Writer's Note: Although this chapter contains sex and sexual things, the scale tips far more towards plot than previous installments. As such, the sex is...well, I'll let you judge for yourself. But please do keep in mind that this is being done with a purpose.
Greg closed his eyes and thrust into his wife, Gina. She ran her hands over his arms, his chest, before looping behind his neck loosely. If Gina noticed the unusual tension in his ramrod straight arms, taut pecs, or knotted shoulders she did not acknowledge it. Instead, she whispered that she loved him and then gasped in delight as his thumb found her clit.
In his mind, the doctor reassured himself over and over again that this was right. This was good. This was what he wanted, what he should want. He ignored the thoughts that bubbled up, comparing his wife's moan to the babysitter Mallory's, her bedroom talk to the coed's, the way she enjoyed him and the way his now former naughty nasty mistress did. He pushed down the images of Mallory's face, twisted in lust and anger, threatening him as they fucked roughly, tumbling around her bedroom, hurting and pleasuring each other in equal measure as they laid waste to her furniture. He did not want those things, he did not want the slim blonde with the dirty mouth and the dirtier mind. Greg only wanted to make love to his wife, to re-embrace the way he used to be, to give up on all those dark fantasies, dangerous encounters, and incredible orgasms.
He grunted and bit his tongue. "Not incredible," he barely stopped himself from saying, reprimanding this errant, inappropriate endorsement of the illicit sexual activities he was leaving in his past.
"You okay?" Gina breathily checked.
He opened his eyes and nodded. She was flush and sweaty, her breasts delightful bouncing with each thrust, her skin warm and smooth to his touch. She was attractive, fit, and could be wonderfully noisy. How could he not be happy, not be fully satisfied with her? Why couldn't he stop thinking about the thin, small breasted, pierced navel bearing, dirty talking, fantasy fulfilling blond teenager that used to watch his kids?!
Yes, used to. After their last brutal encounter at Mallory's apartment, Greg had determined he must carve her out of his life to be rid of her. As long as she was around, he needed to fuck her. He was weak; she was too hot, too filthy, too everything. While his wife was "only" kind, thoughtful, a good parent, a helpful life partner, a decent lover. So, he told Gina that he did not feel comfortable with Mallory being around the kids, at least for now, given that she was drinking underage and to excess. It was all nonsense, but Gina bought it. She let the coed down easy and found someone else. Thus ended his adulterous violation of the wild, hypnotic 19 year old Mallory.
Gina ran her hands over her husband's shorn pate and nudged him downward, meeting him in a deep kiss with a tilt of her head. His mind still drifted.
He had not anticipate was how hard it had been to "go back" even without Mallory around. He still wanted the dirty talk, the enthusiastic oral sex, the power plays, the danger. He tried to convince his wife to roleplay, to have sex in some less traditional places, perhaps ones where someone might see them, to even just say "fuck" every now and then while they made love. She had rebuffed each suggestion with no's, giggles, and eyerolls. Each time his suggestion was denied, Greg receded farther into himself, his resentment enveloping him. He tried to remind himself he was the one cheating, Gina was the victim, but the drumbeat of "Well maybe if she'd just meet him halfway on ANY of these" was growing louder.
Greg caressed Gina's nipple, feeling it harden and hearing her coo into his neck. She arched her back, pushing her breast into his palm, filling his grip. He enjoyed its warm, soft, fullness in his hand and murmured his appreciation. She kissed him again, tracing the tight cords of muscle beginning in his shoulders and descending his back. It felt good to be with her, to be making love to her. But just good, never great, Greg found himself admitting.
Distractions like exercise, organizing the office and the home, volunteering had left him busy, in even better shape than ever, and with all of his stuff in its proper place, but it wasn't enough. He found himself masturbating at work between appointments, looking through Mallory's picture galleries on Facebook, furtively sneaking out of the bedroom and watching porn after Gina fell asleep. He wasn't cheating anymore, but he felt less honest than ever. Somehow, not fucking the babysitter had him doing a worse job as a husband.
Gina mistook her husband's slightly pained look for discomfort about being the same position, arms locked above, for us long and suggested with in between gasps, "Want me on top?"
A nod and long unhurried kiss later, the wife slowly lowered herself down the doctor's hard cock, feeling it spread her and pulse within her. She began to slowly push open and down, her hands splayed across his chest, feeling his muscles tense and his heart beat beneath them. She leaned forward, her hair tumbling over his face, and whispered, "Oh god, you feel so good."
Greg only grunted in reply, trying not fantasize about the time Mallory rode him while Gina slept through it all in this very bed. Instead, he explored his wife's body with his hands, wrapping up her hips, clutching her ass, caressing her face, fondling her breasts, dancing his fingers through her pubic hair until he found her clit with his middle finger.
Gina moaned louder and louder as her pace increased. "Are you going to cum with me?" she whispered, using the only dirty word she approved of.
"Not...not yet," Greg replied.
"Please," she pouted, digging her nails into his nipple, pain and pleasuring ricocheting their way through his body.
That's when it happened; he let himself relax and get lost in the sex and said it. "Oh fuck yes—"
He knew he was going to say Mallory, felt it on the end of his tongue, but managed to just stop it. The damage, however, was done. He had crossed a big no line for Gina.
With a strangle of disappointment, she shifted and pulled herself off him, awkwardly grabbing her robe as she stormed out of the room. Allowing himself a moment to both curse himself and thank his lucky stars he hadn't completed the sentence, he followed after her. He did not bother with a robe, semi-hard cock leading the way, lubricated condom still adorning it.
"What—" he began, knowing exactly the problem.
"You...you know how I feel about that word!" she spat back at him, not turning to face him.
"I'm sorry, Gina. I just got swept up in the moment. You know you just get me excited," he offered, trying to hold her.
She spun away to face him, looking angry, sad, and tired. "Why can't you just be happy with things like they are?" she accused.
"I messed up. It was an accidental slip of the tongue!"
"Maybe. But you've been trying to get me to do things for weeks now. Do you not like being married to me?"
"I—I—I'm not unhappy," he stumbled, "I just...look, long term, it's important to have variety and creativity in a sexual relationship if it is monogamous. I'm just trying to—"
"So you're bored then?" she interrupted.
"No," he quickly replied, lying a bit, "But better we start to try new things before boredom then wait and try to 'fix' it."
"So what, I'm just supposed to agree to whatever," she gritted her teeth angrily, eyes glassy with tears, "Let you 'fuck' me? Maybe I can watch you have sex with some girl we pick up at a bar? Or just shave myself bare so I look like some sort of porn star and you can treat me like trash, huh?"
"Come on, Gina, you know that's not what I'm saying. You don't want to do dirty talk? Fine, I suggested other ideas. And for the record, watching me with another woman or shaving was never raised. I'm open to your ideas too, but—"
"I told you, I don't have fantasies. I'm happy."
Greg deflated visibly. "Yeah...yeah, so you've told me."
"I'm going to bed," she said quietly, ending the discussion cold, "Feel free to do the same after you're dressed."
She tossed him his pajama pants from the floor and shut the bedroom door. He sighed, defeated again, and turned to the bathroom.
Across town, Mallory was lying on a twin long bed in some grey walled dorm room, football player dick in hand. Clad in a tiny pair of light green panties and nothing else, she jerked campus favorite Eric Desrosier's cock smoothly, with grim purpose.
He groaned and muttered next to her, enjoying the sensation of her warmed toned leg draped over his. He and his friends always claimed that they'd rather just take care of themselves than get a handie from a girl, but Mal was certainly changing his mind on the subject.
He was confused when she showed up in his dorm room during the floor party and immediately started to flirt with him. He sort of recognized her from the freshman comp class they took together and occasionally seeing her at dances on campus but couldn't think of more than six words they had ever said to each other. Still, she looked great that night in a tiny jean skirt and a black shimmery shirt whose neckline was so low it left little to the imagination. It was fun, he figured, a good way to distract himself from missing his girlfriend, Lana, who was abroad this semester. They'd flirt, she'd go home after the party, he'd skype with Lana and use the sexual charge from the night to make masturbating on a webcam a little more exciting.
That was his plan, anyway. Clearly, things had gone down differently.
Mallory had left her apartment that night with one goal, forget Dr. Clark. And the fastest way to do that, she figured, was to wrap her hand around some strange cock. So she drove to campus and wandered around looking for an inevitable party. On the east side of campus, she could hear the distinct rumble of a stereo being forced to play too strong bass too loud through crappy speakers and knew she was on the right track.
Once inside, she fixed her eyes on Eric. She didn't pay attention to the school's football team and even though he remembered her from comp the year before, she certainly didn't remember him. Still he was tall and looked strong beneath his ugly, ironic (she assumed) Hawaiian shirt and board shorts and she concluded he'd do nicely.
Once he mentioned he had a girlfriend abroad, she knew she was going to make him cheat.
"See, Doc," she thought to herself, bitterness in her every cell, "I can steal any guy I want. You're nothing special."
After making out with Eric in the corner, she convinced him to take her back to his room. He hemmed and hawed about Lana but didn't stop her as she unzipped and tugged off his shorts assuring him, "As long as we don't fuck, it's not cheating, Eric. Of course, if you decide you want to fuck me, I promise I'll keep it secret."
