Long After The GameChapter 4 free porn video

It was Friday – and I'd barely realized it was – and I rolled into work a little late. Deanna was there already. It was her last day, as I recalled. There were Krispy Kremes on the front counter, and she had her headset on and was chatting to someone on Skype as I walked in. I noticed that several of the donuts were missing – so obviously the other guys were in – and she gave me a big smile, and, holding her mouth over the mike, said "Morning Bossman. Sorry, gotta take this. It's about a conference job next week."

I just nodded back, took a crème filled donut (my favorite!) and wandered into the office, noting she had an overnight bag by her desk. I didn't ask why.

An hour went past quite, and at 10am, Deanna stuck her head around the door of my office, where I was playing the latest build of the game and sucking terribly at taking out the third level boss monster. I was taking notes, and the major one being "Need to tighten up the graphics on level 3". I was sure I'd heard that statement somewhere before, but it seemed appropriate, so...

"Ready to go?" she enquired, with a smile.

I put down the iPad I was holding and said, puzzled, "Go? Go where? We don't have any meetings I don't know about, do we?"

"No, Ryan. I asked you to keep this weekend free, and from your diary, it looks like you have, yes?"

To be honest, I'd totally forgotten that she'd asked. But, on the other hand, I wasn't going to be doing squat anyway. Besides beers with the guys, fixing the wireless keypad for the garage that was acting up and maybe throwing that damn Frisbee around, I had zero plans anyway. I frowned thinking that. I was being lethargic; I needed to do something about that. Next weekend.

So, it was no loss – whatever she wanted to do, I'd be free to do it. I nodded, "Of course. I keep my promises!" I said, taking full advantage of the opportunity to look like I had my shit together and quite ignoring the fact that could be considered a slam against her. Thankfully it passed her by.

"Good. We are all good to go. We have to stop by your place first. But we have plenty of time."

"Plenty of time for what?" I asked. This sounded like more than a simple day out somewhere.

"It's ok, I've taken care of everything. And ... you just wait and see Mister. Get your stuff together, we need to be on our way."

She withdrew and I sat there for a moment, nostalgia washing over me yet again. She'd done things like this before. She took me to New Orleans in Louisiana for my thirtieth birthday, for Mardi Gras, as a surprise. I'd known she had planned something, but literally hadn't known where we going till we got to the airport and we got on a plane. I remembered that trip. She'd worn this backless dress – daring for her – and been handed several beads for it, even though she'd not been showing her tits, like everyone else. Back in happier times.

I pulled myself together, stuffed my laptop in my backpack, along with the iPad, shut down my desktop, grabbed my coat and shuffled out the office, where I noticed everyone else had also left early. At 10am. That would be a conversation starter on Monday, I thought.

We left her car in the parking lot and took mine – tucking her case into the trunk - and were back at my house in half an hour – despite my pleas I was no further to understanding what was going to be happening. However, on opening the door I discovered my overnight case, all packed and sitting on the floor. I looked at it, at Deanna, and at Paula, who stood in the doorway, arms crossed, grinning like an idiot.

"You kids have fun now," she said.

I just looked at her and then at Deanna, and said, "So ... kids?"

She knew what I meant and said, confidently, "My sister. Yeah, I know, not your favorite person, but she'll do fine with the brood. Look at it this way, she can spend some of her money on them for a change."

I looked back at Paula, who nodded vigorously.

"Et tu Brute?" I said, with hooded eyes, doing my best to seem pathetic. It wasn't difficult.

She just smiled back. "Veni Vidi Vici," was her response. Damn me getting her to learn to read on Asterix books. I knew one day it would come back to haunt me.

I wasn't thrilled about Paula having gone through my smalls to pack them - again – they were looking a little thread-bare these days, as she had indicated last time, but what guy has the time to go underwear shopping anyway? If you do, then you go to Target, you grab the nearest pack of tightie whities, and you get the hell out of dodge. Assuming you can look the checkout girl in the eye. I never can.

With a sigh, I picked up the bag, hefted my laptop backpack and looked at Deanna and said, quietly, "this better be good for all this abuse I am getting from my children..."

She heard me and smiled even broader.

"Oh it will be. Trust me."

The smile froze as I just looked at her, when she said those last two words, but I didn't say anything, just keeping the stare for a second and then, grabbing the overnight bag, I turned to go.

As I left, I said, over my shoulder, "Get something for me from your Aunt. And make it expensive! She can afford it! A new Mustang, perhaps? Make sure it's a V8."

We arrived at O'Hare at midday, and the moment of truth arrived. It wasn't going to be international, since no one had mentioned a passport. I had my suspicions, which were confirmed when we checked in at the United gate for Las Vegas.

As we were standing in line, I looked over at Deanna, who was doing her best impression of calm, relaxed, and seasoned traveller. She glanced back and at me and gave a tight smile.

"Really?" I said, indicating the departure board title with my head.

"C'mon. Live a little. We've got some catching up to do."

That was a disturbing – was disturbing the right word? Exciting, perhaps? - thought and one I wasn't prepared to think about right then.

We got on the plane and settled in, first class. I was glad I'd charged the iPad, since this wasn't one of the newer planes with power sockets. Once we were settled I turned to Deanna and said, "So ... are there plans then? Things we are going to be doing?"

She looked at me, I could see a sparkle in her eye I'd not seen in ... well years. Except the time she'd been ... no, wasn't going to think about that either.

She put her finger up to my lips and just said, "Ssssh. Order a beer. We're on vacation." Then, with a mysterious grin, she pulled out some headphones from her backpack, and plugged them into her iPhone, indicating the conversation was over. I knew where we were going, but not a clue what we were going to do when we got there. And this was obviously the way she'd planned it.

She managed to doze on the flight. I didn't. I pretended to play Candy Crush Saga and failed miserably. Level 169 was currently kicking my ass and I made no progress on it the entire flight. My head was full of questions. Were we going to be intimate? How many rooms were booked? How many beds?

The thing is, to be honest, I'd not really been that engaged with the whole "I'm coming back for you" thing. The practical upshot of me saying "Well, you want me back, you work it out" was that I was not really involved – everything was happening to and for me, I wasn't instigating any of it, nor was any great emotion at the events themselves required on my part. I just sat back and enjoyed it. I didn't have to care, or really do anything at all. I just got in the boat and let someone else paddle, while I stared at the sunset. I'd known this all along, and done a great job of actively not thinking about it, but here I was, beer in hand, in a metal tube, forty thousand feet up, traveling at four hundred miles an hour, with time to think about it.

It was good and all – there's no doubt about it – but I wasn't actually challenged to have any feelings about it at all, beyond, yeah, this is nice. Deanna was so careful not to put any pressure on me, to not risk me being a flight risk and telling her to fuck off, that the result was I didn't actually have much of a feeling one way or the other about wanting her back or not.

Part of me, though, was saying, "why should I?" I was the one cheated on. I was the one who picked up the family and kept us going after embarrassing the cheating bitch. Why should I have to be putting in any effort? And, while even I realized that was a pretty nasty way to live, it was still somewhat true.

But it comes at the cost of me deliberately not putting in any effort; not having any skin in the game. This was nice, but the fact was I didn't have to care one way or another, or make effort #1. I was still protecting myself and not actively opening myself up to the experience. I wasn't keeping up my side of this ... well, bargain wasn't the word. I wasn't sure what was, but I was sure I wasn't hefting my side of it. I certainly wasn't examining any feelings I had on the matter.

I was pretty sure they were there, bubbling away. I was still irrationally –or maybe it was rationally- angry at times. I was still depressed when something happened that reminded me of a particular event in the spiral down. I was obviously not over it, which made my aloofness to the whole experience a little puzzling.

I'd deliberately not been thinking about my emotional responses the whole time she'd been re-courting me. Perhaps it was a self defense mechanism. Perhaps, worryingly, I truly was over her and past it all, and the main feeling was indifference.

I had no real idea and the concept of us sharing a bed did make me at least start to think about it. Where were we going? Was I truly leaning towards rekindling our relationship? Did I even care that much? What did I really think? I couldn't even get to the big question, the key one – could I be in love and together with Deanna again? I could, however, face a more immediate question, namely, should I have another beer? She did say we were on vacation.

In the end I didn't resolve anything, and didn't make any real progress in clearing level 169 of Candy Crush, but I did have three Stella's and felt no pain, and that was something. At least I pretended it was.

What would be would be. I was resolute and confident in this piece of sterling wisdom, mainly because it meant I didn't have to do anything at all. I liked sound bites like that.

It took us three hours to get to Vegas and once we did, we did all the inevitable stuff. Standing in line waiting for luggage, the interminable wait for a cab. McCarran Airport really is a dump – designed to get as many people in and out as fast as possible, on their way to the gaming tables. It's a bit disconcerting to see slot machines in the airport lounges, but hey, this is Vegas. Welcome to consumer America.

Eventually, we pulled in at the Luxor Casino and resort. For those that have never been there, the Luxor is a massive pyramid hotel, about 40 stories high. It's jet black and there's a casino in the middle, along with a couple of theaters and a coupe of show halls. Currently they had an exhibition about the Titanic and another one about plasticized cadavers. Those who lost big at the poker tables and couldn't pay, I imagined.

At night the hotel has little white lights that march up the edges of the pyramid and a massive light that goes up vertically at the top.

I'd never stayed at the Luxor before – the times I'd been to Vegas before it had been a case of finding the cheapest place, because all we were going to do was pass out there. ere.

Deanna went and stood in line to get our room keys, while I guarded the luggage and marveled, yet again, at the edifices man can make when he thinks he's going to get some money out of someone else. It really is magnificent what mankind can achieve if he sets his mind to it. It's just a shame that 90% of the time, it only happens if some one can see a profit in it. We only went to the moon because we couldn't let the Russians get there first.

Deanna came back, smiling broadly and off we went into those weird elevators that go at an angle. If you think about it, elevators have to do that in a pyramid – all the rooms are on the outside of the pyramid, and the interior is basically empty.

We were on the 34th floor, and it was weird, walking along a corridor one side of which just went out into the great empty expanse of the interior of the hotel. At 34 stories up, you could just climb over the 3 foot wall on the interior edge and jump straight down to the floor of the hotel. One hell of a place for a suicide. You'd make one huge splash when you hit the bottom.

Deanna made a great show of opening the door to our room and boom, suddenly it was the moment of truth. How many beds? I was unaccountably – or maybe very accountably - nervous for a second.

I shook it off and walked in. We had a suite! Two rooms – a living area with couch and table and small desk, and a room in the back with a large king sized bed.

I looked at the bed, not saying anything. Deanna came in the room behind me, and she didn't say anything either for a moment, then filled it with, "Well, look, obviously I want to get you into bed. But if you really don't want to, the couch has a pull out bed. I can sleep there."

I looked back at her and then the bed, and murmured something that wasn't actually intelligible. Whatever I said, well, it sounded good to me.

Deanna came up behind me and wrapped her arms around me – the most intimate thing anyone besides my kids had done in almost two years – and just breathed, holding me. It was a strange tableau, I thought, if anyone else was watching. Me, standing there, arms at my sides, staring at a bed, and her behind me, arms wrapped around me, trying to mold herself to my body. Me offering no intimacy and her offering it all.

After a moment, she said, "It's going to be OK Ryan. Really. Go with the flow. It'll be great."

She was managing to keep her spirits up, and for that I was grateful, because I was all over the place.

She released me and said brightly, "Right, lets dump our luggage and go down and have a drink. We are on vacation!"

So we did that. We went downstairs, and she seemed to know exactly where she was going. She led me out of the hotel, across a walk way over the very big streets they have in Vegas, and into the New York New York hotel across the strip. I just followed along, trying to sort out how I felt.

She led me into an Irish bar in the New York New York casino, called Nine Fine Irishman. It was right up my alley, I have to say. Massive wood covered walls, with a huge bar area, and, well, it was just the kind of place I could spend all afternoon. I literally just stopped – taking it all in - when we walked in, and Deanna walked a bit ahead of me, suddenly realizing I wasn't behind her.

She looked back at me and smiled and said, "Yeah, I thought it would be your thing. Lets get a drink."

She gestured to a table that – I shit you not – actually had a beer pump built into it. In fact, it had two. You could just top your drink up out of this thing and it worked out how much you'd had and what the cost was.

So that's what we did.

As we sat down, Deanna put her bag on the table, signaled for two glasses and then, once we got them, said, "Let me serve you, my lord."

Something in my eyes must have alerted her that there was too much happening.

She finished pouring and then just sat there, looking at me, sympathy evident in her eyes. "It's all too much, isn't it?"

I took a long draft, and just nodded, not knowing what to say.

She pursed her lips, and then said, "Look, Ryan. Obviously this ... this is something I'm doing here. It's something I need to do, for you. I'm not trying to make up ... well, for ... well perhaps I am. But either way, I'm trying to make new memories with you. Something that's us. Not anyone else. New experiences. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

I just nodded dumbly again, and then, thinking I should contribute to the conversation, I said, "So what's the plan? Is there one?"

Deanna took a drink herself and then smiled at me, mischievously. "Sure there is. Tonight, we go to the LAX nightclub, in the Luxor. It's the bar at the top of the pyramid. Amazing views, the whole nine yards. Yes ... I know..."

I had raised a hand and was about to open my mouth to protest, but Deanna overrode me.

"I know night clubs are not your favorite thing. But trust me. Tonight will be an experience you will never forget. Go with it ... please? I want to do something with you I will never do with anyone else. Please... ?" Trust me. She asked me to trust her. And I did. But I didn't. I mean, I could, but I couldn't – or maybe I should, but maybe I shouldn't. This was troubling.

I sat there, staring at her. In the end I shrugged. What the hell did I care? And I took another drink to mask the fact that yeah, I did care. And I wondered why.

We sat for another hour, and I managed to do in three more full sized beers. Which on top of the three I'd had on the plane, meant I was ready for bed.

Deanna knew this and guided us back to the hotel room, where I flaked out unceremoniously for three hours.

When I awoke, the sun had gone down and it was dark, and I could hear Deanna humming in the other room. For a second, I was transported back eighteen months – Deanna hummed when she was preparing herself for an event – when she was happy, had things under control and things were going the way they were supposed to. She usually hummed bad eighties songs – stuff from Journey or some hair band. I recognized what she was humming now as The Final Countdown.

I yawned theatrically, and sat up on the bed. I was still dressed, but now I just felt sticky, as you do after a long journey and then too much beer. My head, thankfully – and surprisingly -, was clear.

There was a tap on the door and it opened, and just Deanna's head poked through. "Come on lazy head. We have dinner and then the club. It's just past 9 now. Take a shower, shave and get some clothes on. Paula packed some stuff for you."

With that, the door closed and I got out of bed and stretched the Greek God body I possessed – well, almost. In my head. And walked over to my suitcase, to see what horrors Paula had selected for me to wear.

Thankfully, she'd done a good job. My black button up shirt, black pants, shoes, socks, and the least nasty underwear I owned. Plus a black tux jacket, which I'd only bought as a joke, but found went with a ton of stuff.

I showered, did all the ablution stuff, and noted the scent of perfume in the air and the fact that the shower had been used, and all of Deanna's stuff was laid out neatly.

I dressed, noting again that I needed to get back to the gym, and then went into the living area of the suite, and stopped dead.

Deanna was there, but not any Deanna I'd ever seen before.

Her hair was long, silky, but also teased, so it had more body. Not quite the large hair of the 80's, but certainly reminiscent of it. Her makeup was flawless – even more than usual; it was classy and elegant. Bright red lipstick, some rouge, some eye shadow, eyebrows trimmed and flawlessly laid in. Long earrings, a choker, the whole nine yards.

She stood and pirouetted and said, "You like?"

The dress ... wow, the dress. It was short, tight at the hips, coming down to about mid thigh. But the top part ... well, the dress was split down the front, and I mean split. All the way down to her navel. It gathered on either side, so you couldn't see her breasts, but if she lent left or right, the split would move and a breast would heave into view. It showed off all the cleavage she had, and I knew I'd spend all night wondering if a full tit would drop out or not. It was white, and as such, you knew she wasn't wearing much underneath. She had on white stockings – tights? She could see my gaze and pulled up the dress a little – they were thigh highs. You couldn't wear garters with this dress because it was too tight in the thigh and it would show through.

I noticed she had on a pendant – it was a long pendant, that came down to right between her breasts, with something small and flashy on it, to draw attention, and it was finished off with white stiletto four-inch heels.

I literally did not know what to say - she looked like a nineties' porn star, but classier. I opened my mouth to say something and nothing came out.

"OK," she said, "Yeah, I can imagine this is a bit of a surprise. So, here's the deal. I want to make new memories with you. But there is a new part of me. Something I discovered. We've never really talked about it, but we should. I don't know how much you know of ... what happened. But I found that I really get off in ... potentially discoverable situations."

She waited for me to respond. Clearly, this was not a conversation she was relishing, and it could go sideways for her based on my response. But she was having it, and I felt that deserved some respect.

"Yeah, I was aware."

She looked down, and was obviously embarrassed. "Well, regardless of how it was discovered ... it's part of me now. And ... I want it to be something we do together. Something we explore together. I am monumentally sorry that we didn't find this together. I will carry the shame of that till I die. But it's there and ... well, you deserve better. You deserve to be the recipient of this. And well..."

She drifted off. I went over and picked up a glass and filled it with water at the tap, taking big gulps. Drinking early in the day dehydrates you drastically. Plus it gave me something to do while I tried to digest this. I knew, intellectually, that this day would be coming. Deanna had been putting on the full court press and so her setting us up for getting in the sack was inevitable. But, even with knowing it was coming, I was unprepared. But how do you be prepared to get back in the sack with your ex wife, who betrayed you completely, and in doing so, discovered a turn on switch that you had nothing to do with. There was no manual for that and I was at sea.

I gestured to Deanna and said, "Let's sit down for moment."

Deanna looked at her watch worriedly and said, "We have reservations at the Camelot Steakhouse in half an hour... ?"

"Deanna," I growled, "Sit. Down."

She sat, anxiously.

"Look Deanna, this is going mighty fast. This..." I gestured at her outfit, "this night club, your ... expectations. You never asked me what I want. You just seem to assume I'm going to climb back on the boat and then just bounce all over the rapids, and I ... well, I'm just not sure. You seem to think we are just going to jump back in the sack and it'll all be great, and you'll get your jollies and..."

"Hush, baby..." said Deanna, leaning forward and putting her fingers on my lips. She smiled at me – properly, for once, not that bright and brittle one she'd be using a lot recently. "It's ok. I know its going fast. I don't know how to throttle this though. You've not exactly been full of feedback so far, you know?"

I just looked at her.

"Yeah, I get it. You aren't even sure where you are emotionally. I understand. I did something pretty fucking terrible and we've never really talked about it. The thing is, Ryan, I don't even know where to start that conversation. Besides saying sorry a million times, I don't know what to say. I guess, I was taking the cue from you. I need to show you, not just talk about it. You know? This is me trying to show you. I want to do things only with you. Not with anyone else. I know how I arrived at this hurt you terribly, and I cannot say I'm sorry enough. Not for getting caught, but for doing it. I betrayed everything I hold dear and important and I was so full of hubris that I thought it would never get back to me. I've learned since that that's never true."

She stopped and looked down.

"I don't know what else to do, Ryan. I need to show you that you are the most important person in my life. That all I want is you and our life back. There are new dimensions to me, but I need to work that into our ... new relationship. You know? Please? Meet me half way?"

I just sat there, staring at her. I thought about our lives together. I thought about the hurt I've been through. Then I thought about what Solomon had said about my dry spell. And I thought "What the fuck. I can't be hurt any more than I already have been."

"OK. Let's do this. If it goes too far, I reserve the right to stop it, ok? But ... sure, ok. Go on then, lets live dangerously."

Deanna's wide smile reached her eyes – she gave me the smile that a wife gives her husband when he's made her happiest. The one that goes right through you and is only for you.

"You won't regret this," she breathed at me.

"The outfit though ... that's a bit... ?" I said, trying not to be rude about it but not letting it go, either.

"Oh this? This is about you. This is about me teasing other people and you knowing it's just for you. The thing is, this is Vegas. We know no one here. I can go out and wear this and not give a crap what any one thinks because we are so far from anyone who matters. It's about titillation and fun, and I want you to be as hard for me as I am wet for you by the end of the night, ok? Just for you. So don't be surprised if there's a little flashing going on. Alright? Just a warning..."

And so we went out. And heads turned everywhere we went. We went to dinner and instead of sitting across from each other, she insisted we sat next to each other. And she had her hands in my pants almost immediately after sitting down, and had my fingers up her dress, where I found she had no panties on.

She kept leaning forward, almost daring a breast to come free. Occasionally I looked around and there were never less than four or five pairs of eyes, willing it to happen. Some of them were women, too.

I made eye contact with one guy, and he gave me a thumbs up and nodded at Deanna and then sighed, theatrically. His wife, sitting opposite him, looked around, spied Deanna, eyes narrowed, and then she swung around back to her husband. I made a point of not looking over there again. He wasn't getting laid tonight, I was sure.

At one point Deanna pushed her fingers into herself, then sucked on them, then ate some lobster and smiled sweetly at me and whispered, "Well, it might taste like fish, but I think I taste better. Want to try?" and offered me her fingers. And, I'm ashamed to say – oh who am I kidding? I'm not ashamed at all - I sucked on them. And enjoyed it. A lot.

As we were walking out of the steakhouse, we walked into an assload of younger girlies, all dolled up and wearing the same - or less - than versions of what Deanna was, although slightly less slutty. I couldn't see a guy around and was wondering what was up until I noticed that the restaurant was right next to the venue for the Thunder from Down Under. Not, as I joked to Deanna, a show featuring farting Australians, but, in fact, their version of the Chippendales. Disgusting if you ask me. All those guys cavorting in next to nothing, flexing their pec's for women to scream over. Just not right in any way. Obviously. No, I'm not a hypocrite at all. All guys will back me up on this.

I was happy to note that Deanna got some admiring glances even from this audience. One girl even came up to ask her where she got the dress. To be honest, even I wanted to know that.

We went and played craps for twenty minutes after dinner. Deanna, doing her best to line up for Slut of the Year, vanished for a minute, then came back and insisted on rubbing the dice before I threw them out, grinning and winking at me the whole time. By then I knew what she'd done – she'd gone and rubbed her hand all over her pussy and come back and coated the dice. I honestly had no idea she had this kind of mind. We'd been married years and I'd never seen any thing like it. It did make me wonder what she'd been doing for the past eighteen months, to be honest. Her diaries said one thing but this ... this was pretty wow.

And then it was time for the nightclub. It was almost midnight by the time we got up there – having forked over a hefty fee to get in, to a guy who had his eyes out on storks when he got a load of what Deanna was wearing.

The view from the club was breathtaking, although the view next to me was pretty outstanding too. It was weird, being there with the woman who had had my kids, who I'd been through thick and thin with, yet her dressed – and behaving – in a way that I'd never even dreamed of, let alone expected. But this was one hell of a ride, no question, and I wasn't getting off it, despite other people's attempts to get me to.

Guys hit on Deanna, even with me right there. One guy wanted to 'dance' with her, and she was demure, and just said "No". He hung around until eventually I was forced to explain what stalking was, and nodded at the bouncers.

Even then, when I went to the bathroom, I came back to find a couple doing their best to cozy up with her. She was laughing and drinking a drink and doing every freaking thing a woman does with body language to convey that she is interested. It was outrageous flirting and the couple was not pleased when I came back and literally just pushed myself between Deanna and the guy, with my back to him.