Author’s Note: This is part two of my newest series, “A Tale of Grace.” As previously mentioned, this was initially intended to be a future novel. As with all my previous publications, there was music behind this as partial inspiration. This entire set of stories was initially conceived and sketched out listening to the mighty Foo Fighters. In the last edition, I used the Foo’s newest song which was actually newer than these stories. The song to introduce today’s, however, had very heavy rotations in the planning stages of these stories. So, with this in mind, press play…
Grace sat at the bar with legs crossed and her high heeled toe beating to the tunes piped in from overhead speakers.
The bartender stole many a glance while allegedly polishing the freshly cleaned glassware. Thanks to the bar, however, he still couldn’t see her legs.
She was very proud of her legs. Her skirt was high enough to allow sight of her muscled thighs covered in the web of dark nylon stockings. Had the skirt been much higher, any onlooker would have gotten a Sharon Stone moment if she crossed her legs. There was nothing else above the stockings beneath the skirt.
This was planned all planned meticulously based upon the hundreds of times they had done this before.
Roger shook his head. “But we haven’t done this hundreds of times before.”
“Well, no,” Grace agreed. “How many times have we done it?”
They sat in office chairs in front of the large computer screen, Roger at the keyboard and Grace beside him. The screen offered a white text box with only a few keystrokes so far as they worked on the newest blog entry for The Hotwife Gratuitous.
She shook her head a little. “And it didn’t quite work.”
“No, it didn’t. Anonymous play rarely works well.”
“But that’s not what they want to read.”
His brown eyes moved from his wife back to the screen. “I suppose it’s not.”
“They want to read about us doing things that most would consider fantasy.”
“But we have done plenty of that. Just not quite successful with this particular one. Not like we haven’t made shit up before.”
“And plenty of it. I mean it is a lifestyle these folks think we live twenty-four hours a day. I’ve lost track how many guys they think I’ve slept with.” Her eyes looked at the high heeled red shoe she had left on the desk for inspiration. “How would you describe the shoe?”
He shrugged. “High heeled. A pump, maybe. Beyond stockings and the length of your skirts, we usually leave the clothing up to their imaginations.”
“The heel is a bit chunky to be a pump.”
“Yeah, but there is something about pumps that adds to fantasy. I think every dame Ed McBain ever wrote about wore pumps.”
“Nothing sexist there at all.” She slumped, leaning against the inside of her chair. “So how do we push this fantasy?”
Roger bit his bottom lip, using his top lip to brush against the sharp whiskers below his mouth. “You want me to do something different?”
Her left hand slipped off her chair and accidentally fell in Roger’s lap to give a light squeeze.
“That’s a yes.” He smiled. “So what’s the bloke’s name?”
“Keep it simple.” Grace spun her chair so both hands could reach into Roger’s lap. Finding the zipper on his pants, she tugged it down before beginning to work his belt and pants open.
“How about Lou?”
Her hands freed Roger’s budding erection from the elastic of his briefs and pulled it out. “Louis, maybe. Lou is too simple and makes me think I’m going to fuck some old newspaper publisher or something.”
Roger turned in his chair to offer his wife more access, but succeeded in keeping his fingers on the keys as he began to stroke again. “So, Louis comes up to you at the bar. He’s a gentleman.”
Grace did some stroking of her own as she considered the image. “Make him older. Last week’s story was with a younger guy, so make me look versatile.”
“fauxDave was younger, and we actually did that. I have the photo proof.”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you have any idea how good it felt to be reclaimed after he left? He was mostly useless.”
“We want Louis to be a man of experience then, but not so much experience that he is completely comfortable when you tell him your husband is at one of the tables watching.”
“Not at first,” she agreed. Leaning forward, she studied his erection with her eyes following veins hither and yon. “But it turns him on after the shock wears off. Especially when I grab his balls at the bar.”
“Funny how well that works.” Roger’s fingers tapped away despite his now awkward positioning and the gorgeous woman leaning into his lap. His eyes flicked over to her. “You gonna eat that?”
She grinned. “Yes, sir.” Her right hand gave a mock salute before her she licked the length of him.
“You do know how to inspire me,” he whispered with fingers still flying across the keys.
“Good thing I can edit for you, as well.”
“He rolled his eyes. Maybe if you’d stop distracting me, I’d make less typos.”
“You want me to stop?”
His eyes widened. “Hell, no!”
She giggled. “Good answer.” Her mouth made his cock vanish.
Roger continued typing in a very comfortably uncomfortable fashion while enjoying his wife’s mouth.
Pulling off his erection, she wiped saliva from the corner of her mouth. “And one thing.”
He stopped typing. “Yeah?”
“When this lockdown is actually over, let’s make this fantasy happen.” Her mouth opened over his penis and sucked it in again.
“I wholeheartedly agree.”