Drifter's Blues (Erotic Noir) Read Free

the secretaries her husband hired were all under twenty-five and looked as if they’d stepped from the pages of Playboy magazine.
    Donna knew, though, that whatever reason her husband had for being late home today, it probably was related to work. Because currently he was fucking Madison, and she wore a particular perfume which he didn’t bother to shower off himself before coming home, and tonight he didn’t smell of it.
    Madison. An intern at Thurgood Enterprises. Nineteen years old, with long straight black hair, strands of which Donna was forever discovering on Blair’s jacket or shirt collar or even once in his underpants. And a couple of weeks ago, when Donna had stayed over at a friend’s in Augusta, she’d returned home to find loops of Madison-hair in the sink of the en-suite bathroom off Blair’s bedroom.
    He was screwing other women, he knew she knew, and he didn’t give a fuck.
    Well, Donna had had enough. Enough of looking the other way while he went whoring around, enough of smiling and playing the happy CEO’s wife at dinners with clients (Blair even asked – told – her to wear high-slit dresses with low necklines to such events, so that his disgusting customers could drool over her thighs and tits like she was in a meat market). Enough of pretending she was happy stuck at home in luxurious boredom, that wealth and a great house and jewelry and a flashy car were compensation for a complete lack of not just love but simple affection on his part towards her.
    Lately he’d started slapping her. Not hard, just open-palmed swipes across the face, and not enough to knock her down or leave visible marks. He always surrendered afterwards, apologizing in that half-assed way of his, as if he was aware he was on the brink of going too far. There was a time, earlier in their marriage, when she’d have walked out on him after the second slap, maybe even the first. Now, she kept her cool each time. But not because she was cowed, not because she was resigned to this latest of the many indignities he’d subjected her to over the years.
    No. She said nothing, didn’t respond, because she’d decided several months ago that it was payback time. And every slap, every humiliation, only cemented her resolve further.
    Payback. And she had just the method.
    Donna rose and began to get ready for bed.

Two
     
    It was Thursday, and Kyle was trawling the pool with his net, scooping up the pollen and greenfly which had invaded the surface since his last visit three days earlier, when the girl came walking own the slope of the lawn from the house.
    He stopped and, despite himself, stared. She was around his age, maybe a year or two younger. Slim, long-legged body, long glossy black hair that fell well past her shoulders.
    She was wearing sunglasses and a T-shirt and short-shorts, and carrying a rolled-up towel and a bottle of sun lotion. She smiled – a nice smile, showing brilliant white teeth – and said, ‘Hello.’
    Kyle’s voice failed him for a moment, and when it did come it was uncertain. ‘Uh…hello.’
    He realised he must look like some kind of weird statue of a pool cleaner, and began dragging the net again. From the corner of his eye, unable to help himself, he watched the girl. Seeming unaware of him, she chose a spot on the grassy verge alongside the pool and bent to roll out her towel. Her back was to him as she did so, and Kyle stared as the cotton of her shorts stretched even more tightly across her taut ass.
    Kyle’s slow amble round the pool took him to the opposite side so that he was able to get a better view of the girl. He watched as she crossed her arms across her body and peeled the T-shirt over her head. In doing so she stretched to her full height and Kyle gazed at the flat tanned expanse of her belly, a diamond winking in her navel. Under the T-shirt she wore a lemon-yellow bikini top. She tossed the T-shirt aside and slipped her shorts down her legs, revealing matching bikini