The Fourth Ring by Hunter Jackson
[email protected]©Copyright 1995 by Hunter Jackson1A typical Friday. Too many deadlines, too many phone calls, too many emergencies. Although a few of these
deadlines and emergencies were the result of my representation of Contrax Industries, I was still looking forward to lunch with Contrax's president, Rick Robertson. While Rick always attended to business, he was also a bit of a "rounder," and damn proud of it. Given my rather staid sexual relationship with my wife, Anne, I enjoyed living vicariously through Rick's exploits. This lunch fit the normal pattern. Rick and I spent the first 45 minutes analysing and dissecting the antitrust implications of a possible acquisition by Contrax. After beating that dead horse one last time, Rick ordered us a couple of Absolute Citron's with soda and embarked on a recounting of his latest conquests.
"Married pussy!" Rick exclaimed.
What do you mean, Rick?" The non-sequitur confused me.
"Married pussy is the easiest, hottest, wettest pussy in the world."
"Rick, as a married man, I can speak with some experience and certainty on this subject. Married pussy is anything but easy, and rarely hot or wet."
My reply was authoritative, but in retrospect I led with my chin on this one; "Bill, for such a smart lawyer whom charges $350 an hour, you're a total dumbshit."
I like Rick, but he's also a bit abrasive and arrogant. Sometimes he can really push my buttons.
Rick continued, "When I speak of married pussy, I'm talking about fucking pussies that are married to other men. More times than not, a married woman is dying for a thorough fucking from a real man, not just the weekly ten minute diddle they're used to from their husbands."
"Well, I imagine that there are some dissatisfied wives out there, but as your friend and attorney, I strongly advise against propositioning married women. You'll end up with, at least a bruised cheek from her slap and, at
worst, excruciating pain from her knee to your groin."
Rick chuckled, but quickly dismissed my cautions. "Bill, you don't even have a clue. In the past three months, I've approached eight different married women, and I'm batting a thousand. I've concluded that there isn't a married woman out there, who given the opportunity, would turn down a sexual romp with a good-looking man."
"I don't know what world you've been living in, Rick, but I suspect that if you approached any of the married women that I know your batting average would quickly drop to the point that you'd be sent back down to the minors."
"Like who?" Rick stared at me confidently.
I was totally dumbfounded. I didn't expect to be challenged on this point. My mind went blank so I tried to avoid the question. "Look, Rick, you know damn well that there are so many frigid wives living in the suburbs that your theory can't hold water."
"Who?" Rick wasn't going to let the question slide.
My mind was slowly starting to reason again. I didn't really want to give Rick the names of any of the married women that I know. Rick's the type of guy who jumps at every challenge. I certainly didn't want him hitting on the wives of any of my friends. Common sense suggested that the safest thing to do was rely on my wife, Anne.
Anne and I have been married for twelve years, with two kids to show for the venture. Anne is not exactly frigid, but she's also rather conservative when it comes to sex. Pretty much straight intercourse, with very rare oral sex, and certainly no anal. From the perspective of frequency, we will usually have sex 3 or 4 times a month. I knew that Anne would never stray. In fact, she was a virgin when we married.
"Well, Rick, like my wife, for example.."
Rick smirked. "You mean Anne?"
Rick had met Anne at a few business functions. Certainly, nothing untoward occurred. Anne is always the epitome of propriety. Not that she isn't strikingly beautiful, but she masks her 5 foot, five inch, 115 lb. frame and 35-21-36 figure in expensive and conservative attire. One of my unspoken complaints has always been that Anne's delectable ass is never displayed in a manner befitting its magnificence. Of course, her dark brown, shoulder length hair is always perfectly coifed and frames her high cheek-bones, porcelain skin and full lips.
"Bill," Rick shook his head in a condescending fashion, "do you really think for a moment that Anne hasn't fucked around on you?"
Not wanting to give any credence to Rick's outrageous suggestion, I tried to remain composed when I confidently replied, "I know she has never cheated and would never cheat. That's why your hypothesis about married pussy is fatally flawed."
"Well, Bill, if Anne hasn't taken on any other men, it's only because she's never been presented with the right opportunity."
"Sure, sure, Rick, whatever you say..." My cynical response only served to heighten Rick's competitive nature.
"Look, I'll prove it to you if you doubt me... but it's got to be a fair test. You can't purposefully intervene or interfere. You just have to give me a reasonable chance to prove my point without letting Anne know that's
something's up, I'll admit I'm wrong if I fail. Hell, I'll even let you handle drafting the Berringer contract at double your hourly rate."
It sounded like a deal too good to be true. I'm somewhat ashamed to admit it, but I really wanted the Berringer contract, and double my hourly rate would pay for a nice ski vacation. Yet, I recognised that Rick's a shrewd man. "What happens if you're right?" The lawyer in me always tries to weigh all the variables.
"See, you're already afraid that I'm right! A second ago, you thought I was full of sh it... I'll tell you what I'll make it an easy wager. If I'm right, you agree not to interfere and let whatever happens to happen. OK?"
Less than enthusiastically, I said "Deal."
For some unexplainable reason, I looked at Anne differently that night as she emerged from the shower. I wondered how she'd react to Rick coming on to her. I wondered whether her nipples would become erect in response to his flirting, whether her pussy would involunt arily lubricate. As I daydreamed about the possible scenarios, I suddenly imagined Anne naked, laying on her back, her legs spread wide, bucking her pelvis wildly to meet the thrusts of Rick's invading cock. Certainly, I'd never witnessed such a scene when Anne and I make love. It dawned on me - as these illicit thoughts cluttered my mind - that my own dick was hard beyond any normal erection.
That night I attacked Anne with a fervour. I wanted to reassure myself of my potency. But, Anne reacted as always, reservedly and in control. Even though I fucked her with what I thought was superhuman intensity, she laid there, moving slowly, waiting for me to finish. At the ordained moment, Anne reached up and began to fondle my balls and the sensitive skin between my scrotum and asshole. Anne knows that this sensation always sends me over the edge. Even though I desperately wanted to hold off until her belly rippled with an orgasm, the sensation was too great, and at the last moment, the image in my mind returned to Rick slamming his dick into Anne's cunt. I climaxed violently and collapsed. With her normal grace, Anne slipped out from under me and rolled over to go to sle ep. Yet, for me, these unsettling images continued, until I too fell into a deep sle ep.
For the next week, I continued to be haunted by these perverse images of Rick and Anne in the throes of all varieties of sexual couplings. I found myself masturbating with a fervour that I hadn't known since adolescence. Of course, Anne was oblivious, remaining the picture of propriety. Perhaps fortunately, I didn't have occasion to speak with Rick during this time frame, either. The situation began to take on the hazy quality of a wicked nightmare.
That is, until a local charitable cocktail party. It was a typically staid affair, with all the frigid wives parading in
their diamonds and designer duds. The husbands, with their fat wallets and brokerage accounts, sucked down fine whiskey while sharing off-colour jokes about their bimbo secretaries. Anne was in her element. She was dressed impeccably in a black, backless number bearing some French designer's moniker. Actually, it was rather unusual for Anne, for it displayed her cleavage and a healthy dose of leg. Of course, Anne had a unique way of looking classy and not the least bit sensual.
After a couple of vodka and tonics, I was startled by Rick's booming voice. It was quite a surprise since Rick normally eschewed these events.
"More boring than trolling for babes at a convent," I remember Rick once saying.
"Rick, what the Hell are you doing here?"
"Bill, you cynical bastard! I'm here because I care deeply about the very same things that everyone else here cares about"
"Oh, and just what would that celeb cause be, eh Rick?"
"Something about irradiating the Bosnian, homosexual humpback whales, I think." Rick smirked, and in a sarcastic voice said: "You know, Bill, I've changed my take on these society bashes. While I still believe that the vast majority of pussies present haven't had a good ploughing in the last decade, I've concluded that this fact presents someone like me with endless possibilities."
"God, Rick, you're a complete predator!" I replied.
With that comment, Rick glanced over towards Anne, who was engaged in some banal conversation with the hostess of the party, and remarked: "So, speaking of cunts yearning to be filled, how's our little girl, Bill?"
Flushed with anger and indignation, all I could muster was: "Fuck you, asshole!"
"Now, now, Ricky boy, remember our wager. Besides you're so confident about Anne's fidelity that there's nothing to worry about, right?"
With that, Rick made a beeline towards Anne. On the one hand, I felt like intervening. On the other, I truly wanted the vindication of Anne spurning Rick's base advances. In the end, I drowned my indecision in more vodka and tonics.
As the evening wore on, my stomach felt oddly queasy. This feeling was exacerbated every time I lost sight of Anne. Yet, throughout, I could not ignore the aching in my balls. To my frustration, Rick had succeeded in cornering Anne into a long one on one conversation. This was quite surprising since Anne was notorious for her
ability to work a crowd. Many times, people would come up to Anne and apparently interject themselves into the conversation. Normally, Anne would use the interruption as an opportunity to move on. At the very least, Anne would always graciously welcome the new party into the discourse. Yet, on this evening, Anne's body language caused the interlopers to move on after only a comment or two, leaving her and Rick to themselves.
Finally, the event was coming to an end, and the caterers began to pack up. Anne remained clearly in sight, and fully clothed, albeit in conversation with Rick. At last, I felt a sense of relief and victory, as Anne left Rick and
walked over to me. My elation was short-lived, however.
"Honey, I don't feel like calling it a night yet. Rick's invited us to join him for dri nks and dancing at a club. What do you say? It'll be fun, especially after you've had to put up with this boring purgatory for hours."
I had no choice but to agree. I certainly couldn't beg off and tell that I'd wagered her fidelity for some good billable work. Likewise, I would be breaching the deal with Rick if I interfered.
"Sure, honey, that sounds great."
While I was less than enthusiastic, I rationalised away the risk that Rick might actually succeed. After all Anne had done nothing improper, yet. Perhaps ill advisedly, I had more vodka and tonics when we reached the club. The dim lights and smoky air of the club further clouded my self-induced alco holic haze. The loud music also rang in my ears and distorted the conversation. Rick had strategically sat next to Anne in the booth, relegating me to the other side of the table. My inability to make out or participate in the dialogue heightened my paranoia.
Rick was chatting up Anne with aplomb, and had even maneuvred his arm around her shoulder. When it came time for dancing, I was in no condition to spell Anne from Rick's devious onslaught. Putting aside my agreement not to intercede, my coordination was completely shot from the dri nking.
At first, it was fast dancing, leaving Rick little opportunity for bodily contact. However, late in the evening, the music slowed and Rick pressed himself close to Anne. My senses may have been dulled, or my paranoia rampant, but I could swear that I saw Anne grinding her belly into Rick's bulging groin. Maybe I was just feeling sorry for myself, but as I downed my n-teenth vodka and tonic, I began to visualise illicit pictures of Rick fucking Anne ferociously with Anne bucking back like a thousand dollar slut.
Rick and Anne had, meanwhile, danced their way to the most remote and dark corner of the dance floor. Again, my perceptions might not have been acute, but I am sure I saw Rick and Anne engaged in a never ending, French kiss whilst Rick slowly stroked her ass and fondled the sides of her breasts.
Blessedly, closing time finally arrived. As we staggered to the door, I surrendered to Anne the keys to the car. Rick said something about a nightcap at his place and, for an instant, my heart stopped. But, for some reason, Anne declined. I poured myself into the leather passenger seat of our BMW.
Before Anne got in she said "Ooops, just a second I think I left something in the club."
I was able to watch Anne in the passenger rear-view mirror as she walked back to the club. But, she didn't go in. Instead, she went up to Rick as he was unlocking the door to his Mercedes. Again, they kissed...not very long though. I could see Anne and Rick exchange brief words. With a sly smile, Rick placed his hand on Anne's right tit as she turned to walk back to the car.
Anne made a little small talk on the drive home, but her thoughts were clearly elsewhere. Although my cock was turgid all evening long, the alc ohol caused me to elect sle ep over a desperately needed fuck once we got home. Yet, during the night, I slept fitfully, awakening often. At least twice, I heard Anne breathing heavily and the rhythmic sound of her hand vigorously at work between her legs.
The next day, Rick called and invited me to lunch. I hoped that he would simply take pleasure in the fact that he had groped my wife, and let the "wager" drop. But, this hope was dashed almost immediately.
"Billy boy! How are you feeling after all that *****. Probably not as good as I was "feeling" last night, if you catch my drift."
The sinking feeling in my stomach again sank in, and I could actually feel my manhood shrink.
"Look," I implored, "why don't we just call the bet a draw"
"No go, Billy. That wouldn't be very sporting. Especially after all my hard work. But, I'll tell you what: Let me try to ask Anne out alone just once. If she turns me down, I yield the point."
"Okay. It's a deal." I reluctantly agreed, believing that Anne would never risk being seen alone, in public, with Rick.
Rick was smirking like a cat with canary feathers hanging out of its mouth.
"What the hell are you smiling about!"
"Well, Bill, I forgot to share one little fact before you agreed: I already asked and Anne accepted. We're going out tonight."
I felt as if I was going to implode. That morning, Anne had asked for me to watch the kids because she was going to have a girl's night out with her best friend, Kathy. We had allowed one another "night's out" since our last chi ld was born as a method of preserving our sanity. I never dreamed that Anne might use this arrangement to fool around on me. Of course, Rick could be bullshitting me. I'll never put that above him.
"Tell you what Bill," Rick continued, "at the end of the evening I'll give you a call to let you know that Anne's on the way home. Just to make it interesting, I'll let the phone ring once if nothing happens, twice if she only allows a little petting like last night, three times if she blows me, and four rings if she is well fucked."
When I got home that evening, Anne was busily getting ready to go out. But, she didn't act or dress any differently than on other occasions. I rationalised that Rick was simply torturing me, and that Anne was going out with Kathy.
On the way out the door, Anne gave my her traditional peck, and said: "Kathy and I are going to catch that new French film and maybe go out for dinner and dri nks afterwards. It's a three hour movie, so I'll probably be
late... no need to wait up."
Initially, ignorance was bliss. I chose to disregard Rick's boastfulness and, instead, trust Anne's honesty. Yet, once I put the kids down, my mind began to wander. A combination of jealousy and uncertainty gnawed at my brain. But, at the same time, I felt bad about doubting Anne.
By 10:30 PM, my stomach became unsettled in the same fashion as the night before when Anne and Rick were on the dance floor. By 11:30 PM, my paranoia overcame reason and I thought about ways to confirm Anne's fidelity.
So, in a very sophomoric manner, I called Kathy's telephone number. Embarrassed, I almost hung up after the second ring, but then a groggy voice answered "hello." It was unmistakably Kathy's voice, and it sounded as if I'd awakened her from a deep sle ep. Flabbergasted, I set down the receiver without saying a word. To my ironic dismay, I'd proven that I wasn't paranoid. Anne was out with Rick.
As midnight eased into the early morning hours, my mental imagery was tor ture. I would alternate between fantasies of Rick fucking Anne in all different positions, with fantasies of Anne resolutely turning down Rick's
advances, saying "No, I'm a married woman!"
Tellingly, my cock was rock hard as I imagined Rick ploughing into Anne's pussy. With guilty perversion, I stroked myself to an incredible orgasm, which brought on sle ep.
Suddenly, I awoke to the sound of the telephone. I looked at the clock; it was 2:26 AM! It seemed like an eternity before the phone rang for a second time. I quickly rationalised that Anne had already engaged in a heavy petting session with Rick, so this second ring should not be that surprising. But, just then, the phone rang for a third time. The shock of the thought of Anne sucking on Rick's dick staggered me. I waited with dreaded anticipation, wondering if the caller had hung up.
BBBRRRRIIINNNGGG! The fourth ring pierced through the darkness of my bedroom. Instantaneously, my cock erupted in another climax without the aid of manual stimulation.
There I laid in the dark. My belly covered with my own cum. The phone hadn't rung a fifth time. Yet, I still wondered whether Rick was intentionally torturing me. After all, this was hardly evidence that Anne had succumbed to Rick's seduction. At most, it merely suggested that Rick and Anne had been together. While their being together was not particularly comforting, it certainly didn't prove infidelity.
So, I waited for Anne to get home.
