The Devils Pact Tales from the Best Buy Incident The Lesbian Cuckold
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"Hey, Kristi," Adam said, peering over the top of his cubicle. "There's something wild going on in South Hill."
I glanced up at Adam. He had piercing blue eyes, the kind that made every woman in the office melt whenever he looked at them. Well, every woman but me. I much preferred melting, blue eyes on a woman—like my wife, Ashley. She had these beautiful, gray-blue eyes that I could just lose myself in for hours.
"What?" I asked, curious.
I liked Adam. He didn't get the hungry look in his eyes like most guys do when they find out you are gay and you have a pin-up model for a wife. Since I started working at DaVita's Tacoma office last fall, I had become fast friends with Adam. It turned out we had a lot in common—the Seahawks, enjoying a beer after work, and staring at a pretty woman's ass and tits. We were both married, but there was no harm in looking, right?
"Some gas attack," Adam answered. "At the Best Buy."
I frowned, something nagging at the back of my mind. Then my eyes widened in sudden fear. As I headed out the door this morning, Ashley vaguely mentioned that she needed to go to Best Buy for something. I reached for my phone; I had to call her and make sure she was okay. The phone rang and rang and rang. When she didn't answer, my heart felt like it was in my throat.
"Call me right away," I all but shouted at her voice mail.
"I'm sure she's fine," Adam consoled, walking around to sit on the edge of my desk.
"I ... yeah, she probably just was driving, or something," I lied to myself. Ashley always answered her phone, even when driving. It drove me nuts.
Adam squeezed my shoulder then swore. "Here comes Gretchen."
He ducked out of my cubicle before our boss, the uptight Gretchen Dicks could yell at him. She was in her fifties, skinny as a dry stick, like all the fluid had been sucked out of her. Her hair was pulled back into a bun so tight her face was permanently stuck in a scowl. She was like a vulture, always hovering at the edges, waiting to swoop in and devour a dying animal.
"Ms. Shelly, this is work, not a coffee social," she snottily said, looking down at me over her long nose. "Stop flirting with Mr. Upton and do your work. I need those Medicare invoices."
"I wasn't flirting, Mrs. Dicks," I answered. Gretchen is a big stickler on last names. I pitied the poor man married to this harridan. "I'm gay, remember. And married. So, if you wouldn't mind, its Mrs. Shelly."
"By noon, Ms. Shelly," she continued, ignoring my words. "Your six month review is coming up."
I gritted my teeth and nodded my head. I turned back to my computer, but I couldn't make any sense of the Medicare accounts. My mind was too preoccupied with the possible fate of my wife. Gas attack. What does that mean? Like sarin gas? Are people dying in South Hill? I called Ashley a second time. Nothing. What was going on? Was Ashley okay? Shit!
I stood up and walked to the bathroom, entered the farthest stall and felt tears running down my face as I hugged myself. Ashley's fine, I kept telling myself. Ashley's fine. Her phone must have died and she hasn't realized it. Ashley's fine. I grabbed my phone, googling the gas attack. There weren't any casualties I saw with relief. Just some gas that made people act inappropriately.
Inappropriately? What did that mean?
Feeling a little more relieved—at least she wasn't dead—I left the stall and splashed water in my face. I dried off with a paper towel, then checked my makeup. I touched up my lipstick and mascara. Even with make-up, I was plain; dull, brown eyes set in a round face. My lips were small, my nose a little too big, and my brown hair fell lankly about my face. Flat, uninteresting brown. I was the opposite of my wife in every way. She was tall and blonde; her face beautiful, with strong cheekbones that gave her a fierce aspect. A gorgeous Valkyrie, I would joke. And her breasts. They were 36 DD with large nipples that I loved to bury my face in. I just had little B cups. They were practically A's. I had no hips and a flat butt, while my Ashley had an hourglass figure and a gorgeous rear.
My phone rang and I jumped. I scrabbled to pull it out of my purse. I couldn't find it. My purse was a mess, filled with my large, black leather wallet; extra tampons; lipstick tubes, half of them empty; blush; packets of moist towelettes; and plastic wrappers. Finally, I uncovered my phone and saw with relief that it was Ashley calling.
"Oh, thank God," I gasped into the phone.
"Hey, babe," Ashley answered, sounding a little tired. "I ... um ... am going to the hospital."
"Oh no, is it serious?"
"Um ... well, it's hard to explain. I was at Best Buy, and, um..."
"I heard there was a gas attack," I quickly said.
"Yeah, that's what they think happened. Um, it was weird. The gas made us do things..."
"What?" I asked.
"Um, it's hard to explain. Just come to the hospital, okay? It's Good Sam."
"I'm on my way, Ashley."
I sped the entire way to the hospital, not caring if I got a ticket. I had to see my wife. I hugged my wife when I found her in an exam room. She sat in stirrups, like she was about to get a gynecological exam. I was crying by the time Ashley told me what happened. My wife had been gang-raped. Some maniac made an entire store full of people fuck each other, and guy after guy took advantage of my wife.
"I'm fine," Ashley protested after the exam. "Just take me home, Kristi."
Ashley said she was fine, but she wasn't the same. In the days that followed, her interest in sex plummeted. My young wife used to be always begging me for sex, and it was usually me that said no. Now when we did have sex, Ashley would give me some great orgasms, but when I would return the favor, she just couldn't get going. I just had to be patient, I told myself over and over. She went through an ordeal. I encouraged her to go see a therapist, but she insisted that everything was okay. So, I decided to be the best, most supportive wife ever. I didn't marry her for the sex, but because she was a wonderful, caring woman.
"Kristi, the sink broke," Ashley said as she called me at work. It was Monday morning, my first day back since the attack. I took last Friday off to spend time with Ashley.
"Well, ask Rick if he can fix it." Rick was our next door neighbor, and he always helped out when things went wrong in our house. I had two left thumbs and Ashley was just hopeless with tools. Ashley is a college student on summer break. She was looking for a part-time job, but for now she had nothing to do but lounge around the house. "I got to go, Gretchen is walking this way."
"Okay, love you, Kristi."
When I got home from work I could hear the washing machine going and found Ashley making our bed. That's weird, I thought. I made the bed this morning before I went to work. Ashley wore a bathrobe, her blonde hair wet like she just got out of the shower.
"Hey, babe," I greeted.
"Oh, hi, Kristi," Ashley muttered and blushed guiltily.
"What?" I asked, frowning. "And why are the pink sheets on the bed?"
"I ... uh ... spilled red wine on the sheets," she answered. "Sorry, I'm washing them now. I don't think there will be a stain."
"Oh, that's okay," I said and kissed her. Ashley broke the kiss, and quickly went back to making the bed. I suppressed a sigh. "So, did Rick come over?"
"Yeah," Ashley answered, breathless, a smile playing on her lips. "He ... um ... he took care of the ... eh ... problem."
"Oh, good. He's a helpful guy. Good with his hands."
Ashley smiled fondly. "You have no idea, Kristi. And he's amazing with his tool!"
It was nice to see her smiling again, even if she was acting a little weird.
That night Ashley was more relaxed then she had been since the incident, almost back to her normal self, I was happy to see. Ever since the incident she had been tense and I was glad to see she found a release. In bed, Ashley went down on me and licked me to a screaming orgasm. When I offered to return the favor, she yawned and said she was too tired. After that amazing cum, I was tired as well, and I snuggled up to my wife and fell asleep.
The next day, when I got home, Ashley wore her bathrobe again, looking like she just took a shower. I found the blue sheets back on the bed and the pink sheets in the laundry. Neither of us liked the pink sheets. They were a gift from my mother who had weird ideas about what lesbians liked.
"I have good news," Ashley said with excitement. "I got my old bartending job back at the Lady Luck."
I blinked in surprise. "I thought you hated working there. You said all the guys just hit on you."
Ashley shrugged, "It wasn't that bad, and I made good money. Maybe we can afford to get that jacuzzi." There was a twinkle in my wife's eyes. She must be really excited about that jacuzzi to go back to work at the Lady Luck.
"Okay, but don't let those men paw you," I joked, reaching out to grab my wife's butt beneath her bathrobe.
"Oh, yeah," Ashley answered, shifting away from my playful hands. "I wouldn't want to be pawed by a bunch of guys."
I frowned, her eyes grew distant, like she was thinking about something, and a flush grew on her cheeks. "What?" I asked her.
Ashley frowned at me in confusion.
"You had this weird look in your eyes," I told her.
She smiled, "Just imagining how much fun I could have in a jacuzzi."
"When do you start?"
"Next week. They want me to work Fridays and Saturdays and maybe pull a shift in the middle of the week."
When I got home from work on Wednesday, I found my wife sleeping naked in our rumpled bed. "You okay?" I asked.
"What?" she yawned, and then her eyes opened in shock. "Oh, you're home early?"
"No, you fell asleep, silly" I said with a shake of my head.
She pulled the sheets over her body, seemingly embarrassed at being caught sleeping naked. I pulled off my work blouse and skirt and pulled on some more comfortable clothes. "I'm going to start dinner," I told her and I saw relief pass over my wife.
I shook my head, wondering at her odd behavior, as I headed for the kitchen. Just be patient with her, Kristi. It hasn't even been a week yet. I heard the shower going; she sure showered a lot these days. Maybe she feels dirty because of what happened to her. As I put the chicken in the oven, I heard the washing machine start up then Ashley walked out. She was happy, almost skipping around the room and positively glowing.
"You're in a good mood," I smiled.
"Yeah," she grinned. "Umm, I'm starving."
"Hmm, because lying around the house all day really makes you hungry," I joked.
"You have no idea," Ashley laughed.
"What are you washing?"
"Oh, the sheets," she sighed. "I spilled more wine on them. Sorry."
"You're turning into quite the klutz," I giggled, shaking my head at her. "You're going to wear out our washer at this rate."
After dinner, Ashley positively attacked me. She pushed me down on our bed, ripped my panties off, and just went to town on my pussy. Her tongue was everywhere and she used three fingers inside my cunt. She managed to give me multiple orgasms and when she finished, I was looking forward to returning the favor.
"I'm fine," Ashley shrugged, rolling over to go to bed.
"Oh, okay," I sighed in disappointment. I just needed to be patient with her.
The next day was Thursday, one week after the attack; I decided to take off work early to cook Ashley a delicious, candlelight dinner. I was going to make her favorite dish, so I swung by the market on the way home to pick up some lobster tails and a nice bottle of wine. After dinner, we could drink the wine and cuddle on the couch.
Jayla
- 03.12.2021
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