Lucille Nailed It Ch. 03

* * *

Andrew left for home at 3:00, having been uptight earlier in the day. He'd relaxed somewhat after Lucille made her short speech and then was relieved she'd acted impressively in chairing the meeting to plan strategy and set a timetable. His early impression was everyone was accepting her and he thought the way Lucille had drawn Angie into the discussion rather than exclude her for being stroppy earlier was a masterly stroke.

Yes perhaps things were on the move, upwards.

He called Debs early afternoon to say hi – she job-shared at reception at the medical center so only worked till 1:00 each week day.

She detected tension in her voice and suggested he come home early, that the children had gone to play with Cynthia's girls and Peter would deliver them home on his way to the gym at 5:30.

Andrew caught the promise in Deb's voice and became a little excited; he knew what that meant.

Apparently in just half a day shopping Lucille had pulled the ripcord to unleash Deb's sexual interest and deep interest in her own body, dressing it well and now his wife appeared more sexy by paying more attention to her grooming and the way she moved when knowing he was looking at her.

Often he found her caressing her arms or legs and noted a vibrator was back in the bottom bathroom drawer.

He almost ran to the house.

Debs was standing in the hallway, starker's. She lifted up her breasts licked one and said, "Come and play with these, darling."

He almost shot a load on the spot.

Never, never before had she done this to him. He dropped his brief-case, ripped off his tie and rushed and grasping Debs lowered her on to the carpet.

"Oooh, Big Boy is as stiff as an iron bar," she said in suppressed excitement, feeling him through his trousers while he licked between her breasts.

She made sucking noises and called, "Sixty-nine, sixty-nine."

She'd not used that term since their honeymoon, less than a year ago, and yet they both knew it sounded like a cry from the long distant pass; she was healed!

Deb was just licking the tip, like she would lick an ice-cream – slowly, softly, enjoying and occasionally her hand holding it midway down would rub the outer skin up and down a bit which actually did nothing for him but she thought it did, which was all that mattered.

He reached under and squeezed the two lumps of flesh just below her ass cheeks, right up where her legs joined her trunk and felt her lift her ass off the floor, taking some of his weight with her and she jerked upwards, three of tour times, signaling she was ready to fuck.

That gave Andrew the deep desire to sit upright, ignoring the juice dripping down his chin to beat his chest, primeval-like, and roar to the distant hills. He left the desire unanswered, thinking she wouldn't approve being treated animal-like and he didn't want the neighbors knowing why he was yelling like Tarzan.

Andrew felt his nuts beginning to tighten; he accepted he was only a two-shot man every twenty-four hours – big shots, that is, and he preferring going off in her cunt or sitting up high and spraying over her face while she squeezed her eyes shut and squealed like a woman possessed.

He'd do one of those releases now, saving Number two for later tonight or for around dawn, rather than jerk it down her throat now.

For someone who'd been grieving and rather Victorian in her sexual activity, she'd continued to surprise him by sucking him until he flooded into her mouth. She then gazed at him and swallowed heavily.

According to what Andrew had been told by guys over the years, not all woman liked sucking for cum, even fewer liked it sprayed over them, especially the face and only about as many who swallowed liked taking it up the rear.

He was pleased to have someone who readily accepted one of those two options and these carnal thoughts as he drove his tongue deep into her pussy and gently rolled a finger over her clit and that made him swell in her mouth.

She eventually rolled away, stopping just short of making him ejaculate.

Moaning like a woman in need, Debs sprawled over him and holding down his wrists and he'd glimpsed her tits flying like balloons being tossed by the wind. She rubbed her wet bush all over him, almost making him yelp as she dragged over his balls. Finally relief – Deb moaned and easing on to her haunches reached for him and gently lowered on to him – producing the moment he loved.

He adored watching the soft expression on her flushed face at this moment and watched her lips open as cunt lips opened to admit the welcomed intruder. It was amazing and she was unaware of being watched as momentarily she had had head thrown back, eyes closed.

As she lifted up and down and established her rhythm, he rocking sideways a little to increase the friction and sensitivity for them both, he thought of today's stuff-up at the office – their unprofessional behavior at grabbing at this women whom he'd reckless sold as a guru to his two worried partners looking for ways to avoid undesirable financial pressure, He knew that a failing magazine could spread its malaise to other publications within a stable with domino-affect unless well-controlled.

Andrew took his mind away from what was going on in the hallway, not because of disinterest, but because unless he did that he was in danger of shooting load Number Two before she'd extracted much personal enjoyment.

Guys talk about their babes screaming and cumming wall-to-wall but rarely do they talk about sweating. He knew Deb was a woman who put her heart into the job and unless she sweated during the fuck she seemed disappointed and occasionally apologized for a sub-performance.

They hadn't talked in that direction – yet – but Andrew knew she liked having her eyes being blurred by sweat, with its dripping off her tits, running down her legs and joining his sweat to pool under whichever of them was underneath the heap.

Oh no – Andrew realized his mind had switched from the office back to sweat. Without thinking as he massaged her ass, slapping it to hurry her up, she sat right on to an upright finger and it penetrated.

She shrieked and came like a tornado – at least that's what he fancied, watching her eyes roll back into her head. He was also shooting – one of their best timings ever. She wanted another child – a boy – and this could be it. Quickly he flipped her on to her back and tilted her slightly, holding on to her legs.

"What are you doing hon?" she asked in a daze, unaware that Andrew occasionally reads anything handy when waiting for aircraft or in waiting rooms. He'd read about ways to assist conception, having not much recollection but was confident he was doing it correctly.

"Christ, I came like a rocket. What did you do?"

Surprised at her saying Christ like that he assumed she was unaware his finger had contacted that 'no-no' place. How she could not be aware he'd never know; he wondered if the forceful ejaculations had momentarily thrown her into a faint. He'd never seen her eyes roll back like that before.

He caught the look – she was about to nag him for not answering.

He soothed, "That was one of our best fucks ever – thank you for making it happen. I feel absolutely fucked."

"Me too, I'm awash. You go out and make yourself a chocolate drink and have a couple of biscuits while I clean up here. I'll need you back in action later tonight.

Andrew strutted away from her, stretching and as he reached the kitchen door he thumped his chest a couple of times and bellowed like Tarzan.

"Oh darling," she cooed, no sign of a nag tone, "What will the neighbors think?"

Andrew continued his strut.

* * *

Digger, worried about the whereabouts of his wife, went to their inner city apartment and found her in bed with two unsavory skinny guys.

They may have had knives but so what? He roared at them to get the fuck out. Grabbing their clothes they scampered, decidedly unsteady on their feet.

Locking the door behind them, Digger returned to check on Meg who lay on the bed spread-eagled, covered in cum and it was oozing from her. He was sickened and actually wretched when seeing syringes on the floor. She was looking at him, smiling, without a clue where she was, drugged to the eyeballs.

Grabbing a flannel he washed her face gently then wiped her body with towels and after packing two carry-bags with clothes he left the room, closing the door behind him. He called a cab and booked into a hotel by the office, then phoned Rex, a lifetime friend.

"Rex old buddy. I just found Meg in bed with two mother-fuckers. She's doped to the eyeballs.

"But before I left she spoke to me saying she was sorry and not to worry that she'd only taken her usual stuff and a measured amount; she reckoned she'd be all right in the morning. I've had enough, Rex; I'm leaving her."

"I'll pop over and check her out and seek counselling and whatever for her. I'm sorry about this mate; it's never been this bad before has it?"

"I wouldn't know mate. In her mind she left me a long time ago."

Meg's brother said, "Well no worries Digger; the family and I will take care of her from now on."

Digger made one more call, and did so ruthlessly, feeling no shame.

"John it's Digger. I want to divorce Meg. She's in with a bad crowd and has repeatedly refused to allow me to do anything to pull her from the mire. Do it quickly as you can. I'll do any deal that's fair, even if it's slanted her way if necessary; I just want out of it. For the last few months we've barely talked and haven't had sex – she'd just used me to provide a roof over her head."

John the lawyer expressed his regrets.

"I'll start the paperwork today mate. Beth and I have watched the deterioration and feel for you both. It was our opinion, with her beginning treatment several times for depression, and then walking out, that she was on a downward spiral. Well if Rex being a doctor can't reverse the trend she'll self-destruct."

"Yeah, sad isn't it. She always was untrustworthy. However, I never imagined it ending like this."

"I'm with you pal, you're doing the right thing. She won't be left alone as she's got a rich and large family around her, but they'll hate you for walking."

"No mate, I reckon they won't be as surprised as I'd pretended to Meg and her family that nothing untoward was going on, that she'd come out of it. That was rather a hopeless way of coping with it, I think."

So there it was, a wife abandoned.

Digger felt gutted and it didn't make him feel better recalling that his wife's family had never accepted him – they being city people. He, at the time they married, was a country boy with a swell degree and cheerfully job hunting to obtain wider experience before he joined his father, a grazier, who'd just become chairman a publishing corporation in which he'd invested heavily.

Cringing in his shame, Digger was not in a fit state to return to work and he did was any red-blooded Aussie male would do, he headed for the pub, a particular watering hole where he knew if the word got around about trouble, his sister Mo would know where to find him.

* * * *

Lucille was unimpressed by the entrance to The Pit Stop.

The sign on the post pointing in its general direction hung drunkenly on its pole, a holding bolt having sheared.

She and Mo went down some concrete steps that what she suspected was an ingrained cocktail of old and perhaps not so old mix of urine, vomit and fast foods odors.

Her expectation was the Pit Stop Bar would the pits but she was pleasantly surprised. The bar subtly lit, featured spotless rosewood paneling reflecting and surprisingly the clientele appeared to business men and women in the main, talking quietly though animated and there wasn't a drunk or hooligan in sight.

How couth.

Then she saw him, shoulders slouched at the far end of the bar, alone, and under a down-light.

She motioned to Mo and said "Over there" and Mo said. "I see him; oh God, he's in pain."

Lucille, growing up alone as an orphan, hadn't a clue how Mo could tell that from such a distance away; perhaps the slouched shoulders were indicative?

"Oh, my poor darling," his sister cooed to her younger sibling and he lifted his face, it being red-eyed and gaunt as if he'd been chased on his last gasp into a crevice sanctuary by the hounds of the Baskervilles.

Digger looked drunk, but when Mo suggested that he shook his head and pointing, "This is only my second."

The women sat on either side of him, pressing closely to him.

Lucille was fascinated. She'd initially thought Mo was self-centered and as uncaring. But now she Mo seemed compassionate and worked to comfort him.

"What's happened, tell me what's happened," Mo urged. "I can't know how to help you without would tell me what's going on Digger. Has Meg left you?"

He cried a fearsome wail seemingly from his innermost core and slumped, banging his head on the bar. The two women grabbed him, pulling him back and simultaneously reached under him to stop a repeat head thumping, only to have their own heads collide painfully.

"Oh fuck," wailed Mo, rubbing her forehead and apologizing for banging against Lucille. Let's retreat to this nook in the corner – Lucille order drinks for us."

Lucille reached the six-seat alcove as Digger was just finishing telling Mo what he'd found. The women learned that Digger had found his wife was in bed with two nude men and they were drugged to the eyeballs Digger had walked out on Meg after she said she was okay and would sleep it off.

Oh the poor darling, Lucille thought. Mo was patting and stroking him indicating she had a similar reaction.

Digger lifted his bloodshot eyes to meet Lucille's gaze and said, "I've left her – no, I've abandoned her and initiated divorce proceedings and now I'm gutted, knowing I've betrayed her like a coward."

"Hush, hush you've done no such thing," Mo soothed. "She's treated you with disdain for at least two years. She left you two years ago to join these despicable acquaintances of hers. It was her choice and she must accept the consequences."

"I've betrayed her," Digger said, looking ghastly white and with amazing strength Mo pulled him across her knees and he vomited over the floorboards instead of the seat, bar and probably himself.

They left their drinks untouched, Lucille paying the $40 clean-up fee, and they shouldered Digger up and up the stairs and flagged down a cab.

"Fifty bucks if he vomits in my cab."

"I'll agree to thirty," Mo said firmly.

"Okay," said the cabbie as if she'd simply said it was a nice late afternoon.

In Digger's hotel room – he was able to tell them which hotel – the two women undressed him to his underpants and put him to bed, leaving his phone on the bedside cabin. They both kissed him and left.

"Well that one problem under control, leaving only you."

"What?" Lucille said in surprise wondering how on earth Mo had guessed Lucille had become interested in Digger.

But she was wrong.

"Your accommodation – a room at Double Bay. It's not appropriate for a busy executive coming and going at all hours and wishing to entertain guys and have the occasional dinner party or girls to meet for book club."

"Well, yes I have been thinking about but appear reluctant to make the decision. My problem in life is that I'm lonely. It seems that I'm destined to be lonely on this planet."

Mo smiled, not understanding that Lucille was talking about her entire life - and not just a passing phase that would soon end again with another romantic interlude or perhaps even a lasting association.

"I know how you feel, having experienced loneliness on three continents. Well then do we go and get drunk or do I show you a perfect spot for you to rest your weary ass at nights?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No we look at where I think you should be and then we go and get boozed; my husband's playing around and I don't want to be there when he arrives home smelling of her."

"Oh Mo."

"Don't waste your sympathy darling. Digger has had the guts to do it and I'll be following suit unless that louse husband of mine agrees to devote his full attention to me."

"I don't know what to say."

"Try asking me to show you my idea of where you should reside."

They walked through the inner city suburb of Woolloomooloo, Lucille immediately falling in love with the name that perhaps might seem unfashionable or ridiculous to some people.

Mo said she understood the name evolved from an Aboriginal word for young male kangaroos that to Europeans arrivals in the 1780s sounded like 'Walla-mulla'.

"Truly"

"I believe so," Mo nodded and refocused on the accommodation needs of her new friend.

"You have the choice of renting or buying. If you think you will apply for an extended visa or apply to stay permanently then I'd suggest you consider buying. You could even buy and retain the property for future visits or sell it if you decide to leave permanently. Real estate agencies in Australia are largely ethical and are under watch that they behave properly in all property transactions. I can recommend reputable individuals to represent you."

They walked around, Mo saying it was necessary to look at a multi-residency building carefully, to make sure it was occupied by permanent residents rather than units for tourists who'd be arriving and departing, noisily, at all times of the day and night.

They had trolled a few streets without being stimulated and were about to find a bar when Lucille grabbed Mo's arm.

"Look, up there, corner unit on the top floor; it has a For Sale sign in the window."

They walked over to a second sign outside the ground floor entrance to the building and Mo noted a number from it; they walked to a telephone booth.

"Hi Jake, I'm Mo and have an American friend who wants to buy or lease one of your apartments you have listed. If it's up to scratch Jake she'll buy it, so put your dinner in the oven and hop down here."

Mo gave him the address and he said he'd be with them in ten minutes.

Lucille told herself she was too much under pressure to be spending time looking at real estate so if this looked okay she'd buy it.

It was okay.

Via phone negotiations she beat down Jake's client who already had shifted to a new apartment and anxious for a quick settlement - down $10,000 to a figure Lucille knew she could cope with comfortably on monthly repayments at current interest rates.

It was a risk but she'd long learned to take risks and Mo had generously said that their firm would offer to act as loan guarantor as she was sure Lucille would not want to leave Australia – not now.

Meanwhile the real estate agent was looking Lucille's companion rather intently.

"Mo," said Jake. "Your name attracts me. What are you doing this Friday night?"

"Run home to your wife, Jake. You will be giving my American friend here a bad impression of Sydney real estate agents."

"The bank will approve you for the loan tomorrow Lucille," Jake said confidently. "I can arrange settlement at 2:00 on Friday afternoon and you'll be handed the keys at the signing and you can move in immediately.

Sitting in a bar, beating away a few prospecting males, Mo looked at Lucille and said, "Wow – provided you get that loan, you're inspected and bought an apartment in seventy-two minutes flat. Have you done the right thing?"

"Shut up Mo and drink your cocktail. Now tell me about this husband of yours – we need to sort this out. I don't want both you and Digger losing your spouses in the same week. Let's see if we can achieve a solution using intelligently applied strategy – it works in business and it ought to work for a marriage providing you still want to live with him."

"Solving a rupturing marriage with business solutions? What am I hearing here?"