Tunnel of Love Pt. 02

Flush with a small victory, Jennifer lowered his clothes, exposed his groin, and freed his hard cock. It sprung upwards upon release. She took it in her silky grasp and gently stroked it, marveling at how alive it felt. Then, recalling the last time she'd held it, she had a few nervous moments...but Mike's cock did not soften.

Though his pre-cum was now copious, for added lubrication Jennifer wet her hand with saliva. Moving smoothly over his cock now, she started twisting and tugging on the shaft, while occasionally sweeping across and squeezing the head. Casting a furtive glance through her mostly closed eyes, she saw that Mike was watching; his gaze alternated subtly between what she was doing with her hand and what she was doing with her pussy.

The look on Mike's face sent a thrill to Jennifer's clit, which was already warmly stimulated from the rocking motion that she had never stopped. To also have in her hand the throbbing rod of the man she loved and desperately desired—and to know that she could make him come and that he wanted her to do it—was exquisite. Confident now, Jennifer sped up the action, both with her hips and her hand.

Badly, so badly, she wanted to press matters to their conclusion. Yet, she also imagined how empty she might feel once it was over—and so in one way, she didn't want it to end. She kept herself hovering just below an orgasm and tried to keep Mike there too. She succeeded for a long time, slowing down or backing off anytime she sensed that his geyser was close to blowing. However, being out of practice, and with Mike providing no feedback, Jennifer eventually did him in.

As Mike seized up, she opened her eyes. Rapturously, she watched as his hips bucked and his cock jerked. She squeezed it hard, knowing that he liked it that way when he came. And come he did—shooting ropes of jism into the air.

She'd wanted to come with him, but she'd known there was no way she could maintain his pleasure if she overdosed on hers. So, she held herself back until he was done. Gently, she massaged his shaft and balls while his dick softened. Then, only then, did she ramp up towards her own climax.

She began to rock hard and fast. With both hands free now, she tightly grasped the blankets. She panted loudly. Her face was contorted. As she neared her peak, her hips grinded with blazing speed.

"Ah! Ah! Ah!" she nearly shouted—oblivious to the danger of waking her child—as her body first stiffened then jerked violently. Several shocks and aftershocks later, she relaxed. When strength returned to her arms, she tenderly put Mike's clothes back in order.

She rested her head on his stomach, while her heartbeat and breathing slowly returned to normal. Then, to her greatest joy of the night, Mike placed his hand on her head, gently stroked her face, and ran his fingers through her hair. They lay there, like that—for how long, neither could have said later.

Eventually, Jennifer stirred. She kissed his stomach sweetly, rolled off the bed, and put on her robe. As she was about to leave, Mike spoke.

"Jennifer...that was..."

She put her finger to her lips, silencing him. She approached him, kissed his forehead, and whispered in this ear.

"That was great. Thank you! Now, go to sleep!"

Back in her bed, Jennifer couldn't wipe the smile from her face. They were still a long way from total, mutual intimacy—oh, how she missed his kisses, his caresses, his tongue lovingly stroking her most sensitive places—but this was a step forward.

Not to mention one hell of an orgasm! She'd forgotten how good it could feel to simply rub up against his leg, getting her whole body into it! How long had it been since she'd done that? Why had that—like so many things—fallen out of their repertoire? Nothing wrong with oral sex and intercourse, but why had their sex life before...the troubles...become so condensed?

What a paradox it was, Jennifer thought. Here was their very marriage, teetering on the brink of collapse, partly for lack of physical intimacy. Yet, the healing process held the promise of discoveries and rediscoveries they might never have had otherwise. If their sex life could revive, it might be better than ever.

That night we had together, before Black Sunday, I felt on the verge of some sort of awakening. If we could get back to that...maybe even go beyond! Oh Mike, please don't give up on us!

* * *

At the restaurant, Mike and Jennifer had not noticed—but someone had been watching them. Watching Jennifer, mostly. He had not seen her for a long time, not since that night that she'd stunned him with rejection. He had no inkling of what had become of the couple since then.

So they're still together...maybe she never told him...but something is off. They don't quite seem every bit the loving couple they were before.

The man sat at a secluded table for two. A lovely woman was with him. She found him attractive and intriguing.

By the time they finished their dinner, she knew they were going to fuck. It was wrong, she thought, but he'd worn her down. She wanted him to take her.

She thought they might even have a future together. Little did she know that once he'd ravished her, it would be over. Unless she was good in the sack...in which case, he might do her a few more times.

The waitress approached the table to return his credit card and obtain his signature on the receipt. She glanced at his card to get his name. The man decided to leave her a big tip; she was cute.

Who knows, you might be next...my next seduction.

As the waitress passed him the receipt, she smiled. "Thank you very much, Mr. Wombert. And goodnight to you, ma'am; I hope you both have a pleasant evening."

As they rose from the table, the man eyed his date. She had the look. Oh, yes.

"Beverley, would you like to have a 'pleasant evening' with me?"

She smiled, blushing.

"Yes, Peter, I would."

Smiling back, Peter Wombert did not betray his thoughts.

Of course you would. You're easy...not like her. Not like Jennifer. I never got to her.

But they didn't look right tonight. I wonder...

I wonder.

* * * * *

Well I got all the riches baby any man ever knew But the only thing I ain't got honey, I... Ain't got you

CHAPTER SIX: The Smell of Napalm

Peter Wombert was going out of his mind. Ever since he'd seen Jennifer at the restaurant, he'd been unable to stop thinking about her. His obsession was back in full bloom.

Not that he'd thought of it as an obsession, all those years. No, Peter had thought himself in love. "Real, tormented, beautiful" love, he'd told James.

That was the day that Peter hired James to seduce Jennifer, hoping that the fallout would break up her marriage. Then, Peter planned, he would swoop in. Jennifer would have nowhere else to turn; she would fall into his arms.

Peter was wealthy, powerful, and not unattractive. He was also an asshole, but that rarely prevented him from getting what he wanted—or whom he wanted. Indeed, Peter had been doubtful that James could succeed where he had failed; for Peter himself had seduced many married women.

Jennifer had been different, though. Peter recalled the first years of their acquaintance, during which time she'd often been unattached. She'd resisted his charms, but he stayed "friends" with her, hoping that would change. His passion burned hot, the time passed quickly, and his hopes remained high.

But then, Jennifer met the fucking boy scout.

Oh, how Peter hated Mike Chancey. He suspected that the feeling was mutual; but Peter resolved to outlast him. The engagement came as a shock and threatened to dash Peter's hopes, once and for all. However, the boy scout was either too clueless or too timid to try to exclude Peter from Jennifer's life. So, the game continued.

Peter knew Jennifer was quite fond of him and perhaps even loved him—albeit as a brother. That wasn't good enough for Peter, though; he had to have Jennifer. No matter how many other women he fucked—no matter how beautiful, sleazy, or pliant they were—none satisfied him for long. It always came back to Jennifer.

It was difficult for Peter to admit defeat; but after so many years, even his enormous ego could not deny the truth. As he'd told James, Jennifer was "totally, completely, in love" with Mike. Peter had not been able to make the slightest inroad. So, he turned to James Coltez, professional gigolo. Professional marriage-buster.

Peter remembered how excited he'd been that Friday night, when James had called him.

"I think tonight is the night," James had said.

Peter's pulse had raced at those six words. He'd barely heard the next sentence or two that came through the phone. But he sure heard the last sentence:

"Be waiting outside in one hour to get your proof."

Peter couldn't wait an hour. Almost immediately, he went to James' apartment building and hid on the stairs.

That proved to be his downfall. Jennifer didn't quite stay for an hour, and there was no warning from James. Suddenly, there was Jennifer, coming down the stairs. Peter tried to hide, then tried to run, but Jennifer stopped him.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

Shit, how I crumbled. What is it about her? I can lie about anything to anyone.

He fumbled to make up a story, but that night Jennifer was like Wonder Woman with a magic lasso. She wrung the truth out of him. After attempting some weak lies, he confessed his love for her and revealed his arrangement with James.

Pathetic! I crush people. I own people. But damn it, that bitch owns me.

Little had Peter known, that night, that the worst was yet to come. When Jennifer contacted him later and said she needed his help, his hopes had risen. But then, she made him go through with that...charade...all just to spite James.

We drove to James apartment. She made me go upstairs, knock on his door, and feed him a line of bullshit. Funny, I had my game on then! Lied my ass off, and he bought it all the way. Told him that in her weakened state, Jennifer has finally succumbed to me; that I'd then blackmailed her; and that I'd been fucking her ever since. It was supposed to hurt his ego that I'd succeeded where he'd failed; and from the look on his face, it worked.

And she made me pay him! Pay his $25,000 fee. Chump change to me, but the fucking principle of it...that bitch!

Peter had rebuked himself for that night many times. Why the fuck hadn't he blackmailed Jennifer? He'd seen her on the stairs, leaving James' apartment. She'd denied having sex with him—and James had seemed to confirm it—but still, what would the boy scout think?

Except something had told Peter that it wouldn't work. The resolve in Jennifer's voice, in her eyes—the way she commanded him—he knew there could be no more schemes. His only chance was to do ask she asked, beg her forgiveness, and stay in the game.

At least, that's what I told myself. But let's face it, I just caved. I flat-out caved. Again.

Like a pussy, like a fucking puppy dog, he'd asked Jennifer if they were "even" after his little performance. Couldn't they be friends again? Maybe he'd gone too far, but he'd done it out of love!

Peter would never forget the look in her eyes. No woman had ever given him such a look. And her words!

"You disgust me. Get out of my car. You will never see me again."

No woman, hell—no man—had ever hurt him with words. But those words cut him to the core. Still, she wasn't done with him.

As he sheepishly opened the car door, Jennifer administered the coup de grace. She lifted her shirt. There was no bra underneath—just a perfect pair of tits. Tits he had dreamed about seeing for fifteen years.

"And you most definitely will never get to touch these!" she said, before pushing him out of the car and driving off, stranding him.

For days—weeks—he'd stewed over the whole scene. The fucking bitch! Ironically, though, it freed him; freed him of the love that had made him weak. He was still obsessed with Jennifer, but now it was an angry obsession. He wanted to hurt her—the boy scout, too.

But what could he do? Tell Mike that Jennifer had been sneaking around on him? But Peter had no proof. Besides, it would sound crazy.

"Hey Mike, I hired a guy to seduce your wife, so that you would find out and divorce her. Then, I could marry her!"

Mike would never believe him. Mike despised him, and the last thing Peter Wombert was going to do was give Mike-fucking-Chancey an opportunity to squint at him with scorn and tell him to fuck off. So Peter left him alone.

Gradually, Peter came down from the peak of his anger. He went on a sex binge, going through women like General Sherman's army had marched through the South. He convinced himself he didn't need Jennifer. Hell, someday, she'd be chubby and wrinkled—and he'd still be fucking twenty-year-olds!

But since that night he'd seen Jennifer at the restaurant...

Peter wondered how close it had been. Jennifer had, after all, spent a lot of time with James—apparently, behind Mike's back. She'd gone to his apartment that night. Okay, so Jennifer didn't fuck him—or so she'd said—but it must have been close. After all, James had been pretty sure. That phone call...

That phone call. That phone call! "Be waiting outside in one hour to get your proof." My proof...what proof?

He tried to remember the details of the plan. James was going to break Jennifer, but that wasn't all. He was also going to get rid of Mike. But how? By telling him? Who was going to do it?

Not James—dealing with Mike was not part of his deal.

Not Peter—that wouldn't work either.

Jennifer? Maybe, but...

"...get your proof." Right...Mike was not going to be told; he was going to be shown. But what proof? What was the fucking—of course!

Suddenly remembering what else James had said to him that night, Peter felt like an idiot. How could he have forgotten? Hell, he had the same thing going at his house, in his bedroom.

He said he thought the night was the night. He asked if I remembered his address and told me to be there in an hour, to get my proof. And in between, he said...

"I have my whole apartment rigged with cameras."

* * *

At the next joint therapy session, Dr. Seymour immediately noticed something different about Mike and Jennifer. Maybe to someone who'd known them before their troubles, they still would have seemed off. But having met them at their nadir, the difference Dr. Seymour perceived was positive. They seemed more relaxed, more aware of each other. It seemed liked they were together, not just separate patients in the same room.

Towards the end of the session, Dr. Seymour asked if they had any questions to ask or anything to say to each other. Jennifer spoke up.

"Mike," she began, "I just want to say...thank you for sticking with this. For sticking with me. I know...I know you've made no promises, and...that we've still got a long way to go if...that is, if you'll... I'm trying not to get my hopes up too high, but I want you to know...I just wanted to say thank you. And..."

She hesitated, then looked straight in his eyes.

"I swear, on my sister's grave, that I've always loved you, that I will love you forever, and that nothing like...what happened...will ever happen again."

Mike closed his eyes as tears formed. Studying his face, Jennifer's eyes moistened as well. Tentatively, she reached out and took Mike's hand. He opened his eyes, looked at her hand...and closed his own around it.

"I believe you," he said. "And while I can't feel yet that I forgive you...I feel that I want to forgive you. I hope that means something to you."

"Baby!" Jennifer exclaimed, embracing him while staring to cry. "It's more than I deserve, so it means everything to me."

The session had lasted well past its scheduled end, but Dr. Seymour was not about to complain. She'd witnessed reconciliations before, but none had ever affected her like this budding one. Was that because it was special? Or simply because, for once, she was letting it affect her? Soaking up the emotion to feed her...

Stop it. Do your job.

"Listen, you two," she said. "I want to remind you of something. Peaks and valleys, right? Give it time, time, and more time, right? Don't go and spoil anything now. Don't rush anything. As Jennifer said, you still have a long way to go. Understood?"

They nodded.

"Okay. Here's what I want to do. You're way past bed time here, but I want to talk to Mike—alone—for just a few minutes. Then, next week, he gets a night off. Jennifer, I'll just see you, okay?"

"Okay," Jennifer answered. She squeezed Mike's hand one more time, rose up, and left the room.

As the door closed behind her, Dr. Seymour leaned across her desk.

"Mike, never mind most of what I just said."

"Huh?"

"That was for Jennifer. She's a train, heading downhill towards a curve. Yes, there is going to be a curve in here somewhere before you guys climb up again. I don't want her to be going too fast when she hits that curve, okay?"

"Okay."

"You, on the other hand...I'll tell you, I was ready to kick your ass tonight! Then you surprised me, you really did. But I still feel like you're stuck at a tipping point."

Mike shrugged, almost apologetically.

"I know, I just... I believe her, but I'm still not sure it matters...not sure if it's enough."

"Mike, it's not about being sure; not right now. Right now is about living without being sure, until you are sure. Meanwhile, along the way, you may have to fake it. Or, as I prefer, you may have to 'leap' it. Make a leap—a leap of faith."

She let her words sink in for a moment, then smiled.

"Okay, get out of here! I'll see you in two weeks. Oh, and Mike... The train, don't forget! I'm glad you're speeding up, but she may need to slow down, okay? Are you going to be my brakeman?"

Mike smiled.

"I'll try, doctor, but you forget what I do for a living...I'm an engineer."

That night, it was all Mike and Jennifer could do to stay apart. Jennifer made a pretty obvious pass, but Mike deflected it gently. She settled for a long hug.

Brakeman. Gotta be the brakeman. Damned if I know why, but doctor's orders.

* * *

The next night, after Mikey was asleep, Mike sat in bed reading while Jennifer took a relaxing bath. Mike hadn't been able to concentrate well enough to read anything since before Black Sunday. Tonight, it was going better.

Still, he was...unsettled. The optimism he'd felt the night before had dissipated somewhat. It seemed to happen every time after they made some progress; in the quiet, without distractions, he would hear echoes of his torments. He wondered if they would ever fall silent; he feared the answer was no.

Jennifer knocked on the open door. She was wearing her red robe. That meant, of course, that she was wearing only her red robe.

"Mike," she said, "I'll be in our room tonight. If you want to catch up on sleep...that's fine. Or...well, I'll be in our room."

She walked over, kissed him on the forehead, left the room, and closed the door behind her. Mike turned out the lamp.

The train is picking up speed. Got to be the brakeman.

It wasn't only Dr. Seymour's metaphor that held him held him back, though. He didn't feel well. He guessed it was psychosomatic, but that didn't make the queasiness go away.

He believed, finally, that Jennifer had not had sex with James and had not meant to get as involved with him as she had. But still, the lying. The sneaking around. The insult that she'd turned to that fucking player instead of him for comfort. The physical stuff, tame as it was...

Mike kept going around and around. What was the hardest part to get over? It was a moving target.

A moving target...