wading in with the innuendos. 'With a fabulous figure like yours, I bet your old man takes photos of you in the nude', 'Wish I could see them'. You know the sort of thing. He's so cheesy; I'm surprised women still fall for it. So I was thinking there might be a way we can both get what we want."

"I'm interested. Fancy another drink?"

"Thanks. How about this? To back up his working late excuse, Anthony's latest conquest, books the last appointment of the day. I'm just a junior, and usually on locking up duties. Next time your wife books that last appointment, I call you."

"Go on."

"You supply me with a camera and I lock the front door and leave. Then I nip round to the side door; it's Yale key on the same bunch. I sneak back inside and hide amongst the coats in the back lobby; it's always gloomy there. There's a window in his office door and they'd never see me out in the dark. I take pictures of them, then sneak back out and give you the camera. When they're done, they'll leave through that side door, and it'll lock behind them."

"You've got it all worked out haven't you?" I said.

"I've been thinking about it for some time. The problem is, any photos I take will be porn. I'd never get them processed on the high street. You're my best chance."

Back in the 1970s, the quietest camera on the market was the Olympus OM1. And I had one.

"And the helping each other bit?"

"You end up with hard-core photos of your wife being unfaithful. I imagine they'd help you in a divorce. And, if I can have a set, I can 'persuade' Anthony to promote me. I wouldn't bleed him dry. I only want what's fair."

A few days later, I showed Sally how to set the camera up for low light conditions and let her practise with it. I processed her results, and most of the shots were actually taken from that dark lobby into Anthony's office. Clever girl; they were not bad. About a month later, she called me at work with the news we had been waiting for. That night Helen confirmed it.

"I'm getting my hair done on Friday."

"Tidying up the loose ends?"

"No. I'm having some blonde streaks. I'll go straight from work. You'll have to cook for yourself, or eat out. I'm the last appointment of the day, and highlights take time, so I'll probably be home late."

I got back from work thirty minutes before the hairdresser's was due to close. Waiting across the road in the coffee shop, I had a good view. At last, Helen's car pulled onto the forecourt, and she went in. Then I realised I had her spare car keys on my bunch, and amended the plan.

Twenty minutes later the 'Closed' sign was turned in the front door and Sally came out, locked up, and joined me. Five minutes after that, the shop lights went out. She took the camera from her handbag, gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, and went down the side alley. I finished my coffee and strolled across the road. Sally soon returned.

"You said half a dozen would be enough, right?" she said, handing over the camera.

"Yes."

"By the way, what they're doing in the last shot? Anthony is forcing her. She didn't seem to like it much."

"Serves her right, whatever it is. And did you manage to find out how much money he's been hiding?"

"I did, I checked earlier this week. He keeps the monthly statements from his secret bank account in his desk drawer. But that key is on the same bunch as the others."

"That's sloppy security."

"Yes. His last statement, posted to the shop of course, shows nearly twenty thousand pounds on account."

"Wow! He has been a busy boy."

Sally and I had another kiss, and a little grope that hinted at more. Maybe I could get to like bigger tits after all. She left, and I let myself into Helen's car with the spare key. Then I drove to the Bunch of Grapes. I parked round the back, in the shadows. After a hunt in her car I retrieved items from the glovebox. They smelled really nice. I walked home and, just as I got through the door, the phone rang.

"My car's been stolen. Should I call the police?"

"No need. They've already found it; they just phoned."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"How? Where are you?"

"At the hairdresser's; I told you"

"Oh yeah, I forgot. Can Andy give you a lift home, or shall I come and get you?"

"Anthony. He'll give me a ride."

'What another?' I thought.

She looked uncomfortable when she got home.

"So where's my car?"

"The police have to keep it for now; something to do with forensics. But they said it hasn't been damaged. They'll call us over the weekend, when we can go and get it."

"Oh. Do you think I might be allowed to go and get something from it?"

"I should think so, better wait till morning though."

Now she looked even more nervous, and I knew why. If I was a married woman, just back from the hairdresser, and was wearing no tights or panties, I'd be nervous too! She went straight upstairs and I heard the shower running.

"I'm just going out to the darkroom." I shouted.

Sally had done an excellent job; the photos were revealing. There were seven shots; hardcore enough for any porn mag. Anthony banging Helen over the office desk. Importantly, both faces were recognisable. Sally also got two good close-ups of the action. One of Anthony's dick all the way up her cunt; and one almost all the way out. I noticed he was not wearing a condom. Still, at least he didn't cum up there. Helen looked sluttish; arse hanging over the edge of some guy's desk. He was holding her legs up high, and she only had one shoe on. It was still missionary position though.

The last photo Sally had mentioned; showed Helen on the floor. Our hero had pulled her onto her knees, was gripping her hair, and obviously coming down her throat. Some of his cum was trickling from the corner of her mouth. This was something she didn't allow me, except for that occasion on our honeymoon. To be fair, she did look a bit distressed, but then, why did I have to be fair? She deserved to be distressed. She was in bed by the time I'd finished.

Next morning I got up early and put on the coffee. Helen always slept in on Saturdays, so I went round to the pub and brought her car back while it was brewing. She emerged mid-morning, unaware of its return, and came down in her night clothes. Her dark nipples were visible, pushing against the silk top. And there was a suggestion of pubic hair showing through the semi-transparent sleep knickers. She looked fabulous as always, and I got the first stirrings of an erection. But it could wait for now. Soon I'd be getting more than my fair share of that.

"Don't suppose you've heard from the police yet?"

"Actually I have, they brought the car back and said there was some interesting evidence in it."

I placed her knickers and tights on the breakfast bar.

"Do you know why these were in your glovebox?"

Her face was a picture. What would she say? I could see her going through the options. Own up? Deny they're hers?

"The joyriders must have left them; maybe one of them was a girl. They probably had shagged on the back seat."

"So, if they're not yours, the obvious question is - where are your undies from yesterday?"

She wrinkled her nose in disgust as I sniffed her knickers.

"Smells like you."

"My underwear is here. I took them off before I went to bed. The bra is up in the bedroom; it doesn't need washing every day. My tights and briefs are in the laundry basket."

"Good job it's not the cops asking these questions. They get suspicious when people lie. The laundry hamper only has my socks and a towel in."

"They're in the washing machine then."

"Empty. I just checked."

Now she looked worried.

"Look," she started tentatively, "I didn't want to tell you this; it's embarrassing. But I had a little accident driving home, I mean driving to the hairdresser's. I got took short and had to go amd pee in a field. Then I got some pee on my tights and panties so didn't put them back on."

I thought that was clever under the circumstances.

"Strange, they don't smell of pee. So you went to the hairdresser's and sat there with no knickers and tights on. Did you give Andy a quick flash to get him excited? Maybe he gave your pubes some blonde highlights too!"

Now she was angry - my constantly calling him by the wrong name didn't help - and jumped to her feet.

"There's no need to be crude. What the hell is this all about anyway?"

"Sit down and I'll tell you."

She sat.

"You're lying. You took your underwear off so you could have sex. You see, there were no joyriders, no police; it was me who took your car."

"What?"

"Since you are clearly uncapable of recalling what really happened, let me help you. But if you start getting angry and self-righteous, I'll smack your stupid face. Got it?"

She nodded.

"I was at the hairdresser's and borrowed your car just before Anthony shot his load into your mouth. You've been having an affair with him. You got home last night and stood in front of me with no underwear on. No wonder you rushed upstairs and got in the shower. You must have stunk of sex."

The tears started, quietly.

"I know everything. You went to Anthony's prepared for a quick fuck, and not for the first time. But I'm still intrigued as to why you took your knickers and tights off in the car. No more lies -- tell me."

She sighed. The game was over.

"It was only the third time we've done it. Previously, I cleaned myself up with one of the shop towels, but his cum was still running out of me and made a mess in my panties. He seems to make a lot, and it doesn't all come out of me straight away. I had to wash my undies when I got home. So last night I thought I'd take them off first, wipe myself again in the car, and then put them back on."

"Well, while you were showering, I processed this porn."

I dropped the photos in front of her. She leafed through them, the colour draining from her face.

"If I show these to Anthony's wife, she'll divorce him and he'll lose his shop, home, everything. And it'll be your fault. So, what you're going to do now is phone him."

"It's Saturday. He'll be rushed off his feet."

I slid the phone towards her.

"You'll tell him, no matter what he's doing, to come round here in the next half hour. You've both been found out, and in thirty minutes your husband is going to take this porn to his wife. I'll deal with you later."

She begged me not to hurt him and did as I ordered.

He arrived looking like he'd shit himself. I showed him the photos and looked at Helen.

"Get upstairs right now and shave that hairy cunt. I want to see clean pink skin from your arsehole to your belly button. You can keep a little landing strip up the front."

Actually, I didn't give a shit what her cunt looked like; I just wanted to split them up. My control would be greater if I kept wrong-footing them. I turned to Anthony.

"Here's your problem. You don't know how much the slut has told me. So be sure to tell me the truth, because if I catch you out in a lie, I'll break your fucking face. That's the price you pay for fucking around with other men's wives."

He nodded.

"How many married women have you fucked in, say, the last two years?"

It was a dilemma. These photos had clearly been taken from inside his shop when he thought it was all locked up. He must be able to work out it was an inside job. If I'd taken them, I'd still have needed one of his staff to help. He'd have to suspect Sally, but could not be sure how much she knew. Thus, how much I knew. He fidgeted.

"About twelve."

"All condom-free?"

"Yes. I make sure they're all on the pill, or whatever."

"How many times have you fucked my wife?"

"Three."

"Why did you force her to finish you with her mouth?"

"I like oral sex. Straight fucking gets boring."

Well, he got that much right.

"Your wife owns your business and your house, and you've been salting money away for years, right?"

"Er, yes."

"Sorry pal, but you're going to have to start saving again. Here's the deal, no negotiating. You transfer fifteen thousand pounds to my bank account. I'll give you a week to arrange it. As of Monday you promote Sally, yes it was her, to a full hairdresser position. And you'll pay her a tenner a week over the normal rate. And if you ever save enough to open a second shop sorry, salon, you will make Sally the manager. Speak now."

"And you won't show these to my wife?"

"No."

"Then I'll do it."

"You'd better, I'll be watching. For my side of the bargain, I will not show these photos in a public divorce court either."

I saw him to the door and shouted upstairs.

"You finished yet?"

"Not quite."

"You've got five minutes. When you're done, rub in body lotion, make it nice and smooth. And shove plenty of Vaseline up your arse. Then come down here naked."

She took four minutes.

"You don't want these photos made public." I explained to her. "In a divorce court, they'll ruin you and you'll lose your job. You'll get precious little as a settlement, and your parents will disown you. Are we on the same page?"

"Yes."

"Then here are the new rules which, if you obey them, guarantee these remain out of sight. I intend to look for a new job, far away from this dump. And when I find one, I'll sell this place, we'll get divorced quietly, and I'll give you twenty percent. But until that day, you must do whatever I say. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

"Good. In the meantime, things are going to be very different round here. You're a boring fuck. From now on, when you get home from work, you strip naked, every day."

She hung her head.

"You like the idea of being a slut, but you have a problem. Basically you're lousy at it, so I'm going to help you. You've got a beautiful body and a pretty cunt, but that's about it. From now on, you keep that cunt hair-free. But I won't be using it for a while."

"Why?"

"Statistically, a third of married women have affairs. Anthony fucked a dozen before you, so at least four have probably fucked other guys too. As the last of his conquests, you might have some nasty disease. So you get a health check next week. Meanwhile I'll use your mouth and arse."

"Oh God!" she groaned.

"Look on the bright side -- this is going to help you."

"Help me?"

"Of course, you like fucking married men don't you? But I would never call you a whore. You'd be hopeless as a prostitute. You're so boring."

She looked puzzled, and irritated.

"It's true. Think about this: A man wants to play away from home, and finds you're up for it. You're gorgeous; he thinks all his Christmases have come at once. But he wants you because his wife isn't giving him enough -- quality or quantity. Then he finds you are just the same old same old. Good looking, but he needs a woman who takes it up the arse, or swallows his load, or both. So you're going to get good at those things... starting now."

"Please don't!"

"I suspect that's what you said to Marcus when he wanted to finish in your mouth. Well, you could have stopped him if you'd tried - he had no power over you. But I do. So how do you think I'm going to respond to your 'Please don't?"