IaW Ch. 06: Embracing Veronica

This is the sixth installment of the "In a World..." series, detailing the erotic journey of Ginnifer and Rick. This narrative can stand alone, but it's at its best when read in the slowly-building sequence. This is also a cross-category story that leans deepest into the prurient parts of the "Loving Wives" category. More sensitive readers should check the IaW Foreword (a stand-alone chapter) to see if this story is right for them.

Also, this is a COVID-free story. It was planned and mostly written when Corona might lead to a hangover, not a virus. If this story happened during lockdown, the characters would've done very different things. If you need an escape from social distancing, keep calm and read on.

Yours truly,

Wilson Spalding

###

The Saturday morning sun was just brightening the eastern horizon.

I carefully rolled out of bed, making sure I didn't wake Ginnifer. She was a flame-haired freckled-faced fuck-monster and I considered myself lucky to call her my fiancée. With high, sharp cheek bones and a matching jawline, she was a red Ferrari among a sea of Southern California Porsches.

Quietly, I went downstairs and got the coffee going. Eggs and bacon followed, and of course the cat needed breakfast, too.

This last week, we'd just moved her big sectional couch into my living room and this morning, my gaze kept drifting back to it. I visualized what we looked like as she gave me head there last night.

I remembered, slightly embarrassed, how fast I'd come on her face.

See, I was the second guy to come on her face yesterday...

As lucky as I was to call Ginnifer mine, I wouldn't call her "my own." No, we definitely checked the "complicated" box on our relationship status.

Confession time: I'm a voyeur.

I grew up on a steady diet of porn, and not just the explicit variety that ends in a proper facial. In my world, tits and ass sell work boots and snow tires. That kind of thing sets weird expectations for guys and girls alike (or however you "identify").

As I grew up, I'd learned to compartmentalize all those signals. I separated advertising boobs from everybody else with boobs. Or, as people with a modern sensibility call it: reality. Not being an asshole sounds simple enough, but it's complicated when you're constantly blasted by cleavage.

For those of us who aren't asexual (or violently repressed), we're swept away by a tsunami of mixed signals. A million years of evolution makes it a challenge to see the forest from the trees. Personally, I was just woke enough to know I wasn't woke at all: boobs in beer commercials were a guilty pleasure.

Enter Ginnifer.

I'll confess for her: she's an exhibitionist, and a serial flirt from the get-go.

She was on the other side of those expectations; not so much a target as aspiring to the skewed ideals. She knew she wasn't supposed to like people paying attention to her B-cups but the reality was she thrived on the attention. She was a coy tease, energized by sexual tension.

She was just barely on the sane side of "good girl" - except for when she wasn't. She'd already been sliding down a slippery slope when she met me - and we found out we both knew the legend of "Veronica."

Veronica isn't an actual person, but a character from the movie "Clerks." The plot point is that Dante, her boyfriend, discovers Veronica has gone down on 36 guys before becoming his girlfriend. Dante is "Number Thirty-Seven" - what is otherwise the blandest, most innocuous number in the world.

37.

That number stuck with me.

A side-effect of growing up on porn: I already liked "experienced" girls. I wanted neither the responsibility nor the complications of guiding a virginal type. I wanted the fast machine who kept her motor clean. Basically, I wanted Veronica.

Before me, Ginny had three serious relationships and six [mostly-oral] flings, including a couple of one-night stands. She wasn't exactly virginal, but she definitely wasn't Veronica. With her flirty, show-off side, though, there was potential.

One thing led to another, and I asked Gin to be my Veronica. We restarted her "count" at 0 and she'd climb to 37... as my fiancée.

Early on, the flirty girl was naturally nervous. I had become a "real" romance and she didn't want to lose me just because we dared to mix explosives in our sexual chemistry set. Once she felt safe in a relationship sense, she took that flirting to its natural end: going down on a guy. Or that night, two guys.

That was a mere week ago, the last day of our road-trip vacation, and it had been kind of a breakthrough. Not without risk on a dozen different levels, but with a "Veronica Count" of 2, now she knew she had the freedom to be "cheaty" (her word).

Which brought us to the post-vacation Monday. Back to work. Ginnifer should be able to just turn off the flirt switch, right? The "hot girl," the one used to being hit on, should be the pillar of HR's golden standards... right? No, for her, the office was the ultimate risk and that made it irresistible.

Here's something else: she has kind of a submissive streak and it spikes around older guys. Naturally, you're wondering: where does she work and can you stop by? She's a receptionist at a law firm, you pervert.

The firm specialized in divorce and harassment cases, with the attorneys spread across the US. The Los Angeles branch, technically Glendale, was the heart of the firm, with five partners working out of the office. For most of the cases, they got involved when the trial was over and it was time for arbitration and a settlement.

Given their speciality, you'd think the office would have the most carefully appropriate, neutrally sterile environment ever. Just the opposite: these dirty old fogies were sometimes their own clients... and they'd lucked into a receptionist who was very permissive.

Even more, they knew their "forgiving girl" was now engaged. Did that make her off-limits? No, that painted an even bigger target on her. After our "Just Engaged" vacation, she made it four days unscathed back in the office. Friday - yesterday - my fiancée's Veronica Count jumped by one.

That had been a helluva breakthrough, maybe bigger than her blowjobs last weekend. It was one thing to go outside the relationship, but this was going down on one of her bosses... at her office. Oh, one more thing: she wasn't telling that boss that I knew. Instead, it was a modified truth: she was a slut who was addicted to cheating.

Yeah, I knew about it - I sorta back-hand encouraged it - but the cheaty gray area made it more exciting for her. I think we can all see that her office shenanigans were just beginning.

For Ginnifer, having a voyeuristic fiancé at home and a hall pass at work was a dream-cum-true. That I gave a 30-second pop-shot across her nose when her boss's dried cum was still in her hair was all the validation she needed.

Not to say it wouldn't have its complications and downsides, but at this stage, her work-sex honeymoon was just beginning.

She'd passed out shortly after I painted her face. She was relieved, satisfied and a little horny, all over again.

###

I heard soft footsteps coming down the carpeted stairs. I glanced over my shoulder to see those slender, pale legs gracefully descending. She wasn't quite naked, she had on a long t-shirt that she used as a night shirt, but it barely hung below her ass. Looking at her on the stairs: the landing strip was hidden, but at this eye-line, there was a clear view to smooth lips framed in a perfect thigh-gap.

Two more steps down the stairs, the night shirt obscured the view, but not by much. That T-shirt was so sheer that it looked wet even fresh out of the dryer.

At least with a little cotton modesty, my brain could finally function.

She stopped on the bottom stair and took a deep sniff. Her voice was a little gravelly. "Coffee, bacon... eggs. Marry me?"

"Sure. Free this afternoon?"

She ran down and gave me a kiss, then a very serious look. "Don't tease."

I handed her a plate. "One of us specializes in teasing... and it's not me."

She gave a guilty shrug. "I'm teasing less, though..."

"Only because you're following through."

"Three times, now." She grabbed my hands and put them firmly on her tits before asking: "Are you absolutely sure you want me to be your 'Veronica'?"

I believe her lawyers would call this 'leading the witness.' I gave her gentle nipple-tugs before answering with a question: "Have you enjoyed being my Veronica?"

"Uh, Yeah," she nodded, eyes wide like it was only the most obvious answer in the world. "Though... it's still a little nerve-wracking."

"What part?"

She looked at me like I was dense as she gave my bulge a squeeze. "Don't get me wrong, I really, REALLY love giving head. But..."

"But what?"

"Well, you know: I haven't given head like Veronica because it was more important that somebody actually loves me. Suddenly, you show up in my life and tell me I can have both? It's like a porno storybook: way too good to be true!"

"And yet you've been 'reclaimed' twice in the last week." I brushed the hair from her face. "I will always reclaim you."

"I hear that, and I believe you, and I NEED that from you..." She took a bite of eggs. "But my 'inner Veronica' is still waiting for reality to kick in."

I pointed my spork at her. "I think you get off on a little uncertainty."

She thought about it between bites. "Maybe?"

"We had so many near misses on vacation, then boom! Two guys in the hot tub. You're touchy-feely with your bosses for, what...? More than a year? Go back to work and within a week, boom! You've gone down one of them. Tell me it's not getting easier."

"It's... well, yeah, okay. I'm, like, relaxed enough to be horny all the time now..."

"It seems like there's an 'and' in there. Or maybe a 'but'."

She bit her lip and offered an apologetic, cringing shrug. "I can see it becoming an addiction?"

"An addiction to what?"

"You're going to make me say it?"

"Yup." Honestly, "it" could be a thousand things and I needed to hear it from her own mouth.

"Bastard."

"And then some," I agreed.

"I could get addicted to making guys cum." She looked down, her gaze practically burning a hole in the floor. It took a long moment before she looked up and locked on. "I'm pretty sure that hearing me say that turns you on..."

"Guilty."

"Okay. Good. But I need something from you."

"Name it."

"I need to know if you ever start having second thoughts. I need to know if there's jealousy or resentment or you want me all to yourself. I need you to communicate with me."

"Fair enough."

"Promise?"

I held up my hand. "Scout's honor."

"And I need something else."

"Yeah?"

"I need you to tell me who is off-limits."

"Hm. Good one." I thought on that one for a moment. "I know you've got a thing for older guys, so this one will be tough: no messing around with my dad."

"Dammit," she giggled. "But okay. Anybody else?"

"You're the 'pleaser'. As long as they know this is your addiction, and not based on something I'm missing, then I can't think of anybody else that would be off-limits."

"Okay... okay..." She nodded like she was going through a list. "Are you going to be able to handle a fiancée with a naughty reputation?"

"You might get an occasional spanking."

She pressed herself against me. "Promise?"

"Oh. Fuck. Yes."

"I love you..." She gave me a deep kiss. "Thank you for loving your 'Veronica'."

###

After breakfast, we went for a morning run before it got too hot out. It was only a three-miler, but it was enough to get some intensity up the hills. This was on top of the intensity of talking kinky sex with your significant other.

I'd goose her every now and then, I couldn't keep my hands off of her, and she'd either lean into it or dash away. She's fast: a natural athlete, and most of the time I was a step or two behind.

Right up to the point it counted. She's fast, but the 200 was my event. When she realized I'd just been toying with her, she got a little pissed (and honestly, it was kinda hot). It was good to see that competitive spirit.

What else I saw: her exhibitionist spirit. No, not that she was streaking through the neighborhood, but rather she had a keen awareness when people were watching. She rarely acknowledged it, but she could sense eyeballs... and she'd coyly show off, "unaware" of the damage she was doing to zippers.

People did stare but not because of anything inappropriate. Rather, she was advertising-perfect, a human billboard for Nike, Reebok or whoever.

It was a kick running with her, just watching people watch her. Technically, I guess that made her kind of a trophy girlfriend, but what did you expect? I'm a voyeur...

On that run, those eyeballs flipped.

Gin ran close enough to bump shoulders with me. "You notice those two girls?"

"Who?"

"Barbi and Brittney! The ones staring at your ass when we ran past."

We'd just passed a little bistro in Kenneth Village. Of course I'd noticed "those two." A pair of twenty-something blondes sipping mocha lattes under an umbrella. "Nope."

"Oh, you're full of it," she chided.

"I did see two pairs of yoga pants, if that's what you're talking about."

"Ha!"

My actual humility was questionable. Mostly, my rule centered around trying to not be a dick.

Gin glanced back. When we were out of earshot, she leaned in. "Would you do them?"

"Together or separately?"

"Yes."

"Well, I didn't really get a good look, but from what I caught on a glance...? Yes."

"Perv."

"Obviously."

So, full disclosure: we both got looks. Maybe a few cases of mistaken identity (which was easy in this town). If you want to picture us, imagine Gin as a taller, slightly more angular, red-haired Christina Ricci. I'm kind of a sandy-haired Ryan Gosling, except with zero acting talent.

By the time we got back to the duplex, Gin did her usual yoga with a few ballet and gymnastic exercises thrown in. I did ten minutes with my weighted jump rope, then some work on the speed and heavy bags in the garage. By noon, I was a sweat bucket but I'd punched all of life's angst into the Everlast logo.

I was working combinations when our trio of duplex neighbors rolled out on a mission. Chazz, Blake and Preston each threw waves and hang-loose signs my way. That was generally the precursor to "we're gonna have a party!"

I shot 'em a thumbs-up and hugged the heavy bag, catching my breath.

That would be the question of the day: should we skip the party? I had one more week at home, which would be jam-packed with work before I was gone on a six-week shoot. I could take Gin out somewhere special, maybe make a memory or two... or should we hang out at home and give her the chance to experience one of our neighbor's "epic ragers"?

I'd leave it to Ginny.

###

I came back inside to the wonderful smell of soy sauce and sriracha. It smelled amazing, but reality was a little less perfect.

Gin gave the Vanna White showroom treatment to the kitchen: "Tofu? Rice?"

Lunch was prepared. Decidedly not eggs and bacon, but it was low in fat and high in protein. Add enough soy sauce and wasabi and anything is good, but this whole eating healthy was still taking some getting used to. So... I said what needed to be said:

"Thank you, babe! That's awesome!"

Epic Bod... Epic Bod... Epic Bod... that was my mantra as I explored grilled tofu and appreciated the health Ginny was imparting upon us both. A little more wasabi in the soy sauce, enough to bring tears to my eyes, and a heaping pile of rice on the side, and I pointed out the window.

"Noticed the neighbors today?"

She nodded. "They put a pop-up in the front yard. Grill, ice chests... Is normal for them?"

I nodded. "Last night was unusually quiet for a Friday, so I'm guessing tonight they're making up for that. Do you feel like being social or do you want to escape?"

Gin glanced at the shared wall of our duplex. "Are we invited?"

I shrugged. "It's a standing invitation. Kind of a consolation prize for insane weekends."

She tapped the countertop a moment. "College dudes, right? Where do they go?"

"Woodbury, here in town. They're all on the same M.B.A. track. I think all three of them are... your age."

She scrunched her face at me. "It's not like you're 'Old Man Rick'."

"No, it's only three years, but those dudes are professional students. Which, I gotta admit, would be fun."

She put a finger to her lips, thinking. "Has there ever been a whole-duplex party?"

I shook my head. "Not technically, though that would be neighborly."

"We should open the doors! Make this place the infirmary! The drunks who need to lay down, the headaches from the music, the quiet, get-away spot..."

"It'll wind up as make-out corner."

Ginny bit that finger, grinning. "You think so...?"

"Call it a hunch."

She was doing a Samba in the kitchen. "Well, we could get it started!"

I nodded. "Home it is."

###

After lunch, Gin retired upstairs to shower and freshen up. I took a few minutes to pack the dishwasher and clean a bit, then followed her upstairs.

It gave her enough time to use to use the steam-only water temperature that people from her planet seem to like.

When I came in, she compromised by turning on just enough cold so the stream wasn't instantly lethal to humans. Yes, I'm sure she'd tell it a little differently.

In the shower, my attention shifted. Water flowing down that hair, down those shoulders, over those perky, B-cup boobs...

She was de-sudsed, ready to step out, when I soaped up my chest and pulled her against me.

She squeezed her eyes shut. "Nooooooo! I was all rinsed!"

"Aw, dang. You'll have to rinse off again..."

A deep kiss under the running water was all it took to make her knees weak. She braced herself against me as she slid down my body, mouth open, nibbling as she dropped to her knees.

I didn't even ask - and there was something about that which got me hard as stone.

She didn't say a word as she took me into her mouth. I thought about moving the shower head, but the water was coming down right between us, spraying her face while my cock was between her lips. It almost looked like punishment and there was something to that.

I could only stare as the water flowed over her face. It was obvious that the stream was making it harder for her to breathe, and her eyes were shut tight, but the water also made for a loud, wet, deliciously obscene soundtrack to this blow job.

Something about making it harder for her was making me harder.

This beauty on her knees was all it would've taken to get me there - but visions flashed through my head. Ginny on her knees for her three exes. Ginny servicing six 'casuals' before we met. Ginny blowing two guys at a motel jacuzzi last week. Ginny blowing a boss of hers... twice... at work... just yesterday.

Yeah, this slut needed a little punishment.

That thought alone pushed me right to the edge.

Shit.

I grabbed my dick and pulled back just enough to rub my shaft around her face. "You're too hot... I need this to last longer."

She grinned up at me. "Cum inside me!"

She stood and I pushed the stream aside.

A quick feel and I could tell she was plenty wet - but I reached for the KY anyway. A healthy glob along my shaft and I pushed it all deep inside her.

She was loose, relaxed and oh-so-ready. A glance over her shoulder and another big smile. "All that lube...?"

I started pounding her. "The more slippery you are, the better it is."

"A week ago, tonight, baby..." She nodded, biting her lip. "I gave my fiancé sloppy thirds..."

"Fuck..."

She nodded again. "Rick, the only thing better than taking a facial... is feeling some guy's cum inside me... Or two guys' cum inside me..."

"Fuuuck."