The Cuckold Waltz Ch. 2

The phone shocked me out of my post-fuck torpor. Amanda lay naked and sweating on the carpet beside me, her freshly fucked cunt awash with my spunk. She had a 'cat who got the cream' look on her face, and was gently teasing my cock back into life in readiness for round two. It looked like we were in for a long evening.

I rolled over and picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"It's me," said the wife, hands free on the mobile. "Do we need anything picking up from the shop? Milk, tea bags, bread?"

Milk, tea bags, bread? What the fuck was she on about? She was hundreds of miles away in Brugge or Brussels or somewhere else beginning with 'B'. I could never remember where she was, only how long she'd be away. Jackie had gone early yesterday morning and it was now Tuesday evening. Three days before she was due back. I knew she was due back Friday, I'd only just booked the table while Amanda was in the bathroom.

I repeated her question.

"Yes, do we need anything?" Slightly irritated now.

"On Friday?"

"No. Now."

"Where are you?" I asked, panic rising.

"Just leaving the motorway."

Just leaving the motorway bounced around my brain for crucial seconds. "I thought you were in Brussels. I thought you were back Friday."

"I was in Berne. Didn't you get my e-mail? It was called off last night."

E-mail? You're my fucking wife! You phone me, you don't e-mail me. Not when I've got an evening's extra-marital shagging on the cards.

"Right, I see." Think quickly. She's about eight minutes away. Make her stop at the shop. Think of something we need.

"Bleach," I said.

"Bleach?" she asked.

"Yes, bleach, we're out of it." Why the fuck had I said bleach? What do I care about bleach? If we had any, I'd have to pour it down the sink now. "And milk, we're out of that too." I'd have to pour three and a half pints of the stuff down the sink after the bastard bleach. "Toilet roll, I think we need some toilet roll." People always need toilet roll. They never know when their wives are going to phone up and catch them fucking the girlfriend on the rug in front of the marital fire. A sure fire cure for constipation, that one.

Amanda has propped herself up on one elbow, mouthing the words 'who is it?' like a lousy mime on speed.

"Okay. See you in about ten minutes."

Ten minutes? Shit! Amanda is dripping spunk on to the carpet (better not use up the bleach on that). Her clothes are strewn all over the house, I'm naked and have that smug 'just fucked' look plastered onto to my face and She Who Mustn't Find Out was only ten minutes away.

"Amanda!"

She was dressed and out the door by the time I'd opened some windows and emptied the milk and bleach down the sink. As I hunted down my clothes I heard her pull away. Quick tidy round, put the telly on and I was sitting staring at the news - my cover story straight - as Jackie dumped her case in the hall.

"You left work early?" she said, by way of a 'hello darling, I love you'. "How come?"

Shit, she must have 'phoned. "I took the afternoon off to watch the cricket." She hated cricket, she'd have no idea that the last day was rained off.

"I see. I got the bleach and the milk. Do you want me to make a cup of tea?"

"Thanks," I nodded. If she'd arrived ten minutes earlier, she'd have been making the tea with the bleach and shoving it up my arse with a funnel.

She bangs around in the kitchen for a couple of minutes. I hear the fridge door open and close again. Then silence. Maybe she's wondering why the place stinks of bleach.

"James? Can you come here a minute?"

The bleach, surely. I can answer that one. I spilt it, that's why we needed some more. I was having a quick clean up before she got back. No, I didn't know she was coming back, did I? I was just cleaning up because it is important to keep things neat and tidy. Shut it! It doesn't matter why I was spilling bleach. I just was. Too much back story is a giveaway.

Not bleach. Trouble. Big trouble. My stomach turned to water. I hoped she'd remembered the toilet roll.

"What are these?"

Not a question where you'd need to phone a friend. Anyone would know what they were. Amanda had forgotten her knickers. Amanda who hardly ever wore knickers had forgotten her knickers. But they were hers. I'd bought them. Forty five quid's worth of transparent wispiness was dangling from Jackie's outstretched and trembling hand.

What to say? Plan. Think quickly! Yes! Plans a), b) and c):

Plan a) They're mine. It was my dark secret. Will you help me to get cured of my perversion, my one and only true love? Nope, what there was of them was covered in cunt juice. I could hardly say I'd had the operation and would show her the scars in a few months when things had healed 'down there'. Mind you, if I'd been able to get them on in the first place I wouldn't have needed an operation.

Plan b) I'd seen one of those ads in the papers and sent off for them for a laugh. Nope, they were covered with fresh cunt juice. Now, unless one of the big Pizza delivery chains had started a 'fresh dirty knickers to your door in 30 minutes or you get the next pair FREE', she wasn't going to buy that one. Plan c)…there was no plan c). Unless it was 'c' for 'Christ, I'm fucked here.'

"What are these?" She was shaking visibly now, failing to keep the tremor out of her voice. "Whose are they? Have you been…?"

They say time is a great healer. And lying about time can be pretty healing too. "It was only once!" I blurted out. What did she need to know about the other 599 times? "Just this afternoon. Honestly. I don't know what came over me! I was drunk..."

Jackie shot me a look laced with poison. She didn't say anything, just stood and stared, thinking 'what does that lying bastard take me for?' I looked at my shoes, noticing I'd put odd ones on in my haste.

"Who was she? What was her name?"

Think of a name. NOT Amanda! Say anything but Amanda. I couldn't think of a single woman's name. "I don't know…"

"You. Don't. Know?" Each word she spat hit me between the eyes very, very hard.

That's it! Plan d)! Plan d)! "No, I don't know who she was. Not at all." The car. Excellent excuse! We'd arrived in Amanda's car, mine was still at the office. We were off to a meeting in Bristol first thing and her mileage allowance was much better than mine. Well she was the boss, after all.

Jackie's eyebrows were arched to breaking point. But I was ready. The plan had formed. The story tumbled out:

"We decided, me and Mike" (shit, Mike was dead. Let's hope she didn't remember that detail. Wait, there was another Mike. Pretend it was him if she asks), "to watch the cricket in the pub. Finishes early in India, as you know, time difference and all that. Work was dead, so we slipped out at half eleven. Didn't mean to get pissed, but we were there all afternoon. That's why the car's not outside."

"Which Mike? Mike's dead."

"Not that Mike!" Funnily enough, the last time I remember Amanda wearing knickers was at Mike's funeral. She thought it was a nice way to show deference to the recently departed. Had someone died today that needed a similar mark of respect? I should have paid attention to the news.

"Mike, one of the photographers," I said. That was feasible. Our photographers are notorious piss-heads. Even Jackie knew that. "He kept getting them in. I didn't realise how much I'd drunk."

"Who was she?"

"At the bar. I got talking…she started talking to me at the bar. Asking me about the cricket. You know, who was who and why were they doing whatever it was they were doing. Got on my nerves a bit, to be honest."

Bit much that one. Plus, if anyone ever says 'to be honest' you know they are lying through their teeth.

"What was her name?"

"I didn't ask her. Why would I ask her? She bought us a couple of drinks. I bought her one back just to be…you know…sociable. She was a bit rough looking. I didn't fancy her at all."

Sneered at that one, did our Jackie. "But you took her back here and…and fucked her all the same? You pick up some slut in a seedy bar, take her to my house and fuck her?"

Jimmy, do not say 'our house'. This isn't the time or place for semantics. I liked the alliteration of 'some slut in a seedy bar' though, very good indeed. Will you just fucking concentrate! I thought. Deep breath. "It wasn't like that," I whined, like a little kid caught red-handed nicking Dinky toys from Woolies. Well, that's how I said it when they caught me at the age of ten. "Mike was far too pissed to drive me home, like he'd promised to do." Yeah, that's right. Blame imaginary Mike, the bastard! "She offered to drop me home, said it was on her way. I mean, I didn't know she wanted to screw me, did I? I just took the lift. You know how hard it is to get a taxi."

This time Jackie's left eyebrow almost disappears. "It was her fault? She took you back here to fuck you? Some slapper in a bar?"

Yes! Yes! It was all her fault! Imaginary slapper in a bar is to blame! Bang her up! Leading little innocent me on like that. The fact that I've been fucking the arse off my delicious boss for eight months has nothing to do with it at all.

But all I said was: "It wasn't like that. It, it…it just happened. Look, I was pissed. It just happened. It's never happened before and it'll never happen again."

Then inspiration struck. "Anyway, I read your email, I knew you were coming home." In my mind's eye I could see the little red icon on AOL declaring: 'You still have email, you lying little cunt'. Please God, let me get to it before she does. "Why would I have sex with someone if I knew you were coming home? It was a lapse, a horrible momentary lapse. It. Won't. Happen. Again. I promise"

We'd been married for eight years and she had never looked at me with anything approaching hate. But there it was now in those big brown, tear-filled eyes.

"You fucking bastard!" she said as she pushed past me and ran up the stairs.

Jimmy, I thought, she's not wrong. Guilty as I felt I still managed to go into the study, boot up the computer and read her email. 'Fire, nervous breakdown, cancelled' it said. Switched off, had an: 'I don't smoke except in emergencies, and this is a fucking emergency' cigarette in the kitchen and waited for her to come back down.

That was Tuesday. The next time I saw her was last night when she came home and made me lick another man's spunk from her cunt. And then lick my spunk and his spunk from her, as well.

If it hadn't been for Amanda none of this would have happened. Oh God, the pulchritudinous Amanda, a wonderful fuck and the dirtiest bitch I'd ever met. Amanda was how I got from there to here. But how did I get to Amanda?

To be continued...