That's No Lady - That's My Wife


A faster tempo song came up. The people dancing put aside formal dancing for a freer style, and more couples joined them. Tom stood behind Deborah, whispering something in her ear that made her scoff and giggle. Lewis moved closer and watched more intensely. She still wasn't aware he was watching. She wasn't even checking.

Tom moved in closer, one hand at her hip, until their bodies were touching, front to back. Her bottom had to be brushing against his crotch; if he was getting hard from this contact, she would notice. It didn't seem to bother her. His hands were sometimes at her hips, but also roamed along her sides, and over her tummy, upward. She danced more sinuously, closer to him, pushing against him. Perhaps feeling bolder, he reached upward from behind her, gently cupping her breasts through the thin top before she batted his hands down.

She shook her head and issued a few scolding words. Lewis couldn't hear what was said, but it seemed a very mild, almost joking reproach to a man who had just fondled her. Just a few seconds later his hands were there again, momentarily squeezing her breasts against her then relaxing. With two fingers of each hand, he then stroked a few circles around where the nipple would be if Deborah's breasts were bare.

Why are you letting him do this? Lewis wondered. He pushed to the front, and Deborah finally noticed him, startled. She said something to Tom and walked over.

"Oh honey, I'm so sorry, I was supposed to come find you." She kissed him as if nothing was wrong.

"Can I talk to you for a moment?" he asked.

"Sure, honey," she said innocently.

He led her to the hallway. "What the hell was going on in there?"

"What was what?"

"What that guy was doing with you!"

Deborah never handled criticism too well, and he could sense her bristling at it. "I told you there would be a little flirting going on," she said, petulant. "You said you'd be okay with it."

"He was fondling you!" he said. "That is not okay!"

For a long moment she stared at him, unwilling to concede; a defiance that disturbed Lewis because it should have been obvious that he was right. Well, what do I do now? he thought. Keep repeating my point until she sees the light?

Her expression softened, and she relented. "You're right. We've both had a drink or two, and it got a little out of hand. That doesn't make it right."

"You should have slapped him for touching you like that."

She frowned, disagreeing immediately and strongly. "I am not going to slap someone I work with for a simple mistake."

"Have mistakes like this ever happened before?"

"It was just bad judgment," she said. "I'm really sorry." She kissed him warmly. He realized he was semi-hard; a good kiss from her would do that. Her outfit didn't hurt, either. He was getting to appreciate it more and more, in sort of a voyeuristic way that unsettled him. She was his own wife, for heaven's sake.

Later, he would realize she didn't answer his question.

"I will more than make it up to you tonight," she said.

He smiled, looking forward to it. "I'll hold you to that."

Deborah inhaled deeply, then let it out in a rush, her habit when something was finally settled.

"You want to get something to eat?" he said.

"In a little while. I just want to make the rounds. Hey, I have someone you could meet. Her name's Evelyn. She's a writer, too."

"Okay..." Lewis preferred that they stick together for a while.

"And she's cute. Don't run away with her, now."

Deborah towed him into the living room where an attractive brunette in a black cocktail dress stood sipping a martini, surveying the crowd. After introducing her to Lewis, Deborah slipped away.

Evelyn was a tech writer for the firm. She was undeniably pretty, and her elegant dress boasted a deep neckline. She was gracious and friendly, and they talked shop for a while, complaining about deadlines and editors. Though her slim figure did not fill out the dress the way Deborah's would have, no man would complain about the fit. When she leaned forward a little, or turned a bit, or moved her arms to illustrate a point, the neckline gaped just enough to reveal a braless breast almost completely in profile.

If Lewis were single, he would have hit on this woman hard.

He tried not to stare; but when he saw a bare nipple in shadow, her dress hanging a fraction of an inch away, she caught him looking. She adjusted her dress and resumed talking. He guessed she was used to that kind of attention.

Too soon, another man took her by the arm. Lewis was alone again.

He wandered back to the bar, got another drink, and waited. He felt isolated standing by himself; it seemed everyone else had a companion. Hanging out at the bar too long would convey another image he didn't wish to. He decided it was better to walk around.

At the other side of Fiona's house was another large room, designed for nothing in particular but now serving as another dance floor. The music and crowd here were more raucous. He maneuvered his way forward.

To his dismay Deborah was the center of attention, with five men surrounding her. The scene gave Lewis a sinking feeling in his stomach. At first he couldn't even accept what he was seeing as real.

Her top was off, revealing a lacy, diaphanous black bra. She had worn before, in public, bikini tops roughly the same size, but they were opaque. This bra showed her nipples and the swells of her breasts, which swayed and jiggled as she danced, the bra doing its best to keep up. With her top gone, and most of her back and belly bare, Lewis saw for the first time just how short her miniskirt was: really just enough to cover her butt, and worn low. She was practically down to her underwear among a group of guys with one thing on their mind.

Two men moved in and sandwiched her, front and back. They caressed her freely, taking advantage of all the skin exposed. The man in back (Brad? Yes, it was Brad) patted her butt, enjoying its firm, round shape covered by the short skirt. She gyrated more forcefully, pushing against his hands. Feeling more adventurous, he reached underneath her skirt, where Lewis knew only a pair of lacy black panties protected her bare skin. Those were translucent as well; when she modeled them for Lewis, her dark triangle of pubic hair showed through easily.

The man in front, who Lewis thought was maybe Steve, or Stephan, who had been staring at her chest, stepped in close, reaching behind her. He moved his hands gradually over her shoulders, to her collarbones, and tentatively down toward her chest. The brazenness of this surprised her -- Lewis could see it in her face -- yet she still accepted what both men were doing. Stephan's hands crept lower and lower, following the slopes of her bra-covered breasts until he had one in each hand. Brad had his hands at her hips now, still underneath her skirt.

How far would she let them go?

Stephan stopped groping her breasts, and shouted something over her shoulder. Brad let go of her hips and was now doing something behind her back. Seconds later, Lewis knew what it was: he was unhooking her bra. When he finished, the bra snapped forward, all tension gone, held only by the straps at her shoulders. The cups rested loosely and precariously on her swaying breasts. She glanced down, her mouth a little O of surprise, but kept dancing. A few beats later, the cups were misaligned and most of her bare breasts were showing.

Stephan lifted the straps from her shoulders. She brought her arms forward, letting him pull the straps off, and she shrugged out of it. Now topless, she closed her eyes and swayed as the man caressed her breasts. This was a slippery slope, and no one showed any signs of wanting to stop sliding. In back, Brad returned his hands to her hips, exploring his way underneath the only clothing she was still wearing.

Anxiety bubbled inside Lewis. It really seemed necessary to step in and forcefully break this up. What held him back was the fear that she would shoo him away, preferring for the moment the other men's company. He would have find an opportunity to pull her aside. She'd obviously had too much to drink; otherwise, she wouldn't be behaving this way. He would take her home.

Suddenly she got spooked and stopped, surveying the room. Their eyes did not meet; she probably didn't see him, though she might have thought she did at first. Still, she covered her breasts with her arms and seemed to explain something to Brad, laughing and even once rolling her eyes. Her top and bra were handed to her, and she stepped over to the far side of the room.

Great, Lewis thought. I'm the one she's talking about; and if I walk in now, I'll look like a fool. I'll have to catch her later.

He retreated to the kitchen. Plates of hors d'oeuvres waited to be carried out by caterers in crisp black and white uniforms. For a while he watched them file in and out.

Deborah found him this time. She was still putting her top back on. "Hi, Lewis," she said, pushing an arm through. She smoothed out the hem and tucked it in.

"I saw you out there," he said.

"Hmmm?" She picked up a strawberry from a plate about to go out, and bit a chunk out of it.

"You had your top off!"

"Honey, you said you wouldn't freak out," she said, with a pained look. "It's just a little fun and games. I'm not the only one, either."

"I don't care about the others," he said. "I don't want you doing this stuff."

She finished her strawberry, and reached for another. "That's how our company gets along. We bond. We're a team."

"Have other men done this to you? How long has this been going on?"

She sighed, and rolled her eyes again. "A few guys have touched my boobs, or goosed me. It's no big thing."

The half-eaten strawberry slipped out of her red-stained fingers and bounced on the floor. "Whoops," she said and bent over at the waist to pick it up. Lewis naturally turned his focus to her smooth legs, ascending from black pumps, calf blending into thigh.

The skirt rode up high enough to show that his wife no longer was wearing underwear.

"Where are your panties?" he hissed.

She stood up. "I don't know. Somebody has them. What are you, my father?"

"I'm your husband, goddammit. Look, your bra's gone too, isn't it." Her top, semi-sheer in the bright kitchen lights, hinted at the silhouettes of her breasts.

"I'm still fully dressed," she protested. "As much as the other ladies."

"And the guy with his hands between your legs. Have other guys done that, too?"

She glanced away for a moment, as if looking for a cue card. "Sometimes."

"While you're wearing a skirt?"

"No, no skirt." She handed him the stem of her strawberry. "Lewis, you ought to mingle, meet some people. It looks like you're not having any fun at all." She turned and left.

He stood there holding the stem, digesting what she had revealed. Flashing her breasts. Letting other men touch her breasts and (under her skirt) her bare bottom. And maybe even worse. Could be. Her answers had been plenty evasive.

Reluctant to stand too long by himself in any one place, Lewis began roaming again; at least it would look like he was circulating.

In the hallway he edged by Evelyn and an anonymous guy. They were certainly having more fun than he was: she stood against the wall, one knee raised, shoe off, while her man nuzzled her lips. For good measure, he had slipped one hand through the plunging neckline of her dress and was fondling her left breast. How long before they took it upstairs and she had everything off? It had been a long time since Lewis had coveted another woman; but he envied this man's prospects. Evelyn looked like a really enjoyable lay. He looked away, feeling like a voyeur, and sped forward.

Fiona appeared and gathered everyone's attention, repeating an announcement she had delivered to several rooms. "Our hot tub is fixed," she said, to scattered cheers. "I know none of you are dressed for it, but I do have some spare swimsuits. There are even some for the guys, courtesy of my ex-husband." Some chuckled at this.

A few people followed her to the cabana, to select a swimsuit and change. Lewis had no interest in this. Sitting even closer to people who knew each other, but not him, would just be more awkward. He returned to the bar for a club soda. Best not to be both depressed and drunk.

Afterward, he ventured out onto the back deck. In one corner was the in-ground spa, where three people sat, a woman shoulder-to-shoulder between two men. As Lewis moved closer he was not surprised to see the woman was his wife.

The churning water was chest-high for the men on either side; Deborah sat a little deeper. The bubbles obscured anything beneath the surface. He looked for straps on her shoulders and saw none; she had not put on a top. For Christ's sake, Lewis fumed. He could imagine her conversation with Fiona in the cabana: "No, just the bottom half; I don't need the top. I'll just let my male coworkers stare at and fondle my bare breasts."

The man to her left (Greg?) had his arm around her shoulders. The man to her right, Roger: where were his hands? Somewhere underwater, hidden: perhaps her breasts? Or maybe in her lap, looking for a way inside her bikini bottom?

She said something to Roger; his eyes widened, and they laughed. She moved her right hand, which was still underwater; but from the angle of her shoulder, it looked like she was reaching between his legs. Oh god, Lewis thought. Certainly sitting next to a gorgeous topless woman was making the man hard. Even Lewis was getting hard watching. And now she's touching his dick?

Roger stood up slightly, reached down with both hands, and sat down again. What was he doing? Pushing in a boner that had popped out?

Lewis had the answer soon enough when Roger fished his dripping swim trunks out of the water and laid them on the deck. Deborah reached in again. Though her hand was underwater, it was obvious what she started doing: she began stroking the naked man's penis.

Lewis felt his face turning red. She knew he was at the party, and still she was doing this, flaunting it. Roger breathed more and more deeply as she stroked him. Seeing her initiate this was much worse than seeing her go along with other guys' wishes. It was all too easy to imagine what was happening underwater. In spite of himself, Lewis was getting visibly aroused. His dick poked against his loose boxers and his trousers.

Lewis was perturbed to find a small voice within himself empathizing with the man at Deborah's side. He has a gorgeous woman at his office, but unfortunately married, totally unattainable. She dresses well, professionally, so almost everything about her is left to the imagination, which is still stirred by the occasional peek down her blouse, or those red-letter days where she comes in wearing a sweater. How she looks in a bikini, or wearing nothing at all, he figures he'll never know.

Then there's finally a party, and she shows up, and he finally gets to see her let her hair down. She wears a sexy outfit, showcasing the dynamite body he always knew she had. When she gets a few drinks in her, she's a big flirt, and a fun-lover, even more than he hoped for. And the hot tub, she's cool with that, in fact she's even cool with climbing in topless, next to him, even giving him a handjob because hey, we're all having fun here...

It was much easier to blame his wife for providing the opportunity than to blame the guy for taking her up on it. Roger's eyes were closed now, obviously enjoying this more and more, an intimate moment sort of hidden under the bubbling water. He was probably imagining her naked too, and his dick being put to better use. Finally he shuddered, and leaned back in obvious ecstasy. After several seconds he gazed at her with appreciation and a weary smile.

Lewis's wife had just jerked off another man.

Dizzy, Lewis stepped over to a stucco column and leaned against it for support.

The man reached for his swim trunks, shimmied back into them underwater, gave Deborah a hug, and climbed out. Good riddance, Lewis thought.

Deborah turned to Greg, the man at her left; Lewis feared she would do the same for him. Instead, they spoke for a moment, and she stood up, her bare breasts clearing the surface and removing any doubt she was topless. Perhaps she was getting out too. Greg scooted forward a bit, now sitting on the edge of the seat.

She wasn't getting out. She faced Greg and climbed onto his lap.

Oh great, a lap dance, thought Lewis. Just like a stripper. His wife's breasts, still above the water, jiggled as she gyrated and bounced on his lap. A few seconds of this and Greg started playing with them, even leaning forward at times to kiss them. No doubt they were slippery and tasted of chlorine, but (no surprise there) he didn't seem to mind. He said something and she hopped off; Lewis hoped this meant the dance was over. Instead, she reached underwater and helped him remove his swimtrunks as well. Then she got back on his lap and continued dry-humping him, now with the guy naked.

She held his shoulders and arched her back as he manhandled her breasts, teasing, stroking and pinching. His erection had to be poking against her bikini bottoms, vainly trying to find its way in. The temptation must be unbearable, Lewis guessed, to be so close to having real sex with such a beautiful, nearly naked woman. Could this really be considered a tease? Probably not; guys paid good money at clubs for entertainment just like this. Greg's boner had to be trying to poke a hole in Deborah's bikini.

The guy went rigid for several seconds, then seemed to collapse. Lewis sighed. His wife had let another man come, another guy's jizz spurting against her bikini bottom.

She finally stood up again, navel deep in the bubbling water. Please let this be the end of it, Lewis begged, trying to telepathically convince her to stop. A married woman isn't supposed to act this way.

To his momentary relief, she did stop. She blew a kiss to Greg and climbed out of the spa. Water sheened off her lovely body and Lewis was once again taken with how beautiful she was, and how difficult it was to stay angry, even when she had wronged him as blatantly as this. Her face beamed and her breasts bobbed as she stepped onto the deck. He was shocked to see not a soaked bikini bottom, but sodden pubic hair and bare skin.

Deborah hadn't gone into the pool topless. All that time, she had been naked. Which means that the second guy... oh, shit, Lewis thought.

She stood on the deck, looking magnificent, naked head to toe. Water beaded and dripped along her bare skin. Several onlookers whistled and she smiled appreciatively. A young man with a crew cut handed her a towel and she leisurely dried off. You've had your fun, Lewis said to himself; please, Deborah, put on some clothes, now.

She seemed in no hurry to get dressed again. She folded the towel over the back of a chair and greeted another man, who had taken off his tie and unbuttoned his collar. He looked her up and down in a comical, exaggerated motion and she laughed. He followed this with a funny observation, at least to her, and she lifted her breasts up like an offering, squeezing them together. They both laughed. They embraced quickly; she air-kissed him on both cheeks, European-style. He responded by kissing her left nipple, then her right. She wagged a finger at him: naughty boy.

Lewis shook his head. For God's sake, Deborah, please stop screwing around and get dressed!

The man left; she blew a kiss in his wake. She looked around for a moment, not noticing her husband. She seemed entirely comfortable being naked among many people.

Another man approached; Lewis recognized him as the asshole, Nick. He had changed into a Speedo swimsuit that was almost obscenely small. It showed off his well-toned body and the bulge of his package. He and Deborah stood face to face, admiring each other. So this was the worst-case scenario Theo had warned about.

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