The Partner Ch 1 - Beta (Patreon)

“Are you sure it is the best way to go, honey,” Sarah asked. “I know that things are bad, maybe we can take a bank loan or something instead of this partnership.” 

“I’m afraid that it isn’t possible,” her husband answered with a shrug. “We already have several loans that are about to mature, and our assets are almost completely depleted. Taking a loan is simply not possible. But even it was, it wouldn’t save us, just delay the inevitable. The problem is not just money, but the new model that’s coming from this mysterious new competitor. They are simply cheaper and better than ours, and they destroyed our sales completely. We need to be able to do something different to get back our competitive edge. This partnership will allow us to package our tools with the some of the best software in the market. Frankly, it’s a matter of life and death. We either get this deal, or we end up in the streets, and the company that my great-grandfather built ceases to exist.” 

“I understand, but making a deal with Erik… From the stories you told, you two weren’t in the best terms in high school or in college,” she murmured, trying to reflect back to the stories without accusing her husband of bullying.  

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” Thomas said, dismissing her concerns. “It was just some childish scuffle, and it helped to build some character. Look at the difference, he was just a wimp in the high school, and now he has a very successful software company and has a net worth of millions. It would be impossible without me putting some character in him.” 

“If you say so,” Sarah answered, her tone more than enough to convey her doubts. 

“Don’t worry about it, my beautiful, and please make sure that tonight goes without a hitch. We need this deal, or the company is dead.” He chuckled, followed by a suggestive wink. “And don’t forget to dress to impress, it certainly wouldn’t hurt.” 

With a sigh, Sarah stood up and started climbing up the stairs, trying to push her mind away from the concerns. She knew that she should trust her husband, sometimes it was hard. Still, she was going to give him her full support. There was a lot in stake. If the company went down, her comfortable lifestyle would go down with it, and the last thing she wanted to do was to get an actual job. If she was going to work, what was the point of marriage? 

Inside the dressing room, she quickly undressed, revealing her shapely curves, carefully sculpted through hours of pilates and careful dieting, with a result she was proud of. After a bit of consideration, she decided to weaponize her sexiness. After all, her husband mentioned that it was a matter of life and death. If she wore a dress that was a bit shorter, or tighter than, usual, what was the harm in that? 

With the objective in mind, she quickly cycled through the dresses, until her hand was hovering over a silk dress, colored silver. For a moment, she held back in hesitation, trying to decide whether it was appropriate for the night. It was a short dress, barely reaching to the middle of her thighs while she was standing, and it was even worse when she was sitting down. The cleavage wasn’t anything to scoff as well, dipping deep into her chest, revealing a generous amount of skin. Still, neither problem was the real one. The actual problem was its tightness. She had purchased the dress when she was weighing a couple pounds less, and even then, it was tight. 

Her hand hovered over the dress for a few seconds, undecided. “What’s the harm trying,” she murmured, and pulled the dress off the rack. A brief struggle later, she was looking for a disappointing sight. While the dress fitted nice, both her bra and her panties shouted their presence bulky, a problem that she hadn’t experienced before. She was about to remove the dress in disappointment, when the devil on her shoulder whispered that there was no harm trying the dress without the underwear. After a brief struggle with its hooks, the bra came off, and she slid her fingers under her skirt to pull off her panties. 

The result was magnificent, she realized with a proud smile, with the dress hugging her figure tight, outlining every line she had while somehow still managing to maintain the mystery, like a silvery dream. She took a note to wear that dress for a private dinner, when she wanted to blow her husband’s mind. She reached for a pair of silver stilettos, wanting to see the dress with the full ensemble. It wasn’t that she was going to wear that for the dinner, but she wanted to see how it looked. Some make-up and hair work followed the shoes, and she found herself examining herself in the mirror, for a dress she absolutely had no plans of wearing. Captivated, she paid little attention to the passage of minutes. 

Then, she heard the door opened and her husband peeked on the door. “Erik sent a message that he was going to be there, hurry up.”

She felt the tendrils of panic spreading through her body, realizing that she had wasted too much time examining herself in the mirror instead of trying to pick a more appropriate dress. “Not ready yet, honey,” she said. 

“It has been twenty minutes,” her husband’s answer came, his voice much harsher. “How the hell you still couldn’t find a freaking dress. It’s not one of our usual dates, where you can keep me waiting for three hours!” 

“I tried something, but it was a bit more revealing than I expected,” she answered, trying to justify herself, ignoring her husband’s jibe. 

“Doesn’t matter, just come out,” he answered. “Maybe it would help him make up his mind,” he added with a laugh. 

Shocked by her husband’s uncalled comment, she wasn’t able to utter a word before she heard his footsteps, getting away from the bedroom. Shocked, and a bit angry. She looked at her reflection for a second, a spark in her eyes. “If you say so, husband,” she murmured to herself, her expression determined. If he wanted revealing, she would give him revealing. She wasn’t going to wear it for the dinner of course, but she wanted her husband to throw a jealous fit before changing.  

She followed stairs to the first floor, where her husband was putting the last touches on the dinner table. Hearing her steps, he turned, only for his eyes to grow. “What the hell are you wearing!” he said, not bothering to hide his anger. 

“I’m dressed to impress, just as you asked me to,” she informed him with great pleasure enjoying the expression on his face as it lasted. She was sure that he was going to ask her to go back and change her dress, and it was more than okay for her. She made her point, after all. 

“That wasn’t what I had in mind,” he said. She felt a victorious smile spreading across her face, enjoying pulling one over her husband, one that he noticed as well. At that point, the bell rang, but Sarah’s attention was taken by something much more important, the sudden stubbornness on her husband's face. “Anyways,” he said viciously, sure of his victory over their small battle. “It’s too late for you to change your dress anyways. Why don’t we just go greet our esteemed guest.” 

His play was clear, he wanted her to fold first. Sarah kept her eyes locked with his, trying to convey the impression that she was not willing to fold, expecting him to be one that folded first, considering the jealous grumbles he had even when she wore revealing clothes even when they weren’t at the level of her current attire. 

They were still staring each other when the doorbell rang for a second time, this time lasting for a bit longer, declaring impatience. She took a step towards the door, sure that her husband was going to call her off. 

But he didn’t. 

Instead, he took a few quick steps until he was at her side, and started following her trek towards the door. With each step they took towards the door, her certainty about her husband’s staying power faded a bit more, but conversely, her determination rose with it. If he was willing to risk her wearing such a revealing clothing next to his new business partner just out of spite, who was her to disappoint. 

“Sarah,” he murmured in a reproachful tone once they were standing in front of the door. 

“Yes,” she answered, but she realized her mistake before the word finished forming. Her tone was smug and victorious, and one thing her husband didn’t like, was to admit defeat, and her voice was a good example of it. Still, she had to admit, she had a similar disposition, which was why she said nothing as his husband reached for the doorknob, putting his best business smile as well. She turned towards the door, a fake smile on her lips, a sinking feeling in her stomach.

Still, she thought. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as she hoped. 

But her hopes were dashed as soon as the door was opened, revealing the prospective business partner of her husband, whose eyes flicked to her body for a moment, his smile widening, though thankfully her husband missed it. She knew just how jealous her husband could be, and the last thing they needed was to burn their last hope in a spark of anger. “Erik,” his husband said in a tone so sincere that there was no chance it wasn’t faked. A tone that matched to the pitch by their guest as they shook hands. 

Sarah used that time to examine Erik, and she wasn’t really impressed. He was tall, almost as tall as her husband, but he was skinny, lacking the carefully maintained bulk of her husband. Similarly, his hair had a decent amount of gray, making him reflect his actual age of forties. If she didn’t know already, Sarah wouldn’t believe her husband was at the same age in him. 

“Let me take your coat,” Sarah interjected, making him turn towards her. His back turned to Thomas, his eyes dipped low towards her cleavage, not even bothering to hide as he passed his coat to her. She felt her skin crawl, but her smile stayed strong, repeating in her mind that it was critical for the business. But even now, she was regretting her ridiculous streak of stubbornness, resulting in her wearing such a revealing clothing with a man she just met. She wished that it was possible for her to go and change her clothes, but unfortunately, that was impossible, not without insulting their guest. 

She did the only thing she could, she gave no outward reaction for his hungry gaze, not wanting to galvanize Thomas’ ire, which would doubtlessly destroy the deal they were supposed to sign. Instead, she took the coat, turned, and reached for the hanger, trying to ignore the way the dress climbed up. 

“So, Erik, how have you been since we last talked,” her husband interjected, pulling Erik’s attention away. 

“All well,” Erik answered before raising his hands. “By the way, please accept this humble gift,” he added, passing the bottle he was carrying to Thomas, wrapped nicely. 

“You shouldn’t,” Thomas said as he took the lead towards the living room, to have some casual talk before moving to the dinner. Sarah followed them a step behind, not wanting to feel his gaze crawling over her skin once more. Though she had a feeling that she wasn’t able to avoid that for the rest of the night. 

“Why don’t I put some drinks for us,” Sarah asked after they reached for the living room, taking the wrapped bottle from her husband’s hands. Then, without wasting any time, she moved to the kitchen. In the kitchen, she run her fingers over the cover, carefully unwrapping it without a damage, a childhood habit she was yet to overcome. 

An annoyed sigh escaped her mouth as the bottle stood in front of her, naked. “Great, another scotch nut,” she murmured in distaste. Contrary to her husband, she was never able to develop a taste to stronger liquors, and scotch was no exception, even the nicer varieties like the one she was holding in her hands, evident by number thirty-seven, highlighted proudly in the middle of the bottle, declaring that the bottle was considerably older than her. “Ironic,” she murmured, but still feeling hopeful. She didn’t know how much a thirty-seven-year-old scotch cost, but she was willing to bet that it was at least mid four-figures. Erik’s willingness to bring such an expensive gift was an indicator of his acceptance. People didn’t waste thousands of dollars on the deals they were planning to reject, after all. 

She quickly prepared a tray, three glasses carefully arranged around the bottle which was holding the center, all surrounded by some high-quality snacks, just enough to whip up the appetite. She took the tray and walked back the living room, only for both males to turn to her, their gazes lingering. However, both managed to look at the wrong place. Thomas’ eyes were stuck on the bottle while Erik’s were firmly on her cleavage instead, the grin on his face making her feel dirty. For the business, she repeated in her mind, doing her best to keep her face neutral. 

“Erik, you shouldn’t have to,” her husband said with a tender tone that was enough to make Sarah jealous of the bottle. “Such an exquisite selection, it must have cost a fortune.” 

“No worries, nothing is too much for my old friend,” Erik answered, and Thomas nodded happily. Sarah knew that she should have relaxed as well, as the discussion between them was indicating that their past relationship was much more friendly than she had guessed. But her instincts shouted otherwise, unable to trust the smile Erik displayed as he mentioned their past friendship. So, she mumbled an excuse about checking the dinner and walked back to the kitchen. 

Another mistake, she realized ten minutes later, when she walked back to the living room after completing the finishing touches, only to met with an unwelcome surprise. The liquid level of the bottle had already passed the half-level, and even worse, from the reddish glow on her husband’s face, it wasn’t hard to guess who was responsible for it. She wished that they were in a setting that a kick in a shin was an appropriate response… “Dinner is ready,” she called instead, hoping that she could discourage her husband from drinking any more. 

She didn’t have much hope on that, with the loving way his fingers wrapped around the bottle, carrying it on the table. Still, she tried. “Honey, how about we leave the scotch after the dessert, remember, we have that beautiful merlot we picked up.” 

“Maybe it’s the best if we leave it on the rack. It’s best if we don’t mix the alcohols, right, Erik?” 

“I agree,” he answered, his mocking smile missed out by her husband. “It’s best if we stick to scotch.” 

“See,” Thomas said, patting Erik’s shoulder, unable to control his strength due to his drunkenness. Erik stumbled forward, and Sarah smiled amusedly, though her smile only lasted until she saw the flash of a furious expression on Erik’s face, sending chills inside her. It evaporated as soon as it came, but it was enough to leave a lasting impression.  

But if that was like that, why he was here, she tried to understand. Why chipping in to save the business of a man he didn’t like… 

Distracted by her concerns, she paid little attention to the table other than serving the appetizers, which was why she was caught blindsided by the sudden laugh let out by her husband, loud and distracting. 

“Oh man, do you remember the gym class when we were at high school, when we hid your clothes after the shower, wasn’t that hilarious,” he said, his slurring much more noticeable. Just a glance was enough to discover the reason, the bottle was almost finished, and with the reddish glow on Thomas’ face, it wasn’t hard to guess who was the responsible for the majority. To make things worse, she could see Erik’s eyes flashing with anger with the mention of the story. Yet another clue that so-called hearty jokes were much crueler than her husband remembered. 

Then, she felt something caressing her leg. She turned to her husband, and was about to warn him about getting frisky, only to realize his arms were above table, moving heatedly as he reminisced about yet another story of his past. The realization about the source hit her like a punch, her head whiplashing towards the guest, only to meet with a smile she couldn’t decipher. 

Her mind went into overdrive, but her body was frozen. She stood helpless as his foot slowly climbed up her thigh, edging the skirt of her dress. His brazenness was enough to break through her shock, and her hand slid towards his foot, pushing it away, hoping that it was enough to fix whatever misunderstanding that led him to think she was interested in him. 

Her hopes were dashed when instead of the admonished realization, his face flashed with a nasty smile, and his foot was back on her leg, playing a game of footsie she neither wanted, nor welcomed. She turned to her husband, thinking about asking for help, but the words died in her mouth. If she tried to tell her husband, she didn’t know what his reaction would be in his drunken state. 

She tried to push it away once more, but this time, his foot didn’t budge from its destination, partially because she was unable to push too hard, afraid that the commotion would grab her husband’s attention. She turned to Erik and mouthed him to stop, but the only effect was the widening of his smile. 

Panicked, she decided retreat was the best option. “Who wants some dessert,” she said as she stood up.

“I wouldn't say no to some sweets,” Erik answered, letting his gaze crawl over her body, leaving no doubt about what he was referring to.

Not that her husband noticed it, of course, using the opportunity to reach towards the bottle once more. “No for me,” he simply said before focusing on the bottle. Her hands squeezed, wanting to use the bottle as an improvised weapon. On whom, she was undecided.

She was already in the kitchen, reaching for the plates when she realized that she wasn't alone. She would have liked to notice it due to footsteps, or something similar, but unfortunately, it occurred it through an unwelcome intimacy. 

“Let me help you,” a voice that definitely didn't belong to her husband whispered simultaneously with two hands resting gently on her waist. She flinched, the plate that she was holding slid from her hand, only for his hand to blur towards it, catching it in the air. “Careful, sweetheart,” he said, the other hand sliding to her stomach in an undeserved intimacy.

She tried to get away, her skin crawling with his uninvited touch. She managed to turn, but his other hand was back in place before she could completely get away, locking her between his body and the kitchen counter, face to face in a caricature of an intimate embrace. 

“Get away from me,” she said with as much as bile she could muster in a whisper, putting her hands on his torso, but her attempt to push yielded no result. He was much stronger than his frame suggested. She wanted to slap him, pushing it away, but she held back, wanting to see whether she could handle it without escalating it to an outright violence, a certainty if her husband was going to get involved. 

“I will if you repeat it, but I want you to think it very carefully before saying so,” he whispered in a tone that could be mistaken for tender if she wasn’t seeing his face. “If I go, I'll leave the house, and take the deal with me, leaving my good friend for bankruptcy.”

“What If you go, we can always find a new partner,” she answered, trying to bluff. She was aware that they were simply out if time to find a new partner, but she hoped that she could convince him otherwise. 

“With less than twenty days of cash to sustain the business, not to mention the debt that is about to mature in exactly thirty-four days?” 

Her next words died before forming, replaced with a question. “How do you know that?” she asked because she was sure her husband would never tell those particular details.

“You would be surprised how easy to bribe the accountant of a failing company to reveal financial details. Something about knowing just how close he is about to be jobless,” he answered. 

A sinking feeling passed through her stomach, realizing the full extent of the position she found herself in. She could push him away, or call her husband, but that would destroy the last chance of saving the business, leaving them penniless… She said nothing, but she didn’t have to, her expression told everything that was needed. 

“Good girl,” he said, bringing his hand to her cheek, patting softly like she was a particularly slow child who managed to come with the answer after the teacher all but spelled the solution, smug and patronizing… She hated it, the feeling of being trapped, a sensation that she was familiar from the past. It was like when she was a college student, auditioning for modeling gigs. The first time the photographer came with that exact offer, she had slapped him, only for him to blacklist her from all agencies, waiting for her to fold. That time, meeting Thomas saved her from the debacle she was facing, allowing her to escape the debacle. Not an option this time, not when he was the exact leverage Erik was abusing to force her into compliance. 

She could feel tears gathering in her eyes as his hand slid down to her neck, moving down at a torturous pace, leaving a track of flame aftermath despite its fleeting pressure. She took a deep breath, steeling herself. She was cornered, but she refused to cry. “Such a beautiful red color,” he murmured, passing his fingers through her hair, though she barely paid attention to that, her focus stolen by her other hand, moving on her belly. Once again, she cursed herself for picking that particular dress. She could feel his touch like the fabric wasn’t there at all, his fingers directly on her skin. 

Her desire to run away rose as his hands crawled past her collarbones, and arrived the generous cleavage she was sporting. He used one finger to slowly drag inside, touching her skin. “I feel that it was the exact result you were planning, Sarah,” he said as he continued tracing the revealed portion of her breasts. 

“No,” she answered in a moment’s rebellion. 

“Really,” he answered, deeply amused. “Then please explain to me, why are you dressed in a way that would make a streetwalker blush?” 

She said nothing, because there was nothing to say. She could explain how an argument, built on a ridiculous misunderstanding, ballooned through stubbornness of both parties until she found herself wearing a slutty dress for a man she was yet to meet, but both knew that he wasn’t interested in that. It was just another way for him to molest her, like the fingers that were caressing her body. 

“I think that’s enough for now,” he said, making her relax despite the ominous meaning of the last two words. “If we spend more time, my precious friend will start to wonder where we are.” She ignored the tone of victory his tone held, as all the pity she had felt about his difficult school years evaporated when he decided to use her a tool for his revenge. 

He took a step back, and she walked away from him, directly to the kitchen to remove the desert. She would have preferred to leave the room instantly, but she didn’t want to explain to Thomas where the dessert was. But her walk to the fridge was aborted halfway when an arm wrapped around her waist, preventing her movement. She felt a distinct presence pressing to her bottom, its size apparent even through his pants. Before she could comment, she felt his fingers grabbing her breast over the dress, but this time, it wasn’t the soft, fleeting touches. His fingers sank into her flesh without warning, forcing a loud cry from her. 

“Are you okay, honey,” came the voice of her husband from inside. 

“I hit my toe to the counter,” she answered automatically. 

“Smart,” Erik whispered into her ear, patted her bottom like he was rewarding her, then pulled back as quick as he first came. “See you inside, sweetheart,” he added, and left the kitchen, leaving her trembling with an impotent rage. 

“I hate this,” she murmured to herself, trying to process the horrible turn the night took. Just a couple hours ago, she was playfully arguing with her husband, happy that the company was about to be saved, only to find herself helpless as she found herself being paved by a stranger. Still, she forced a fake smile on her face before going back to the living room, not wanting for her husband to realize something was amiss. It wasn’t a particularly convincing smile, she knew. Not that it mattered though, her husband was well-past the stage to distinguish the difference between a fake and a real smile.

“Dessert is here,” Erik said with a suggestive voice as she stepped inside the living room, a comment that was enough to erase the smile off her face. “Strawberries and cherries,” he added, making her glad for her husbands sloshed state for once. She was carrying chocolate mousse in the tray, which had neither strawberries nor cherries, making it an obvious reference to her hair color. She said nothing, just placed the tray in the table, and preparing to sit in her seat, but Erik patted to the chair next to him instead. She thought of rebelling and sitting next to her husband, not wanting to lose the protection that it afforded, but a pointed glare towards the door changed her mind, reminding her that he could leave at any second, and only her compliance stood between them and the bankruptcy.   

She sat next to Erik, and directly across her husband, who was insistent on paying more attention to the glass filled with the amber liquid. “Thomas, I’m curious where you met with this beautiful young lady? Why don’t you tell the story, I’m sure that’s quite romantic.” 

“It was fate,” Thomas answered with a grandstanding manner, the question finally reminding him of her presence, his bloodshot eyes turning towards her. But it was too little, too late, as she could feel Erik’s fingers mapping her thighs. “We were visiting the college campus because Megan was trying to decide which college to start, and Sarah was the student that was responsible for leading the group.” 

“Megan was your younger daughter, right?” Erik answered, and Sarah’s expression shifted angrily, for once not about Erik. Her relationship with Erik’s daughters was not the best. Admittedly, it was not a big surprise. The older one, Kelly, was just a year younger than her, and wasn’t very receptive to the idea that her father was marrying a woman a year senior to her. Sarah was yet to convince her that she actually loved Thomas and not just his money. 

“Yes,” Thomas answered before switching back to the story of their first meeting, enthusiastically skipping through the details, occasionally getting lost in unexpected tangents. Normally, Sarah would be joining the story, highlighting the favorite parts of the story, like him purchasing an ice cream, only to collide with her, ruining both of her clothes… But if things were normal, there wouldn’t be another man sitting next to her, his fingers caressing her flesh, sliding dangerously close to the hem of her skirt. 

Then, her problems suddenly multiplied when his fingers slid under her skirt and started exploring her inner thighs, dangerously close to her nether lips. Even worse, she could feel that her body starting to react his touches. Her body had always been weak to the foreplay, and for all the revulsion she felt intellectually, the body reacted primal, arousal building up slowly but steadily. 

Her husband occasionally directed his statements to her, inviting her for her side of anecdotes, but she deflected them with answers that consisted a few words, afraid to speak any longer. At first, she was afraid of her potentials, but the presence of an errant moan started to become more of a problem with each passing moment, as his fingers caressed the sensitive skin of her thighs skilfully, contrasting his reprehensible personality. 

“You seem a bit silent today, honey,” Thomas asked her suddenly, breaking his explanation. “Is something wrong?”

There was, but she was helpless to verbalize it. “Just focusing on the dessert-" she started only for her explanation to be broken with a moan, because Erik leveraged the exact moment to the break the barrier and slid his fingers inside her, sending a fresh wave of stimulant through her body.

“Wow,” her husband said. “Is it really that good,” Thomas said, misunderstanding the driver of her loss of control.

“I hope it is,” Erik interjected, his finger pumping furiously inside her, leaving her unable to answer the question.

She filled her spoon with a generous portion of the mousse, wanting to have an excuse for not talking, but his fingers twisted just as she was putting the spoon in her mouth, her twitch causing the dessert to paint her lips inside. 

“Let me help you clean, honey,” Thomas said, leaning forward. Sarah leaned to met him in the middle, afraid that he would see what was going on under the table. She felt his lips press hers aggressively. Normally, his touch would be enough to make her feel relaxed and happy, but this time it was different, the relaxation she felt as Erik’s fingers left her body overwhelming everything. 

But her relied hadn't been long lived. She had missed one really important fact about her position. To reach her husband, she had to raise her bottom off the chair, and that had the unforeseen side effect of giving an easy access to her assaulter, a fact she realized when she felt three of his fingers slid inside her, mercilessly ramming her. And to make things even worse, her husband was feeling randy from the alcohol, his arms gently holding hers to prevent her from pulling back. And the fear of her husband noticing what was going on wasn't exactly a helpful measure to the mixture.

Her torture lasted for an eternity even if the clock would say for just a minute until finally, the climax hit her. She would have preferred to rejoice that the most humiliating experience of her life was over, but trying to stay on her feet was taking all the focus she could generate. 

Her husband pulled back a few seconds later with a large smile on his face, completely unaware of the humiliation she just experienced. 

Before she could even begin to relax, however, Erik spoke once more. “Should we go back to living room, to discuss some business,” he said, but his eyes were on her, telling that it was just a beginning...