They invited Rita and Mike over for cocktails for the next evening, Sunday. It was a lovely June day, so they sat on the terrace. They had agreed that Ken would be the one to bring it up. After they’d all had a couple of drinks - ones he’d mixed, strong - he took a breath and took the plunge.
“Rita, Angie knows what happened between us. And tha it was a long time ago.”
Silence. Mike sat back in his chair, swirling the ice in his glass.
“I know, too,” he said at last. “I got past it. Why bring it up now?”
Ken exhaled. That was the hardest part.
Rita reached for Mike’s hand. Her eyes were angry, at Ken. Oh, god, she’d thought this skeleton was buried and forgotten. “I love Mike,” she said. “It was a mistake.” She looked at Angie. “I’m so sorry.”
“The thing is,” Ken said. “Angie finding out, it’s started something.”
“I’ve fucked him more times in the last 48 hours than in the six months before,” Angie said crudely. She hadn’t thought she’d be this angry, that this would be more . . . what? Dispassionate? She couldn’t help it. Rita’s eyes changed in reaction. Angie saw it.
“I know it was a mistake,” Angie said. “I know it was short. I know you’re sorry.” She was breathing hard, but crying was the farthest thing from her mind. “But you started it. You still have to pay, Rita.”
“Hold on,” Mike said. Rita squeezed his hand. She waited, her eyes locked with Angie’s.
“Come out to our cabin, at the lake,” Ken said. “Next weekend. It’s out there now. We need to resolve this.”
“What - “ Mike started, but Rita stood up. She and Angie had lived next to each other for a long time, but the buried secret had kept them from ever really being friends. The tension was there, just unrecognized for what it was. She realized now that Angie knew everything, not just the brief affair, but the kink Ken had shared with her and how she had responded. Rita’s nipples hardened. Angie burned now, because Rita had shared something so sexual with Ken, that she never had.
“You want to fight me, Angie?” Rita asked. “Is that it?”
“Oh, yes,” Angie said. “That’s it, exactly. You fucked him, and you think I can live here and smile over the fence at you?”
Mike looked at Ken. Ken looked at Mike. In the end, they had no say in the matter, really.
******************************************************************************************************
They called it a cabin, but people like to give their second houses diminutive names like cabin or cottage. It was actually bigger than their primary house. Three bedrooms, a massive living room with a wall of mostly glass overlooking the lake, a lot big enough that they couldn’t hear or see the neighbors through the trees, and vice versa.
Rita and Mike had arrived and gone to a guest bedroom with barely a word spoken.
Angie and Ken were in the master bedroom. Angie had spent a lot of time thinking over the past weekend, feeding the fire in her brain. She was in front of the mirror, now. Her brown hair was gathered into a french twist. Her make-up was flawless. She inspected the lines in the corners of her eyes, and mouth. Age lines, not wrinkles. She stood, and ran her hands over her body. She’d dressed carefully. Some lingerie was designed for hard bodied girls, and some was designed for women. Keep your thongs. The gray-green color of her lacy set matched her eyes. She stepped into her black stilettos. It was time. Ken followed her, in his robe.
Their guests were waiting in the living room. Rita stood at the glass looking out. She didn’t turn, even when she heard their footsteps on the stairs. She wore black, with a silver accent. Just like her hair. Her demi-bra cupped her breasts. Her panties were cut low on her hips. Her thigh-high stockings had a silver seam up the back. Mike was by the fireplace, his robe already open. He was still in good shape too, his cock semi-hard. Rita had thought that maybe she’d feel ridiculous, doing this, dressing in lingerie, going to fight her neighbor, for crying out loud. She didn’t. She felt incredibly erotic. She felt strong. She felt . . . young.
Ken took his place across the room from Mike. There was tension between them, too, but not the fighting kind. It was odd, he thought, but the fight was all between the wives. His cock grew hard too. Angie had insisted he be displayed. Fine, Rita had said. Mike would be, too. It wasn’t about Ken, not for her at least.
There hadn’t been discussion of rules. Neither woman wanted any. Angie stopped in the center of the room. Only then did Rita turn to face her. It was four steps for Rita to join her, an arm’s length apart.
Angie slapped her, a flat crack in the silence of the room. Rita clenched her teeth.
She slapped Angie back.
Angie slapped Rita’s breast, nearly knocking it out of its cup. Both men were fully hard now.
Rita slapped Angie’s chest. She came from a higher angle, because she wanted bare flesh, not bra. The sound was as if she’d slapped Angie’s cheek. The skin of the upper curve of Angie’s breast went red.
“You bitch,” Angie breathed. Her next slap turned Rita at the waist.
Back and forth. Each slap was harder than the ones before.
Rita stepped back first. Her left cheek was scarlet, because Angie had not alternated, choosing instead to focus on a single spot. The tears in her eyes spilled out as she closed them against the sting. Angie’s last slap had been to her breast again, and her nails had raked her nipple through the lace of her bra.
Angie’s cheeks burned too, but not as much as the light in her eyes. She’d made Rita give first. That feeling was incredible. She wanted more of it, much more. “You fucked my husband,” she snarled, and lashed the back of her hand across Rita’s mouth. Rita staggered on her heels, and dropped to one knee. Angie’s arm flashed back, this time with her fist clenched. Rita hit the floor, hard.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” said Mike. This was Angie, from next door? The woman who smiled and waved to him in his yard when she got in her car? He looked at his wife, just pushing up to her hands and knees, that little roll of her tummy over the waist of her panties. The sharp toe of Angie’s shoe plunged into her belly as he watched. He knew that a harsh sob of pain from her wife shouldn’t excite him, and in any other setting, it wouldn’t. Here and now, it made his cock ache.
Angie bent over Rita, grabbing her dark hair in one hand and the thin band of fabric between her bra cups in the other. She dragged her up, pulling Rita’s bra up as she did. Rita’s breasts fell free, her hard dark nipples the last things to scrape past the lower edge of the band of her bra. Angie jerked, hard, until the lingerie came off over Rita’s head. She slapped Rita’s left breast, coming up under it, driving it up and across her chest.
Rita turned, trying to escape. Angie dragged her head back. Rita’s back bent, her breasts falling outwards from her sternum. Even after ten years, Ken mind went to the sight of his cum spurting onto them. Her stretch marks were a bit more prominent now, her freckles coalescing into age spots. Still her nipples alone would have made him hard, then and now. Some instinct told him to raise his eyes from Rita’s breasts. Angie’s cold grey-green eyes were waiting for him. She threw Rita to the floor with a scream of pure fury, and dropped on her.
She dropped right into Rita’s claws coming up for her breasts. They burst out of their cups, up and together above her bra. Rita’s nails raked across her broad areolas, then dug in as Rita shoved her off. Rolling to the top, her short hair in her eyes, Rita pushed down. Angie beat at her arms and shoulders but it made no difference.
“Fucking cxnt,” Rita panted. “So I fucked him! I don’t want him now, but I won’t take your shit!” She ground her fingers deeper into Angie’s bulging breasts.
Angie snarled, and clamped onto Rita’s dangling breasts. “I’ll . . .tear . . .your fucking tits . . . off!” she spat back.
It was a brutal stand-off, hands crushing soft breasts, both women sobbing. Finally, Angie’s head went back with a scream and she let go. Rita lips parted with a shout of triumph but the woman under her clapped both hands on her ears, breaking it into a groan of pain. It was enough to break her hold. Angie threw her off.
They got to their feet, slowly. At 57, this was a huge shock to their bodies already. Angie unclasped her bra and threw it in Ken’s direction, and kicked off her shoes. So did Rita, The fashion show was over. They were two mature cats in a cage, now.
They slammed together, their breasts pounding into the other’s. Angie could feel Rita’s nipples like hard little rocks between them, grinding into her nipples. “Oh fuck,” she sobbed. Rita surged into her, arms under Angie’s, hands in her hair jerking her head back, tearing the french twists apart. “Your tits can’t match mine,” Rita gasped. “Face it, Angie!” She was hurting her, she could tell, and it made her hot. Angie backpedaled, but Rita didn’t let her go; she came with her and when Angie’s back hit the glass Rita’s tits smashed hers flat.
Mike was watching Rita’s ass as she drove Angie back, saw the way it shook when the brunette hit the wall. God, it was incredible. How had he been married to her for so long and never suspected such a hellcat was beneath the surface of normal life? He had been fucking her like a teenager all week, but the reality he was watching now exceeded the fantasies he’d had. This was a sweaty, vicious brawl. Rita’s fist came back and then rammed into Angie’s guts. “Get her, Rita!” he roared. Rita hit Angie again. Again.
It was spiraling out of control.
