Penny's Promiscuity Ch. 15: Conference

It was late Monday afternoon when I felt the bump of the aeroplane's wheels landing on the concrete runway of Geneva airport. It was late afternoon but when I had come home from Tony's after our last ever fuck and booted up my laptop it was the only flight I could find that would get me there the following day.

My husband Pete would have been at the conference since Friday evening; nearly three full days would have elapsed by the time I arrived. I hoped and prayed that he wouldn't be angry that I had broken our agreement and come to see him before the two weeks had ended.

Before leaving home, I had shaved myself all over and dressed as I believed Pete would like best; black panties, low cut bra and stockings beneath a tight, short, dark blue dress. It was as sexy as I could manage but still, I hoped, the right side of sophistication.

My husband already knew I was a slut; I didn't need to remind him.

I had no idea how Pete would react when he found me at his hotel and was very anxious. For all I knew he had already replaced me for the week with a 'Conference Wife'; some young and impressionable trainee from Eastern Europe who was dazzled by his reputation. In that event the unexpected presence of his middle-aged, unfaithful wife might be highly unwelcome.

But I couldn't wait until the following Sunday. With another five days of temptation and knowing how far I had fallen under Tony's spell, Pete could be forgiven for finding an alternative.

This couldn't be allowed to happen; I wanted my extraordinary husband back.

***

My psychology students would have had a field day if they had seen me when I had finally returned home from my now ex-lover's apartment the previous evening with Tony's thick, messy semen oozing from my sore, poorly lubricated vagina.

After dropping my secret phone into the rubbish bin, I had gone straight upstairs. There I had stripped, bathed and showered as if subconsciously trying to cleanse my body of all traces of Tony's presence, scrubbing between my legs until my vulva was a sore, dark red gash, let alone a Pretty Pink Pussy. I had brushed my teeth for five full minutes to rid my mouth of the taste of him.

To my dismay, my neck and boobs still bore the marks of our wild, angry copulation but only time would remove those.

Afterwards I had dried my sore body on a clean towel and dressed in clothes I hadn't worn since my affair had begun all those months ago, as if by dressing as I had before I became an unfaithful wife, I could recover some of the innocence I had so spectacularly lost.

I even threw my semen-soaked knickers into the wood-burning stove, watching them shrivel and steam as the last gobs of Tony's sticky semen I would ever see went up in slightly acrid fumes.

All no doubt interesting psychology but useless from a practical point of view; no matter what I did, I still felt dirty, used and stupid.

Once I had done all I sensibly could I returned to the place in the house that reminded me least of my former lover; the kitchen. There I sat on a tall stool, took several deep breaths and booted up my laptop, opening a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and sipping impatiently as the machine clicked and whirred.

When the pc was finally ready I scoured the net for flights to Geneva.

It was bedtime when I finally booked my seat but with my mind buzzing, the early night I knew I needed was out of the question. The only possible distraction seemed to be my writing. Fortunately the horror of my situation proved inspirational too; I wrote like a woman possessed, page after page flowing out of my twisted, guilt-ridden imagination. More chapters of my long-term stories formed themselves in my mind, along with stranger, darker plotlines that were frightening in their intensity.

Most involved cheating married women getting what they deserved.

As one o'clock in the morning approached and exhaustion finally drove me to bed, I had been writing for three hours without a break, the anger within me pouring into hard, angry stories that could only be published after a great deal of censorship.

Once in bed I slept deeply but without satisfaction, waking early with dark bags under my eyes to match the fading hickeys on my neck.

The manufacturers of concealer did well that morning and I went into work but soon found that my concentration was shot; after two hours and for the first time in my life I lied to my team and returned home, feigning illness. It made me feel guilty but nothing compared with the importance of the task ahead of me; the saving of my marriage and my family.

I packed my bag carefully then spent the remaining time desperately trying to keep myself occupied. As I left home for the airport, the house was spotless, the washing and ironing done and flowers were on the tables. Upstairs the bed had clean sheets and the room was ready with candles for what I desperately hoped would be my husband's happy return.

But I had no illusions; it was up to me to make the running. It was me that had opened the wound; it was up to me to try and heal it.

I just hoped I wasn't already too late.

***

It was early Monday evening when my taxi pulled up outside the large, smart, city-centre hotel in which the conference was taking place. When I had called the night before I had been told that all rooms were booked so I went straight to the check-in desk, told them I was Dr. Peter Barker's wife and asked if I could be let into his room to await his return.

To my horror, at first they were suspicious, seeming to think I was some kind of ageing prostitute trying to visit a client - so much for my sophisticated choice of dress - but after a careful inspection of my passport they finally accepted who I was and gave me a spare key card to Pete's room.

Refusing help, I carried my own meagre luggage to the floor on which his room lay, let myself in, closed the door behind me and took a deep breath. I had arrived without a clear plan; I just knew that if my marriage was to be saved, I had to be wherever my husband was. I needed to be close to him physically if I was ever going to be close to him emotionally again.

I dropped my bag and looked around the room. It was quite large, very anonymous but pleasant with an over-sized double bed against the far wall. For a moment an image flashed through my mind; of an unknown woman's naked body on that smooth counterpane; of her legs spread wide; of a familiar male bottom rising and falling between those open thighs as my husband fucked the life out of her.

A bolt of pain flashed through me when I remembered that thanks to my deceit, Pete did now know what it was like to have sex with another woman; that only a few days ago he had spent the entire night in bed with my closest friend Julie, a woman with an apparently spectacular sexual appetite.

What was worse, my husband appeared to have satisfied her well. A wave of jealousy washed through me; if he could give her orgasms why not me? Whatever the truth, I had to know.

I began to search the room frantically for any sign of female occupation; cosmetics, clothing, even used condoms in the waste bins but to my relief, neither the dresser, the bedside table nor the bathroom yielded any indication that anyone other than my husband had been there.

There was a box of condoms in the drawer beside the bed but for the moment it was unopened. This didn't mean he hadn't slept with another woman; they might have used her room of course and they might not have used protection but at least one possible disaster had been avoided.

I looked at my watch; just before seven o'clock; the last seminar of the day should be ending right then, leaving an hour's break before the formal dinner began at eight. Pete would normally come back to his room to freshen up and change his shirt before joining the others in the bar for pre-dinner cocktails.

This meant that, if he came at all, he would probably arrive within the next fifteen minutes. I had to see him before he saw me to have any chance of being the wife he wanted me to be. I had to look for any signs of his having replaced me.

I went into the bathroom and adjusted my make-up and clothes to make sure I was looking my best; I wasn't sure what competition I would have for that precious place in his bed.

In the large, unforgiving mirror I saw a skinny, flat-chested, middle-aged woman in a very pretty but too-short dress that revealed a more of her rather bony thighs than it should. She wore too much make-up too but as the alternative was showing the dark patches under her eyes and the fading hickeys on her neck, this was unavoidable.

How this woman hoped to regain the love and desire of her handsome husband was a mystery.

I only just avoided tears though it took all my willpower then, taking a deep breath, I slipped out of the room, along the corridor and towards the large bar where the seminar rooms would empty out.

The room was crowded and noisy with medics of every size, shape and colour crammed into the area closest to the free bar. Even the foremost of Doctors was not averse to a few high quality tipples at the expense of a multi-national drug company and it was clear that for many the glass in their hand was not their first.

I scanned the room looking for my husband, moving around the periphery, trying to avoid being spotted by anyone who might recognise me but to my relief, saw no one I knew.

There were other women in dresses and skirts as short as mine but their legs were a good decade younger than those my inadvisably high hem line was displaying. I cursed my choice but had nothing more suitable to change into so had to continue despite the lecherous looks from some of the men and disgusted glances from several of the women.

There were few men as good-looking as my husband of any age but after a good ten minutes' circulating I couldn't find him.

"So you're here all alone Peter, you poor thing."

A heavily accented female voice came from somewhere close on my right but it was the familiar response that followed that snapped my attention towards the conversation.

"Penny's not fond of conferences Kasha," I heard my husband laugh. "Not even when she's the one speaking."

I turned slowly so as not to attract attention and saw, barely a dozen feet away, my husband Peter deep in conversation with a pretty blonde woman I judged to be in her early thirties. Tall like me but fuller figured, she was clearly enjoying her conversation if the sparkle in her eyes was anything to judge by.

Pete's back was towards me but from the way her eyes were locked onto his, I suspect I could have arrived on an elephant and he wouldn't have noticed.

A bolt of jealousy surged through me, twisting my stomach as I watched her play all the little seduction games I had used myself when younger; the accidental but repeated touching of his forearm as they spoke, the way her body was turned towards him, daring anyone else to interrupt their private conversation.

"It's good that you and I are sitting together at dinner," she continued. "My husband never travels with me. I was hoping to find someone interesting to spend the night with. Sorry, my English," she apologised with a false laugh, "I mean to spend the evening with."

Though her words could have been innocuous, the look in her eyes spoke volumes. I cursed Pete for having his back towards me, desperate to see the expression on his face.

"Are we sitting together? I haven't seen the table plan yet," he replied.

I was relieved to see he wasn't playing up to her game but he was clearly at least considering it. Kasha put her hand on his arm.

"We'll be together later, don't worry."

Pete half turned and my tummy filled with butterflies; I could hardly blame the girl for trying. In close fitting trousers that showed off his tight buttocks and a casual, long sleeved shirt that displayed his gym-toned arms and chest, the age difference would have meant little.

Rich, successful, good-looking, intelligent; if Kasha was looking for some alternative Grade A DNA to inseminate her, she need look no further. The knot of jealousy in my belly was twisted tighter.

"Kasha!"

At that point the US Cavalry arrived in the form of a short, round man in his seventies with large, thick glasses. He was carrying a briefcase stuffed full of papers. The expression of annoyance on the blonde woman's face was wonderful to behold but there was no escape. Clearly one of the conference organisers, he apologised briefly to Pete then engaged her in a detailed and unwelcome discussion about some technicality of the days' events.

Deprived of his would-be seducer, my husband looked at his watch, then at the bar, then began to sidle through the crowd in the general direction of his room.

I had to move fast, slipping round the perimeter of the room towards the corridor from which I had emerged earlier. To my relief, Pete was being delayed by brief conversations with other Doctors en route so I was able to reach the room before him and let myself in.

I stood beside the bed in the semi-darkness, my chest heaving with nerves, still unsure what my reception would be like or even what on earth to do when my husband returned.

A good five minutes passed before I heard the sound of voices outside the room door. My heart pounded in my chest; one of the muffled voices was accented and female.

Oh my God! Was my husband about to bring his conquest into his room only to find his wife waiting for him? Would he reject me in front of her, publically choosing his fresh young conquest instead of his well-used unfaithful wife?

I heard the key card being inserted in the lock and was so nervous I felt genuinely sick. Before going into the bar I had downed a large brandy from the mini bar to steady my nerves; I wished I had a second one to hand to help me face the confrontation I expected and deserved.

There was a whirr as the door unlocked. Standing by the bed I silently prayed that Pete would be alone; that we would at least get to talk before my marriage and the life I had known came to an end.

Time seemed to stand still as the door slowly opened. As I stood in the hotel bedroom, seeing my husband's everyday things laid out on the dresser and bedside table - his clock, his book, his hairbrush - I remembered the comfort of the home we had spent so many years creating together. Romantic, caring, loving; it was everything my marriage had always been before I had cheated.

If I had needed any more proof that my place was there by his side as his wife, it was there all around me.

Our life together was in that home too; all we had chosen together, the furnishings, the everyday paraphernalia of family life. The images folded themselves around me, showing me even more clearly how much I stood to lose.

Before I realised what was happening, tears were rolling down my cheeks; slowly at first then gaining momentum as the realisation of what I had come so close to losing truly dawned on me.

That was if it wasn't already lost; if my husband still wanted me as I desperately wanted him.

I could feel his presence, strong and warm passing through the doorway. I could hear his shoes on the wooden floor, masculine and purposeful. I listened anxiously for the tapping of high-heels that would herald the presence of my replacement but could hear none.

I stood stock still, burning with emotion, unable to look him in the face as my husband finally entered the bedroom.

"Penny?"

His voice was surprised; cool but not cold, smooth and very much the man I loved. In my agitated state I could detect little love directed towards me but at least he was alone.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, surprised rather than welcoming.

"I... I needed to see you," I mumbled.

"We're not supposed to meet until Sunday when I came home," he continued in the same unsettling voice.

"I... I couldn't wait that long," I told him, my voice cracking with emotion

The tears were flowing freely now. Suddenly it was all too much; shame and guilt overwhelmed me. Suddenly I couldn't bear the wait any longer.

"I'm... I'm sorry," I began to mumble.

It's possible Pete thought I was about to say something like 'I'm sorry, I'm leaving you' because he didn't move. Instead he just stood there, his gaze fixed upon me. I raised my eyes to meet his; the look on his face was neither happy nor kind.

"You're sorry, Penny?" he asked, the coldness in his voice tearing at my heart.

"I'm so sorry, Pete..." I began again.

Then the enormity of the situation overwhelmed me. A tsunami of regret, shame and fear hit me like brick wall. Helpless to resist, I buried my face in my hands, swaying on my feet, sobbing uncontrollably as great gulps of remorse and self-disgust washed over me.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" I wailed, my whole body shaking.

This time Pete understood. The sight of his wife of twenty years crying like a child must have finally broken through his carapace of self protection because the next thing I knew his arms were around my shoulders and he was hugging my weeping body to his.

Huge sobs convulsed me; I can't remember ever crying this much about anything in my life before.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry!" I sobbed into his strong masculine chest.

"Penny..." he began but I didn't listen. I didn't want to hear him tell me our relationship was over.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" I repeated over and over again.

The smell of my wonderful husband was all around me; a heady, warm, reassuring mix of Pete's deodorant, moisturiser and the cologne I had bought him last birthday. But underneath it was the mild musky aroma of the man himself; the man whose seed had created three wonderful children in my belly; the man I knew for certain I loved beyond all others.

The man I still believed I had lost.

"Shh! Shh! It's okay," he murmured softly into my hair as he held my shaking body tightly.

"It's not okay," I gasped between sobs. "I want you Pete. I still want you. I love you! I really love you! I'm so sorry. I've been so selfish; so stupid, so cruel. I'm so, so sorry!"

Pete said nothing. Instead, we hugged and rocked together, his strong arms and warm chest holding me reassuringly tightly. I began to feel a little safer; surely this wasn't the action of a man who was about to leave me; a man about to end his marriage?

Please let that be true!

Once my sobs had subsided a little, Pete helped me to the bed where I perched on the edge of the mattress. He went into the bathroom, filled a glass with cold water and handed it to me then sat close beside me, one arm around my shoulders; his other hand on my knee while I drank it eagerly and tried to calm down.

"Feeling a little better?" Pete asked when my shoulders had stopped heaving.

I nodded.

"Can you talk now?" he asked. "Do you want to?"

I nodded again.

"Please."

"Do I assumed from your presence here that you've made your decision?" he asked softly.

I nodded a third time, my throat still too tight to speak properly.

"I want us to be together - if you'll have me back."

Pete didn't give me the immediate positive reply I had hoped for but he didn't hold me any less tightly either.

"You're very early," he said in a voice I found hard to read. "We agreed two weeks apart. Are you sure you've had enough time to decide? Are you really sure it's what you want?"

"I'm sure," I insisted. "Really sure. I wanted to tell you straight away, in case..." I paused but it was too late.

"In case I was using my freedom like you used yours?" Pete finished my sentence with a sarcastic smile.

This wasn't what I wanted to hear either.

"Are you angry with me for coming?" I asked, trying not to be upset by his cruel words.

"No! Not at all. I'm really pleased to see you; really pleased Penn but...