Tabby Kat Ch. 03

This is chapter 3 of a multiple chapter story. Please read preceding chapters before as they affect events occurring here. Those engaged in sexual conduct are at least eighteen years of age.

Tuesday morning.

Dave woke and stretched while remembering the night before, his hand instinctively reaching for his bare cock. At dinner, Emily had told Jim how good their son was at eating pussy and fucking. Afterwards, in the living room, the couple started kissing and removing each other's clothes, not bothered by the fact that their son was in the room. He watched them fuck jacking his own dick until Emily reached over to him and she started sucking his cock. It had been an experience he would not soon forget.

He quickly donned a robe to cover his rising dick and made his way to the bathroom. After releasing his piss into the toilet and washing his hands, he then walked into the living room and stopped dead in his tracks. A cop stood in the middle of the room talking to Emily and Jim sitting on the couch.

Emily saw the cop look up and turned. "Come in, Dave," she said looking teary-eyed. "Frank, this our son, Dave. This is Frank Wilson, Sweetheart.

"What's going on?" he asked looking at the holstered weapon that rode at the cop's side inches from his dark hand.

"Tabitha's missing," she answered.

"I thought she was supposed to be spending the night with Tracy."

"She was," Said Jim. "But the security people at the Heritage Mall found her car there, and knew something wasn't right since it has been there since yesterday morning. We've called Tracy and her parents, and they confirmed that she didn't make it there. Tracy thought that something must have happened that she couldn't make it and didn't bother to check. She suggested we try calling Simon."

"Obviously," Emily continued, "not knowing about our lifestyle, she didn't want to come out and say that she may have spent the night with him. But when I called him, he said he hadn't seen her since Saturday night when they had a date. His mom confirmed that he had been working on his car all day yesterday."

"When was the last time you saw her, son?" said Frank.

"Yesterday morning before she left for the mall," said Dave. "And the name is Dave, not son. You aren't old enough to call me 'son'."

The cop glared at him with raised eyebrows before turning back to his mother. "Emily, is there a chance that she might have ran away?" asked the cop.

"I don't think so," she replied. "First, she is of age and if she wanted to leave, we couldn't stop here from doing so, so she wouldn't bother to run. Second, she knows that she can talk to us about anything, and although she knows we don't think Simon is right for her, she knows we wouldn't stop her from doing anything she thought she was ready for and willing to do. Third, if she were leaving, she would have taken a lot more stuff with her, including some things that she would have considered her prized possessions that are still here. And fourth, she definitely wouldn't have left her car behind."

"I had to ask, you know," said the big cop. "You said the girl Tracy doesn't know about your life style. What did you mean by that? Would Tabitha know what you mean by that?

Emily put a hand to her face, feeling a little of the heat rise. "Tabitha doesn't know, yet," she finally answered. "We were going to tell both our kids this week when we could have the whole family together. Jim just returned from a business trip, so we thought sometime this week, probably on Saturday, would be the right time to tell them."

"Tell them what?"

"That their swingers," Dave blurted out. "They have sex with quite a few other people."

Frank blinked a few times, looking from Dave to his mother then his father. They both nodded that he was speaking the truth. "You know about this already?"

"I found out yesterday," he answered. "It wasn't the planned conversation they wanted. Dad wasn't even home yet when the subject came up."

"You both know when the other has been with someone else?" asked the officer somewhat nervously.

"Oh, yes," replied Emily. "Usually, we share who we will be with before we will be with them. In fact, we will usually do things as a couple and enter into the moment with another couple or multiple couples. There are times when it is one on one, though. Each of us has the right to say that a particular person should not be someone the other should be with."

"That reminds me, dear," Jim spoke up. "I have a name to add to my book.

"Book? You mean you keep track of everyone you're with?"

"Yes," she said watching his eyes go wide.

"Anyway, it happened while on the trip, and there wasn't time to call and tell you about it. She's an employee at the firm. I'm not sure what department. Her name was Sarah something. What was the last name?"

Frank Wilson sat down on a chair across from the couch the family was sitting on. If a black man could go pale, he would have. "Wilson," he said thoughtfully. "Sarah Wilson."

"That's it," Jim said easily before realizing what happened. "Oh, shit."

"Yeah," the cop offered weakly.

Emily rose and went into her bedroom. She returned with two small journals and handed them to Frank. "Everything we've done as a swinging couple," she said. "Names and dates of first time with the person or persons. We don't have many in there, really. Less than two pages each.

Frank looked at the books, reading through the names. "Your own son?" he asked with a shocked look on his face as he got to the end of Emily's list.

Dave felt the heat rise to his face as the cop shook his head. He closed the books, then placed them on the coffee table pushing them towards Jim. "Add the name," he said sadly.

"Frank, it doesn't mean that she doesn't love you," said Emily. "Jim and I are totally devoted to each other. Except for when he goes on business trips with Rachel, we are always together at the end of the day. Neither of us spends all night with someone else except he with Rachel and that's only when they have to be away on business.

"Who's Rachel?"

"Dad's secretary," Dave answered.

Frank looked thoughtful for a minute then drew out his cell phone.

"Frank, don't do something you will regret," said Emily. "Give her a chance. Please."

He looked at her then hit a few buttons on his phone. "For me to do my job in trying to find your daughter, I will have to get this taken care of," he said.

"Then have her come over here," said Jim. "I'll call Rachel and make sure that she doesn't get in trouble at work."

"In the mean time, is there anything that I can do?" asked Dave. "I mean about Tabitha missing," he added as they looked at him in confusion.

"Get a picture of her, and make up some posters looking for information from anybody who might have seen something," said Frank. "Then find some people to help put them up throughout the city."

Mid-morning.

"Ms. Moore," said the voice. "Are you awake?"

"Yes," came the terse reply.

"You have not yet wet the bed this morning."

"I waited for you."

"Why?"

"Isn't that what guys want? To see stuff streaming out of a girl's pussy?"

There was some hesitation before the answer came. "Admittedly, most guys prefer a woman who can squirt when she cums, but that does not mean that it necessarily extends to wanting to watch her piss. The reason I won't let you up to go to the bathroom has to do with safety, both yours and mine, not some fetish about watching you wet yourself."

"Oh. Well in that case," she said as she began releasing her piss, "next time, I won't wait."

When she finished, the clean up ritual began again. First, the sheet was removed. Then, she was washed and his fingers probed softly just inside her cunt as he gently cleaned her. All too soon, she felt his hands being taken away.

"Don't stop, please," she begged.

"What?"

"You've got me tied up so that I can't touch myself, and when you touch me like that, I get so horny. Please don't stop. I really need to cum."

Softly, his hands again caressed her pussy and his fingers entered her. He gently probed upwards with two fingers and rubbed her clit with his thumb.

"Yes!" she moaned. "Your hand feels so much better than my own. But don't go very deep. Stay just barely inside." His fingers probed upward again, staying just inside her cunt. She felt him pull them out for a second as he pulled some of the lubrication that she was producing and rubbed it on her clit. Then his thumb was again rubbing it and she bucked her hips towards his hand. Her breathing became more ragged as he ministered to her need, trying to bring her the release she desired. She felt his fingers touch a spot that caused her to push her legs wider against the ropes holding her to the bed. Her mind wandered to the one thing she knew she really wanted, and she pictured it as she had seen it months earlier just after it had been pulled from the pussy of his girlfriend. The picture of that hard eight-inch cock added to the stimulation of her cunt by her captor's fingers. "Fuck," she said, her voice barely audible. "Oh, yes. Right fucking there." She felt her orgasm building, the tingle starting somewhere behind her belly "Oh, fuck! I'm going to cum." she called out. "Shit. Fffuucckk!" Her fluids poured out of her as she came hard on his hand, her juices flowing over it freely and explosively.

"Much better," she said." Thanks."

"You do this often?"

"Usually at least twice a day," she answered. "Often more."

There was silence for a while then the subject was dropped as he started reading something.

"Tabitha K. Moore," he said. "What does the K. stand for?"

"Katrina," she answered.

"Brown hair, blue eyes, one hundred ten pounds. Really? Where? Looks like you just had your eighteenth birthday. Did you have a party?

"Just my family. Dad couldn't be there because he was away on business, but he called first thing that morning to make sure I knew he hadn't forgotten. Then we talked again that evening when mom called him so that he could take part in singing that stupid birthday song with the rest of the family."

"I take it that you don't like the song?"

"I fucking hate the damn thing. It just seems so stupid and childish to me."

"At least your father cares enough to recognize your birthday. You should be glad he cares about you, Tabitha."

"Are you saying that your father didn't care about you?"

"I'm not saying whether he did or didn't or whether he does or doesn't. Just trying to get you to realize how nice it is that your father cares.

"I am grateful that he cares. But no stupid song told me that. The phone call at the beginning of the day did. And I love him for it. I wish he could have been there to enjoy my birthday with us, but I know that he'll make it up to me if he can. He's that way with both me and my brother.

"You have a brother?"

"Yeah. He's the best in the world, too. He's tall, and his big, dark brown eyes just sparkle when you walk into a room and he smiles at you. He's strong, too, but not overly done like those muscle-bound morons at the beach. He can wrap you up in those arms and you feel very safe. I know that sounds cliché, and I'm not one of those 'need a man to care for me' people, but I do feel safe when he hugs me tight. He got those muscles from all the times we went camping. He would chop the wood for the fire and I could sit and watch him do that all damn day."

"Sounds like you like him."

"Like I said, he's the best."

"Do the two of you get along?"

"Yeah. I think he would do anything for me, and I know I would for him."

"Seems like you have a pretty good life, Tabitha."

"I think so. Hey. You know my name, but what can I call you? It doesn't make sense to go around saying 'Mr. Kidnapper' all the time."

She heard the sound of paper rattling. "How about Henry?"

"Why Henry?"

"It's the first name on the list of people in the obit column of the Democrat-Herald," he said. "Henry Alton."

"So, I'm talking to a dead guy? I don't think so."

"Here's a puff piece by a Penelope," he suggested.

"Right," she said. "So. when people ask me who took my cherry, I can give them a girl's name. Try again."

"You're a virgin?" he asked surprised.

"Why do you think I said not to go very deep with your fingers? I know this is going to end up with you fucking me, but I want to keep everything intact until the moment you put your cock into me at least."

There was a pause as he thought about that. "You're not frightened of that?

"No. It's not the way I would like it to happen. I would like it to be sweet and tender. I would like it to be gentle and loving. I would like to be able to respond and hold him tight with both my legs and my arms. I want to feel his strong arms holding me tight letting me know that he won't hurt me. I'd like to kiss him when he doesn't exactly expect it and be able to see his face when I do so, to see his eyes sparkle and filled with desire for me and desire to please me. I would like to know who it is and that he truly loves me. But I'm not scared of it.

"Aren't you scared of me?"

"No, not anymore."

"Why not?"

She paused before answering, thinking about what to say and perhaps what not to say. "I don't know. I just feel that I can trust you not to hurt me."

"Were you never scared of me?"

"Only at first. I settled down and let go of the fear after you cleaned me up that first time yesterday."

The paper rattled again. "John?" he asked.

"What?"

"How about John for a name?"

"Oh." she said. "No, the people who buy time with whores are called johns. I'd feel like it was making me into one. Tell you what. I'll call you Charles."

"Why Charles?"

"It's my brother's middle name. It will help me feel that much safer." "Charles it is then. I'll get you something to eat now."

Near noon.

Emily opened the door to the sight of a petite black woman when the door bell rang. "Hello," she said trying to be cheerful in spite of her worry over Tabitha. "You must be Sarah. I'm Emily."

"Yes," she answered.

"Please, come in. Frank and my husband are in my daughter's room. He's looking for anything that might help determine what has happened to her."

"What has happened to her?" asked Sarah.

"They found her car at the mall this morning, but no sign of her. It's been there since yesterday morning. Frank seems to think kidnapping. Let's go into the kitchen. I'm in the middle of putting some lunch stuff together. We can talk in there until Frank is done and we have to meet him and my husband in the living room."

Emily ushered the woman into the kitchen and pulled the door between it and the living room closed. Now it was time to start the real conversation. She hoped it would go alright.

"How long have you and Frank been married?" she asked easing into the subject instead of barging into it.

"Two years," Came the answer.

"Really? Your basically still newlyweds."

"Sometimes I can't believe it has been that long. Time seems to go by so fast."

"You must love him a lot, huh."

"Of course, I love him. What kind of question is that?

"Sarah, you're here for a reason. Part of the reason has to do with your marriage. You said that you love your husband. I take it that you want to remain his wife?"

"Of course," she huffed. "What's going on? Why the third degree?"

"I want to give you a bit of advice, Sarah. Do you mind? You don't have to follow it, but it really works wonders."

"Works wonders for what?"

"For couples. My husband and I have been married almost twenty-one years. Part of that is because of some very sound advice from some friends of ours. See, we have an arrangement with each other that allows us a little leeway in our marriage. As long as we don't abuse it, everything works. Our marriage isn't exactly what they call open, but we don't keep it completely closed either. We are what you might call swingers. Most often, when we see other people, we do so together, but sometimes, we do it one on one. There are two very big rules that we follow completely... with one exception. Number one is 'at the end of the day, be in your own bed with your spouse.' Never sleep over at another person's place or get a room together. That is cheating on your spouse. The second rule is 'don't. keep. any. secrets.' Everyone I have ever been with, my husband knows about, and I know about everyone that he has ever been with. Now, I said that we have one exception to these rules. Sometimes, my husband has to go out of town on business. When he does, his secretary usually goes with him. They have a relationship with each other, and when they are out of town, they sleep in the same room and in the same bed. But when he's here at home, he does not sleep anywhere else but in our bed. Do you understand?"

"Not really," said Sarah. "Frank and I are not in to swinging, unless you're saying he wants us to do that."

"No," replied Emily with a chuckle. "No, that might be an avenue that the two of you might want to approach, but there are some hurdles the two of you have to get over first. For the purpose of our conversation, that second rule is the one you need to remember most, right now. Do you remember it?"

"Sure. Don't keep secrets. I gather that you aren't talking about Christmas and Birthday gifts."

"No, I'm not. I'm talking about keeping your spouse out of the loop when you have a time when you get together with someone else for the purpose of sex."

"But we're not swingers."

"Still, sometimes things happen. Secrets destroy marriages as quickly as having an illicit affair. A onetime thing might be able to be forgiven as long as people are open about it. Have you had such a thing occur?"

Sarah looked at her with fear. "What do you know?" she asked glaring at her.

"My husband's name is Jim Moore. We don't keep any secrets."

"Shit," Sarah swore. "You're blackmailing me?"

"Hell, no," replied Emily. "I'm trying to help you save your marriage. Blackmailing you would only compound the problem by adding another secret. Remember, secrets destroy marriages. I almost lost my husband because I didn't tell him about something in my past. It happened before we were a couple, but it was still upsetting for him when he found out and it nearly destroyed our marriage. Now, we both are very open with each other about everything."

"So, what do you want, then?"

"You need to be honest with Frank about your involvement with Jim. Don't try to hide it or deny it. Just own up to it."

"Frank will kill me if he finds out about this."

"Why don't you tell me what happened?

"I suppose you know Rachel Simmons. She's Mr. Moore's secretary."

"Of course. She and I sometimes get together. Usually with Jim. And, as I said, the two of them have a relationship."

"Rachel and I went to the hotel bar to relax after a particularly hard day. Before long, we were rather blitzed and she asked me to go with her to her room so that she would be sure to make it there. Once in the room, we were laughing and horsing around. Next thing I know, she's kissing me and taking my clothes off. I didn't even fight it. I thought she was just joking around. Then she started playing with my pussy, and before I knew what was happening, we were both eating each other out. I've never done that before. Then your husband walked into the room and just sort of naturally joined in. I've never cheated on Frank before. I wasn't meaning to do so that time. But if I tell him, my marriage will be over, and I don't know how to deal with that. I love him completely."

"I'm glad you said that, Sarah. It will help immensely when you tell him about it in few minutes. Yes," she said as she saw the scared look on the woman's face. "You have to tell him. It has to be dealt with so that you two can move forward."

"Fuck!" she said. "He knows, doesn't he?"