Fem Dom by Tony Cane-Honeysett

cheating husband with some tart, she was going to make sure said tart would see that Mrs. Drew wasn’t some frumpy old stay-at-home wifey. But what would she do if Clem was getting all snugly with another woman when she got there? That would be it. Over. How could she ever trust him again? There’s no way she could stay in a marriage with a cheat and a liar. No way.
    What would she say to him? Or to this Britney slut? To the both of them sitting there like two little lovebirds? Would she create a scene? What if Clem got mad? No, he wouldn’t. Clem was too cool for that. He’d try and weasel out of it with some damn lie that would sound so fucking convincing she’d have no way of knowing if he was telling the truth or not. Shit. Lorraine was right. The resentment was already building inside her.
    “Take the next exit,” said the dulcet-toned female voice of her car’s navigation system.
    “Okay, shut up,” Tara mumbled through tight lips.
    Friday night at Bella Luna was always packed with diners. This was definitely a ‘reservations only’ establishment. It was a large, stylish, upscale restaurant in the heart of the downtown business district. The décor featured deep orange walls with dark Japanese wood tables and chairs though the cuisine was decidedly Tuscan Italian. Its low lighting gave the place a distinctly warm and inviting ambience. There was the usual clientele of suited corporate types sitting at tables with a sprinkling of beautiful women.
    A tall statuesque hostess greeted Tara at the front desk. “Do you have a reservation?” Her glossy red lips smiled perfectly like a model in a Revlon cosmetics magazine ad.
    “No, no. I’m here to see, er…some people who are dining here tonight.”
    “Their name? I can tell you which table they’re sitting at,” the helpful hostess suggested.
    Tara couldn’t see past the bamboo partition, which separated her from the main room full of diners. She was nervous. This could be a very weird situation.
    “Er….Drew. Clem Drew is the name,” Tara replied, straining her neck for any sign of her husband. The hostess checked her list of reservations. A perfectly manicured fingernail stopped two thirds of the way down the page of her leather bound book.
    “Here we are. Drew. Plus one.” The hostess smiled at Tara. Tara’s heart was pounding so hard she could hear it.
    “This way.” The tall hostess walked into the main room.
    “No!” Tara blurted out, causing her guide to stop and turn around with a puzzled look. “It’s a surprise. Just point out where they’re sitting.”
    “Oh, okay. Table eighteen. Just through there to your right,” the hostess indicated. Tara sucked in a lungful of air and walked slowly in the direction of the hostess’s elegantly outstretched arm. Her eyes darted around the busy room like a nervous fawn surrounded by a pack of wolves. She walked as nonchalantly as she could muster past the various groups eating, drinking and conversing at their tables. There was a lively hubbub of chitchat as servers went about their duties. And there, right where the hostess had pointed, Tara spotted a pretty brunette: a young thirty-something sitting alone at a table for two.
    With a cocktail in her left hand, the woman deftly texted on her iPhone with the other, obviously waiting for Clem. The brunette glanced up with an expressionless stare, noting Tara’s approaching presence. It wasn’t Justine but yes, that was her. That was Clem’s whore all right. Maybe Clem was in the restroom or at the bar or maybe…
    “Tara?”
    The voice was unmistakably Clem’s. Tara spun around to see her husband sitting with a very distinguished older gentleman.
    “Oh! Hi!” Tara gushed with an embarrassed smile. “Glad I found you,” she blustered as Clem and his dining companion got up from their chairs.
    “What are you doing here? Is everything okay?” Clem looked genuinely concerned. Tara’s Plan B speech kicked in on cue.
    “Oh, no. Yes, I