Skip Newcombe’s Fear of Infidelity

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Skip Newcombe was waiting when his wife came home from work. All day long he’d told himself that when she came home, just for once, they’d sit and talk like a normal couple in their mid-twenties. He’d make her a cup of coffee. They’d talk about their day and relax. He’d be good, he’d be in control.

He knew exactly when to expect to hear the sound of her key in the front door. Andrea rode the bus home from her secretarial job. Her knew her route, how many stops before she got off, the stores she’d pass, the name of every street. He could look at his watch and know for sure where she was and what she was doing any time of day.

His sat in the kitchen, waiting, smoking quietly, telling himself over and over that things would be different tonight. He’d made a promise.

In his mind he saw her step off the bus and look both ways before she crossed the street. He could see the way her slim calves flexed as she walked. He could hear the sound of her heels, see the sway of her hips, the gentle, trembling movements of her breasts. It was still light so he didn’t worry about her safety. The pavements would still be crowded, some of the stores would still be open.

He saw her walking, coming home, and he felt doubt inside him and passed a trembling hand through his hair. She was on her way, she must be on the corner of Parkway by now, crossing the street again. Walking briskly, looking composed, the way she always did. Rolling her hips. Looking attractive in her tight fitting business suit. Inviting guys to look at her. Drawing attention to herself.

Sitting at the kitchen table Skip had a clear view along the hall when Andrea opened the front door and stepped inside.

“Hi, honey,” she said. She smiled, her eyes sparkled. She closed the door behind her and when Skip reached for another cigarette his hands were shaking.

“I think it’s going to rain,” Andrea said. She dropped her keys on the table in the hall. She let down her hair as she came through to the kitchen. Her blue jacket was unbuttoned. Her breasts trembled softly with each step. She was wearing heels. Her hips swayed as she came closer.

She didn’t look directly at Skip until she’d reached the kitchen, then she paused in the process of shaking out her hair.

Skip didn’t smile. He flicked his cigarette lighter but it wouldn’t catch. He tried it three, four times, as Andrea stood looking at him. Finally it lit. His hand shook as he touched the flame to the tip of his cigarette. The veins stood out in his forearms. His whole body was suddenly tense.

“Honey?” Andrea frowned. Her attractive face looked abruptly troubled. She smiled uneasily as Skip stood up.

“Give me your bag,” he said.

Andrea didn’t move. He stared at her handbag. He didn’t want to look at her face and see her expression.

“Skip, you promised,” Andrea said. She sounded hurt.

He didn’t speak but he gestured for her handbag. He knew what she was thinking but he couldn’t help himself.

“Honey, you said you wouldn’t do this again.”

He snatched her bag from her grip as she slowly raised it to him. It was a small brown leather bag. He could smell the leather. His fingers shook as he opened it and spilled the contents onto the kitchen table. Her purse tumbled out, make up, a packet of paper tissues, half a roll of peppermints, a hair brush. He pounced on her cell phone.

“Skip, please don’t do this,” Andrea whispered.

He ignored her. He checked last call, the numbers in her phone book, the amount of credit that remained.

His cigarette was clamped between his lips, the smoke rose about his head, and he narrowed his eyes against it. He could feel her watching him and sense her disappointment but he couldn’t help it.

“Give me your panties,” bahis firmaları he said, without looking at her. He turned off her cell phone and put it with the other things on the table.

He could feel his heart beating with a slow, sure rhythm.

“Honey, please don’t do this,” Andrea said.

He didn’t look at her but he could see her on the edge of his vision, her womanly shape, her blue suit, short skirt, sexy legs, white blouse. She was standing, unmoving, watching him. He looked down at her things on the table, there was nothing there that she shouldn’t have.

“Take them off,” he said, staring at the dark screen of her cell phone. He knew she might have deleted any messages she didn’t want him to see. His mind showed him images of how she’d spent her day. He saw her at lunch smiling at someone, standing at the coffee machine in the office, swaying her hips as she walked between the desks, smoothing her skirt as she sat down, crossing her legs, knowing she was being admired.

He stared at her cell phone intently and for a long time she didn’t move but then he saw her from the corner of his eye as she slowly raised her skirt.

He waited, tense, without looking at her but aware of her movements, listening to the small sounds she made.

Andrea’s panties were warm from her body, white, trimmed with delicate lace, small, sexy, the material shone faintly in the afternoon light.

Skip could feel her watching him and he turned his back and looked inside her panties. There were a few stray pubic hairs clinging to the material. The cotton gusset was clean and unstained. He touched it. There was just the merest trace of dampness. Nothing incriminating. He raised them to his face and pressed them to his nose and inhaled deeply. He smelt her pussy and a light trace of her piss. He smelt her perfume and the fabric conditioner she used to wash her underwear. He knew the difference now between the scent of panties that had been worn all day and those that had just been put on. These were the same ones she’d been wearing when she’d left the house that morning.

Skip lowered his hands and glanced back at Andrea. She hadn’t moved. She looked hurt and unhappy, disappointed in him. Her silence was worse than anything she might say.

His fingers tightened around her panties, crumpling them into a ball. He stubbed out his cigarette.

“Take off your clothes,” he said. This time their eyes met and neither of them looked away. He saw only sadness in her gaze. She said nothing. Her expression didn’t change and then she lowered her eyes and began to undress.

Andrea undressed slowly and passed each item of clothing to him for inspection as she removed them. He searched them for foreign matter, for a stray piece of lint, a hair that wasn’t his or Andrea’s. He spread each garment on the table and leaned over it to study it closely. He didn’t look at Andrea but he became aware of her increasing nakedness and slowly began to become aroused. Finally he discarded her bra. He’d found nothing unusual on her clothes. She was a pale and blurred, naked shape at the edge of his vision. She stood with her hands hanging dejectedly at her sides, not looking at him, her head down. Her nipples dark, and lower, the dark triangle of her closely cut pubic hair.

His cock was hard now. He knew that it showed through his jeans.

“Bend over,” he said. He was short of breath now. He watched her place both hands on the table and bend over from the waist.

Her breasts hung down and swayed gently and his cock strained as he walked around and stood behind her. He knelt and used his hands to part her cheeks and look at her ass hole. He leaned closer and sniffed, his nose just touching her skin. He couldn’t smell the scent kaçak iddaa of another man but he could detect the faint, warm trace of her own waste.

He stood up again. It was a ritual, this was the way it had to be done.

“Sit on the edge of the table,” he said, avoiding her eyes. He drew a chair closer. When she was in position leaning back on the table with one foot on the floor and the other raised on the chair and her legs splayed he leaned over close to her pussy.

Andrea watched him in silence as he looked for any signs of redness, any indication of arousal or activity, any sign that her lips were swollen. There was nothing. Leaning closer he sniffed deeply and drew in the scent of her pussy, her perspiration, and again, the faint aroma of piss. He used the finger and thumb of his left hand to part her lips. She looked clean. He sniffed again and her hot, heavy scent communicated electric desire to his brain. His cock strained again and he knelt before her and closed his eyes and rested his forehead against her short, sharp pubic hairs.

“You promised you’d trust me from now on,” Andrea said, her voice soft with gentle reproach.

Skip sighed. He knew what he’d promised. He placed a hand on each thigh. When he opened his eyes he had a close up view of her pussy. Her smell was getting stronger. He lowered his chin and put out his tongue. He pressed it flat against her lips then drew it slowly upwards, tasting her, feeling the soft texture of her skin, the way it moved under the pressure of his tongue, the places where she’d shaved and the hair was starting to grow again.

He moved his hands under her legs and pressed his tongue deeper between her pussy lips. He let his saliva mix with her juices.

“Oh, baby,” Andrea whispered. She reached out with one hand and touched his head. Her fingers moved through his hair.

Her taste was on his tongue, his face was becoming wet with her juices. He lifted her legs higher and Andrea lay back on her elbows on the table pushing aside the contents he’d spilled from her handbag. Skip snatched a breath of air and slathered her pussy with his tongue as Andrea’s hips began to move. Her pussy was slick and her smell enveloped him. He felt for her clit but it eluded him. He was moaning now, panting for breath. He raised her legs still higher. Andrea squirmed on the table. He licked her perineum. His moist tongue glided wetly over her ass hole. Her thighs blocked out all sounds. He thrust his tongue as deeply as he could into her gaping pussy, feeling her wetness on his cheeks and on his chin. She pumped her hips to meet his thrusting tongue. He jabbed it into her repeatedly, stiffening his tongue, feeling her heat, her flooding wetness. The soft tissue of her pussy smothered him. The exciting intimacy of the moment drove him into a frenzy of licking and jabbing. She was wet and slick against his face. Her hips kept moving. He was gasping for breath, his tongue ached, his face glistened with her juices. He searched for her clit again, relying on Andrea’s reactions to lead him. At the same time he slipped a finger into her pussy and curled it upwards. Her hips bucked furiously. Her body thumped against the table. He bent his crooked finger rapidly back and fore inside her, feeling her wetness, the texture and space inside her as Andrea squirmed and jerked and moaned before him.

Breathing hard Skip stood up and hurriedly fumbled his jeans open. Andrea’s pussy gaped open, wet and warm and glistening, and he stepped closer to the table and guided the thick, swollen head of his cock into her. He reached and grabbed one leg with each hand and lifted them higher, opening them wider at the same time, so that he was able to push himself deeper into her pussy. He felt himself going kaçak bahis in, felt the way her pussy warmly swallowed his length. He jerked her legs again for a better hold and slipped into her another inch. Looking down he could see her wet and matted pubic hair, her lips spread wide, the thick girth of his cock buried inside her.

Andrea closed her legs around him and Skip paused, panting, and looked at her shapely body laid out naked before him on the table. Her stomach was taut, her rib cage showed, her breasts were full, even unsupported. Andrea’s head was turned to the side. Her eyes were closed, her lips were parted, her hair was spread in disarray and Skip nodded to himself with approval.

He began to fuck her slowly, drawing back then pushing into her again, feeling the whole slick length of his cock slipping deeper, clasped by her pussy. It made a low, wet sound as he withdrew, their bodies came together with a soft, fleshy sound as he thrust again powerfully. Andrea’s breasts shook. He could smell her flowing juices. She moved her head from side to side. Her arms were flung wide, her fingers curled over the edge of the table.

Catching his breath, he began to fuck her faster and harder. The table shook. The sound of their bodies coming together grew louder and more urgent. Andrea arched her back as he slammed into her. She tipped back her head and he saw the tendons in her neck stretched tight beneath her skin. Gasping he fucked her faster, trying to hold on as long as he could, but all the time feeling his climax growing until his release wrenched a groan from his lips.

His cock spurted powerfully, the force of his climax doubled him over, his hips jerked but he continued to fuck her, pumping his cum inside her, thrusting into her again and again, emptying himself until his movements slowed and stopped.

He put his hands on the table on either side of Andrea and leaned over her with his head bowed, his chest heaving, his cock still buried inside her.

All he felt now was the relief and satisfaction that follows sexual gratification, the gasping for breath, the heart beat slowing, his cock softening.

He swallowed and moved his hips and his cock slipped smoothly from her pussy, swollen but softening, slick and wet with her juices.

Andrea sighed with pleasure as he withdrew, her stomach contracted, her face was flushed.

Skip was pleased with his performance. He looked at her breasts then lower at her oozing pussy as he put himself away. He tried to remember why he didn’t trust her but now there seemed no basis for his doubts.

Andrea sat up slowly, she was still breathing hard, her breasts swayed as she moved, her nipples were swollen. Her stomach was taut. She squirmed herself from the table and stood beside Skip looking up at him. Her eyes shone and her cheeks were flushed. She shook her head slowly and tried half heartedly to do something with her hair.

He saw a question in her eyes, all he could do was shrug. Her gaze was soft, full of compassion and understanding.

“You think I’d ever leave you and give up all that?” she said, breathlessly. “What are you, crazy?”

It made him smile. She reached up and kissed him on the cheek and he watched her gather her clothes.

Andrea turned away with her arms full. His smile faded as he looked at the way her bottom twitched attractively as she walked bare foot to the door.

When she was gone he lit a cigarette and his gaze fell on her cell phone. He could hear her climbing the stairs. His mind told him that she was smiling to herself. He tried to ignore the voice of doubt in his head but he saw her in their bedroom sitting on their bed and throwing back her hair as she watched the door and picked up the extension and began to dial.

Skip shook his head to dispel the troubling image. He was almost certain his doubts were unfounded. Tomorrow, he decided, making another promise to himself. Tomorrow things would be different.

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