By Margo Perry  (margo707 AT rogers DOT com)
Copyright 2004 by Margo Perry, all rights reserved.

Freddie Wright was five minutes from the airport when he got the message. Sitting Judge Reiner had died in his sleep and his case and trip had been canceled. He immediately changed lanes, exited the freeway and started back toward the city. His wife, Julie, was expecting him to be out of town for the week. She’d be very surprised to see him, but would she be pleased? Freddie didn’t know how she’d feel. In fact, Freddie didn’t know how he felt, except anxious. His chest felt tight and pressured and, despite the air conditioning, sweat trickled from his armpits. Maybe, I should turn around and fly out, anyway. Pretend I didn’t get the message. No, I should spend the time with Julie; talk to her; try to draw her out. Or, I could go and call home later, say that I’d be back once I got the case back on the calendar. Unbidden, these confusing thoughts came and went. Freddie just kept on driving.

The 2:00PM radio forecast promised a weekend of sunshine and balmy breezes, the perfect weather for a lovers’ picnic. I have a wife, but is she my lover? he wondered cynically. He thought of their wedding day, ten years ago. It had been glorious and the images and feelings were still clearly etched on his memory. But, recollections of the intervening years were a troubled, but uninformed mass of feeling, like a deeply repressed sigh. He couldn’t remember when last he and Julie had talked, really talked, or made love with the lifelong passion that was pledged on their wedding night. He felt sad, lonely and very afraid, as he parked his SUV in its reserved condo parking spot. A malevolent toxicity had grown out of their separateness and it was killing their relationship. It was killing them. Something would have to be done, starting tonight, he promised himself. Determination marked his every move as he climbed out of the car, grabbed his bag from the trunk and strode toward his building.

An elevator was waiting and he punched the penthouse button impatiently. He hoped Julie would be at home. She used to join him when he traveled to different jurisdictions. It had been an adventure, but, for the last few years she had chosen to stay at home. Freddie had coaxed, cajoled and finally begged her to accompany him for months, but to no avail. Finally, he gave up and a strained detachment infiltrated their relationship, leaving them unable to hear, feel or really see each other. But today, he felt new resolve. He bumped his shoulder against the opening door as he hurried out of the lift and down the hall. In mere seconds, he was inside his apartment.

“Julie?” he called out.
Silence greeted him, but he wasn’t surprised. She could be anywhere: at the gym, out shopping, getting her nails or hair done. He’d reach her by her cell and arrange to take her somewhere extravagant for dinner. Julie loved extravagance.

The Message Waiting tone was beeping when he picked up the phone. He listened to the messages: One from the courthouse: his case had been re-scheduled. Julie’s mother was inviting them to a dinner party. A strange deep, male voice:

Glad to hear that we have a few days. (The voice was not strange at all.) I can be at the house by 6. I’ll bring wine, something special. (That was Paul Thompson, for sure. He was one of his firm’s senior partners and known to be a fox. Brilliant, sneaky and totally without morals, he was a man who made allies, not friends, a man to be feared, not trusted. What was he doing . . .?) Your decision to tell Freddie about us might be premature. We’ll talk about it when I get there, but hold off until then. We have to consider the firm. We’re about to make Freddie a partner. Let’s not rock any boats right now. Anyway, I’ll see you later, darlin’. Wear my favorite little nothing.

Little nothing, indeed! Paul’s voice was as smarmy as a snake oil salesman’s. How could Julie have fallen for whatever it was he was selling? The bones in Freddie’s legs were softening and he swayed dizzily. It was too much to absorb. He thought that Julie knew Paul, knew what a creep he was. Obviously, he’d been wrong. If Paul was good at anything, it was identifying people’s weaknesses and Julie’s was a need to associate herself with people of power and wealth. Paul was the first and wealthiest founding member of the firm. That had always impressed her. But this was something else and Freddie was devastated that he was being so cuckolded, and right under his very nose.

He stared down at the phone. His good intentions had mutated into a volcanic rage that shook the very foundations of his being. The pressure building inside his chest cavity was becoming unnerving. He eyes felt dry and were darting hither and thither involuntarily. He needed to break something. I’ve got to get out of here, he thought frantically; but where? He was much too out of control to drive. He’d go up to the roof. It should be quiet this time of day. He threw off his jacket, discarded his tie, grabbed a six pack from the fridge and slammed out of the room. He took the short flight to the deck, two steps at a time, and forced himself to breathe deeply as the quiet, a blue sky and gentle breeze greeted him.

Freddie chose a table under the shade of a circle of exotic transplanted palms. The large kidney-shaped pool was empty and only one other solitary soul lay stretched out on a chair on the opposite side of the terrace. He unscrewed a bottle cap and took a long swing from his beer. It felt cool and friendly as it tickled its way down his throat. Freddie closed his eyes, stretched out his long legs and slouched deeper into his chair. Time out, he thought, as a desperate sigh groaned out of him.

“I heard about the judge,” said a familiar, but out of place, husky female voice. “I wondered if they’d catch you before you boarded the plane.”

“Yes, they did. Francine, what the hell are you doing here?” said Freddie, sitting bolt upright.
“Relaxing, same as you, looks like,” laughed Francine. “Don’t mind if I do,” she said, helping herself to a beer.

Freddie stared as the bikini clad, bronze goddess as she settled in the chair opposite his. There was something commanding about her, sensual and sexily dominating. She was case coordinator at the office, matching cases and clients to staff. Case assignments had been constant bones of contention until she took over and all of the mumbling and kvetching stopped. There were no favorites and no politics. All she considered were our backgrounds and experience. The best man for the job got the job and the attorneys accepted her decisions and smiled. Top of her Ivy League class, she’d breezed through the bar exams and was invited to join the firm’s legal staff. She turned down the opportunity, choosing instead to create this new position for herself. The partners accepted her plans and she’d boosted the firm’s efficiency immeasurably. But, what was she doing here?

“In case you’re wondering, I live here. My dad bought a unit a couple of months ago.”

She stared brazenly at Freddie, studying the length of him. “You look like hell,” she said matter-of-factly. “Talk to me.”

It was an order and Freddie smiled despite himself. Every single lawyer in the firm had made advances. She was a natural beauty, this vixen. Her thick, unruly curls fell about her face, over her humongous breasts and halfway down her back. Her eyes were cat’s grey, wide spaced and seemed to look through things. She didn’t walk; she prowled, and was the center of attention wherever she went. The office was rife with rumors: that she was the illegitimate daughter of a wealthy industrialist. Another, that she was a close relative of a reigning African royal family. But all people really knew was that she was smart, beautiful and uncompromisingly independent.

“What are you doing home, then?” Freddie asked.

“I finished up and decided to start my weekend early. But answer my question. What’s up? You look absolutely shattered. Talk to me,” she repeated.

Freddie started to talk about himself, his marriage, his disappointments and he couldn’t stop. Francine spoke only enough to draw things out of him and he was drawn to her interest and empathy like a drowning man is drawn to a lifeboat. He talked past the phone message he’d heard to his feelings about Julie and Paul, his analysis of the firm’s future and his place in it. He wanted to be made partner. He wanted to do great things. He shared thoughts and feelings he didn’t know he had and for the first time in a long, long time, he didn’t feel alone. He talked until there was no more to say.

Francine looked deep into his eyes with a look that Freddie could only characterize as both sad and pitying. “Does your wife know that you’re back?”

“No,” Freddie answered. “She was out when I got home. I went to call her . . . that’s when I heard that message . . . and then I just left and came up here.”

“Go and get your things,” Francine was in command mode again. “We’ll leave them at my place for now,” she said, almost to herself. “I got to make a phone call. Meet me back here,” Francine said, getting up and hurrying toward the stairs.

Freddie, felt like he’d awakened from a dream and became conscious of three things: first, the seductive sway of Francine’s giant breasts and the strut of her tight, rounded hips as she moved. Second, he felt a mighty tingling and realized the appreciative bulge that was straining to escape the confines of his slacks. And third, that they’d consumed all six beers and he only remembered drinking the first one. He didn’t feel tipsy at all; just unburdened and relaxed, as though the very sharing of his problems had rendered their solution possible. He didn’t know what Francine was up to, but he was very grateful that somebody was on his side. He felt tired, hurt, angry and very vulnerable. He got up and hurried downstairs.

Julie was still out. He picked up his jacket, tie and overnight case and escaped once again. I should have grabbed some more beer, he thought to himself. Never mind, he sat back down at their table and stared comfortably into space until Francine again appeared. He watched her approach and felt extremely horny and happy that he was a man who was more than his marriage, more than his problems. He sneaked his hand under the table and felt his engorged cock. It lurched at his touch and he felt pre-cum ooze out of its head. He felt oddly proud and free. Her tits seemed to get larger as she approached and he felt like he was looking at her for the first time. She had the grace and sexual surety of a wild, exotic animal and he wanted to touch her, stroke her, tame and claim her.

She placed a six pack on the table, opened a bottle and passed it to Freddie.

“Look, your wife and Paul Sleaze have been at it like rabbits for years now. That dumb bitch thinks Paul’s going to marry her, but he’s just playing her, I think, to get to you. You have what he wants and can’t demand: a brilliant legal mind and the respect and affection of his peers. And he hates you for it. Why do you think you get all the out of town cases? So that the two of them can gallivant all over town! I know this hurts, but I really like you Freddie and I can’t stand to see you treated this way. You’re the only one in the office that doesn’t know about them. Sorry . . .”

The word drifted from her full and generous lips straight into Freddie’s heart. Her eyes were moist with sympathy and caring and Freddie’s anger turned into resolve under their gaze. As soon as he’d heard Francine’s words, they’d registered as truth. Julie was never surprised or upset when he told her about his frequent trips. Now, he knew why and was surprised at how detached he felt.

“Let’s go down to my place,” Francine said, grabbing the beers. “It’s time for a strategy meeting.”

Freddie grabbed his things and followed her across the terrace and down one flight of stairs. Hers was the second Penthouse apartment. They were neighbors.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Francine said, dropping the beers down on the glass coffee table. “I want to get out of this bathing suit.”

“Oh no, please don’t,” was Freddie’s silent plea.

Francine had the same square footage as their condo, but hers was an open concept and the space seemed larger, airier. Interestingly enough, they had the same Le Corbusier hardened glass coffee table, but Julie would have had a fit if he’d dropped a six pack on its hallowed surface. He felt strangely at ease here, as if he’d been here before and was very, very welcome. He’d always known Julie to be manipulative, but he’d accepted the premise that whatever she did, it was as his faithful and dedicated partner. Now, he understood that premise to be false. He found Francine refreshing. She was always the same open book, here or in the office, and seemed to act out of an instinct that was positive and certain. You never had to guess her motives or intent. She was only too glad to let you know what she meant, what she wanted, and why.
“So, what do you want to do?”

Freddie could only think of one thing and that he couldn’t say. Francine was sitting beside him. Her shoulders were bare and a diaphanous emerald green caftan accentuated the grayness of her eyes and her smooth, warm chocolate skin that radiated health. A green lacy strapless bra magically supported her gigantic breasts and the longest line of cleavage that Freddie had ever experienced. His mouth ran dry and he could feel a tingling at the base of his balls.

Francine crossed her long legs lazily and a bewitching smile played across her lips. She watched Freddie watching her with amusement.

“So, what do you want to do?” she asked again.
Freddie just stared like a horny, speechless teenager.
“Alright then,” Francine said slowly. “I’ll have to help you.”

Freddie watched spellbound as two red lacquered nails marched deliberately along his thigh toward his crotch. His cock puffed and panted in anticipation and it didn’t have to wait long. Soon soft hands were massaging his cock and squeezing his balls.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time. How does it feel?”
“Good.”

He slid down on the sofa, making it easy for her to ease his zipper down over the engorged bulge. He lifted his hips as she eased his slacks and jockeys down and gasped as his long, thick cock sprang to attention on release. His face blushed ferociously when she laughed, but he didn’t care. He felt too good. Her mouth was wet and warm and tender. She kissed and teased his cock to the edge of his ultimate pleasure. There was no force. Just tongue laps and soft pullings; just teeth nibbling skin and rolling over his sweet spot, pleasuring him to distraction. When she stopped and drew back, he didn’t think he could stand it. He wanted more so badly.

“It’s been so long,” she whispered. “Months and months. And I’ve wanted you for so long. Do you think you could help me?”

She slowly lifted the caftan, inch by inch, over her long toned legs. She wore no panties. Her soft fuzz of dark pubic hair glistened with her wetness. Gathering her skirt against her belly, she stood and bent over him, her breasts swaying, calling him, sirens of the night. She balanced herself on one arm on the couch, her ass lifted and waiting. It was torture for Freddie to move away from those tits, but he had to. She needed him. She needed him to fuck her.

As he took her from behind, she moved against him, her tight muscles massaging his cock, her ass bouncing against his balls.

“Show me what that wife of yours is giving up,” she snarled.

She exposed her pendulous breasts, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to resist their sway. He kneaded and pulled them and she groaned with pleasure. He thrust into her slowly and deliberately, the way Julie used to like it. He fingered her clit, the way Julie used to like it. He touched her breasts, Francine’s hanging orbs, and there was no more Julie. The only thing more powerful than his desire to come, to pomp his life into Francine, was his need to pleasure her, now and for as long as he could. And he held on, fucking her in rhythms that were new to him, until she whimpered and wept her bliss, until she begged,
“Please, Freddie,” she cried.

Freddie felt the tension rise to breaking point, as he spilled his hot cum. He felt his body tense and his face slacken and then he melted onto her. She supported them for a minute and then they folded onto the couch; two bodies a jumble. And they hugged and giggled like naughty kids.

They relaxed the afternoon away, drinking beer, but talking mostly, talking and touching and pleasing each other in a myriad of ways. He knelt between her legs and pleasured her until she screamed her satisfaction. She knelt between his legs until he gushed cum all over her waiting breasts.

They lived years that afternoon and as day turned into night and they sat coddled in each other’s arms, Francine whispered, ”Wanna’ have some fun; grab a bottle of wine and crash a dinner party?”

“They wouldn’t dare,” Freddie said. “Paul would know that the case was postponed.”

“He wouldn’t. Paul was out of the office all day, away on some monkey business. You can bet that right now he’s on his way to your place for dinner. I say we dress ourselves up, grab a bottle of fine wine and crash a dinner party. Paul’s been coming on to me, hard time for years. I bet Julie doesn’t know that. After what they’ve done to you! Can you spell R-E-V-E-N-G-E?”

Francine’s grin was wicked, wicked, wicked and Freddie found himself smiling back at her. He didn’t know what the night would bring, but he was more than ready to find out.