This is my first ever attempt at a story. Ideally this will be the first of three parts, telling this event from John, Catherine and Dario's perspectives, but we'll see how people like the first part. Comments and constructive criticism welcome! I've split it into sections due to the character limit:
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John checked his phone. Again. For at least the fiftieth time in the last ten minutes. Nothing. He went into whattsapp, but Catherine hadn’t been online since their last exchange, just before she went into her promotion meeting. That was four hours ago, and still no word on how it went. John had booked a restaurant, Catherine’s favourite, as a surprise to celebrate. Now he was just annoyed at the lack of news from his wife, and he packed up his desk to head home.
Catherine had been a marketing associate at her firm for 5 years, and she felt she was long overdue a promotion when an opportunity had arisen. She’d certainly earned it. She’d worked bloody hard, and put in more hours than anyone else in her department. Of all the candidates, she was comfortably the most experienced at 40, a good 8 years older than the youngest candidate. They both knew she deserved to move up the ladder, but John had been engulfed by a sense of trepidation. There had been a few stories over the years, of Dario extracting a price for progression, but he wasn’t sure he believed them. Competitive offices are full of those kinds of whispers, usually borne from jealousy. And anyway, Catherine was different. Catherine was a proud, confident woman. Strong, determined, and was the last person to get dragged into Dario’s nonsense.
Dario ran the firm, alongside his wife, Jane. He was about 6’3”, a good looking guy, built like a rugby 2nd row forward, but he was gratingly flash, with the usual car and trappings of a guy in his mid-forties trying to pretend he was in his twenties. John had had always dismissed him as a bit of a walking caricature. Jane was more reserved, both in appearance and manner, but had always struck John as intense and controlled. According to Catherine, both were prone to angry outbursts in the office, often leaving junior associates in tears with their demands and tirades. In that sense they were well matched for each other, but a horrific combination for everyone else.
John had met them a few of times over the years, always at work socials. Regardless of the setting, Dario had invariably spent most of their conversations leering at some of the more attractive junior associates. John had always been relieved that he never seemed to pay that kind of attention to Catherine. Jane, slim and sporty, always looked like her outfits were forensically designed to impress. Neither Dario nor Jane exuded any great warmth either publicly with each other or to their employees. Ultimately, John was glad they had only ever had to see them occasionally.
Catherine’s preparation for her meeting had been intense, and formally or otherwise, had gone on for weeks. They had rehearsed questions about her work, so that she was ready for any resistance. She had a folder full of documented evidence of achievements just in case. Everything was ready. He even helped her into her business dress, bought specially for the occasion. Catherine was a classic big beautiful woman and she wore her curves with confidence. Her shoulder-length red hair lightly curled, she stood in her outfit balancing seriously professional with a hint of sexy at the same time. There was a certainty about her that John had always found attractive. She was utterly convinced of her worth, but never arrogant or pushy about it.
“This is going to be a big day, I can feel it” She smiled, winked, and then bounced off to the car that morning.
Now night, John pulled into his driveway, and he immediately felt sick. Dario’s Mercedes was parked on the drive, next to Catharine’s car. Why was he here, at our house? Was this a celebration? It didn’t feel right. Catherine couldn’t stand Dario, so why would she invite him here?
The door was unlocked, and while the downstairs lights were on, everything looked normal. There was a leather jacket on the table, presumably Dario’s, though John didn’t recognise it. No glasses, no drinks, no sign of a celebration. John was about to call out, but he heard muffled noise from upstairs. He slowly moved up to the first floor, where John and Catherine’s bedroom lay at the end of a hallway. John was already dreading what awaited him, as deep down he knew that there was only a couple of possibilities, none of them good.
The muffled noise that drew him upstairs was a now clearer, and did nothing to assuage his fears. There was a slowly rhythmic slapping sound, that John knew was flesh on flesh, complemented by regular grunts and muffled moans. It was pretty clear what was happening, even if John couldn’t fully comprehend or accept it.
But why here? Why our house? Why our bed? John’s head was a mess, filled with dozens of competing thoughts flying around at once. He crept along the corridor, the carpet masking his steps. The sounds got clearer as he approached the bedroom door. He peered through the opening and felt the blood drain from his face:
The floor was littered with clothes. John spotted Catherine’s work dress, and saw that the stitching round the zip was completely torn - it must have been ripped off her back. Then there was the heat; the bedroom was roasting, and thick with the stench of sweat and sex - which had clearly been going on for sometime.
On the bed, Dario, with his toned and muscular back to him, was fucking his wife, doggy-style. She was at a slight angle, but It was definitely Catherine, as John spotted her tattoo on her foot. Her large breasts juddered with every thrust, and her soft belly wobbled back and forth from the exertion.
It was the noises that disturbed John the most. The slap of flesh on flesh was one thing, but the wet, squelching sounds of Dario’s cock pumping into Catherine’s fanny, combined with the guttural sounds from his wife, were utterly chilling.
Despite John’s best efforts, just as he peered around the doorframe, the floor creaked under foot. Dario cocked his head, but didn’t look round.
“You’re late John, I thought you’d have been home by now, today of all days. Cat and I have been here for hours” he said, calmly.
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John checked his phone. Again. For at least the fiftieth time in the last ten minutes. Nothing. He went into whattsapp, but Catherine hadn’t been online since their last exchange, just before she went into her promotion meeting. That was four hours ago, and still no word on how it went. John had booked a restaurant, Catherine’s favourite, as a surprise to celebrate. Now he was just annoyed at the lack of news from his wife, and he packed up his desk to head home.
Catherine had been a marketing associate at her firm for 5 years, and she felt she was long overdue a promotion when an opportunity had arisen. She’d certainly earned it. She’d worked bloody hard, and put in more hours than anyone else in her department. Of all the candidates, she was comfortably the most experienced at 40, a good 8 years older than the youngest candidate. They both knew she deserved to move up the ladder, but John had been engulfed by a sense of trepidation. There had been a few stories over the years, of Dario extracting a price for progression, but he wasn’t sure he believed them. Competitive offices are full of those kinds of whispers, usually borne from jealousy. And anyway, Catherine was different. Catherine was a proud, confident woman. Strong, determined, and was the last person to get dragged into Dario’s nonsense.
Dario ran the firm, alongside his wife, Jane. He was about 6’3”, a good looking guy, built like a rugby 2nd row forward, but he was gratingly flash, with the usual car and trappings of a guy in his mid-forties trying to pretend he was in his twenties. John had had always dismissed him as a bit of a walking caricature. Jane was more reserved, both in appearance and manner, but had always struck John as intense and controlled. According to Catherine, both were prone to angry outbursts in the office, often leaving junior associates in tears with their demands and tirades. In that sense they were well matched for each other, but a horrific combination for everyone else.
John had met them a few of times over the years, always at work socials. Regardless of the setting, Dario had invariably spent most of their conversations leering at some of the more attractive junior associates. John had always been relieved that he never seemed to pay that kind of attention to Catherine. Jane, slim and sporty, always looked like her outfits were forensically designed to impress. Neither Dario nor Jane exuded any great warmth either publicly with each other or to their employees. Ultimately, John was glad they had only ever had to see them occasionally.
Catherine’s preparation for her meeting had been intense, and formally or otherwise, had gone on for weeks. They had rehearsed questions about her work, so that she was ready for any resistance. She had a folder full of documented evidence of achievements just in case. Everything was ready. He even helped her into her business dress, bought specially for the occasion. Catherine was a classic big beautiful woman and she wore her curves with confidence. Her shoulder-length red hair lightly curled, she stood in her outfit balancing seriously professional with a hint of sexy at the same time. There was a certainty about her that John had always found attractive. She was utterly convinced of her worth, but never arrogant or pushy about it.
“This is going to be a big day, I can feel it” She smiled, winked, and then bounced off to the car that morning.
Now night, John pulled into his driveway, and he immediately felt sick. Dario’s Mercedes was parked on the drive, next to Catharine’s car. Why was he here, at our house? Was this a celebration? It didn’t feel right. Catherine couldn’t stand Dario, so why would she invite him here?
The door was unlocked, and while the downstairs lights were on, everything looked normal. There was a leather jacket on the table, presumably Dario’s, though John didn’t recognise it. No glasses, no drinks, no sign of a celebration. John was about to call out, but he heard muffled noise from upstairs. He slowly moved up to the first floor, where John and Catherine’s bedroom lay at the end of a hallway. John was already dreading what awaited him, as deep down he knew that there was only a couple of possibilities, none of them good.
The muffled noise that drew him upstairs was a now clearer, and did nothing to assuage his fears. There was a slowly rhythmic slapping sound, that John knew was flesh on flesh, complemented by regular grunts and muffled moans. It was pretty clear what was happening, even if John couldn’t fully comprehend or accept it.
But why here? Why our house? Why our bed? John’s head was a mess, filled with dozens of competing thoughts flying around at once. He crept along the corridor, the carpet masking his steps. The sounds got clearer as he approached the bedroom door. He peered through the opening and felt the blood drain from his face:
The floor was littered with clothes. John spotted Catherine’s work dress, and saw that the stitching round the zip was completely torn - it must have been ripped off her back. Then there was the heat; the bedroom was roasting, and thick with the stench of sweat and sex - which had clearly been going on for sometime.
On the bed, Dario, with his toned and muscular back to him, was fucking his wife, doggy-style. She was at a slight angle, but It was definitely Catherine, as John spotted her tattoo on her foot. Her large breasts juddered with every thrust, and her soft belly wobbled back and forth from the exertion.
It was the noises that disturbed John the most. The slap of flesh on flesh was one thing, but the wet, squelching sounds of Dario’s cock pumping into Catherine’s fanny, combined with the guttural sounds from his wife, were utterly chilling.
Despite John’s best efforts, just as he peered around the doorframe, the floor creaked under foot. Dario cocked his head, but didn’t look round.
“You’re late John, I thought you’d have been home by now, today of all days. Cat and I have been here for hours” he said, calmly.
