Becque's Story: The A-Z of Trophy Wives, #2

By D.D. Grey

They're young, beautiful, with fast cars and luxury homes—with absentee, older husbands. Bored and lonely, each of our trophy wives has her own solution.

 

Becque had quickly become bored at home after her marriage to Thom. Their fifteen-year age gap made more of a difference than she'd thought it would. There was no doubt he loved her, and she still loved him, but she was bored with a stay-at-home role—bored and frustrated with the lack of attention and affection from him.

A magazine feature caught her eye, and she followed up on the competition link at the bottom. Her story, an unusual sexcapade, came third, and she was overjoyed and proud of her achievement, especially when she found out it would be published (under a pseudonym). Thom, though, was less pleased. In fact, he accused her of living out the story for real. The row was ferocious. It had been purely from her imagination, but now, she decided to write a very different story and to do so from real experience. After all, it's about writing what you know, right?

• Language: English
• Publisher: D.D. Grey
• Release date: Jul 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223186908

Book preview

Chapter 1

Something caught my eye on the magazine page, just before I threw it across the room in frustrated disgust. I guess, it wasn’t the magazine’s fault, but I was bored. The tiny little box two-thirds of the way down posed a question as its headline.

Can you write an erotic story?

I guess it made me smile, for the first time today, heck, for the first time since Thom left on his extended business trip. I continued reading, something far enough out of the ordinary to keep my interest. It was only a short, box, advert with the ubiquitous web address attached, but it was enough to pique my interest.

I reached for my cell and quickly scanned the qr-code, then settled down to read the long form of the competition on the web. Twice I put my S5 down in disgust, only to pick it up again a few minutes later. Something about the idea had sparked something deep inside.

Finishing the page, I sat back and closed my eyes, something about it still intriguing me. I hadn’t written for years, and the articles I’d written for the magazine for the brief year I’d worked for a living after leaving college and before Thom swept me off my feet, hadn’t been fiction anyway. Let alone had any kind of salacious content.

The theme of the contest was Wet, and there was a three thousand word limit, other than that, it needed to titivate as much as arouse. There were no other rules, other than some standard formatting requirements.

Looking up at the clock, I realized it was half-three, time to start thinking about dinner, then settle in for a long, lonely night with only the TV for company. Unless I wanted to work up a sweat in the home gym.

* * * *

After breakfast, I found the magazine, open to the same page, where I’d discarded it the night before. Having settled in front of the TV and watched a Dark Knight marathon on Blu-Ray, I hadn’t given it another thought. Now, though, it came back to me. I’d also remembered something that had nearly happened to a friend of mine, back before college. It would make a nice basis for the story.

Just then the back door opened and Mary bustled in.

Good morning Mrs. S.

How many times have I told you to call me Becque? Good morning.

Anything you want me to do special for you today, Mrs. S?

As always she ignored me. Mary had been cleaning for us, three times a week since we’d bought the house. Even after four years, she wouldn’t use my given name.

No, just the usual. I’ll be in the den out of your way.

No problem. You want coffee?

Later, I stayed up late watching TV, so I’m late up.

Ah. Lucky for some.

Jamie and Henry keeping you up?

Nah, the little angels were asleep early for once. Just, with my Hank away this week...

She trailed off. Her husband drove long-distance trucks. I honestly didn’t know when they’d found the time to have the two children. He was never at home. We shared a conspiratorial smile—both of us had husbands on the road, even if they were at different ends of the social spectrum as well as the country. At least she had the children, Thom didn’t want any yet.

As Mary began to get her supplies out of the cupboard, I moved over to the den, taking the laptop with me. An idea had begun to form, and if nothing else, writing might just cure the boredom, temporarily at least.

* * * *

I wish I could concentrate like that.

Mary’s words registered, and I glanced up guiltily. Sorry?

I asked you if you wanted coffee five minutes ago, but you never even stopped. Whatever it is you’re working on holding your entire attention.

I could feel a little heat rising to my cheeks. A glance at the clock showed a couple of hours had passed, I’d been that absorbed, for the first time in ages I’d completely lost track of time.

Mary, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there.

She laughed and shook her head. It’s nice to see you engrossed. Coffee?

Please.

I closed the laptop and followed her through to the kitchen.

What’s got you so caught up?

It’s nothing, honestly.

It looked like more than that, but I don’t mean to pry.

I looked at her quickly, concerned I’d upset her. Mary was a treasure and would be very difficult to replace, so offending her would not be a good idea. As she bustled over with the two mugs of coffee, she was, however, her usual cheery self.

We chatted for a few minutes as we drank, talking about her favorite subject, her two boys, seven and nine. Then, she took the mugs to the sink, rinsed them and headed upstairs to start on the bedrooms. I returned to the den and opened the laptop again, then started reading through the first half of my story, editing as I went.

Mary waved goodbye as she headed out, but I stayed where I was and kept going. When I checked the clock it was nearly four—I’d been sitting at the laptop for over six hours. I hadn’t even had lunch. On cue, my stomach rumbled, and I put the laptop to one side and stretched. My back popped a little, and I winced, then rose to my feet and stretched again, loosening the muscles and swinging my arms to free my shoulders.

Lunch became lunch and dinner combined, salad with cold cuts rather than cooking. After that I tried to settle into watching something on TV, then spent half-an-hour on the phone with Thom, calling from his hotel room.

By ten, I was ready for bed, but I took the laptop up with me. A quick shower and I knew I wouldn’t sleep without another read through.

* * * *

I glared at Mark and pulled my disheveled blouse together, covering my bra and in the process, denying him access to my breasts. What do you mean am I sure I want to go to the prom on Friday?

Well...

I was doing the buttons up and pulling away from him at the same time, shuffling along his bed to put a gap between us. My anger was starting to fire up. You asked me to the prom six weeks ago. My mum’s paid out four hundred dollars for the dress, my dad’s springing for a full hairdo and makeover, including mani/pedi with some serious nail artwork, and I know your dad’s rented you a tux and a limo. We’re in line for the king and queen vote, and you’re chickening out?

My voice was reaching a crescendo. I forced myself to calm down. What I really wanted to do was slap him and run home crying.

No, it’s not that... not that at all, Jacki. It’s just...

Just what? Mark was usually so confident, I couldn’t believe he was so diffident about this. It couldn’t be nerves, and it wasn’t like it was first-time jitters either. We’d got through that in the back seat of his car five months ago, and had plenty of practice since. In fact, I’d come home with him after school expecting to get laid, looking forward to it in fact. That’s why I’d been quite happy to make out with him for the last fifteen minutes. It’s also why I had a spare pair of panties in my purse.

Look, you turned eighteen last week. I did, three months ago. I just think we should expand our horizons a little.

In what way? I wondered for a minute if he was talking about something beyond the blowjobs, handjobs and straight fucking we’d done up to press. Was he talking about anal? I suppressed a shiver, I didn’t want to go there.

Look, we’re both going to college in the fall. Different colleges.

I tried not to grimace. Different colleges, neighboring states, but still three hundred miles apart. Separation was going to be a bitch.

So, I thought we both ought to try something a bit more.

Such as? I was definitely going to slap him if he suggested anal.

I was thinking, it’s about time you found out what it’s like to show yourself off a bit more.

What? You want me to bring my cheerleading outfit round?

Well, all my mates think your legs are outstanding in it, but no, I wasn’t thinking about that.

Good, because that’s retired, now. No more cheerleading for me. Hang on, what’s this got to do with your mates?"

"I was thinking, maybe you’d put on a