In previous chapters Dee has descended from a faithful wife to a dissolute slut. Here she wrestles with two addictions: one to painkilling drugs and the other to sex itself. Reading earlier chapters helps. As always, please vote and send constructive feedback.
"Dee Dee! Dee Dee!" I heard dimly through my half-asleep consciousness. It was Jack, and I reached over to stroke his penis. My hand closed instead on the dildo given me the night before by the adult bookstore owner. Blackmailing me with pictures of Jack and me making love, my husband, Frank, had forced me to engage in some frightfully obscene, exhibitionist acts at that establishment's "gloryhole." Then he'd brought me home and left for a few days, "to get his head straight," he'd said. Awake now, though still groggy from my continuing diet of painkilling drugs, I realized that my lover was climbing the stairs. I quickly stashed the dildo, encrusted with my dried juices, under my pillow. "Hey, sweetness! I let myself in," Jack said. "Gotta' get the crew started at seven." "The crew" were Hispanic workers led by a Russian foreman, Sergei, who were doing our house remodel, which had been designed by Jack and was now being managed by him. I looked at the bedside clock. It was 6:30 a.m.
"Mmm, Jack," I said, sleepily, "C'mere an' spend a few minutes with me," I pleaded, stretching my arms out to him and wanting his hard body. The weekend had been horrific. I'd been raped on Saturday night by Frank's boss, Bruce, had told my husband about it, and he hadn't cared. Bruce had given Frank pictures of Jack and me fucking in the backyard, hence my husband's sadistic gloryhole punishment. Jack and I hadn't made love since before the attack on Saturday night, and last evening's exhibitionist experience – in retrospect – had been doubly upsetting since Frank had been unsympathetic to my news about the rape. Beyond that, my drug-addled body itched to feel the glorious, familiar joy that Jack could evoke in me. He could make me feel
whole
again, I hoped. I was naked under the sheets and let the covers slip below my breasts to entice him.
"Oh-ho-ho-ho, babe, don't get me started!" he said. "If Sergei and those Hispanic guys, and especially your neighbor, Billy-boy, find out we're playmates, there goes my authoritative image!" he said, explaining the rationale behind a college course in management practice in one sentence. "Welll..." he hesitated, "maybe just one hug," he grinned, and lay down next to me, whereupon I yelped and stripped the covers from between us, gripping one of his powerful thighs between my legs and hunching against him a few times. One of my hands on the back of his head brought his mouth to mine and I kissed him, thrusting my icky morning tongue into his sweet mouth, in which I could taste the residue of toothpaste or mouthwash. His smoothly shaven face had been splashed with an after shave that transported me. I had to have him, and quickly unbuckled and unzipped his jeans to grasp his cock, which throbbed in response to my caresses. "Ohhh, sweetie, we don't have time," Jack groaned, weakening.
"Yes we do!" I gasped as I wheeled around and assumed a "69" position. "Come on!" I grunted, straddling his tan face. Though I'd showered and cleaned myself thoroughly before going to bed, after the whole bizarre gloryhole experience I was still mindful of the cum that had been sprayed into me by another man – the black man, Zack – the night before. Other than Frank, no man except Jack had ever cum inside me. Regardless, when Jack's tongue touched inside my inner lips, I forgot any grotesque images and possible reluctance.
"Mmm, yer' goo-ud," Jack mumbled between licks. "You mas'ur-bay'udh when you went to bed," he giggled, slurping the thick morning juices from my splayed pussy. I just moaned agreement and, forcing my tongue to the bottom of my mouth, tried as best I could to throat him, as I guiltily wondered whether I should tell him about the previous evening. I decided against it, since Bruce had met with a brutal "accident" – most likely engineered by Jack, I'd deduced – and I didn't want my husband to be hurt physically, regardless of my anger and contempt for him.
This was the first sexual contact between Jack and me since my rape. Since then, he'd very gently and considerately catered to all of my possible needs, the sexual ones not really becoming apparent until the night before. But this morning I was on fire! I looked consciously at the clock: 6:40! and continued sucking his long, thick cock. This is how I'd fantasized the beginning of each day that he'd be managing the remodel project. I would demonstrate to him my love, and keep him thinking about me all day as he went about other business.
Then I remembered again that he'd somehow arranged for my rapist, Bruce, to be horribly punished, and shivered as I pictured that odious, now-broken man convalescing in a hospital bed. I thrust aside the image this time, though, telling myself that he'd deserved whatever punishment he'd gotten, and resumed my focus on Jack's cock. I took as much of him as I could, nestling his spongy head at the back of my mouth and swallowing, moaning as I did so and hoping to coax a quick, tasty load from his scrotum. And his marvelous mouth was feathering me softly, already sending rapid, tingling waves to my center.
We worked quickly, as time was short, and both of us began climbing toward a delightful, simultaneous peak. I'd just felt the first shard of white heat flash into my pussy when the doorbell rang. Jack groaned and shifted, which prompted me to plunge my mouth back down on him and grind my pelvis against his chin, then the bell rang again! I was just going over the top when Jack suddenly pulled out from under me to clamber to his feet, hastily zipping his jeans. "Noooo!" I cried, curling myself into the fetal position and grasping my sopping pussy with both hands, as the orgasm faded. I was crestfallen as Jack bounded down the stairs to open the door to the cheery voice of Billy, the 19-year-old neighbor boy whom Jack had hired as a combination construction helper and bodyguard, and who – incidentally – had also told me recently that he'd had a crush on me since he'd been a kid.
"Hey, Mr. Taylor!" I heard distantly. "I'm a little early. Saw you drive up. Did I wake Deirdre?" Billy asked. I felt as if a huge, aching hole had been dug in the pit of my stomach.
"She's asleep, Billy," Jack answered. "Let's go in the kitchen and have coffee. I can't spend much time here for the next few days, so I wanta' explain what we've gotta' do."
"But I'm just the helper, Mr. Taylor!" Billy said modestly.
"Yeah, I know. Okay, I'll wait 'til Sergei and the guys get here..." Jack responded. Their conversation trailed off as they entered the kitchen.
Minutes later I came downstairs. I'd brushed my teeth, hastily combed through my hair, and thrown on an old, long, pale blue flannel bathrobe that I wear when I'm sick. I popped a Percodan and mumbled a good morning. I was in a foul mood and looked it...every bit the frumpy, care-worn housewife. Leaving the two to their "man talk," I plopped down in the breakfast nook to read the morning paper. The doorbell rang again – it was Sergei and his Mexican crew – and my two protectors went outside to do their thing.
