The Misadventures of Mrs. Taken Ch. 02

Just to rub salt in an open wound the Marlboro Man had the nerve to send me an early birthday card complete with a money saving five dollars off coupon. I put one of those million lighters in the bottom of my purse to good use and sent the card up in flames. Asshole.

Everyone was supportive, distantly, very, very distantly supportive. Nobody dared to get within ten feet of me. I just had to stay focused till Sunday. After Sunday it was going to get better. I just knew it. Foster was never shy with his praise. After supper, as if I was a lost puppy he had taken in, he dragged me along on his evening walks. There were kisses every morning and admonitions of love. Everyone at the shop admired my convictions and my determination to quit, but only the very faithful or the hard of hearing dared to take a seat in my station.

In truth, as much as I missed my old BFF, I was kind of proud of myself. It was getting easier not to light up. I had yet to make it to Foster's required twenty-four hour smoke free timeline. But, I was close. And as of Sunday morning I was joining the elite ranks of the ex-smokers. I had it all planned out. I was going to ask Foster to spark up the grill and we were going to burn the pack of cigarettes buried in the bottom of my purse in effigy. My long friendship with smoking was finally going to be over and done.

I was going to be a new woman, a smoke free woman. I was going to be a woman who could jog without wheezing like a freight train and a woman with a brand new fragrance besides eau d' cigarette smoke and a new lease on life. I was going to at the end of it still be me, only better, and I could not wait till Sunday morning to prove it.

By Saturday afternoon business at the shop was booming and a few brave souls had ventured to my station for haircuts and the usual weekly shampoo and sets. I was twitchy, but wisely kept my mouth shut and my temper in check. Part of a hairdresser's job is to play councilor. Today I simply didn't have it in me to offer up random pearls of wisdom. Betty Stamper wanted to go blonde over her jet black dye job, no problem. Abigail Smith thought it was a good idea to cut off eight inches of her waist length glory. Ok. The scowls of displeasure I had earned with the outcome of such bad hair decisions were disheartening and sure, I should have had the common sense to talk the customers out of them, but I wasn't going to risk victimizing anyone to my bad mood. My boss was less than pleased and told me so in no uncertain terms.

I went home practically in tears and wanting a cigarette so badly, just to take off the edge that my skin was crawling. Abigail would get over it. The style job was exactly what she had asked for and it did look better on her than that mop of frizzy waist length hair she'd had before. Betty would be getting back her black dye job, for free, on Monday. And yes, I was eating the cost of the re-dye job out of my paycheck. I kept telling myself that one off day was not the end of the world, but it certainly didn't feel like it right now.

I was so off kilter that for the first time in a very long time, I wished I was a little kid again and small enough to climb in my mom's lap for a bit of comforting. That was exactly what I needed, someone one hundred percent on my side. Instead, I had Foster. Sure, he was one hundred percent team Claire all the way. But, it was hard not to be angry with him for getting me into this mess in the first place.

I was sucking on sour grapes and I knew it. But, didn't becoming an ex-smoker entitle me to a bit of self-indulgence? I was going to get my shit together. I was stronger than my habit. I'd already proven that. The Abigails and Bettys of the world could kiss my ass. No, one off day was not the end of the world. No, I wasn't mad at Foster. I wasn't going to lose my job over a bad dye job and a lousy haircut. And yes, I'd live, longer, thanks to the sheer force of my will and my determination not to give in.

Filled with piss and vinegar and no small measure of spunk, I dumped the contents of my purse out on the kitchen table and pawed through the mess. The lighters went in the trash and as for the pack of cigarettes. I left it sitting there, just daring it to defy my determination. Tomorrow was the first day of the rest of my new life and it was going to be epic.

Foster

I came in from the garage to find Claire clutching the edge of the kitchen table with her head bent glaring at a pack of cigarettes. I wanted to grin at the sight of it. She looked as if she were facing off against a bitter enemy and perhaps, she was. I had been keeping a low profile over the last couple of days. My loving wife had been replaced with a harpy from hell's gate and for the sake of the head still attached to my shoulders and maintaining the peace in my happy home, I stayed clear of her. I understood. The withdrawals were riding her hard. I had been there once myself, after all.

I was never shy to tell her how proud I was of her. In a few days, the worst of it would pass and it would simply come down to a battle of wills. She had chucked all the lighters collected in the bottom of her purse into the trash. The cigarettes were going to be the next thing to go. She just had to take that one last step to see it through. I wrapped my arms around her waist and drew her to my chest. She smelled of the chemicals she used in the beauty shop, of pungent perm solution and acidic hair color, of sweet sticky hairspray and of fruity smelling shampoo, but not of cigarette smoke.

She was in the first and also the last phases of her bitter war against smoking. She was an ex-smoker who hadn't quite managed to convince her mind that she had quit. We were there. Claire just hadn't come to embrace it yet. I gave her a peck on the cheek and a tight squeeze of reassurance. I didn't mention that she could toss the cigarettes into the trash with the lighters. She'd come to that conclusion on her own, in time.

Everything I had ordered online had arrived and was tucked away in the bottom drawer of her dresser. We were going to have a good time tomorrow morning. I was certain of it. I was just waiting, reading her signals to make sure she was there with me. My principles aside, I would have forgiven her if she had picked up that pack of cigarettes and smoked herself into oblivion. The first few days were bad, but the first twenty-four hours were the worst and by my estimation she was eight hours or so into the thick of them. She needed a diversion and a means to relax and I had just the thing in mind to help her.

Sex therapists might be bullshit, but sex therapy, now there was something I could really sink my teeth into. I inched my fingers around and massaged her breasts. She might turn her head and bite me for my trouble, but what the hell. "Let me make it better, babe," I whispered in her ear.

Claire was not a woman to admit any kind of weakness. She shivered in my arms and rested her head on my collarbone. One of the reasons we were perfect for each other was that she didn't talk things to death. I was a man of few words and one of action. Unbuttoning her blouse and working my fingers under the lace of her bra, I heard the word uttered from her lips that I never had imagined I'd hear. "Please," she said in a gasping urgent tone.

Rules were meant to be broken. I was a renegade like that. Well, not really, but I obeyed the rules just enough not to get into trouble. I've pressed the gas pedal to the floor plenty of times to coast through yellow lights. But, I'd never deliberately run a red light. I was going to push the envelope again. Not exactly going back on the rules I had set, but not precisely keeping them either. I was hard and hungry for my wife. One week had never seemed so long. I think maybe, I was so desperate for Claire because I knew I couldn't have her. If this had been an ordinary week, I'd be getting a little horny and looking forward to our Sunday morning romp. But, this week, I was way past a little horny and Sunday morning was just too far away to wait.

Claire had a bad day. I could see it in her eyes and the stance of her posture. I could make it better and still keep my word. She wasn't twenty-four hours smoke free as I'd demanded, but I could do plenty to keep her occupied and fully sated, maybe even improve her mood till tomorrow morning finally dawned. "Let me take care of you tonight, Claire," I said as I led her into the bathroom, stripping her clothes off along the way.

Claire

Foster was a Mr. Fix It. He always had been. There was nothing that could be broken beyond his repair and that included me. I stood there complacently, lifting one leg and then the other as he peeled off my shoes and socks and then my slacks. The floor tiles were cool beneath the pads of my feet and the bathroom misty from the heat of the water. I could feel my bad mood drifting away on the clouds of steam rising from the bubble bath.

As a general rule I didn't like to be taken care of. I could put the stopper in the tub drain and turn the water taps all by my self. I could take my own clothes off and toss them into a heap on the floor. But, tonight I was resigned to let Foster do what he thought he needed to do to set me to rights again. He picked through the bottles of bubble bath under the sink and to my surprise was thoughtful about the fragrance he chose. The bathroom filled with the scent of lavender and mint as he added a generous capful to the steaming water in the tub.

I had been at the shop way past quitting time. The sky was growing dark purple by the time I finally made it home. My back and calves were feeling the strain of the extra hours of standing on my feet. My shoulders were tense and my neck stiff. Not only had I been forced to deal with two last minute customers, but also an ass chewing from my boss after she finally flipped the sign on the door to closed. Then, after a thorough dressing down, there had been the clean up to do as well. Usually, my boss and I joked as we swept up the mountains of hair, scrubbed out the washbowls, and made sure everything was unplugged. Tonight we hadn't. I had left work thoroughly defeated and I was more than willing to let Foster pamper me a little.

He steered me by the shoulders and with a pat on my bare rump got my feet moving. The water was soothing and I exhaled a weary sigh as I sank down into the fragrant bubbles. Foster sat on the porcelain lip of the tub and ran a soapy washcloth over my back. Little by little with the aid of the magic that was just Foster, I began to relax. He was careful to make sure the water wasn't too hot or too cold as he filled a pitcher he had swiped from the kitchen under the tap. He poured the water over my head and began to wash my hair with gentle, assured strokes of his fingers.

Foster could have made a fortune as a hairdresser. His hands were magic in the tangled strands of my hair. Gently, he massaged in conditioner, working it through the ends and bundling the mess on top of my head to let it soak in for the required three minutes. I did hair for a living and not even I was this careful with my own unruly locks. After a thorough rinsing with fresh water from the tap, he topped off the hot water and eased me down to rest my neck onto a rolled up towel. He got up from her perch on the lip of the tub and ordered me to stay put, to just relax and enjoy. That, I could do, and happily so.

I wondered what Foster was up to. I could hear him shuffling around in the bedroom. He ordered me to stay put. So I did. The bed sheets rustled as he folded down the blankets and fluffed the pillows. Was he going to break his deal? I couldn't imagine such a thing. We had been teetering on the edge all week. Finding new old ways to please each other without actually having sex. Sunday morning was right around the corner and as of 8 AM I would be twenty-four hours smoke free. With my curiosity peaked and every achy muscle in my weary body so relaxed. I discovered that I didn't even want a cigarette. Was the hailstorm of becoming a quitter over? I doubted it, but at least I had a little reprieve from its fury.

With thoughts from work drifting away in the bubbles and hot water and my head filled with all the things Foster might be up to in the bedroom. My hands began to wander along my wet, warm, flushed skin. He could barge in on me at any minute and catch me in the act of flirting with my no zones. I was careful just to tease along the surface and not delve any deeper than that. I think maybe my sudden urges toward self-satisfaction came on the heels of knowing that Foster wasn't going to give me what I wanted until he got out of me what he wanted. Kind of like sneaking chocolate when you were supposed to be on a diet, you wanted it worse because you knew you couldn't have it.

Foster

All my preparations were in order. The toys were stashed within easy reach. I had set the mood with scented candles and a bottle of wine. And to tell the truth, the whole thing was a bit intimidating. I never thought I'd be skittish of an inanimate object before, but the toys were just shy of terrifying. Would Claire like them? A guy can only have so much insight into the innermost workings of the female anatomy. As for the female mind, I wouldn't try to begin to out guess Claire. Only a fool would travel into such dangerous territory.

I truly didn't have much to go by when I made my purchases. I had to trust the opinions of others and hoped the five star ratings were honest. My male ego wouldn't suffer the insecurity of worrying about if Claire enjoyed the toys more than she did me. I had it where it counted and my little head had no doubts about that. I was not a man who entered into anything without a backup plan. My toolbox had two of everything, just in case. And now, so did the toy box.

I couldn't bring myself to choose toys that according to the online description were 'life like' and, if the pictures were anything to go by, sure as hell looked like the real thing. To me, it was a little too close to handling another man's junk. Ok, so maybe, my ego was just a bit fragile. Claire's favorite color was hot pink. Hot pink was about as non threatening as it got in terms of sex toys. We already had a 'traditional' vibrator. When it came down to clicking on buy, I went for outlandish and what I hoped would be enjoyable for her and as a consequence of that, for me too.

I didn't completely understand how an ordinary male was supposed to measure up to eight inches of hot pink vibrating fun complete with four speeds, a reverse button, a bunny rabbit clitoral massager, and more bumps and ridges along the surface than a gravel road. But, as long as it did it for Claire, I was willing to put my ego on hold and find out.

In the essence of fun, I also bought a vibrating cock ring in the shape of a butterfly and a toy that looked like a wand for all those hard to reach places. The toys were submergible for a little bath time fun and also anal safe. But, we so weren't delving into that no man's land. Never had. Never would. And I was pretty sure we were both ok with that particular Pandora's box left unopened.

Claire was a girly girl down to the core of her very soul. She loved flowery, soft, satiny things, and sweet smelling perfumes and lotions. Tonight I was going to give her all of those and a box of chocolates. I loved the way Claire smelled when she was fresh out of the shower. She didn't need perfume to cover up her natural scent. She was a fragrance all of her own and one I'd gladly wear all the days of my life.

I had dipped deep into my mad money and bought her something she had always wanted but never in a million years would have asked for due to the sheer extravagance of it. I didn't know what in the hell a chemise was, but thanks to the Internet and Google, I found out. The silk nightgown, and yes, a chemise was a nightgown, was filmy and sleek between my fingers. The floral silk material was fragile and so delicate. Looking as if it would tear as easily as paper from my awkward handling.

It was actually easy to figure out the things Claire wanted but would never ask for. All I had to do was check the browsing history in our shared PC and let the computer do the work for me. Buying her something to wear was risky business. If the nightgown were too small, she would sink into the mire of self-condemnation for being too fat. If the nightgown were too big, she'd think I thought she was fat and spend the rest of the night pouting.

Sometimes, when faced with a potentially no win situation like buying his wife something nice to wear, courage was the only thing a guy had. I splurged and bought the matching robe. I figured even if the nightgown, chemise, or whatever in the hell it was called, didn't fit. The robe would. Besides, the nightgown was coming off anyway and the robe would be much easier for the purpose of getting Claire naked fast.

I could hear Claire splashing in the tub. She was getting impatient and probably about to crawl out of her pruned skin wondering what I was up to. By this point, she must know I had something planned for her after the bath. Claire's mind was a tangled snare of thoughts and ideas, not exactly a mental version of Disneyland for sure and a place no sane person would want to visit. How one person could think of a thousand different things at one time and focus for less than five seconds on all of them was beyond me. My mental train tracks were pretty much point A to point B in a straight line. Hell, I could only think of one thing at a time. And right now all my attention was concentrated on Claire and the things I wanted to do to her.

Should I let her simmer in her own juices a while longer or end the suspense? I was as ready as I was going to be and hoped Claire was too. Gathering up my courage, I bolstered up my masculine ego and marched to the bathroom as if I were about to face a firing squad.

I had showered and manscaped in preparation for tonight before Claire got home from work. Carefully hanging the robe on the hook on the back of the bathroom door, I grabbed a towel and extended my hand to help her out of the tub. The last thing I wanted was for her to slip and fall and end up in the emergency room instead of in bed enjoying what I had planned for her. All my plans turned to dust as I watched the lingering traces of fragrant bubbles roll down her naked skin. Abstinence made the heart grow fonder and mine was pounding to the rhythm of my throbbing cock at nothing more than the sight of her. I would satisfy my own needs through fulfilling hers. In bed, as in all things, she came first and tonight I was going to make sure she did, over and over again.

Claire

Who was this man and what had he done with my husband was my first thought as I accepted Foster's hand to balance myself to climb out of the tub. Foster was every bit as attentive with towel drying every inch of my curvy body as he had been with scrubbing my back and washing my hair. Once he was satisfied that I was dry enough he slid the robe I had been drooling over for at least half of my natural life up my arms and over my shoulders. We couldn't afford the luxury of real silk, but he silenced my protests and what would have been my demands to send it back immediately with an expression that left no room for argument.

Ok...I didn't know what to do with this new version of my loving spouse. The silk was heaven against my bare skin. He cinched the belt and guided me to have a seat on the closed toilet lid where he began gently working a pick through my tangled wet hair. I longingly fingered the silk robe we couldn't afford. I really wanted to keep it, but we had other expenses. Things we needed worse than the luxury of something so frivolous. I knew how much the robe cost and prayed he hadn't bought the matching chemise. Maybe, if I was careful with our spending this month. I could find a way to keep the robe.