The Game Ch. 03

Chapter Three - Translucent

22 September 2007

Petra awoke mid morning; she felt a little hungover and her anus was tender. Vignettes of the previous evening played across her mind as she lay in the bed under the pink satin comforter; she had a morning hardon tenting her panties which she lazily stroked as she recalled Mick ravishing her right here in this bed and she smiled.

David's phone buzzed and reality came crashing down on her.

"Fuck!" she leapt out bed and stumbled across to the little bathroom.

She peed and then went about the arduous task of wiping her face clean of makeup using moisturised wipes. She shucked out of her stockings, which were laddered, and threw them in the bin and kicked her panties away. She took a long shower washing away the last of Petra. It was David who emerged from the bathroom followed by a cloud of steam.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" David opened the little closet and found his clothes.

He slipped into his underpants and sat on the bed and began to pull on his jeans; he opened the bedside table drawer and pulled out his phone.

Three missed calls and four text messages!

The messages from Marie started with 'where are you?' and got progressively more angry until the final one which read 'fuck you! don't bother coming home!'. It was timestamped 0213.

"Fucking, fucking, Jesus!" David pulled on the rest of his clothes, grabbed his phone and his keys and the keys to Petra's apartment and bolted out the door.

He knew that calling Marie now would be a mistake; she would be livid and without a perfected alibi he would stumble and offer an explanation that was implausible. He'd told Marie that he was meeting an old friend from university for drinks so the logical excuse would be that they got drunk, went back to his friend's hotel, drank more and he'd stayed the night. As for not contacting Marie as the evening wore on, he would say he left his phone in the car. Would she believe him? The devil was in the detail so he conjured up more supporting evidence, the name of his friend, the name of pub where they drank, the name of the hotel where they stayed.

If Marie tested his alibi by calling the pub or the hotel he was fucked; but Marie would be unlikely to suspect him of infidelity. He was forty and she thirty eight; they had been married for ten years and had been trying for a child all that time until finally Rachael came along a year ago. They loved each other and had a healthy sex life and catered for each other's fetishes and foibles in the bedroom and there never been a hint of unfaithfulness. She was simply mad that he had stayed out all night.

When he got to the parking lot he was not surprised to find a lavender envelope under the windshield wiper of his Honda Civic. He snatched it away and opened the car and flung the envelope and the keys to 12C in the glovebox. He drove home stopping at a shop to buy flowers and chocolates for Marie.

He burst through the door of his house just before 11am and found the nanny playing with Rachael on the rug in the lounge room. He apologised profusely and gave her twenty pounds on top of what Marie had given her for standing in during David's absence. He played with his daughter until she was tired and lay her down for a nap.

He raced outside and retrieved the envelope and the keys to 12C from his car and retreated to his home office. He tore open the envelope.

'Petra,

Quite the performance last night I must say! Proves you can teach an old dog new tricks; especially when the bitch is you! Anyway you passed the first dare and I will have another one for you shortly; meantime you need to make it up to your wife because you are going to staying out past midnight quite often I'm afraid.

The Quizmaster'

David was rattled. What was the deal with statement 'quite the performance'? If the Quizmaster was watching the apartment, which David was sure of, he or she knew that Mick had not left until after midnight as required by the Game but wouldn't know what had happened inside the flat. Maybe the Quizmaster had seen David kissing Mick in the hallway outside the flat, but that was all they would have seen. Was Mick in on it with the Quizmaster? Had he reported Petra's wantonness and willingness to fuck him? Anyway his head hurt and he needed a nap so he put the letters with the others in the blue-painted steel lock-box along with the keys to the flat.

He checked on Rachael who was now awake and cooing in her cot. He changed her, fed her and took her with him to the master bedroom and played with her on the bed until she was sleepy again and then father and daughter fell asleep; he cradling Rachael in his arms.

Marie came home early specifically to confront David. She found the flowers and chocolates on the breakfast bar with a card. She opened it.

'Sorry, sorry, sorry,

I love you,

David'

For a man who made his living as a writer it was piss poor effort she thought.

With no sign of David downstairs she climbed the staircase, expecting to find him in his study but he wasn't there. She walked into the master bedroom and found David fast asleep with Rachael cradled in his arms.

Her heart melted and her anger dissipated. The two people she loved most in the world asleep on the bed, David protecting their daughter and Rachael safe in the arms of her father.

She backed slowly out of the room so as not to awaken them. She made her way downstairs and put the flowers in water, ate a chocolate and poured herself a glass of wine.

She heard the staircase creak and turned around to see David standing behind her, his hair tousled and eyes puffy from sleep. He was dressed in just a t-shirt and underpants and was sporting a sleep induced erection.

"Dressed to meet the queen have you?" Marie said dryly.

"No I took off my jeans because our little bundle of joy peed on them," David replied.

"Look Marie; I'm sorry. We got into it a bit and..." David began but Marie held out her hand to stop him.

"I don't want to hear anymore; I can guess it involves a succession of pints of beer accompanied by old rugby stories and probably stories about old university girlfriends. Then you were too pissed to come home so you stayed with your friend; who was it again?" Marie eyed him over the rim of her wineglass.

"Tim err Timothy; he hates being called Tim, and he wasn't much of a rugby man," David replied.

"So you just swapped stories about old girlfriends then?" Marie wasn't as angry as David thought she would be but she wasn't about to let him off easy either.

"No! I mean probably... but you know what it's like when old friends get together who haven't seen each other for ages?" David took a wineglass down from top shelf and poured himself a glass.

"Thought you would have had enough of that last night. Anyway yes I do know and when my old girlfriends get together we always talk about our old boyfriends," Marie was deliberately teasing him now.

"Really? And do you rank their performances?" David rose to the bait.

"No we usually rank them on the size of their dicks," Marie smiled wickedly.

She reached out and squeezed his penis through his underpants.

"Yours could best be described as adequate," she taunted him.

"You don't seem to complain," David smiled back at her and held her hand on him when she tried to remove it.

"It does the job," Marie squeezed David's cock and grinned.

"Adequately, apparently," David put down his wineglass and stepped in close to Marie.

"You've got bed-breath and smell like baby pee so don't even think about..." Marie started to say.

David slipped his hand under Marie's skirt and squeezed her mound, he pressed his middle finger into her cleft and rubbed her labia through the layers of panty and pantyhose. He knew how to arouse his wife; pressing on her cunt while stroking her cunt lips always got her excited.

"David! Stop that..." Marie tried to reprimand him but he shut her down by pressing his lips to hers.

"You are shameless," she said through muffled lips.

Marie put down her wineglass and put her arm around her husband and began to stroke him though his underpants. David put a hand down there and freed his erection so that Marie could stroke the sleek hard flesh. He pushed his hand inside the waistband of Marie's pantyhose and knickers; his found her wet. He opened her labia like the petals of flower and pressed his thumb on her clitoris while pushing two fingers inside her.

Marie moaned and thrust herself forward, offering herself to David. He slipped his tongue into her mouth and she gripped his cock harder, stroking it purposely. David worked on Marie's clitoris and her knees began to buckle. She surprised David by pushing him away from her.

"This is too awkward," Marie gasped.

She took the hem of her skirt in her hands and pulled it up around her waist exposing herself. She pulled her knickers down so that they pooled around her ankles and bent over a kitchen stool.

"Here! fuck me, fuck me now!" Marie wriggled her buttocks invitingly.

David stared at his wife's magnificent buttocks sheathed in the black control-top pantyhose that she wore for work and stroked himself to full tumescence. He pulled her pantyhose down her thighs exposing her creamy white globes and positioned his cock inside her outer lips; he could smell her.

He thrust forward and his cock slid all the way inside her until his groin pushed against her buttocks. He placed his hands on her waist and began to vigorously fuck her, easing his cock almost all of the way out of Marie's sopping minge and then thrusting forward; impaling her. She writhed and wriggled as he fucked her and unashamedly used her own fingers on her clitoris.

"Jesus Marie I coming!" David slammed his cock in and out of his wife's sodden cunt.

"Wait! Wait!... Now!" Marie screamed as she orgasmed.

David felt her cunt quiver and pulse around his engorged phallus and he ground himself against Marie's soft, creamy buttocks and emptied himself inside her. He pushed hard, hoping his shaft was stimulating Marie and contributing to her pleasure as she fingered herself to climax.

When they had both peaked David eased out of Marie and lifted her off the stool and spun her around and kissed her. She kissed him back, holding him tight, her knickers and pantyhose still bunched around her knees and her skirt hiked up. They kissed each other for a while and then Marie eased herself from his embrace.

"Yes; best described as adequate," she taunted him and began to pull up her pantyhose and panties.

"What about you?" David tried to taunt her back.

"What about me? I'm the best fuck you're ever going to have David Cashmore and don't think that little performance is getting you out of the doghouse either," she smoothed down her skirt and patted his cheek.

"Now; I'm going up for a shower and to get changed. Put on some trousers and look after our daughter while I do so please," Marie turned and walk over to the staircase.

David ogled her big beautiful arse in the tight dark business suit skirt and marvelled at her wonderful legs sheathed in the black nylon and shod in shiny black high heels.

As she turned at the landing a wave of guilt washed over him as he pictured Petra with her legs in the air and Mick between them on the bed in Petra's flat.

"Jesus! This can't go on!" he railed under his breath.

David heard nothing from the Quizmaster; he or she had gone silent it seemed. David tried to work on his current novel but was continually distracted; waiting for the next summons from the Quizmaster which hung over his head like the Sword of Damocles.

He did some detective work trying to find out who was leasing apartment 12C. He smoozed up to the attractive but rather large real estate agent who managed the property, telling her that he was conducting research for his book. He took her for coffee and she was a little starstruck; she had read all three of his novels. He tried very hard to flatter her and eventually she told him that the only information she could give him was that the flat was currently leased to a Ms Petra Cashmore who payed her rent monthly using online banking. David declined the offer of a drink and maybe 'a little something else' that evening when she had smiled and opened her legs invitingly during the proposition.

He went back to the flat and found it spotless clean; the wine bottles and other detritus of Petra's last visit had been cleared away, the surfaces wiped, the floors mopped and vacuumed. Even the laddered stockings Petra had thrown in the bathroom bin were gone; her panties were washed, folded and put back in the drawer in the cupboard. Either the Quizmaster or a commercial cleaner hired by the Quizmaster had been in the property since David was there last.

He spent some time online trying to chase down the origins of the Petra Pantsdown email and Adult friend Finder accounts but came up with nothing. He tried the same ruse with the phone company that he had tried with the real estate agent but got nowhere; the best he could get was a listing for the landline and mobile phone numbers, which unsurprisingly, were registered to Ms Petra Cashmore.

He thought about this for awhile and arrived at the conclusion that someone was impersonating Petra and that person had to be a woman because at some stage she would have had to show up and present credentials at the real estate agency.

David tried to charm the pretty but chubby real estate agent again to see is she had actually seen Petra Cashmore and get a description of the leaser but David had burned his bridges when he declined her offer of 'a little something else'. She told him in no uncertain terms that he was close violating privacy laws and that if he didn't back off she would report him.

"Damn! Well it has to be either Sandra, Rachael or Bethany!" David was of a mind that he'd had a 'Eureka' moment.

Meanwhile his obsession with trying to expose the Quizmaster was taking its toll on his personal life. He was using the nanny more and more, paying her extra to work the additional hours. His writing was suffering and his publisher was pestering him for a progress report on the novel, and a short story he had promised was overdue.

Marie accused him of being continually distracted and of neglecting both her and the baby. The only thing that seemed to be stable was his sex life with Marie; if anything it was better than ever. David seemed insatiable whenever Marie was around; he couldn't keep his hands off her, seldom allowing her to undress before he pounced on her.

"Fucking me in my business suit bent over the workbench in the garden shed while I'm supposed to be hanging out the washing is quite exciting; but it doesn't replace you spending quality time with Rachael and I David!" Marie had chided him as she adjusted her underwear.

What Marie didn't know was that increasingly during their lovemaking David imagined himself in Marie's place, only he was Petra of course. He had even resorted to taking the incriminating pictures of William fucking Petra out of the lock-box and masturbating using Marie's knickers. He was losing control.

David assumed that either Rachael, Sandra or Bethany were the most likely candidates to be that blackmailing bastard, the Quizmaster; but for the life of him he couldn't think of a reason why any of them would.

Rachael was easy to eliminate; she had been living in Australia for the last ten years. She had married an Aussie and never returned to the UK and was still living in Melbourne.

It was Sandra's dare that had led him to becoming Petra on that evening of in March 1986 so that made her a suspect but Bethany had facilitated his transformation. She had done his makeup and dressed him; Bethany had effectively created Petra. He would start with the girls.

The gamers had drifted apart early in their last year at university as they worked hard to make up for their lack of study due to their penchant for drink, drugs and gaming. They had all finally graduated and David's degree in English with an emphasis on creative writing and a minor in journalism set him up well for his chosen career. Not all the others had fared so well.

He checked with the university alumni association and was able to find contact details for both Sandra and Bethany but Sandra's details were somewhat dated. Some further investigation led him to finding a phone number listing for her and the address where she was living near Birmingham. He called her and asked if he could meet up with her for old time's sake. To say that she was sceptical would be to put things mildly.

"Why David? Why after all these years? You cunts wanted nothing to do with me after we graduated. I watched you become a successful writer while I tried to eke out a living as a journalist. Do you know what I do for a living now?" Sandra sounded bitter and a little drunk or stoned.

"Fuck it David. Don't answer that! Come and see for yourself if you want to, you twat!" she slammed down the phone.

David's suspicions were aroused. Sandra was aggrieved and obviously jealous of his success and that made her an excellent candidate as far as he was concerned. His attitude changed however when he went to see her.

Sandra was living in a council flat on a housing estate west of Birmingham. Most of the flats were abandoned and the tower block was scheduled for demolition once alternate accommodation had been found for the last of the tenants. The lift didn't work and David was out of breath after he'd climbed the twelve flights of stairs to take him up to the sixth floor. He made his way past the usual detritus one expected to find in a building of this type: prams and pushchairs left outside doors, abandoned shopping trolleys, discarded furniture. The walls were graffitied, tagged by various youth gangs and the stairwell smelled like stale piss; David had had to step over a coil of human shit during his ascent.

He knocked at the entrance of Sandra's flat; layers of old paint were flaking from the water damaged wooden door.

Sandra came to the door and David hardly recognised her. She was wearing a cheap black vinyl miniskirt, a stained nylon leopard-skin blouse open to the third button, and scuffed black high heels. Her hair was teased out and her makeup garish; the tops of her laddered stocking were just visible, her large bosom cupped in a black lace brassiere was exposed, and she reeked of cheap perfume, cigarette smoke, and gin. She had a cigarette hanging from her red-lipsticked lips.

David was shocked and it obviously showed on his face.

"Go on say it! I look like a brass! Come in if you want to or piss off if you don't; I couldn't give a fuck either way," Sandra turned and tottered on her heels into the kitchen.

David followed her and entered the dingy flat and closed the door behind him. The flat reflected the dilapidated state of the rest of the building; peeling wallpaper, filthy floors, clothes strewn around the place, overflowing ashtrays and rubbish bins. It smelled putrid.

"Did well didn't I?" Sandra sat at kitchen table making no effort to pull down her skirt, which had ridden up to the roll of fat at her belly.

"Go on! Tell me I look like a brass, a prossie, a hooker! Well I do because I am one," she stubbed out her cigarette and immediately lit another.

David took a seat opposite her after brushing away something that resembled dried gravy.

"I'm sorry to see you like this Sandra; what happened to you?" David asked sincerely.

"I never made it as a journalist and ended up with a deadbeat husband, three ungrateful kids and no financial support. I have a useless degree, no marketable job skills after my husband and kids pissed off, so I work part time in the chippie down the road and make up the rest doing this," she replied around a cloud of cigarette smoke.