Ankle Bracelet
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Ankle Bracelet
by Ty Spencer

It was early Friday afternoon as he rested on his elbows above her. His fingers stroked the side of her face as
they kissed.

She reached down for him I could read her lips.

“Get inside.”

He lifted her knees and I watched him press down and in. Through the thin walls of the adjoining room I heard
their pleasure. They looked into each other’s eyes for a moment, kissed slowly and he began stroking steadily
back and forth.

Love’s a quilt—covers what you don’t want to see. Married for twelve years—comfort— trust—I admit it—
apathy had caused me to overlook the obvious signs of her cheating. Even now, with my heart in my throat—
jealousy gnawing my guts—I wanted Lucia more than ever.

Her lover lifted a petite foot to his mouth to suck her red-polished toe—there it was—the new ankle bracelet
jingling against his hand as his wet cock worked her pussy. Lucia’s tits jiggled with each thrust and her dark,
hairy snatch had a life of its own.

The ankle bracelet should’ve been a dead giveaway. The new spiky hairstyle, expensive Weight Watchers diet,
her sexy new clothes, the twice a month be late tonight routine—bells and whistles—hammers over the head
and all overlooked by yours truly.

The detective fees were reasonable. Since Lucia’s lover routinely rented a room at the same motel it was a
snap for him to install wireless micro-video cameras—one in the light above the bed—another on the television
that faced it.  A hundred bucks guaranteed that the clerk registered them in that room. Another fifty reserved
me the room next to it.

There was no audio to his surveillance system because of danger of feedback noise. Yet the paper-thin walls
allowed me to perceive the bass and treble of their lovemaking. The tiny cameras saw everything and recorded
it to my laptop.

She rolled on top facing away—he spread her ass cheeks to watch. Her hands rested on his hips and her
mouth formed an O. Through the thin membrane of the wall I heard them. He arched to keep up with her
dancing hips. She wet two fingers and found her tiny clitoris. He licked a middle finger and slowly insinuated it
up her ass—this whipped Lucia into frenzy. She climaxed and he answered with a primitive growl—saturating
my wife with spunk. The ankle bracelet jingled.  

Despite myself an erection accompanies the rock in my throat. She leaned back on his chest as he toyed with
her tits—twisting the dark brown nipples.

I ignored omens—high beams in my eyes, the air-horn in my ear—drummed fists against my stubborn temples.
The image of Lucia resting on top is transferred to a memory stick. It’s hard to imagine—inches away—he has
slipped out and they’re lying side-by-side—a sizeable wet circle on the comforter. If I needed DNA there was
plenty to be had.

I could almost feel the heat of their bodies through the wall. They whispered to each other—perhaps he was
saying her how great she felt—she’s telling him what a mess he’s made. She excused herself to the bathroom,
where she pushed his seed out into the cold toilet water.

He rested—arms behind his neck—admiring her when she returned to bed. She’s probably telling him about
the mess he mad—which is why he smiled sheepishly. They snuggled again—she closed her eyes.  Lucia is
good at napping after sex.  

He can’t sleep. He has a beautiful Mexican woman naked next to him. He touched her lightly on the back with
his fingertips, kissed her shoulder, her neck—until it’s clear the time has come for an obligatory follow-up fuck.
Lucia’s battery takes longer to recharge. He rolled on top and slipped in easily. Her lips moved, yet she
probably wanted him to hurry up.

It’s all on a memory stick. The detective will remove his equipment—I’ll make a final payment and never see him
again.

They took a quick shower after he nutted again. Knowing that her cell phone would be off, I sent her a text.
After they dressed, she turned it on:
INBOX (1) How was it?
She sat up straight on the edge of the bed and typed rapidly as he rested on an elbow— wondering if she
might let him in one more time. As she typed, he ran a leisurely finger down the crack of her ass.

My phone vibrated:

INBOX (1): How was what?  

I didn’t reply, opting to watch her fidget. She’s having doubts—wondering if the jig is up.

I have the answer on a stick.

They dressed and as they walk passed my room he asked, “Do you want to grab a bite?”

“No—I really need to get home,” she answered.  

The rest of the conversation trails down the musty hallway.

I picked Rita up from day-care and took her to the tiny local zoo and texted Lucia that we’d return before
dinner.  

She wrote: Ok—Mua!

Then she tried to call but I didn’t answer. I imagine her pacing—squiggling in a chair and staring out the
window.

I gave her plenty of time to ruminate—stew in the juices of guilt. Sometimes the best answer is none.
Rita and I stayed longest at the monkey habitat. The monkeys were playing and Rita was laughing. They
groomed each other and she thought that was funny too. The stick was safely stowed in my shirt pocket.

A candlelight dinner awaited our return and Lucia was wearing my favorite black dress.

“What’s the occasion?”

“I just wanted to surprise you,” she replied.

I’d had enough surprises, I thought.

“You look nice,” I said.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine—a little tired I guess.”

Dinner was perfect—Lucia was perfect. As we were clearing the dishes she spontaneously kissed me.
The hours crept along. The stick was safely tucked away in my socks drawer. Rita was in bed by 8:00—
probably dreaming of monkeys. Lucia was showering again.

I connected the stick to the flat screen and pressed play. Lucia walked into the room with her lover. They
stopped at the edge of the bed for a kiss.

Did she love this man I wondered? Is this the end of us?

The shower was running. Lucia was probably soaping her crotch.

Now he was lifting her skirt—sliding down her panty and burying his head between her thighs.
Lucia is probably standing beneath the water with her eyes closed.

What will happen to Rita if we’re through?

He’s balanced on his elbows for a traditional start—fingers stroking the side of her face as they kiss. Then they
enter a new world—one I’ve visited many times with Lucia.

She is probably weighing her involvement with this man.

Why did she need this? How did she meet this clown? The detective said the guy taught physics at another
university.

The ankle bracelet is jingling against his hand.

The shower is off—what’s next? I hadn’t thought it thing out well enough.

He wants to cum—it’s written all over his face. Lucia’s on top, facing backward and he’s pushing a finger up her
ass. She’s looking straight up into the secreted light-fixture camera when she cums.

The shower door is sliding open followed by silence. Perhaps she’s staring at her misty image in the fog of the
mirror?

They’re on their sides, kissing.

The bathroom door opens and I ejected the stick, hiding it again among the socks.

I slipped under the covers to watch Lucia apply various creams and lotions—products designed to keep her
looking young.  

She sees me gazing and interprets this to mean that she has an obligation to fulfill.

“Want to make me dirty?”

She’s still wearing the ankle bracelet. We’ve never fucked with it on.

“Okay,” I reply.

“You’ll need jelly,” she advises, pulling her pajama bottom off and walking to the bed.

“Okay,” reaching into the drawer of the nightstand for the tube. I put a smidge on the tip of my cock.

“This is just for you,” she advises.

As I lift her legs by the ankles the bracelet jingles.  

She winces, still tender from her afternoon. After a few minutes I spurted heavily. There’s always roll of toilet
paper on the lamp-stand and I handed her a wad.

She returned to the bathroom for a while and then rejoined me. With the lamp clicked off it was dark and
silent.  

Then she asked, “What did you mean today when you wrote, how was it?”

I allowed a pregnant pause. Silence can be cruel.

“I don’t remember.”

She gave me a dry-toast kiss. “Goodnight darling.”

I don’t know how this will turn out. More time is needed to process my feelings. The stick is my trump card and I’
ll study it carefully before I decide.



Ty Spencer Vossler (MFA) currently lives in Oaxaca, Mexico with his BMW (beautiful Mexican wife) and their
daughter. Vossler has published novels, short stories, poetry and essays in twenty-three years of writing. He
attributes his originality to the fact that he shot his television over two decades ago.
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