Chapter 19: The Uninvited Visit
Andrew stood in the cavernous lobby of NexTech Solutions, clutching a brown paper bag that suddenly felt absurd in his hand. Ellie's forgotten lunch, a turkey sandwich she'd made in a hurry that morning while narrating her schedule to him in a voice that had grown too bright, too practiced. He'd driven twenty minutes out of his way for this. For the look on her face when she realized he'd come. For the chance to see her in her world.
The receptionist gave him a visitor's badge with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. He clipped it to his shirt and followed the directional signage toward the sales wing, his footsteps swallowed by the marble expanse. The building hummed with the quiet urgency of people who believed their work mattered. Andrew felt like an intruder in a place that had slowly, inexorably, begun consuming his wife.
He rounded the corner into the open-plan sales floor and stopped dead.
There she was, framed by floor-to-ceiling glass. Ellie, in the sheer white blouse she'd left the house in, the one that left nothing to the imagination. Her hair, once practical and short, now fell in soft waves around her shoulders. She was laughing, head tilted back, one hand resting on her hip in a pose so practiced it made his stomach turn. And beside her, close enough that their arms nearly touched, Bea.
Bea's hand reached out and touched Ellie's elbow, a gesture so casual and intimate that Andrew felt it like a physical blow. Ellie's laugh continued as she leaned into the touch, unconsciously, naturally. The way she might lean into him, if she ever looked at him like that anymore.
On the nearest desk, a man's phone buzzed with an incoming alert. Andrew's own phone vibrated in his pocket, and he fumbled for it, stepping behind a pillar with a potted fern. His thumb swiped the screen.
The photo was a mirror selfie from the ladies' room. Ellie's blouse was unbuttoned to her sternum, her breasts pushed high by the balconette bra beneath, those enormous surgical curves spilling over the lace edge. The caption read: Beam me up. Your girlfriend and I are planning tonight's mission. Any requests, Captain?
His throat went dry. He looked up from the screen to the glass walls, where Ellie was now walking toward a conference room, her hips swaying in a walk she'd definitely never used at the library. Bea followed a step behind, hand grazing the small of Ellie's back as they disappeared inside.
Andrew remained behind the fern. The lunches in his hand grew cold.
He should leave. He should take the turkey sandwich and go back to his classroom, to the students who asked simple questions with simple answers. But his feet wouldn't move. Instead, he drifted along the glass-walled perimeter, an unofficial tourist in his wife's new life. He kept just out of sight, close enough to watch.
Fifteen minutes later, the conference room door slid open. Ellie emerged alone, laughing over her shoulder at someone inside. She walked past Andrew's hiding spot without a glance, and he caught the way she adjusted the collar of her blouse, tucking the fabric more deliberately to show the line of her bra. Her lipstick was fresh. She pulled a compact from her bag and checked her reflection with a satisfied smile.
He watched her take a call at her desk, then disappear into a small office with a man he didn't recognize. When she emerged, her skirt seemed shorter. Or maybe it was just hitched up, her fingers smoothing the fabric as she walked to the water cooler, hips still swaying.
Andrew's phone buzzed again.
A photo of her ass, the skirt hiked to her hips, panties visibly damp. He turned away sharply, heat and nausea warring in his gut. He pocketed the phone and stalked toward the far end of the floor, away from the glass, away from the sight of her.
But the afternoon had other plans. The corridor opened onto a second bank of offices, these with frosted sliding doors, more private. Andrew passed one where the blinds weren't fully drawn and caught a flash of blonde hair bent over a desk, a pair of hands gripping narrow hips. He looked away quickly, only to realize a few steps later that the woman's laugh, breathless and familiar, had a shape he recognized.
Ellie.
He pressed himself against the wall, heart hammering. His hand found the edge of the frosted glass, and he slid his face to the narrow gap where the panels met.
Ellie's blouse hung open, her breasts free of the bra, swinging gently as she rose and fell on top of a younger man. He was handsome in a generic gym-bro way, hands gripping her waist as she rode him with a rhythm that was entirely practiced. Her head was thrown back, a pearl of sweat tracing a path from her temple down her neck to the valley of her sternum. She said something Andrew couldn't hear, and the man laughed, thrusting up harder.
But it was the window that shattered Andrew's composure. Behind Ellie, a floor-to-ceiling glass expanse overlooked the main sales floor. Even now, with the sun bright beyond the glass, the reflection was faint enough to see the movement inside the office. He watched Ellie arch her back and lean forward, planting her palms against the glass. Her breasts, those perfect silicone spheres, pressed flat against the pane, nipples dragging across the surface as she moved.
She knew. She had to know. The glass was nearly transparent from the outside in a certain light. And she was putting on a show.
He stood there, transfixed, his own erection straining against his fly. Revulsion and desire tangled in his chest, a knot he couldn't untie. He hated her for this. He wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life.
Her phone buzzed on the desk. She glanced at it, and Andrew saw her lips curve into a smile. A moment later, his own phone vibrated again.
A photograph, tilted and sloppy: Ellie's face, flushed, biting her bottom lip. Her tits visible but out of focus, nipples just out of frame. He knew where she was sitting when she took it, how full she was.
Andrew's hand shook as he lowered the phone. The image burned in his mind, her flushed face, the knowing tilt of her lips. She'd taken that photo while riding another man, and she'd sent it to him. Not out of guilt or confession, but as a gift.
The frosted door slid open before he could move. Ellie stepped out, tucking her blouse back into her skirt with unhurried ease. Her lipstick was smeared at the corner, her hair mussed in a way that took deliberate effort to perfect. She saw him standing there, frozen against the wall, and her smile widened into something predatory.
"Andy." She said his name like she was savoring it. "I was wondering when you'd come out from behind the fern."
The words hit him like a slap. The fern. The corridor. She'd known the whole time.
"You knew I was here." His voice came out rough, cracked. "You knew, and you just... you went in there and—"
"That young man, Marcus, is a very important account." Ellie stepped closer, close enough that he could smell her perfume, jasmine and something muskier underneath. "Six figures annually. And when I told him my husband was watching from the hallway, he got very... motivated."
Andrew's throat worked. "You did that for me?"
"I did that because I could." Her hand came up, fingers tracing his jawline. "Because watching you watch me makes me feel powerful. And because you've been so sweet, bringing me lunch." She plucked the brown paper bag from his nerveless fingers and peered inside. "Turkey. How thoughtful."
"Ellie, this has to stop." But even as he said it, his cock throbbed against his zipper, straining with need. His body betrayed every word that came out of his mouth.
"Oh, it's not stopping." She took his hand and pulled him toward a door at the end of the corridor. "In fact, I think we're just getting started."
The office she led him into was small but private. Her desk sat against one wall, a leather chair behind it. The one-way glass overlooked the sales floor, where Andrew could see the distant figures of the team moving between desks. Ellie closed the door and locked it.
"Sit." She pointed to the chair.
"I don't think—"
"Sit, Andy." Her voice carried an edge he hadn't heard before, and something in him responded to it. He sat.
Ellie moved to him, her hips swaying with that new walk, and knelt before him. Her fingers worked his belt, tugging it through the loops with practiced efficiency. "I've been thinking about this all day. About having you right where I can see you." She pulled the leather strap free and wrapped it around his wrist, drawing it behind the chair's back.
"What are you doing?"
"Giving you exactly what you want." She looped the belt around the chair's frame and tightened it, then repeated the process with his other wrist. "You've been so good, lurking in the shadows, watching me. But I think you need a closer view."
He struggled against the leather, but she'd secured it well. His wrists were bound behind him, the chair solid and immovable. Ellie stood, looking down at him with satisfaction.
"There." She traced a finger along his jaw. "Now you can't follow me around like a lost puppy. You have to stay here. And watch."
"Ellie, untie me. This isn't—"
"Not what? Not how a proper wife should behave?" She laughed, bright and sharp. "I stopped being a proper wife the moment I realized how much you liked watching me stop." She pulled her phone from her pocket and tapped the screen. "I texted Bea. She's on her way."
Andrew's heart hammered. "Bea? Why would you... what is she coming here for?"
Ellie's smile was pure wickedness. She stepped toward the window and pressed her palm to the glass, her silhouette reflected against the office floor beyond. "You wanted to see. All those nights, jerking off to my photos, imagining me with Roland, with Bea, wondering what I was doing when you weren't there..."
The door clicked open. Bea stepped in, gorgeous and confident, her eyes landing on Andrew with clinical amusement.
"Found him lurking, huh?" Bea's voice was honey and smoke. She closed the door, leaning against it. "Look at that. All trussed up like a Christmas turkey."
"He's been such a good boy today." Ellie moved to Bea, her hands settling on the other woman's hips. "Following me around, watching me work. I thought he deserved a reward."
Bea's eyes glittered. "Did he now?"
Andrew watched, powerless, as Ellie leaned in and kissed Bea. Not a friendly peck, not a teasing brush. A deep, consuming kiss, Ellie's tongue sliding into Bea's mouth, her hands pulling the other woman closer. They broke apart, breathless, and Ellie turned to look at him.
"You done being jealous now?" She unfastened her skirt, letting it pool at her feet. Beneath, she wore nothing but the damp panties he'd photographed earlier. She hooked her thumbs in them and slid them down, the fabric peeling away to reveal the slick, swollen flesh beneath. "Because we're just getting started."
Bea came up behind Ellie, her hands finding Ellie's breasts through the thin blouse. Ellie moaned, arching into the touch.
"Watch," Ellie said, her voice thick. "Watch what your wife does when she's not pretending to be a lady."
She turned her back to Andrew, facing the window. Her reflection stared back at him, her eyes never leaving his as she sank to her knees before Bea. Her hands pushed up Bea's skirt, revealing a matching pair of lace panties, already dark with wetness.
Ellie pulled them down, exposing Bea's shaved pussy. Andrew's mouth went dry as Ellie leaned forward and dragged her tongue along Bea's slit. Bea gasped, her hand tangling in Ellie's hair, fingers digging in.
"That's it," Bea breathed. "Show your husband how you earned that bonus."
Ellie's tongue worked between Bea's thighs, lapping at her with a hunger that made Andrew's bound fists clench. She was good at this, practiced, knowing exactly where to press and when to pull away. When she finally looked back at him, her chin glistening, there was a challenge in her eyes.
"Your turn, Andy." She rose and walked to him, straddling the arm of the chair, her wet cunt inches from his face. "You've been such a good boy. I think you've earned a taste."
He could smell her, musk and arousal and another woman's slick. His mouth opened before he could think, his tongue lapping at her desperate and sloppy, drinking her in. She moaned, grinding against his face, her hands fisting in his hair.
"That's it," she gasped. "That's my good boy. Now you know." She pulled back, leaving him gasping, his chin soaked. "You know what I do when you're not watching. And you love it."
He did. God help him, he did.