Two Can Play Ch. 12

Paul Cooper gloomily gazed through the train window at the passing countryside. There was nothing new to see; everything was all too familiar as he made an unexpected journey. A crisis meeting had been called for the writers and producers of 'Cottingly'. A new and controversial story line had upset too many viewers. A much loved character, friendly, dependable and extremely likeable, had suddenly, and without warning, been turned into a paedophile. He was a founding member of the series and, over the years, had won a loyal following. The actor concerned was furious at the switch and threatened to quit if his character wasn't quickly cleared of all suspicion.

The train was passing through the suburbs of London, street after endless street. Those on the outer rim were well laid out and attractive, with room between them, but closer towards the centre drab, dismal blocks piled one on top of the other, with no sign of greenery and no break in the lines of blackened stone.

Disembarking from the train at King's Cross, Paul swiftly made his way to the cab rank and climbed into a waiting taxi ahead of the queue that would inevitably form with the new arrivals. The pavements were crowded with hurrying people of all ages, shapes, sizes and nationalities. He used to enjoy the hustle and bustle, but that was when Rachel was with him and they could both relish the change of pace from life at home.

He missed her. Why had it all gone so dramatically wrong? Surely his one stupid fling with Carol couldn't cause such a startling change in his relationship with Rachel. He could have understood it if she had simply left him, but she stayed to taunt him with her promiscuity. That is, until he had issued his ultimatum. Paul wondered where she was and if she was happy.

The taxi moved off. God, how he missed her.

*****

It was a long day and Paul was tired. The meeting had been acrimonious; ratings had fallen - these days ratings were all that mattered - and the new, dramatic storyline was almost universally despised. A good deal of shouting had achieved absolutely nothing. Luckily, he wasn't in the firing line, so he could sit back and indulge himself in feeling sorry for those who were. Once or twice his mind had wandered to the evening and what he might do with it, which was unusual. His concentration was always one hundred per cent on business, but not today.

There was a play in town he fancied seeing; a new comedy with a good cast and excellent reviews. Reading about it in his Sunday paper had whetted his appetite. He could go by himself; many people did. After all, you sit in the theatre and get taken into a different world. You can't talk; it's an anti-social event. On the other hand, it's nice to be with someone; to be able to discuss the play with them; to have a meal; to have.....

He thrust the thought aside and went into a shop to buy a newspaper, but his eyes were almost immediately drawn to the top shelf. It was devoted to a line of raunchy magazines designed to appeal to men. One in particular caught his attention. The front cover featured a nearly nude model, her bottom thrust towards the camera. She was looking over her shoulder with twinkling, saucy eyes and a warm, inviting smile. It was Rachel.

Paul stood rooted to the spot, his mouth open in shock. He looked again to make certain his eyes weren't deceiving him. It was her all right; no doubt of it. His wife was featured in a nudie magazine and here he was, standing in a shop gazing at this sexy woman displaying herself for the whole world......

He was still lost in admiration or horror - he was uncertain which - when he became aware of voices next to him.

"Cor, look at this one."

A hand reached up and plucked the magazine off the shelf. Paul turned towards the owner. He was young....seventeen....eighteen....with long, straggly hair, slovenly clothes and stubby fingers with bitten nails. Next to him was a similar youth. He softly whistled.

"Very fuckable."

"I wouldn't mind a piece of that."

The two youths hastily turned the pages of the magazine until they found what they wanted; two pages featuring the same model, but this time she was naked and the camera lovingly dwelled on every part of her. The last picture was a close-up of her vagina. She was holding the labia open and her glistening juices were leaking out.

"God," moaned the first youth. "I can almost feel me prick going in."

"You should be so lucky."

"She's ready for it. You can see."

"Begging if you ask me."

They turned a page.

"Bet the cameraman had it in her soon as they was done filming."

"Her husband's a lucky bastard," sighed youth number two.

"You reckon she's married?"

"Stands to reason, dunnit? This section's called 'Choice Wives'."

The first youth shook his head. "Nah, you can't go by that. Doesn't mean a bloody thing."

"Maybe, but some lucky sod's getting his cock into her. Wish it was me."

"Or me."

"Both of us."

"Yeh." The first youth grinned. "That'd give her something to think about. Here, stick it up your jumper."

The second youth obeyed the instruction, but then stopped as he became aware of Paul staring at him.

"What you bleedin' looking at?"

"Erm....nothing, really."

"You dirty bloody fucker looking at nudie mags. Should be ashamed of yourself."

The magazine and Rachel disappeared up his jumper.

"You says anything," the first youth's voice was low, but menacing, "and you'll find your dick cut off. That's a fucking promise. You savvy?"

Paul silently nodded. He watched as the youths left the shop then, without thinking, pulled down a copy of the magazine. He took it to the counter doing his best to hide his purchase from other customers. Was it his imagination or did the female shop assistant give him a withering look for buying a girlie magazine?

He was half way down the street, his embarrassing purchase safely hidden within the confines of a bag, when Paul realised that he had come away without the newspaper. Too bad. He was most definitely not going back.

After checking into his usual hotel Paul had a shower then poured himself a drink from the mini-bar. He picked up the magazine. Idly turning the pages he barely noticed the other models, but stopped at Rachel. He knew her so well and had possessed her body more times than he could count, but this was a new Rachel. All her most intimate parts were openly displayed. Anyone who could afford the price of the magazine could see her in full colour. Or, of course, anyone prepared to steal it.

As he gazed at the pictures of his...wife?...yes, dammit, they weren't divorced; not even separated...Paul began to remember a holiday together at a beach hotel in Sri Lanka. It was a delayed honeymoon. At the time of their marriage funds were short and an exotic holiday was beyond their means. A week in Scarborough was all they could manage. It rained most of the time.

But Sri Lanka was different. Even though they had been married three years it still felt like a real honeymoon. They had both fallen in love with the place and promised themselves they would return, but they never had.

Sri Lanka.

Happy memories mixed with the more painful present as he gazed at the magazine.

Sri Lanka.

The warm waters of the Indian Ocean gently lapped against the narrow strip of rocky shore which lay immediately beyond their balcony. The hotel consisted of two-storey blocks ranged round a large swimming pool and many of the rooms had a glorious view across the ocean. Paul and Rachel were on the ground floor at the end of the block. The front door opened out onto a general patio area leading to the pool; a short flight of shallow steps descended to the shore.

Shortly after their arrival, Paul took out the camcorder, eager to record the scene for posterity. Beginning inside the room, he left by the front door, videoing the pool area as he slowly walked along. He panned round to look at the block of rooms and walked back towards it, this time heading for the steps down to the shore. After taking in the sea view for a few moments, he panned round to the balcony of their room. Rachel was coming through the glass doors; she was naked.

A slight gasp at her daring and a small wobble of the camcorder were all that betrayed Paul's surprise. There were other people out on a balcony a couple of doors down, but partitions separating one room from another ensured they were unable to see anything. Anyone on the shore would have had a glorious view of his attractive wife, but there was no-one else to appreciate it.

She sat in a chair and draped one leg over the arm. Paul zoomed in to get a close-up of his wife's sweetest and most private parts, but the balcony rail proved to be a great hindrance. He moved up the shore in order to video over the offending rail. As he did so, Rachel slowly began to caress herself, gently running her fingers up and down the lips of her vulva.

Paul stopped the video and started to clamber over the balcony, but his foot caught on the rail and he collapsed in a heap onto the floor.

"Romeo, Romeo, where art thou, Romeo?" Rachel laughed.

"Oh, that's nice. Where's your concern? I might be badly hurt."

"No, lover. Not enough squealing. A small paper cut on your finger causes more reaction than you've just made."

"I'd just like you to be a little more worried," Paul grumbled. "Don't stop what you were doing. I want to video you."

Rachel lazily continued fingering her vulva as Paul videoed, moving in for a close-up as the outer labia opened, revealing the wetly gleaming entrance to her vagina. It was not something they had done before. In fact, Rachel had always resisted his attempts to film her in far less erotic poses than this. He had no idea why she had suddenly lost her inhibitions this way, but he wasn't about to discuss the reasons. This would be something worth watching on cold, dark winter evenings. Of course, this particular section would have to be cut from the edited version to be shown to family and friends!

Whilst Rachel continued working one hand between her legs, fingers pushing into her vagina, she used the other to caress her breasts. Wetting a finger, she rubbed it around both nipples until they were standing out, firm and straight. Paul was still recording the action, but he didn't know if he would be able to keep it going much longer. He was wearing white shorts and a suspicious bulge showed his penis begging to be released.

Rachel's breathing rate was increasing; her eyes were closed and her lips parted in a half smile. She opened her legs even wider and used both hands on her vagina and clitoris. Paul held the camcorder in one hand, still focussing on the action, but pulled down his zip with the other. He unfastened his shorts and let them fall around his ankles. The underpants presented more difficulties with only one hand available, so he had to be content with bringing his penis out through the centre opening. It was so hard it stood straight out at right angles from his body.

Rachel was beginning to moan as she reached a climax. The voices of other holiday-makers on their balconies above and around them drifted on the warm breeze. Paul vaguely wondered what they would think when they heard his wife cry out at her orgasm. For that matter, what would they think when they heard him give vent to his feelings as his cock released its semen.

Aware of the potential embarrassment, Rachel bit down hard on her lip in an attempt to stifle her cries. She was reaching for her climax, her body gleaming with sweat brought on by a combination of sun and sex; the warm breeze lightly caressed her skin, tingling with expectation.

Paul, determined to capture the moment on video, tried to ignore the feeling of growing power in his penis. It was anybody's guess as to which of them was going to climax first. He moved even closer, both penis and camcorder now hovering directly above Rachel, whose head was thrown back, her face contorted by the raw feeling of ecstasy enveloping her body from top to toe.

Her breath came in short, noisy gasps and her body went rigid as the orgasm came. Paul just managed to record the event before giving in to his own desire. Putting the camcorder, none too gently, onto a table, he placed his hands on the seat of the chair, either side of Rachel, taking his weight. At the same time he stretched out his legs, digging in his toes, and lowered his body down on his naked wife, who was flushed and gasping. Paul plunged his cock into her vagina up to the hilt. His balls slapped against her vulva as he pumped, swift and hard. Still feeling the effects of her orgasm, Rachel attained another at the same time as Paul's semen emptied into her.

Whether or not the neighbours had heard their sexual coupling held little concern for them at this moment. They both laughed with sheer joy and held each other close.

"How much did you get on video?" Rachel whispered after a few moments.

"Everything except my turn, I think."

Paul reached for the camcorder, ran it back to the beginning of the sequence and played it back. They watched together as the erotic escapade unfolded once more. Rachel blushed at the clarity of the image, which left nothing to the imagination.

"I can't believe that was me," she murmured. "I don't behave so...so wantonly."

"You do now." Paul tapped the camcorder. "And here's the evidence."

Rachel giggled and buried her face in her hands. Paul stood up, pulled on his shorts and stood by the rail looking out to sea. After a moment he felt his wife's arm round him; she was still naked.

"It's beautiful."

"Perfect." Paul looked at her. "Like you."

They kissed; a long, deep, passionate, loving kiss. A golden pathway lit by the sun, traversed the ocean until it found the couple on the balcony locked in a tight embrace.

Sri Lanka.

Paul slowly rolled the glass in the palm of his hand. The video was still at home, stuck away in a cupboard. He hadn't wanted to look at it since Rachel's departure, though he'd often viewed it before, both with her and alone. No-one else, of course, had seen it; she would never have allowed it; at least, at one time she wouldn't, but in recent months.....who knows?

He hid the magazine under some spare blankets - though had no idea why - and headed off towards the West End theatres. Curtain-up time wasn't far off, but he hoped to be lucky and find a seat for something that was reasonable.

*****

Paul was lucky. Not only did he get a good seat, the play was most enjoyable. It was a revival of a light comedy by George Bernard Shaw. It was funny, but also gave food for thought as it portrayed the social mores of a past age. He returned to the hotel in a somewhat brighter mood than when he left and headed across the foyer to the lifts. There was none immediately available so he pressed the button and stood leaning against the wall, his back towards the hotel entrance.

The lift reached the ground floor with a little ping and a swish of opening doors. Two women in evening dress stepped out, chattering non-stop. Paul entered the lift and reached out for the button, only to stop as a voice called out.

"Wait a moment."

The doors were closing, but Paul held them back as a man and a woman dashed into the lift, breathless and laughing.

"What floor?" For the first time Paul looked at the couple and froze.

"Fifth," the man replied, not taking his eyes off his companion.

She was undoubtedly beautiful and well worth looking at clothed in a long black, sleeveless cocktail dress, with a high side split and V-neck. Her hair was swept up and long jade earrings framed her face. A simulated fur coat was draped over her shoulders

The man, tall, elegant, grey-haired and at least twice her age, was wearing an evening suit. Ignoring the third person in the lift, he put his arms round the woman and pulled her close to him in a proprietorial way. He pressed his lips to hers, but also his crotch, grinding it against hers.

Paul, who had only pressed one button, marked 5, turned away, unable to bear the sight; he also wanted to hide, an impossibility within the confines of the lift.

The woman, still being kissed, looked over her lover's shoulder. She pulled her head away.

"Paul!"

"Erm....good evening, Rachel."

"How are you?"

"Tired after a long script conference. And you?"

"Quite well. Oh, this is....."

"James Pritchard." The elegant man thrust out his hand.

"Paul Cooper."

The two men shook hands in a formal, stiff manner.

"Erm...." Rachel obviously felt some kind of explanation was necessary. "Paul is...."

"An old friend," he quickly interjected. "From Yorkshire."

Rachel looked gratefully at him. "Yes. That's right."

"We lost touch when she left some time ago."

"It easily happens," murmured Pritchard.

Neither he nor Rachel offered any explanation as to their relationship. The lift reached the fifth floor, to the obvious relief of its occupants who all got out.

"Your floor, too?" Rachel nervously enquired.

"Yes. Quite a coincidence."

"Indeed." Pritchard sounded crusty. He took Rachel firmly by the arm and led her down the corridor, the floorboards creaking slightly beneath their feet.

Paul slowly followed, stopping at the door of his room, only three down from the lift. The couple went some distance further on and he watched as Pritchard inserted a card key in its slot. Rachel glanced back at her husband before disappearing into the other man's room.

Paul opened his door with a heavy heart and slowly walked into the bleak emptiness that confronted him. The presence of his wife, so near and yet so far, made him even more miserable than before going to the theatre.

*****

The seconds, minutes, hours slowly ticked by, but Paul was unable to settle. He tried reading a book, but the words blurred together and he found himself gazing unseeingly at the same paragraph without any understanding of its meaning. He switched on the television, but was bored by every programme it offered within five minutes. He picked up a newspaper, bought on his way to the theatre, but found the news singularly uninteresting. He tried lying down and closing his eyes, but sleep resolutely refused to overtake him and put him out of his misery.

After tossing and turning for half an hour, Paul got up, crossed to the door, opened it and looked down the corridor towards the room where Rachel was even now....even now what? Of course he knew. No good trying to kid himself; she was having sex with James Pritchard, he of the haughty demeanour. The man was far too old for her. But age was not necessarily a barrier to good sex.

Dammit! He ought to march down there, bang on the door and drag her out.

Impossible. For one thing, he had no idea precisely which door to bang on. For another, Rachel was no longer his wife, except in the legal sense. He had no rights, could make no demands or create a fuss. She could do as she liked and if she chose to be with this man, so be it.

Dammit!

Paul closed his door, thought for a moment, then took his book, opened the door slightly and left it ajar, using the up-ended book as a prop. He pulled on a dressing-gown, sat in a chair facing the door, and waited impassively.

Ironically he must have drifted off to sleep, because he suddenly jerked awake when a floorboard creaked. He quickly rose, put his eye to the narrow gap between door and jamb and caught a glimpse of Rachel as she walked along the corridor towards the lift. In front of the doors was a fairly extensive area with seats, large windows and a view across the city. A man in a dark suit was sitting on a small padded seat.

"Good evening."

"Hello." Rachel reached out for the button.

"I've been waiting for you."

Rachel looked surprised. "Me?"

"Yes. It's been a pretty long wait."