Sarah's Descent Ch. 01

"I've never had to blatantly shove my ring into people's faces before! And I'm pretty sure I'm now conditioned to mention 'my husband' every other sentence. Why can't they just leave me alone, Tom?"

My wife Sarah, everybody. Twelve years together, seven years married. Normally she wasn't this much of a crybaby, but her mandated week in New York City courtesy of a work conference was finally getting to her.

What Sarah attributed to boundary issues on the part of the men at her company, I credited to her simply being a bombshell wearing a tight skirt -- but more on that later. Of course the guys knew she was married. Married, but still the worth the attempt. I told her as much.

"You might have a point," Sarah giggled gently, her voice giving away a slight tinge of anxiety. "I'll be real, I do wish I packed more than pencil skirts and yoga pants. And these heels, ah, I'll die!"

"Mm. Oh hey, babe, you got a call the other day," I said seriously, much to her confusion.

"On the... house phone? Are we still paying for that?"

"Yeah. It was the 90s, they said you didn't have to wear hosiery and heels to work functions anymore."

"Smart ass!" Sarah giggled some more. God, did I love her laugh. "Fine, just for you I'll update my wardrobe for next year's conference. Maybe. Anything new on the home front?"

Now was the moment I'd been dreading. I had a big ask to make of my wife, and despite being able to read her like a book on most days, today I had no idea how she'd react. Here goes.

"Hey, so, you remember Rob?" I coyly asked. "Dude I hung out with all the time before you and I hooked up?"

"Hmm... Oh, is this 'star high school quarterback' Rob?" Sarah replied in jest. "The 'peaked after screwing four cheerleaders on prom night' Rob? The 'drowned in a drug-fueled spiral of self-loathing and anxiety' Rob? Yeah, picked up a few things from your timeline. Is he talking to people again?"

"His house burned down in the fires."

Sarah paused. I could feel her embarrassment 3,000 miles away. "Oh. Oh shit, Tom, I'm sorry."

"It's fine, I know you don't know him very well. I kinda lost touch with him too. Anyway, he called me out of the blue today, and we got to talking, and, well, one thing led to another and I... I said he could stay at our guest house. While he gets back on his feet."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. He says he'll give us whatever he can wring out of his insurance, but of course has no idea when that'll be, and --"

Sarah cut me off, "Honey, if you're trying to convince me to let him stay, there's no need. You have a big heart and you're just trying to help your friend. Of course he can stay," she giggled delightfully.

"Ha, thanks," I chuckled. God, did I love her. Infinitely agreeable at the best of times, infinitely capable at the worst. "He'll be glad to hear that, 'cause I technically told him I'd check with you before anything was set in stone."

"Awh," she laughed some more. "I'm so glad I married a good man. I can't wait to see you tomorrow, honey. I miss you."

"I missed you too, babe." Seriously, I did; but I still had to joke about it. "I don't think my dick can take another night of manual handiwork."

"Pfft!" she snorted. "You better save some for your wife, Mister Pervert. She's a week dry now."

"Weird, very weird," I said. "Because I heard a rumor that she has fingers, too."

We kept sharing sweet nothings for another fifteen or fifty minutes until she went to bed. I decided on an early night myself; between work, meeting my friend Rob and picking up Sarah from the airport, it was going to be a busy day.

~~ ** ~~ ** ~~

I ending up taking a half day from work, having told my friend Rob that he could swing by my house anytime after noon. It wasn't until 2 that he finally rolled up in nothing else but a red, drop top Corvette. It wasn't new, but definitely still an eye-catcher.

The man himself looked much like I remembered him; not as muscular but still toned, not as dark but still tanned, a bit of gray speckling his long brown hair, but not enough to worry about. Basically he was your typical, handsome Californian. He was grinning when he saw me, and practically leapt from his car.

"Tommy!" he exclaimed as he outstreched his arms. He and I fell into a big bear hug, patting each other on the back.

"Robbie!" I mirrored his greeting. Back in the day, we fucking hated these names. Back in the day...

And just like that, I time traveled. it was like I was teleported six years into the past, or maybe twelve; before all the stress, all the bullshit, back when when a thing called hope was still alive and well. Fuck.

"Missed you, man," I smiled, and finally released him.

"You too, man," Rob gently punched my shoulder. "You too. Nice place you got here, huh?"

I shrugged modestly, but in truth we did own a dream two-story, five-bedroom house, complete with a huge open-area kitchen, dining room and living room. The living room extended out onto a large patio that overlooked our terraced backyard, which hosted a pool and our aforementioned two-bedroom guesthouse. For Southern California, it was a palace.

"I guess." I looked over the two bags in the Corvette's passenger seat, a small suitcase and a duffle bag. "Is that all you saved from the... y'know?" I wasn't sure if it was polite to mention the fire yet.

"Nah, got some stuff in a storage unit off the 15. 'Vette can't handle more than the essentials, you know how it is," he answered with a smile.

"Mm," I agreed -- not that I'd owned a coupe in the last ten years. I grabbed his suitcase for him, and he grabbed the duffle. "C'mon, lemme show you around."

I took Rob around the main house and into the backyard, showing him the pool and the quickest route to the guesthouse. He'd have ample room to himself while he stayed here, including two furnished rooms, a decent-sized kitchen complete with washer and dryer, and a good deal of sunlight streaming in from the ocean-facing bay windows. Rob couldn't stop praising the place. At the end of our tour I handed him the key to the guesthouse.

"Well, it's yours as long as you need it," I said. "Trash situation kinda sucks, but you got everything else in here. If we're lucky, I might even be able to convince Sarah to cook for three."

Rob held up his hands. "I wouldn't want to impose."

"You're not, c'mon. You'd do the same for me," I insisted, just as an alarm went off on my watch. "Speaking of Sarah, her plane's landing at the airport in a few. You good?"

He nodded, flashing me another of his handsome grins. "I'm good, man. Thanks. Seriously."

I gave him a fist bump, just like old times, then set off for the airport. As nice as it was to see Rob again, I was walking on clouds knowing that I was about to see my wife again after a long week alone.

~~ ** ~~ ** ~~

I arrived at the airport just in time to witness what might as well have been the best runway show on Earth: my perfect wife leaving the airport baggage claim.

I was only being a little facetious. Each and every one of her features were worth mentioning, if only to be recorded for song. Those playful blonde curls of hers that bounced as she moved, those pouty, pink lips that were just begging to be kissed, those large green eyes that sparkled in the afternoon sun, wreathed by those black-rimmed glasses she loved to wear; God, was she beautiful. And all mine, too, by some odd twist of fate.

Of course, the extent of this masterpiece didn't stop with her visage. Today Sarah was wearing her comfortable travel clothes; yoga pants that framed her slender legs with pink lines running down the sides, clinging so tightly to her as to put her curvaceous hips and heart-shaped ass on display. Her butt jiggled just enough with each and every step, drawing looks no matter where she walked. Above that she'd donned a black jacket that at least tried to hide her curves. Fortunately, that jacket came right off as soon as I took her bags from her, revealing a light tank top that could barely contain her glorious cleavage, made possible by a perfect pair of heavy, pillowy H-cups.

I could stare at nothing else.

"Always nice to be back in this weather," she sighed so sweetly.

"Mm. Weather," I absentmindedly replied.

Sarah drew closer to me for a kiss, but stopped short, instead deciding to playfully slap me on the cheek. "My pervy man. I love you..."

"I love you too."

Maybe the airport arrivals terminal wasn't the place for it, but I pulled her close to me then, squeezing her tightly as we made out. God, was she soft. How I landed Sarah was one of life's greatest mysteries, and never did a day pass where I took her for granted. Eventually, after being told off by some rent-a-cop, we got in the car and left for home, the warm afternoon sun making a dazzling show over the bay.

Sarah reached across the center console as soon as we hit the highway, and I took her dainty hand in mine.

"So," she smiled. "Has the eagle landed?"

"Yep. About two hours ago. Was really impressed by the place, if you could imagine."

"I'd hope so, considering he's getting it for free," she laughed. "Was he... doing alright?"

"Yeah. Actually, hella alright. You're not gonna believe it, but he looks just as I remember him, down to the 'You'll never make a corporate drone out of me' hairstyle," I laughed. "For a dude that was into some heavy shit just a few years ago, he looks great."

She squeezed my hand. "That's great! I can't wait to meet him for real. Hopefully he makes a good guest."

I hoped so, too.

~~ ** ~~ ** ~~

After Sarah put her things away and settled in, we decided to head down to the guesthouse to see how its new occupant was getting along. Rob answered the doorbell within the minute, having changed into a polo and swim trunks since I last saw him.

"Hey man, just checking in," I said, rolling my head towards my wife. "Oh, and someone wanted to meet you."

Rob stepped outside then, grinning handsomely as his gaze met Sarah's. "You must be the woman who captured Tom's heart," he suavely said, extending a hand to my wife. "Rob."

"Sarah," she smiled politely. Rob's hand simply dwarfed hers as he gave her a soft shake. "Are you finding everything alright?"

Rob gave my wife a quick once-over, his gaze stopping on her cleavage for a second or three. "I am. Honestly this is much more than I ever hoped for, so thank you, really. But I'll be out of your hair before long, I promise."

"Please don't rush on my account," Sarah warmly replied. "I'd much rather have a friend of Tom's as a neighbor than another ungrateful tenant."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, grinning that contagious grin. "Well, awesome to meet you. I'm... not sure if this is too much to ask on my first night, but," he thrust his thumb over his shoulder, "can I use the hot tub?"

Sarah answered first. "Yes, just avoid business hours. I work from home."

"Hey, so do I," Rob coolly replied. "Well, half the time. When I'm not traveling to Phoenix or some other hellhole."

"Oh? What do you do?" my wife asked, seemingly surprised that Rob had a job at all.

"Computer security consulting. Or 'tech stuff', if you prefer."

"Sounds hard!"

"Sounds it," Rob smirked. "Well, I'm gonna go check out that hot tub."

"I'll show you how to work it," Sarah amiably replied. Together they walked off that way, continuing their conversation about work and hellholes that rhyme with Shmeenix. Seeing as I'd rather speak of literally anything else when I'm 'off the clock', I instead went inside and fixed myself a bourbon.

The way our backyard is terraced granted a good view of the pool and guesthouse from the main house patio, so after I poured myself a double I went out there to see how my wife was getting along. She and Rob were still chatting near the hot tub, the water bubbling as it warmed up. Rob flashed a handsome smile here and there, my wife gave him a couple of nods; it looked like your average, friendly conversation. Good.

I wasn't taken aback when I caught Rob glancing at my wife's ample tits, nor when he snuck a peek at her ass when she turned away. I doubted there was a straight man alive who had the willpower to resist that. But when Rob was taking off his shirt, and my wife gave him an obvious double take -- then blushed and averted her gaze -- that surprised me.

Rob was chiseled, sure, and there was no doubt he took good care of himself, but Sarah was usually quite reserved around others, practicing a demure restraint that I never understood. It took her years to admit that Chris Hemsworth was hot, for example.

Maybe I was overthinking it.

Sarah gave Rob an awkward goodbye and joined me on the patio soon afterwards. She hugged me, squishing her tits against my arm. "Honey? Why don't we ever use the hot tub?" she asked.

I shrugged. "Not our fault. Probably the fate of most hot tubs. Why, you want a soak?"

She leaned against me, sighing contentedly. "It'd be nice after the plane ride," she murmured.

"I'm not stopping you."

She tugged on my arm. "Join me down there? I still don't know your friend very well, it'd be weird..." and her eyes drifted towards the lower terrace, and towards a wholly-contented Rob laying splayed out across one side of the tub. He did make it look comfortable. "And I think all my bikinis are..."

"Made of barely enough fabric to be considered clothing?" I smirked.

"Too skimpy, yeah," she giggled and nodded. "Because a certain Mister Pervert here talked me out of getting that one-piece."

I wasn't going to tell Sarah that it was the fault of her voluptuous figure that made most bikinis seem scanty, oh no; that's victim blaming. The key here is to take the blame as Mister Pervert, and let my wife remain convinced that anything outside of missionary and doggystyle is considered adventurous and depraved.

"You got me," I laughed. "Alright, I'll stick around."

She kissed me on the cheek. "Thanks. I suppose I'll go... pick something out," she whispered to me before skipping away. I didn't have to wait long for her to return to me.

Sarah came back only a few minutes later, wrapped in a beach towel and nothing else. Without her glasses, and with her long blonde hair tied up in a bun, she looked almost like a different person entirely... or maybe just a different Sarah. One more lustful and more eager to explore than the one I'm used to, brimming with unquenchable sexual energy.

I was imagining it of course, but fuck if my dick didn't twitch anyway.

"God, you're sexy," I couldn't help but say. Sarah giggled, I laughed, and she kissed me on the lips.

"So you keep telling me," she beamed.

I followed that towel-clad beauty down to the hot tub, which was currently occupied by one well-built man whose muscles I had undervalued from a distance. He'd obviously picked his old gym routine back up, I thought. His eyes were shut, and was obviously quite lost in thought as he didn't seem to notice our presence yet.

My wife cleared her throat. "R-Room for one more?" she timidly asked him, prompting him to open his eyes. He waved a hand towards the empty side of the hot tub.

"Please."

And my wife unceremoniously dropped her towel.

Beneath it she'd chose to don a tight black bikini, held together by nothing more than delicate knots and optimism. The suit made her juicy ass look just that more smackable, and the top concealed maybe half of her voluptuous, swaying tits. She slowly tested the waters once Rob and I had gotten our fill of her body... dipping one foot into the tub, then the other... before submerging herself just up to her knees.

If I didn't know any better, I would have said Sarah was enjoying the attentions both Rob and I were giving her. I would have said she was deliberately taking her time.

This was, of course, ridiculous. Sarah would never. My dick was just imagining things.

On the other end, though, it was strange to watch a close friend of mine utterly devour my wife with his hungry gaze. Again, I couldn't blame him; I myself was feasting on her shapely ass and hips, what with the black fabric of her bikini hiding so very little of her curves. She was simply stunning; a calendar-worthy spectacle who wasn't at all used to being the center of attention. Rob only removed his predatory gaze from my wife once she'd finally submerged most of her body underwater.

"Ahh," Sarah sighed as she finally found her seat. There was no doubt in my mind that she was flustered, painfully so, because all she could muster after that was a strained, "This is nice."

"Sure is," Rob agreed, appearing one-hundred-and-ten percent relaxed, hard-on not included.

He'd shut his eyes again. Sarah shut her eyes too, giving her mind over to relaxation. And all was quiet between us three. And here I was, sitting outside the hot tub while sipping some bourbon. Awkward.

After a while, I started wondering why Sarah had invited me here if she wasn't going to talk to Rob anyway. I felt like a third wheel in my own home, as if I was chaperoning my wife to keep an eye on her.

I started to think back to her bikini unveiling a few minutes ago. Maybe she wanted me to witness her quasi-striptease? Or maybe she brought me as a shield from Rob's advances, as if he was some uncouth stranger rather than a good friend.

I glanced back at the hot tub. With these errant thoughts running through my mind, it didn't help that the shifting waters of the tub made it appear as if Sarah's feet were caressing Rob's legs. An illusion, of course, but still... interesting... interesting enough for my cock to engorge, anyway. I wondered --

Sarah cleared her throat, snapping me out of my reverie. "Well, I think I'm pruney enough," she giggled.

My cock twitched with anticipation as she lifted herself from the hot tub, appreciating how the wet fabric of her black bikini clung to her pretty white skin. She bent over at the waist to pick up her towel, held the pose for just a second, then sashayed on over to me.

"Let's go to bed," she whispered sultrily.

There wasn't a timeline that I ever denied her. Sarah and I fucked like rabbits that night, but that's a story for another time.

~~ ** ~~ ** ~~

After a few days, it seemed that very little in our lives would change with Rob living out of the guesthouse. He kept to himself most of the time, either working quietly during the day or going out on his lonesome in the evenings. It wasn't until Sunday, three days after his move-in, that I spoke more than a few sentences to my old friend.

"I just didn't want to impose," Rob casually answered when I pressed him on the matter. "But since you're asking... do you mind if I watch the game at your place?"

I rolled my eyes. Rob had to learn that I didn't let him stay here so he could stay a stranger. "Of course I don't mind," I replied honestly. "See you at one, man."

"See ya." We fist bumped.

I went to look for Sarah after that, and it was no shock when I found her in her office. Sarah was a career-driven woman, and it wouldn't have surprised me to find her working this Sunday morning, but today it seemed she was just on social media.

"Hey, I invited Rob over for the game," I informed her. She replied without turning around,

"Cool! Who are we playing? Don't tell me it's the Niners."

"It's the Niners," I dramatically sighed. And another loss, more than likely. As pleasant as it was that my wife learned to share my passion for football, a part of me wished that I introduced her to a better team. "Anyway, you should probably get dressed."

"Oh? Should I?" my wife teased as she spun around in her office chair, her long, blonde locks flowing playfully over her shoulders as she moved. She was wearing nothing but her glasses, a loose t-shirt, and a pair of her finest lacy white panties -- and somehow found the gall to cross her legs when she caught me staring at said panties, the fucking minx. To put the cherry on top, she even bit her lip in a manner that some might even perceive as flirtatious. It was an adorable attempt, either way.