Six Degrees Pt. 01

One

Bobby smiled to himself as he stood, touched Melanie's shoulder, and said, "Shall we, then?"

"Omigod!" she thought, a giddy anticipation flooding over her, "I'm going to get laid!" She rose and let him lead her from the table, toward the exit.

This was just their fourth 'date' – the fourth time they had serendipitously met at the bar and sat at the same table – and it looked like he was about to score. "Damn, I'm good," he silently boasted.

At thirty-six Bobby Girrard was an experienced lothario, and a remorseless philanderer, but, boy did he have charm. He could charm the knickers off a nun. Despite having an attractive, active wife at home, Bobby couldn't keep his dick in his pants – didn't even try. He figured that the bar scene was his orchard – the fruit was there specifically for him. And thirty-two-year-old Melanie was just the kind of low-hanging plum he loved.

Melanie had been married for eight years, but her husband's current afternoon shift rotation left her with nothing to rush home to after work. She was feeling a little bit lost – rudderless, almost.

A few weeks earlier she had let the girls at work talk her into joining them for drinks at quitting time. Most of the group were single, and there were way more girls than guys. She found it an enjoyable distraction, and it was better than rattling around the lonely old house every evening. Recently, however, she'd begun to bring a change of clothes on those days, to get a bit tarted-up for the after-work drinks. She didn't really know why; but if she was totally honest with herself, she'd had to admit she was looking for excitement to spice up what had become a bit of a drab existence.

While there was usually lots of conversation, abound with ribald comments, Melanie still felt little out of her element, so was generally rather quiet, sipping her drink, not fully joining in. Notwithstanding, she enjoyed listening to the banter, and found it somewhat titillating.

Bobby was acquainted with of many of the work group, a familiar around the shop, so, as he joined them, he sidled up to Melanie. "Can I join you?" Melanie recognizes him as having made deliveries at the office, as having boldly tried to 'chat her up' on a few occasions.

"Sure," she replied, and, feeling a bit naughty, added, "if you buy me another drink."

Their conversation proceeded easily – Bobby, exercising his 'gift of the gab'. "What're up to?" "What brings you here?" "Where's your partner?" And soon their chat became quiet and personal – eventually, conspiratorial. They commiserated – each complaining of something lacking in their marriage. Melanie couldn't quite understand why she was so forthcoming with someone she was barely acquainted with. During the talking, Melanie got the idea that Bobby was separated. He didn't disabuse her of that notion. They discussed rationalizing and excusing thoughts of adultery; honesty and deception in relationships – white lies. Melanie convinced herself it was all theoretical – rhetorical.

And that was all it was, that first night. And, soon, too soon, it was time to go – back to the day-to-day routine; seeing her husband, ever so briefly, like ships passing in the night.

Bobby had joined her, again – just happened to be there – the next couple pub nights, then, actually made arrangements to meet her the next time.

When she arrived with the group she found herself looking around for Bobby. And by the time she caught sight of him approaching the table, just a touch of arrogance in his swagger, she was already more than a little tipsy. He joined in the chatter of the group, and other than sitting beside her, he more or less ignored Melanie. So she became, by degrees, flirty, suggestive, then lewd – whispering secrets in his ear, clasping his elbow to her side, rubbing her tits against his upper arm. In this way, she succeeded in securing his attention. She didn't even notice the conversation of her girlfriends, turning conspicuously away. Hence, without much ado, Bobby took her by the elbow and casually led her out of the bar and into the sleazy lobby.

"Oooooweeee!" The sheer naughtiness of it made her tremble with excitement. "I'm going to do it! I'm actually going to get laid – by a virtual stranger!" Melanie allowed herself to be shepherded, docile as a lamb to slaughter, through the halls and into a tawdry room, where Bobby joined her in reclining on the bed.

He leaned in with a thinly veiled urgency, kissing her forcefully on the lips, and she responded in kind, their dueling tongues parrying and stabbing; his hands around her shoulders, gathering her firmly; her hands behind his head, pulling him tight; desperate mewling escaping between them. Until he dropped his hands, leaving her to hold the connection, and fiddled with her buttons, tearing open her blouse, and grabbing her boobs – mauling them roughly, before settling his fingers onto her nipples.

Melanie could feel her tension changing from apprehension to arousal, as Bobby continued to kiss her passionately, strumming her nipples. Tight nervous energy gave way to a warm fluid thrill that lit up the corners of her psyche.

Drawing back, Bobby dropped his face to hungrily suck Melanie's nipples, dropping his hands momentarily to throw off his shirt, exposing his own bare chest at the same time. Taking his hands out of his sleeves, his fingers returned lower down, to open the fly front of her jeans. Smoothly worming his hand under her panty-waist, he immediately set to fingering her pussy. With his digits relentlessly circling her clit Melanie rapidly became oblivious of anything but her own arousal. Actively responding, she thrust her hips to meet his probing fingers.

Exotic, erotic sensations began to sizzle and flash in the pit of her being, running up and down her spine, singeing all of her nerve-endings. She was amazed. They'd barely begun and she felt, already, on the cusp of a massive orgasm. But she didn't want to rush it, so, allowing herself to slip down his body, Melanie abandoned his lips to move her kisses to his nipples. She reached into his pants for his cock, but Bobby batted her hand away, stepped back, and did an apparently well-practiced strip-tease.

As he revealed his erection Melanie thought she had never seen such a perfect cock – not that she'd seen that many. Perfect shape, perfect size, its veiny texture perfectly defined, a tear-drop of pre-cum sparkling at the eye. She'd never realized a prick could be so what? Prominent! And while she couldn't really be sure it was actually any longer or thicker than her husband's, it was definitely more something – perhaps prouder. Its rigidity seemed to vibrate in the light, as it twitched sporadically. The ideal specimen – no doubt. And, that it was standing up for her made it all the more incredibly erotic.

Melanie watched, eyes glued to that beautiful boner, as Bobby stepped up and presented it to her face. "Come on," he cajoled. "You know you want it. Have a taste. Get it nice and wet." In a sort of a trance, she leaned in to lick his throbbing meat. As she did, his hands went to the sides of her head and he pulled firmly, abruptly forcing his manhood into her mouth. She was surprised at first, but she was also fascinated by his no-nonsense, take-charge attitude, as he began fucking her face with long, powerful strokes. Melanie gagged a bit, but quickly adapted – surprising herself at how well she could accommodate the deep reaching thrusts.

Bobby's thrusts quickly became frenetic, as he found himself rushing uncontrollably towards orgasm. He was caught off guard at how fast he got there – at how fast she got him there. This girl was talented! He came with a jolt – jerking and twitching, held in deep, the volume of cum he spurted into her gullet was impressive. And Melanie was pleased that she'd actually swallowed his offerings without choking – in fact with very little sputtering. Bobby held himself in her mouth as his tool softened just a bit. Waiting a bit, he reached over and strummed his fingers along Melanie's dripping furrow. Panting around his cock, causing it to incrementally regain its rigidity, Bobby knew she was ready.

"Well," he said smugly, "now we've got that one out of the way, let's see if we can find a home for him in your hungry pussy." Melanie allowed herself to be rearranged on the bed. As she flopped down, she noticed that his erection seemed to have lost none of its integrity. It bounced impatiently as Bobby climbed up between her legs.

Their sex was fast and hard, but exciting, she thought, as they consummated their illicit affair. Bobby pounded into her with a sort of urgency, and she responded in kind – thrusting her hips to meet each stroke. "Oh! Oh! OH! Ooooooh!" As his rhythm accelerated, Melanie surprised herself with an orgasm – simultaneous with his.

She had hardly caught her breath when he withdrew his still erect weapon and flipped her onto her hands and knees, spearing her vagina once more – without missing a beat. He pounded her doggie-style with hungry impatience that pulled her rapidly into another orgasm, to accompany his third ejaculation. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had two climaxes in one session!

He was so much more macho, more dominant, more manly than she was used to; and Melanie found that dazzling and thrilling! Unlike her husband, who would want to discuss and agree on everything – who generally deferred to her, Bobby didn't ask, he just took charge. Yes; very much unlike her husband, she mused, a shadow crossing her current euphoria. It saddened her as she realized her husband – as good a man as he was – was rather bland by comparison.

They went at it twice more before finally flagging, and Melanie experienced an unprecedented third climax before they'd finished. Afterwards, as she dressed, quietly, introspectively, the reality of what she'd done came crashing down on her awareness. Suddenly she felt rather numbed with worry and guilt. She had never before, in her 8 years of marriage, cheated. Still, never in 32 years of life, had she felt such a seductively odd, tingling – the excitement of an illicit tumble.

She was distressingly confused; especially when she suspected – no, realized – that she would do it again. Yes, somehow, she knew this for certain!

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Two

In the meantime, Patrick McFee was in the gym showers, after his morning workout, and overheard two guys rambling on. He listened with half an ear, only mildly curious.

"Did ya see Bobby Girrard at the bar last night?"

"Yeah. At it again."

"Always on the prowl, that guy."

"I don't know how he does it. Did you see the chick he left with?"

"Oh yeah! Quite the looker."

"Yeah, but she has a ring!"

"I don't know, boffing a married woman, too much risk for me."

"Still, I wouldn't mind getting into her pants."

"Didn't he learn from last time?"

"Nah."

"I heard he just about got caught by the husband."

"Yeah – back door man sort of thing."

"Where'd he meet her?"

"This one? Making deliveries at Westchester, I heard – receptionist or something."

Patrick tuned out as the guys' gossip moved on to other topics. Patrick's wife, Melanie, worked at Westchester as a receptionist! I mean. Really? Up 'til then he had suspected nothing. Had he really been that clueless? Notwithstanding, that explained a lot: her peculiar moods lately; the subtle inconsistencies in her accounts of her day, and her evenings; the way he caught her looking at him – furtively, warily; the long silences in their short, shared moments while he was on afternoons. And suddenly he was certain, without any sort of direct evidence, that his dear wife, Melanie, was having an affair.

Patrick just didn't know what to do. He was not a confrontationist – anything but – so he didn't want to make a scene. Instead, he whiffle-waffled for a few days, trying to act normal around his errant wife – during those short periods they encountered one another. If she noticed him acting strangely, she didn't show it. Then, suddenly, it came to him. He made a decision, and was well-pleased with himself for doing so. "What's good for the goose is good for the gander!" he muttered to himself one morning, having seen Melanie off to work. He'd go out, he decided, and get a little 'strange' himself! That decision made him feel much better. He would get even without confrontation.

Coincidentally, he noticed, late morning, the new neighbour's wife greeting and welcoming an equally attractive woman. Curious, he began observing. His regular afternoon shifts gave him the middle of most days free, and, over the next weeks, noticed an almost furtive aspect to the apparent relationship of the neighbour and her frequent female visitor. He then began watching with a sense of titillation and fervor, curious about their comings and goings. Increasingly intrigued, his watching started to border on stalking. Patrick realized he was developing a bit of an obsession, as he found himself actually window peeping. While he couldn't believe his own boldness, he rationalized that "Desperate times call for desperate measures;" notwithstanding, his dogged perseverance, however out-of-character for him, was quickly rewarded. One day, early in his stake-out, he actually witnessed his neighbour in a full-on lesbian embrace – sitting in an easy chair, knees apart, with her female companion 'eating at the Y'!

And so it was that a couple of days later Patrick stepped across the street to intercept his neighbour – his target – as she left her house. "Excuse me. May I have a word?" She stopped – puzzled and wary. Studying her face, he realized she was, indeed, very attractive – especially for an older woman – late forties he'd guessed – and even more so because of what he knew and what he was about to suggest!

Patrick couldn't believe his own audaciousness, as he heard himself say, "I wonder what it would be worth to you to keep your husband from hearing about your lesbian affair."

She caught on right away – soft blackmail, probably for sex – but instead of showing any consternation, she quietly replied, with a sly grin and a menacing tone, "Are you trying to blackmail me?"

Grasping at his slipping control of the situation, scrambling for a response that lent him an air of confidence, he replied, "More barter than blackmail." That was more bafflegab than anything, and he knew it.

In a low, dangerous voice his neighbour growled, "I should have your ass for this, but...," her eyes twinkling with a mischievous glint, "Maybe we can work something out."

Patrick had had no idea how this would go, but he hadn't even begun to anticipate this! Somehow, she had completely turned the tables on him – seized control of the entire fiasco.

Calm and cool, Patrick's erstwhile victim explained, simply, as if to a dull child, that her husband was not even suspicious of her sexual proclivities. "And I'd prefer to keep it that way;" she added with a sly wink. "Nevertheless, he probably wouldn't even care. He's way too busy climbing the corporate ladder."

Chuckling under her breath, it became obvious that she was rather amused by Patrick's cloak and dagger antics. "How about this: Let's pretend that you're blackmailing me." Patrick's jaw dropped and his head whirled as she explained. "While Madeline – my 'companion' – is an expert carpet muncher, I sometimes need more – more than just having my pussy eaten!" She watched the incredible surprise cross Patrick's face, before going on. She explained, very matter-of-factly, that she was a bona fide bisexual who was not averse to riding the unicorn from time to time. Her husband, she pointed out, was too busy to be of much use in that department - too busy with work to even acknowledge his own negligence. "Perhaps," she added sadly, "he really is unaware of his shirked responsibilities."

Suddenly all business – she changed her affect so quickly Patrick had trouble keeping up. "So let's set some ground rules, shall we?" She paused, her gaze fixing Patrick's eyes in a tractor beam. "First of all, I'm Lorelei; not Lori or, heaven forbid, Lor. And you; Patrick? Pat? Paddy?"

Patrick replied "Patrick." But Lorelei announced, "Paddy. I think we'll go with Paddy."

Taking him by the arm, Lorelei steered Patrick – Paddy – up to the door and into her house. She hustled him into the sitting room and pushed him back onto the leather couch. Patrick was completely gobsmacked. He sat motionless, watching, in amazement, what was unfolding. Dropping to her knees in front of him Lorelei used both hands to undo his belt, unsnap his jeans, and lower his fly. He was already fully erect and straining against the fabric when she pulled down his briefs and set him free.

"Mmmmm. That's okay," she crooned in the back of her throat. "We can work with this!" Flashing him a self-satisfied grin, she plunged her head down, fully engulfing is rock-hard prick. After just a couple thrusts he began to tremble. Pulling back slightly she growled, "Don't you dare come in my mouth!" then swallowed him whole once more! He fought to obey.

Lorelei tried, for a bit, to disrobe without releasing her lip lock on his member, but, eventually, she pulled back, rocking back on her haunches, as she peeled off her clothing. She locked eyes with Patrick, challenging him with her gaze. As her clothes came off, Patrick began to really appreciate what an attractive older woman she was. Perfect tits, he thought, dropping his eyes from the intensity of her stare. Maybe a little droopy, but actually kinda pert for an, um, mature lady.

Coming out of his trance, Patrick took advantage of her pulling back o moment and quickly peeled off his shirt, humping his butt off the couch to drop his pants and unders, kicking them off one ankle and swinging them to the side.

Just as he thought he could hold off no longer, Lorelei pulled off, stood, and shuffled forward to impale herself on his rampant prick, sinking deep, intertwining their pubes. His hands falling naturally to her hips, her hands on his shoulders for support, they quickly established a rhythm without uttering a word.

Bouncing his hips with an increasing urgency, Patrick found himself consummating his burgeoning affair – for as much as it was, in any sense, actually his – so fast it made his head spin. Lorelei's stoic silence dissipated into inarticulate mews, crescendoing as they came together!

Lorelei dismounted, pulling Patrick's head into her bosom with one hand while gabbing and stroking his slick dick with the other. "Let's see if we can get you up again," she purred. "You suck my nipples while I work on it."

They manage twice more in the afternoon, once missionary and once doggie-style. Lorelei started off somewhat vocal each time – offering direction and encouragement – but, squealing with delight as rolling series of multiple orgasms overtook her, ended voicing only inarticulate whimpers and sighs.

Patrick was impressed at how turned-on she could get him – bossing him around and all. As they finished up that first day, early afternoon, just in time for him to get to work, Lorelei gave him his schedule. "Madeline's days are Wednesday and Friday, as you probably know from your intel, so, you'll have Monday and Thursday. Is that all right, Paddy?" It was so obviously a rhetorical question that Patrick just nodded – his head spinning. "Good. I'll see you then Thursday at eleven." She smiled and walked him to the door. "And don't be too conspicuous," she added, giving him a slap on the bottom as she shooed him out.

Thursday morning Patrick knocked nervously at exactly eleven. He really didn't know what to expect, but was not disappointed. Lorelei took complete control, directing all of the activities, which was just fine with Patrick. He found that he loved the abdication of responsibility – the freedom from decision-making. If anything, the sex was more intense this second time than the first.