Supping with the Devil
We’d been putting the evil day off. The day I’d have supper with Mary and her objectionable husband. But we’d run out of excuses. There…
We’d been putting the evil day off. The day I’d have supper with Mary and her objectionable husband. But we’d run out of excuses. There were only so many times I’d be caught up working late, or have a severe headache, or have to rush off to see my ailing mother. So it came to pass that last Tuesday I sat down to sup with them. Supping with the devil.
We both knew why he wanted me there. Originally, when Mary and I had formed our friendship, he tried to stop her seeing me. When that didn’t work, he tried insulting me, expecting I’d take it out on Mary. That didn’t work either. That left him with the option we were certain he was going to explore that night. Seduction. You might think we were jumping to conclusions, but if you read our old blogs, you’ll see plenty of evidence of what a manipulative man he is. We were sure what he wanted to do was lure me into bed, obtain some proof it had happened, then present it to Mary on the basis I’d seduced him and what a slut I was.
I wasn’t looking forward to the encounter, how could I? My man phobia still lurked and if anyone was likely to trigger it, it would be Simon, but try to find positives in any situation and I hoped we might be able to turn the tables on him and make him look small and the cretin he is.
Given there was an infinitesimal chance we were wrong, we also decided to play it safe, to make it a game of two halves (I hate football, but some of their cliches are hilarious). I’d arrive, act the demure, sensible middle-aged woman I so clearly am. (Stop laughing at the back!) If he behaved as a human being, didn’t denigrate me or his family, or try to make a move on me, I’d play the second half the same way. If he spent the first half continually fouling (I’m quite enjoying the football analogy) then I’d substitute my demure persona for my goal-scoring wicked one. Give him lots of flashes, lose control of buttons and generally come on to him in a deniable way.
It could be fun. Or a nightmare. I was about to find out.
Mary opened the door looking relaxed, which was a good sign. She smiled and whispered, “He’s in a good mood at the moment and quite relaxed. He thinks he’s God's gift.”
I kissed her cheek, “No problem. I am, no thinking about it!”
She led me into the living room where Simon was sitting in an armchair, cross-legged, casually dressed in a tee shirt and jeans. Wearing slip-on slippers with no socks. I’ll make no comment in case all my readers do that but, seriously? He stood as I entered and offered his hand to shake. Any bets on how that went? I had been undecided as to whether it would be a limp fish or a Jackhammer shake. I was surprised. It was quite normal. He was trying hard. “Hello, Simon, nice to meet you properly.”
“And you.” End of conversation. “A drink?”
“Thank you. A white wine would be perfect.”
“Pinot or Chardonnay?” I should have realised he’d have a choice. “Pinot please.”
“Get it, would you, Mary?” He might be trying hard but the tone of his voice!
He invited me to sit opposite his chair while Mary poured the wine. She was at a table behind the sofa and turned and made to pour the wine over Simon’s head. I had a terrible problem stopping myself from laughing.
I took the glass and crossed my legs. Bearing in mind my Miss Demure persona, I did it elegantly. His eyes followed the movement though and then came up to meet mine. He showed no embarrassment at being caught looking.
The three of us chatted for a while. All inconsequential stuff, just trying to make the evening normal. Then he offered me another drink. Leapt up himself! He took my glass and walked behind my chair. He had no reason to. The drinks were on a table on the other side of the room. His reason was clear though. As he walked past me, he let his hand run across my shoulders. I nearly screamed. It could have been a deadly snake. Metaphorically it was. The slithering feel made my skin crawl. In other circumstances, he would have found it hard to pee for a month after I’d administered a suitable punishment, but I held my breath, counted to ten and did nothing. Let him think I didn’t mind.
He gave me my drink, and we contrived to chat normally, but I couldn’t concentrate.
If I wasn’t careful, this was going to set my ability to cope with men back a year. I decided to take the initiative. Mary had given her blessing to me to play it any way I felt appropriate. Time to fire some heavy artillery. (I’ve tired of football analogies.)
Mary announced supper was ready. I uncrossed my legs. This time not as Miss Demure. I did it slowly, but not so slowly as to appear deliberate. I did it by raising a knee too far, giving an ample gap for him to view up my skirt. He didn’t miss the opportunity. I avoided eye contact. I wanted him to wonder. To wonder if it was deliberate or accidental. He showed me into the dining room, opening the door and guiding me through by putting a hand on the small of my back, which quickly succumbed to gravity and ended up on my bum. Hold it Trace. Save it. I told myself. He whispered “Lovely view, I’d enjoy more.” I didn’t react one way or the other apart from giving him a look which I hoped was enigmatic. I wanted him unsure as to my reaction.
We sat at the dining table with Simon and Mary at each end and me in the middle of a long side.
The food was great. Mary is a super cook, and I decided not to spoil the meal. I’d leave what I’d now decided to do until we’d finished eating. Again we chatted, mainly Mary and me, which Simon seemed content to allow. Possibly because he was concentrating on my tits. I’d worn a modest style blouse but one that was slightly too tight. You may have noticed my tits are not small, and they strained against the material. My bra outline clear. I had toyed with going braless, but thought that might give the wrong impression. I had an idea something else might be staring against material too. I wondered how hard the thought of molesting me was making him.
The straw that triggered me accompanied pudding. I found out why he had adopted the American idea of no socks. His foot made contact with my leg. Could have been accidental. Perhaps I could fly to the moon unaided, too. I stiffened, but didn’t visibly react. The foot returned. This time, no doubt. It was stroking my leg. I wished I hadn’t finished my pudding. It would have ended up over his head. A terrible waste, though.
We were talking about films and I had a flash of inspiration. Another example of no plan surviving contact with the enemy. An opening had presented itself. Not what I’d planned, but better. More subtle. Mary went out to make the coffee. There’d be less future hassle for her if she wasn’t present for the next bit.
I turned towards Simon. “You know, one of my favourite films and characters is Bruce Willis playing John Maclean in Die Hard and you remind me of him.”
His foot had finished stroking my calf and was c making progress north, now above my knee. I was feeling sick and excited in equal measure. “Really? How so?” I do believe he thought I meant it.
“Yes, doesn’t he have a favourite expression? What is it now? Oh yes, ‘mother fucker’. I can’t think why, but that immediately brings you to mind. I smiled sweetly as sickly a sweet smile as my repertoire allowed. “By the way. My leg says thank you so much for the massage, but if you don’t stop, my foot will say hello to your balls and leave them with a lasting impression of their brief liaison.” I kept the sweet smile.
Oh, I do so wish I’d been able to photograph his face! A mixture of fear, loathing, and panic. He’d picked up the reference. Did I know? Did Mary know? If so, how? (For those not aware of what I’m referring to, best read this https://medium.com/@TracyTrouble/simons-dark-secrets-dbad9502d8bf )
Mary timed her return perfectly. As if we’d rehearsed it. I wondered if she’d been listening at the door.
Simon’s foot retreated. His eyes attempted to burn a hole through my skull. I smiled sweetly. Holding the smile was hurting my face. Mary poured the coffee and asked, seemingly innocently, “What have you been talking about?”
“Films,” I replied, “I was telling Simon my favourites were…”
I didn’t get any further. Simon stood up, “Sorry, (sounding anything but) I need to phone the States. Excuse me.” He stomped off, and we heard his study door slam shut. Mary stood up, came over to me and kissed me full on the lips. “I heard. Perfect. If you know, he’ll know I know, but the way you told him there’ll still be doubt as to whether we do know.” She resumed the kiss. God, I wished that I could stay the night, but I think that may have been pushing things!
That non-existent call prevented him from reappearing. Such a shame I couldn’t kiss him goodnight.
Epilogue: Mary’s been in contact since. No adverse repercussions, in fact, she said, he’s been ‘neutral’. “He can’t be nice,’ she informed me, “but he’s not being aggressive or vindictive. No idea how long it will last but I think I have a period where I definitely have the upper hand. I must thank you properly when we next fuck!”
