My Wife's Compulsion Ch. 04

Chapter Four

I had almost forgotten about that discussion.

My Millie was back and I was happy. She was smiling and witty and vibrant and full of energy.

Then, one Thursday night, she brought me a drink, something she rarely did, and said "we have to talk."

It didn't register on me until she sat on the footstool, facing me, and said "Davey, I've got the urge."

I felt an adrenaline rush as though I had just seen a vicious dog coming at me. I froze.

She kept looking at me. "How are we going to do it?"

I had managed to push the entire subject out of my mind and now it was suddenly blank.

Her little smile was disappointed.

"It's okay honey," she said, patting my knee a little, "I've felt it coming and I think I know how we can handle it."

I drew in a deep breath and said "tell me."

So she lined out her plan and it was a good one.

We would find a downtown hotel that was hosting a convention, and since there was always a convention going on in Denver that wouldn't be a problem. We would get a room and get her settled in. When she was ready, she would call my cell phone and then leave hers on the nightstand so that the connection would stay in place. She would go to the bar, make her pickup and take him to the room. I would be able to hear everything and would be able to get in, using my own room key card, if anything happened.

While she was saying all of this, in a very straightforward manner, as if she was making a presentation to a client, my heart was pounding.

"Is that okay," she asked.

"Yes," I said, not knowing what else to say.

I was surprised when she slipped off of the footstool to be on her knees in front of me. Her eyes held mine as she undid my belt and my zipper and I was rigidly erect when she worked me out of my shorts.

I watched as her lips took the head, her tongue doing that thing she did, making me moan softly.

She took her time with me that night. It was almost an hour before I came and there was something amazingly erotic about watching her throat work as she swallowed as I ejaculated into her mouth. She was still holding me in her mouth as she looked up at me, her eyes smiling.

Then she got up and kissed me very lightly and whispered "Thank you, Davey."

Then she was gone, and soon I heard the shower running.

That next day I might as well have stayed home. All I could think of was the night to come. I left work early and was home by 4:00.

Millie was jumpy, almost jittery. She was flitting around, getting a small overnight bag ready. When I touched her she jumped away and when I kissed her it was like she was frightened of me. I gave up and left her to her business.

When she finally came out of the bedroom, about 6:00, I could barely recognize her. Usually, she dressed in slacks or jeans and a shirt. Tonight she had on a sheer blouse with a red bra showing clearly through it. A wrap-around skirt, short, black, set off the whiteness of the blouse. Her hair was done in a bubble around her head. She had on much more makeup than usual, with a bright blue eye shadow highlighting her big eyes, and scarlet lipstick. Jangly earrings that I couldn't remember seeing before, a heavy semi-precious stone bracelet, and a rhinestone choker completed her accessories. Ridiculously high heels on her ankle strap shoes completed her outfit or, I suppose, her costume.

She wouldn't meet my eyes as she waited by the door.

I sighed and opened the door for her. At the hotel, I turned the car over to the valet and went in to get us registered.

Up in room 2117, it could not have been more awkward. She wouldn't meet my eyes and I didn't know how to let her know that it was okay. Finally, without saying anything, she punched in my cellphone number and when I answered carefully laid the cellphone behind the clock radio. Not hidden really, but not obvious.

She finally spoke.

"Okay Davey," she said, "if you're sure go on down to the bar."

When I went to kiss her she turned her face away and so I left without another word.

In the bar, I ordered a beer ("whatever's on tap") and found a seat at one of the hubcap size tables where I could see the doors and the bar.

The transformation that had occurred during the ensuing 10 minutes was something out of a Stephen King novel. When she walked in I barely recognized her.

Millie is hardly what would be called "demure." She is vibrant and outgoing. With her looks, she draws attention wherever she goes.

What walked through that door, though, was pure sex incarnate. Every motion of her body exuded her femaleness. Not femininity. Pure femaleness.

She went to the bar, looking almost like a little girl playing dress-up when she had to hop up onto the stool. I saw her order and saw the bartender bring her something in a conical glass with an umbrella in it. It was fascinating in a way, almost like watching a play.

I glanced at my watch and waited. It was less than a minute before the first man approached her. He was obviously an up and comer on the make with his sharply tailored suit, blow-dried hair, and his little flat briefcase. I saw her turn to him and exchange a few words and then he left, obviously disappointed.

Inside of two minutes a second suitor approached. This one was younger still, in casual chic. Designer jeans and an open collar with, of all things, penny loafers marked him as a recent graduate, perhaps an intern. Again, a few words were exchanged. I watched, fascinated as he made a second pitch and, although I could not hear her words, I knew her tone and realized she was letting him down, but so easily he would be grateful.

A few minutes passed and she said something to the bartender who laughed heartily and said something back.

Her third contact was what one could only call "substantial." He had iron-grey hair, obviously barbered weekly. His tan was a bit overdone. His suit had seen the attentions of a good tailor, and his shoes gleamed from across the room. His slightly old-fashioned fashion was out of place in this crowd but also clearly his own and something he was comfortable with. He surveyed the bar and walked to Millie like he knew her from high school.

The way she smiled up at him told me that this would be the one. Again, I was caught up in the play. He leaned in when he was talking to her, and I could see her hair flip and simper from across the room. The conversation went on for about ten minutes, giving him time to drink his beer and her time to finish her fancy drink. Another brief exchange of words and he leaned back, looking at her speculatively. They spoke for another few seconds and I could see the grin spreading across his face. He tossed some bills on the bar and helped her down from the stool.

I didn't follow them directly out of the bar although I was tempted. I waited for a full two minutes, by my watch, before getting up and heading for the elevators. I had my cellphone at my ear and was like a kid needing to go to the bathroom, dancing from foot to foot in my nervousness.

In the elevator, alone thank god, I watched as the lights made their slow climb up to 21. About 13 I heard the click of the room door.

When the elevator door rumbled open I stepped out and then I had a bit of a quandary. Where to go? What to do?

I found a corner where a pilaster let me lean and I hoped I looked like just another business person taking a call rather than a husband listening to his wife give a blow job.

His voice was a pleasant baritone, carrying just a hint of the south. I thought perhaps Kentucky or even southern Missouri.

"Come here baby," he said.

"I told you sugar," I heard her say, "I'll suck your dick but that's it. If you want conversation you need to find a hooker."

He laughed softly at that.

"And you're not?" he said.

"I am not and if you offer me money I'll cry rape," she said.

"Now," and her voice softened, I could picture her standing close to him, her hand on his chest, her big eyes looking up into his, "do you want this or not."

"Hell yes," he said, his nervousness showing in his voice.

It was quiet for a while then, leaving my imagination to picture her, on her knees before him, undoing his belt, unzipping his pants, working his now fully erect cock out, and taking it into her mouth. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised to find myself erect too.

I heard his soft moan and again, my imagination took over. I could almost feel her lips sucking softly, her tongue massaging my shaft, drawing out my pleasure.

"Jesus Christ," I heard him saying softly, "Jesus baby, you are something."

Now, in my imagination he had his fingers entwined in her hair, pulling him down onto him.

"Oh shit," he said, his voice breaking a little now, "don't stop, oh baby, please don't stop."

I knew what she was doing. Holding him on the edge. His legs would be trembling now, his buttocks clenched with his desire.

That went on for a full ten minutes. Him reduced to almost begging for the pleasure she promised.

And then, suddenly, his sharp hiss and I knew what was happening. She would have pulled away at that last instant and how he was cumming, ejaculating on her face, in her hair, and she was caressing his cock with her face, her eyes, if they weren't closed from semen, holding his gaze as he spent.

I heard his gasp when he could finally breathe again.

His voice was shaky when he said "come here beautiful."

And her voice then, a little shaky herself, "no honey, you got what you wanted, now you need to leave."

"Come on," he said, his voice rising a little, "you can't cut me off now."

"I told you," she said, and I could see her, all 5 feet 2 inches of her meeting his gaze now, "that's it. You need to leave now."

"Dammit," he said, and I put my hand in my pocket, finding the roll of quarters I had there, starting to move toward the door in case things turned bad.

"Out," she said simply, and I heard a door close. I was starting to move to the room door when it opened and I kept walking.

He looked a little disheveled as he straightened his shirt. He actually flashed me a little smile as he passed me on the way to the elevators.

I kept going until I reached a turn at the end of the hall and then waited until I heard the little "ding" of the elevator arriving.

As soon as I heard that I started back to the room.

When I opened the door she was standing in the middle of the room, still fully dressed, crying.

No, not just crying. She was bawling. Deep wracking sobs shook her entire body.

I took her into my arms and tried to comfort her. She allowed me to hold her, but whenever I tried to say it was okay she would shush me.

We stood like that until my back started to hurt and then I led her to the bed and helped her lay on it. I got her shoes off of her, went into the bathroom for a box of Kleenex, and then laid beside her on the bed. She was still sobbing, but the sheer energy she was expending was taking its toll and she was tiring now, weakening.

I wiped her nose and mouth where streamers of snot and thick mucus-loaded saliva made streamers. I carefully blotted the tears from her face and his thick semen from her face and hair as best I could. And then I just took her into my arms again and held her, our faces next to each other on the pillow, as she cried herself to sleep.