Chapter 49: Dinner with Miller
The steam from the shower had barely dissipated, clinging to the mirrored walls of their ensuite in a fine, warm mist. Sandi stood at the basin, a towel wrapped around her torso, her focus on the small, precise razor in her hand. Caleb leaned against the doorframe, watching, a silent spectator to her ritual.
“You’re shaving your pussy,” he said. His voice was flat, observational, but the charge in the room immediately spiked.
She met his eyes in the mirror. There was no long, curly pubic hair to remove, just the faint, silvery stubble of a day or two’s growth. He wasn’t stating a fact; he was offering her a stage. Understanding flooded her—he wanted to hear her say it, to watch her revel in it. She indulged the irresistible need.
“I am,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. She let the towel fall. Completely naked, she turned slightly, bending one leg to rest her foot on the edge of the tub, exposing herself fully to his gaze and to the blade. “I’m shaving it smooth for him. For Miller. So when he finally gets my panties off, all he’ll find is perfect, bare skin. No trace of my husband. No trace of any other man from today. Just a clean, open slate for him.”
She made a show of it. The slow, careful strokes of the razor, the rinsing of the blade under the tap, the spreading of her lips with her free hand to ensure every last millimeter was exposed and dealt with. Caleb’s breathing deepened. She saw the bulge in his trousers, but he didn’t touch himself. This was her performance, and his arousal was in the watching.
Later, she moved to the bedroom vanity to do her hair and makeup, still utterly naked. The cool air from the window raised goosebumps on her skin, her nipples hardening. Caleb sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes tracing the movement of her hands as she applied mascara, the fall of her auburn hair as she styled it. Her nakedness was casual, domestic, yet profoundly obscene in its context. She was preparing her face for one man while her bare body was displayed for another.
When she stood to finally dress, he moved. He came up behind her, his hands settling on her hips. She felt the cool slickness of lubricant on his fingers before she registered his intent. He didn’t ask. He pressed one finger, then a second, against the tight, forbidden pucker of her anus. She gasped, her hands flying to the vanity for support as he worked the lubricant inside her, a slow, methodical penetration that stretched and prepared a part of her she had yet to offer to the stranger she was about to meet.
“The height of our intimacy as a couple,” Caleb whispered into her ear, his voice thick with a emotion she couldn’t quite name, “used to be when you gave all of yourself to me. Every part. But now… now it’s this. It’s when you make it so clear to me that you’re intent on giving all of yourself to another man. Or even men. When you let me prepare this tight little ass for a cock you haven’t even kissed yet.”
The words, coupled with the clinical, possessive penetration of his fingers, undid her. A orgasm, shocking in its suddenness and intensity, ripped through her. It wasn’t a slow build; it was a detonation. Her cunt clenched around nothing, her juices leaking down her inner thighs as she cried out, her body sagging against him. He held her up, his fingers still buried in her ass, until the violent tremors subsided.
After, as he held her close, her back to his chest, she struggled to catch her breath. “That wasn’t from the physical stimulation,” she breathed, turning her head to nuzzle his jaw. “It was from us. Our psychological interplay, as man and wife. An interplay that’s founded on my total promiscuity, and your indulgence in amplifying it. You accentuate it. By doing this… preparing me for anal sex with a man I haven’t even kissed… you send me completely over the edge.” She shuddered. “I was so composed. Grounded. Confident, before. But now you’ve undone me. Now all I’ll be wanting is more of the same from him. And I know he’s just not that type of man. He’s a liaison in a suit, not… not this.”
“I haven’t finished with you either,” Caleb warned her, his tone impossibly loving as he slowly withdrew his fingers. He kissed her shoulder.
She dressed under his watchful eye. Sleek, black lace panties. The sheer black hold-up stockings, the lacy tops hugging her mid-thigh. An elegant, charcoal grey dress that fell just above the knee, its neckline hinting at the curves beneath. Killer heels that made her legs seem endlessly long. Each garment was a layer of armor and invitation. Downstairs, she collected her coat, her clutch, her car keys from the hall table.
“In here a moment,” Caleb said, guiding her not to the front door, but into the lounge.
Ian looked up from his book. He took in her fully-dressed, poised appearance, then glanced at Caleb.
“Perfect,” Caleb said. He led Sandi to a high-backed armchair. Gently, he bent her over it, her palms flat on the seat cushion. He drew her dress up onto the small of her back, a pool of soft wool. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of her lace panties and eased them down to her knees.
“Ian,” Caleb said, his voice calm, instructional. “Fuck her cunt. Make her come. But don’t come yourself. I want her in the perfect state for Miller. Totally ready for sex, wet and wanting, but not in the blatantly used state we usually leave her in. No extra mess.”
Ian marked his page and set the book aside. He unzipped his trousers. “So, a totally mechanical fuck?” he asked, his tone neutral.
“Yes. Totally mechanical. Purely to get her into the state you or I would want her in if we were meeting her socially for the very first time. Primed, but pristine.”
Ian moved behind her. She felt the blunt, broad head of his cock nudge her folds, already slick from her earlier orgasm and the lingering anticipation. He pushed in without ceremony, filling her in one steady stroke. Then he began to move. It was rhythmic, efficient, deep. There was no kissing, no caress, no whispered filth. Just the solid, piston-like drive of his hips, the slap of his flesh against hers, the wet, sucking sounds of her cunt taking him. It was clinical. It was devastating. Her body, already sensitized, responded traitorously. Pleasure coiled, tight and impersonal, triggered by the sheer friction. He read her breathing, her tensing muscles, and adjusted his pace, his angle, his depth, with the cool expertise of a technician. When her second orgasm of the evening hit, it was a silent, internal rupture, a flood of warmth that made her thighs quake. He kept fucking her through it, then smoothly withdrew before his own control could break.
He stepped back, tucking himself away. Caleb pulled her panties back up, smoothed her dress down. She straightened on trembling legs, her face flushed, her core throbbing, her mind a whirlwind of sensation and contradiction.
She left the house in a flustered state of almost total sexual arousal—mental, physical, and emotional. The cool night air on her face did little to clear the fog.
“You’ll manage to compose yourself before you get there,” Caleb said, leaning in the doorway, his face shadowed. “Have fun.”
She paused at the car, her hand on the door handle. “And if I don’t? If I end up losing my job?”
“You have the ability, the talent, to easily get another one.”
“But if I get a reputation? If I get black-listed?”
He smiled then, a real, warm smile that reached his eyes. “You can work for me. And take the company on to greater things.” He paused, his gaze holding hers with absolute certainty. “So give your all. And don’t hold back.”