tagCelebrities & Fan FictionMy Internet Confession Pt. 03

My Internet Confession Pt. 03

byDarcyLansdowne©

Out here in The Middle lines get crossed before you even know they exist.

I got a lot of response to my last confession, thanks. Some of it was negative and damning, but a surprising number of people were willing to grant me at least temporary absolution so long as I continued to confess my dirty deeds. So sure, I feel that the process is really good for me. There were a lot of questions, most of which I can't answer at this time for many different reasons, but I can answer a couple.

Yes, I do write my confessions naked, and yes, I do type one handed; feel free to picture that if you like.

###

I know you're eager to get to the sinful parts, so am I, but first I want to say a few words to explain my...immodest... behavior. If you're not interested in my excuses and some...context...I guess you'd call it, then jump on down to Chapter Three. Unless you think that me fingering myself on my living room couch is entertaining - then you might want to check out the end of Chapter One.

###

Chapter One: Midland on my Mind

After that best first day of work ever, I was right back into the bleak reality of my normal life the very next day. I told Mike how thrilled I was about my new job, maybe I was a little too bubbly about it to cover up my guilty feelings. Anyways, he wasn't impressed.

"I'm going to work weekends, Mike. Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday, at least until we get on our feet, and I'll make twice as much money as I did on the two days I lost at the dental office," I announced.

"I'll believe it when I see it, Frankie. And if you're gonna be working all weekend, make sure you clean up this dump before you go," he replied.

I bit my tongue. "We could make a small fortune on commissions, there's no telling what we might find," I replied trying to stay cheerful.

"Pie in the sky, Frankie. Forget about your TV show fantasies and concentrate on working hard and not getting fired again. And who's paying for that gas guzzler truck?"

"Max is paying gas and everything, all I have to do is buy coffee."

"Ya, like that's gonna last, you wait and see," he growled.

There he was all grumpy and suspicious about gas money! What an idiot. Okay, it was wrong to think of my husband as an idiot because he didn't assume I was having an affair. Hell, I couldn't believe I was having an affair.

I bit my tongue because, yes, I was feeling very guilty, and more than a little afraid about how everything was going to turn out in the end. Still, I still resented his attitude. At least he didn't drag me out to apply for any more jobs. Over the next few days we were civil to each other, and even went back to sleeping in the same bed, but we didn't talk. He didn't make any moves on me, and I was way too screwed up to make any on him.

Bottom line, until the money started rolling in from my new job, we were just as broke as ever, and that meant that on Tuesday morning I was dragging my ass onto the bus and stuck waiting in the cold outside the clinic for twenty minutes before Dr Godwin and Little Miss Bitch arrived. I hated taking the bus, and of course the weather turned mean again - March, going out like a lion with cold, blowing snow and freezing rain.

I tried to get on with my Orson life, tried to up my game and be cheerful and conscientious. I know I looked better, and performed better just because I had more confidence, and most important of all, I had hope.

That lasted a day; by Wednesday, riding home on the bus, all I could think about was how much my life sucked, and how hard it was to keep Midland and Tom out of my mind. I tried being nice to Mike, but that went nowhere.

At work only Little Miss Bitch noticed my improved disposition. She was coming to work every day now, even when it was supposed to be my days. She started watching me more closely than ever. My job sucked just as much as it always did, so that by Thursday afternoon I was really dragging my ass, looking forward to going to work in Midland on Friday. I was killing time until closing, when I heard a loud voice out in the reception area.

"Stella, hey Stella, come on don't you remember me? It's Ruby."

"My name's not Stella, and will you please lower your voice," Little Miss Bitch snapped.

As I headed for the front I heard; "Come on, you remember me, Ruby Rumple. I followed your act in Vegas. You did that thing with the snake, the guys loved that!" There was no mistaking the voice, which had not been lowered - it was Max.

I came around the corner to see Max standing close to Little Miss Bitch. She was wearing a short pea coat that hung straight down from the shelf of her big bosom; her curvy bottom was jammed into very tight jeans that were tucked into high-heeled boots that came almost to her knees. Her lips were painted dark red like the first day we'd met. I'm sure that none of the wide-eyed Orsonians in the waiting room had any trouble believing she was a stripper.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Miss Bitch protested, looking up and taking a step back.

"Wow that really hurts man, I thought we had a thing you and me, Stella..."

"My name's not Stella."

"And you were never a stripper in Vegas?"

"I most certainly was not!"

"Ha, April fools!"

"I'll take care of this," I said hurrying up to Max.

"I figured she was the one you were telling me about," she said with her wide mouthed grin.

"Ya, from Vegas," I replied sarcastically as I hustled her into a corner of the waiting room "What are you doing here Max, besides trying to get me fired?" I asked.

"I bet she really was a stripper, she has stripper eyes," Max said. "Dead eyes; I know, my mother had them."

"What are you doing here?"

"I was in town and I figured maybe you wanted a ride home."

"That'd be great."

"We gotta stop for a couple of brewskis first though."

"That sounds great too."

So much for trying to put Midland out of my mind; worse, after the second beer Max's phone rang, she picked it up and immediately handed it to me.

"Hey Frankie how's it goin?"

"Tom, uh hi." It was ridiculous how much his voice, even on that stupid little I phone, sent shivers all over my body and made me completely tongue tied. "Uh...it's going great...I'm here with Max." Duh, of course he knew that.

His easy chuckle calmed me down a little, although it also made me wiggle my butt on the booth seat too. "I hope she's takin care of you."

"Oh she is."

"Good, I'm stuck here in Chicago for God knows how long, probably until next weekend, so I just wanted to let you know that I'm thinkin about you and looking forward to seeing you again."

"Yes, well me too...uh... I'm lookin forward to really getting down to work," I replied like an eager beaver. My beaver was eager all right, hell; it was practically doing cartwheels.

"Good, but don't overdo it, and listen to Joyce, she knows best, and she knows what I want, okay?"

"Okay," that sounded a little strange, but interesting.

"Okay, I gotta go now, take care Frankie."

"Ah sure, you too Tom."

I handed the phone back to Max, she said, "Okay, sure, love ya boss," and hung up.

"Love ya boss?" what the hell was that I wondered. But I didn't think much of it at the time because I was too girlishly high from talking to my boyfriend. Obviously he had set the whole thing up so that he didn't have to call me at home.

Max insisted on coming in to meet my family, which was a good idea because it made my whole job a little more real to everyone. Brik took one look at her, said "hi," and turned around and went straight back to his room. Sue said, "I love your boots," and would have gushed more but Mike came out from the bedroom with his Little Betty shirt on, heading out to his second job.

He shook her hand and gave her a sour look, nodding at the window. "Nice truck, what kinda mileage you get on it? Can't be much."

"Couldn't tell ya."

"Gas must cost you a bundle."

"Probably, I gotta company card."

Mike's expression never changed. He just turned to me and said; "Too bad you can't get something like that," and walked out the door with little more than a nod.

I believe I heard Max mutter "douche," but then she looked up at me and said. "Oh ya, Joyce wanted me to give you this," she pulled a check from out of her cleavage. It was one hundred and thirty two dollars for my first day of work.

"Eight o'clock tomorrow morning we rock and roll," she said before she left.

That evening I was restless and excited. Sure, Tom wasn't going to be there, but I was eager to get on the job and prove that I could be a good worker as well as a good sport. A good sport - you could say that. The memories of our afternoon together, that I had stubbornly held at bay took over my thoughts and invaded my body.

Mike was out doing deliveries, and by ten o'clock Sue was back from her evening job and gone to bed. Brik had been out of sight since supper. I was alone and fidgety, I wanted something; what was it I wondered as I paced around the house...hmmmm.

Tom, I wanted Tom. God I wanted him right now and I had no idea when I would see him again. I sat on the couch in my pajamas, a pair of long, loose flannel bottoms and an oversized, shapeless, faded t-shirt. I tried to watch some crap on TV, but my thoughts kept drifting and my ass kept twitching. I thought about the thrill I'd felt when I first walked into his condo and saw how neat and clean and expensive everything was.

Ya, that. I'd lived like a bum my whole life; who knew that the sight of nice things would get me excited? Excited, and also fucking horny, I was beginning to realize that money turned me on. That was a terrible thing. No, no, I told myself, money turned Frankie Midland on. Frankie Heck had better forget all about it. In fact Frankie Heck had better stop thinking about Tom and Midland altogether.

And she should be in bed getting a good night's sleep so she would be fresh for work in the morning. I tried, I got into bed and tossed and turned, but I couldn't help thinking about... And worse, all of a sudden it seemed like the bed stank; stank of Mike, and Frankie Heck and that was depressing. Of course I hadn't "cleaned the dump up" like he'd ordered, or washed the sheets - fuck him. No, not him, fuck Tom, oh ya, Tom...

I jumped out of bed drawn irresistibly to my lingerie, ha, drawer. Tucked away at the bottom was the new Victoria Secret bra Tom had bought me. I had a memory, an image of myself lying on his bed so...stacked...and sexy, his fingers tracing the impressive swelling of my boobs along the stiff edge of the cup and then down my belly...

I shouldn't have brought it home with me, but I couldn't resist. I'd left my new shoes, coat, dress and soiled pantyhose behind in my room at the ranch, but the bra I just couldn't part with. I'd shoved my old one in my purse and worn the new one home, almost daring Mike to notice. He didn't.

You see on TV all the time about criminals who leave clues because deep down they want to get caught, their crimes...or their cheating...is a cry for help. Was that what was going on with me, I wondered as I pulled my pajama top up over my head. Then I stood there topless with the illicit bra pressed to my face.

The thing was a freaking work of art. It was a cream color overlaid with a mesh of black embroidery so dense that it looked black. It was actually two distinct cups held together by a crisscross string affair at the bottom, so that it showed all of my cleavage, pushed nicely together, right down to the point where they started to curve outwards. The under wire was firm and supporting, but light as a feather, and although the outside was this fine mesh of embroidery, the inside was soft and silky, and positively caressed my weary breasts.

But what was most intoxicating about it was the smell. The slight odour of me, yes, but over laid with the perfume he'd given me, and I imagined also the faint whiff of him. I quickly put it on and stood in front of the mirror looking at myself, not looking at my mussed hair or my un-made up face, but just at my sculpted tits and my almost flat (when I sucked it in) stomach.

I ran my hands over the stiff material then inevitably down to my belly, stroking it lightly the way he did. Down under my pajama bottoms, down into my bush. I caught my breath as I brushed my swollen clit. God, I was ready, so ready to get fucked.

I pulled the bottoms down past my ass cheeks and let them fall to the floor. I turned and rested my rump on the dresser, thrust out my hips and slid a finger along my slit. This was something else I'd never done before; masturbate standing up, well except for the occasional dry hump of our erratic washing machine. I remembered Tom's tongue down there, doing things. I explored with my fingers trying to emulate him.

"Oh Tom, oh Tom," I moaned quietly.

There was a sound, I thought. The door, a car door outside? I had been divorced from the real world - what was it? I froze for a second, and then thinking it might be Mike, kicked off my pajama bottoms from my ankles and dashed for the bed. I dove in, pulled up the covers and froze.

Nothing; and it was a good thing too because I don't know how I would have explained me in bed in a new bra and nothing else. Once my heart stopped hammering I looked at the clock radio - shit it was only ten o'clock, he wouldn't be back for at least a couple of hours.

The moment was lost, but now I was more jazzed up and awake than ever. My hands strayed back down to my pussy, but it was no good. The smell of the bed, and the sights of the cluttered room, Mike's dirty gym socks strewn about, a chocolate bar wrapper on my night stand, (it might still be there) made it impossible.

I got up and started pacing the room again, dressed only in my ultra-chic bra, noticing again how high and tight my tits felt and how they didn't bob and sway at all. I pulled on a pair or every day panties (the only kind I own), threw on my dowdy, fuzzy purple housecoat and went back out to the kitchen.

I didn't want to go back into the bedroom, but I was tired, so I took off my housecoat and lay down on the couch pulling the blanket up over my shoulders. I had to sleep; I needed to sleep. I needed to get Tom and Midland out of my head.

I breathed deeply and tried to concentrate on calming thoughts - soaking in the condo's luxurious tub, the feel of his clean, crisp sheets, the sensuous hiss of my sheer pantyhose, and yes, the wonderful smell of pine and wood smoke at his cottage...

I passed into dreamland without knowing it. Passed from memory to imagination. I was nowhere in particular, and there was this big cock in my face, not Mike's cock for sure, not even Tom's cock, but a nice one just the same. I was reminding myself that I was supposed to lick it, lick it. And I did, in slow motion with an enormous tongue.

I became aware that I wasn't alone. There were other cocks, and other women - middle aged, ordinary women, all around me, also going down on big cocks. I watched them out of the corner of my eye and tried to copy them, licking and sucking, and stroking. Yes stroking, but like them, one handed with the other had down between my legs, toying with my clit, fingering my wet slit.

There was an audience sitting watching us, well-dressed men observing calmly. One of them pointed to me. "I'll take her," he said. It was Tom.

He gathered me up in his strong arms and I curled up against him, both hands now between my legs fingering and frigging.

"Oh you are a horny one aren't you," he whispered in my ears.

"Oh yess, yess," I moaned feeling very close to climax, just from the sound of his voice.

"Frankie, what the hell are you doing?" Mikes voice split my dream in two, slashed it apart.

I snapped out of my dream, instantly awake. My hands came up out of my pussy up to my belly. My heart was in my mouth and I was awash in embarrassment and shame. Fortunately I'd been curled into the couch with my back to the outside world.

"Nothing," I mumbled into the pillow, working hard to calm my breathing. I tried to grab the blanket without turning around, but it had fallen to the floor and I couldn't reach it.

"Jesus, you could at least put some damn pajamas on, there's kids in the house," he went on. I could tell that he was standing over top of me; I could imagine his disgusted, screwed up expression. Did he know what I'd been doing? How much had he seen? How much had he heard?

"What the fuck's the matter with you?" he asked.

I squeezed my legs tighter together, unsure just how much of a mess I'd made in my panties that were jammed half way up the crack of my ass.

"You should be sleeping, you gotta work tomorrow dontcha?" he added. Usually if I was laying on the couch and he came home he just trundled by me without a word. Now all of a sudden he gave a shit about what I was wearing, what I was doing?

I felt the urge to tell him the truth, to turn and calmly say, "Well Mike, I was fingering my slutty pussy thinking about the great time I had with my lover!" But instead I said, "That's what I was trying to do. Get some god damned sleep."

"Dressed like that?"

It didn't take great powers of observation to notice something was different. I always wear pajamas; comfortable, loose, ratty pajamas. Hmm, maybe that had something to do with why I hardly ever got laid. Usually, I was very quick to get out of my restricting bras and panties when I got home and get into something comfortable, and ya I guess, frumpy.

Now I felt very exposed, my legs were bare, my back was bare and I knew that my panties were not only jammed up my crack, they had only made it part way back up over my cheeks. I rolled over, and trying to stay as much in a fetal position as possible, fumbled awkwardly for the cover. It seemed like forever before I snagged it and got it pulled up over myself. Mike just stood there silently and watched me the whole time.

"Is that a new bra?" he demanded angrily.

My first panicked thought was that he'd been paying more attention to me than I realized, but he didn't have to really recognize the bra to know that it was new. Even from the back it would be obvious that it wasn't faded, stretched and worn out like all my other ones.

"Yes," I replied defensively, my heart hammering.

"What do you need a new bra for?" he demanded, he was a great one for the demanding these days.

"Fuck Mike," I blurted, probably a revealing choice of words, but then I petulantly added. "I'm going to be working hard, a lot of manual labor, I can't have my tits falling out all over the place." You know, making it sound like it was a sports bra or something. I was afraid he was on to me.

"Where the hell did you get the money for that?" he, yes, demanded, now very angry.

"Max lent me the money," I replied thinking fast. "I need it for work, god damn it." I had always been a pretty good liar, so I guess I was better suited to adultery than I'd realized. Anyways it was obvious that it was the money he was worried about, not that possibility that I was dolling myself up for another man. God, and how could he have possibly imagined that I'd been masturbating thinking about it.

"God damn it Frankie, you've got to stop borrowing money. Why can't you understand that?" he thundered.

I bit my lip, relieved that he was off on that, and used to his anger by now. He had already insisted on direct deposit of my pay from now on so he could watch every penny.

"Okay, fuck," there it was again, "I'm sorry, okay, I'm fucking sorry," I replied with more anger than remorse. At that moment I sure wasn't sorry for having a bra that my lover had given me. I wasn't sorry for getting fucked by him while wearing it, or for finger fucking myself remembering it. The only thing I felt sorry about was that I was married to the big lug towering above me. It was a dangerous and scary moment.

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