Written by Tomcovenent

Fiction
8 Oct 2011


The doorbell rang and Steve, his wife Dawn and I looked at each other. 'Raid!' joked Steve and continued to pour himself a glass of Merlot. 'Expecting other guests?' asked Dawn, glass poised for a sip of sparkling Cava and blackcurrent. 'I 'm not social secretary, she's still applying warpaint, but I don't think so'. I put my glass down on the mantlepiece, thinking I'd best move that before Carol saw it, and went over to the window to see who was at the door. When I turned back, the feeling that the colour had drained from my face must have been true, 'Blimey, is it the bailif?' asked Steve, eyebrows raised. 'Errr could be' I tried to keep the tremor from my voice but didn't quite make it. 'Excuse me a minute'. As I left the room, closing the door behind me a little harder than I had intended, I could imagine our two closest friends exchanging puzzled glances, but I couldn't worry about appearances right now. I hurried upstairs as the doorbell rang again, a little longer, was it with a little more insistence? My wife, Carol, was sitting at her dressing table, flicking her eyelashes with some kind of device, as women do! 'Carol, the door, it's Mr Benson'. She continued as if I hadn't spoken, didn't react at all, I was surprised, taken aback and then realisation crashed through my confusion. 'You expected him?'. Now she paused, but still gazed into the mirror. 'He told me he might call today'. Stunned, I stuttered, 'He told...today, but when did....how...what..?'. She laughed, throwing her head back with gaiety and turned toward me, hooking up her clean neatly pressed blouse from the coat hanger hanging from the back of a chair near the dressing table. 'Calm down Hun, it's only Mr Benson, not death come a calling!'. I realised immediately that she was nervous, very nervous. This phrase she had used did not sound like Carol at all. She slipped the blouse on and with a little more difficulty than usual buttoned it up, her deep pnk lace bra still visible through the thin cotton. 'Thats new', I asked, distracted from my urgent need for answers by the sudden realisation that Steve would enjoy the way she was dressed and Dawn would be perhaps a little shocked. 'Yes, so are these' she had parted her legs and turned further toward me. Matching lacy short s style knickers. 'He gave me a mobile with his number in it, he texted me, and I received a parcel with underwear in it yesterday'. Despite my inner turmoil and confusion, a surge of intense jealousy, despite our friends downstairs and despite the even more insistent ringing of the doorbell, my cock stiffened.


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