Sarah_(3) free porn video

I'm a private investigator for a boutique divorce law firm. It's not as glamorous as it may sound. I do rack up the frequent-flier points, and yes, I went to Las Vegas last Christmas, but it was for work. I was trying to get video of a suspected cheating husband. To a degree, I understood when I spied on him. After all, his wife was a shrew, and he was a typical guy. The young lady he took to his room while his wife finished her shopping did a Tahitian hula/reverse cowgirl thing that I had never seen before.

A lot of my work involves researching hidden assets. Sometimes, I'm looking for real estate holdings or off-shore bank accounts. Sometimes, it's artwork or jewels. Often, I'm at a desk, and when I do go out on field-work, there's no Indiana Jones or Mission Impossible stuff.

The senior partner (known the staff as The Ice Queen) called me to her office. “Don,” she asked, “if I told you I wanted you on a red-eye flight Sunday night, what would it do to your other cases?”

“For how long?”

“I wouldn't normally ask you to do this, but ...”

“Bullshit, Marian,” I interrupted. “How long do I have to be away?”

“You have all the budget you need on this one to hire whoever you want to help you. If you get yourself a good forensic accountant, you should be on the plane back home Friday night.”

“Some clients will argue, but nobody's world will come to an end if I'm not here for a week,” I said. “It's a good thing we love each other.”

“Just remember who pays whom, and why. Clean up your loose ends and go home. Pack for a week in Virginia, near DC. A car will pick you up and take you to the airport. Be ready Sunday morning at ten.” Marian handed me some file folders and a small bundle of discs, and motioned me away. “Go, before we do something stupid.”

My new job was to dig up the dirt on a business. The estranged wife has a large block of shares in her husband's enterprise, and she feels he's siphoning off money, lowering the value of her holdings, which would be beneficial to him when he is ordered to buy her out.

Even though I probably have learned enough over the years to take the exams, I'm not an accountant. This job needed one. From an assignment several years ago, I know a gentleman who is a senior partner in a successful accounting firm in the area. I gave him a call. He agreed to “rent out” his best forensic accountant, a Mrs. Sarah Blevins. Her schedule would be clear late Monday morning.

Her curriculum vitae had me hoping for a dynamic, no-nonsense woman with a sharp mind and a bit of cynicism, all business, and hopefully, a stickler for details. I wanted someone who could find evidence of fiduciary mistakes by the company's own financial people, or signs that the books had been “cooked.”

I've teamed with this kind of specialist before. They're often the nerds of the accounting world. Based on the people I had worked with in the past, I anticipated a plain looking woman.

That's not what I saw when she came into the lobby. She was taller than I expected, honey-blond, blue-eyed, and pretty. If she wore make-up, it was subtle. Dressed in a conservative skirt and jacket, she spoke with a soft but confident voice laced with the sweeter parts of a southern drawl. She looked like a woman you could enjoy taking to dinner, or helping with a project she's doing as a Sunday school teacher.

My first impression was to see her in the role of trusted executive secretary or elementary school principal, but this assignment called for more than that. I needed a rabid badger.

She took me to her office to discuss the case. Following her down the hall, I played with the idea of those long legs in a much shorter, tighter skirt, with dressy heels replacing the sensible office shoes she wore. I wondered what her long hair would feel like in my hands.

“You're disappointed, aren't you, Don?” she asked, after she had closed the door and taken her place behind her desk.

“Excuse me?”

“I get that a lot. Being a woman is a handicap in business. At least it seems that way to me,” she said.

“I don't look down on women in business, Sarah. I'm not that kind of guy.”

“You've read my curriculum vitae, I assume,” she said.

“I did, and I was impressed.”

“Would you have been as 'impressed' if I were a man? Or did you just think my qualifications were good for a woman?”

“Where is all this coming from?” I asked.

“Look, I know what your employers do. They screw people out of money in divorces. They're very good at it,” she said.

“I try not to think of it that way. Are claims exaggerated? Sure. On both sides. Are mistakes made? Yes, unfortunately. We're all human. My job is to make sure that all assets are accounted for, and that my employer's client gets compensation for the value of the couple's shared holdings and for the pain and suffering of a failed marriage.”

Sarah got more animated. “Marriage is sacred, as far as I'm concerned. People stand there in front of whatever they consider to be God, and swear an oath to each other. That's one of the things that ticks me off. This country has become all about getting someone else to pay through the nose for your dumb mistakes. In a marriage, unless you're completely stupid, you should have known what you were getting yourself into.”

“I'm not completely stupid,” I said. “I'm smart enough to have stayed single. Look, if you're not comfortable working with someone who does this for a living, I'm sorry I wasted your time.” I stood and turned toward the door.

“Wait!” she cried. “Please. Oh, dammit, I'm not good at this.” Suddenly, her bluster was gone. “Won't you sit down?”

I did. I looked at her, waiting for her to continue. She was staring at the screen-saver on her computer monitor, playing absent-mindedly with a wisp of her hair that was draped over her chest. She took a deep breath, and then broke into a weak smile.

“That's probably the worst job I've done introducing myself since I was about twelve,” she said. “May I start over?”

I stood up, smiled, and extended my hand, just as I had done before. “Hello, I'm Don Croswell.”

She gave me a smirk, stood, and said, “Good to meet you, Don. I'm Sarah Blevins.” She laughed as we shook hands. “Please, sit down. Would you like a water?” She swiveled in her chair and got two bottles from her mini-fridge. “I'm a competent accountant. My records prove that. I also have a very good nose for bullshit.”

“That's what I need. This guy is hiding something. I'm just not sure where or how.”

She said, “When my boss told me about this assignment, I was anxious to work with you because of what you do, not who you work for. You expose liars. You search for the truth. That's what I do, too. Look, Don, I'm sorry, but I'm guilty of a little bit of hero worship here. You look at the whole picture. All I do is give you some financial details.”

“If you can give me those details, I'll make sure my employers know exactly how valuable your assistance was. There may be need for your services in the future, if you're willing.”

“I have a career with this firm. As I understand it, the boss is basically 'renting' me to you,” she said.

“That's right, and I'm not in a position to offer anyone a job anyway, but I've given references before that have gotten a little freelance work for some people. In one way or another, we're all in the information business. Networking is important, and I've got a big address book,” I said.

“Let's see if I can help you first,” she answered.

“How do you want to start?”

“With lunch. There's a cafe downstairs.”

“I saw it,” I said. “I'm on an expense account, so my employer is buying. I'll drive.”

We walked through the parking garage, Sarah stopping to get an attache case from her minivan. I had parked my rental car out where people were less likely to hit it.

“Oh my,” Sarah murmured when I hit the remote locks on the silver Mercedes SLK. “I never rode in one of those.”

“I hadn't either. Triple upgrade from the rental car company. That's why I said I'll drive. It's a lot more fun than the car I have at home. Where's a good place to eat?”

During lunch, she told me a bit about herself. “I'm thirty-seven. I have two kids. I had to delay presenting my master's thesis because I went into labor with my daughter two weeks early. I'm a hard worker, Don.”

“If we do this, we're going to spend a lot of time together, you know,” I said.

“As long as I can get six hours sleep and a shower, I can be on the job. My husband, Tim, will work from home. I've done this before,” she said.

I paid the tab, and we walked to the car. When we were on the highway, heading to the factory, I asked, “You're saying you'll work past five o'clock?”

“Don, I may be younger than you, but I'm not naive. I know what it takes to succeed in this business. I'll work as long as necessary to get the job done.”

“All work and no play makes Sarah a dull girl,” I observed.

“I didn't think it was that obvious,” she said.

Great. I must have hit a nerve. I said, “That was rude of me. I was trying to be funny. I was willing to settle for lame, but I didn't mean to be insulting.”

“No, no, it's okay. You're right. I do work all the time. Tim keeps telling me I'll be the most successful person in the morgue some day. I've always been like that. It's how I tackled school, even as a little girl. It's the way I managed to make dean's list every semester in college while working full-time and playing Susie Homemaker for my husband.

“When did you get married?” I asked.

“Right after high school. We both worked and went to college at the same time. He got a good job, and I went on for my master's. We even started a family. Somehow, we made it work.”

“Like I said before, I'm impressed. Here's our exit.” I said nothing more, enjoying the muted music of the car's exhaust, as I tapped the paddle shifter to slow us down.

The owner met us at the door, smiling. “Hi! I'm Bill Owens. Did you have any trouble finding the place?” He gave us the grand tour, treating us like we were potential investors. After assigning a secretary to run errands for us, he took us to a conference room where we could spread out whatever materials we asked for.

When we had a moment alone, Sarah said, “My bullshit sense started tingling as soon as I saw him.”

“Okay, then it's not just me. You think he's too good to be true, too.”

“Absolutely. Especially with the creepy vibes I'm getting from him. I'm wearing slacks tomorrow. Loose ones,” she chuckled.

We worked until the office staff was leaving, and Owens escorted us out. He locked the front door behind him. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Croswell, Ms. Blevins. Will I see you in the morning?”

“We'll be here at nine,” I said.

“Great. I'm looking forward to it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a dinner date,” he said. He hurried off to his car.

Sarah and I got in the Mercedes and watched Owens drive away.

“What do you think so far?” I asked.

“Am I being hyper-sensitive? That guy is a total creep! Just having him look at me made me feel dirty,” she said.

“I saw him. He wasn't even trying to be subtle.”

“You don't look at me that way. I don't feel like a specimen under a microscope with you.”

“I'm subtle.”

“Oh, you're bad!” she laughed. “You had me fooled. I thought you were a gentleman.”

“I am. I just meant,... well,... I look at you, but I don't drool over you like he did.”

Sarah stared at me, a combination of shock and amusement on her pretty face. “But you've checked me out? Is that what you're saying?”

“Well, uh, yeah, I guess. I'm a man. You're a very attractive woman. So yes, I've looked. Don't sue me.”

“I won't.”

“Look, Sarah, I feel really awkward. I'm digging myself into a hole here. What I'm trying to say is, I see how you work as well as how you look. Is that so bad?”

She was silent for a moment. “No. I guess not. I'm just not used to getting compliments. At least, not on anything but my work.”

“That surprises me. I'll bet your husband tells you how nice you look all the time.”

“No, that's not what he focuses on.”

I started the car. “I guess I should get you back to your office so you can get home.”

“Do you want to discuss what we did today, and what we want to accomplish tomorrow?” she asked. “I already told my family I'd be late. Tim will make dinner while the kids do their homework, and he'll come up with something fun to do with them until it's time for bed. We share pretty much all the childcare and household responsibilities. He's Mr. Mom when I do work like this.”

“Should we stop for dinner and a drink?” I asked.

“Not a bad idea. Just one drink, though. I do have to drive home at some point.”

“I'll have to drive you back to get your car, too, so yes, just one,” I agreed. “Mind if I put the top down? Your hair won't blow too much.”

She looked up. “It's metal, isn't it?”

“I guess so.” I pressed the button that began the transformation.

“Oh, my father would love this thing! He's such a car nut!” she said, in the most animated voice I had heard all day.

“This is the 'play' part of that all-work-and-no-play thing I mentioned.” I eased the sleek roadster into traffic, and soon we were on the highway.

“Where are you staying?” she asked, wisps of her honey locks dancing in the breeze.

“There,” I said, pointing to a sign advertising my hotel.

“Do they serve food in their bar?”

“Sandwiches and salads. We can sit and talk.”

“Sounds good,” she said.

I parked the car, and we walked into the hotel lounge. The place was almost deserted, and the music was quiet enough for conversation. We found a small table, got our menus, and placed our order.

“I just had an alarming thought,” Sarah said, after the waitress brought our drinks.

“Oh?”

“Yes. What is a nice housewife like me doing here with another man?”

“Is that what this is, in your mind?” I asked. “To me, it's business associates grabbing dinner, unwinding and having a strategy session.”

“It is, of course,” she said, “but how does it look?”

“Who cares? People do this all the time. You're putting yourself in the exact niche that brought on your little show in your office this morning. You know that, don't you?”

She sighed, looking down at the table. Then she raised her eyes to mine. “You're right. I try so hard to be one of the guys in the office or when I'm out in the field, but sometimes I just can't do it.”

“Why can't you be Sarah Blevins?”

“I don't know,” she said, almost to herself. She sipped her drink in silence.

I asked, “What are your overall thoughts on what we saw today? You mentioned your bullshit sense as soon as we walked in there, and you seemed like you were onto some stuff right away.”

“You painted a pretty accurate picture of what to expect, although you failed to mention what a smarmy little creep Owens is.”

“We're going to bring him down if there's anything at all wrong,” I said. “We're playing detective here.”

“You make this sound so clandestine,” she grinned.

“Only in my Walter Mitty fantasies. Seriously, though, do you agree that there is something funny about those books?”

“I have some questions,” she said. “A lot of them, in fact.”

“Good. Now, off business for a minute. Who is Sarah Blevins? What makes you tick?”

“Honestly? Well, there's Sarah, the hard-working forensic accountant. That's who you saw today. There's Sarah, the wife and mother. I can bore you to tears with stories about potty training and parent-teacher conferences. I can tell you how to get grass stains out of little league uniforms and bubble gum out of long hair, and at least five great salsa recipes.”

The waitress brought our dinners. When she was gone, I asked, “What about Sarah, the person?”

“Hmmm. Well, I'm the only child of two salt-of-the-earth working-class parents. I was a smart kid, bookish and shy. I knew the value of hard work, and my parents encouraged me in school. I did well. I was pretty much of a nerd. The quiet girl everyone liked, but no one really knew. I was okay with that.”

“How did you meet your husband?”

“In Sunday school when we were kids. We started dating in high school, church youth group things at first. We really liked each other, and that turned into puppy love. As we got older, we started to realize how serious we felt about each other, and we got married the summer after our high school graduation. We spent the first four years of our life together in college, living in the married-student apartments off-campus.”

“That's romantic,” I said.

“It was, I guess. Anyway, after college, he got a very good job, so he supported me while I worked on my master's degree. We were doing okay, so we decided to start a family. Two kids later, I was lucky enough to get a job where I can actually use my skills.”

“You got up to speed on those books faster than anyone I've ever seen. I've been doing this work almost as long as you've been alive.”

“Thank you, Don. You're going to have to give me some time to study things, though, before I can give you an accurate idea of where the bad smell of that place is coming from.”

“Of course.”

She sat back in her chair. “This is nice,” she sighed.

“This place?”

“No,” she laughed softly. “I meant relaxing with dinner and a drink. I don't do this enough.”

“How often do you take time for yourself?”

“I work at least fifty hours a week. I have two kids. I mow the yard for exercise and to get a little sun. I might do some web-surfing if I can't sleep at night, but time for me ended in high school.”

“Don't you and Tim do anything together as a couple? A date night, a weekend away?” I asked.

“No, not really. We were going to go on a married couples' retreat with the church a couple of summers ago, but the kids got sick.”

“Isn't there anything you do for fun?” I asked.

“Fun? Believe it or not, this is the first time I've been in a place that serves alcohol in about five years. It's probably the first time I've been out of the house alone for something other than work, the hairdresser, or the grocery store since I did my Christmas shopping last fall.”

“I used to be like that,” I said. “Worked all the time, trying to build my career. I never took time to play, or to really even build any relationships. It didn't make sense to try, since I was always on the road. When I landed this job with the divorce practice, I built a little house, but I never found anyone I wanted to share it with.”

“I'm sorry,” Sarah said.

“I'm not. Maybe I'm not the type that should be married. I'm just fine in my bachelor pad in the woods.”

“Do you see anyone?”

“What are you asking?” I chuckled. “Do I ever have dinner with anyone, or do I get laid?”

Sarah looked embarrassed and then started to giggle. “I meant the former. I would have assumed the latter, depending on your answer.”

“The answer to the former is yes.”

“Okay,” she replied. Awkward silence followed.

“I think I offended you,” I said.

“No, no, it's okay. Sex was just the farthest thing from my mind.”

It was my turn to be silent.

“You're older, so maybe you can tell me something, if you will?”

“I'll try,” I said.

“I could ask my father, but I don't want to know his answer.”

“What's your question?”

“I can't believe I'm asking you this. All right. At what age do men start to lose interest in sex?

“I don't know,” I chuckled. “I haven't hit it yet.”

“Really? How old are you?” Sarah asked.

“Sixty.”

“You're my father's age, but you still think about, you know, women and sex?”

“Yes. Supposedly, a man's desire peaks in his late teens or early twenties. That may be true, but I haven't noticed much of a decline.”

She remarked, “I've read that women seem to want sex more when they get to their late thirties or early forties.”

“So I've heard. Why are we talking about this?”

“I don't know,” she answered, more to herself than to me.

“You're unhappy, aren't you, Sarah? You don't have to tell me why, but if it will make you feel better, I'll listen.”

She gave me a shy grin. “How much do you charge for a session, Dr. Croswell?”

“No charge. Professional courtesy. Now, tell me as much or as little as you want,” I said.

“Maybe we can talk while you drive me back to my car. I should try to get some sleep tonight.”

Sarah was quiet for most of the trip back to her office building.

“Where do you live?” I asked.

“Twenty minutes up the highway from here. I would drive past your hotel on my way to Owens' building if I came straight from home. Should I pick you up in the morning?” she asked.

“Meet me in my lobby at eight. We'll have breakfast and then I'll drive us to the plant.

“Ooh, I'm going to meet an older man at his hotel again. Sounds naughty,” she laughed.

“Breakfast and work sound naughty? You don't get out much, do you?”

“I was raised to work hard. It's what I do. Anything out of my routine can seem like an adventure to me,” she said.

In the parking garage of her building, Sarah got out of my car, but leaned in to say, “See you in the morning!” I got a quick close-up of her chest when she did that, and a nice view of her legs when she climbed into her minivan.

The next morning, Sarah was waiting in the lobby when I came off the elevator. As promised, she was dressed in slacks with a matching blazer, over a light sweater. If she was trying to cover up her good looks, she failed miserably. Even in this outfit, she was very attractive. Her height and those long, long legs were simply accentuated by the full-cut trousers she wore, and, if anything, I got a better appreciation of her trim torso and entertaining bust line. With her hair pulled back and held in a pale blue clip that matched her eyes, she looked even better than she had the day before. Even more desirable.

“Good morning,” I called.

“Hi!” Sarah smiled, turning to greet me. “Ready for breakfast?”

“Sure.” We walked toward the restaurant.

The place was set up as a buffet. We got trays, and she took a lo-cal blueberry muffin, a grapefruit half, and black coffee. I almost felt guilty piling my plate with scrambled eggs, sausage, and “hash browns,” but that's what I felt like eating.

“No wonder you look the way you do,” I remarked as I buttered a piece of toast.

“What? This?” she asked as she picked a bit off the muffin and popped it in her mouth.

“Yes. I thought we were having breakfast. I feel like a glutton, sitting across from you.”

Sarah laughed. “You said last night you wanted to know more about me. Here's something I wouldn't tell just anyone. I made French toast for the kids this morning before they left on the school bus. I make damn good French toast. I had some nice, crisp bacon with it. It's okay, I did my miles on the treadmill after I got home last night.”

“I see you wore slacks today.”

“Yeah. That creep doesn't need to be looking at my legs like he did,” she said.

“You'll break his heart,” I teased.

“Do I look okay in this outfit, Don?”

I looked at her between sips of my orange juice. I wanted to tell her that she would probably look great even in a burka, but instead, I said, “I think you look just fine. I like what you did with your hair. If you were going for business professional, I'd say you pulled it off.”

“I wanted to look a little more severe today, you know, hair tied back, ready to start digging. Maybe these will help.” She fumbled in her bag, pulled out a pair of reading glasses, and perched them far down on her nose. “I decided to give the eyes a rest from contact lenses today. I have my prescription sunglasses for driving and these for work.”

The glasses certainly completed the look, if she wanted to resemble the librarian that gave all the guys wood in high school. “Perfect,” I deadpanned.

We worked non-stop that day, eating delivered pizza in the conference room. It was almost six o'clock when Owens appeared in the doorway. “Should I start another small project? Or are you two about ready to call it a day?” he asked, still wearing that painted-on, cheerful, lecherous smile.

“Are you at a good stopping point, Ms. Blevins?” I asked, saving my file and closing my laptop.

There was something in her eyes when she spoke. “Might as well,” she replied. She packed up her materials.

As Owens ushered us through the door, he said, “Lovely outfit, Ms. Blevins. Is it a designer I should know? Even these loose, non-tailored styles look good on a body like yours. Maybe it's the sweater.”

Sarah gathered herself to her impressive full height and gave him an icy stare. “Clearance racks at the mall last year, if you must know. You are starting to be inappropriate, Mr. Owens. Good day.” She strode off in the direction of the car.

“Owens, think about the laws we have these days about harassment, and the court cases. You already have enough problems. I'll let your secretary know when we'll be back,” I said, as I turned to catch up to Sarah.

She threw herself in the car as soon as I unlocked it, and already had her seat-belt on by the time I opened my door.

“Get me out of here.”

“Sarah, that bastar....” I began.

“Drive, please. I'd like to have a drink. And then I'll buy you as many as you want. I'm going to have to drive home. You just have to get on the elevator.”

“Why are we drinking?” I asked.

“Hush. I need to look up a few things,” she said as she worked with her phone.

I drove to the hotel in silence, parked the car, and turned off the engine.

After a moment, Sarah said, “Can you wait a minute or so?”

“Of course.” The car made its muted cool-down noises, and Sarah's nails clicked on her screen.

“Okay,” she said with a grin, putting her phone away. “Now, yes, let's have a drink. I need to talk to you.”

We found a quiet booth and placed our order. “I'm waiting for someone to get back to me,” she said, “but let me tell you what I do know. I understand the real reason his wife is divorcing him.”

“The payments to their former housekeeper, that Jamaican woman,” I said.

Sarah replied, “I think there's more. Everyone knows he cheated once. That' on record. It was when he started leering at me that I decided to look for more of that sort of nonsense. After all, he's been making those payments to the Jamaican for almost fifteen years. That's a long time for a man who has strayed once before. Besides, there seem to be company expenditures that could be similar to the support payments he's already making privately.”

“Company expenditures?” I repeated. “Did you find anything concrete?”

“When my friend gets back to me, we'll know if I'm right.”

“Owens really pissed you off back there, didn't he?” I asked.

“Yes, he did. Dammit, I'm not that kind of woman. I'm certainly not dressing to seduce some slimy little man like that. Hell, I don't even have sex!”

Her words hung in the air for a moment before she realized what she had said.

“With someone like him, I mean! I can't believe I just said that!”

“He really offended you. Do you want to pursue it?”

“What, take legal action against him? Hopefully, it won't be worth it when his wife's attorney is done. Besides, Tim would never understand.”

“What do you mean?”

“He would probably think I had done something to entice the pig.”

“You haven't,” I said.

“I'm certainly not trying to. That's not who I am. I'm not comfortable being sexual in public. I'm not sexual, am I? Be honest, Don.”

“Do you feel sexual?” I asked.

She looked down, played with the ice in her drink for a moment, and then looked at me again. “Am I talking to Dr. Croswell now?” she grinned.

“Is it better if you do?”

“If I see it that way, then I can answer you. No, I don't feel sexual, not usually, anyway.”

“You mean, not in public,” I said.

“Hoo, boy, honesty time. No, I mean I don't feel sexual at all, anywhere, usually. Why am I talking about this?”

“You need some private time with your husband,” I said.

“I try that. I manage to get five minutes of affection every once in a while.”

“I see.”

“He's actually said that he does it to please me, but he's finished in no time, so I fake it so he can get some sleep,” she said.

“Sarah, I don't know what to say.”

“It's okay, mostly. He's the father of my children, so obviously we've had some sex.”

“How long has it been, if you don't mind me asking?”

“Believe it or not, no, I don't mind. It was when the kids were at my parents' place for the weekend about three months ago,” she said. “I guess that's a long time.”

“It would be, for some people,” I answered.

She continued, “He usually won't do anything if the kids are home, even if they're sound asleep. Their rooms are upstairs, and we have motion-sensor nightlights all over the place for safety, just in case someone wanders. We would easily see the light under the bedroom door, and we would lock it anyway, but he doesn't think it's worth the risk.”

I said, “To a degree, I see his point, but you two should be able to work around it. Give the kids a gold star or something if they stay upstairs, and then some reward when they earn enough.”

Sarah shrugged. “The kids already stay upstairs. It's probably been three years since either one of them has gotten out of bed in the middle of the night, and that was only when we all had the flu. Tim's just not that into sex, I guess.”

“You are?” I asked.

“Wow, pretty direct with the questions, there, Dr. Croswell!” she laughed.

“Too direct?”

“No, I guess not. If I actually dragged Tim to counseling or something, they'd probably ask the same thing. So, I guess the answer is yes. I do like sex. Or, at least, I think I do. Or would. I can't believe I'm saying this,...” she trailed off.

“I'm not sure I understand. Are you saying you think you should like sex, but you're not sure if you do?”

Sarah's phone rang. “It's Tim,” she said.

Finished with dinner, I excused myself to give her privacy to talk. She was just hanging up when I came back to the table.

“Problem?” I asked.

“No, just an update from the home front. The kids are getting ready for bed, and Tim's going to watch one of his stupid war movies,” she replied.

We sipped our drinks quietly for a minute. Then she said, “I'm going to try to answer your last question. I think I like sex, but I feel like I should enjoy it more. See, Tim's the only man I've ever been with. We saved ourselves for our wedding night.”

“I see.”

“Stop being so clinical, Doctor,” she chuckled.

“I'm sorry. I'm just not used to learning this much from a work colleague. Okay, you gave each other your virginity on your honeymoon.”

“Yes, we were both raised to wait, and we did. I guess that's good,” she said.

“Well, sure, you shared, you expressed your emotional love physically, and you learned together how to bring each other pleasure,” I said.

“See, that's the thing,” she responded. “I'm not sure how much we've learned.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do I have to say it out loud? All right, fine. I've never had an orgasm from sex. I've never had an orgasm with Tim in almost nineteen years of marriage. I've faked it every time.”

“Sarah, some women have a lot of difficulty achieving a strictly vaginal-based orgasm. As long as he's satisfying you in some way,...”

“But he's not. That's another problem,” she said.

“What about manual stimulation, or oral?” I asked.

“He spends a couple of seconds rubbing around down there, and then he's ready to go. Tim doesn't do oral. He says it's not clean, and that it's disgusting. I even tried to do it to him, since I've heard guys like it a lot. I thought maybe he wouldn't be so hung up about it if I did it first, but he pushed me away and wouldn't even kiss me for a couple of days.”

“There must be something you two can do to make things better,” I said. “How long has it been this way?”

“Tim said early-on in our marriage that he thought maybe sex wasn't exciting for him because he was afraid of an unwanted pregnancy. When we decided to start a family, I got pregnant right away. He was thrilled when I told him, but he wouldn't touch me until after our daughter was born. It was the same thing with our son.”

“Do you think that's why you have so little sex now? Fear of getting you pregnant?”

“Hardly. We talked about it way back when we were in high school. We wanted two kids, period. When our son was born, we discussed it again, and I had my tubes tied. So no, that's definitely not it.”

“So, there's no physical intimacy between you two?”

“We always hug and kiss when we get home, and we make it a point to give a kiss good-bye, even if we're just going to the convenience store down the street. He kisses me good-night, but it's pretty much the same kiss we give the kids. What's wrong with me? Am I that unattractive?” Sarah asked.

“You're very attractive, Sarah. A man would have to be blind to not see that.

“I wish that were his problem,” she said. “I just think he doesn't like sex. I know he was raised to believe that sex is wrong unless it's for procreation.”

“There were people in my generation who were raised that way,” I said, “but I thought all that nonsense stopped with the Age of Aquarius, free love, and the whole 'If it feels good, do it' hedonism thing.”

“Apparently not,” she mused, “at least not in my house.”

“I'm sorry. I don't know what to say,” I replied.

“There's nothing TO say. Now, I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention this to anyone. The whole thing is pretty personal, you know.”

“Of course. I would never reveal a secret told in confidence.”

“I gather you like sex,” she said.

“Well, yeah, I do,” I answered. “It's not just the actual sex act, either – you know, penetration and orgasm. I like the whole intimacy thing, the foreplay, discovering ways to give and receive pleasure, and the after-play, if you will – the cuddling, the shower, whatever it is people do after sex. I enjoy all parts of making love with a woman.”

“How do you make love to a woman?”

“Hmmm. I never had anyone ask me to lay it all out before. I guess it depends on whether we've been together before, or if it's going to be a new experience,” I mused. “If she's a partner I've been with before, hopefully I already know what pleases her and what things she doesn't like. I build on that knowledge base.”

“What if it's your first time with someone, or if the woman is inexperienced?” she asked.

“Inexperienced, as in she's a virgin? Or inexperienced, meaning she hasn't done all that much? I was with one virgin, way back in high school.”

“Let's say she's not a virgin, but she's never had really satisfying sex,” Sarah said.

I caught myself before I said, “I'll show you.” Instead, I tried to make myself think in theoretical terms. Finally, I said, “I think I would start with something relatively benign, like holding her hand on a romantic walk, or over dinner or drinks.”

“So, you're saying, the situation we're in right now could be the start of a seduction for you?”

“I guess.”

“You mean, if you were holding my hand right now, it would mean we were headed for bed?”

“Not necessarily. Besides, you're a colleague, and you're married. I'm talking about a situation where both parties wanted sex, and were working their way up to it.”

“How many women have you been with?”

“Hmm. I'd have to make a list, but I'd say around fifty.”

“Fifty!” she exclaimed.

“Is this a research assignment? Do you want me to work on a list tonight?”

“Have you ever been with a married woman?”

“Yes, once,” I admitted.

“What about the marriage vows? Didn't you feel like you were committing a sin?”

“I guess we were. She was separated from her husband and was in the process of a divorce, so maybe it could be argued that she wasn't really all that married any more. She initiated it, and we discussed the ramifications of adultery. By the time the subject came up, we were already naked, so we just did what we did.”

Our conversation moved on to the discoveries we had made so far in poring over Owens' financial records.

Her phone rang. She greeted the caller, and then listened for a while, taking some quick notes. “Really?... Yeah.... You're kidding!... Oh, that slimy bastard!... Yes, send it all to me. I owe you. Talk to you later.” She closed her phone again. “That was my contact. He turned up some very interesting information. Those consulting fees we saw? You know, the ones to parties we didn't recognize? The ones that happen on the first of every month?”

“Yeah?” I responded.

Her phone rang again. “Great,” she grumbled. “Hi, Tim.... No, we're still working.... Uh huh.... Okay.... Well, I don't know.... I'm waiting for someone to send me some files.... I may just sleep on the couch in the office. You know I always keep an overnight bag and a change of clothes in the car.... Yeah, that way, I can keep working and still be at the plant early tomorrow.... All right.... Love you, too. Bye.” She put her phone back in her purse.

“You were saying?” I prompted.

“Yes, the so-called consulting fees. One of them could be payment for services rendered and for ongoing silence. That money goes to an unlicensed abortion clinic.”

“WHAT?”

“That's not all,” Sarah said. “Another of those consulting fees gets laundered into a cash payment to a neighbor woman who has a six-year old son. She somehow got pregnant right after she moved in to her new house. The really shocking one, though, is to the parents of a girl who was fourteen when the payments started.”

“Fourteen? Smiling Bill Owens has a child by a fourteen-year old girl?” I sputtered.

“It seems that way. I knew I didn't like the bastard,” Sarah said.

“I didn't either, but I had no idea he was doing that kind of thing. How did you find all this out?”

“You probably don't want to know. Let's just say, if someone's skillful enough, or unscrupulous enough, they can hack into almost anything,” she said.

I shook my head. “Owens, that greasy slime-ball! No wonder his wife wants to be done with him. But if this information was obtained in, shall we say, less than honorable ways, what are we going to do with it?”

“Not sure yet. Owens probably thinks he has his tracks well-covered,” Sarah mused.

“Could be, but he's got to be nervous with us snooping around.”

“What if we just don't talk to him for a day or two? Let him stew. We'll see if we can find a way to corroborate any of this through more legitimate channels,” Sarah suggested.

“I did tell him I would call his secretary to schedule our next visit when you stormed off.”

“Good. So, since we can't do anything until I get those files, let's have another drink,” she said.

When our re-fills came, Sarah removed the clip from her hair and combed it out with her fingers. “Tell me what you do for foreplay with a woman,” she said.

“It depends on the woman, of course, and what signals I'm getting from her. Usually, I like to be the one who gets her undressed. There are a lot of opportunities for teasing, touching, kissing, and just generally building sexual tension with that.”

“Do you like your woman to undress you?”

“Sure. She has the same opportunities to help the build-up as I do.”

“What do you do to the woman after you have her undressed?”

“I like to touch her, run my fingers all over her. Then I kiss her, starting on her mouth and working my way down.”

“Do you perform oral sex on your women?”

“Yes. I love doing that, since most women seem to like having it done. Often, it's easier to bring a woman to multiple orgasms with my mouth than it is through genital-to-genital sex.”

“Do the women perform oral sex on you?” she asked.

“Sometimes. I leave that up to them. Some women don't like doing it, and that's fine.”

“You don't mind if they don't?”

“No, not at all” I said. “Sex should be a great experience for both partners, an exchange of pleasure. Making a woman uncomfortable or asking her to do something she doesn't want to do is wrong.”

“Do your women always have an orgasm?”

“Usually, most of them more than once. I feel like I would be cheating a woman if I got off and she didn't, so I do everything I can to bring her to climax.” By this time, of course, I was wondering what it would be like to make Sarah cum and to have her return the favor.

“What types of things do you do to make a woman have an orgasm?”

“It depends on the signals I get from her. Some women can cum from careful attention to the breasts and nipples. Some will have an orgasm from finger penetration of the vagina or manual stimulation of the clitoris. Most will cum with oral sex. Some can climax during intercourse, but apparently not all, so I sometimes take a break in the middle of it to play them with my tongue some more.”

“How do you know what your woman needs or wants?” she asked.

“Sometimes, I'll just ask. If I'm spending a lot of time on a woman's nipples and she doesn't seem to be getting more aroused, I'll start rubbing her clitoris, or her vaginal opening, or even her anus with a finger or two. If I get a big, positive reaction from that, I may move away from the breasts and focus on something else.”

“Her anus?” Sarah asked in seeming amazement.

“For some, the anus is a very erogenous zone. It has a lot of nerve endings in it, and if you have the proper mindset, ass-play can be a big turn-on. Maybe you're not aware of it, but some women enjoy having their anus penetrated by a finger, tongue, toy, or penis.”

“I've read about that, but I didn't think it was real,” she said.

“Maybe Tim might like doing that to you,” I offered.

“Are you kidding me? If he's barely willing to touch my vagina because he thinks it's disgusting, how do you think he'd react if I asked him to play with my ass?” she exclaimed.

“Just a suggestion. Look, Sarah, not all guys are as into sex as I am. They're content with just the occasional quickie.”

“Yeah, apparently.”

“And you're not,” I said.

She sighed. “No, frankly, I'm not. I always thought sex would be exhilarating, exciting, and fulfilling. I thought it would bring us closer together. I assumed we'd figure out what we were doing and have a lot of fun with it. But I want a lot more than I'm getting.”

“Okay, I'm going to ask you a question. I hope you won't get offended,” I said.

“Go ahead.”

“Do you masturbate?”

She blushed visibly. “Yes, I do sometimes. I always do after Tim and I have sex. I'm just starting to get warmed up when he's ready to roll over and go to sleep, so I learned to do it then just so I could fall asleep, too. Now, I do it sometimes when I go online. I found a website that I sometimes go to that has erotic stories. Often, they'll get me going.”

“So you are getting some release, then,” I said.

“Some. Not enough. Oh sure, I can make myself have an orgasm, but it just feels kind of empty. I feel like it would be so much better if a man would do things to me.”

“Well, since you're being so honest, I'll tell you, I masturbate too, and you're right. It's much better with a partner. For me, it's a whole lot better if I can satisfy a partner while satisfying myself.”

Sarah seemed very interested in stirring her drink, but finally, she looked up and said, “Don? Can I trust you?”

“After the things we've just shared, I would say you're pretty safe,” I said.

Her hand reached across the table and laid on top of mine. She stroked it lightly with her fingertips, and then asked, “Will you help me?”

“Help you?”

“Yes, will you help me? Will you take me to your room and make love to me?” she asked.

“You're married.”

“I don't want to cheat on my husband, but not getting any attention is driving me crazy. Maybe it was the whole thing with Owens today. I don't know, but somehow, that creep did manage to let me know that I'm still alive, that I'm not some dried up old prune of a married lady.”

“Are you kidding me? You're a beautiful woman. When I first met you, I was surprised to see how young and pretty you look,” I said.

“You don't have to flatter me,” she said with an embarrassed smile. “I already asked you to take me to your room.”

“Okay, but why, Sarah? What is it you really want?”

”I need to be appreciated, dammit! In all ways. Not just as a good mother, or a good home-maker or a good forensic accountant – I need to be appreciated as a woman. I'm coming up to my fortieth birthday a lot faster than I thought I would. Just once before it's too late, I'd like to know that a man enjoyed me, and I'd like to enjoy that man right back.”

“Sarah, I don't know what to say.”

She withdrew her hand and looked down. “Way to make a complete fool of yourself, Sarah Lynn Blevins,” she mumbled.

“No, wait,” I quickly said. “You didn't make a fool of yourself. You're a beautiful woman. I'd be thrilled to have you in my bed. I'm just a little surprised. Won't guilt rear its ugly head in the morning? Is this you talking, or is it the drinks?”

She sighed. “Sure, there will be some guilt. I think there would have to be something wrong with me if I didn't feel just a little bit guilty. But no, I'm not drunk. Just unappreciated. Besides, it's not like Tim will find out. He thinks I'm planning to sleep in my office. I've done that before. Pretty much the only way he'd find out would be if I got pregnant, and that's not going to happen.”

“You don't think you'll find yourself needing to tell him?”

“And risk losing my kids? Not likely,” she answered.

“Aren't you afraid of taking this step? Of looking outside your marriage to find physical love?”

“Of course! But after all these years, I think the only way I'm going to find physical love is to do exactly that – look outside the marriage. I feel like an old woman at home. This may be my last chance to break out of my shell”

“I don't want this to change things between us, Sarah,” I said, taking her hand in mine again.

“I'm sure it will change things, and I don't care. I need to feel wanted and special. I need to know I'm normal. I need to find out if I can have an orgasm with a man. Don't worry. I'm not going to fall in love with you. I just want to make love with you.”

“Okay,” I said.

We finished our drinks and left the lounge. In the elevator, I pulled her to me and kissed her lightly on the lips. It was a gentle kiss, not a passionate one, but still, she gasped.

I put the key card in the lock and heard it open. Sarah was clinging to my free hand with both of hers. We walked into the room, and I turned on the light on the desk.

“Two queen sized beds?” she asked.

“That's what they had available.”

She looked at the beds, clearly visible in the glow from the desk. “Do you want to have the light on?”

“Not if you don't,” I said, turning back to the desk to switch off the lamp.

“No, leave it on. I don't mind, I guess. It's just that Tim always insists on having the lights off.”

“Whatever you want. I can turn it off if that would be better.”

“No, it's fine. It's just one more thing that's different from what I've done in the past. Maybe that's a good thing,” she said as she took her jacket off.

“May I do that?” I asked.

“What?”

“Undress you.”

“Do you want to?”

“Yes, unless that would make you uncomfortable.”

“I've never had someone else undress me,” she said.

“Have you ever undressed Tim?”

“No. We just get in bed in our night clothes and then take them off ourselves. We change in the bathroom separately. Tim thinks the naked human body is something others shouldn't see. He wouldn't even come into the delivery room when our kids were born.”

I pulled her to me and kissed her. She seemed timid at first, but soon, we were kissing passionately, teasing each other with our tongues. My hands, which at first had been on her back, soon moved down to her high, firm buttocks. She moaned when I first began massaging them and pressed her crotch against mine.

Between tastes of her sweet mouth, I said, “Lift your arms.”

“Hmmm?” she breathed.

“So I can get your top off,” I murmured as I kissed her behind the ear.

She whimpered almost too softly for me to hear, but then stepped back slightly, lifting her arms over her head like a child needing help with a difficult garment. After I freed her hair from her sweater, I smoothed her tresses and cupped her face to kiss her again. The bare skin of her shoulders and chest was smooth and pale in the indirect light.

As our tongues played and explored, my hands were drawn to her lovely ass again. My touch was answered by stronger kisses from Sarah and firm pressure from her still-clothed mound against my growing hardness.

We broke our kiss and moved apart slightly. “Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yes. I feel like I've already cheated, just kissing you and letting you take my sweater off. It doesn't matter. I want more.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Hurry, before I lose my nerve,” she whispered, kissing me again.

It took two hands, but I was able to open her belt and her slacks and lower them without breaking our kiss. Her ass was hot to the touch, the feel of the lace edge of her silky bikini panties making her seem all the more sexy and innocent.

“Should I undress you?” she asked.

“Would you like to help?” I offered, bending down to help her step out of her slacks and shoes.

“Yes. Can you believe I've never done this? I helped my father with his shirts when he had his one hand in a cast when I was young, and my kids when they were little, but I've never done it when I was half naked myself.”

I sat on the edge of the bed to take off my shoes and socks. “Come here, please,” I said.

She sat next to me and folded her hands in her lap.

“If I wind up naked on this bed with you, I know what I'm going to want to do,” I warned her.

“I hope so,” Sarah blushed. She began opening the buttons on my shirt.

When it was off, she started working on my belt. In seconds, my slacks were on the floor. She looked at the obvious bulge in my briefs and then kissed me, even harder than before. When she pulled back, she said, “Don't question this again. I want to spend the night in this bed with you. I want you to help me make up for all the years I've missed.”

We pulled the covers down. I lay on my back, and pulled her to lie partially on top of me. “I want you to enjoy this, but you're going to have to help. I want you to let me know what you like and what you don't. Okay?” I asked.

“Okay.”

I brushed her hair aside and kissed her neck, softly, hoping to find a spot that would make her moan.

“Oh,” she whispered. “What are you doing?”

“Making love to you.” I caressed the strap of her lace-edged bra off her left shoulder and traced my finger over the slight crease it left in her soft skin. The right strap came down more easily, and I kissed her there. Her breath caught in her throat for an instant when I opened the fastener.

“My breasts are sensitive.”

“In a good way?”

“I play with them when I masturbate,” she said. “It makes me wet.”

“That's good to know.” I guided her over onto her back and lifted her bra off. She had lovely nipples, a nice size to play with, and they were getting harder as I watched.

The years have very kind to this woman. Her breasts had matured from cute teenager to hot young woman somewhere along the way, so that now, the best way to describe them was perfectly vine-ripened.

Her pale skin glowed in the light of the desk lamp. My hand crept across one proud breast. The nipple was firm on my palm as I kissed her. I felt myself lengthen and thicken more.

“Don,” she shivered. “I feel you against my leg.”

“Yes,” I said, leaving her mouth and tasting her nipple for the first time. At that moment I smelled her warmth.

“You're making me wet.”

“Good.”

Her hand went down to touch herself.

“No, no, I'll get there,” I said, licking my way over to her other breast.

“Don't take too long,” she whimpered, turning her hand to stroke me through my shorts. “You're really hard.”

“Uh huh.” My hand moved past hers so I could trace a finger over the damp center of her panties.

She grasped my erection through my underwear, bending it up so the tip was out over the waistband. Her massage continued, her fingers running more and more urgently over the underside of my swollen shaft.

When I pulled the crotch of her damp panties aside and touched her wet flesh for the first time, she jolted visibly. More of her sweet smell wafted to my nose, and I knew I would be tasting her for the first time very soon.

“Take them off, Don. Please take them off,” she gasped.

When I moved between her long, shapely legs, she lifted her hips slightly, letting me slide the sodden fabric off her. The obviously aroused, beautiful Mrs. Sarah Blevins lay naked in my bed.

I played with her soft short curls, probably the shade of honey-blond the hair on her head would be if the sun couldn't kiss it. Just to get her reaction, I ran my fingers over her damp slit and then slipped them into my mouth. She watched me with her pale blue eyes, the pupils dilated, her breathing rapid, almost as though she couldn't get enough air.

I kissed her sweet mouth again, listening to her moans as I made my way from her throat to her breasts. I enjoyed them for a while, and then kissed my way across her belly.

She spread her legs in anticipation. I lay on my elbows between them, fucking her with my eyes. Then I slid my tongue from her navel down into her hair, trimmed for modesty in a swim-suit. I stopped just short of her hood and looked up at her. She was propped up on her elbows to watch, her tongue moistening her soft lips.

“Go ahead,” she whispered.

“Oh, I will,” I answered, inhaling her aroma. She smelled sweet, ripe, and juicy. I wanted to savor this. I moved down and stretched my tongue to just tease the front edge of her pale little asshole, through the sparse, damp hair of her perineum, along the wetness of her slit, and up to her hood. She jumped, and her thigh muscles clenched, trying not to slam her knees together. I did it again, a little deeper this time. Another jump, with a whimper escaping around the knuckles she had stuffed in her mouth.

With my fingers, I eased her lips apart, revealing her pink juiciness and her winking hole. I made sure to keep eye contact with her this time, as I hardened my tongue and probed her. I licked upward again, bringing her sweet-tart creaminess with me. Her clit was starting to show itself, so I licked it thoroughly. Her answering jump was more violent, and the tremors in her long thigh muscles lasted a lot longer.

“Relax. Let me do this. We both want it,” I murmured, reaching up to caress one fine breast.

“I'm trying to relax,” she whined, her pretty lower lip caught between white teeth.

“Good,” I said. Her labia were swollen now with want, the petals opening so I didn't need to hold them. I combed her soft, short curls between my fingers for a moment, and then slid my middle finger to her opening. “May I?” I asked.

She didn't answer – just nodded, still nibbling on her lip. God, she looked beautiful and sexy like that. I wish I had had a camera at that moment. I would carry a photo in my wallet of her honey-colored hair strewn on the pillow, her brow furrowed, the way she does when she's concentrating at work. The pupils of her baby blue eyes were large and deep, echoing the desire her pouting mouth showed. How any man could not want her the way I did was beyond me.

I slid my finger inside. She was warm, almost hot, and I could feel the same tension in these muscles that I had seen in her quivering thighs. It would be easy to make her cum.

Fingering her gently, I sucked and licked at her clit. Her moans turned to lower, more guttural gasps. She seemed to pump herself up with these, suddenly exploding into the music and movements of a strong orgasm. We held each other locked in place, her heels digging into my back and her thighs shielding my ears from her yell. I pulled her sex tight to my face, the fingers of my free hand dug into the firm flesh of her ass cheeks, licking her again and again, relishing both her flavor and her sounds.

I pulled my finger from her, and licked up her spilled nectar. That's when I heard her mutter, “You have to stop. You have to stop, please.”

“Why?”

“I need you to hold me. My heart is racing,” her shaky voice said.

I moved up and lay on my back again, pulling her against me. Her fists were clenched against my chest when I first kissed her, like a frightened child, but soon, she flattened her fingers against me and kissed me back like a satisfied woman. She seemed to relax as I stroked my hand lightly along her luscious ass cheeks.

Eventually, she breathed, “Your face is wet. I'm tasting myself on you. That was better than any ten of the orgasms I give myself combined.”

“I thought you might like oral sex,” I said, kissing her gently again.

“You were right. I'm going to want to do that again.”

“Good,” I said. “I liked doing it.”

“I want to do that for you,” she said, playing with the sparse, graying hair on my chest. Propping herself up on one elbow, she said, “Lift your hips so I can get your underwear off.

She pulled them down, revealing my manhood. It stood proud, happy to be in the fresh air. She just looked at