Curse of Carnality
Prelude: The Call
We mount, we ride, we conquer! -DV
Our ride will not be deeeeniiiide. -HG
Whoo! This ride is addictive. -CT
Ride And Die. -DE
Broken
Five years, five months, ten days, nine hours, thirty-three minutes, and forty-nine seconds.
The Time Of The End. -DE
*Clangk!!!* [sound of two swords clashing at the blades]
That was my e-mail notification for when I get mail. The subject lone read:
Loving Wife
. I had seen enough porn tags to recognize what those words mean. That email contained material that changed my life forever. I clicked to open the folder, and inside it contained exactly: one 10-minute video, thirty photos, and one audio file. I should have deleted the email. I should have chosen to live a life of ignorant bliss, but I am a masochistic fool that wanted to see the truth even though I knew what was inside. Shoulda, coulda, woulda.
I tip-toed to my twin daughters' room; they were fast asleep in their dreamworlds. I walked back to my office, put on my headphones, but kept one off my left ear, and played the video file. The video was one of those smart phones recorded types. The picture shakes with the tiniest of movement. You only see the skin of the derriere at the beginning, but I heard the voice, and immediately my heart sank and drowned. To make it worse, I saw the tattoo, a rainbow diamond on the left side of her ass, plain as fucking day.
My wife's grunts and groans with every backshot infuriated me further and further with every passing second. Sometimes I would notice exaggerated reactions, hoping at least she was massaging her partner's ego. That glimmer of hoping this was only a fuck. Ten minutes without pause I watched my wife's full-figured, athletic rump, flat stomach, thick thighs, and small breasts be animated in numerous positions.
I became sick after the first viewing. I ended up retching in my office's toilet and vomited again when another blast of my wife screaming, "FUCK ME HARD!!!" resounded into the bathroom while I was hunched over. Left the damn thing on repeat. I crawled back to the desk chair and sat up. I clicked on the pictures realizing there were probably hundreds taken, and those thirty sent to me were specifically chosen for my benefit/torment.
"Look into the camera ho!" The unseen assailant hollered and demanded.
I cringed at how she lifted her face without reserve, knowing how slutty she revealed herself to another man and whoever else. Legs spread, pussy splayed, breasts pinched, ass up and out; the combinations swirled in my brain.
I must have stared at that audio file for twenty minutes before I gained the nerve to open it. I press play. The bastard left the icing on the cake, whispering into the microphone like he was some villain out of a comic book.
"Yeeeessss, your wife is taken care of muthafucka. Heh, heh, heh! She aint yo's no moe. Ha, ha, ha! The sad thing is, she approached me with this shit. Hee, hee, hee!" The fucker guffawed mercilessly.
I sat another hour in that chair, numbed to the world before getting up and going to my bedroom. Looking over my wife with a hatred rising to boiling and falling to a below zero temperature. At the end of it all, I did nothing, but lied down on my side of the bed not sleeping the entire night.
Self-Inflicted
Two years passed and I wear masks with shit-eating grins on my face performing my husband-like duties, biting my tongue more than ever, and fighting back gag reflexes every time Miriam and I get close to each other intimately, which was few and far in between. The only thing I look forward to is being with my daughters. In fact, I have had more fun than I thought possible just getting to know them.
Today, or the fateful day, this "mask" will shatter to pieces.
The four of us are out and about as a family. I suggested this food truck festival in the afternoon. It is perfect, the feeling of actually loving my wife without distrust fogging up my senses. Laughing and smiling as we interact together with our twins.
I am in line buying a family size nacho at a food truck when that laugh, that horrendous guffaw rings in my ears. A sound so distinctive that no matter how long time goes by it is like it was a few seconds from the first time I heard it. I turn around with a strain trembling of anger, and there, the Fucker is. Exactly how I would picture him- a pig-bastard, dressing like he some thug from the 90's.
My jaw tightens, my fists clench, and my body quakes with unfathomable animosity. All I have to do is swing, and vengeance would be mine by knocking out every gawdy gold tooth in his goddamn mouth. My kids yell for me right on time, and their voices snaps me out of my bloodlust. All I can see is red and trying to control my breathing. I walk back to our table in a haze with the order. I help Miriam set up our table and the feeling of betrayal washes over me again, and the fog, thicker than before, returns, reminding me of Miriam's slut-ass, disgraceful, and deceitful ways.
I awake this morning lacking any feeling of tired or refreshed. I do not remember falling asleep. I do not rub my eyes, do not groan myself awake, just open my peepers, and turn my head towards Miriam. I do not see much of Miriam anymore. How well Miriam rests without a care it seems. That does not alarm me, instead it is my realization that I do not consider Miriam my wife, barely even the mother of my children. I rise having no forgiveness in my being to what Miriam had done, and how she exposed herself. I get up and walk to the bathroom to brush my teeth, and I look into the mirror.
"Disgusting weakling." I curse myself
KRRIIIAAASSSHHH!
"What the hell?!" Miriam screams out of her sleep.
"I broke the mirror by accident. I'll get it replaced." I said like a programmed robot with blood dripping from my hand, still looking into a shattered reflection of myself.
"You damn well better! Jesus Christ!" Miriam complains. I listen to Miriam's hysterics; inside I have a perverse smile on my face as if watching a drama on some cheesy Broadway musical.
I sanitize my hand, then walk out to the garage. I look around, and immediately move the cars out as my first decision. Miriam comes out screaming her head off. I ignore Miriam's rantings and ravings as I bring all my workout equipment from the backyard house. I have not used any of this equipment for years. I had given into Miriam's incessant whining and yelling about my own equipment, I purchased, even when I kept it contained to my side of the garage.
A couple of hours go by, and I finally set up the place the way I want it. The sandbag being the center piece.
"Are you finally done with your pet project? Get this out..."
"You touch any of this, and you will find your car on bricks one day." I interrupt with amorous effect. My twins are next to Miriam trying to see what is going on. Nosey little imps.
"And do not have the girls do your dirty work for you either." I warn. Miriam fusses and walks back in with the twins.
I launch one, hard, loud punch to the bag to test it. POW!!!
"Perfect." -DV
Days go by and every one of them I spend my free time in the garage. It feels as the only place I can think, or deal with the voice in my head. It is not loud, for now anyway, just terse and perverse in its linguistics. From the time I set my daughters down for bed to 12, or 1 in the morning, I work out. I suppose my "workout" allows me to be near the cheating wench no more than I must.
Miriam comes into the garage and tries to distract me, but I would simply look at her in silence, and then continue my physically strenuous solace. Miriam's ploys consist of random chats and jargon about her day or complain about how I do not spend "quality time" with her like before.
"This shit needs to end. You're scaring our children." Yes, Miriam tries that blaming tactic on me. I already asked if my routine was bothering the girls. They did not say they were scared, but I understand why they would not if they were. Daddy can get pretty loud and one-track into his routine.
My workout is not rocket science. Meaning, I do not have an end-goal or any goal of any kind. For now, it is physical training or self-afflicted punishment if you wish to call it that. Either way, the pain-n-relief/pleasure, cause-and-effect is good enough for me. My workout comprises of calisthenics with sets to failure. This includes pushups, sit-ups, squats, and pullups. I always end with beating on the sandbag. At first, I am very methodical in my movements then I become downright animalistic to the point of drooling like a mad dog as I clobber the bag.
Once done, and satisfied with my labors, I go inside, and have my shower. My body is sore and aches with incapacitating pain every day, but to be honest, at least it feels real. I fall asleep quickly, because I exhaust myself even though I will be getting up at 6 am for work.
One month passes. Physically: I have lost weight, maybe trimmed a bit. Me and Miriam had sex once, well, if you call me driving my dick into her without emotion, sex. Would not classify it as a fuck even. Applied physical endeavor? Miriam came of course, slut-whores always love a flesh tool rammed into them. I faked mine telling Miriam I came, and then fall asleep to not discuss anything further.
I... have not released in over said month. Jacking off not so much a need anymore. I try to get into the mood, but at present, I find porn to be tedious. Searching for the right stimulant, time to build up the fluid, the focus to remain on task; there are too many factors for ten seconds of alleviation.
"You know, you should turn the slut bag into a worn out cocksleeve." -DV
This is that voice I have been talking about. It comes around every so often wanting "satisfaction". Me fucking Miriam that one time, was I giving in to that voice? I question my methods even more now.
While Miriam came damn near ten times, I get a fake one for my troubles. Chalk up another win for the slut-wife of the year, and cuckold husband.
