The Apartment

The Apartment

Chapter 1

Carol

Wow. What a place! A view of the ocean on one side, and the river on the other. And two whole floors! Must have six bedrooms, at least.

I'm with my boyfriend in the penthouse of his new boss, Jerald Crowley. Jerald owns the whole complex, four fifty-story apartments, a sports club, a hotel, and a bunch of restaurants. Everyone calls him J.R., he's so rich. His wife, Elizabeth, is an attractive forty-something with a gleam in her eye. J.R. is ten years older, and handsome as all get out. Where was I when he was on the market?

Carl, my significant other, recently landed a well-paid marketing job with one of J.R.'s companies. Maybe it will improve his disposition and attitude, but I doubt it. We've been living together for six months in dumpty downtown digs neither of us could afford on our own. It was a mistake. We both know it. I'm pretty sure he's having an affair.

It was a surprise when Elizabeth called to invite us to dinner. I had met J.R. only once, at a big corporate picnic. We had a brief conversation, both smiling a lot. He looked me over pretty good.

Elizabeth

J.R. has done it again. He's had me befriend another luscious twenty-something who's married to one of his mid-level executives. From the way this one's ogling our penthouse I'd say she has ten times the ambition of her companion. She's a real looker, a pretty face with sultry eyes and full lips. And a figure that turns heads, male and female. J.R. wouldn't be interested otherwise.

Not that I mind. He's a devoted husband and gives me anything I want. Plus he's never deceitful. He shares every sexual thought in his lizard brain. So do I. And often we share more than words.

I lead them into the living room. "Welcome to our home," I say. "J.R. has told me good things about you, Carl, but he failed to describe your beautiful wife."

Carol blushes prettily, and Carl looks pleased. "Thank you, Mrs. Crowley," he says. "We are honored to be invited... an unexpected pleasure."

"We are delighted you were able to come. My husband likes to socialize with his new executives. And don't you dare call me 'Mrs. Crowley'. My name is Elizabeth. Now let me show you around."

J.R.

Bingo. Carol is just as sexy as I remembered. At the picnic she caught my eye in her tight jeans, and tonight that slinky dress is doing an even better job of showing off her firm ass. Great tits, too, under the shawl covering her bare shoulders. My mouth is watering.

I'm lucky in so many ways—more money than I know what to do with, and a wife who indulges all my passions. Affairs with pretty young things are okay with her, as long as she knows about them and gets to participate when she feels like it. She enjoys a good threesome almost as much as I do. Almost.

We both noticed Carol at the picnic. I gave my wife a look that said I thought the hottie would make a good playmate. Elizabeth, bless her raunchy little heart, made sure we were introduced. Afterwards we resolved to try to bring Carol into our web. I thought our chances were good. Money and the things it can provide are powerful aphrodisiacs. And the young woman seemed restless, not that into her companion, ready for something new.

I sip my drink as Elizabeth gives them the tour. It's a balmy evening, perfect for dining and dancing on our outside deck. I'm looking forward to getting my arm around Carol's tight body and feeling those cupcakes with a cherry on top against my chest. If the past is any guide, the odds of my having my way with Miss Carol are about one in three. Higher if she is at odds with her boyfriend.

Carol

I am overwhelmed. What do they do with all this space? You could fit five of our apartments on this one floor with room left over. And the views! I could spend hours at every window. I'll have to be careful not to seem overly impressed. Don't want them to know I've never been in a penthouse.

"You certainly have a wonderful home," I say as we join J.R. on the deck. "Up this high you'd never know you're in the middle of the city."

He laughs. "Right. I made this building a bit taller than the others, so you don't see anything but sky unless you look down. Outside here is a great place for dancing in the moonlight. Let me offer you a drink."

I follow him over to the bar. Elizabeth is engaging Carl at the other end of the deck. "What would you like?" J.R. asks. "I make a mean 'sex-on-the-beach.'"

Wow. I'll bet he does. Did I detect an emphasis on the word 'sex'? No, I'm imagining things. Sex-on-the beach is merely the name of a popular cocktail. Still, he is looking at me in a way I recognize. Is that why we were invited to dinner? Get a grip, Carol.

"That sounds good to me," I say.

"Which? The cocktail, or the sex on the beach?"

I smile, feeling color rising in my cheeks.

"Just the cocktail," I say coyly. "I don't see any beach up here, although it wouldn't surprise me."

"Not a bad idea," he jokes. "All we would need is a big sandbox."

"But you don't have any children or cats," I reply, getting into the spirit. "Why would you need a sandbox? Surely sex-on-the-bed would be better."

Did I just say that? Where is my brain? I'm talking with my husband's boss, not one of my girlfriends.

J.R. smiles, but before he can lead me into more trouble, Elizabeth and Carl join us.

"Oh, I see you are getting ready to make our favorite drink," Elizabeth says. "I'll have one too. What about you, Carl. Do you like sex-on-the-beach?

"Sure," he says with a straight face. "That would be fine."

Poor Carl. Always a bit slow on the uptake, especially when sexual innuendo is involved. J.R. and I exchange glances. I sense a change in the atmosphere. It's like the burglar has realized that the soldier guarding the treasure has gone to sleep. J.R. seems like the type who would snatch the treasure and take it back to his lair. I tingle at the thought.

J.R. prepares four tall glasses of the delicious, fruity drink. Then he tops them off with an extra half-jigger of vodka.

"Cheers," he says, handing the glasses around. "This will get things started. We'll have some special wine with dinner."

Elizabeth

We make small talk and have a second cocktail. By the time we sit down at the little round table, we are all a bit tipsy. J.R. pours each of us two glasses of wine, one white, one red, in case we can't make up our mind. I know I'll end up drinking both in the end. He goes to the grill to cook the only thing he knows—fillet mignon. I will supply everything else.

"I'm so glad that you were able to join us on a weeknig" I say as we pick up our napkins. "How far is your apartment from here?"

"Not far," he says. "We wanted to be downtown, close to my office."

I grit my teeth at the implication of how hard-working he is. It does not impress me, and J.R. could care less. If it weren't for his hot wife, Carl would be off the radar.

"But it's so expensive," Carol says. "And you don't get much for your money."

"That's a shame," I say. "A nice couple like you starting out should have a decent place to live. Hey, I have an idea. J.R. do we still have that empty unit on the third floor?"

He turns from the grill, surprised that I've broached the subject so soon. "Yes, it is," he says. "The high-end market's weak right now, and that unit's not sized right. Too big and expensive for being on a lower floor. But I'm not willing to lease it at a cut price."

"Why not let this lovely couple rent it at what they're paying now until the market improves?"

"What an intriguing idea," J.R. muses, as if he'd never thought of it.

Carol's eyes light up. But Carl looks quizzical. "Oh, that's very nice of you, but what happens if you get a tenant willing to pay the price? We might not be able to find another place."

J.R. turns the steaks and comes over. "I've been thinking of taking it off the market for a year anyway," he says. "And we'd give you plenty of notice."

"How big is it? We probably couldn't afford to furnish it," Carl protests.

I study him. Is he resisting because he's picked up on J.R.'s interest in his tasty wife? Or does he just lack imagination? It's probably the latter.

"It's a nice size," I say. "Living room, den, huge kitchen, four bedrooms, three baths, and a covered balcony. But here's the beauty of it. The last tenant left all their possession in lieu of paying the last month's rent. It's beautifully furnished, right down to the fancy kitchen appliances."

Carol is beside herself. "Can we see it?"

"Whoa," says J.R. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. This needs some thought. The steaks are ready. Let's enjoy dinner."

The hook has been planted. The wheels are turning in Carol's head. J.R. is into his 'persuade-me' role. Carl is calculating what's in it for him.

I had discussed this plan with my horny husband the night after the picnic. In reality the tenants in that third-floor apartment have moved to Europe for two years and left their unit for us to sublet.

Carol

I'm so excited about the idea of this apartment that I can hardly eat. Elizabeth keeps the conversation going, asking Carl about his new job and telling stories about tenants in the building. J.R. is fairly quiet, but smiles a lot.

He gets up to open another bottle of Chardonnay, and his hand brushes my shoulder. Was that an accident? A friendly gesture?

When he returns to the table he pulls his chair closer to mine. The small table didn't leave much space between our knees in the first place, and now his is pressing lightly against me. I should pull away, give him more room. But I don't. His eyes tell me that he wants me to leave my leg right where it is.

This is crazy. My boyfriend is sitting right across the table and I'm playing knee games with his boss. But I'm afraid to do anything. Carl's job could be at stake here, not to mention that fantastic-sounding apartment. And what about Elizabeth? How will she react if I make a scene? I don't know what to do, so I do nothing.

We finish eating, and Elizabeth gets up to bring desert.

"I'll help you clear the table," I say, starting to rise.

"No dear, I'll do it," says Carl. "You stay and entertain J.R."

What? Entertain J.R.? Does he have any idea of what's going on?

"Good idea," says J.R. "Let them do it, Carol. I want to talk with you."

They both pick up dishes and head toward the kitchen. I resume my position.

J.R. turns toward me, like he's got something important to say. His hand grips my knee. A gesture of earnestness? It's getting dark now, and no one can see what's happening under the table.

"Carol, we've talked about Carl's work, but not about yours. Do you like your job?"

"Oh, it's okay. I meet and greet at the law firm. It's easy with regular hours. But the pay's minimal, and without legal training there's not much future."

"Maybe I can interest you in something new. We're always hiring. It wouldn't be in the same company with Carl, of course."

"I'd like that," I say.

His hand moves from my knee to my thigh. Not much doubt now. J.R. is making a move on me. A job and an apartment are at stake. I freeze. Elizabeth is walking back toward us.

"Let's put on some music and dance, "she says gaily. "Dessert can wait."

"Great idea," agrees J.R. He gives my thigh a gentle squeeze, then moves his hand to his pocket to extract an iPhone. A few taps and Frank Sinatra begins singing through high-quality concealed speakers.

"Come on, Carl, dance with me," says Elizabeth.

He looks doubtful, but has no choice. The two of them shuffle off.

J.R. grins. "I guess you'll have to dance with me."

Now is the time I should say I'm tired and not up for dancing. I could say that we really have to be leaving soon. Give him a definite signal that I don't appreciate his advances. Forget about that silly idea of the big apartment on the third floor.

But I don't. I find myself on my feet, being led toward the darkest part of the deck. His arm curls around my waist and pulls me into him. We dance, rocking to the gentle rhythm of the song. Our movements automatically synchronize like we've been dancing together for years. I begin to relax.

He's a good dancer, smooth, confident. Gradually we move closer together, until our cheeks are touching. The song ends. Another immediately begins. He doesn't miss a beat.

"You are such a good follower," he says. "It's like pushing a feather."

How nice. I acknowledge the complement by snuggling a little closer. I'm about to follow you to hell, I say to myself.

Holding me tight, he twirls us around. In the process his hand slides down until it has a firm grip on my ass. We resume swaying slowly to the music, but now his knee is between my thighs and his hand is in control of my hips.

What can I do? The alcohol, my imagination, and the physical stimulation have me ensconced in a sensual haze. Dimly I'm aware that Carl is nearby, probably watching as his live-in girlfriend lets his boss grope her. Does he care? I doubt it. This could be the catalyst we both need to break loose and go our separate ways. I'm ready for that. Maybe I could move into that big furnished apartment all by myself.

But what about Elizabeth? She's not blind or stupid. Surely she's about to put an end to this foolishness.

The second song flows into the third. Ella Fitzgerald's plaintive voice floats on the air. "It's the wrong time, and the wrong place ..." The perfect song of seduction.

"Put your arms around my neck, Carol," he says with authority.

My arms come up. "Yes, sir," I say without thinking.

Both of his hands are on my ass now. He lifts me to my toes as we sway to the hypnotic music. I feel the hard rod of his cock pressing against me. It goes on and on. I surrender, moaning in his ear, letting him know he can have what he wants.

Elizabeth

I keep Carl occupied through three songs, giving hubby time to work his will on Carol. Their merged outline during the last song is a good indication he is succeeding. It's time to see if we can get rid of Carl. I take him by the hand and shepherd him silently over to where his girlfriend is still in the embrace of my husband. He doesn't seem to care.

"Having fun?" I say lightly.

Carol's head jerks towards us. She lowers her arms and steps back, obviously embarrassed. J.R. smiles at me. "Yes, indeed. Carol is a wonderful dancer."

"Maybe we should switch partners," I say.

"You know what," says Carl. "I'm tired and ready to call it a night."

"I understand," I reply quickly. "J.R. works everyone so hard. And rewards those who do. You go ahead. We can bring Carol home later."

He and Carol exchange looks.

"Okay," he says. "See you later, Carol." He turns and walks away. A moment later, he is out the door.

At first Carol stares at the floor. But then she takes a deep breath and raises her head. "This has been coming on for a while," she says. "Our breakup. I'm sorry you had to witness it.".

"I'm not," states J.R. He puts his arm around her.

"It's fortuitous," I say. "Disengaging from someone you are living with is traumatic, even if it's a mutual decision. Better not to be sleeping in the same place. You don't have to go back to your apartment tonight."

"Or ever, if you don't want to," adds J.R. "You can stay in the third-floor apartment."

Carol's eyes brighten. "That would be wonderful. I could go get my things tomorrow when Carl's at work."

"Good idea," I say. "No need to have an emotional scene with Carl. Just pick up your clothes and personal items. I'll help you if you want."

"That would be great."

I smile broadly and put a hand on her shoulder. "We are going to be great friends. Now give J.R. a big kiss and resume your dancing. I'll restart the music."

Carol

With no hesitation I throw my arms around J.R.'s neck and kiss him on the mouth. He and his unbelievably friendly and tolerant wife have solved all my problems—a clean break with Carl, a free place to live, and the possibility of a better job. The least I can do is give him what I have to give--especially since that's what I want to do anyway.

He grabs my ass and yanks me to him, tighter than before. Ella croons a slow ballad, and our mating dance resumes. Elizabeth sits at the table, watching us. She sips her drink and smiles. The last of my inhibitions flies away into the night sky.

I put my mouth up to J.R.'s ear and nibble. He shivers. "I'll do anything you want," I whisper.

He sighs. "Just keep doing what you're doing."

My tongue comes out and dabs the opening.

"OH GOD..."

Sensitive ears. I like that. I'll find out what else he likes and drive him nuts. And myself in the process. My tongue probes deep into his ear.

That really gets him going. He grabs my hair and pulls my head back. His lips descend on mine, demanding, claiming. My mouth opens. I welcome his tongue and follow it back into his mouth. No more pretense of dancing now. We are clawing at each other like out-of-control teenagers.

Dimly I'm aware that the music is different. Definitely not Sinatra and Fitzgerald. Faster, more Eastern. My hips begin to shift with the rhythm. His hands return to my ass, spurring me on, grinding me against his erection.

Elizabeth materializes beside us. Her eyes are hot. Her hand touches my cheek. "This is belly-dance music." she says. "Dance for him." Her tone is firm, commanding.

Does she know I have taken lessons? That I love doing it? I've never done it in public, and it always seemed to make Carl uncomfortable.

J.R. releases me and steps back. I whirl and lose myself in the erotic rhythm. Kicking off my shoes, I spin around the deck. My hips bump up and down, slow, then fast, in time with the drum. My hosts stand together, watching. His arm is around her shoulders.

I shimmy over to them, wagging my breasts, basking in their intense attention. I am Circe. I am Venus. I am Aphrodite.

Elizabeth reaches out and snatches the shawl from my shoulders. My bare skin extends into the deep V of the dress. The push-up bra is designed to shape the enticing valley, but does little to hold me in as I continue to wriggle in front of them. The thin spaghetti straps holding up the lapels of the dress are all that keep my jiggling breasts from spilling out. Little bows on my shoulders secure the straps.

The evocative music picks up speed. I pirouette away, twisting and writhing. My hair comes loose and I shake my head, swirling the long tresses. Faster and faster. The rousing cadence builds to a crescendo. Frantically I bump and grind up to them. As the song ends I fall to my knees and drop my head in submission.

My heavy breathing is the only sound. I am winded, perspiring, and incredibly aroused.

Finally J.R. speaks. "Look at us."

They are beaming down at me with lust-filled eyes. Elizabeth has an arm around her husband's hips, her hand in his pants pocket. Her fingers are moving.

"That was fantastic," J.R. says. "Now stand up. You will deliver on the promise of that dance."

J.R.

This girl is as sexy a piece as I've ever seen. Her quick response to my command, her pose as she stands in front of me, her embracing the symbolism of the belly dance, all point to her being sexually submissive, a perfect toy for Elizabeth and me.

My wife's teasing hand in my pocket is bringing me too close too soon. Gently I pull it out and kiss her fingers. "Elizabeth, go help our guest out of her dress."

"Yes, sir," she says, slipping into her own submissive role. Elizabeth likes to be bossed around in sexual situations.

She moves behind Carol. "Hands on your head dear. My husband wants to see your tits."

The straps are untied. The top falls. Elizabeth pauses, letting me enjoy the creamy cleavage. The half-bra barely covers her prominent nipples, which seem to be fighting to get free. I place a fingertip on one of the stiff points. Carol moans.