The Long Walk Home

After the party

Bonnie strode purposely down Maple Street taking long, determined strides. The thin leather strap on her purse dug into her shoulder, the purse itself banged against her hip. Bonnie's short black leather miniskirt was lined with rayon and kept sliding up her shimmery pantyhose. She kept tugging at the skirt, pulling it down as far as it would go, which wasn't far. At the party the skirt hadn't been a problem because Bonnie had been walking seductively: swaying her hips, turning her toes inward slightly as she took small narrow steps, ensuring the ball of her high-heels hit the floor first and the skirt stayed put, mid-thigh where it was supposed to.

From any distance it was obvious that Bonnie was angry and under the influence of alcohol. She was taking long determined paces, fury causing her to almost trot as she put as much distance between herself and the Benning household as she could.

"Oh Fuck!" she squealed as she came precariously close to turning an ankle when her heel caught a crack in the path.

Bonnie stopped walking and sat on a low brick fence fronting a darkened suburban house. The effects of the booze made her head swim as she focussed on her watch and saw that it was past 1am. She caught her breath, took off her high heels and rubbed her feet. She put the white, size eleven, four-inch-heeled pumps on the wall beside her. Christy had found the shoes for Bonnie at Macy's. They were the last pair in that size on the shelf.

"Fuck Christy!" Bonnie sighed.

"No fuck Evelin!" Bonnie corrected herself, using Christy's real name.

Bonnie was feeling a little nauseous as the alcohol slowly worked its way out of her system and she dragged in a lungful of the cold night air hoping it would sober her up.

She rummaged around in the little purse which contained her 'essentials' as Christy had called them when she'd tossed them into Bonnie's purse before they left for the party. Her long red fingernails clacked against her iPhone as she searched for her cigarettes. She found the Marlborough Menthol Lights she was looking for and the Bic lighter. She put the phone down beside her shoes and lit up, drawing the cool menthol smoke deep into her lungs.

She and Christy had Elf Bar vapes that they used in their home because vapes didn't stink up their house and their clothes and despite the Surgeon General's concerns they were both convinced that e-cigarettes were doing far less damage to their health than tobacco. The exception being when they went out on weekends they allowed themselves to have a couple of illicit cigarettes.

Bonnie's rage slowly dissipated into burning fury. She was still too angry at Christy to turn around and go back to the party where their Nissan Rouge was parked in the Bennings driveway. It was all Evelin's fault. She had decided to attend the Bennings 'Bad Parents' theme party as Bonnie and Christy Plunkett.

Bonnie pulled the black bolero jacket tight around herself in an attempt to keep out the chill. Inside the Benning's huge temperature controlled house the leather skirt, satin blouse and bolero jacket had been comfortably warm. Out in the night air the ensemble didn't do much to keep out the cold.

Maple Street was deserted and there was no way that an Uber was going to pick her up and drop her off at home at this hour. Bonnie's house was a forty-five minute walk but only a ten minute drive. Besides, the walk would give her time to calm down, sober up and blow off some steam and think up a good excuse to tell Christy.

Bonnie couldn't help but think of Evelin as Christy and herself as Bonnie, the two characters that they had decided to roleplay at the Benning's party.

"We need to stay in character from the minute we leave home right up until we get home or at least until we win the contest," Christy had insisted and to be fair Bonnie had agreed.

The Bennings owned Exclusive Escapes and the prize for the most realistic interpretation of the theme was an all-expenses paid holiday to Cabo San Lucas including airfares and accommodation for two people. The holiday had been gifted to Lyle Benning as a promotion. He received these marketing junkets all the time and he and his wife often passed them on to friends and family.

Mitchell and Evelin Scottsdale had a comfortable lifestyle but Lyle and Kathy Benning were nouveau riche. Kathy had inherited a family fortune and Exclusive Escapes was doing a roaring trade now that people were in a post-pandemic rush to travel.

Bonnie picked up her iPhone and for a second thought about calling Christy to pick her up but Bonnie was still too angry to talk to Christy and Christy was likely to tell Bonnie to take a hike or probably something more abusive. She tossed the phone, cigarettes and lighter back into her purse and shouldered it. She picked up her pumps and dangled them by her side on two fingers as she began to walk down Maple Street.

The concrete path was cold but smooth under her stocking feet and she was making better time walking barefoot than she had been in her heels. When Maple Street came to the junction at Cypress Drive Bonnie had a decision to make.

Mitchell Scottsdale was a runner. He ran at least five miles a day around the leafy suburbs of Forest Gardens. That's why Bonnie's long legs were toned and well turned out in her glossy nylons. If Bonnie took the pathway through Cedar Park it would cut fifteen, maybe twenty minutes off her journey. If she continued along Cypress it was likely that Christy would drive by on her way home and possibly pick her up.

Bonnie wasn't ready to speak to Christy yet and the shortcut seemed a more inviting alternative. The only problem was that the pathway through Cedar Park was crushed gravel which would mean putting her heels back on or cutting the soles of her feet to ribbons. The park was dark but the pathway was lit by solar powered edge lighting.

"Fuck it!" Bonnie tossed her cigarette into the leafy groundcover and slipped her high heels back on her feet.

She turned onto the path, her heels crunching on the gravel. Bonnie was nearly halfway through the park when she realised that she had made a mistake. Walking in high heels on the loose gravel slowed her down considerably and she had to concentrate on where she placed her feet on the poorly lit path. The park was pitch-black except where the solar lamps illuminated the edge of the walking trail.

At the halfway point there was a picnic area comprising a pavilion, picnic tables and benches, gas-fired barbeques, a children's playground and a sandpit and public ablutions. Bonnie could see the small pavilion in the middle of the picnic area illuminated by a single fluorescent bulb mounted on the ceiling. It was like a small island of light in an ocean of complete darkness. She decided that she would take a seat there and find the little stone that had caught in her shoe and was giving her hell. Maybe she would smoke another cigarette.

Bonnie had been too busy thinking about the events leading up to her current predicament and concentrating on the path to notice the shadowy figures approaching her, one from behind and one from in front.

"Well, well, well; what do we have here?" the unexpected voice coming from behind her startled Bonnie.

Bonnie looked up and saw a man blocking her path. It was so unexpected that she was too stunned to cry out.

Bonnie stood a little over six feet tall in her heels and weighed 138 pounds on a runners frame but she was no match for the two strangers who dragged her off the pathway and corralled her towards the pavilion.

Bonnie knew that she was in terrible trouble.

One week before the party

Mitchell Scottsdale had completed his daily run around the leafy suburb of Forest Gardens. The Scottsdales lived in phase two of the sprawling upmarket development built around a civic centre and shopping complex. He worked as a planner for Forest Gardens Developments and was proud of his achievements and liked to run around the select community to survey the fruits of his labour.

Evelin's BMW was parked in the driveway and he smiled as he took his airbuds out of his ears and fished the door key out of the little pocket in the waistband of his running tights. Another few weeks and it would be warm enough to switch to his spandex running shorts so he get some colour on his long athletic legs.

"Hi honey, I'm home," he called, grinning at his parody of Jack Nicholson.

"In the kitchen," his wife called out.

Evelin worked as a real estate broker for the same development company, although her office was located in the civic centre whilst Mitchell spent most of his time in the planning office at phase five of the development site.

Evelin had her back to him. She was at the sink washing vegetables for the salad that would accompany the steaks they would eat for dinner. Mitchell filled a glass with chilled water from the fridge and admired the back of his wife.

Standing at five-five Evelin was as diminutive as Mitchell was tall, although her Louboutin's gave her a couple of extra inches. She was trim and had long platinum blonde hair that she wore in a blunt-cut bob, the bangs framing her pretty face. She was wearing a burgundy skirt-suit and tan nylons, the skirt clung to the curve of her pert backside, hugging her buttocks. The hem rested a few inches above her knees; her shapely legs clad in lustrous sheer hose.

Evelin dressed to look professional for the wives of her male clientele and to look sexy but business-like for their husbands. It was usually the husband that controlled the purse strings but it was the wives who decided which house they would live in. The balance was to impress the women with her business acumen whilst at the same time subtly beguiling the men. She was good at her job and often led the monthly property sales figures.

Mitchell put his water glass down on the countertop and closed in behind Evelin and hugged her, nuzzling her neck.

"You always smell so nice," he murmured as he snuggled up to her, pressing his body against hers.

Evelin could feel Mitchell's erection pressing against her skirt through his athletic tights.

"You smell like sweat," she replied.

"Take a shower and get changed," she admonished him.

"Come with?" Mitchell began to grind his erect penis against Evelin's ass.

"I have a late showing after dinner," Evelin tried to wriggle out of the embrace but all that did was further arouse her husband.

"Looks like were fucking in the kitchen then," Mitchell chuckled and put his hands on Evelin's hips and pushed harder against her.

Evelin knew that Mitchell was turned on by her, especially when she was dressed like this. He had a fetish for taking her fully-clothed dressed in her business suit, her tennis outfit or her yoga leotard and tights, anything that looked sexy on her. She pandered to his needs because she loved him and because she wanted to keep him from straying.

The Scottsdales were in their late thirties and had made a deliberate decision not to have children. They loved the freedom of not being tied down and being able to do what they wanted when they wanted. Evelin's female colleagues bitched about their kids and their husbands and the fact that they didn't have time for a good sex life and were scared that their husbands would be tempted to slake their desires elsewhere.

Evelin had been propositioned on innumerable occasions by clients, work colleagues and even other wives husbands. She was well aware that she was a beautiful sexy woman and that some of her friends were jealous. But the reverse was also true. Mitchell was a handsome man and she saw the other ladies sizing him up, and without children to bind them, she was concerned that he might stray so she gave in to his proclivities whenever he felt the need, seldom saying no to him.

She felt him lift up her skirt and press his cock into her buttocks, rubbing his lycra tights against her panty-clad bottom. Mitchell loved the feel of the mellifluous fabrics on his flesh; especially his cock and he ground his penis against his wife's soft yielding buttocks and groaned.

Evelin wondered if she might be able to fetch Mitchell off in his running tights. She'd done it before. He'd once picked her up from her yoga class straight after one his runs and pulled the car over and practically dragged her into the back seat and rubbed his lycra-clad cock against her prominent pubic mound sheathed in her leotard and tights. He'd buffed his cock so hard against her that her labia became delineated through the layers of gossamer-like fabric and his glans mashed against her clitoris.

She clung to him in the back seat, wrapping her legs around him, nibbling his earlobe, scratching his back, biting his lip, trying fruitlessly to free his erection from his running tights so that he could plunge his steely rod into her warm syrupy clunge but he she wasn't quick enough and she felt the warm wetness of his spend soaking through her leotard and tights and it had triggered her own orgasm.

When they arrived home Mitchell had driven the SUV into the garage rather than parking on their driveway as usual because their neighbours were out and Mitchell and Evelin had saturated the crotches of their sportswear with their coital juices. When they got inside they had both laughed uncontrollably until Mitchell threw Evelin down on the shag pile rug and tore the stiches out of the crutch of her yoga pants and fucked her so hard that her head had bounced on the polished hardwood floor.

Another time he had followed her into the ladies locker room at the tennis club. She was hot and clammy from the match, her little skirt clinging to her thighs, her tight, full-cut tennis panties riding up her ass crack, her makeup had run and her hair was clammy. She didn't feel the slightest bit sexy but Mitchell had pushed her into a toilet cubicle and practically raped her, not that she hadn't enjoyed it when Mitchell eased aside the gusset of her tennis panties and slid his long thick schlong into her clammy slit.

She'd had to bury her head in his clavicle to stifle her moans and push her fingers in Mitchell's mouth to keep his groans from ringing out across the locker room whilst he pressed her against the wall of the cubicle and fucked her, her arms and legs wrapped around him. They were lucky that they weren't caught but Mitchell was always excited when they fucked in public places.

Evelin pandered to her husband's fetishes not only because she wanted to please him, it turned her on too. She relished their adventurous sex life.

She reached behind her and stroked Mitchell's cock through the skin-tight spandex feeling the power projected from the hardness of his steely rod. Her panties were becoming moist in anticipation. Mitchell turned her face to his and she craned her neck awkwardly so that he could kiss her, his tongue slipping over her lips and into her mouth.

For work Evelin wore seamless 'Skims' full-cut bikini panties over her pantyhose so that she didn't show any VPL under her tight skirts. They were figure-hugging and comfortable but also fashionable. Mitchell cupped her buttocks and ran his fingers over the seat. Mitchell slipped a couple of fingers inside the gusset and pressed her sheer-to-the waist pantyhose into her sex. He smiled when he found her warm and wet.

"You pig!" she giggled as he pressed a finger between her puffy labia and circled her clitoris.

Evelin tugged at Mitchell's sports tights until his cock sprang free. Even after years of marriage she was fascinated by the feel and texture of her husband's penis. It was long and curved upwards slightly, perfectly shaped so that his glans pressed on her G-spot when he fucked her. The spongy shaft was sheathed in velvety flesh with little veins running along the length of it which she traced with her perfectly manicured fingernails. The glans was a pink cushiony mushroom that she adored licking when she fellated him. She circled it lightly with two fingers and stroked it.

Peter's breathing was quickening and becoming erratic as his wife stroked his cock, bringing it to full tumescence. He circled her clitoris with a fingertip, teasing it, pressing the fabric of her pantyhose into her vagina. Evelin's heels began to judder on the tiled floor as waves of delight radiated from her cunt. Her nipples hardened and Mitchell unbuttoned her blouse with his free hand and pushed his fingers inside the cups of her brassiere and tweaked her nipples.

"You bastard!" she moaned.

She guided his penis between her legs and bent over the sink invitingly. Mitchell removed his fingers from her vagina and pushed against the fabric of her pantyhose until they split open and he thrust his cock through the hole, into his wife's tight buttery quim.

It was over quickly.

Mitchell squeezed Evelin's breasts, pulling her tight against him, her ass pushed out, her skirt hiked up. He nibbled her ear as his cock slid all the way inside her. Evelin could feel Mitchell's heart beating in his chest as he held her close and slowly fucked her, her quim tightening around his invading manhood. Mitchell tweaked her clitoris and she climaxed, her whole body shuddering as the head of his penis pressed on her G-spot. She would have fallen to floor if her husband wasn't holding her tight against his lean body.

She felt his cock shudder and fill her vagina with his creamy issue. It felt overwhelmingly decadent to be fucked over the kitchen sink whilst she was still dressed in her business suit. She looked out through the sheer lace curtain and saw their neighbour Melody Bishop in her backyard pushing her two brats on the swing set. Melody looked Evelin's way and Evelin saw the shocked expression on Melody's face but she could also see envy. Evelin smiled at Melody and pushed her buttocks back against her husband, triggering a second smaller orgasm.

Mitchell held Evelin close as he ejaculated inside her, his cock swelling. She felt like a bitch tied by a dog's knot, unable to expel Mitchell's cock even if she wanted to. He held her like that and she felt the warmth and the love radiating from her husband, his face resting on her neck, inhaling her scent as he planted his seed deep inside her.

Mitchell finally released her, taking his hand out of her blouse and the other from inside her pantyhose. She felt a little pang of regret as his cock slipped out of her clunge, her vagina and her labia clinging to the swollen flesh, reluctant to let it go.

"I better take that shower," Mitchell kissed her softly, pushing his deflating organ back into his tights.

"You better," Evelin echoed, her voice husky with the remnants of lust.

She reached for the dishcloth on the counter and pressed it between her legs to soak up the juices that threatened to saturate her thighs and stain her skirt. She looked out the window and saw Melody Bishop with her mouth still agape and she smiled sweetly and waved. Melody blushed and turned away and began to push her snotty brats back and forth on the swings.

Evelin kicked off her high heels. Carefully keeping her skirt hitched up out of the way she pulled down her pantyhose and panties. They bunched up around her ankles and she kicked them away and used the dishcloth again to dry her sex and then she buttoned her blouse and let her skirt fall back into place. She picked up the tangled underwear off the kitchen tiles and disentangled the Skims, dropping the pantyhose into the kitchen tidy. The panties would go into the wash.

Mitchell was in the shower when she entered the bathroom and Evelin wetted a facecloth with warm water and liquid soap and cleaned and dried her sex. She fixed her makeup and padded into the bedroom on bare feet. She fished a fresh pair of pantyhose and Skims out of the drawer and put them on. While she adjusted her blouse and skirt she wondered how many pairs of her pantyhose that Mitchell ruined in a month.