A Fragile Wife(11)

By: Cynthia Dane

He watched after her with a look she couldn’t read. Was he wistful? In love? Bored? “Good night, Bunny. Be there soon.”

Lana twiddled her fingers at him before opening the door and stepping out into the hall.

An empty cup dropped at her feet.

“Uh…” Chloe stepped back, tray slammed against her breasts. “Excuse me, ma’am… I was going to… give Mr. Andrews…”

“Sure you were.” Any good feelings Lana had dissipated the moment she saw this tart standing outside the door. She was listening to us screw like kinky assholes. She had to contain a smile. Lana did love a good game of exhibitionism. Too bad she didn’t care much for her maid or the constant thoughts she had of Chloe going into Ken’s office for the sole purpose of giving him something. Like a blowjob, probably. That’s my job, you useless…

“I’ll be going. Good night, ma’am.” Chloe scurried away. Too bad. If she stuck around to watch Lana saunter down the hall, she would’ve had a great view of the sensual mess making its way down to her mistress’s ankle. I need another shower, the bastard.

Finally, Lana released her cackle, letting it echo in the wide halls of the mansion she paid half for. This is my half. The rooms full of debauchery and marriage-crumbling mind games belonged solely to the Queen of Kink.

Chapter 3

“Nice Ass, Mr. Andrews.”

No time like the present to get some vitamin D, was something Lana always thought when she had nothing else to do and the day was warm enough for a bikini. So early the next day she dressed in her favorite black two-piece and wandered out back to the pool, where husband Ken did his twenty laps of butterfly strokes.

She had forgotten he was due home already, let alone after lunch. After his early morning meeting, Ken texted her saying he was canceling his afternoon appointments to spend much-needed time at home. Lana had hoped that meant some time for her, but here they were, on opposite ends of the earth even though they were only a few yards away from each other.

“Oh, my studly muffin of a prime-meat man,” she said, well aware that he couldn’t hear her as she stretched out on a lounge chair. Lana lowered her sunglasses and draped a barely-there sheet over her. “Making all of that noise when all I want to do is relax.” She should have brought her music.

Or at least her E-book tablet with the fancy ink that let her read in the sunlight. Not that she knew what she would read. The last time Lana read a novel was at least two years ago. Who had time? If she read, it was shit like The New Yorker or Reader’s Digest. Or articles on the internet. Sometimes she wondered if she had adult ADHD, since her ability to concentrate on the written word was next to nothing. And yet I come so easily. Her sister had adult ADHD, and the main thing she always griped about was taking forty-five minutes to come because she kept getting distracted during sex. If I had that problem, I would die.

Good thing she didn’t have the problem.

With no peace and no distractions, Lana stared at the sky, catching the few clouds that made their way in the big, blue expanse that was the cosmos. That one looks like a tree. When she turned her head, she changed her mind and decided it was a mushroom. That one’s a dick. Never let be said she wasn’t focused on only one thing.

The incessant splashing stopped in the pool. Lana glanced over, catching the exact moment her husband heaved himself out of the water and onto the edge of the pool. His black swim trunks clung to his muscular thighs – oh, and his butt too. Lana whistled as he walked by, bending over another lounge chair to pick up a towel.

“Nice ass, Mr. Andrews.”

Ken draped the white terrycloth over his head and walked to where his wife lay, sunning herself. Or at least until her husband blocked out the sun. “Nice tits, Mrs. Andrews.”

She gestured to her cleavage sticking out of her bikini top. “These old things? I need to get my husband to buy me a new pair.”

Water droplets landed on Lana’s stomach as he shook his wet hair out. “I’m sure he would if you asked. Although I hear you can buy them for yourself.”

“It’s not the same. I’d feel more special with fake tits from my husband. How about for our anniversary?”

Ken looked at her incredulously. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”

“What? No.”

Before Ken could open his mouth again, a young voice pealed through the patio.

“Mr. Andrews!” Chloe scuttled out in her flats, waving a stout package in the air. “The mail came and this was rushed to you!”

Ken tossed his towel aside, bestowing Chloe with the full force of his muscular figure. The girl stopped dead in her tracks, gaping at him, box hanging at her side.