Allure of the Vixen (8 page)

“I have a good tailor.”

“Really. Then who picks your ties?”

“I do.”

“You proved my point. You know how to dress. Your
underwear are boring though.”

“Practical, comfortable.”

She took the underwear from me and slid down the
bed, slipping them over my legs. “Have you ever worn silk boxers? They’re
pretty comfortable.”

“You’re not my mother and I’m not your husband.”

Joanne took the hem of the shorts in her lips and
slowly pulled them up my body, using just her mouth. “I don’t think your
mother—or even your wife, whenever you have one—will do this for you.” When she
reached my hips she lifted the shorts over my cock, using her teeth now, her
hair cascading over my crotch. She moved her head back and forth, teasing.

I grabbed the back of her head and pulled her down,
not to suck me, I’d almost given up on that, and when and if it happened I
wouldn’t make her do it. Instead I rubbed her hair into my cock, knowing her
juices were still on me.

She pulled away. “Stop it.”

“Why? Don’t want to bring the scent back to the
office?”

Joanne lay back next to me on the bed, deftly
pulling the boxers up over my hips. “I bring enough of you back to the office.
I have to think about it all day. Some days I can feel you drip out of me. Do
you know how hard it is to concentrate on work when there’s come leaking out of
your pussy?”

I didn’t, but I knew how difficult it was to work
with her on my mind. And now I’d have another image to keep me distracted,
Joanne being turned on by my seed in her. “Maybe if you wore underwear.”

“You’d just have to take them off when I get here.”
Joanne slipped her hand in the slit of the boxers, the fabric enticing me back
to another erection. “See how practical these are?”

I wasn’t ready to be controlled more than she was
already doing, even by her choosing the underwear. She was already controlling
how we had sex. “Here’s what I’ll do. Any day I want you and you tell me you
aren’t going to be with me, I’ll wear them to the office, and make sure you see
me that day. So you’ll know what you aren’t going to get.” I didn’t mean it to
sound so harsh. Or maybe I did.

Joanne wrapped her hand around my cock, her long
delicate fingers doing their magic. “You’re still mad that you aren’t my only
lover.”

“I don’t own you.”

“Sometimes you act like it.”

“I don’t like being in the dark.”

She tightened her grip on me, pulling the skin down
to the base, holding her hand there, my cock quivering, pointing at me like an
accuser. Joanne flipped her leg over me, straddling my hips, still holding my
cock, now poised at her entrance.

Very serious, she said, “You can ask me one
question.”

I hesitated, thinking about the fairness of that,
another limitation she placed on us and between us. I should have denied her,
denied her rules and her limits, and denied her my cock.

Instead I lifted my hips, sliding easily into her,
so new every time, and yet so comfortable, like we had been fucking for years.
And I had to know.

“How many others?” I asked. Purposely vague, wondering
how she’d respond, whether she’d tell me how many she had before, or how many
she had now. I wanted to know about now and almost revised my question, but
wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. Although for both questions, no number she
gave me would matter.

Joanne relaxed her legs, dropping down on me, taking
my entire length in her. “Lovers? Only one other. I never take more than two at
a time.” She rose up on her knees, until I was almost out of her, then she
moved her hips forward and back, using my cock to mash her clit. Her eyes
opened wide, honest. “I’m a slut, not a whore.”

Then she grasped my cock and started to stroke me
while simultaneously using me like a dildo, brushing me hard against her clit, doing
all the work, leaving me to watch, her grip so strong and her hand in my way
that I couldn’t get back inside her.

I growled a warning, but she just shook her head,
not a denial, more asking me to wait, and it felt so good, and watching her was
so arousing I let it go. Faster and faster she worked her clit, and I could
tell when she was close, I knew her that well already, her body, her reactions,
and I was already thrusting into her when she had shifted herself to take me.

Her hair fell over her face as we fucked, and I
moved it behind her ear so I could see her, I wanted to watch her, I wanted to
be amazed, as I always was, at how she shook and melted when I came inside her.

“One other?” I asked.

Those wonderful muscles tightened around me, on my
legs, around my shaft.

“And only you get to come in me,” she breathed.

“Is that what you want? My come?”

She was in the midst of it now, on the edge, she
could only nod violently, and knowing that, I let myself go.

I went out of town again, this time
overseas, and was gone two weeks. Joanne and I didn’t communicate, chatting on
the phone wouldn’t be for either of us. We were all about the bedroom. And the
wall, the floor, the countertop. The phone would be a waste of time.

While I was gone, our offices moved to a different
building. There was a party scheduled for the new opening, and unlike other
office events, this one would be open to guests. I thought briefly of bringing
someone, just to see how Joanne would react. Dropped the idea, it was a little
childish, although I admit it would have been interesting.

The new offices were much larger. The party was in
full swing when I arrived, a full house. I didn’t plan on staying long, I just
needed to put in an appearance, but it took me almost a half hour to get through
the reception area, colleagues pulling me aside to introduce me to their
spouses, or catching up with those I hadn’t seen in a while.

I kept my eye out for Joanne but didn’t see her
anywhere, she might not even be coming. I had just flown back to the States the
day before and was a little tired, so after a while I dropped onto one of the
couches in the corner of the reception area behind the circular staircase where
there was a good view of the city. Most of the attendees had wandered off to
check out the other floors, few people were arriving, and this part of the
office was now more subdued.

There was a couple sitting on the other couch, a
woman who worked in marketing, and what must have been her guest, they looked
like they were just getting a load off. We nodded to each other.

After a bit a guy wandered over and pointed to the
couch I was sitting on. “Mind of I sit here?”

“Sure,” I said. I didn’t know him.

“Nice view,” he said.

“Better than the old place.”

“You work here?” he asked.

I nodded. “Almost ten years.”

“You must like it.”

“I do. I’m pretty much on my own in terms of what I
do. Get to make my own way. I like that.” I glanced over at him. He looked to
be a few years younger than me. Very clean cut. Pretty average looking. He was
wearing a blazer and jeans over a silk tee shirt, a tough look to pull off, and
he didn’t seem especially comfortable in it. Like a little kid who had been
told how to dress. Some kind of boots. His voice had a little bit of an accent,
which I couldn’t quite place, which was odd, since I traveled a lot. “I’m
Michael. I’m sorry, I don’t recognize you.”

“I’m Peter. You wouldn’t. I’m here with my wife.
She’s wandered off, and I’m not much for schmoozing.”

“Don’t need to do much schmoozing if you don’t work
here.”

He laughed. “You’re right. I might be using the
wrong word. English isn’t my first language.”

“You speak it well. Besides, I think schmoozing is
Yiddish.”

“Thanks. Sometimes I get some of the idioms mixed
up. It’s not really the schmoozing that’s the issue anyway.”

“Crowds? I’m not big on them either.”

Peter took a long drink of his beer. “That’s not it
exactly. You see, you may not be able to tell from looking at me, but I have
this really good looking wife. And at parties like this, where there’s a little
drinking, sometimes the men getting a little drunk, they start checking her out.
It kind of—affects me. I imagine what they are thinking, fantasizing about. It
drives me crazy.”

I was already trying to think of who his wife might
be, going through all the married women in my mind. He seemed like an okay guy,
but rather insecure, he didn’t have much presence, so I was tossing out the
hottest wives, I couldn’t imagine one of them with him, he just didn’t seem the
type. But there were too many married woman in the company, many of whom I
didn’t know, and who was I to know what woman he might attract? Maybe he had a
lot to offer.

Of course, if I had a wife as good looking as he
claimed his was, maybe I’d be insecure too, always thinking someone was hitting
on her.

I just nodded and took a sip of my drink. What could
I say? I doubt your wife is that good looking? Or I’m sure she’s true to you? I
didn’t know him from Adam.

And I knew the men at the company, like all men
everywhere, did their share of ogling. I know I did.

When I didn’t answer, he said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean
to tell you about my problems.”

I shrugged. “In some ways, it sounds like a good
problem to have.”

Peter laughed a little nervously. “I guess you are
right.”

This isn’t something I’d normally talk to a stranger
about, but the guy seemed a little lost. “It’s only natural, you getting a
little angry about men checking out your wife.”

“It’s not really anger, it’s—it’s not easy to
explain.” Peter toyed with the label on his beer bottle, not looking at me. “You
married?”

“No.”

“Then it might be hard for you to understand. Actually,
it might be harder to understand even if you were.”

I wasn’t the type to listen to a guy cry in his
beer, he could go to a bar for that. I kept my mouth shut. The other couple got
up and went to look at some of the art on the far wall, leaving just me and
Peter there in the corner.

Peter didn’t seem to notice my reticence. “She’s—.”
He seemed at a loss for words, or maybe it dawned on him that I wasn’t that
interested. He glanced over at me, and his eyes widened a bit, and he sat up
straighter.

I realized he wasn’t responding to me, he was
looking over my shoulder, toward the circular staircase. I heard someone coming
down the stairs and turned to look.

Joanne was on the stairway, her legs looking even
longer from my vantage point below her. As always she looked elegant, regal, a
queen descending down to her adoring subjects. She was in a classic little
black dress, maybe a little too much for this party, but as usual she pulled it
off, her toned arms sexy in the sleeveless cut, a single jewel on a necklace
drawing my eye to her breasts. Her hair was up, refined.

She stopped on the landing, looking down at us. I
was staring, I knew it. Never before in my life had I stared so much at a woman
I had already slept with. She was as alluring with clothing as she was without.

Joanne paused, not posing, that wasn’t her. A brief
smile flittered across her lips; if I hadn’t been staring at her I would have
missed it.

She came down the stairs, sure of herself, and
walked toward the couch. Peter hadn’t said another word, I assumed he was
staring at her too.

Above her, the stairway was suddenly filled with
people returning to the reception area. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the
couple who had been sitting on the other couch return, the woman angrily elbowing
the guy, whose eyes were locked on Joanne.

Joanne’s heels clicked on the marble floor as she
approached us. I turned my head to follow her, I was getting ready to say
hello, certainly that would be appropriate given that we knew each other,
although I was surprised she just didn’t turn the other way, there was no need for
her to come over to the corner of the room, to take unnecessary risks in
public.

Joanne stopped in front of the couch, her eyes
briefly darting between us. Then she bent over, and for a harrowing second I
thought she was going to kiss me, right in front of everyone. I froze, my usual
confidence suddenly lost, she had that much power over me. Everything moved
very quickly, yet I noticed every detail, her earrings, the thickness of the
strap on her dress, the flair in her nostrils. Her perfume as she came closer.

I was squeezing my drink so tightly I was amazed the
glass didn’t shatter. I was helpless, and knew it would be hard not to kiss her
back if she met my lips.

When I looked up into her eyes they held a look I
hadn’t seen before. There was the usual deep gleam, the intensity. And the
sparkle she seemed to be able to turn on and off, but this time, it was
combined with real warmth, a closeness that I didn’t think she’d allow herself
to show in front of everyone. The kind of look that, if you saw a woman share it
with a man, you’d know they had been intimate.

Her eyes flicked to me, but then turned away to
Peter. Her head was now at our level as she gracefully leaned over the couch.

Joanne turned away from me and gave Peter a kiss.
Not a peck, not a kiss of passion, but a kiss of someone close, a comfortable,
loving kiss. As she did so, her fingers, out of sight of Peter and everyone
else in the room, grazed my thigh, slipping up toward my crotch, and then away.

All that happened in a matter of a few heartbeats.

Joanne stood and took a half step back, her eyes on
me. “Hello, Michael. I see that you’ve met Peter.” She paused, her eyes a
dazzling sparkle of something, excitement, amusement, I couldn’t tell. “My
husband.”

The room grew eerily silent. I imagined everyone
had stopped to look at us, instantly realizing what was going on, a husband
catching his cheating wife with her lover.

The blood rushed in my ears, deafening. I’m sure my
mouth was open, but my senses were numb, I wasn’t sure at all what I looked
like. Guilty, certainly.