by Vandemonium1
This is Alternative Ending #6 of ‘Sprung’. It has the same beginning as ‘Sprung 1 – 4, all the way down to ‘Alternate Ending Number 6’. It stands alone. There’s a little bit of sex and it isn’t a complete ending. Use your imagination.
My public service gift to those struggling to start writing is an invitation. Grab any of the stories below you like and do what you will with them. Plagiarise the whole start and write your own ending. Steal one of the concepts and write your own words. Anything you like, just put pen to paper, finger to keyboard, and have fun. I desire no acknowledgement for this gift, although a private email to tell me how you enjoyed your writing and publishing experience would be nice.
If you’re worried about your spelling or grammar, or if English isn’t your first language, then feel free to send to me for proofreading. If I’m busy, my partner in crime, CTC, the best damn editor on the site, will muck in. We can do anything requested, from commenting on the story line, to shut-the-fuck-up-and-just-correct-the-spelling. Again, acknowledgement isn’t required. JUST GET OFF YOUR ASSES AND START WRITING.
Many thanks to CTC for the edit and ideas.
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I took in my reflection. The person looking back at me would have to walk the gauntlet past her totally clueless husband. Must appear exactly as described on the packet: a dutiful niece, going to look after her frail aunt for the weekend, so her other aunt could have a break. There could be no sign of the woman who was using the story as a cover to meet another man for two nights of who only knew what in his remote cottage in the mountains.
For the last time, I looked for any holes in my cover story. Auntie June was indeed sickly and was getting looked after by my Auntie Peg. Both were widowed, Peg’s husband having died last year. Aunt June’s husband, Nicolas, had been killed in Vietnam in the late sixties and she’d never really gotten over it. She’d chosen to have his body cremated, buried the ashes in the backyard, and built a little shrine. Every visitor to the house was expected to go out and give their regards to Uncle Nick. Auntie Peg was indeed having a break from care this weekend, but June was being taken to Peg’s son’s house while his mum had a respite.
So, discovery methods to scupper my plans?
My husband, Dave, wasn’t on friendly terms with Aunt Peg, so wouldn’t speak to her to confirm or deny my story. I doubt he even had a number for her son. Aunt June had no fixed-line phone, so Dave couldn’t be suspicious when I didn’t answer it. So long as I always answered my cell in the next two days, I was fine.
Could Dave drop in to June’s house unannounced? Impossible. A couple of hours after I left, he was going to the airport and flying out for a weekend business trip. Our two children my sister had already picked up to look after until we both returned on Sunday. His trip was a last-minute thing. Soothing a client who thought there was a huge problem with their mansion design when it was already half built. That wasn’t unknown and no amount of explaining it over the phone allayed their fears. Dave was using the opportunity to stay on site and design the gardens surrounding the house. It would save him a trip later. If I’d known about the trip earlier, I may not have bothered to make such elaborate plans of my own and invited Michael here. No. Too risky. So, with the double surety of my planning and Dave’s trip, I could not envision any scenario where my not being where I was supposed to be, with who I was supposed to be with, was discovered.
The doorbell rang, and I went to the bedroom door until I was sure who it was. It was my husband’s PA, Julie, obviously dropping off last minute stuff for Dave’s trip. She’d been with Dave for two years now and I knew Dave was sponsoring her through architecture school. He often described her as his perfect counterpoint, seeing all the things he didn’t. He even dedicated the award he won last year to her.
Any other wife might have been jealous of a younger, trimmer, better looking, bigger boobed woman that spent almost as much time with their husband as they did, but they didn’t know my Dave. He would be more likely to put his cock in a lion’s mouth and yell, “Dinner time, kitty”, than betray my trust. I trusted him exactly the way he trusted me. A roaring noise in my head accompanied that thought. I was using that trust to abuse that trust and the sudden realisation of that almost made my conscience make me abandon my plans. Forcibly thinking of Michael, only the second guy I’d have had in my bed, taking me while I was still wearing my suspender belt and stockings, my black cocktail dress in a discarded heap on the bedroom floor, stiffened my resolve until the moment passed.
Could there have been anything in my suitcase to give me away? I’d left it open on the bed all morning specifically to show Dave there was nothing inappropriate in it. All the clothes were consistent with my cover story. Sure, there was another bag locked in the trunk of my car, with my cocktail dress and other clothes in it, but as I had the only two keys for my car, all was good. The silky negligee, fancy stockings, and push-up bra with matching panties and suspender belt, had been purchased on the other side of town, with cash. The packaging and receipts were disposed of before reaching my car, and the offending items put straight in the trunk. As soon as Michael saw me wearing them, there was no chance of him chickening out on me. Besides, they made me look sexy, and my confidence needed all the help it could get if I was going to go all the way with this.
That reminded me. Appearance. Was it consistent with a wife going to look after her aging aunt? Let’s see, skirt down to my knees, showing off my calves, conservative blouse. Modest make-up that could be touched up in the car before I got to the cottage. I had considered stopping somewhere to change into something sexier before getting there, but decided it wasn’t worth the risk. No, meet Michael at the cabin, an hour in the opposite direction to my aunt’s house. Shower and change into sexier clothes, out to the quiet restaurant Mick had told me about, then back to the cottage for dessert. I’d packed a second dress for Saturday night, but doubted it would be necessary.
I’d once done an adult education course in cooking. The first day we’d learnt that the first bite was with the eye. I hadn’t planned to wear any jewellery apart from my wedding rings, but looking at myself critically, I needed something else. Opening my jewellery box, I chose my current favourite necklace. Was it consistent with the trip? A little over the top maybe, but it helped my confidence so stayed in place. I undid the top two buttons on my blouse and leaned towards the mirror. The necklace complimented my cleavage, far and away my major asset, perfectly. Yes, it was worth the risk.
So, cover story good, nothing suspicious packed, nothing about my appearance to give me away. Was it worth reviewing the precautions Michael was taking with his wife. No. That was much simpler. He was going to their cabin as he did regularly to de-stress. His wife was flying out with their kids Saturday to visit her mum in the next state. All good.
Only one difficult thing remained to do. Getting past Dave to the front door. Somehow me and my conscience had to make the trip without giving anything away.
No, Dave was always going to be the problem. How would the woman in the mirror feel when he looked at her? When he told her he loved her? Maybe, when he again told her what a lovely person she was for doing what she was doing. Some of it I could cover by avoiding eye contact. I practiced once again in the mirror, arranging my features in a neutral expression. I’d already begun saying goodbye. A passing hug, kiss, and squeeze of Dave, and I was out of there and on the way to my once-in-a-lifetime adventure. A two-day sabbatical from being a good mother and wife. Did I need to run through my justifications to myself again? No. I’d done all that when the decision was made. I’d convinced myself of that absolutely. Otherwise, there was no chance of looking Dave in the eye in five minute’s time.
For strength, I let my mind wander down memory lane a little. I was a standard stay-at-home mum until our youngest, Jenny, started full-time school. Then I started work for a temp agency and did secretarial work where needed. Sometimes, I insisted I could only work between nine and three, so I could drop the kids off and pick them up. Others, I worked later, and Dave altered his hours to leave earlier in the morning, so he could pick them up. After Jenny went off to high school at twelve, I went back to work full-time as we’d decided. I was an intelligent, twenty-first century woman that needed to keep her brain active. I’d picked up my previous career, as a legal secretary, in short order and started with one of the biggest firms in town. That was nine months ago. Dave was home not much later than the kids most days.
One of the senior corporate lawyers was Michael. There had been an instant connection between us. You know the thing, when you feel like you knew each other in a past life. In fact, I’d joked along those lines to him at our first meeting. He’d said that he had once believed in reincarnation, but that was in his last life. His humour was just one of the things that attracted me. He was big and handsome, slightly younger than I, intelligent and quick. I learned about him slowly at first, when we just happened to be in the lunch room together. That pace quickened a little after I regularly chose to eat when I saw him heading there. It got to the point where I felt a little thrill every time I saw him. That thrill had been missing from my interactions with Dave for some time.
I began to suspect that Michael felt the same way when I caught him checking I was at my desk before walking past me with his lunch. From then on, we shared lunch every day and I discovered that in many respects we were a perfect match. Apart from the fact that we were both happily married with young families, that is.
One day, we were alone in the break room when his hand accidentally brushed mine. It was electric. I knew it and he knew it. We put our heads together and made plans to slip out separately the next day for an extended lunch, way on the other side of town. Before we went, I ascertained where Dave was, and Mick did the same for his wife. We did that at least once a week from two months ago until now. Starting four weeks ago, we’d retired to his car, with its tinted windows and kissed. Starting two weeks ago, we’d planned to get away together this weekend. Now.
Don’t get me wrong, we aren’t in love or anything like that. You see, part of our discussions were how sexually inexperienced we were when we married and how, after many years of marriage, we were just a little bored. The sexual tension we felt whenever we were together just threw us both back to when we were young and free. Neither of us discussed what would happen after this weekend. I, for one, was intending for it to be a one-time thing, but was wise enough to know I had a problem on my hands if it turned out to be so fantastic I wanted a repeat.
Glancing at the clock, I saw it was time to go. Deep breath, Sarah. This is the hard part and should be over in minutes. Sure, you’ll probably feel guilty when you see Dave on Sunday, but that’s all right. By then you’ll know it’s all in the past and you will devote the rest of your life to making this fine man happy. Grabbing my small suitcase, I walked into the lounge. Dave was sitting on the couch, staring at a large framed photo that hung above the fireplace. Putting my bag down near the front door, I turned around.
******
ALTERNATE ENDING #6: BTB Rating 3
Putting my bag down near the front door, I turned around.
He was a little distracted, judging by the expression on his face. Probably thinking about a work problem. That helped. He rose as I walked towards him, that allowed me to make eye contact with him as little as possible. The rest was prevented by my hugging him. We stood like that for a few seconds.
“Was that Julie I heard before?”
“Yes, we had some last-minute details to iron out.”
I needed to get out of here before my love for this man tweaked my conscience any further. I gave him one final squeeze. He returned my hug, then pushed me to arms-length and looked me square in the face, his expression still neutral.
“I’ll cancel my trip, if you cancel yours, Sarah. We won’t tell your sister and have a whole weekend in bed, just like the old days, huh?”
I pulled him in for another hug.
“It’s way too late for that, darling. Have a good trip, Dave, I’ll see you Sunday night.”
With that, I turned, picked up my bag and left.
I found the cabin okay, even though I was distracted by last minutes twinges of conscience. The dampening in my panties when I thought of the bulge I’d felt in Michael’s pants the last time we’d kissed, kept me on track though.
Michael was already there and, of course, being a man, wanted to fool around straight away. I thought about my forty-year-old, two-child body and knocked him back. My confidence needed poor lighting, a few drinks, and framing by my new lingerie before I could relax and enjoy it. I locked myself in the bathroom, had a quick shower, dressed in my fines, touched up my hair and make-up, then emerged just in time for us to reach the restaurant before they gave our table away.
The restaurant was nice, and the setting was intimate, but I found myself scanning the room for any familiar faces and jumping whenever anyone new came in. Michael wanted to play footsies or worse, but we were always visible from more than one other table or passing waiters, so I told him to behave. We both drank more than we should, and I felt nervous when we finally drove to the cabin. Luckily, no booze buses were out that night.
Once at the cabin, I raced in for a pee, then, to be naughty, left my panties off. Michael grabbed me when I returned to the lounge and drew me in for a kiss. While doing that, his hands groped my ass. I felt his breathing quicken when he felt I had no panties on. His nostrils flared, and he bodily picked me up and carried me to the bed, where he threw me on my back. I was on the anticipatory high I’d hoped for and so was Michael by the feel of it. Reaching under me, he slid my short dress over my hips, before leaning in to ravish my lips with his. I felt him fumbling with his belt and trousers. Next thing I knew, his cock was at my entrance, but not for long. He entered me quickly, then, with no pause, started thrusting. His cock felt no different to Dave’s as I cleared my mind and gave myself permission to enjoy it. It excited me to know I was exciting Michael as much as I was, and I felt an orgasm quickly building. Not a word was exchanged as we raced to be the first to the top of the hill. I wasn’t too disappointed when Michael arched his back and with a great bellow, unloaded into me.
I was disappointed, though, when he rolled off and started snoring within half a minute. The sensation of his cum leaking out of me made me realise we’d forgotten the precautions he’d agreed to. That wasn’t a huge issue, I was on the pill and I trusted Michael to be clean, but that thought, more than anything, brought to my mind what I’d done.
I was now a cheater. The type of person I’d always despised. I was a betrayer and had done the dirty on the most decent person I knew. Suddenly, all the petty justifications I’d used to excuse myself being here seemed utterly insignificant. For the first time, the possible consequences and the shame of what I’d done hit me. I sobbed softly into the pillow as Michael continued to snore away.
I hardly slept a wink all night. It took me until the early hours of the morning to convince myself that I could control my guilt to pass muster with Dave. It took me another hour to rationalise staying at the cabin until Sunday evening. What was done was done. It would be the same if Michael screwed me ten times or once. If I didn’t get something out of this episode, then I’d betrayed my husband for absolutely nothing.
How to describe the rest of the weekend? One of my motivations for this time was to re-live that feeling of sex with someone new. My mind had built it up to an unreasonable level. In reality, it was just like my first experience with Dave. He had no idea how to please me either. He’d learned exactly how over the years and could pick my moods and how I wanted it, every time. Michael didn’t have a clue. I began to get the impression he wasn’t that talented either and the lack of sex from his wife made him demanding and impatient.
One thing was certain, by late Saturday night, I just wanted to go home. Let me re-phrase that. I wanted this experience to be over. I was dreading going home. I was furious at myself for betraying my own values and for no reward. Michael obviously didn’t care for my pleasure or was so untalented, he didn’t know where to start. He tried to mount me on Sunday morning, but, exhausted, I snarled at him to piss off. He sulked for the rest of the morning.
I was in crisis. I was so ashamed of myself and my behaviour, I really didn’t know how I would face Dave. I doubted I could face him without it being blatantly obvious I was soiled goods. A heartless betrayer.
Should I pre-empt his discovery by confessing? No, too risky. Besides the idea of hurting him with my actions was crippling. I put myself in his place as best I could. How would I feel if he told me he’d spent the weekend screwing Julie? I would be hurt, devastated, offended, livid, and murderous. No, confession wasn’t good for this soul.
By the afternoon, I still had no solution but came up with a good delaying tactic. Dave was getting home in the early evening and had a meeting early tomorrow. That’s why we’d arranged for my sister to keep the kids Sunday night as well. If I delayed going home until Dave was asleep, I could have extra time to mentally prepare. I’d even get up early Monday and cook him a fantastic breakfast. The first instalment of spoiling him for the rest of his life.
I quickly texted Dave to say that Aunt Peg had been delayed and, depending what time she relieved me, I would either be home very late tonight or the next day. I contemplated staying another night but finally concluded that if I spent the night next to a sleeping Dave, I would be better mentally prepared when I finally spoke to him.
Michael tried to give me a goodbye kiss when he left, but it was obvious that we were very, very over. I stayed until after nine and by ten I was parked just down the road from my house. I watched the light dim in our bedroom about a quarter hour later, then stayed for another twenty of so minutes before sneaking into my own house.
I disrobed out in the hall, after using the downstairs bathroom, thinking if Dave was half asleep and wanted to make love to me, that would start expunging the horrible memories of this weekend. I snuck into the room.
Dave had left my bedside lamp on for me, turned away from the bed. Considerate as ever. He, himself, was lying there facing away from my side. Sleeping the sleep of the just. I cringed internally and knew I’d done the right thing by coming back now. The love I felt for this fine man surged through me. One thing was certain, I’d never do anything ever again that could damage us.
Pulling the cover back, I slid carefully into my side of the huge bed. Still wide awake, I glanced at the clock on the bedside table. Strange. It was turned facing away from the bed. Dave must have bumped it. Hang on. I’m sure I put the white cotton sheets on after laundry day, last Tuesday. These were the pink flannel ones. Was I going mad with the stress and the worry? I rolled away from the bedside table to my left-hand side, the side I slept best on. As I turned, my nose pressed against the pillow. A faint whiff of perfume came to my nose. Perfume is a little like body odour. You can’t smell your own. I turned my nose back and took a deep sniff of my pillow. It was definitely perfume. Not aftershave or laundry detergent. Sitting up, I stripped the cover off the pillow and sniffed each component. The smell was coming from the pillow protector, not the cover. What the f….? Someone wearing perfume had slept on my pillow then changed the bed linen.
Dave stirred and rolled towards me.
“Good evening, dear. Julie wanted to know if you were meeting your lover again next weekend.”
Instantly, I knew the pain of being stabbed by someone you loved and trusted; it hurt. It hurt bad.