Mary's Movie Night Ch. 02: Chicago

It's all Catherine Zeta-Jones's fault.

After a momentous movie night, it took me hours to fall asleep as my mind wrestled with how I had fallen from being a good husband to being a cheater. How I might even have "fouled my own nest" by sleeping with and potentially knocking up my neighbor's wife. How could I have done this? What kind of a monster am I? My wife, Susan, laying there beside me peacefully was oblivious to my torment. Finally, in the wee hours of the morning I drifted off.

When I finally woke up, it was late. Susan had departed for work and I had to rush into a day of online meetings and endless emails. By the time evening rolled around, I was spent and was looking forward to a quiet evening. Perhaps I could start to repair my flagging marriage?

Susan bustled in at 6:15 and, with a peck on the cheek, reminded me that she and the neighbor ladies were having a girl's night out. I had forgotten it completely. Thoughts of a romantic dinner were dashed--not to mention the immediate panic that my erstwhile lover, Belinda Batcher, and movie night hostess Mary (who had a naughty picture of the two of us rutting) were half of the "neighbor lady" contingent. Perhaps I should pack a suitcase now?

Many nerve wracking hours later, there was a knock on the front door. My wife was smashed and Mary and Belinda had brought her home. We maneuvered her upstairs and to bed. Then the three of us tiptoed downstairs so I could see them off.

Mary was sitting there smirking at the two of us with a cat-that-ate-the-canary look that froze my stones. "I should let you two lovebirds get it on, while Susan's out of it," she hissed. I couldn't understand the hint of venom in her voice. For a change, Mary wasn't in scrubs. She was in a too short denim dress that showed her lower legs and her makeup was caked on in bright, discordant layers. I couldn't help but laugh "right" at her as she pulled the door after her.

That left me with Belinda.

"Hey," she started, kind of looking at her shoes. "I wanted to explain last night."

"I wanted you to know," she continued, "that what I said was true: Pete had the snip before we got together. When we decided we wanted kids, we talked about letting it happen with some of our swinging partners, but I really couldn't face that. We have fun, but I couldn't stand one of them looking at me with that shit-eating grin. Ugh. I wanted to pick the man who made my baby."

"Anyway, I kind of had permission."

"What?"

"Susan was probably joking. In fact, I'm sure she was joking when she told us 'One of you should do him and take the pressure off me.'" She glanced at the closed door, where Mary had gone.

"What is that all about? What's turned her into Smirkasaurux Rex?"

"You must know she has a huge crush on you!"

I had never thought of my neighbor in that light. It would never have occurred to me, but something about it seemed to ring true. Which meant: Oh. Oh my god.

"Anyway," Belle continued, chatting merrily away, "I've always wanted a child and Petey couldn't, but I finally talked him around and we were going to do it together--you know, pick out a guy and get me fertilized, but he keeps suggesting these guys I don't like and, well, and I've picked you out." The words tumbled out in a steady stream, gushing forth to explain her thinking and reacting and attraction and such, before concluding: "We've timed it pretty well, but I may be back soon... just to be sure." Her smile dimpled as she slipped out the front door and into the night.

I shut the door on Belinda and slunk to bed. I had to wrestle Susan out of her clothes and she was silly with drink. She seemed a little amorous at first, but when I copped a feel, she giggled and squirmed away with "Oh, you naughty man."

I got her tucked in, with a big glass of water and two aspirin next to her. I felt better snuggled up next to her, holding her as I fell into exhausted sleep.

It was Tuesday before the next shoe--or should I say shoes--dropped. After Susan was off to work, I settled into my own routine. Around 11 there came a knock on the door. It was Belinda, dressed in sweats. She pushed her way inside with an "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"I don't have any meetings until one."

"Good. Then we'll have time to make sure I'm in a family way," she announced, unzipping her top to reveal her braless tits. Her tiny, tight bosom was crowned with two perfect coral-colored peaks, each tight in the cool morning air. My mouth was dry and all I could say was "uh..."

She pushed down her sweat pants, kicked off her running shoes, and stepped up to give me an embrace. There was a fire alarm going off inside me, as the eyeful of tight body sent my blood into overdrive.

"Show me the bedroom. I want you to fuck me where you fuck your wife. It's so hot to think of her sleeping where you got me pregnant." What happened to the reluctant and reasonable Belinda? Some kind of horny pod person had replaced her.

"Our units are identical, I think you know the way." I followed her, admiring her cute tiny butt. Was I going to do this? This was clearly a one-way train trip to daddy town. On the other hand, I felt like the damage was done. I had a sense like it had happened already.

She bounced onto Susan's side of the bed and I moved to kiss the inner part of her thigh. Unlike movie night, I was going to take some time and us both a memory to go with the swaddling blanket. Soon I was licking her totally smooth tight wet pussy, freshly manicured for the event. But she was having none of it. With her toes she reached out to ensure I was hard, nudging my cock time and again. When she was sure of that, she pulled me up to kiss her and then, without words, squirmed around to get herself ready for the Main Event.

"Don't hold back, baby, shoot your babies into me. I want it, honey. Give it all to me," was her refrain as I sought to do exactly that.

When she'd left, I washed and changed the sheets and showered. Guilt began to gnaw at me as I sat back down to work.

The second shoe was, naturally, Mary. She wanted me to see the "perfect" photo she'd snapped. And it was the most perfect photo anyone could wish for--if their aim was to wreck a home. Little Belle's legs wrapped around me, the silver anklet, the tattoo on her ass, my hands pulling me into her, my mouth hanging open and eyes peeled in surprise, my cock coated with creamy girl cum halfway inside her, the first pulse of my seeding her womb already on its way. It was self-explanatory. If (when?) Belinda turned up pregnant, this photo was going to be Exhibit A for me being the father.

Mary presented her evidence there on the doorstep, adding, "You were so bad. That slut, Belle, couldn't stick with the plan. You were supposed to stay virtuous and resist her, but I come down to find this. Petey's no good for anything serious: he's married and he swings, so a girl has to take precautions. I think he's a little jealous that you got in there, though. I think he's wishing he'd stuck close to Belle. But instead he took me upstairs. From now on, I think you might have to," she said, waiving her phone, with its incriminating photos at me.

"See you on movie night... lover"

I tried all week to soothe my tortured conscience by giving Susan the attention she deserved as my wife. But it was a pattern that was becoming all too familiar. A kiss or two was fine, even a long, lingering kiss, but as soon as I sought to escalate, all the signs turned negative. There would suddenly be conversation about errands needed or pointless things that happened at work. And if I persisted? Boom! The portcullis came crashing down and the emergency sirens blared and touchy-feely time was over. At bedtime the pillows always seemed to be arranged between us.

I was frustrated and I was confused, but I knew her work was hard, and it can't always be playtime. Still, it seemed like it had been months.

The movie turned out to be Chicago, with Renee Zellweger and Catherine Zeta-Jones and, instead of just the four of us, everyone turned up--well, except Susan.

Belle was cheerful and gave me a squeezy hug with a flirting look before heading over to greet our dowager neighbor, Cindy, and our erstwhile hostess, Mary.

Pete at first seemed his usual boisterous self, but was I imagining an edge to how he looked me over? It seemed like Mary's analysis might have something to it: it was one thing for him to share his wife out on his own terms, maybe even helping her get pregnant with some of his sleezy swinger buddies. It was another thing for her to choose my bed, to come to me on her own, and then to have us both know that, no matter how proud a papa he was, the baby kicking inside her was mine.

With the popcorn bowls filled and the cheap white wine flowing, we settled down. The guys crowded onto the couch. Cindy pulled up chair between the couch and love seat, while Belinda and Mary sat together there, kind of at an angle to the couch. Lakeisha had the lounger on the far side of that. Mary's huge wall-covering TV sprang to life and her sound system brought us gangsters in song.

Mary was wearing the denim skirt she'd worn the other night for girls night out. It left nothing to my imagination all evening. Her lower legs were bare, and she kept opening her knees wide apart when she thought I was watching. Her massive thighs made the skirt swell like an overstuffed sausage casing. As she shifted around, I got flashes higher and higher between those flabby gams, towards a forbidden chasm I wanted nothing to do with. I couldn't help but look, though, as she spread them wider each time. I felt like I was straining to see all the way up there, where I had no business looking. Let's just say I had the impression that there were no virginal white panties up there. Just a hairy, greasy, needy darkness that my imagination said must be moist with desire.

Looking at Belle and Mary on the love seat, all I could think as the credits rolled, were Zeta-Jones singing "My sister and I had an act that couldn't flop. My sister and I were headed straight for the top..." Belinda and Mary were in no way sisters, but they had an act that could make my whole life flop.

Pete and Belinda were the first to depart, as he seemed to have no appetite this week for small talk, and maybe he'd exhausted whatever joys came from being in Mary's bed. Then the Joneses left. Cindy gabbled and gabbled, as if not getting the hint from an increasingly frustrated Mary that the show was over. When I started to make overtures about going, thinking I might have dodged the bullet, Cindy got the hint and got up to go herself. Before I could get away Mary made my excuse for holding back: could I help her with moving something? Sure. Cue eyeroll. I was almost certain Cindy could smell the rat. But she went. The door shut and Mary snicked the lock into place, like the knell of doom. I was alone with her and we were going to have a chat about my infidelity.

I'm a tall guy, well over six feet tall, but Mary is pretty tall herself. So unlike Belinda, I wasn't looking way way down at her. Her curly dishwater blonde hair was escaping its perennial tight bun tonight, hanging around her shoulders in a kind of attractive disarray. Not that she was attractive: her face wasn't so much "launched a thousand ships" as "sink the Bismarck". Her mouth was drawn up in its trademark smirk, her tiny teeth flashing behind wide red lips. Her fleshy nose turned up piggishly, like if you squinted you could see the back of her skull in there? Her eyes, beady little things, had me pinned down.

"I want you to move something upstairs," she said. "In my bedroom." She was trying to sound seductive. Did she want me to desire her? It seemed out of character after so long as the target of her skewering. It was all I could do to keep from laughing, it was so random.

"I need you to move it." She stepped closer. I could smell her musk, a light scent of sweat, only a little unpleasant. It was flattering to be wanted. I didn't want to hurt her feelings and I was terrified of what she might say or do if I did the wrong thing.

"A big man like you. I think you can move what I need so easily." She was looking up into my eyes.

"I can't do this. Susan..."

"Susan isn't here. Susan doesn't want to be here. And what Susan doesn't know--and doesn't find out--won't hurt her," she interrupted. "And after your little fling with Belinda, you'll be very wise to take care of my needs." She hesitated. "I think you want it anyway."

She brought us back to the living room, and, pulling out her oversized phone, caused her huge TV to display Exhibit A. She had one of those slick new phones with like nine lenses and every one of them had captured that moment, from ultraviolet to infrared. There it was, with all the glory that modern technology could pump into it. You could see every wrinkle and freckle. You could count each of my pubic hairs pressed up against Belle's tight little box. You could see the green of Belle's eyes mirrored in the whites of mine. Heck, if you listened closely, you could probably hear our future baby crying--it was that good a photo, if, again, by "good", you meant "damning".

I stood there appalled.

"So, I've noticed how you have always looked at me. Every time we're together, undressing me with your eyes. And you were such a good little hubby, too, at least until the little slut got in the way. I wanted to show you I felt the same as you. I know you want me, that we were meant to be together. Your loyalty to your frigid wife is misplaced."

Oh god! She thought I'd been flirting with her? I mean, I did look at her, but only because you can't not look. It's like driving past an auto accident: you shouldn't look, but you slow that little bit and do. So, sure, I had looked. But never like that.

I looked now, though. Tonight she was wearing a short-sleeved wraparound scrub top in a kind of minty green. She was obviously bra-less underneath, with her saggy boobs sloshing about under the starchy fabric. Her nipples pointed down rather than outwards, but still gave away their location, poking out well down her barrel shaped torso. I was still not attracted.

I thought I could see a way out of my predicament, and I dove towards it. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," I started. "It was inappropriate of me. I never wanted..."

She stepped forward and I hugged her in a good, hopefully neighborly, hug.

"I'm glad you've finally admitted it. And I'm glad you feel it too. I know we're meant to be together."

Hmm... this wasn't going to plan at all.

"It's not right. I promise, I won't do it any more. Not, you know, look inappropriately. Can we start over?"

I felt sick with the need to escape, like an animal in a trap. My feet wanted to run to the front door, spring the bolt and dash away. Maybe Susan would forgive me? But I was holding her, trying to comfort her. You'd have to be a stone not to feel some sympathy, feel something.

Well, her hand was feeling something, something between my legs that was growing. She was certainly getting the response she wanted there!

"C'mon," she beckoned, and made to lead me back towards where I imagined her bedroom would be. Where she had rutted with Pete last week.

"We can't," I said, turning her to face me. She was close to me, in my space. Her hand slid down to take my hand and slide it to her hip. Her body sidled in close, and I could feel her belly and boobs up against me.

"You know you want it," she whispered, again feeling her hand brush my slightly aroused manhood.

"Mmm... feel that... see?" Her touch in that situation was overcoming my good sense. I was getting firm, thickening. She kept touching me, feeling the response.

I swallowed. I couldn't deny the effect she was having. I couldn't deny that she held the upper hand. But I could still stop this...

My left hand accidentally brushed against her jutting, saggy boob. It felt good against my hand.

"Mm... yes, you want it, don't you? Don't deny it."

I gulped at the victory in her voice. Her breast felt warm and weighty against my hand, the core of it solid. I wanted to grasp it. The nipple was grazing against my forefinger, wanting to be tweaked. I gave the droopy breast the lightest squeeze.

"Mmm... you want those, don't you? All the lads do." Her hand paused from massaging my inflating member to find the tie closure on her wrap. The tension in the knot holding it closed popped with an audible "twang" and the wrap front pulled away to expose her throat and upper chest. Her skin was very pale and heavily veined. She pulled the tie to the side, letting the cloth fall open. Her belly was thick but not morbidly so, but it still had stretch marks. Her belly button was a cave whose undulating margins pointed down toward her jeans skirt and hidden sex. I was staring, appalled at this new vista over fields I had no desire to plow.

But my cock was harder than I could remember. Harder than any time with Susan. Harder than when I'd screwed Belle right here on the couch. Glancing back up, she was seeing my appreciation of her wares.

I wanted to be anywhere else. I wanted to disappear. I was humiliated.

She moved back in for the kill, moving to kiss me. It caught me off guard for a moment. I didn't want to kiss her. I kept my lips immobile against her attack at first. But I relented slightly, fearing her reaction. Her lipstick was on my lips as I pulled back.

"You know this is wrong. Why are you doing this?" I asked. I could feel that there would be no going back from this.

"I've wanted you from the first I laid eyes on you. You're such a Boy Scout, trying to stay dedicated to Susan. But you must see that this is what's meant to be. You wouldn't be here if you didn't secretly want me. All those movie nights and we couldn't do anything. But now you're finally admitting it. I'm so happy. I'm ready for us to be together!"

This was utterly insane! She thought I'd been flirting with her, desired her. I'd never even thought of her in any way like that. What I couldn't deny was that, right now, I was turned on. Her hand back between my thighs, massaging my balls, feeling my hardness trapped there, yearning to get out.

I wanted to stop her, to break the spell. I looked back in her eyes, and saw fear of rejection, perhaps a fear of violence. And I felt her neediness, her frustration at being attracted but powerless to act on it. I wanted to be kind and not crush her. I needed to be smart and not foul this up.

"Look..." I said, gently. And she kissed me again. Just a quick kiss, lip to lip. I exhaled, feeling the surge of arousal. She kissed me again. Dammit, that turned my head. I returned the kiss. I felt her body snuggle up against mine. My other hand pulled the other end of the wraparound away and snaked behind her bare back. I held her and it felt good, a thick pillar, but warm and pliant. I closed my eyes and let our tongues dance for a moment or two.

No. This was wrong. I had to stop it. I broke off and stepped back. She stood there, with the ghastly photo backlighting her, her hair a halo around her head. She worked the wrap off her arms, almost like a strip tease, but hiding nothing at all, without a hint of seduction. She dropped the wrap onto the love seat and stood there, shifting from hip to hip. Big, wide hips made for birthing, I thought.

Her breasts swayed gently before me and, for the first time, I could see how they were capped with huge areolae, each a mighty, yet isolated crinkly volcano surrounded by pale sagging flesh. The pair of them waved hypnotically at the end of her dangling teats, swinging pendulously, free of restraint. They begged to be held, suckled.

I stepped back closer and she said "you want to see all of me, don't you? Help me with this skirt."

Guided by her hand, I reached behind her and found the snaps that closed the top of her denim skirt. Each one popped open as I yanked on it. Her other hand was busy feeling my erection, then finding my belt. I found the zip of her skirt and its little tab. Grasping it between finger and thumb, I worked it down with a muted "zzzzz", down, all the way down. She was fumbling with the button on my Dockers. "Ooops," she said, as the button came away loose in her hand.