Rachel's Story: The A-Z of Trophy Wives, #18

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.

 

After two children, Rachel let herself go a little. About thirty pounds overweight, she's sure her husband is no longer interested in her. Certainly, he seems to be spending more and more time at the office, although when he is home, he's a brilliant father to the two young boys.

Once she's got them off to school, she makes a determined effort to get back in shape. Six months later, she's within two pounds of her weight at the wedding, although she's at least one bust size bigger. She looks sensational, and her husband is showing her more attention than before.

However, he's not the only one, a couple of the guys at the gym are very interested too, and unlikely to allow her the chance to say no. Not that she'll want to.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D.D. Grey
• Release date: Oct 5, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223860204

Book preview

Chapter 1

By the time Rachel had spent twenty minutes on the treadmill, she knew she’d attracted an audience. It was the usual suspects, the two guys who were now working away on the cross-trainers behind her. How two twenty-something guys had the time to come to the gym at eleven in the morning was beyond her. Still, when she came on a Monday or Wednesday, they were there.

It wasn’t like they intimidated her, no way. She knew how to look after herself, and now, after six months of this three times a week two-and-a-half-hour routine, on top of her tight diet, she knew she looked good. Damn! As far as her husband, Andrew, was concerned, she looked better than good.

Baby fat had built on baby fat after Clark’s birth, but now both boys were both in school, she’d been at this for six months, and burnt off the excess. In fact, she could boast she was within two pounds of her wedding weight. She’d proved that last month when she’d dug the wedding dress back out of the cupboard and got into it with ease. She had, however, modeled it for Andrew, with what had turned out to be a pleasant result, a very pleasant result. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d been that interested in spending the entire evening in bed once the boys were asleep.

In fact, her husband had been extra attentive for several weeks now. She smiled, was that because he thought she was hawt again, or maybe he was marking his territory to make sure no one else thought she was hawt. Well, if the latter, it appeared he was failing at that goal because she had two admirers working on the equipment behind her. Not that they were working hard. Not gym rats, more gym loungers. Lounging, idly pumping at the machines to give a semblance of working out, while all the time, both pairs of eyes were fastened on her buns.

Of anything, she was the most proud of her ass. Her breasts too, which had remained bigger after having the boys, but her ass was the real deal. The running and the weight training, especially the squats, had tightened up her muscles back there. She felt her butt was, if anything, far perter than it had been since her teen years. If not better than then. For a woman approaching thirty, that was damned fine as far as she was concerned, damned fine. Andrew thought so too. Wearing tight yoga pants only emphasized them, and she’d always worked to the maxim, if you’ve got it, flaunt it.

Andrew always said he’d been attracted to her when she’d worn a tight black mini-skirt to work that day. He’d asked her to join him for lunch that day and to dinner a couple of days later. From there, as they say, it was history, and they’d been married for eight years now.

She continued to pound away the miles on the treadmill and let her mind wander. Ignoring her audience, even if it was just the two, she let her mind drift back.

* * * *

Are you sure that’s all you want to eat?

Rachel paused, where she’d just risen from the table and cocked an eyebrow at her husband. Andrew was obviously concerned, and she looked down at the half-finished salad she’d left. I’m full.

You’re not overdoing it?

She ran her hands down her sides as she smiled. Are you complaining?

No, not at all. You look marvelous.

Yuk! Clark, their youngest, brought his arm up in front of his face and made horrible, and rather loud, slurping noises into the crook of his elbow. Rachel glared at him. Stop that.

Kissy, kissy. Yuk!

In another ten years or thereabouts, I’m so going to remind you of that.

Peter was giggling, despite his need, at the grand age of five, to play the serious older brother.

You too, young man.

He stuck his tongue out at his mother, which earned him a silent rebuke from his father, which, for once, surprisingly worked.

Have you both finished?

Rachel eyed the not quite empty plates with suspicion. In truth, the kids had eaten well. There wasn’t really any food left, just a few scraps. Nothing like the half of a dinner she’d left on her own plate. As always, Andrew's plate looked polished clean. It was almost clean enough to avoid its trip in the dishwasher.

Right, up you go. Mummy will be up shortly to check you and settle you down. It’s a school night.

Okay, okay. They both gave their father perfunctory hugs and then headed, in the usual race, for the stairs. It sounded like a herd of elephants stampeding up to their bedrooms. They’d settle quickly though, they always did.

I’ll clean up down here and then pour us both a glass...?

She smiled and nodded. It was the one break from her ultra-strict diet she allowed. A glass of wine at night to wash out the stress of dealing with a four-year-old and a five-year-old. There was an unasked question there too. Ever since she’d managed to drop thirty pounds, Andrew had been far more attentive. Her smile had been an answer to that question too, but she wasn’t going to give him a definitive answer. No, she wanted him to work for it.

Forty minutes later, she softly closed Clark’s bedroom door and headed downstairs. They’d both settled easily tonight, and would, like as not, be out for the count until the morning. Andrew waved to her from the family room and held up her wine glass.

She sank onto the couch beside him with a sigh, his arm automatically looping behind her shoulders as she picked up her glass. He pulled her close, and she snuggled into the crook of his arm.

You look great, babe. But are you sure you’re eating enough?

She sniffed, knowing he was speaking from concern, but wanting to draw out a few compliments from him on the way to what their youngest son had described as yuk.

I’m fine. I’m not overdoing it. I didn’t think you were complaining.

I’m not. His hand slid from her shoulder down to cup her breast. He squeezed, not hard, but softly enough as if to make sure she knew what he was doing. She knew what he was thinking. She’d lay odds that at some point in the next hour, she’d find herself lying naked on the couch with her husband on top of her. As soon as their eldest had been old enough to learn how to open a bedroom door, they’d found their sex life somewhat curtailed. A simple missionary position was the limit. Another couple of years and the boys would be old enough to stay with grandparents or go to camps, and things could open up again, be more adventurous. As adventurous as they used to be. It was an unspoken agreement between them. For now, there was a lot to be said for a more romantic approach.

In fact, I wonder...

Wonder what?

He grinned at her as she raised an eyebrow to reinforce her question.

I wonder if you could get into your wedding dress again, now you’ve lost so much weight.

I think I could.

There would be one problem, though, or should I say two.

She knew what he meant but stayed silent.

He squeezed her breast. These beauties didn’t go all the way back to maiden size, did they?

Maiden size? What is maiden size?

You know, before kids.

I think you just invented a new term for it. She paused. Apt, though, I guess. Mind you, if I’m no longer a maiden, what does that make me, a hag?

You know damned well it doesn’t, and that wasn’t what I meant. Besides, if you want to go by definition, you could hardly call yourself a maiden the day I met you, let alone as a blushing bride.

Oh, why not? She could feel the heat of her blush in her cheeks. She giggled when he started to blush too. She knew exactly what he meant. He hadn’t dated a virgin, and they’d lived together for six months before the wedding.

You know what I mean, minx. Do you think you could fit in it?

Probably. In fact, she was certain she could. The bigger breasts might be a problem, but she was down to within a pound or two of her weight from her wedding. All that weight was upstairs, a bigger cup size. It might be a squeeze around the bust, but given the dress was designed to enhance her cleavage, it would probably look sensational.

Andrew leaned in for a kiss. Why don’t you go see.

You want me to go put my wedding dress on?

His answer was a solemn nod.

And what’s in it for me?

"Other than the sense of accomplishment?