A Little Sweet Revenge

Author's Note:

This is my first collaboration with consulting91; his story structure, the slow burn he developed, and the ending he created were inspirational. We talked about one of his works, and the ideas just started flowing. Do yourself a favor and check him out.

Also, my beautiful, wise, and insightful editor and muse, who taught me that I needed an editor, despite my protestations. In fact, she seduced me, promising only to be gentle, but of course, once I relaxed, she really went to town--an exquisitely sweet pain, indeed.

This story contains cheating, unfaithfulness, lying, conspiracy and pay back.

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"Rob, you know I've been (she took a deep breath) frustrated for a while." She paused again, sighed, and added. "Sexually frustrated since your accident."

As if I need the clarification. Yes, it hurts to hear.

"Believe me, I do love you so, so much."

"Here it comes," I thought.

"We were both sleeping with other people when we met. It's not like either of us had a zero body count going into this marriage."

I opened my mouth to protest; she must have anticipated my reluctance, making her snap, "I didn't sign up to be your celibate caregiver! Not in my 20s'!"

Her irritability and temper were becoming a regular thing now. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

About 2 months ago, my wife Toni was working late again, so I took my motorcycle out for a quick ride to the mountains, scouting the autumn leaves and planning a weekend away with her. I remember it so clearly: I raced around a blind turn and suddenly hit a pile of fallen leaves on the road. The heavy bike skidded out of control, and I was pinned between the motorcycle and the guardrail, hanging upside down over a deep, rocky ravine. My life changed in an instant.

I spent a week in the hospital, in traction. A broken shoulder, half a dozen ribs, and considerable damage to my lower spine. Fractures and torn ligaments everywhere. When I was eventually discharged, it was in a walking traction device that was strapped to my torso and a bag full of pain medications.

The doctor warned me, "You're young; you should heal in time. IN TIME! But we're talking about your spine, your lower back. If you rush things, cheat on physical therapy, or anything else, you WILL end up with pain the rest of your life. Maybe debilitating." He warned.

At first, my wife Toni was amazing, helping me shower, use the bathroom, taking time off work to make sure I ate, and driving me to the hospital as required. But the pain medications killed my libido, and the blood thinners ensured any erection I could get was weak and short-lived. As an athlete and someone who got laid anytime I wanted, this was a massive blow to my ego. Toni was the one woman I'd met whose sexual appetites were compatible with mine. I did understand her frustration.

The doctor has encouraged me to seek counseling. He warned me about depression during the healing process. And wasn't that the truth! I was shocked at the impact this accident had on my mental health. I'd gone from a top athlete who could race a motorcycle at 100 miles per hour down a twisty mountain road to a 175-pound lump that could barely wipe his own ass. I'd look in the mirror as my muscle tone atrophied away before my eyes. Not to whine, I was lucky to be alive, but there was more to the healing process than regrowing bones. I was also taking a collection of pain pills, blood thinners, sleeping pills, etc. Making a mess of my body and my head alike. Between lack of sleep and the pain, I fell into depression. Toni agreed and got me a therapist's name from a friend of hers at work.

She took me to see him almost immediately. "Dr. Mike"--funny, this was the most engaged she'd been in my recovery since I was released from the hospital. The therapy did work; it kept me from becoming suicidal, for instance. Being able to talk about my relationship with Toni was a relief too. He also gave me what I thought was odd advice about how I should feel about Toni's "tension." Looking back, it should have been a red flag. More about that later.

Maybe I should have gotten Toni a shrink too. She seemed to be having trouble as well. I mean, sex between us pretty much went from 100 to 0; her days were spent taking care of me. At first, she was the ideal wife, taking on this extra burden with grace.

But now, going on 2 months later, she was growing more and more irritable and quick-tempered. She would slam doors and yell at people for no reason. There was nothing I could do. Of course, we tried toys and vibrators and attempted to find a creative solution, but due to meds and pain, I didn't have the drive now, and anything we tried was a patch and short-lived.

This left me tiptoeing around her when she was home and turning a blind eye when she was gone longer than usual in the evening. I did anything I could to keep the fragile peace at home.

When we first met, she was hanging out with a group of rowdy, bawdy women at a biker bar. I was with my friends, just as loud and raucous. I noticed her right away--the girls she was with were openly flirting and teasing the other patrons. A few of them even had wedding rings on, but I didn't see one on her finger. I could not take my eyes off her, hoping she'd look my way for even a second.

She was the definition of sexy. Lithe and slinky, her physique looked athletic, her breasts straining against the silky black dress she wore, cut up high to show off the best pair of legs on the planet. Her black hair framed her olive-skinned face perfectly. I know it's a cliché, but she stood out because she was way too beautiful to be in a place like this.

My best friend Giulio, from my exchange student days in Italy, was sitting next to me, whistled, and observed, "Wow! That is the HOTTEST woman I've ever seen outside of Rome!"

I heartily agreed, nodding, "Should I go over and take my chances?"

He chuckled, taunting, "Go ahead! I love watching you get shot down!"

I looked back, and she was gone! I scanned around the room, but couldn't find her! Suddenly, I felt a light tug on my sleeve. I glanced up, and there she was! Without looking at me, I felt her quickly slip something into my shirt pocket, then slowly walk away and out the front door. I could not peel my eyes off that incredible ass, that insane figure, until the door closed and she disappeared.

Suddenly remembering my pocket, I reached in and pulled out a bright red thong, even now the middle partly damp. Chuck saw it too; we looked at each other as if I'd just won a lottery! Quickly, he shouted, "Go! Go!" and helped me up, pushing me toward the door.

We never even made it to my car. I tugged up her dress and slid my cock into her wet pussy right there in the parking lot, my grunts and her cries masked by the loud music, our bodies barely hidden in shadows. After I shot my cream into her, we jumped into my truck and sped to my apartment, her sucking my cock along the way. We barely got in the door when we were both naked and fucking on the landing, in the hallway, in the kitchen, and finally around 3 a.m. in the bedroom.

The next morning, I woke up next to her, my arm around her. "Hi, I'm Rob," I said.

"Toni," she replied.

"Um, have you seen my dress?" she inquired.

"I think we left it on the sidewalk," I answered, truthfully.

"Shit! That was my favorite dress!" she lamented.

"Well, you can't go home naked," I jibed. She smiled.

She turned and kissed me. "Oh, dear, then I'll have to stay here!" she observed.

"I like you naked," I offered.

"Fuck that dress; it was a rag anyway," she chuckled.

She straddled me, and my cock found her wet opening; we had amazing sex until way after lunch and then ordered in.

Our fucking was compulsive, needful, constant. We moved in together simply because we never left each other's side. We were infatuated with each other, each other's lives, loves, and pursuits. She felt like the best friend I never knew I needed. She loved it when I introduced her to new bands and new music, and then she showed me off to her friends like a prize. She was ambitious; her career was just taking off, but she talked to me about her plans and her dreams. When I confessed that I could not have children, she acted like it was irrelevant--I was enough for her.

Even after our passion calmed, I spent every waking hour thinking about her, then later thinking it was love, in fact. Even though I was in my early 30s, I guess she liked older men.

When we met, I was a young music producer. I helped bands arrange and mix their work, even adding studio musicians or other talent as needed. All I needed was a computer and headphones, and everything else was done at the studios. In the computer age, it was easy; they sent me digital files, and I remixed or adjusted volumes, tempo, or anything it took to salvage the good ideas, musically, from the exuberance of youth. Many of these bands went on to successful recording contracts or tours. I was proud of the work I did to help them find success. Of course, after the accident, work piled up.

I didn't charge a lot for the production work, remixing, and correcting the audio. But I did stipulate a percentage of any final sales and a tour cut if I was asked to consult. It was hard at first until a few of my bands started to make serious sales; then the money started coming in. I deposited it directly into my business account and tried not to think about it, to not cloud my artistic judgment. I still dressed like a poor student, to fit in with my clients and help them open up to me. But, as they found success, so did I--it was lucrative, very much so. And I had lots of free time.

Toni and I were together all summer; by fall we had arranged a vacation in the Turks and Caicos Islands at a charming resort away from the crowds. One of my clients' family owned a resort there, and I'd promised to visit. I spent weeks in secret planning our trip. By the time we arrived, the entire staff knew our names, our favorite cocktails, dinners, everything. We never had to order from a menu--the drinks and food arrived as if they could read our minds. We spent the week exploring the island, every nook and cranny. I proposed there, surprising no one, only Toni. It went like this:

That Friday night, Toni and I were on the beach, watching the sunset. I took her hand and asked her to stand, and as she did, she saw the entire staff of the resort had gathered! I dropped to one knee and proposed. Once she said "Yes," everyone erupted in cheering and celebration; they brought out drinks, and we invited the other guests to join us--it was one in a million.

Then as a couple, we started talking about the future for the first time. While exploring, we found an old rum distillery, in bad shape but still operational. We even spoke to the owner, and he confessed he was planning on selling and retiring. We discussed buying it, fixing it up, and running it as a tourist location, the idea of living together in paradise igniting our imaginations. After he went back inside, Toni told me to go around the side and pee on the building, claiming it as a wolf might. She said that would guarantee we'd return and it would still be here. I laughed and agreed--if she would hold my dick while I peed. She giggled, and then we did--claiming our distillery.

"I want an open marriage," she announced, breaking me out of my reminiscing. "Just while you are healing," she added as if that would make me feel better.

Now, that vacation seemed like a lifetime ago, more than the 5 years it had been. She looked into my eyes, waiting for an answer. I knew it didn't matter what I said.

"I want physical relief, satisfaction. I need to feel like a woman."

But here, now, my mind went numb as she said it:

"I need to date again. I want to find a lover. I want to be desired. And to freely act on those desires."

Numbly, I asked, "What are you planning on doing?"

She told me her friend from the next city over was looking to set up a three-way for her boyfriend and invited Toni to join. She wanted to start there. One night. One lover.

We fought, and she accused me of being selfish. I called her unfaithful, uncaring that it would hurt me. She countered that I was unreasonable because lots of couples had open relationships and were perfectly happy.

We talked about the risks, the timeline for my recovery, and her promise that this was not emotional, only physical, with a safe but nameless partner. Condoms, showers afterward, very clean, out of town too. No way for this to get back to our friends or family. Then, when I was healed and feeling more like myself, she'd be mine once again, her extramarital adventure never to be mentioned again.

The usual bullshit.

Then, she suggested I discuss it with Dr. Mike. That suggestion surprised me, but I did bring it up at our next session. He talked about my trust issues, my jealousy, and my healing process. Eventually, he made it seem as if letting Toni find a temporary sexual surrogate was a fair trade for her nursing me at home. It was how I could support her. I felt trapped.

I was heartbroken, but I didn't want to fight anymore, and I convinced myself to trust her. So, I relented. She wanted to open our marriage and occasionally fuck other men. I didn't like anything about this, but here I am.

So, she got dressed up, looking hotter than ever too, then made sure I had something to eat in the fridge, kissed me, and drove off. She sent me a few texts, like "Made it to the hotel," "He's cute, but not as cute as you!" Then, "Going to the room, good night!"

I couldn't sleep. I stayed up all night staring at my phone, looking for some lifeline, hoping she'd text, "Changed my mind, on my way home..." but it never happened. When she did pull in, late, she looked disheveled and tired; she kissed me on the cheek and wordlessly helped me into bed. The next day we didn't talk about it, pretending it didn't happen.

After her first tryst, things went back to normal for a while. She was a model housewife, cooking, cleaning, and doting on me. It would last for a few weeks until she started to show signs of impatience and a quick temper, then she'd go out again.

At first, it was, "A repeat performance of that three-way." Then, "Her friend knows this guy; he's in town for the weekend." until it just became, "I'll see you in the morning." Not even bothering to make up an excuse. Each new tryst was more casual than the last.

The topic came up frequently at my therapy session. "Dr. Mike" listened as I told him my deepest fears, that my wife was unfaithful and acting on it, even when I needed her the most. He calmly explained that she was behaving normally and, in fact, was sacrificing "for us" in the long run, and eventually, I'd have my happy, faithful wife back. I should make peace with her and support her efforts. He was reassuring, but it sounded like odd relationship advice, especially coming from a licensed therapist. But maybe he was right.

At first, each time she had a night out, I was angry when she returned. I could not help myself. I was cold to her, not talking or forgiving. I was resentful, looking for any excuse to start a fight. Quickly, though, I learned that the more I fought with her, the more frequently she'd go out and the longer she'd stay out. I was literally driving her into the arms of another man. I was caught in a death spiral: my wife and my marriage were slipping away. I had to change tactics, maybe follow "Dr. Mike's advice." As hard as it was, in violation of my core beliefs and my very nature, I began to support her, to act like I understood, and wanted her happiness to be paramount.

Between the meds and the physical pain I felt, my head was a mess anyway. I thought that healing was the fastest way to get her back, to end this nightmare. So I focused on just that: my therapy and my health.

Yeah, it was hard. I didn't like living this way, but I was following the doctor's orders and trying to hold my marriage together.

Back home, along with the usual "I'm here and safe" texts, she started sending me pics of where she was and who she was with. Some of them were sexually graphic. She said it was so I'd feel included, but it felt exactly the opposite. She was flaunting her conquests, rubbing salt into the gaping wound of what I could not do for her.

On the plus side, "supporting her' had a payoff for me in a way. When she did get lucky, I would too, as much as I could. She'd come home late, sometimes a little tipsy, but in an amorous mood. I could never sleep when she was out, waiting up until I was sure she got home safe. Like a dad on prom night, trying not to think too hard about what she was doing. When she did return, she'd find me, usually lying on the basement floor to keep my spine straight, listening to the demo tracks my clients sent while doing what exercises I could.

She'd slink over, fresh from her conquest of the evening. She put her head close to mine, whispering about some handsome traveler or visiting executive she'd met, always athletic, charming, and hung. Mostly older than her. She admitted older men "knew" things that men her age did not about making love. She sometimes showed me pictures on her phone of his physique, her hands on his naked body, sometimes on his hard cock, her wet pussy, all while describing the action, how he made her climax, and how intense her orgasm was. She'd release my cock from my sweatpants, stroke it as she told me how bad she was, how dirty he made her.

I got as hard as I could manage while she told me all the details. But my erection never lasted, and I rarely climaxed. She seemed patient and did what she could.

Sometimes, she'd finger herself while she talked, then take her wet fingers out of her pussy and trace around my lips with the sweet, musky liquid. I'd suck her fingers, licking them clean again and again until she massaged her clit to orgasm. Having her climax next to me was surprisingly tender; it did make me feel like we still had a connection.

As she learned of my (forced) acceptance of her adventurism, she started getting more daring; her pictures would show graphic details. She would show me a picture of a big cock next to her face, then she'd kiss me. Then she started sending them to my phone directly, not just a picture of the bar with a note, "Got here safe! Wish me luck!" but then a snap of a naked man in the hotel shower with, "Got lucky tonight; he's positively hot!" Or her tits with a man's hands on them, or once, of her tit covered in semen. Never any faces. That was interesting. Or more recently, a hard cock penetrating her wet pussy, no caption that time. A few times she offered to FaceTime me, let me listen in, maybe even catch a glimpse. She said it was so I'd feel like I was part of it. She was close to me, but in truth, every time she threw me a bone like that, it felt as if she was rubbing my face in it.

One night, out of desperation, I didn't take any pain meds. I wanted to get hard, to ejaculate, or at least prove to myself that I still could. I lay there in pain, hoping my wife had struck out in whatever bar she haunted that night, and she'd come home horny.

Late that night, she arrived in good spirits when she entered the room, a little drunk. Well, I went this far--I might as well keep going. She slowly lifted her dress to show me she had no panties on. It was so hot! She started describing her evening, and I felt my cock get hard.

She gasped, then she declared, "There's my old friend!" And she knelt beside me.

Moving her head next to mine, she asked, "Can we fuck?" But as she put her leg over mine, she bumped my hips, twisting my spine, and I practically screamed in pain.

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry!" She apologized over and over. I assured her that I was OK. I did my best to lift her hips to my head, positioning her pussy over my face, and started licking her wet cunt. I knew there had been a stranger's cock in there only a few hours ago, but I didn't care; she was insistent about condom use, and I needed to show her I could still please her.