A Hole

This story is a follow-up to the story "Cards," (

https://www.literotica.com/s/cards-1

), published on Literotica on September 22

nd

, 2022. That story relates how a weekly poker game expanded to include winning inches in addition to chips. One of the players formed an intense relationship with Annabel, the dealer, and suggested introducing her to his wife.

"My wife wants to meet you."

That was an unexpected statement. Not exactly something the married man you're fucking would say.

The weekly poker game had just broken up and Mike had lingered when the others had left. My name is Annabelle. I'm the dealer and the only woman in the room Thursday nights. That fact led to some unusual stakes, with immediate payoffs, during some recent games and Mike had been the winner, multiple times. For this latest game, we had returned to traditional stakes and there was no reason for Mike to hang around unless he had something important to discuss.

"You're kidding, right?" I responded.

"Well, she doesn't know it's you she wants to meet," Mike explained.

"That certainly clarifies everything," I commented.

"You know how our...," Mike struggled for the right word.

"Affair," I suggested. I was really thinking "fucking" but thought I'd be easy on him.

"Yeah. Okay. Affair. You know how that incentivized me to improve my relationship with Camille. She's overjoyed with our increased sexual activity but" (why is there always a but) "she doesn't think she can keep up the pace I've set. She doesn't want me to slow down if she does. That would put us back where we were before. She wants to slow the frequency but not the pace or the intensity. Her solution is that we, she and I together, should seek someone who will provide me with continued, intense sex while simultaneously offering her a break."

"An interesting solution," I mused. "Where do I come in?"

"I was hoping we could find you."

"That would somehow bless what we've already done?" I asked.

"At least going forward," Mike said. "I can't imagine anyone other than you in my life alongside my wife and me."

"Together?" I asked.

"I don't know. We didn't discuss that possibility. I don't think she'd be interested. After all, she's seeking a break from too much sex."

"Okay," I commented.

"You sound disappointed. Would you want to be all together?" Mike asked.

"Camille is a beautiful woman," I said.

"I'll take that as a yes," Mike said. "I'll suggest the possibility to her."

"Slow down, kemosabe," I cautioned him. "We're a long way from an agreement. First of all, if you just show up one day and propose me as your intimate exercise partner, you're going to set her mind to wondering and you don't want that. Second, you're supposed to be interviewing potential partners together, not separately. You can't just pop a choice on her."

"You're right," Mike admitted. "I don't want to make her suspicious of my choice."

"Right," I said. "You're going to have to finesse her."

"What does that mean?" Mike asked.

"Somehow, you're going to have to convince her that I'm her choice," I explained.

"And then she can pop her choice on me," concluded Mike.

"I assume you don't have a problem with that," I stated.

"Not at all," Mike said. "How do I go about it?" he asked.

"I don't know. You'll think of something," I said.

"I will," he promised. "Thanks for the advice. Gotta go."

He kissed me and hurried from the room.

Mike called me Saturday morning. "Camille just headed out to the Whole Foods to do some grocery shopping," he told me.

"And why do I need to know that?" I asked.

"I've been thinking about what you said the other night and I thought it would be helpful if you met her accidently in a completely unrelated environment," explained Mike.

"Like grocery shopping?" I asked.

"Like grocery shopping," Mike affirmed.

"And then, what am I supposed to do?" I asked.

"I don't know," he admitted. "You'll think of something. Girl talk?"

"Nothing sexual?" I asked.

"Not on the first meeting," agreed Mike.

"Okay. What the hell? I'll give it the college try. Let me get dressed and I'll head to the Whole Foods."

I managed to "bump" into Camille in the rice, beans and soup aisle. I watched her go down the previous aisle and turn the corner. I moved to the head of the next aisle. I walked down the aisle she was walking up. I almost waked past her before I said anything.

"Camille?" I asked.

She looked at me for a half second. "Do I know...," she started to say. "Annabelle?" she asked.

"Hi," I said. "I didn't know you shopped here."

"I favor Whole Foods," said Camille.

"I'm surprised we haven't run into each other sooner," I said although I had never been in the market before.

"I haven't seen you since Mike bought that new suit in your father's store last spring," commented Camille.

"That's true, I think," I said. "How's Mike?" I asked.

"Full of piss and vinegar," said Camille.

"He certainly was upbeat last Thursday," I commented.

"Last Thursday?" mumbled Camille. "Oh. Right. You're the dealer at the weekly poker game," Camille realized.

"I am," I admitted. "I shouldn't be telling you this, but Mike's a good poker player."

"I know," said Camille. "He shares half his winnings with me."

"Really?" I asked. "I think most men wouldn't tell their wives they had won," I speculated.

"Not my Mike," insisted Camille. "He shares everything with me. I don't think it's possible for him not to share."

"I can see that in the way he interacts with the other players," I said.

"Anyway," said Camille. "It's been nice talking with you but I have to check out and get home before the ice cream melts."

"You better get going then," I agreed. "Until next time."

"Thanks. See you again," said Camille as she wheeled her carriage up the aisle toward the cashiers.

I bought a couple of things I didn't need and headed home.

Mike called me again late in the afternoon. "Camille told me she had met you in the supermarket," he started.

"And you had to call me as soon as possible," I mentioned.

"I did," admitted Mike. "What did you talk about?"

"Where's Camille?" I asked.

In the kitchen preparing dinner," Mike answered. "What did you talk about?" he repeated.

"Everything and nothing," I said. "You know, girl talk."

"Did you talk about me?" Mike asked.

"Only for a second or two," I informed him. "Camille did tell me that you shared everything with her."

"Shared everything?" asked Mike. "She used the word 'shared,'"

"Not in the way you're hoping she did," I said. "She said 'shared' as in... I don't know, shared."

"I know, but she used the word 'shared,'"

"Slow down, big boy," I said. "It's only the first time I've actually talked to her and it lasted only a minute or two. I didn't have time to say 'I want to fuck your husband' even if I wanted to."

"God," Mike exclaimed. "I hope you don't say it that way."

"Don't worry, Mike," I assured him. "I won't."

Mike called me Tuesday after dinner. "Camille's going to book club," he told me.

"I don't read much," I said.

"But it's an opportunity for you to talk to her and get to know each other better," he insisted.

"In a group with other women," I reminded him. "I don't think so."

Mike called again early Wednesday evening just after dinner. "Camille's going to the mall. Says she needs a new pair of shoes."

"Sounds promising," I said. "We could bond over shoes. There're at least a dozen shoe stores in the mall. Any idea which one?"

"I haven't a clue," Mike offered.

"I'll get back to you," I said.

I checked the mirror. Jeans and a golf shirt seemed appropriate. I put on an old, needing replacement, pair of shoes and headed for the mall. I started at one end of the mall, peering in the windows of each shoe store hoping to see Camille. What I didn't expect is she came up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder.

"See anything interesting?" she asked.

I was startled at first but I quickly recovered. "Oh. Hi Camille. Just hoping for an inspiration to replace these old things," I said as I waved one foot in front her.

"They do look kinda down-at-the-heel," she commented. "Come with me. I know the perfect place."

I followed Camille down the mall, past the food court, now called the dining hall, to a small, boutique shoe store I'd never heard of.

"The owner knows shoes. He'll find exactly what you need and he's inexpensive," Camille said with a smile.

The owner was with us almost before we entered the store. "Can I help you ladies?" he asked.

I waved my five season's out of date shoes at him. He looked at my feet for a second. "I see what you mean," he said. "Have a seat I'll be right with you."

He returned with six boxes containing shoes. They were all in my size. I hadn't really intended to buy shoes but the third pair he showed me and put on my feet changed my mind. They were astonishingly perfect for my jeans and comfortable to boot.

He then turned to Camille. She bought three pairs of shoes and we left the store together. Camille looked at her watch. "Only seven thirty," she said. "Time for a drink?" she asked.

We went to an Applebee's outside in the mall parking lot and sat at the bar. The noise in the restaurant covered our conversation nicely as long as we put our heads together and kept our voices down.

"It's amazing," said Camille. "I don't see you for months and suddenly, twice in less than a week. If I didn't believe in coincidences I'd think something transcendental was putting us together."

"Weird, isn't it?" I agreed. "Seems odd. We have so little in common."

"Except bumping into each other while shopping," said Camille.

"And Mike," I ventured holding my breath.

"And Mike," Camille agreed.

An hour and two drinks later, we were still talking. Without prompting, Camille frequently brought the conversation back to Mike. "You know," she said at one point. "I shouldn't be telling you this. You're young and single. Probably bedding studs your age four or five times a week, but married life isn't like that."

She took another deep swallow of her drink. I signaled the bartender for a refill.

"Over time," she confided, "sex loses that spark. You know the roses and fireworks of a healthy orgasm."

I didn't know where she was heading, but it seemed hopefully in the direction of Mike's plan so I let her talk and ordered another drink for both of us.

"Camille," I said. "You don't have to tell me this."

"Oh, Anna. Can I call you Anna? I do," she said. "I need another woman to talk to and I'm not complaining," she continued. "I'm bragging."

I took a sip of my drink and listened. Camille took another gulp of her drink and continued. "About a month ago, Mike came home and almost raped me. He was worked up more than I'd seen him in a decade. It didn't take him long to convince me and I'm glad he did. We had the best sex we've ever had, even better than our wedding night."

Camille," I said. "This is personal stuff."

"It is," she agreed. "But somehow, I trust you. Maybe it's because I'm a little drunk and I have to tell someone. You won't tell anyone, will you?"

"You have my word, Camille," I said and held up my pinky finger.

Camille wrapped her pinky finger around mine. "Swear," she said with a giggle.

"Swear," I committed.

Camille leaned closer to me. "I love it but there is a small problem."

"Really?" I asked trying to keep her talking.

"He's insatiable," she shared.

"Mike?" I asked softly.

"Mike," she confirmed. "Every day and twice on the weekends," she shared.

"Sounds like heaven," I commented.

"It is," agreed Camille, "except that he's wearing me out."

"Wearing you out?" I asked.

"Anna, I'm tired," Camille repeated.

"I understand," I said.

"Don't misunderstand me," continued Camille. "I'm not tired of the sex. I'm physically tired. It's like I have steak every night and every steak is better than the last one but I need a salad sometimes. Not just from steak, everything. If I don't get a break once in a while, I'm afraid I'll just slow down and Mike will interpret it as I'm losing interest and he'll slow down too. I don't want that. We'll be back to where we were a month ago. I want to run the race at full speed but as a relay not a marathon."

"I hear you," I said, "but I think it's time to get you home.

I managed to get Camille and her purchases out of Applebee's and put her in an Uber. I called Mike.

"Camille's on her way home. You should meet her in the driveway. She's in an Uber. I didn't think she should drive home so you'll have to pick up her car at the mall tomorrow."

"She's drunk?" asked a worried Mike.

"Nothing a good night's sleep won't cure," I told him.

"Did you talk?" Mike asked.

"Camille did," I said.

"What did she say?" Mike wanted to know.

"Patience partner," I said. "Have faith and let Camille be Camille."

"Partner?" asked Mike. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

"Just a word like shared is a word," I said. "Take care of Camille," I added and hung up.

Camille called me in the morning. "Anna, did I make a fool of myself last night?" she asked.

"Not as far as I'm concerned," I told her.

"I talked a lot," she remembered.

"You did," I agreed.

"Did I make sense?" she asked.

"More sense than you probably remember," I responded.

"Anna, I've been thinking about what I told you," Camille said.

"You do remember," I stated.

"Every word, every detail," admitted Camille.

When I didn't respond, she continued. "The weekly poker game is tonight?"

"It is," I confirmed.

"Could you pay special attention to Mike tonight?" she asked.

"I can't favor him in the game. It would be cheating and I won't do that," I said.

"Not in the context of the game," she explained. "As a man."

"And why would I do that?" I asked.

"I'd like you to be on my relay team and I need to know if you'd be okay with that," Camille said.

"Oh," I said.

"Does that mean you'll do it?" asked Camille.

"I'll let you know," I said. "Let's talk tomorrow," I suggested.

"Thanks," said Camille.

"Don't thank me yet," I said.

The poker game went as usual that night. I didn't give Mike any special attention. I already had everything I needed to know about him.

Mike hung around again after the game. Except for a quick kiss, I sent him home without additional information.

Camille called in the morning.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"Mike is a great guy," I started. "If he wasn't already married, I consider dating him," I said.

"So, you'll do it?" asked Camille.

"Slow down eager beaver," I said. "What does Mike have to say about it?"

"We've been talking about it," said Camille.

"About me?" I asked.

"Not about you specifically," explained Camille. "About the issue of my stamina and a general solution."

"Like a relay team?" I asked.

"Something like that," she said.

"And you're working together to find and interview candidates?" I asked.

"It's not that formal a process," said Camille.

"But it is a joint decision," I pushed. "Do you think dropping my name on him without joint discussion might cause a problem?"

Camille was silent for a moment. "You have a point," she said. "I should probably have your name come up in another context first," she mused.

"I think that would be wise," I encouraged her.

"How would I do that?" she asked.

"You'll think of something," I said.

Mike called Sunday afternoon. "Where's Camille" I asked.

"She's out having lunch with a friend," he told me.

"What's happening?" I asked.

"Camille has gotten serious about the issue of her being tired," he shared.

"How so?" I asked.

"She gave me a list of potential candidates last night," he told me.

"Interesting," I said.

"Your name is on the list," Mike said.

"I assume you're okay with that," I said.

"Are you?" he asked.

"I am," I answered.

"So," he considered. "All I have to do is get Camille to move your name to the top of the list."

"Sounds like a plan," I said.

"How do I do that?" he asked.

"You'll think of something," I said.

Camille called me Monday morning. "Mike and I have been having intense conversations," she told me.

"About the issue we've been talking about?" I asked.

"The same," she said.

"And?"

"I gave him a list of a dozen women we could talk about. I included a couple of neighbors, someone from my book club, the cute waitress in Applebee's, the older lady in the library and, of course, you," she told me.

"An interview list?" I asked.

"I hope it doesn't get that far," Camille shared. "I'm going to discuss the pros and cons of each woman on the list with him and, as subtly as I can, promote you until your name is at the top of the list."

"Sounds like you thought of something," I said.

"I did," she agreed. "Are you all right with my approach?"

"I am, "I said. "I'm curious, however, how you're going to get Mike to tell me,"

"I'm not. I was thinking I'd invite you to dinner and we'd tell you together."

"I'm already hungry," I said.

"How do you mean that?" asked Camille.

"Ever since you raised the issue, I've been thinking, and anticipating, what an evening with Mike might be like," I admitted.

"Slow down, eager beaver," Camille said.

Camille called Wednesday. "Can you come to dinner Friday night?" she asked.

"I'm sure my calendar is clear," I said. "What time?"

"Seven sound okay?" she asked.

"I'll see you then," I said.

Mike hung around after the game Thursday night. Camille said you're coming to dinner tomorrow night," he stated.

"She extended an invitation and I accepted. I guess that means I'm coming," I confirmed.

"Camille and I are of the same mind," he said.

"Why don't you let Camille tell me?" I said.

He grabbed my cheeks and gave me an intense, full of promise kiss before he left.

Friday evening at precisely seven, dressed conservatively but still accentuating my best attributes, I rang the front doorbell at Mike and Camille's house. Camille answered the door dressed casually. "Damn woman, you clean up well," she whispered before she hugged me and invited me in.

Mike was waiting in the living room. We shook hands and sat down, Mike and Camille on the sofa and I on a nearby side chair. We made small talk without any hint about the real agenda for the evening. It was a strange conversation. Each of them, and I, knew what the ultimate conversation would entail but each of them was unaware of what the other knew. They both wanted me as a willing participant in future sexual encounters but each of them thought only they knew I had already agreed.

Mike broke the mood when he stood up and asked if anyone wanted something to drink. He offered several choices. Camille and I chose white wine and Mike left for the kitchen to gather our choices.

Camille winked at me. "I think I need to get just a little tipsy this evening," she whispered.

"Don't overdo it," I suggested.

"Just enough to fortify my courage," she admitted.

Mike came back with two glasses of what he described as an excellent Sauvignon Blanc and something amber in an old-fashioned glass for himself. Fifteen minutes later he got up again to refill our glasses and came back with the wine bottle.

When the wine was gone, Camille got up. Her first step was a trifle off balance. "I need to tend to dinner," she said. "Come into the dining room in about ten minutes."

"Mike winked at me. "Camille is a little uptight about tonight," he shared.

"It's a big decision," I agreed.

Camille had gone all out for dinner. The table was set for three with her best china, silver, cloth napkins and ice water already in the glasses. The lights were dim and candles on the table provided most of the light. I stuck my head into the kitchen. "Wow," I said.