From: MichaelD38 <michaeld38@aol.com>
Subject: {ASS} NEW: {MichaelD} "The Virtues of Infidelity" (cheating, wife, teen) (1/4)
Date: Tuesday, April 13, 1999 9:54 AM

                    IMPORTANT LEGAL INFORMATION

	If you have received this work in your e-mail box and do not know 
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	This story is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance to real persons 
is unintentional and strictly coincidental.  This work contains 
explicit descriptions of sexual activity, and anyone offended by such 
things should read no further.  If reception of this work is illegal 
due to your age or other repressive local regulations, liability for 
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	This work is Copyright 1999 by MichaelD38@aol.com and is 
protected by United States and other international copyright law.  
Reposting and archiving is permitted, except where a fee of any sort is 
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                            AUTHOR'S NOTE

	I have never really understood the whole "slut wife" genre.  The 
idea of watching some other guy (let alone a room full of them) screw 
my wife, does not, shall we say, turn my crank.  Add to that the fact 
that most of these stories are on the formulaic side (gorgeous wife 
decides to/is forced to screw one/five/ten other men while husband 
watches willingly/unwillingly), and you can understand why I tend to 
avoid them.

	So what am I doing writing one?  As I have done in the past, I 
decided to explore a fetish I was not familiar with.  One thing I have 
noticed with this sort of story is that the wife's motivations are 
rarely addressed in a believable fashion.  She is either an unwilling 
participant or an unadulterated slut.  What I decided to do was write 
one of these stories where the wife is a realistic, fully developed 
character. 

	Perhaps as recompense for my last few stories, which have been 
difficult, literary exercises without a lot of sex in them, this thing 
is a fairly straightforward fuck-fest.  Not a lot of depth, but 
definitely a lot of bodily fluids getting exchanged.

	As usual, thanks to Lisala, Lady Sara, and Neverless for
Proofreading and feedback.

	Intelligent comments and criticisms will receive appropriate 
responses.  Flames and juvenile slobbering go straight to the recycling 
bin.  My other stories can be found at:

	Bitbard's Library: http://bitbard.pair.com/library/michaeld/
	Lazeez's Erotic Corner: 
http://206.47.27.105/authors/MichaelD38/MichealD38.html

Please check these sites before asking me for missing pieces.

                               * * *

                     THE VIRTUES OF INFIDELITY

               Copyright 1999 by MichaelD38@aol.com

                                 I.

	It all began, Kathy would later think, with a camellia bush.  
When she and Paul bought the little house at the end of the cul-de-sac, 
the backyard landscaping had not been one of the selling points.  The 
previous owners, who had bought the place new from the builder, had 
done nothing but lay sod from the patio out to the fence.  A blank 
slate maybe, but one that called for a lot of work.
	Paul was not into gardening, and he worked too much to give her 
much help with it.  Saturday morning two weeks after they moved in, 
with the unpacking finally finished, Kathy set out to resculpt their 
yard.
	She began by digging up the grass around the edge of the lawn.  
The ground was thick with clay, and she was soon sweating through the 
old T-shirt she wore.  Clearing an area for her border garden took most 
of the morning.  After taking a break for lunch, she went to the 
nursery. 
	She wanted to plant a few bushes along the sides and corners of 
the yard, with a long flowerbed along the back.  She selected a mixture 
of hibiscus and camellia because her mother had had them in her yard 
when she was a girl, and Kathy had always loved the fluffy white 
flowers they produced.  For the bed along the back, she picked out a 
combination of begonias, day lilies, and Lily of the Nile.  She thought 
she would add more eventually, but that was enough for today.
	When she got home, her Ford Explorer now stuffed with vegetation, 
she discovered that the bushes were heavier than she had anticipated.  
She had bought fully-grown five-gallon plants because she hadn't wanted 
to wait for them grow in.  The attendant at the nursery had loaded her 
truck for her, but now she was stuck with no way to get them out.
	She unloaded the flowers, then struggled with the first bush.  
She got it out of the car, but could not lift it from the driveway.  
She dragged the plant around the back, realizing that she was probably 
going to exhaust herself before she got all ten plants in place.
	While she was struggling with the second bush, she heard a voice 
behind her.
	"Um, do you need some help?"
	Kathy turned to see a boy standing nervously behind her.  He was 
sixteen or seventeen probably, dark-haired, a few pimples marring his 
face, but was otherwise fairly cute.  He stood close to six feet tall 
and wore a black T-shirt ("NWO 4 Life," it said; she wondered what on 
earth that meant) over a faded pair of jeans.
	"Actually, I think I could.  I'm trying to get all these bushes 
into my backyard."
	He reached into the back of the truck and lifted one of the 
camellias out effortlessly.  She watched his thick, well-defined biceps 
flexing, and almost blushed at the sudden flash of heat she felt 
between her legs.
	"Where should I put it?"
	"Around back.  I'll show you."
	He turned up the driveway, and she found her gaze drifting to the 
dimpled muscles of his butt before she forced herself to look away.  He 
stopped in the middle of the yard, waiting for her.
	"Along the sides," she said.  "Where I have that other one."
	He muscled her bush into position and went for another.  While he 
carried them back and forth, she went through the sliding glass door 
into the kitchen to pour him a glass of water.  In a few minutes, he 
had all the bushes arranged, and she handed him the glass.
	"Thanks."
	He took a long swig and wiped his forehead.
	"No, thank you.  This would have taken me all afternoon."
	He shrugged, staring down at the ground.
	"It's no problem."
	"What's your name?"
	"Casey."
	"I'm Kathy Charles.  Nice to meet you.  We just moved in.  Where 
do you live?"
	"Down the street."
	"Okay.  I'll guess we'll see each other now."  Kathy squirmed at 
herself.  What a stupid thing to say!
	Casey looked up at her, and she saw his gaze pause briefly at her 
breasts. A chill ran over her body, and she felt her nipples erecting.
	"Um, if you don't have anyone to mow your lawn, I do a few 
people's around the neighborhood."
	"Well, we don't.  I like gardening, but I'm not much on lawn 
mowing.  My husband hates it.  What do you charge?"
	"Fifteen dollars.  That's for mowing, edging, and sweeping."
	"Sounds good to me.  Can you squeeze me in today?  This place 
could use it."
	He fidgeted for a second, managing a nervous smile.
	"Sure."
	"Great.  Go ahead whenever you can.  I'm just going to plant my 
bushes."
	"Okay.  Thanks."

	Kathy then went to work on her holes.  When she finished digging 
the five along the left side, she heard a lawnmower start up out front.  
She peeked over the fence to see Casey beginning to mow their lawn.  
She watched as he pushed the mower back and forth, feeling a familiar 
tug at her innards.  She sighed at herself and turned back to the 
camellias.
	She had about half of them planted when Casey appeared with his 
mower.  
	"Why don't you go ahead and do the grass?  I'll just take a 
break."
	"Okay."
	He started up the mower, and Kathy went inside.  As she washed 
the mud from her hands in the sink, she found herself again following 
the boy in the backyard.  If he was sixteen, that made him half her 
age.  Nothing wrong with watching, she thought, but she knew she wanted 
more than that.  Ever since Paul had taken this job in Newport Beach, 
his attentions had dropped off precipitously.  If she got it twice a 
month now, she was doing well.  She knew she wasn't being fair to him--
they couldn't have afforded this house or the baby they were trying to 
have without that job--but her energies were going unattended 
nonetheless.  She had been using up the batteries in her vibrator at an 
alarming rate lately.
	Casey finished with the yard in a few minutes and went back out 
front for his edger.  While he worked around the patio, Kathy went back 
to work on the bushes, trying not to watch him.  A few minutes later, 
he went back out front to finish up.
	She got the last bush in place when he returned to the backyard.
	"All done?"
	"Yeah."
	She went inside and dug a five and ten out of her purse.  She 
handed it to him, again seeing his eyes dart to her breasts, then away.  
She handed him the money.
	"There you go.  Thanks."
	"You're welcome."
	She watched him leave, daring a final glance at his behind.

                                  II.

	"Who mowed the lawn today?"
	Kathy glanced across the bed at her husband, fighting the 
ridiculous sensation of guilt that welled up inside her.
	"A boy down the street.  He came over and offered to do it."
	Paul's forehead creased.
	"Not for free?"
	"Fifteen dollars."
	"That's too much.  We can get some illegal alien landscaping 
service to do it for forty a month."
	"I don't trust those guys.  I'd rather have someone I know."
	"You hardly know this kid."
	"He seemed nice enough.  The difference is only twenty a month."
	Paul went back to the stack of printouts in his lap.
	"Okay.  Whatever."
	A few minutes later, she set her book aside and tried to cuddle 
with him.  He let her initially, until she reached under the covers for 
his penis.
	"Honey, I'm sorry.  I really have to get this done for tomorrow."
	She sighed.
	"It's okay."
	She rolled over and tried to get to sleep.

	The next morning, after Paul went to work--on Sunday, again--
Kathy went out to finish her gardening.  The heavy work was done, and 
she just needed to do some weeding and straightening up.  When she 
finished about an hour later and returned her tools to the garage, she 
paused for a moment to glance up and down the street.  She had been 
thinking of Casey all morning and felt like a blushing schoolgirl 
because of it.  Though she thought she heard a lawnmower somewhere 
nearby, he was nowhere to be seen.
	She went back inside and prepared to take a shower.  She spent a 
long time standing under the spray wondering why she was obsessing 
about some kid.  So he was cute.  So he was the sort of boy who 
wouldn't have bothered with her when she was sixteen.  She was a 
married woman and chasing teenage boys was simply pathetic. 
	None of these thoughts stopped her from beginning to masturbate, 
however.  She caressed herself slowly, wondering what Casey's cock 
looked like.  When her nipples had begun to throb, she took the 
showerhead off its bracket and held it between her legs, letting the 
pulsating streams of water heat her up.  She imagined Casey on his 
knees before her, hands pressed against her buttocks as he licked up at 
her.
	A few minutes of this were enough to send her over the edge.  She 
struggled against the spasms of her climax, trying to hold the 
showerhead in place and force another orgasm out of her body.  She 
gasped, almost crying out at the intensity of it and holding on to the 
image of Casey's face buried between her legs.  The second peak came 
moments later, a long, agonizing shudder rolling through her innards.  
When it was finally over, she let go of the nozzle and sagged against 
the shower wall.
	Not good, girl, she thought to herself when she had recovered.  
This is not good.

	Casey pushed his mower into its final turn, and tried to keep his 
mind on what he was doing.  His dick was painfully erect, and the 
vibrations of the lawnmower weren't helping matters.  The last thing he 
needed to do was cut off a toe because he couldn't stop thinking of 
Kathy Charles.
	He had finally gotten up the nerve to approach her yesterday, but 
he had been watching her since she and her husband had moved in a few 
weeks ago.  He had been under her spell since  first seeing her that 
day.  She had been dressed in just shorts and T-shirt, the denim of her 
shorts tight against that hard little ass of hers.  She wasn't tall, 
but her legs seemed long nonetheless.  And her breasts!  God, he had 
never seen more perfect breasts than Kathy Charles had on her.
	He was certain she had seen him drooling over them yesterday 
afternoon.  He was lucky she hadn't slapped him.  He could still see 
her standing there in front of him, T-shirt wet with her perspiration, 
nipples sticking out through the fabric.  He lifted his hand from the 
mower for a second, imagining that he was cupping one of those perfect 
breasts in his hand.  He thought she would fit him exactly.  As if he 
would ever know.
	He wondered if she was a natural blonde.  He had tried to see if 
he could spot any roots while she was gardening yesterday, but hadn't 
been able to get a close enough look.  Her eyebrows weren't blonde, but 
they weren't exactly brown, either.  Maybe she lightened her hair just 
a bit.  He tried to imagine what her pussy looked like.  Did she trim 
it like the models did in the porn mags he kept stashed in his closet, 
or did she let it grow naturally?
	The thought of Kathy Charles naked was too much, and when his 
erection brushed against the lawnmower handle as he maneuvered it 
around a tree, the vibrations of it made him squirt off in his 
underwear.  He grabbed involuntarily at his crotch, trying to stop it, 
but it was impossible.  He felt the semen running down around his 
balls, making a gooey mess in the sweat that had already collected 
there.
	He glanced around, facing burning in humiliation, hoping no one 
had seen his crisis.  But he was alone on the street, and he couldn't 
see anyone watching him from inside their house.  Thank God he was 
wearing jeans--had he been wearing shorts, his sperm would probably 
have come running down his leg.
	He finished the Carsons' yard as quickly as possible and ran home 
to clean himself up.

                                  III.

	When the week began, Kathy was able to lose herself in her work 
for a few days.  She worked for an interior decorating company a few 
miles from their house, spending most of her time consulting with new 
homeowners who were trying to personalize one of the thousands of 
anonymous tract homes in south Orange County.
	She still thought of Casey, wondering what he was doing.  Was he 
on summer vacation now, or were the local schools on some year-round 
schedule the way they were up in Los Angeles?  Did he have a job or did 
he just mow lawns?
	Wednesday afternoon, as she was on the phone with one of their 
suppliers about a shipment of drapery fabric, she wondered if Casey had 
a girlfriend.  As cute as he was, the girls were probably chasing him 
mercilessly.  He seemed to be on the shy side, though, so deliciously 
nervous and awkward.  
	And why does that turn you on, girl? she asked herself.  Well, no 
mystery there.  Paul might not be interested in her anymore, but Casey 
clearly was.  It might be nothing more than adolescent hormones and 
inexperience, but there was at least one male in the world who still 
lusted after her. How would he react were she to proposition him?  
Three words were all it would take, probably.  "Fuck me, Casey," she 
could say, then let nature run its course.
	Her body tightened, and she shivered nervously.  She wasn't 
really considering this.  Was she?

	She slept in Saturday morning, not wanting to think about Casey 
coming to mow their lawn.  She had to get a grip on herself.  Would 
Paul be able to tell what she was thinking if he saw the two of them 
together?  Maybe she should run some errands, and let Paul handle the 
whole thing.  But the thought of not seeing Casey sent a stab through 
her gut.  I haven't done anything wrong, she told herself.  Fantasies 
are harmless.  I'm not going to cheat on Paul.  I'll just watch Casey a 
little, just to give myself something to think about.  It's Paul's 
fault for ignoring me so much.  Right?
	She descended to the kitchen to find Paul fully dressed and 
finishing a cup of coffee.  She was at once consumed by both guilt and 
excitement.
	She tried to keep her voice level.
	"Are you going to work?"
	"Yeah, honey, I'm sorry.  We just have to get the Bronson 
presentation finished by Tuesday morning.  If it's not done on time, 
all kinds of shit will hit the fan.  This is a fifty-million dollar 
deal we're working on."
	She managed a shallow breath.
	"When will you be home?"
	"I'll be back for dinner, I hope.  I'll call if I can't."
	"Okay."
	He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and left.
	When he was gone, she had to sit down to calm herself.  Her hands 
were cold and her stomach was tight.  What the fuck am I doing? she 
thought.  What the fuck am I doing?  She had never once considered 
being unfaithful to Paul until now.  Well, maybe once or twice, but 
never seriously.  She wanted to get up and run as far away from this as 
possible.
	I won't do anything, she thought to herself.  I'll just pretend.  
I'll flirt with him a little maybe, but I won't do anything.  I won't.  
When he's gone, I can masturbate myself silly.  I'll burn out the 
batteries in my vibrator if I have to, again.  Whatever it takes.

	Casey had been thinking about this all week.  Thursday and Friday 
had dragged like nothing else.  He normally did the Matthewsons' and 
Gabriels' lawns on Saturday morning, but he couldn't decide what to do 
now.  He wanted to see Kathy Charles, but maybe he should save her for 
last.  If he did her lawn first, then it would be over by ten, and he'd 
have to wait another week to see her.  Plus if he went to her house 
right away, he was sure she would be able to tell how nervous he was, 
and she might get offended.  The last thing he wanted was to make her 
mad at him.  Maybe doing the other lawns first would give him time to 
calm down.

	Kathy wanted to shower, but she was afraid she might miss Casey.  
She debated for a few minutes before deciding to get it over with as 
quickly as possible.  She didn't think he would be coming over first 
thing anyway.  
	When she got into the shower, she suddenly wanted to make this 
something special.  She could just pretend--pretend!--that she was 
getting ready to make love to Casey when he came over.  She could get 
ready for him, and when he was gone, she could make love to her 
vibrator, pretending it was him.
	She shaved her legs, then trimmed her bikini line.  She thought 
of shaving her pubic hair, but that was going too far.  It would be 
impossible to explain to Paul when he eventually saw it.  She settled 
for trimming it back a bit with her manicure scissors after she exited 
the shower.
	She dried her hair and put on a tiny bit of make-up, nothing more 
than would seem proper for a Saturday morning.  She dabbed a few drops 
of perfume on her breasts, then, blushing at herself, between her legs.  
	When she was done, she debated about what to wear.  Nothing she 
usually wore on Saturdays was the least bit exciting.  But then, she 
though, why get dressed at all?  She could just wear a robe, pretending 
she hadn't yet gotten ready for the day.  She dug through her closet, 
finding a short satin robe she had sometimes worn for Paul.  It hadn't 
gotten much use lately, and she missed it.  
	What to wear under it?  Well, that was easy enough: nothing at 
all.  It would be deliciously exciting to know she was nearly naked 
when Casey arrived, knowing she could expose herself to him just by 
tugging the sash--she wasn't going to do it, of course!--but wouldn't 
seem too unusual to him.  For all he knows, I sleep in the nude and 
just got out of bed.  That would do just fine.

	Casey had to force himself to go to the Gabriels' house when he 
was done with the first lawn, but he felt like he was getting a grip on 
his nervousness.  He was getting sweaty and dirty too, and the 
knowledge of how that would probably turn Kathy Charles off helped calm 
him down.  He tried not to think of her, not wanting to come in his 
pants again as he done the week before.
	Eventually he was done with the second lawn, and had to set out 
for the Charleses' house.  He pushed his mower down the street, getting 
progressively more nervous as he went.  He suddenly remembered that her 
husband might be home, and a flash of fear went down his spine.  He had 
to behave himself--the last thing he wanted was this guy punching him 
out for ogling his wife.  Maybe Kathy might not even be there.
	When he reached her house, he left the mower in the driveway and 
approached the door, hands shaking.  He rang the doorbell.

	With nothing to occupy her attention, Kathy had lain nervously on 
her bed waiting for Casey, wondering how she had gotten to this point.  
Obsessing over some kid who probably didn't know one end of his penis 
from the other, who couldn't know the first thing about making love.  
And who would probably flee in fright were she to actually proposition 
him.
	The sound of the doorbell startled her, almost launching her out 
of bed.  She paused for a moment to catch her breath, then descended 
slowly down the stairs.  She made herself stop to peer through the 
peephole, lest she appear like this in front of some deliveryman or 
charity solicitor.  But it was Casey, and she was immediately flushed 
in anticipation.

	The door opened, and Kathy Charles appeared.  For a split-second, 
Casey thought he was imagining it, but he wasn't.  She was actually 
wearing nothing but a short satin robe.  Jesus Christ, did she have 
anything on under it?  He could see her nipples and the outlines of her 
breasts almost as if she were naked.  He had to force his eyes up to 
her face.
	"Hi, Casey."
	"Um, hi.  I'm going to do the lawn."
	"Okay.  I'll be inside."
	He wanted to say something else, but his tongue was paralyzed.  
He gave her an awkward smile and turned back to his lawnmower, heart 
pounding.  

	Kathy watched him walking down to the driveway and shut the door 
only when she could no longer stand there staring without attracting 
attention.  She turned around and leaned against the door, letting her 
breath out.  Good God, she was an idiot.  Casey's eyes had almost 
popped out of his skull when he had seen her.  Did he really think she 
hadn't seen him staring at her breasts, at the nipples that were so 
hard they ached?  She felt a squirt of moisture between her legs at the 
thought of it.  She knew she could reach down and bring herself in 
climax within a few seconds if she wanted to.  
	She walked unsteadily back to the family room and sat down, 
putting her face in her hands.  Goddamn Paul for making her act like 
this!  Goddamn him!  How would he react if he knew about this?  Would 
it be enough to get him to pay attention to her?  To make love to her 
without her having to wheedle and beg him for it?  God, all she wanted 
was to have him look at her, to lust after her the way Casey did.  Was 
that so much to ask?

	Casey finished the front yard in a daze.  Why was she dressed 
like that?  Did it mean anything?  It was only eleven-thirty, so maybe 
she had simply not gotten dressed yet.  Yet she had seemed cleaned up 
and showered.  Maybe he had caught her in the middle of dressing?  She 
couldn't possibly have dressed that way for him?
	No.  That was stupid, so stupid that he felt increasingly foolish 
for even thinking of it.  She was a grown woman with a husband, and no 
matter how much he liked to fantasize about her, he knew it was just 
that--a fantasy.  Things like this might happen on TV--he had lost 
count of the times he had beaten off thinking of that plot line on 
"Dawson's Creek" last year--but they did not happen in real life.
	He had gotten himself depressed enough about the futility of his 
lust for Kathy Charles that he didn't bother looking for her when he 
commenced working on the backyard.  He tried to think of Kaitlyn, that 
cute blonde in his geometry class he had been thinking of asking out.  
She seemed to like him, and he certainly had a better chance with her 
than with some older woman.

	Kathy watched Casey from the bedroom window above, trying to 
decide what to do.  Three times she had started to get dressed, to get 
out of that ridiculous satin robe, but stopped herself.  She knew she 
could not go down there again dressed like this without making it 
obvious that something was going on.  But she could not let go of her 
fantasy.
	Casey eventually made the decision for her by finishing the lawn.  
She was out of time to change clothes.  She went down the stairs to pay 
him, praying that she was not going to look like an idiot doing it.
	She found him in the backyard, bagging up the grass clippings.  
He glanced over to her, and she could see the excitement and confusion 
in his face at her outfit.  His eyes danced over her body, and the lust 
that brimmed up inside him was more than evident.
	"All done?"
	"Yeah."
	"Why don't you come inside and I can pay you?"
	No, no! Kathy thought to herself.  Why had she said that?  The 
last thing she needed was him inside her house.  She watched him 
battling his nervousness for a moment, then she turned back inside.  He 
followed her in, and she could smell the sweat and dirt on his body.  
God, that smell turned her on.  She was so wet now she was worried 
about it showing through the robe.

	Casey followed her into the house, unable to form a coherent 
thought.  Was something about to happen?  No.  Impossible.  He had to 
control himself lest he do something monumentally stupid.  But he 
watched her fumbling with her purse, and it seemed as if her hands were 
shaking.
	Then he saw it.  It couldn't be, but there it was.  There was a 
dark spot, a wet spot, on the back of her robe, just below her 
buttocks, about the size of a quarter.  Was it a stain?  Sweat?  Water 
from the shower?  But he had been here now for at least half an hour.  
She couldn't still be damp from bathing.  The thought of what it might 
really be made his legs weak.

	Kathy finally found the money and turned back to him.  He was 
staring at her as if he didn't know her, a blank, terrified look on his 
face.  Oh shit, she thought.  I've done it.  Somehow I've let this idea 
of mine slip.  Somehow he knows.
	She held out the money.
	"Here you are."
	"Thanks."
	He took it, staring at her.  For a moment she thought he might 
grab her, take her right there on the floor.  She would have let him.  
She almost opened her robe, saying those magic words she had fantasized 
about.  "Fuck me, Casey.  Fuck me."
	Then his gaze dropped to the floor.
	"Um, bye.  I'll see you next week."
	She exhaled slowly.
	"Bye.  Thanks, Casey."
	And he left.

***********************************************
The Virtues of Infidelity
Copyright 1999 by MichaelD38@aol.com
Free redistribution permitted;
no commericial use without authorization.
************************************************