Seven Days Of Sin

(ii)

(ii)First detail: two necessary messages.

Carla went to the basement and grabbed the old cashbox from the shelf. It belonged to her son, one of two, both long fled the nest. Carla found it during a clear-out, the key in the lock. She found some Pokémon cards and a graphic photo showing a busty older woman taking a c**k in her p***y and mouth. Carla kept the box, the key, and the photo, appalled yet thrilled her son had kept hold of something like that: him and his buddy spit-roasting some campus slut.

The apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

Carla unlocked the box, arousal flooding her vulva when she saw the phone and the notebook.

She took the phone out, the one she called the dirty phone, the one her husband knew nothing about. He had no idea about the contact list in the phone or the details Carla put down the little black book Carla kept stashed in the box.

Carla shivered when she thought about the consequences of someone finding the box, contents explosive enough to blow a marriage and professional reputation past the moon.

It was possible but very unlikely. The box was just some old junk left by the boys. Carla kept it locked, key in among the accumulated bits of this-and-that in the second-from-bottom drawer in the kitchen. Both box and key were in plain view, which Carla calculated was way better than trying to hide things away.

The s*x toys in the back of the closet were easy to explain away.

The phone and notebook, not so much.

Carla switched the phone on.

She waited, impatient for it to do its thing.

“At last,” Carla muttered.

Her fingers moved over the letters and symbols.

She typed: >he’s gone. CU@ 1245.

Carla sent the message into the ether.

Then wrote: >its on. u and ur friend. u no the hse. 1pm. Do NOT b late. im so fkn horny!!!

That message went out as well.

Carla’s insides squeezed when the words were out there, arousal warm in her vulva.

She was impatient for the replies, anxiety loose in her guts as she stared at the phone and willed it to ping.

Ten seconds passed.

Thirty.

A full minute went by.

“f**k,” Carla muttered.

She sighed and went back up the stairs.

Carla went to the bedroom and tossed the phone onto the bed, heading to the bathroom.

Carla filled the tub.

She bathed.

She primped and preened, legs smooth, landing-strip patch trimmed and neat.

Then Carla set her attention on the full-length mirror in the bedroom.

Naked and scented, she went over the details, appraising her body, pleased with what she saw.

Carla smirked at her reflection, expression vixen, lower lip between her teeth while she crinkled her nose, a snigger issuing forth.

“Slutty b***h. All those boys,” Carla said.

Excitement flared, hot and urgent.

She thought about using one of her dildos, imagining slamming the suction-cup against the mirror so she could back onto the thing and watch her p***y take the thick black shaft, her white skin and scarlet cunt contrasting with the color of the thing invading her body.

“Uh-huh, f**k me, boys. Use my married p***y any way you want. God, I’m so hot for young, black cock.”

A gasp burst from Carla after she said it. She was squeezing her breasts, teasing her n*****s, one hand moving between her legs.

Carla was close to rubbing her c**t, the bean swollen and pulsing with need.

Then she remembered the phone.

Anticipation brought forth another gasp.

Carla went to the bed and grabbed the phone, saw w******p was showing a message.

“Oh,” Carla said.

She trembled as she read the replies.