Ankle Bracelet By Ty Vossler

It was an early October Friday afternoon in Puebla, Mexico—overcast as I recall. Lucia’s lover rested on his elbows above her, his fingers stroking the side of her face as they kissed.

She reached down and I read her lips, “Get inside.” He lifted my wife’s knees and I watched as he pressed down and in. Through the thin walls of the adjoining room, I heard their pleasure. On the laptop I saw how they looked into each other’s eyes, and kissed slowly as he began stroking back and forth.

Love is a quilt—covers what you don’t wish to see. Twelve years of marriage comfort, trust, and the resulting apathy had caused me to overlook obvious signs of cheating. Even now, with my heart in my throat and jealousy gnawing at my guts, I wanted her more than ever.

Her lover lifted her petite foot to suck on a red-polished big toe, and there it was, the ankle bracelet. It was jingling against his hand as he wetted his length in her pussy. The ankle bracelet should have been a dead giveaway. The spiky new hairstyle, the expensive Weight Watchers diet, her sexy new clothes, the twice-a-month, I’ll be late tonight, routine—bells and whistles, hammers over the head and all overlooked by yours truly.

The detective’s fees were reasonable. Lucia and her lover routinely rented a room at the same motel and it was a snap for him to install wireless micro-video cameras—one in the light above the bed, another on the television that faced it. A hundred bucks guaranteed that the clerk put them in that room. Another fifty got me the room next door.

There was no audio because of the danger with feedback noise. Yet, the paper-thin walls allowed me to perceive the bass and treble of their lovemaking. Tiny cameras saw everything and recorded it to my laptop—live streaming on two windows.

Lucia rolled on top and straddled him facing away. He spread her ass cheeks and her hands rested on his hips, mouth formed an O. He arched to synchronize with her dancing hips. She wet two fingers and found her tiny clitoris. He licked a middle finger and slowly insinuated it up her ass, which stirred Lucia into a sudden frenzy. She climaxed powerfully and he answered with a primitive growl, saturating my wife with spunk. I heard the ankle bracelet tinkling through the wall.

A throbbing hard-on accompanied the rock in my throat. Lucia leaned back on his chest as he twisted her dark brown nipples and played his fingers up and down her belly. I ignored the omens—high beams in my face, an air horn in my ear, fists drumming against my stubborn temples. The image of Lucia resting on top is transferred to the memory stick. It’s hard to imagine that, inches away, he has slipped out and now they are lying side-by-side. There is a sizable circle of moisture on the comforter. If I need DNA, there’s more than enough.

I could almost feel the heat of their bodies through the wall. They were talking—perhaps he was telling her how great she felt and she’s telling him what a mess he made. She excused herself to the bathroom, where she would push his seed out into the cold water of the toilet. He rested with his arms behind his neck until she returned. They snuggled again and she closed her eyes. Lucia likes to nap after sex.

He can’t sleep. He has my beautiful, naked wife lying next to him. He touched her lightly on the back with his fingertips—kissed her shoulder and neck until it was clear to Lucia the time had come for the obligatory follow-up. Lucia’s battery takes longer to recharge, yet she went along with it. He rolled on top and slipped in easily. She said something to him, probably something like, this is just for you. Her hips moved and he got his rocks off rather quickly.

It’s all on a memory stick. When they leave, the detective will remove his equipment, I’ll make a payment and his next job will be making contact with Lucia’s lover to show him still shots. The lover’s name is Alfonso. He is married with two children, a boy and a girl. His family has sizable holdings in real estate, a hardware store, and a Chevy dealership. In order to avoid a scandal, he will pay dearly.

They took a quick shower. Knowing that her cell phone was still turned off, I sent a text. After they had dressed, she sat on the bed and turned it on and saw, INBOX (1) how was it? She sat up straight and typed rapidly. He watched, running a leisurely finger down the crack of her ass. My phone vibrated. Her reply, INBOX (1): How was what?

I didn’t answer and watched her fidgeting. She’s having doubts, wondering if the jig is up. I have the answer on a stick. Soon the answer will be added to my personal bank account minus the detective’s twenty percent.

He says something and she shakes her head. He must have seen the look on her face. As they walked passed my room I heard him ask, “Do you want to grab a bite?”

“No, I really need to get home,” she answered.

The rest of the conversation trailed down the musty hallway.

I picked our daughter, Rita, up from daycare and we drove to the tiny local zoo. I texted Lucia where we were and she wrote, Ok, Mua!  Later she tried to call but I didn’t answer. I imagined her pacing, squiggling in a chair and staring out the window. I gave her plenty of time to ruminate and stew in the juices of guilt. Sometimes the best answer is none.

Rita and I stayed longest at the monkey habitat. They were swinging, chasing each other around and Rita was laughing. They groomed each other and she thought that was funny too. The stick was stowed in my shirt pocket.

# # #

A candlelight dinner was waiting when Rita and I returned. Lucia was wearing my favorite black dress.

“What’s the occasion?”

“I just wanted to surprise you,” she replied.

I’ve had enough of surprises, I thought. “You look nice,” I said.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine, a little tired.”

Dinner was perfect and Lucia was perfect. As we cleared the dishes, she spontaneously kissed me at the kitchen sink. The hours crept along. The stick was tucked away in my socks drawer. Rita was in bed by 8:00 probably dreaming of monkeys and Lucia was showering again.

I connected the stick to the flat screen, pressed play and watched Lucia walk into the room with her lover. They stopped at the edge of the bed for a kiss. Did she love this man I wondered? Is this the end of us? Now her lover was lifting her skirt, sliding down her panty—she sits on the bed and he buries his head between her thighs.

Lucia was still showering, probably standing beneath the water with her eyes closed. What will happen with Rita if we’re through? It isn’t fair that children suffer for their parent’s mistakes.

Alfonso is balanced on his elbows for a traditional start, fingers stroking the side of her face as they kiss. Then they entered a new world together—one I have visited many times with Lucia.

The shower is still running. Perhaps Lucia is weighing her involvement with this man, getting a grip on the implications. Why did she need this? How did she meet this clown, this Alfonso? The detective said that her lover taught economics class at the university.

The ankle bracelet was jingling against Alfonso’s hand as he fucks my wife. Her eyes are closed and her mouth is open. She hooks her ankles around his back. I watch the two windows, a Birdseye and at bed-level view.

The shower is turned off. I ejected the stick and hid it among my socks again. Then I slipped under the covers before Lucia came in. I watched her apply various creams and lotions—products designed to keep her looking young. She saw me gazing at her and interpreted it to mean that she had a wifely duty to perform.

“Do you want to make me dirty?” She is still wearing the ankle bracelet. We’ve never fucked with it on.

“Okay,” I replied.

“You’ll need jelly,” she advises, pulling down her pajama bottom, taking just one leg out and walking to the bed.

“All right,” I reached into the drawer of the nightstand for the tube and put a smidgen on the tip of my cock.

“This is just for you,” she advised.

As I lifted her legs by the ankles the bracelet jingled. She winced as I pushed inside, still tender from her afternoon. After a few minutes, I spurted heavily. There was always a roll of toilet paper on the lamp-stand and I handed her a wad.

She returned to the bathroom for a while and then rejoined me. When the lamp was clicked off it grew dark and silent.

“What did you mean today when you wrote, how was it?” She asked.

I allowed another pregnant pause. Silence is cruel, “I don’t remember.”

She gave me a dry-toast kiss, “Goodnight darling.”

I don’t know how this will pan out. I need time to process my feelings. The stick is my trump card and even before the hush money is transferred into my account, I will need to study it over and over before I decide.

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Comments

  • Kilmo  On October 12, 2016 at 6:51 am

    ‘sliding down her panty?’
    I think it should be plural, but I can see why you wouldn’t. Good work mate. Why is she screwing this other bloke? You could ask that a bit more.

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