The Devil's Pact, Tales from the Best Buy Incident: The Lesbian Cuckold - Sex Stories

The Devil's Pact, Tales from the Best Buy Incident: The Lesbian Cuckold

The Devil's Pact by mypenname3000 edited by Master Ken Copyright 2014 The Devil's Pact, Tales from the Best Buy Incident: The Lesbian Cuckold Note: This takes place in the week that followed the Best Buy Incident, following Kristi, whose wife, Ashley, was one of the victims of the Incident. Thursday, June 6th, 2013 – Kristi Shelley – Tacoma, WA “Hey, Kristi,” Adam said, peering over the top of his cubicle. “There's something wild going on in South Hill.” I glanced up at Adam. He had piercing blue eyes, the kind that made every woman in the office melt whenever he looked at them. Well, every woman but me. I much preferred melting, blue eyes on a woman—like my wife, Ashley. She had these beautiful, gray-blue eyes that I could just lose myself in for hours. “What?” I asked, curious. I liked Adam. He didn't get the hungry look in his eyes like most guys do when they find out you are gay and you have a pin-up model for a wife. Since I started working at DaVita's Tacoma office last fall, I had become fast friends with Adam. It turned out we had a lot in common—the Seahawks, enjoying a beer after work, and staring at a pretty woman's ass and tits. We were both married, but there was no harm in looking, right? “Some gas attack,” Adam answered. “At the Best Buy.” I frowned, something nagging at the back of my mind. Then my eyes widened in sudden fear. As I headed out the door this morning, Ashley vaguely mentioned that she needed to go to Best Buy for something. I reached for my ...

... phone; I had to call her and make sure she was okay. The phone rang and rang and rang. When she didn't answer, my heart felt like it was in my throat. “Call me right away,” I all but shouted at her voice mail. “I'm sure she's fine,” Adam consoled, walking around to sit on the edge of my desk. “I...yeah, she probably just was driving, or something,” I lied to myself. Ashley always answered her phone, even when driving. It drove me nuts. Adam squeezed my shoulder then swore. “Here comes Gretchen.” He ducked out of my cubicle before our boss, the uptight Gretchen Dicks could yell at him. She was in her fifties, skinny as a dry stick, like all the fluid had been sucked out of her. Her hair was pulled back into a bun so tight her face was permanently stuck in a scowl. She was like a vulture, always hovering at the edges, waiting to swoop in and devour a dying animal. “Ms. Shelly, this is work, not a coffee social,” she snottily said, looking down at me over her long nose. “Stop flirting with Mr. Upton and do your work. I need those Medicare invoices.” “I wasn't flirting, Mrs. Dicks,” I answered. Gretchen is a big stickler on last names. I pitied the poor man married to this harridan. “I'm gay, remember. And married. So, if you wouldn't mind, its Mrs. Shelly.” “By noon, Ms. Shelly,” she continued, ignoring my words. “Your six month review is coming up.” I gritted my teeth and nodded my head. I turned back to my computer, but I couldn't make any sense of the Medicare accounts. My mind ...