tagErotic CouplingsMrs. Steven Rudy Ch. 03

Mrs. Steven Rudy Ch. 03

byHamletMacbethIII©

Author's note: This is the third story in a series inspired by the song of the same title by Mark McGuinn, but all characters are my own creation. Any resemblances to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental. And while I try to keep my stories fairly grounded in reality, this remains a work of fiction, of fantasy even. So if something seems biologically or anatomically improbable, just remember the MST3K mantra: "It's just a show; I should really just relax." I welcome criticism/feedback; all I ask is that you be somewhat gentle, or at least constructive.

A brief recap: Mike Baker is a high school geometry teacher. He's 26, stands about six feet tall with a moderate build. He's quiet and shy and fades into the background as much as possible. He lives next door to Steven and Heather Rudy, a well-to-do forty-something couple. She stands about 5'10" with long auburn hair, and green eyes. She's also got a curvy figure: large, heavy breasts, round hips and a heart-shaped ass. Steven is gone a lot on business, leaving his wife at home alone. Heather and Mike have become good friends, and spend each Sunday morning talking on her front porch. Over the last several months, Heather has taken to flashing Mike her breasts and panties.In the story so far, Mike fingered Heather to orgasm while she jerked him off. She said the needed to talk afterward, but Mike didn't hear anything from her for two days. On Tuesday, she finally invited him to dinner, after which he accidentally discovered a student masturbating and not-so-accidentally watched.


Chapter 3: She Doesn't Dance

The Steakhouse might not have had the most creative name in the world, but the quality of its food more than made up for it. Or so Mike had heard. He certainly couldn't afford to eat there. But a few of his students from more affluent families had raved about this place, and those who could afford it were known to drive in from two to three hours away. The word "artistry" was thrown around a lot. Even if the hype was overblown by half, Mike figured he was in for the meal of a lifetime.

"This place is kind of surreal," he told Heather after they had been lead to a small corner table.

"How so?" she asked, one eyebrow arched.

"Oh, come on." Heather just looked at him. "Really? This place caters to a rather high-brow clientele, but it looks like the set of a country music video -- wood everywhere, cow heads and hides hanging on the walls." Mike glanced up and pointed at the ceiling. "They have wagon-wheel chandeliers." He gestured toward the center of the dining area, which had been cleared of tables so couples could dance to the country music piped in overhead. "This place is more country than Cracker Barrel."

"Is that a problem? Would you prefer to go to someplace more formal, maybe one of those restaurants that act like they're doing you a favor by giving you any food at all? I know of a few not too far from here if that would be more to your liking."

Mike laughed. "That's OK. From what I hear, the food's great. I'd just as soon stay."

"Good," Heather laughed. "I like it here. The food is good, and I enjoy the atmosphere. I get enough of the other kind of places with Steven."

Mention of her husband put a damper on the conversation. They sat in awkward silence until a waiter came to take their drink order. Mike noted with some bemusement that the wait staff uniforms matched the decor: clean-shaven and dressed in a button-down shirt with a bolo tie, jeans, and cowboy boots. Heather ordered sweet iced tea. "I do have to drive tonight. Besides, I don't drink all that much, anyway."

"I'll have the same." The waiter left with a promise to return soon. Mike perused the menu and did his best to ignore the prices. Finally, he sighed and set the menu down. "Look," he began. Heather looked up, chewing on her bottom lip as if afraid to hear what he might say next. Despite the serious business they had to discuss, Mike had to suppress a grin. She was normally so composed that he would never have imagined he might see her anxious. "Would you mind ordering for me? I am not exactly a steak connoisseur. I don't know a porterhouse from a ribeye from a sirloin."

"I'd be happy to," she said with a smile. The waiter brought the tea. Heather ordered T-bones for the both of them, hers medium. Miked asked for his to be cooked medium well. "I'm not sure I would have brought you here if I had known you would turn out to be such a heathen." She snorted. "Medium well, indeed."

"I'm not sure I would have come if I had known you'd be such a snob." Mike smiled and patted her hand. He was tempted to try and hold it, but figured that might be too much at that moment. "I prefer for my meat not to leave blood on the plate, thank you."

Heather laughed briefly, then silence descended once more. Mike sipped his tea and pretended to inspect his cutlery for dirt. He looked up after she muttered, "Oh, for crying out loud." She cleared her throat and spoke in a more conversational tone. "I invited you hear to talk. I'm not doing either one of us any favors if I won't start."

"OK. What did you want to say?"

Heather smiled. "Not 'What did you want to talk about.' No games -- I like that." She stirred the ice in her glass with one finger. "I'm not going to pretend Sunday didn't happen, and I'm certainly not going to pretend that I didn't enjoy it. It's just that I am...I mean..." She groaned and slumped back in her seat, arms folded. "Oh, I don't know how to put it without sounding stupid."

"I get it," Mike said, careful to keep his face and tone neutral even though his stomach was tying itself in knots. "You have regrets."

"Regrets? No." She lowered her voice so that he had to lean across the table to hear. "The only regret I have is that we didn't take things further. A very sizable part of me wants nothing more than to push you down on this table and lick the house steak sauce off every square inch of your body -- especially that slab of beef you've got hanging between your legs."

Mike stared at her for several seconds before he managed to rasp out, "But...?"

Heather sighed and sat up. "But I'm a married woman. I have been for twenty years. Do you have any idea what that means? For crying out loud, on the day of my wedding, you were in kindergarten."

"So?" Mike frowned. "Don't tell me this is an age thing. We're both adults, and I don't really care about the difference."

"No, that's not what I meant. To be honest, I rarely think about how young you are." She grinned. "I certainly wasn't on Sunday."

Mike chuckled. "Me either."

"Good. Anyway, my point is about commitment." She held up a hand when Mike glared at her and opened his mouth. "I'm not saying you don't understand commitment. Your commitment to our friendship is quite uplifting, actually." Mike relaxed a little and took a long swallow of his tea. "But I am saying that you might have difficulty understanding the depth of a relationship that has lasted nearly as long as you've been alive. We may be on our last legs as a couple, but I still don't know that I can throw all that away over one moment of passion, however hot."

"I'd like to think that what we have is a bit more than that one moment," he said, voice tight. Heather's eyes shone with unshed tears. Mike sighed and shook his head. "But in all fairness, I get it. And you're right. The two of you have a lot of history. I suppose it's worth salvaging, if you can."

"Thank you for understanding," she whispered. Her voice cracked as she spoke.

Mike nodded and blinked back his own tears. "So, I guess this is it. One good-bye dinner and we never see each other again."

"No!" Heather shouted. Heads turned to look at them. She blushed and mouthed "sorry" a couple of times.

The outburst stunned Mike into momentary silence. He had been surprised and pleased to hear real anguish in her voice, but it left him confused, as well. If this isn't goodbye, then what the hell is it? Not trusting himself to speak, he looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

"No," Heather said in a much quieter tone. He had to strain to hear her. "This is not goodbye. Please don't say that. You mean far too much to me for that." She licked her lips and gave him a naughty little smile. "Hell, I'm not even saying something like Sunday won't ever happen again. "

"Then what...I don't...I mean...huh?"

Playfulness gone, she nodded and said, "I know, I know. I must be confusing the snot out of you." She ran her hands through her hair and growled in frustration. "I guess what I'm trying to say is I need some time to work through all this. Steven and I have never really fought for our relationship. It's always just kind of been there. Before I throw in the towel, I think I owe him the benefit of at least trying. You know?"

"I know. And I can respect that."

"I'm glad." Heather smiled and reached across the table to clasp his hand. "But I also don't want this to jeopardize our friendship either. I do care about you a great deal."

Mike frowned at the table and considered her words for several minutes. Can I do this? Do I want to, especially if she might end up staying with that jerk? He was still thinking when the waiter brought their food. Heather nodded her thanks but never took her eyes off of Mike. He noticed she was chewing on her lip again. There's really only one answer, isn't there? He tightened his grip on her hand and smiled. "I'm not going anywhere, Mrs. Rudy. You're my best friend, and I care about you, as well. A lot."

A pained expression flitted across Heather's face at the name, but she quickly relaxed and smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Baker. You have no idea how much that means to me."

"Glad to hear it." He let go of her hand and picked up his knife and fork. Pausing, he said, "As your friend, I would like to ask you to do two things."

"OK?"

"First, please consider the sunken cost fallacy." She twirled her fingers, indicating she needed more information. "That's a trap a lot of people fall into when trying to consider whether something is worth investing in -- just because you have sunk a lot of time and effort into something doesn't mean it's worth continued investment. Sometimes, cutting your losses is the best approach." Heather looked at him with an odd expression. Mike blushed. "I'm a geometry teacher, OK? A lot of that involves the use of logic, and I make something of a study in problems with logic."

"Fair enough, and that's actually good advice. And the second thing?"

"Please don't change your Sunday outfits."

Heather burst out laughing, and Mike joined her. "It's a deal," she said, and that was the last of the conversation for some time as they dove into their food.

From the first bite, Mike felt he was in gastronomic heaven. Whatever this meal is costing, it's worth it. I'm not sure the hype does it justice. He tried to savor each bite, but eventually he finished the steak, along with a small salad and a baked potato (which was eaten but otherwise unmolested). He leaned back in his chair and sighed in contentment. "That might have been better than sex."

"'Might have been'?" Heather asked, her voice lilting with amusement.

"It's been too long. I can't remember well enough to make a decent comparison."

"Ouch! I most definitely feel your pain there!" She grinned. "Sunday's fun notwithstanding. I don't think that really counts as sex, any way."

Mike gave her a thumbs up. "This was a great ending to the day, however you want to look at it."

"Good to know." She sipped on her tea. "But you said earlier that it had been a weird day. How so?"

It was Mike's turn to chew on his lip. How much should I tell her? It's not like she'd try to get me in trouble, but what would she think of me afterwards? In the end, he decided that he needed to talk to someone about Tabitha, and there wasn't anyone he trusted more than the woman seated across the table. He leaned in and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. He told Heather about the girl's attempt to get extra credit, and the paper he assigned. That lead to his spotting Tabitha in the upstairs restroom. Caught up in his own story, Mike even told her how the teen had apparently been fantasizing about him and his own self-gratification. It wasn't until he wound down that he heard the words coming out of his mouth. He snapped his jaw shut and turned his gaze down to the table. Heather made a strangled noise. He glanced up. Her face was red, and her shoulders shook as she gripped the table. What the...is she laughing?

A giggle bubbled free. "I hope no one needs anything off that shelf anytime soon," she said. "Can you imagine what the janitors must have thought if they cleaned up there tonight?"

"Yeah." Mike found himself chuckling, as well. "Probably 'I don't get paid enough for this.'"

They laughed together loud enough to draw attention from nearby tables. Both ignored the looks and let their laughter run its course. Once Heather subsided to smiles and an occasional giggle, she wiped her eyes and asked, "Weren't you tempted at all?"

"You mean by Tabitha?"

"Yes."

"Not really." Mike shook his head. "Well, OK, maybe a little. She's a enough pretty girl. I am a guy, and it has been a while. But I'm not so hard up that I'd risk my job and a possible jail term just to get my dick wet."

"Not even for your first 'I'll do anything for a grade' experience? How much porn is driven by that particular fantasy?"

"To be honest, it was a bit of a turn off." Her lips curled in a disbelieving smile. "I'm serious. It gave the whole thing a prostitution vibe. She wasn't interested in me, just what she could get in exchange for sex."

"Her little performance in the restroom would seem to say otherwise."

"I think she just got herself worked up, and I was the closest male figure at hand to fit into her little momentary fantasy while she got her rocks off."

Heather shrugged, conceding that he might be right. Silence descended once again, but more comfortable than before. As he drained his iced tea, Mike noticed Heather swaying in her seat and tapping her feet to the music. Her eyes kept wandering back to the couples in the center. He scooted his chair back, walked around to her side of the table, and extended a hand. "Care to dance, Mrs. Rudy?"

"Oh, no." Heather shook her head. "Thank you, but I don't dance."

Mike snorted. "I think you mean your husband doesn't dance. Don't forget that you told me on Thanksgiving that you used to go out dancing with friends a lot in college." He leaned in and whispered in her ear. "Besides, the way you're squirming in that seat, I'd say you either have to piss, you're extremely horny, or you want to go shake that sweet ass of yours on the dance floor."

"Very astute, Mr. Baker." She stood and kissed his cheek. "To be honest, it's a little bit of all three. So if you'll give me a minute, I will go take care of the first point, and when I get back, we will address point number three."

Mike watched her head off toward the restrooms. He followed a moment later and went into the men's room to drain off the tea he had drunk. The combination of reliving Tabitha's display and Heather's tacit admission to feeling at least a little horny had left him with a raging hard-on that made standing at a urinal impossible, so he sat in a stall and leaned forward while pushing his cock toward the bowl to avoid pissing all over himself. Even then, he had a hard time just trying to go. Mike started to wonder if he was going to have to whack off first when the first of several brief (and occasionally painful) streams finally jetted out. By the time he finished and left the restroom, Heather was waiting at their table. She stood, took one of his hands, and kissed his cheek. "I'm glad we rode together," she whispered. "Otherwise, I might have thought you left me."

"Sorry about that. I had to go to the little boys' room. Complications arose and were overcome."

"What sort of complications?" she asked with a giggle.

"Let's just say that it's the sort that you'll never have to worry about." The dancers in the center of the room stilled, signaling a lull between songs. Mike was about to lead Heather onto the dance floor when she clutched his hand with both of hers and dragged him. He smirked. "I thought you said you didn't dance."

"Shut up." Heather laughed and turned back to him with a wide, dazzling smile. Her eyes sparkled. "Besides, I made a special request." She motioned for him to stand on a spot several feet inside the dance floor and moved slowly to the center. She exaggerated the swing of her hips as she walked, and he noticed a voice coming from overhead. Mike groaned once the simple, driving chords started. He had never been more than an indifferent country fan, but he knew this song. If Heather had specifically requested it, he'd be lucky to make it off the dance floor with dry pants.

Turn it up, son. Alright boys, this is her favorite song. You know that, right? So if we play it good and loud, she might get up and dance again. Oh, she put her beer down. Here she comes. Here she comes. Left, left, left-right-left.

Heather stood in the middle, hands on her knees and swaying her hips in time to the music until the last few words. With every "left" and "right," she jerked her hips hard in that direction and stopped suddenly. Mike's mouth went dry; he thought that jeans might have shown her ass off better, but the skirt let him catch every jiggle and wobble of those magnificent, round cheeks. His dick started to throb. And she's just getting started. Mike groaned again. Heather swayed and spun to the music, every dance step shaking and gyrating her ass all through the first verse. He stood rooted to the spot, unable to tear his eyes away. He barely noticed that they were the only two on the floor. Her movements gradually brought her in an arc across the floor that led to Mike. He was sweating by the time she reached him, just as the chorus started.

...it's so hard not to stare at that

Honky tonk badonkadonk

Keepin' perfect rhythm, make you want to swing along

Got it goin' on like Donkey Kong

And ooh wee, shut my mouth, slap your grandma

There ought to be a law, get the sheriff on the phone

Lord have mercy, how'd she even get them britches on

With that honky tonk badonkadonk


By the first line of the chorus, Heather had reached Mike and pressed herself up against him for a quick kiss on the lips. He tried to kiss her back, but she pulled back with a laugh and spun around, slamming her ass against his crotch. His dick remained nestled between her butt cheeks for the remainder of the song. She grabbed his hands, ran them down the outsides of her breasts, and placed them on her hips. Mike held on while her arms reached around to clasp behind his neck. Their bodies stayed locked together; Heather's hips told his hands where they intended to go, and Mike was more than happy to follow. She kept in constant motion, grinding her ass back on his dick one moment, bouncing against it another, and then moving in small circles. She swiveled. She slithered. She bucked her hips. She did just about everything except actually fuck him.

For his part, Mike could only hang on, enjoy the ride, and hope like hell he didn't cream his pants. He couldn't make up his mind whether Heather was actually trying to make him cum or not. She certainly kept him riding the edge. He was certain she had finally pushed him over when he felt her cheeks clench around his boner and she started writhing against him. He'd long since come to the conclusion that she wasn't wearing any panties, and the feeling of her ass essentially jacking him off through their clothes set his cock to throbbing wildly. Heather released his dick and resumed a more moderate grind, but he could already feel his balls and shaft tingle. Mike grunted and clenched every abdominal muscle he could, closing his eyes to concentrate on alphabetizing a list of every polygon he could think of. He kept moving with her, but tried to ignore the feeling of their bodies pressed together. Finally, the pressure in his groin eased, and he was able to open his eyes again. When the chorus repeated "Lord have mercy," he silently agreed.

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byHamletMacbethIII© 2 comments/ 6528 views/ 7 favorites

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