Romance Novel - A collective effort

So, instead, she scratched her privates and then glided down the stairs to the refrigerator where she extracted a bottle of Heineken. She opened it by slamming her hand onto the bottle cap while it was braced on the corner of the formica counter top.
The cool suds felt good coursing over her engorged uvula,as she swallowed a generous gulp of the golden brew.

A comfortable burp followed , which was then, in turn, followed by yet another, more assertive and carbomated yeasty burp.
She had to see Ronaldo at the garage today, That was it. Her car had developed an annoying ticking sound at high speeds and Ronaldo, whom she trusted with all her mechanical needs, was there working on it, his muscles bulging through his wife-beater tee shirt> His sweat glistening on his defined upper arms like olive oil on lettuice.....

Ah, screw it. Rafe would have to wait.

She realized her interest was up. Also her blood pressure. Well, she decided (not idly this time), she should see if he was man enough to fix her car. Again. She giggled to herself as she thought of how many times she'd taken the wrench to that motor. She wondered idly if he suspected anything as she drifted towards her boudoir to change into something more... appropriate. Yes, and easy to remove.

Opening the louvered doors to the closet in her boudoir, she pulled out an old favorite. "No, no, no..." she thought. The rose-colored velvet sheath was entirely too warm for this steamy weather, so she tried again. Ah yes, something light and cottony, she decided as her newly manicured fingers found the tropical printed linen sundress. Much better! She slipped it on, noting in the mirror how the side zipper traced her perfect curves from her generous hips past her tiny waist to her surgically enhanced right breast. If only it hadn't been two cup sizes smaller than the left, she sighed, there wouldn't have been a single thing that needed to be done.

As it was, Dr. Plasto Plasmy had made it two sizes larger so she was still lopsided. Well, this way her heels would wear down evenly, she reflected idly, and rather fondly of Dr. PP. As she slipped the tropical printed linen sundress on, she reflected idly on where she'd purchased it. Rafe, no, Mike, no, it was Rafe, yes, Rafe had taken her on an impulsive trip to Barbados where they sat by the pool and dipped their manicured toes in. Thank God Rafe had taken her advice about the manicure! Too bad he liked that horrible coral nail polish, though. Yes, it was time to get a man, a real man, one who liked the deeper, darker shades, who liked to dabble in Trouble, who liked to delve into ... whoa, she was getting ahead of herself here! She slipped her delicate and manicured feet into her hot red Jimmy Choo's and idly picked up her clutch. She looked at it, hmmm, this wasn't going to work with this outfit, so she languidly reached a long slender white arm around the corner into her 20' walk in closet and selected a Coach bag. Ah, that was more like it. The tropical print went with her slenderizing yet voluptuizing dress.

Burping still from her Heineken, her hand still tingling from opening it, she swanned as best she could in 5" stillettos down the carpeted stairs to to the foyer. She idly and languidly checked herself out in the full length three way mirror and smiled with satisfaction. Yes, she'd do. Languidly opening the door with another long slender white arm (and hand), she drifted through it to her Porsche.

Meanwhile across town, Rafe glanced down at his Rolex and wondered where his 9:00 was. Chrissy opened the door. "Sir, your 9:00 just called and had to cancel. James is normally scheduled from 10-12, but you sent him to Paris to close the Frederick account. It looks like you are completely free this morning. " Rafe briefly admired Chrissy's well proportioned figure and the cloths she'd selected to highlight it. Ah, but he was a married man and he knew his wife adored him so he would return that commitment. He'd been working hard lately. Perhaps it was time to take an early lunch and surprise the wife.

Rafe's wife, Gloria Swan Lake, was indeed surprised, as was her lover, Michael. As luck would have it, Rafe tripped when he tried to take the stairs three steps at a time, and he hit his jaw while bouncing back down half a flight.

This gave Michael some time to attempt an escape out the window. If only the window would open...

Rafe slid into the comfortable leather seats of his new Mercedes and drove to
his pricey McMansion in the suburbs. Upon arriving he noticed a delivery truck
in front of his house. "Call Dr. Fix if you need me" was written on the side of
the truck. Rafe parked across the street and made his way towards his front door. His first instinct was to ring the door bell, but for some reason he chose
to use his key to enter the house.

There was a sound coming from the back where the laundry room is situated
and as Rafe walked up the laundry room, piles of dirty laundry were heaped
up, but neither his wife Miriam nor Mr. Fix were present. His first impulse
was to call her name, but some inner voice told him to investigate further.
He walked through the downstairs of his beautifully decorated house and aside
from Peppi, the cat, no one was there. Rafe reached the stairs and made his
way up to the bedrooms......

Well, similar scenario here..
great minds think alike, you know.

Next instalment please..........

osso and Dutchy

When Rafe took his last step to the second floor he could see that all doors
were open except the one to his and Miriam's bedroom - that door was closed.
He proceeded to walk very slowly towards the closed door and when he reached the door, he stood there for a while listening. He couldn't make out any sounds as the radio was playing rather loudly. Rafe hesitated, he could hear his breathing increase, his hands were sweaty and he needed to loosen his tie -
why didn't he feel the tightness before? Should he open the door forcefully
and get the moment of surprise, or should he quietly open it inch by inch so
he won't be noticed?

While Rafe's thoughts raced back and forth, he heard a loud noise from
inside the bedroom....

It was the sound of one languid lily-white hand slapping a tough, bronzed and stubbly face - a male face. Rafe quickly wrenched open the door, ripping the shoulder of his sleeve as he put all his might into it, and gazed with fascination upon the scene before him. There was his wife, Miriam Gloria Swan Lake, and the muscular dude from the auto shop, glaring at each other in HIS bed. Well, Mr. Muscles was glaring, with a hot red hand mark on his left cheek; his wife was gazing limpidly and rather idly at him. Both were naked, sweaty, and their hair, yes, even Miriam Gloria's, was mussed. He felt his blood pressure shoot up, way too rapidly, as his jaw dropped open, rather unattractively.

Meanwhile back at the office, special agent Christina Smith was quickly and efficiently working through her "boss's" desk. For eight months she'd had to put up with Rafe's staring at her body, all in the name of stopping corruption. For all his claims of being happily married, he'd made it clear that there were "bonuses" available to his "hard working" employees that had nothing to do with filing and typing. Luckily, Interpol took care of her financial needs as well as supplying her with a wardrobe that allowed her to maximize her assets. Now, all that crap she'd put up with could pay off. The Frederick account was clearly a front for money laundering and soon she'd have the proof. No more caviar for Rafe, no more fancy houses, no more stuck up wife living the high life, just life in jail and federal agents confiscating on all those fancy toys.

Speaking of toys, Christina came up a rather different sort of a toy while rifling through Rafe's desk. It was just next to the opened bottle of bourbon. Hmm, she mused. This one seems to be made of recycled materials.

Staring limpidly at her husband, Miriam Gloria had to think quickly - a difficult chore for a languid and idle woman who glided and swanned everywhere. "Rafe, darling", murmured Miriam Gloria languidly and sultrily. "Come on in and close the door. We've been waiting for you." She glided to one edge of the bed to make room for her husband. Ronaldo rubbed his sore cheek and said, "She really meant it when she said we had to wait." Rafe felt his pulses race, his breath quicken. He looked at his lovely wife's breasts, yes, they were still lopsided, but he didn't care, he just wanted to get his coral-polished hands on them. He began stripping quickly, flinging his clothes about the boudoir as he did so.

Those are the kind of scenarios Rafe loved and he had to admit that Miriam outdid herself this time. Ronaldo had no clue that he's been made part of their
game to spice up their marital pleasures. While glimpsing at Ronaldo, Rafe could
see that he is the best "victim" so far. Ronaldo's young physique shows a lean muscular body which resembles none of the other guys Miriam had picked previously. His clueless innocence will make the game even more exciting and
as he glances over to Miriam, he can detect a salacious smirk on her face, when
suddenly Ronaldo got out of bed.....

"Rrrrrrrring!" Ronaldo's cell phone went off at that very inopportune moment.

"Forget about it!" breathed M-Glo huskily, reaching for a handful of Ronaldo's thick, curly chest hair with her perfectly manicured fingertips. Rafe watched her with mounting jealousy and a nagging thought that perhaps a three-way was not his wife's original plan for the afternoon.

Ronaldo brushed her hand aside. "I can't. It might be the shop," he said, jumping up from the king-sized down-filled duvet and reaching for his well worn jeans, draped across the chaise at the foot of the bed. Pulling the phone out of a front pocket of the jeans, he noted the number. It was Christina's cell. Why would she call him now, he thought. Hadn't he handled the Frederick account exactly as she instructed?

Miriam Gloria laid back against the square European pillows with their 1,000 thread count Egyptian cotton jacquard shams and let out a very loud sigh.

"Where are you?!" Christina demanded. Ronaldo did not immediately answer.

Christina then visibly twitched not once but twice. Her neural comsat implants were firing. She was getting an incoming encrypted message from HQ. She breathed a sigh of frustration and took a large sip from the bottle of bourbon.

Egads! For such a big spender, Rafe had horrible taste in liqueur. This might as well be napalm. Straightening herself, she mentally invoked the comsat interface.

The neural teletyped text strolled across her line of vision with the appearance of floating script in the air she could only see and read.

Operation Dogstar is a bust! Please initiate the alternative backup plan Operation Feral Cat. Seduce and assassinate the rogue agent. Do not delay. All of western civilization is at the tipping point of its own utter destruction.

Do not contact HQ for further instructions until the mission is complete. This message will neurally erase itself in 3 seconds. Godspeed and good luck!

After a count of 3, the neural text Cheshire cat itself out of Christina's field of vision.

Damn, Christina thought. I now have to return to her. I have to seduce and kill the woman I so dearly love. Bristol Palin! Brother in law to Rafe. Bristol! Our commander and chief to all NASO armed forces. President to the North American Strategic Alliance. The most powerful woman in the free world.

Torn, Christina raced (nothing languid about this lady) to her Porsche convertible (lots of Porsches in this story) and hopped over the door into the driver's seat. Luckily, the top and window were down. She peeled out of the driveway as she ran the instructions through her head. She felt a bubble of grief well up. The only time she'd ever fallen in love, and she had to assassinate her! Oh woe was her! Suddenly, she heard a wee-woo, wee-woo noise and looked in the rear view mirror. Sure enough, it was PC djjd62, pulling her over.