Old Temptations

"I've already made coffee," purred Gayle as she cleaned my cock. "Shall we shower together before I make you breakfast?"

~~~~~

It was almost nine before we were ready to walk out the door and head downtown to the salon. I had texted them as we sat at the dining room table eating dinner the night before, making an appointment for ten this morning.

We were running late. Our shower had taken quite a bit longer than it should have and involved far more that personal hygiene. We made up some time by simplifying breakfast to toast, microwaved bacon and some quickly scrambled eggs.

Gale had quickly dressed, slipping on the flimsy beach wrap we had discussed, and no bra or panties, as I had mandated. I was dressed in khaki chinos and a light green polo shirt.

As I opened the door, our plans for the day went out the window. Coming up the driveway were two uniformed police officers with what I assumed to be a plain clothed detective in the lead. We stood in the doorway, stunned.

"Don't say a word to them without a lawyer," I whispered. "Who do you want me to call?"

"Who says they are coming for me?" replied Gayle, nervously.

"Gayle!" I growled quietly as I squeezed her bicep.

"Olmstead!" she blurted as the detective was just a few feet away.

He was of medium height and looked to be in his late forties or early fifties. He had a paunch protruding from his tweed sports coat and a no nonsense demeanor. His eyes were brown and penetrating. He gave both of us the once over before his eyes fixated on my wife's heaving and nearly naked breasts. He smiled lecherously, and then looked up at me.

"Are you Kevin Nelson and is this your wife Gayle Nelson?" he asked, trying to sound nonthreatening.

"Yes, how can I help you?" I asked as my pulse raced.

"I'm Detective Gustafsen with the SDPD and I need to have Mrs. Nelson come with us for an interview," replied the detective curtly.

"And if she doesn't want to go?" I asked pointedly, trying to defend my wife as best I could.

"Then the situation is going to get a lot more complicated and a lot more serious," replied the detective. "We just need to ask her some questions regarding an ongoing investigation. She isn't currently under arrest. We just want to interview her."

"Where is it you want to take her?" I asked as Gayle clung to me trembling.

"Here's my card," said the detective, handing me his card. "The address is on it."

"She was just seeing me off. I was on my way to the office," I said as my mind raced. "Can she finish getting dressed first?"

The detective smiled at me. 'Nice try, asshole!' I could tell he was thinking from the expression on his face.

"I'm afraid we need to go now, sir," he replied as his eyes went to Gayle's breasts again and then back to me.

Please let me finished getting dressed!" begged Gayle.

"Sorry ma'am!" replied the detective. "You need to come with me now!"

His hand was on Gayle's bicep, pulling her forward as she yelped my name.

"Kevin! I'm frightened!" squealed Gayle, looking back at me, stark terror filling her face, as the detective led her away.

The two uniformed officers stepped forward blocking my path as I stepped forward to follow my wife.

"Don't do anything stupid, sir," said the female officer, "you can follow her to the police station in your own car."

I looked back and forth between the two officers and then at my wife as the detective put his hand on the top of her head and guided her into the back seat of the black and white police cruiser. She looked back at me through the window as the detective closed the door behind her. She had a panicked expression, begging me for help.

"You can follow us to the station, if you like," shouted the detective as he stood next to the back door on the opposite side of the cruiser before getting in as they sped away.

All three officers seemed to want me to follow my wife to the police station. They seemed downright eager, in fact. It dawned on me that they probably wanted to search the house. It was Sunday. Maybe they were waiting for a search warrant.

Without saying another word, I quickly backed through the door and closed it, making sure it was locked and throwing the security bolt as well.

"Sir! We still need to talk to you!" shouted the male officer through the door as he knocked loudly.

"It will have to wait," I shouted back. "I need to contact our lawyer. "We can talk after that."

Not waiting for a reply, I went to my office and turned on my laptop, carrying it and my cellphone with me into the guest bathroom in the middle of the house, where they couldn't overhear me from outside.

I quickly looked up Ingrid Olmstead's number in Google and dialed it. Gayle had often mentioned her. She wasn't a lawyer in the firm she worked for. In fact, she was often their antagonist in court. Gayle had gotten to know her when she came to their office to engage in settlement agreement or depositions, representing her clients.

Olmstead and Gayle had developed a pleasant working relationship and at lunch one day, Olmstead had offered her the job as her personal assistant. Although Gayle politely turned the offer down, they had remained friendly.

As I impatiently waited for Olmstead to pick up the phone, the call went to voice mail on the fourth ring.

"If this is an emergency, please press '1'. If this isn't an emergency, please press '2' and leave a message. Thank you for calling the law offices of Ingrid Olmstead," was the recorded message.

I pressed '1' and there was a new message.

"Please leave your name, number and a short description of your emergency, and I will get back to you as quickly as possible," said the message. "Thank you for calling the law offices of Ingrid Olmstead. I'll be in touch shortly."

"This is Kevin Nelson," I said frantically into the phone. "My wife Gayle Nelson asked me to call you immediately. The police have picked her up for questioning."

I paused momentarily to collect my thoughts before continuing.

"She said you know each other, and that you've had lunch together and you once offered her a job. She needs your help," I pleaded into the phone. "Please call me back immediately. They're taking her to the SDPD substation in La Jolla for questioning."

After that, I provided my name again and my cellphone number as well as the address of the substation and the name of the detective listed on the card, Anders P. 'Gus' Gustavsen, before hanging up.

I waited in the bathroom, hoping for a quick return call, and not wanting to reveal myself at any of the windows in case the police were peering in. The seven minutes that elapsed before my phone rang seemed like an eternity.

"Hello," I answered hesitantly, since there was no name associated with the number on my cellphone's screen.

"This is Ingrid Olmstead," replied the same voice I had heard on her recorded messages. "Is this Kevin Nelson?"

"Yes, Yes! Thank you for calling back so quickly." I replied excitedly.

"Are you going to help Gayle?" I asked nervously.

"Yes, of course," replied Olmstead. "I'm on my way to join Gayle now. I'm driving to the substation as we speak. I already talked to the police and informed them that I represented her and that she wouldn't be answering any questions until I arrived. Does she know to not answer their questions?"

"Yes, that's the last thing we talked about before they took her away," I replied. "Should I join you?

"Where are you now?" asked Olmstead.

"I locked myself in the house," I replied.

"Good move!" said Olmstead. "Do you know what this is about?"

"I think so," I replied, sounding sheepish.

"Spill, Mr. Nelson!" said the lawyer impatiently. "This is no time to play coy. GIVE!"

"My wife was about to initiate an affair with her old high school boyfriend at a local motel and I intervened," I blurted.

"Well, that certainly doesn't sound like the Gayle I know," replied Olmstead in disbelief. "But I'll take your word for it, for now. What happened?"

"I had become suspicious of the way she was behaving and I had been monitoring her phone and emails for the last several days," I replied. "I was already at the motel in the connecting room, monitoring them on a spy cam under the door."

"Were you collecting dirt for a divorce?" asked Olmstead, her voice accusatory.

"NO! I was there because I wanted to save our marriage," I said, sounding offended.

"Did you record what you saw on the spy cam?" asked Olmstead next.

Yes," I replied.

"And what happened?" asked Olmstead.

"It wasn't the idyllic experience, the sexy rendezvous she imagined," I replied. "Her ex-boyfriend from high school, is a convicted felon and was currently fugitive. He immediately began raping her."

"And you have the video?" asked the attorney.

"I'm ashamed to say, I watched and recorded him as she provided him with oral sex," I confessed. "I wanted to punish her. But I also wanted her to see what he was really like!"

"OK, then what?" asked Olmstead. I could hear the approbation in her voice.

"When he told her what he planned on doing to her next, I burst into the room," I replied. "When he wouldn't let her leave, I shocked him with the stun gun I had, and then we left."

"And that's all that happened?" asked Olmstead, her voice made it clear that she suspected there was more to it.

"No, but that's enough for now," I replied. "Should I join you at the police station?"

"NO! Stay where you are," replied Olmstead with a sense of urgency. "I don't want to have to tag team back and forth between you and your wife in separate interview rooms."

"So just stay here?" I asked skeptically.

"Yes, there" she replied. "But stay next to your phone. I'll call you back later to hear what you're obviously holding back. But I'm at the station now. Stay tuned!"

After the lawyer hung up, I ventured to the bathroom door and looked both ways. There weren't any windows that peered into the hallway and the bedrooms on either side of the door had their doors closed. I moved to the spare bedroom door that faced the front of the house and opened it slightly. The room was dark, so the blackout curtains were pulled shut.

I moved over to the window that faced the street and pulled back the edge of the curtain to peer out. From the right hand corner of the window, I could see the front door and the driveway as well as the street. The second police car appeared to be gone as well now.

I went from room to room closing all the curtains, making sure windows were locked and doors bolted shut. I verified that the lengths of wooden dowel we kept in the bottom track of the sliding doors in the master bedroom, kitchen and dining room were in place as well.

My phone beeped with a text message. It was the lawyer.

"Alone with Gayle in the interview room now. She has said nothing to the police. Don't you either. Stand by," read the lawyer's text message.

A half hour passed before the lawyer's next text message.

"Gayle says you zip tied the scumbag and stuck a butt plug up his behind. Is that what happened?" the lawyer texted.

"Yes," I texted.

"OK," she replied. "Stand by."

~~~~~

An hour passes, and then two, as I waited to hear something. I was growing both anxious and impatient, and I was tempted to call Olmstead back. I was sitting at my desk in the den drumming my fingers on the leather ink blotter impatiently.

I tried to find things to occupy my time as I waited to hear back. I had already called the salon and made our apologies for missing the appointment, making the standard lame excuse that a family emergency had come up I told them that we would reschedule. I toyed with the idea of rescheduling for tomorrow, but common sense said to wait and see.

Finally, I retrieved the SD card from the under door spy came and viewed and reviewed it multiple times, to see if there was anything the police could use against either of us. I felt pretty confident that the video showed Gayle being coerced into sex and threatened.

While I might not like anyone seeing my wife behave like a slut, as she did at the beginning of the video, overall I thought it worked to our benefit.

Just as my patience reached its limit and as I reached for my cellphone again, I heard the garage door going up. I stepped over to the window and saw Gayle pulling my car into the garage.

I rushed to the side door to the garage to meet her. As she got out of the car and headed toward me, I could see that she was wearing the jacket to a woman's business suit. It was a little large for her.

"It's Ingrid's jacket," said Gayle, guessing what I was thinking. "She let me borrow it. I'll give it back to her when we meet with her in the morning."

"What happened, baby?" I asked. I think she could hear the relief in my voice as she smiled at me.

"I told Ingrid the entire story when we were alone and she handled it from there," replied Gayle.

"Did the police ask you any questions?" I asked with concern.

"Ingrid would only let me answer a few," replied Gayle. "But the police did want to see my bruises, so I had to let them take photos of my body. It was so embarrassing!"

"Are you feeling OK?" I asked.

"I'm fine now that I'm home with you," said Gayle. "For a while I was freaking out that they were going to keep me there."

"What happens now?" I asked.

"Well, Ingrid wants to see both of us in the morning and go back through both of our stories before you go in for your interview," said Gayle.

"My interview?" I asked.

"Yes. Ingrid says they will insist on talking to you. She said you may need to get your own attorney before the interview, if you don't have one," continued Gayle. "She said she could recommend one when we meet in the morning, if necessary."

"Are you in trouble for anything?" I asked, my voice filled with concern. I think Gayle found that reassuring.

"Ingrid says no," replied Gayle. "She says they grabbed me up because Jerry was trying to throw me under the bus. He claimed I knew that he was going to rob the liquor store for the trip money and that I encouraged him. Ingrid thinks he was just trying to get even with you by getting me in trouble."

"Yeah, that sounds like the prick," I replied, barely containing my anger. "But the police didn't buy his story--right?

"No. Ingrid told them it made no sense for me to encourage him to rob the store," replied Gayle. "She said that I had my own money and I could simply have wired him some if need be. His version of events made no sense to them."

"Did you tell the police about the video?" I asked.

"No. Ingrid told me to wait, that we would only use it if necessary," assured Gayle. "She said it was better to let Jerry hang himself making false statements to the police, since the video would discredit the lies he's telling."

"That sounds prudent," I replied.

"But she did say to bring the video along in the morning," added Gayle. "She wants to see us at nine."

"Do you think she would mind if I phoned her back now to get a recommendation on an attorney?" I asked Gayle. "I don't particularly want to use any of the attorney's from work for this."

"No, go ahead and give her a call," replied Gayle. "I'm sure she wouldn't mind. Now that she's heard the whole story, she thinks you saved me from a horrible fate. -- And I think so too!"

~~~~~

It was just before three when I walked out of the SDPD substation in La Jolla. The detectives who interviewed me seemed satisfied with my answers and thought there would be no reason for a follow up interview, unless of course, the case went to trial. They assured me that Jerry would probably plead out.

All in all, it was a good outcome, and we didn't have to use the video, which could have been terribly embarrassing to Gayle if it were ultimately shown in open court. The attorney that Ingrid recommended, J. Darby Coulter was in complete agreement that we shouldn't use the video unless absolutely necessary.

I walked out of the substation with Coulter and he agreed to drop me at Ingrid's law offices where Gayle was waiting for me. It was just a few blocks away. I felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off of my shoulders and so did Gayle when I phoned her on the way to inform her.

On the way home I suggested to Gayle that we just rest at home the following day. But she put a nix to that idea, informing me that she had already made a new appointment at the salon for tomorrow while she was waiting at Ingrid's office and that I still needed to take her shopping for a new wardrobe.

After a bit of discussion, we agreed that she should keep two or three of her business suits, just in case we have to interview with the police again or do a deposition for Jerry's lawyer, or something of that nature.

We were both tired as we got closer to home, so we phoned ahead for Thai takeout. The wine shop I usually use was a couple of blocks before the restaurant, so I popped in and picked up a couple of bottles of chilled Champagne to go with the Thai food and to celebrate our reinvigorated relationship and our brush with SDPD.

~~~~~

Three months had passed since our lives changed forever in Travelodge Room 233 one fateful Monday morning. Our lives prior to that day now felt like a distant memory, as though we had somehow been reincarnated and then fortuitously reunited together in a strange and totally unfamiliar new world.

Gayle's infatuation with her former high school boyfriend had proven to be a cathartic and overwhelming experience for her. The difference between the dreamy teenage fantasies Gayle had harbored for her former boyfriend over the years and the stark reality of what he had become had been a jarring experience for my wife.

And what he had been about to do to her, had I not intervened, was equally jarring and shattering to Gayle's ego and self-esteem. Finally having to face her own raw animal desires was revelatory for Gayle.

She had always fancied herself as a 'good girl' and she found herself adrift once both her former boyfriend and I had branded her a bitch, a cunt, a slut and a whore. That she had behaved like all of those things is what had sent Gayle's mind reeling and forced her to confront who she really was, who she really wanted to be, and what she wanted and was willing to do.

It had been as though Pandora's Box had been opened and all the pent up and repressed sexual desires Gayle had been suppressing her entire life had been unleashed. And like the contents of Pandora Box, Gayle's lust and carnal desires, once unleashed, could no longer be contained.

It was now Memorial Day Weekend and we were cruising up the freeway in the Mazda Miata we had rented for the four day weekend and we were on our way to LA. The afternoon was beautiful and Gayle's new shoulder length auburn hair was blowing in the wind as she turned to me and smiled beguilingly from behind her movie star sunglasses.

With her new lustrous auburn hair, we both agreed that she looked like the gorgeous actress from Gayle's favorite erotic movie―right down to her radiant hazel bedroom eyes. And that was, in fact, the impetus for Gayle's new hair color.

It was becoming more apparent with every passing day that Gayle was consciously, or perhaps unconsciously, transforming herself into the sultry heroine of her favorite erotic movie.

We had watched the movie together several times now and had each read the original novel as well as its sequel. The books and movie had become the roadmap for our more sensual and adventurous new existence as Gayle strove to become my dutiful slave and concubine, just like the fictional character she so wanted to emulate.

And so our roadmap led us to this current highway as we drove toward LA and the adventures that awaited us there.

Gayle had allowed the spaghetti straps on her loose fitting sheer blouse to fall from her shoulders and her breasts were in full view to the cars that we sped past and those who passed us in the outer lane. She looked stunning as the gemstones attached to her proudly jutting breasts swayed as the wind rushed through the open convertible.