Dionysus Retreat, Mid-Week One

"Are you glad we called and disturbed your morning?"

"Don't even think of doing otherwise! I want to make this an appointment every Tuesday morning," she quipped with a far off look on her face as she contemplated the possibilities. The Retreat staff left, and Brock watched her get dressed. When she was ready to go, he practically moaned,

"Lord your're gorgeous! I marvel more about it every day!"

"Thank you sir. You're pretty fine yourself, you know. Who else would have thought about arranging such a nice midday treat for your loving wife? See you at home, and keep your pants on around here."

"What do you mean, hun?" Brock asked truly unsure.

"I mean that little Swedish vixen out there is not to be anointed with any of your body fluids. Save your spittle and your cum for me! I intend to claim it all, starting again tonight!" she replied as she executed a perfect high-heeled spin and sashayed with exaggerated hip swinging out the door.

As she passed Giselle's desk, Joan reached into her purse and pulled out the panties she had purposefully left off when redressing in Brock's office. Standing directly in front of the assistant, she set them down on her desk right under her nose saying,

"Take a good sniff. That's what the panties of a well-fucked woman smell like. I want you to keep them. I don't need them really. I'm constantly taking them off to satisfy my husband's lust for his sexed-up wife. You however do need them. If I ever catch you here without panties on again, I'll see to it Brock fires you that very day! Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes maam. Very clear! G-strings at the beach and partying, but panties at work! I've got it! It won't be a problem ever again."

"Glad you get the message! With time perhaps we all can become friends," Joan added.

"I'd like that. What you and Mr. Hockaday have got is something all of us here want. You're both 'hot' as the dickens but are devoted to one another. Hope to land a man like that for myself sometime soon."

"Perhaps you can come around to drinks sometime to see how two 'hotties' make it,... to a 25th anniversary," Joan suggested, planting a seed.

"I'd like that. And again, sorry to have upset you. I deserved the reprimand. Just glad it came from an observant wife of my boss rather than from HR. I really need this job!"

Joan's mental gears were turning, but she had set the hook and decided to do the reeling in another day. She and Brandi were meeting for a late lunch and then going shopping for some sexier heels like the members at the Retreat all seemed to have found. If not in Manhattan, maybe one had to buy them on-line from Frederick's of Hollywood or Wicked Temptations. She and Brandi were determined to find out the answer. After all, Sonia had sent them both invitations to a special bi-annual event called "Brides Night Out" Thursday night. They wanted to look like absolute knock-outs the first time they returned as full-fledged members of the Retreat. And it all started with shoes, high-heeled fuck-me-down-and-dirty shoes!

The panties had been bought as a joke, in some ways a cruel joke, but they were not intended to harm sensitive egos or even hurt delicate feelings of adequacy and inadequacy. The thin transparent nylon and the boldly-lettered wording did however make a subtle point. Neither Brandi nor Joan were just their husband's wives any longer. They were independent lust-filled women who undertook sexual pleasure without guilt or remorse or apology. Their tits and even their pussies were often completely exposed to entice all comers including their husbands, at the women's wishes. But Brandi and Joan were now Cougars, women who owned their own sex lives and had taken full control thereof. Brock and Stuart were a part of it but not the only part.

THE END