tagNovels and NovellasSeduction or Betrayal? Ch. 05

Seduction or Betrayal? Ch. 05


This is part five of a seven-part novella; it should stand alone, but beginning at the beginning is the recommended pattern. I'm posting all the chapters at the same time so you shouldn't have to wait long for the rest. A Literotica Box Set for the summer.

The original idea for this work came following a discussion at the authors' hangout about frustrations with the black-and-white depictions of adultery in the section-which-cannot-be-named. So thanks to all who chipped in to that debate.

As usual, comments, criticism and support welcomed.


Yvonne stood at the open door and watched John as he buttered up a few crisp-breads to go with the plate of diced cheese. He'd found a tray on which he'd put a still dusty bottle of Jameson and two, already half-filled, tumblers.

'Where's that joint then?'

He looked up in surprise and then just stared. Her hair was brushed. It looked glossy under the sharp lights of the kitchen. Her eyes sparkled, all puffiness gone. Fresh make up had been applied and she looked for all the world as if she was ready to set out for the evening. Yvonne stretched out the hem of her dress and performed a perfect curtesy.

John gave her an acknowledging bow, looked over the table, wiped his hands on his trousers and picked up the rather battered-looking jay. She took one of the glasses of whiskey and went to settle herself on the cushion. John lit the joint, picked up his own glass and parked himself beside her.

'You're sure this is a good idea?'

Yvonne laughed.

'I'm sure it's a terrible idea.'

She took a toke on the joint and a slug of the whiskey, shuddered at the sharpness and let out a whistling stream of smoke.

'That's better.'

She turned to John with a serious expression.

'Look. I'm a mature woman. My husband is fucking a trollop. But I'm not stupid. There might be a perfectly reasonable explanation.'

She laughed as if dismissing the very idea.

'If there is, it's beyond me at the moment. I'm feeling a bit raw. If Paul walked in now, I'd probably knee him in the balls. But I'm not going to end the relationship or do anything to mess up the twins. I guess this in the for worsebit of the whole do you take this man? thing.'

John nodded agreement and handed her back the joint.

'I'm going to have to speak to him, and there's a very real possibility that when I do his testicles may not remain unscathed.'

John suppressed a snort of laughter and nodded for her to keep the joint.

'But tonight, I just need a friend who'll help me get shit-faced and I pick you. Tonight's my night for self-righteous indulgence. I know I'll have the hangover from hell tomorrow. Just the right frame of mind and body to confront the lying, cheating son of a wonderful, compassionate, intelligent and witty woman who I'm one hundred percent certain will be completely on my side if she ever finds out about what her child has been up to.'

John waited while Yvonne puffed furiously at the dead roach of the exhausted joint. When it was clear she had finished speaking - for now - he spoke.

'Phew. Some speech. Shall I roll another?'

'Fuck yeah.'

Things calmed down as they sat on the step. They shared stories about past relationship-ends. John admitted that his only regret from his marriage was that his ex-wife needed to get so nasty about the final split, blaming him for the whole thing and in the process muddying his relationship with his two kids.

'I don't know how I could have fought back without making the whole situation worse for them. And me telling a few home truths about their mother now is not going to help. I just hope that one day - and the sooner the better for me - they get their own perspectives and we can start to improve things between us.'

'They're missing out on a wonderful man. My boys love you.'

She leaned over and gave him a sloppy kiss on his cheek before slipping and hitting her chin on his shoulder which rather ruined the moment. They both dissolved into fresh laughter and drank some more whiskey.

Yvonne had John in stitches as she recounted the splits she'd had with pre-marriage boyfriends. Catching one in bed with her best friend; being caught in bed with another's friend. The guy who took her money; the one who accused her of copying his course work - even though he was an engineer and she was studying law. They moved on to speculating about the future.

'I know this is not the time for irrevocable commitments, but I need to start using my brain again. Whatever happens with Paul. Working for you would be a great start.'

She put a finger on John's lips - at the second attempt - to stop him interrupting.

'I won't expect you to pay me unless I make you money. I know IT, I was pretty good at business, bookkeeping and sales. If Jean-Paul wasn't just talking bollocks, I think we can up your profile and get you prices that your works deserve. I wouldn't even mind doing some modelling for you. All the people in your paintings look so... I think happy might be the word I'm looking for.'

She looked over at John for his reaction. He was beaming.

'I'd love to paint you wearing that dress. It just seems to shimmer around you. It'd be a fantastic challenge.'

She punched him in the arm. He was instantly confused at her frown.

'Here am I offering to strip off for you. I thought you'd jump at the chance. All you can talk about is this bloody dress. You're as bad as Paul, he's got a thing about big tits too.'

She was slurring her words a little and John wasn't at all sure whether she was being serious as she bounced her boobs inside her dress, peering glassily down her own cleavage as she did so.

'Your tits are stupendous and I think we already discussed company policy on offers of life modelling. I'll have you starkers before the coffee's finished brewing. You're gorgeous, funny, smart and I can't wait for you to start.'

They fell into another hug to seal the deal. Yvonne felt very cold.

'Why don't we move inside? I'm dying to tuck into those cheese and biscuits.'

Like a lot of people getting drunk and stoned together they seemed to find a synchronised wave band. They both staggered upright and found themselves leaning against opposite jambs of the doorway trying to summon up the equilibrium to progress further. John laughed.

'This has been very different from my normal Saturday nights.'

That innocuous remark seemed to spur Yvonne into frantic life.

'Saturday night. Come on.'

She grabbed his arm and started to pull him towards the front room. He was reluctant and insisted on stopping to pick up the plate of food while she grabbed the bottle. She shushed all his questions as she threw herself onto the sofa, located remotes and started pushing buttons energetically until the screen was flooded with the home page of DuckDuckGo, a search engine John had never heard of. Yvonne turned to him with a triumphant beam on her face.

'Saturday night is porn night. Let's get down and dirty.'

She brought up a porn site John himself had used, giggling when she missed letters on the screen keyboard.

'You seem very familiar with this.'

'Paul's crap at deleting his history. He might not want to watch it with me, but that doesn't mean I don't want to see what he's been looking at.'

'Proper little Sherlock.'


'When you are.'

Yvonne pressed play and the screen was filled with the image of an empty nightclub stage, all tinsel, glitter and sparkling motes of dust. She moved against him as a big-busted blonde in an evening gown strutted to the centre of the lights and inappropriately-tinny music burst through the speakers.

'She's a big girl.'

'And not making too much of an effort to hide it.'

The bottle-blonde dancer's gown was slashed almost to the waist. Her enormous breasts wobbled and swayed against fabric which could barely contain them.

'You're a woman...'

'Well spotted.'

'Ha, ha, you did drop a few hints... How big would you say her boobs are?'

Yvonne withdrew her arm from his and cupped both her breasts in her hands.

'Mine are 34Cs. Her's have got to be up in the high forties.'

The dress had already gone and the dancer took off her bra as she spoke.

'Double-Ds if not bigger.'

'I'm more of an arse man myself.'

'You're just saying that to make me feel better.'

Her arm was back, hooked inside his, and he looked down at her puzzled.

'What do you mean?'

'Mine are so small.'


'They're tiny compared to her's. Or Grace was it? The woman you like painting.'

John started laughing.

'And they say men obsess about the size of their equipment.'

'You shouldn't laugh.'

'You're right. I apologise. But seriously, your boobs are - yes, you got it - gorgeous.'

Yvonne elbowed him. Given that her arm was already next to his ribs, it was more of a friendly nudge. The stripper had lost her knickers and the video ended as she walked off stage to canned applause. She pressed play for the next one without asking. Another woman with big tits appeared. She was dancing in someone's front room to an old rock number which had been dubbed over the original sound.

'I'm an artist. And therefore something of an expert. You'd rake it in at the Crown and Anchor.'

The where?'

'Crown and Anchor. It's a grotty pub on the other side of town. They have strippers every Friday.'

'And you know this how?'

John chuckled to himself.


'You know loads of people don't you? And there was I thinking you were a sweet old man it was safe to leave my children with.'

'It is. I keep very solid boundaries between different parts of my life. You know what they're like round here.'

It was Yvonne's turn to laugh.

'I see the curtains twitching every time I go out in my running gear.'

'My point exactly. I bet if we knocked on doors selling tickets for your professional debut we'd make a couple of hundred before we got to the end of the street.'

'Forget it. Typical man. You sweet talk a girl into considering posing for a painting and the next thing she knows she's being asked to strut around some boozer in her pants.'

'Oh no. They have a very strict no knickers policy down at the Crown.'

Yvonne's eyes were glued to the screen where another well-endowed girl was relieving herself of her panties to reveal a neatly trimmed bush. She squeezed more tightly against John and drew up her knees to leave them resting against his thigh.

'She'd do alright then.'

'Mmm. Maybe.'

John scratched his chin and made thinking noises.

'She's not really putting much effort into teasing, is she? There's something about live strippers which is much more, I don't know, exciting.'

'You actually go down to that dive and watch?'

'I've been a couple of times. Scarlett, she's the girl who answered one of my ads for models, invited me. Good nights. A lot of fun.'

Yvonne pulled back slightly to get a clearer look at John. She wanted to check he wasn't pulling her leg. She blew our her cheeks letting out a long breath to try and clear her head a little. She hadn't been this drunk for ages; the pressure in her bladder was reminding her of the volume, if not the effect. The conversation was already way off the scale of a normal chat between neighbours. Maybe, she told herself, she should steer it to safer ground.

'How so?'

Or maybe not. She gave herself a little tap on the knee as if in reprimand and, realising her skirt had slid all the way down to her bum, pulled on it a little to cover herself up. It fell back almost immediately.

'I think it's the excitement of us men in the audience. I mean, everyone there knows what's going to happen - the girl in the lights is going to be down to her birthday suit in the next few minutes - but between the opening and that point a good stripper will always leave you thinking that maybe, this time, she won't reveal all.'


Yvonne was surprised to realise she was genuinely interested. John adjusted his position and took a deep breath. Then he realised that that was exactly what he used to do with Brenda before embarking on a long explanation of something or another. It really pissed her off. She said he was patronising and boring. He tried to pull out of lecturing-mode with a little laugh, hoping it would work.

'I suppose there are two sorts of dancers. Most come on in full dress as it were; like they were going out for the night and had just stumbled into the Crown by accident. Bit like what you're wearing now I come to think of it.'

Yvonne unconsciously tugged at the hem of her skirt again, lifting it over the tops of her stockings. She had to hold it in place to stop it sliding again.

'Others a lot more skimpy and in your face. I prefer the full strip myself. Lots more teasing.'

Yvonne spotted him looking at her and released the skirt turning to look into his face as it slithered back down to expose her whole leg and the outline of her buttock.

'You minx.'

John grinned at Yvonne's innocent stare. They both looked up as there was a sudden burst of orchestral music from the TV. Another voluptuous blonde in full evening dress was on screen. They watched as she crossed the stage and strutted down a long catwalk extending through the centre of the night club audience. There were a lot of cheers and whistles and the camera caught the faces of sweaty men emerging from the shadows into the lights around the stage.

'What are they like? The men?'

Yvonne stretched an arm across John's knee as they watched the stripper tugging at the fingers of her elbow-length silky glove.

'All sorts. Mostly a bit older, but you often get groups of lads.'

'So you're a regular then?'

'I've been a few times, yeah.'

John spoke without embarrassment.

'Some try to look as if they've turned up by accident. You know, had no idea there were strippers.'

They both laughed. The blonde on the TV was slowly unzipping the side of her gown.

'It's a friendly atmosphere, if a bit raucous. Most of the girls like playing to the crowd. Not exactly a stand-up comedy routine, but there's a lot of back and forth.'

'Different kind of stand-up?'

Yvonne hauled herself up and was looking down at John's groin. He wasn't exactly tenting the generously cut suit trousers, but the signs of his erection were unmistakable. She giggled as he tried to nonchalantly cover it up.

'I'm off for a pee.'

They both looked across at the screen again. There had been a sudden increase in the tempo of the hidden orchestra. The now-laughing blonde was encouraging the punters to slip notes into her bra. It was clear that most were copping a feel when they did. Yvonne did a circle of the room in time with the music, exaggerating the movement of her hips and shoulders in a pastiche of the acts they had been watching. They were both laughing as she stood next to the TV and slowly raised her skirt up over the tops of her stockings. Yvonne caught John's eye as she drew the shiny, emerald wave higher up her thighs. At the point she was about to expose her lace-sheathed pussy, she winked at him and let the skirt drop.

'Is that a gun in your pocket? Or are you just getting a stiffy?'

Yvonne's American accent was appalling. John winced to let her know what he thought of it as as she moved back across the room towards him. Over her hip he could see the now bare-chested stripper toying with the sides of her panties to the howling encouragement of her audience.

'You are the former Miss Wisconsin and I claim my five dollars.'

'I think, sir, it's you who's supposed to be tipping me.'

The impersonation of a US beauty queen wasn't getting any better. She stopped about three feet from him and bent forward from the waist. He watched her breasts bulge against the fabric of her bodice and sucked in a breath as she ran her hands up from her waist and used a finger to emphasise the outline of her erect nipples as they pressed studs out of the thin fabric. They had both stopped laughing. John made a show of patting the pockets of his trousers.

'I do apologise. I seem to have left my wallet in my jacket. Would you take an IOU?'

He reached for her cleavage, fingers pinched as if gripping an invisible piece of paper. Yvonne skipped back with a giggle and waved a finger at him.

'No payee, no touchee.'

She did, however, grip both sides of the dress and, bending slightly, pulled them apart to give him the briefest glimpse of her tiny, stiff nipples before rearranging her clothing and straightening up.

'I'm busting. Back in a tic. No playing with that while I'm gone.'

She grinned broadly as John spread his knees. The signs of his hard-on were now unmistakable.

'Spoil sport.'

He watched her stripper-strut to the door and whistled as she pulled the skirt right up over her bum after opening the door. The two firm orbs of her buttocks were naked and startlingly white against the rich colour of the skirt. He heard her laughing as she went down the passage and open the door of the toilet. John slumped back into the comfort of the sofa with a deep sigh. He grinned to himself as he straightened his shirt collar and adjusted the seams of his trousers to make himself more comfortable.

Yvonne's echoing sigh came only after she had hoisted her skirt, tugged down the flimsy panties to her ankles and lowered herself onto the loo. It was almost a whistle as she released the pressure from the accumulated by-products of her evening's alcohol intake. The coolness in the small room sobered her slightly. She smirked at the image in the mirror as she adjusted her make up after splashing herself with cold water. She was feeling a little guilty about teasing John. She knew, she told herself, that she wasn't going to screw him. Whatever Paul was getting up to in that tent in Scotland, she had more self-control. She frowned as she remembered the picture-text almost certainly taken by a stark naked Bridget. It was the smile on his face which pissed her off the most. He looked like that after they had had sex.

'On the other hand?'

She looked briefly over her shoulder. She hadn't meant to speak out loud. The door was still closed; no one had heard. On the other hand what? She tousled her hair slightly and shook her head to get her mind back to where it ad been before she had so rudely interrupted herself. Clearly she was not as sober as she might pretend. She reached for a lipstick from the bathroom cabinet - she had spares in both bathrooms, the boys were always rifling her bag - and as she applied it, she remembered.


Her friends had thought her crazy when she agreed to share a house with three blokes in her second year at college. Those who were less enamoured of her assumed she was some kind of nympho and were more than happy to spread rumours to that effect. Patrick had suggested it. He was her best friend. They'd tried dating and even had sex a few times, but both agreed the whole relationship thing didn't work for them. But they were close. They laughed at the same things, liked the same kind of movies, music and books. Basically by the time their first year was drawing to a close, they realised that, exigencies of dating and study aside, they were spending most of their free time together. So when a guy who had agreed to share the house Patrick had rented for the second year dropped out at the last minute, Yvonne agreed to move in with him and his friends without giving it too much thought.

It only took her about four weeks, however, to recognise that her female friends had been right. It was a mistake. The boys as she couldn't help but thinking of them as, were a disaster. Cleaning was something their mothers did for them. Likewise washing and cooking. They even, she learned to her disgust, had difficulty with basic personal hygiene. One boasted that the liberal use of spray deodorant had reduced his need to shower to once a fortnight. And their inability to put a toilet seat down became an increasing source of tension.

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