Dodging Bullets

"Last night?" I gurgled. "What day and time is it?"

"It's about 10:30 Saturday morning," Simpson answered.

"I don't know anything about them; their names were Vince and Tony, I think – I'm not real sure. They were initially polite but got slimy. I was hoping to get rid of them but then I suddenly started feeling real woozy..." I said before losing my train of thought.

"Well, we have every indication that they roofied you. What were you drinking last night?" Simpson continued.

"Well the drink that they ordered for me and that I took a couple of gulps from before I started feeling out of it was a gin and tonic," I replied.

"That's what we thought; the glass with the gin and tonic recovered from your table is at the crime lab right now and Frank and Angelo – their real names – are in custody," Jones piped in for the first time.

In further discussions I found out that Jones and Simpson had been staking out that club because of some reported rapes in the last few months, and when they saw my woozy ass being led out of the club by two sketchy looking dudes they stopped them and when I was unresponsive arrested them.

After Jones and Simpson left Melissa held my hand and remarked "Wow; you really dodged a bullet there, Amy; you easily could have been a rape victim because of your mistake of letting those creeps buy you a drink."

This time fucking Madame Esmerelda's words didn't leave me until two days after Roger got back in town. It would have been best if they hadn't left me at all.

*******************

I was in line for a promotion at work but it required a two week seminar – home for the weekend in between – to qualify for my expected new position. I rarely travelled for work and wasn't really looking forward to it but Roger – as usual – encouraged me.

The first few days of the gathering – held in a conference room of a hotel where all of the course participants were staying – were fairly uneventful. There were people from all over the world who were employees of the large multinational corporation that I worked for, and I enjoyed meeting and talking with them between sessions and at lunch and dinner. One of the participants was a guy from Los Angeles by the name of Brad Hoover.

Brad was married with a couple of kids, but was the ultimate eye candy for all of the women participants. He was young, big, blond, svelte, and as handsome as a movie star, and also from the questions that he asked was obviously smart. He was also very friendly.

I had lunch and dinner with Brad – and at least half a dozen other people at the same time – the first three days of the course. The fourth day of the seminar we all let our hair down a little at a club after dinner, and I danced several dances with Brad. Although several women in our group – including two single ones, Claudia from Texas, and Joan from the U. K. – were flagrantly hitting on Brad, he seemed to be immune to their advances. However at one point, when redheaded Claudia was fawning over him, he excused himself saying that he was hitting the head.

When Brad came back from the bathroom – or wherever it was that he had gone – he came up to me as a slow song was playing and whispered "Amy – save me from the vultures, please, and dance with me for the rest of the night."

"Ok," I chuckled – although I should have declined because when he touched my shoulder an electric charge went straight to my crotch.

The first slow song we mostly talked. After a few fast songs we could tell that Claudia and Joan were angling for a way to butt in. When the second slow song started Brad mumbled "Let's stroll over to the far end of the dance floor away from the pack."

I followed Brad's lead and soon we were out of sight of our fellow club patrons. It was then that Brad's hands started roaming over my body and I couldn't help but feel the major meat at his midsection. While holding me close with one hand firmly planted on my ass Brad whispered "You know that you could be the sister of the woman that I dated in college – the one that I let get away and have regretted since."

"Oh," I mumbled in reply intellectually realizing that I needed to get out of this situation but finding that my body was not cooperating.

"Yes – she was beautiful, smart, and feisty just like you are – with a killer ass and thighs," he growled.

With that he positioned me so that I was facing away from everyone else at the club and moved his right hand from my ass, under my dress, to my left thigh. As he stroked my thigh he mumbled "Your thigh is killer – just like hers."

I was seriously into this guy at that point and was hoping for something to rescue my pre-cheating ass. I thought that I was saved by the bell when the slow song ended and Brad said "My phone is vibrating."

He pulled his phone from his pocket and had it to his ear as we slithered back to our companions. When we got there he returned the phone to his pocket and said "I really need to get back to the hotel and call my office in L. A. It's only a minor emergency, but I need to talk to some people there anyway."

I thought it a little strange – but I knew that the L. A. office was a boiler room and it was three hours earlier there, so I shrugged my shoulders. Everyone decided to call it a night and we took two cabs back to the hotel, the other women making every effort to shut me out of the cab with Brad in it. Since my pussy was leaking I was glad that the three other women rode with Brad, and I rode with three harmless guys in the other cab.

I immediately showered when I got to my room, washing the leakage from my pussy off of my thighs. I had gotten ready for bed and was just in my nightgown, still flushed from the night's activities, when there was a knock at the door. I looked through the peephole to see Brad there – I didn't know how he knew my room number. Through the door I said "Hi Brad – everything OK?"

"Actually, I need to talk to you Amy; can I come in?"

My brain said "No, no, no," my impetuous personality said "Yes, yes, yes," and my body broke the tie. I opened the door.

Once he entered Brad was very direct. "I love your body Amy; I really like your personality; you've got me hotter than a stick of dynamite; I've got to fuck you."

Since I was happily married I didn't make the mistake of succumbing to him so I replied "Sorry Brad, no can do," as I ushered him out of my room. NOT! NOT! NOT!

It couldn't have been more than a minute later that I was sucking his massive tubular appendage while he was tonguing and fingering my soggy pussy with my ripped negligee lying on the floor next to the bed.

It couldn't have been more three minutes after that that I was unable to suck his cock because I was screaming in orgasm.

It couldn't have been five minutes after that when from behind his horse cock was vigorously reciprocating in my tight cunt as I smothered my moans and swear words into a pillow.

It couldn't have been more than another five minutes before he was grunting like a barnyard full of hogs as he unloaded a tsunami of cum into my anxious pussy and I screamed into the pillow.

After we sucked and fucked most of the night, Brad pried my eyes open about five a. m. "Amy, I'm not going home this weekend because it's too far to travel for just two days, and I have a business issue that I can deal with here. Stay with me this weekend – we'll have a great time."

"Mistake, mistake, mistake," rang repeatedly through my brain like an air raid siren. However after he sucked my tit and flicked my clit for the umpteenth time that night/morning I replied "OK."

"Move your stuff into my room at the morning break," he grinned just before he slinked out of my room.

I got only two and a half hours of sleep before the goddamn alarm went off and I dragged my ass into the shower.

Brad surreptitiously slipped me a key card to his room at breakfast with a sticky note attached to it giving me his room number. I moved my stuff to his room at the morning break and checked out of the hotel. I called Roger at lunch and fake cried into the phone telling him how the session had been extended through the weekend and how much I missed him. I almost changed my mind he seemed so distraught and loving especially since that goddamn word "Mistake!" kept caroming through my head; but I didn't change my mind.

Brad and I essentially ignored each other during the day on Friday hoping that no one would recognize our "just really, really fucked well" looks. I didn't like the catty, jealous, stares that Joan and Claudia were directing my way, however.

Neither Brad nor I was very sharp in the classroom, but I did manage to get through the day although I did have to make an unusual trip to the bathroom mid-morning when despite my shower cum leaked onto my thighs.

While feelings of guilt and that damn word "Mistake!" drifted through my mind from time-to-time from Friday night to Monday morning, especially when I talked to Roger on the phone, Brad kept my orifices pretty well filled, and my tits had never been sucked so much in my life. While despite his friendliness and intelligence, Brad didn't have a real loving personality – but his virtually perfect cock and testicles made up for that big time.

I re-checked into a room on Monday, and Brad spent the night with me there Monday and Tuesday. We avoided anything but cursory contact with others at the seminar, and were happily weary during the class sessions because of lack of sleep and overused body part.

Brad got an emergency call from home Wednesday morning and had to leave the seminar. I did get one passionate kiss from him – unfortunately it had to be in the very public hotel lobby, our first really recognizable PDA outside the dance club the previous Thursday night – and was quite melancholy once he was gone. I basically tuned out during class that day, my mind flitting between the stupendous sex over the last five days and feelings of guilt. I didn't even notice the dagger stares from Joan and Claudia.

I talked to Roger again on Wednesday night and hoped that my voice did not indicate any guilt or lingering sex haze. He actually seemed quite chipper, and that made me feel better.

Thursday morning I got hit with a bombshell. That afternoon we were actually going to be tested on the information imparted in the seminar. It was then that I realized that because of my sex-induced grogginess and fleeting issues of guilt and remorse, that I had only absorbed about half of the subject matter. I furiously tried to catch up at lunch, studying instead of eating, but was nervous when the tests were passed out about 1:30 p. m.

I had reason to be nervous. The test was hard; it was done on computers so that it would be almost instantly graded. By the time that I left at 5:30 – having been given a half hour extension for a bullshit reason that I made up – I had my score; 64. Since I didn't know what other people had gotten, I didn't know how that stacked up, but the instructor only smiled and gave me no negative comment when he provided me with that information so I didn't panic.

After a brief wrap-up on Friday morning I checked out. I was really disturbed when my credit card was declined. While the company had paid for the room and meals, my card was necessary to cover incidentals – such as the room service dinner, and booze from the minibar, that Brad and I had consumed in my room Monday night. Fortunately a dweeby guy from my office was behind me in line and he covered the bill with my promise to pay him back on Monday.

I took off for the airport after the checkout snafu. I talked to both my boss and Roger on my cellphone while waiting for the plane at the airport.

In my talk with my boss I offered to come in to work that afternoon since I'd be getting into town about noon, but my boss said "Why don't you just go home straight from the airport. I'll talk to you Monday." I didn't read any significance into the remark "I'll talk to you Monday" because his voice was friendly.

Just before I talked to Roger I started to have some apprehension – and even more guilt. I hoped that my voice wouldn't give things away. Fortunately Roger was his normal cheery self, which relieved me. I offered to meet him for a late lunch, but just as my boss had he said "Why don't you just take a cab home; actually that would help me a lot because some legal papers are being delivered there and I would really appreciate you signing for them."

"Sure, dear – anything for you," I chirped before we mutually terminated the call.

As I looked out the window of the plane on my trip home I suddenly realized how my life could have turned to shit because of my sexual escapades with Brad. "God, I dodged another bullet," I mumbled to myself. "I'll really make it up to Roger," I convinced myself. "I'll be the best wife ever – and I'll even make my upcoming 31st birthday," which was a week after tomorrow, "about Roger instead of about me. A year after I get my promotion we can even start a family!" I dozed off with that happy thought until the force of landing woke me up.

I took a cab home, and as I was unlocking the front door a gray-haired guy in a suit came up to me. "Hi," he said; "sorry to approach you just when you got home, but I think that your husband Mr. Thompson told you that I'd have some papers for you to sign for."

"Why yes, he certainly did," I smiled.

The gentleman handed me a 10 by 13 inch manila envelope, a form on a clipboard, and a pen. "Just sign the form at the 'X' acknowledging receipt," he said.

I signed, he gave me a copy of the form that I had signed, and left with the original and a "Have a good day."

When I got inside I immediately went into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of white wine.

I looked at the envelope carefully as I sipped my wine. It wasn't addressed to Roger, but to me. Curious, I opened it up.

The first document in the envelope was a letter from my boss. In relevant part it read:

"I'm sorry to inform you Amy but your performance, both inside and outside the classroom, at the seminar was unacceptable. Your 64 on the test was the lowest grade in the class, and your apparent relationship with Mr. Hoover against company policy. Instead of a promotion you will need to go to counseling for a week, after which you will be demoted."

"Holy shit! What the fuck!" I screamed aloud as the letter drifted from my hand onto the floor. Then I saw the heading of a multipage document that had been underneath the letter in the envelope. The heading of "Thompson vs. Thompson" was agonizing; the title "Petition for Dissolution of Marriage" was heart stopping.

I almost fell to the floor. When I finally regained my composure I started looking around and noticed that some of Roger's knick-knacks were missing. Panicked I raced up to the master bedroom. Roger's clothes and other possessions had vanished.

I collapsed on the bed crying and moaning "Oh no, oh no," when my smartphone started buzzing. I ignored it but when it started up again immediately after buzzing the first time I looked at the caller ID. "Madame Esmeralda" was clearly displayed.

"What the fuck," I repeated several times as I fumbled with my smartphone trying to answer it. In response to my weak "Hello" I got:

"I warned you that you could only dodge a bullet five times and that the sixth mistake would destroy your life. Still you fucked up, and only two weeks before your 31st birthday Amy! Wow, did you ever fuck up royally!"

When the call terminated I was standing and shaking, but something on the dresser caught my eye. I went over to it and stared down at an enlarged – it had to be at least 18 by 30 inches – photograph. Brad was clearly visible fucking me doggy. I knew it was me from the appearance of the hotel room, the mole on the side of my right tit, and my right ass cheek tattoo, although my face wasn't that recognizable.

The reason that my face wasn't that recognizable? There was an actual bullet poking through the photo obliterating my forehead!

Too late I had developed an appreciation for psychics.