The Accountant's Wife

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Sequel to the TWW: Marcus returns - a Legends Day II story.
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Andyhm
Andyhm
2,038 Followers

Copyright Andyhm. 2017

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons. All characters engaging in sexual relationships or activities are 18 years old or older.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To my immense surprise, Blackrandl1958 invited me to join her second legends' day. A big shock to me as I've never considered that my writing was on a par with the heavyweights of this genre. I was originally going to split this into two parts as it's a long story in two halves of which only the second part can be considered to fulfil the LW brief. The invitation to submit a story as part of the 2nd legends day made me reconsider and combine the parts. It does make it a long offering, and in my considered opinion it needs the long build-up to develop the characters; consider yourself warned. Also, there's no BTB or cuckolding; it's not my style.

Over the past year, I've had quite a few requests to write a follow-up to The Woodworker's Wife, one in which Marcus gets his comeuppance. I wasn't going to write one, in my mind he'd ridden off into obscurity, and I was happy to leave him there.

I had a story bouncing around in my thoughts, part romance with hints of loving wives. The chance to including Marcus as the villain was the perfect addition. It's not another tale of Dave and Zoe (they only appear in a cameo role), nor is it a true sequel. But it does have Marcus as one of the villains. It is possible to read this as a standalone story, in fact, that's how I wrote it. Although it might make a bit more sense if you've read The Woodworker's Wife. The main part of the story is set a couple of years after the events in TWW.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Accountant's Wife

Introduction: Where I set the scene.

I've read numerous tales on this and other erotic literature sites about wives falling for the insidious boss or coworker. Most of them seem, to begin with some version of the same statement; 'I was the last to know', 'there is an anonymous call', 'she stopped wanting sex' or the classic, 'we need to talk'.

Then, there's my version, which had none of the above in it. I know I was aware of the possibility long before Rebecca accepted that it was happening. Rebecca is my wife of eight years; she's a lawyer and has been working as a partner in her family's firm at their London office. For the past half year, she's been lead counsel on a case. Her client is the relative of an old college friend of her father.

She's an attractive woman, at least I think so; she is two years younger than me at 32. She's only five-foot-four. I call her my little elven princess: short black hair and the deepest green eyes I've ever seen, small firm breasts that suit her figure. She wears glasses for reading when needed, and has the cutest little nose set above a smile. It's a smile I see even when I'm not with her. Oh, and she's American and speaks with the most wonderful Georgia peach accent. Well, that's the way she described it to me when we first met.

I'm Michael James, or Mike, to my friends and I'm an accountant. Okay, I can almost hear the groans of boredom, but I'm not just any old accountant. I'm what's known as a forensic accountant. I'm one of the best in the world. I don't work for any old accountancy agency; I work for the best one in the world, my own. I'm the person the police call in to consult on the big financial crimes. Major international companies have me on speed dial. I've never needed to advertise.

I'm not an imposing figure of a man. I'm thirty-four years old, but look younger, tall and wiry with a face you would forget the moment you look away. I like it that way; people underestimate me, and it makes it so much easier for me to work my magic on their records. Dressed, I'm your typical junior office worker but hidden under those grey suits are a fit and very healthy body. I'm an amateur road cyclist and love riding whenever I can; it keeps me very fit.

I've found I can read people very well. Records, on their own, rarely tell the whole story, as I'd found numerous times. A person who is intelligent enough to steal money is more than capable of laying the blame on some poor patsy.

My favourite ploy is to... no, wait we need to get back to the issue at hand. My wife is being seduced, and she's completely unaware that it's happening. It sounds so cold when you say it like that, but that's what is happening. I've no intention of letting the bastard succeed, so back to my story.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

First act: Before.

Mathematics and science were my favorite academic subjects at school; I studied mathematics at university and fell in love with numbers. My tutors wanted me to take my place with them in the world of academia, but abstract numbers and calculations on their own didn't interest me. It was a chance encounter which pointed me down the path I followed.

I met a woman in the lounge bar of an hotel. Sounds like the start of a bad joke or a sleazy short story, doesn't it!

If it was, then the joke was on me. She was sitting in the corner with another woman, a woman I knew very well; she was my aunt and the only reason I'd agreed to be there that evening. Karen was eight years younger than my mother, but she'd always been around when I was growing up. She'd never married, limiting herself to a series of lovers. I had always enjoyed her visits; her presence always lit up my parents' house. The woman with her, the one my aunt had insisted I meet, was about to change the direction of my life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was an only child, living in a run-down country house in the depths of the Sussex countryside. My parents, Simon and Ann, were anthropologists, both professors at Sussex University. They were always travelling, or so it seemed to me. I knew that they loved me; it was just that their academic careers meant I had been left to fend for myself with a series of housekeepers and au pairs. That's where Aunt Karen had come to my rescue, swooping in and taking me under her wing.

When I'd been almost seventeen, she had taken me with her on holiday. It was Easter, my parents were somewhere in Amazonia, and Karen took me to her lover's villa on the Italian Riviera. That was the year my true appreciation of the female body was formed. I know it's hard wired into all teenage boys, but that's just a mix of lust and hormones.

My aunt is bisexual; most of her lovers are women with the odd man thrown in for variety. Her lover was Francesca di Traglia, an Italian artist, and Francesca loved to paint women. She was an Italian beauty, slim, with long wavy black hair. At the time of our visit, she was two years younger than my aunt, 30 years old, but looked like she was in her mid-20s.

Karen is an amazing woman, beautiful in an ethereal way. Over the years, she's had many female lovers, sometimes a couple concurrently, but only two of her lovers have stood the test of time. Francesca was one, and I would have to wait another four years to meet the second.

I quickly got used to seeing semi-naked and, be still my beating heart, completely naked women around the villa. I think I fell in and out of love on an almost hourly basis that holiday. These idols of my heart were being posed by Francesca, or just lying around the pool. In addition to indulging my teenage hormones, Francesca opened my eyes to the beauty of symmetry within her paintings. There's an almost mathematical beauty to her paintings, and she was happy to let me watch her work.

It's also where I learned that less is more. Francesca discovered that I could draw, and she encouraged me to sketch the models staying at the villa. She studied my efforts; I would outline the scene in front of me in broad charcoal strokes, but when I tried to complete it, I'd lose the soul of the piece. I wanted accuracy; I wanted my paintings to reflect the structure, the symmetry of numbers. Francesca showed me I was wrong, that a few shaded lines on a sheet of paper could be, and were, so evocative of the sensual female form.

She once asked me to pose the model for her. I thought that I'd done a good job when I finally finished. I walked the last time around the pillow-strewn red chaise longue, and the young woman stretched across it looked perfect to my eyes. Karen and Francesca, arms around each other, watched me silently. I gestured in their direction and presented my masterpiece.

Good effort, I was told, and then Francesca proceeded to give me a true master class in how to display the potential beauty within a woman's body. In ten minutes, the model and the pose were transformed, and I'd been given an insight into the hidden beauty of all women I have never forgotten. No part of the model was hidden from me as Francesca moved around touching, caressing and teasing the model until she looked like a woman whose lover had just left her sated on her bed.

My drawing of that model hangs in Francesca's bedroom. To this day, it's one of my best pieces. The lines of the various colored pastel chalks merge and shimmer into the whole vision: an innocence of beauty as seen by a boy yet to be corrupted by life.

She also infused into me a love of cycling. Francesca's passion was art, her relaxation was the wind in her hair as she hurtled along the dusty lanes on her racing bike. She lent me a bike, and we rode together most mornings. She bought me my first professional bike, and I rode that bike every day when I returned home.

Karen and I returned to the villa in the autumn of the following year. I was eighteen, and it was just before I started university. Francesca's current lover and model was Prithi, a beautiful twenty-one-year-old bisexual Indian girl. I wasn't a virgin; a few fumbles after a party over the summer had taken care of that.

Prithi took it upon herself to show me what a woman wants from her lover, lessons that lasted for weeks and are now eternally burnt into my psyche. I will ever be grateful to that lovely woman for the rest of my life. She taught me the one important rule: sex is a manifestation of desire, lust and love. Remove one of the three and the sex is still good but lacks the greatness it deserves.

My last evening at the villa was one I will never forget. It began with a meal for Francesca, Karen, Prithi and me on the terrace. It ended with Francesca taking me to bed. She was Italian, sensual and loved the act of love more than she loves life itself.

I learned that she took very few men to her bed; I was only the fifth. I'd thought that she was a lesbian and my aunt's lover and she wasn't interested in the dark side of sex. That night I found out, to my intense satisfaction, I was wrong. Francesca took all that I'd learned from Prithi and then took me to a new level of sexual pleasure.

When we parted, it was with the promise that we would meet again. We did, for just a handful of memorable nights, until I met the woman destined to become my wife.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Ah, there you are, Michael," Karen said as she saw me approaching. She stood and gave me a long hug and then turned to the woman who'd been sitting beside her. "Michael, I want you to meet Mary, she's one of my oldest and dearest friends."

The way she said it and the looks that they gave each other told me immediately that at some time they had been lovers.

Mary gave me a smile that melted my heart and told me to sit down beside her. Yes, she was beautiful, and no, I didn't have an affair with her. She was in her mid to late forties, an elegant, statuesque redhead who oozed charm. That was the first time I met the woman who was to become one of my best friends. It is a deep friendship that lasts to this day with her and her husband. It started with one of the most interesting and formative discussions of my life.

"You know my wicked aunt," I said as I settled down on the sofa beside her, then gave a little gasp as Karen and Mary simultaneously gave me a punch on my arms.

"Sorry, that should have been, 'so you know my gorgeous and brilliant aunt," I said, trying a second time.

"Much better," Karen cooed and gave me a kiss.

"I do," Mary said, "We met at a university event ten years ago." The look she gave my aunt confirmed my earlier suspicion and also made me wonder if they were still lovers.

"I wanted you to meet Mary," my aunt said, "I think you will be very interested in what she can offer you."

She ordered a round of drinks, and as we enjoyed them, she explained why I was there.

Mary, it turned out, was the wife of an American industrialist. He was currently a guest lecturer at my university, for the economics department. She was a financial VP at her husband David's group of companies. It was a family owned and run corporation. Their two children and the three children from David's elder brother's family were starting to take more responsibility for the running of the business, which had allowed David to accept the month long lectureship, and she had joined him.

"I know that he loves me," Mary said, "but given the number of young beautiful girls here, I thought that it was prudent to keep an eye on him. Anyway, it gave me the opportunity to see Karen again."

She leant across, gave her a kiss and Karen responded in kind. For a few moments, they both completely forgot about me. Yes, they were most definitely still lovers. Somehow, I suspected that the opportunity to see Karen had been the prime reason for her to accompany her husband. With a start, they remembered that I was there and sat back in their seats.

Mary said, "Karen has been telling me all about you, and your interest in maths and computers. She also said that you aren't interested in following an academic career."

I nodded, "I want to be able to use what I know practically. I've been taking a few computer science classes to understand the mechanics, but I've had one since I was 10."

"Why computers?" Mary asked.

"Because they are only as good as the person who programs them. I love to try and understand what the goal was of the person who created the program."

Mary smiled at that and gave Karen a smile. "I think you were right, love; he does interest me."

"Have you done any accounting in your courses?" Mary asked me.

"Some theory on the mathematics of it," I replied.

She gave me a long piercing evaluation. "Goooood," she drew out. "I think you will be perfect."

For what, I wanted to know?

"Money is going missing from the corporation, and I don't know where from or who's responsible for the losses. The businesses are all profitable on their own but somewhere over ten million dollars a year is disappearing. It's a small drop compared to our overall profits, but I'm convinced one of the family has found a way to steal it in a way that's completely untraceable. If they get greedy, then they could use the same method to asset-strip the company."

"Nothing's untraceable," I said with the conviction of youth.

"That's what I thought, but I've got nowhere. I mentioned the problem to your aunt last night, and she suggested that we talk to you."

Ah, that explained why Karen called me this morning and insisted I meet her tonight. I wondered idly if that discussion had been a pre or post sex talk between the lovers.

"I honestly don't see what I can do to help," I said.

"I need someone that no one will suspect, a Trojan horse. Someone with the skills to follow the money and who can fly under the horizon. I think you would be perfect."

Karen shushed away my concerns and said, "You can work over the summer break in Mary's office, it's only a few weeks away. As far as anyone there will know, your summer internship will just be a favor for an old friend's favorite nephew. You'll get ten weeks in America as a bonus."

It was fairly obvious to me that I had about a snowball's chance in hell of being to be able to refuse the offer. Oh, joy of joys, I was going to get to spend my summer in an office. I had been planning a cycle tour around southern France and Italy. I had an invite from Francesca to stay with her for a few days, so I put up a bit more than a token resistance.

My aunt knows me only too well. "Mary's agreed to pay for all of your flights, and you can go via Italy. You'll be able to spend a few days with Francesca before you fly to the States."

"How did you know..." I trailed off. Of course, she would have known.

I gave in gracefully.

Three months later, I had achieved the impossible and found both the money and the culprits hidden behind layer after layer of shell corporations and financial institutions. I'd loved every second of the chase.

I had sat in a little office, just down the corridor from Mary's, apparently there to be shown how just how a big corporation should function. I was an intern, the lowest of the low. I was only sitting where I was because my aunt was a close friend of the family. I stayed with them at their mansion and got a lift into the office each morning with Mary. No one, not even David, knew what I was doing with my administrator level computer access.

I was the cute young British guy, the one all the executive secretaries wanted to hug and tell the office gossip to, and I played my cuteness for all it was worth. I followed the gossip, and after delving into the deep dark recesses of the corporation's computer records, slowly a pattern appeared. A pattern that finally led me to a series of accounts in Hong Kong that were fat with stolen money.

The accounts were in the name of several companies that I finally traced to one of David's family, a distant cousin who had been almost as good as me in disappearing into the crowd. There were over forty million dollars in the account; about eighty percent of what Mary had calculated was missing.

The culprit and the location of the missing money were revealed at a full board meeting in a manner that paid homage to the best of the classic detective novels.

I sat at the back of the room, just an intern observing the experts. Mary, as agreed, didn't mention my part in the investigation as she took the lead. There was only a vague mention of any external assistance in the investigation. I did take note when she casually mentioned that the person who'd been responsible for tracing the missing funds would be getting five percent of the recovered money as a reward. She said that last part with a smile in my direction.

The reward totaled two and a half million after the last of the missing funds were recovered. It was the seed financing for my company. It hadn't taken me long to realize that those three months had been so satisfying that forensic accountancy was what I wanted to do with my life. There was one other reward I received; in many ways far more valuable to me, a lifelong friendship with both Mary and David.

I used some of the reward money to buy a house in a village a few miles north of Brighton in the south of England. It came with a block of disused stables that I converted into an office space. I hired Lesley as my office manager; she lived in the village with her two teenage daughters. I opened the doors to customers a year after I left university.

With Mary and David networking for me, I was soon getting requests from other companies to solve their financial irregularities. My youth was always an initial stumbling block when I first met a new client, but it was my same lack of years that made people underestimate my capabilities. I was good, very good, at what I did. I knew I'd been accepted by the establishment when I was invited to Scotland Yard to consult on a case. I once described my job as 50% computer genius, 50% number cruncher and 50% detective. Yes, I know that the numbers don't add up but it sure as shit worked for me.

Andyhm
Andyhm
2,038 Followers