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It was an anxious drive. Helen and I had been having problems, marital problems. For the past month we had been discussing a trial separation. Our arguments were neither original nor even interesting. She complained about a loss of identity. She had given up her career, her interests, her life all in the name of the k**s and me. She looked in the mirror and did not know the person who stared vacantly back at her. Where had the vivacious, talented girl gone? Where was the stunning little cock tease who could stiffen dicks with a sexy swish of her ass or even a flick of her hair? The body was still there. Her hour a day at the gym had kept her tits and ass both firm and shapely. Still the spice, the zest, the twinkle was missing. She decided that she was now drab, mundane, ordinary. She hated what ten years of wedded bliss had done to her soul. She wanted out. I protested, of course, reaffirming my devotion to her: telling her how her body still drove me crazy, how. Abbey was not aware that of Joe’s plans, but he had told her as she left the apartment in the morning that he expected her back by 3 pm. Abbey was happy to obey and grateful to Joe for giving her free time to herself. Naturally, by now, Abbey was accustomed to making sure that she gave Joe the attention that he deserved, but she also liked to have some free time for herself.However, this was probably going to be the last time that Abbey was free to do as she wished. If Joe’s scheme went according to how he had planned it, Abbey would be completely under his control from then on.When Abbey arrived home just before 3, Joe told her that he had invited some friends for a few drinks, and he told her that she would have to serve them. As Abbey worked as a waitress, this did not seem to be anything special – that is, until Joe told her to go into her bedroom and put on the special outfit he had bought for her to wear as she served.Intrigued, Abbey went to her room and looked for the outfit..
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I had had my share of dubious food and cheap wine, but was not drunk — it would not have been a good idea for a woman on her own to get drunk in such a place. I was tired, but not sleepy. I did not want to think — or rather, there were things I did not want to think about. I had run out of things to read. I tried to ignore the sounds — the snores of those who had gone to sleep on the benches, with their cloaks as blankets if they had them, the heavy breathing and the loud or muted sounds of pleasure or pain from those who occupied benches but slept not, the drunken laughter and the sudden curses from the tables were cards or dice were played, the occasional shouts for more beer or wine — the pub catered to both tastes — and among all those sounds, I dimly heard the voice of the story-teller. I had missed the beginning of his story, and, with all the noise, I missed much of the rest, and I never heard the end.“Not a good idea for a woman to get drunk in such a place?” she asked.“I.

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