Sprung Ch. 07

This is Alternative Ending #7 of 'Sprung'. It has the same beginning as 'Sprung 1 - 4, all the way down to 'Alternate Ending Number 7'. It stands alone. There's no sex but it's almost a complete ending, with just a hint of the carnage to come left to your imagination.

My public service gift to those struggling to start writing is an invitation. Grab any of the stories below you like and do what you will with them. Plagiarise the whole start and write your own ending. Steal one of the concepts and write your own words. Anything you like, just put pen to paper, finger to keyboard, and have fun. I desire no acknowledgement for this gift, although a private email to tell me how you enjoyed your writing and publishing experience would be nice.

If you're worried about your spelling or grammar, or if English isn't your first language, then feel free to send to me for proofreading. If I'm busy, my partner in crime, CTC, the best damn editor on the site, will muck in. We can do anything requested, from commenting on the story line, to shut-the-fuck-up-and-just-correct-the-spelling. Again, acknowledgement isn't required. JUST GET OFF YOUR ASSES AND START WRITING.

Many thanks to CTC for the edit and ideas.

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I looked for the last time at my reflection in the mirror. Could I do it? Could I really get away with this? Could the forty-year old, not beautiful but also not plain, housewife who has never done anything remotely like this, have one extramarital adventure with no repercussions at all?

I took in my reflection. The person looking back at me would have to walk the gauntlet past her totally clueless husband. Must appear exactly as described on the packet: a dutiful niece, going to look after her frail aunt for the weekend, so her other aunt could have a break. There could be no sign of the woman who was using the story as a cover to meet another man for two nights of who only knew what in his remote cottage in the mountains.

For the last time, I looked for any holes in my cover story. Auntie June was indeed sickly and was getting looked after by my Auntie Peg. Both were widowed, Peg's husband having died last year. Aunt June's husband, Nicolas, had been killed in Vietnam in the late sixties and she'd never really gotten over it. She'd chosen to have his body cremated, buried the ashes in the backyard, and built a little shrine. Every visitor to the house was expected to go out and give their regards to Uncle Nick. Auntie Peg was indeed having a break from care this weekend, but June was being taken to Peg's son's house while his mum had a respite.

So, discovery methods to scupper my plans?

My husband, Dave, wasn't on friendly terms with Aunt Peg, so wouldn't speak to her to confirm or deny my story. I doubt he even had a number for her son. Aunt June had no fixed-line phone, so Dave couldn't be suspicious when I didn't answer it. So long as I always answered my cell in the next two days, I was fine.

Could Dave drop in to June's house unannounced? Impossible. A couple of hours after I left, he was going to the airport and flying out for a weekend business trip. Our two children my sister had already picked up to look after until we both returned on Sunday. His trip was a last-minute thing. Soothing a client who thought there was a huge problem with their mansion design when it was already half built. That wasn't unknown and no amount of explaining it over the phone allayed their fears. Dave was using the opportunity to stay on site and design the gardens surrounding the house. It would save him a trip later. If I'd known about the trip earlier, I may not have bothered to make such elaborate plans of my own and invited Michael here. No. Too risky. So, with the double surety of my planning and Dave's trip, I could not envision any scenario where my not being where I was supposed to be, with who I was supposed to be with, was discovered.

The doorbell rang, and I went to the bedroom door until I was sure who it was. It was my husband's PA, Julie, obviously dropping off last minute stuff for Dave's trip. She'd been with Dave for two years now and I knew Dave was sponsoring her through architecture school. He often described her as his perfect counterpoint, seeing all the things he didn't. He even dedicated the award he won last year to her.

Any other wife might have been jealous of a younger, trimmer, better looking, bigger boobed woman that spent almost as much time with their husband as they did, but they didn't know my Dave. He would be more likely to put his cock in a lion's mouth and yell, "Dinner time, kitty", than betray my trust. I trusted him exactly the way he trusted me. A roaring noise in my head accompanied that thought. I was using that trust to abuse that trust and the sudden realisation of that almost made my conscience make me abandon my plans. Forcibly thinking of Michael, only the second guy I'd have had in my bed, taking me while I was still wearing my suspender belt and stockings, my black cocktail dress in a discarded heap on the bedroom floor, stiffened my resolve until the moment passed.

Could there have been anything in my suitcase to give me away? I'd left it open on the bed all morning specifically to show Dave there was nothing inappropriate in it. All the clothes were consistent with my cover story. Sure, there was another bag locked in the trunk of my car, with my cocktail dress and other clothes in it, but as I had the only two keys for my car, all was good. The silky negligee, fancy stockings, and push-up bra with matching panties and suspender belt, had been purchased on the other side of town, with cash. The packaging and receipts were disposed of before reaching my car, and the offending items put straight in the trunk. As soon as Michael saw me wearing them, there was no chance of him chickening out on me. Besides, they made me look sexy, and my confidence needed all the help it could get if I was going to go all the way with this.

That reminded me. Appearance. Was it consistent with a wife going to look after her aging aunt? Let's see, skirt down to my knees, showing off my calves, conservative blouse. Modest make-up that could be touched up in the car before I got to the cottage. I had considered stopping somewhere to change into something sexier before getting there, but decided it wasn't worth the risk. No, meet Michael at the cabin, an hour in the opposite direction to my aunt's house. Shower and change into sexier clothes, out to the quiet restaurant Mick had told me about, then back to the cottage for dessert. I'd packed a second dress for Saturday night, but doubted it would be necessary.

I'd once done an adult education course in cooking. The first day we'd learnt that the first bite was with the eye. I hadn't planned to wear any jewellery apart from my wedding rings, but looking at myself critically, I needed something else. Opening my jewellery box, I chose my current favourite necklace. Was it consistent with the trip? A little over the top maybe, but it helped my confidence so stayed in place. I undid the top two buttons on my blouse and leaned towards the mirror. The necklace complimented my cleavage, far and away my major asset, perfectly. Yes, it was worth the risk.

So, cover story good, nothing suspicious packed, nothing about my appearance to give me away. Was it worth reviewing the precautions Michael was taking with his wife. No. That was much simpler. He was going to their cabin as he did regularly to de-stress. His wife was flying out with their kids Saturday to visit her mum in the next state. All good.

Only one difficult thing remained to do. Getting past Dave to the front door. Somehow me and my conscience had to make the trip without giving anything away.

No, Dave was always going to be the problem. How would the woman in the mirror feel when he looked at her? When he told her he loved her? Maybe, when he again told her what a lovely person she was for doing what she was doing. Some of it I could cover by avoiding eye contact. I practiced once again in the mirror, arranging my features in a neutral expression. I'd already begun saying goodbye. A passing hug, kiss, and squeeze of Dave, and I was out of there and on the way to my once-in-a-lifetime adventure. A two-day sabbatical from being a good mother and wife. Did I need to run through my justifications to myself again? No. I'd done all that when the decision was made. I'd convinced myself of that absolutely. Otherwise, there was no chance of looking Dave in the eye in five minute's time.

For strength, I let my mind wander down memory lane a little. I was a standard stay-at-home mum until our youngest, Jenny, started full-time school. Then I started work for a temp agency and did secretarial work where needed. Sometimes, I insisted I could only work between nine and three, so I could drop the kids off and pick them up. Others, I worked later, and Dave altered his hours to leave earlier in the morning, so he could pick them up. After Jenny went off to high school at twelve, I went back to work full-time as we'd decided. I was an intelligent, twenty-first century woman that needed to keep her brain active. I'd picked up my previous career, as a legal secretary, in short order and started with one of the biggest firms in town. That was nine months ago. Dave was home not much later than the kids most days.

One of the senior corporate lawyers was Michael. There had been an instant connection between us. You know the thing, when you feel like you knew each other in a past life. In fact, I'd joked along those lines to him at our first meeting. He'd said that he had once believed in reincarnation, but that was in his last life. His humour was just one of the things that attracted me. He was big and handsome, slightly younger than I, intelligent and quick. I learned about him slowly at first, when we just happened to be in the lunch room together. That pace quickened a little after I regularly chose to eat when I saw him heading there. It got to the point where I felt a little thrill every time I saw him. That thrill had been missing from my interactions with Dave for some time.

I began to suspect that Michael felt the same way when I caught him checking I was at my desk before walking past me with his lunch. From then on, we shared lunch every day and I discovered that in many respects we were a perfect match. Apart from the fact that we were both happily married with young families, that is.

One day, we were alone in the break room when his hand accidentally brushed mine. It was electric. I knew it and he knew it. We put our heads together and made plans to slip out separately the next day for an extended lunch, way on the other side of town. Before we went, I ascertained where Dave was, and Mick did the same for his wife. We did that at least once a week from two months ago until now. Starting four weeks ago, we'd retired to his car, with its tinted windows and kissed. Starting two weeks ago, we'd planned to get away together this weekend. Now.

Don't get me wrong, we aren't in love or anything like that. You see, part of our discussions were how sexually inexperienced we were when we married and how, after many years of marriage, we were just a little bored. The sexual tension we felt whenever we were together just threw us both back to when we were young and free. Neither of us discussed what would happen after this weekend. I, for one, was intending for it to be a one-time thing, but was wise enough to know I had a problem on my hands if it turned out to be so fantastic I wanted a repeat.

Glancing at the clock, I saw it was time to go. Deep breath, Sarah. This is the hard part and should be over in minutes. Sure, you'll probably feel guilty when you see Dave on Sunday, but that's all right. By then you'll know it's all in the past and you will devote the rest of your life to making this fine man happy. Grabbing my small suitcase, I walked into the lounge. Dave was sitting on the couch, staring at a large framed photo that hung above the fireplace. Putting my bag down near the front door, I turned around.

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ALTERNATE ENDING #7: BTB Rating 3.0 - 3.5

Putting my bag down near the front door, I turned around.

He was a little distracted, judging by the expression on his face. Probably thinking about a work problem. That helped. He rose as I walked towards him, that allowed me to make eye contact with him as little as possible. The rest was prevented by my hugging him. He returned my hug, then pushed me to arms-length and looked me square in the face, his expression still neutral.

"I'll cancel my trip, if you cancel yours, Sarah. We won't tell your sister and have a whole weekend in bed, just like the old days, huh?"

I pulled him in for another hug.

"It's way too late for that, darling. Have a good trip, Dave, I'll see you Sunday night."

Averted eye, peck on cheek, about face, walk to door, pick up suitcase, straight out door, shaking slightly from the released tension.

I got lost a couple of times on the way to the cabin and arrived at about 5:30. Michael showed me the master bedroom and shower. Of course, he wanted some hanky-panky straight away, but I managed to shoo him off and have a solo shower. I'd brought the dress and choice of lingerie into the bathroom. After I was dry, I decided on which of the undergarments to wear, finally choosing the shelf bra with matching suspender belt. I started putting the panties on, then thought, 'what the hell', and left them off. I heard the locked door rattle but held my ground. I wanted him to see this imperfect, forty-year-old, mother-of-two body for the first time in its best light. Preferably, when we got back from the restaurant, tipsy, and with the lights down low. I put the black cocktail dress on, adjusted my cleavage, finished off my hair, and ventured out.

Michael wanted to ravish my lips, but I turned so his lips landed on my cheek to preserve my make-up. When I felt the cool night air, I returned to put on the light coat I'd brought. We jumped in my car, less well known to the locals than his, and headed off.

The restaurant was out of the way and quite classy. Most of the tables were for two and discreetly placed for maximum privacy. We were seated, ordered cocktails, wine, and meals, then Michael reached across and grabbed my hands to hold in his.

We were so concentrating on each other, probably assuming the person in our peripheral vision was the waiter again, when, with a scraping of chair, someone joined us at the table. We both turned; annoyed.

It was Dave.

My hands jumped out of Michael's so fast they almost caused friction burns. That was reflex, which was handling the situation just fine. It was my brain and its logic circuits that were the problem. I'd been so careful; how could this be happening? The enormity of the upheaval my life had just entered was trying to gain my attention. My brain's self defence mechanisms were trying to hold it back. Michael's eyes swivelled between me and Dave. Dave's face, I noted before my eyes dropped to the table in shame, held a faint smile. How long we sat like this, I don't know, but it felt like hours. Dave finally broke the silence. He held out his hand to Michael, who took it on reflex.

"Hi, I'm Sarah's husband, David. And you are?"

Michael's face went white as the shock and possible implications for his marriage started to seep in. They were both about the same size, so I don't think there was much physical fear.

"Um, Michael."

Silence returned after they released each other's handshake. I looked at the table. Michael, I think, looked at me. Dave helped himself to our wine bottle, pouring some into one of the water goblets. He took a sip, then relaxed back in his chair. It was the most uncomfortable atmosphere I had ever been in, by a factor of several thousand. I had no idea what to think, never mind what to say. Dave seemed to be happy to just sit there. Michael broke first.

"So, what do you actually want?"

"Balance, Michael. I'll take it as a self-evident truth that for some time you've been a third party in my marriage to Sarah. Maybe seducing, maybe just subtly undermining me, maybe acting as her friend, maybe screwing her."

"No, Dave!" I screamed in as an interruption. I may have no idea how much trouble my marriage was in, but I knew I wanted to save it, and I knew that meant minimising the significance of the damage done to date. "Michael and I haven't had sex. Just been to a few lunches and made out a little. We just work together, we're just friends."

I saw Michael's condemning glare in my peripheral vision. He no doubt wanted to remain anonymous for his own protection. Fuck the cowardly little dweeb. Dave just looked at me, then reached out with his right hand, put it on my knee, then slid it beneath my dress until his fingers reached my unprotected vagina. His forefinger rubbed around a little to confirm I was freshly shaved. I could see the disappointment at revealing my lie in his eyes before my face went beet red and I dropped my gaze again.

"As I was saying, Michael, you've obviously been a third party in my relationship with Sarah. So, if you don't mind, I'll sit here and be a third party in your relationship with her. It seems only fair. Do you mind if I order a main course? Your entrees must be due soon."

He then sat back and took a sip of his wine. We continued in silence for the next few millennia. Finally, I couldn't take any more. Strangely, I focused on how I'd slipped up.

"Ho...how did you know I was here?"

Dave responded by sighing, obviously disappointed that was my first reaction.

"I couldn't believe it when I first suspected you were up to no good. It was Friday of last week. I came home from work a few minutes early, the kids were not home, and you were obviously in our bedroom. I was going to burst in and ravish you, but when I looked through the crack in the door, you were standing in front of the mirror holding a little black dress in front of yourself. It was much, well, sluttier than anything I'd seen you wear before. You had an expression on your face like you couldn't believe you'd contemplate wearing something like that.

"I snuck away again and made a noise like I was coming in. I didn't want you to have to show me the dress in case you were ashamed of buying it. I looked at our bank statements online to see when you'd bought it and for how much, but it didn't appear anywhere. That, and the strange expression on your face, just set off my internal alarms."

I remembered the moment Dave was talking about. Holding the dress up had made what I was planning to do more real and had me really doubting my motivations.

"After I'd picked the kids up from soccer and you were busy, I went looking for that dress and couldn't find it. I checked the rubbish bins, thinking someone might have given it to you and you didn't like it. Of course, it wasn't there. I thought of looking in your car, but the spare key was missing off the hook. I waited until you were asleep that night, found both the keys in your handbag, then found the rather revealing stash in your trunk. The dresses and lingerie I could have explained away, even hidden as they were. The condoms just broke my heart. Do you still think I was sick last weekend?"

He looked up, forcing me to drop my gaze. I could see and hear him panting. A glance showed a rapid pulse in his neck. This was tearing him up and I'd caused it. I had the urge to go to him, comfort him, and calm him. I was deterred by the expression in his eyes. It wasn't hate, but something like a first cousin to it.

"I tried to find out who it might be but there were no unexplained calls from your phone or any hidden or deleted emails that I could see. I knew when you started crapping on about nursing your sick aunt that this was the weekend everything was going to happen. I invented a business trip in the hope you would change your plan and meet him at home, so I could get evidence for the divorce, but you stuck to your plan of coming here.