Chapter 2 -- Discovery
In a world where it's safe to have unprotected sex, there is such a thing as...a good marriage.
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Mark and Carrie moved to Sausalito where they had a great view of the bay and enjoyed the bohemian atmosphere. Carrie laughed when Mark carried her over the threshold and they didn't make it past the foyer before tumbling to the floor and making love.
They made love in every room of the house, multiple times, and joked that they wanted to smile at the memory of fucking on each couch, chair, washer, dryer and other flat surfaces throughout. Carrie was insatiable, wanting some form of sex at least once a day, usually more.
Blowjobs, handjobs, quickies, and marathons. They watched each other masturbate then continued their chores. He fingered her to orgasm before grilling tuna steaks. Carrie would come up behind Mark, put her hands down his shorts and fondle him. She'd whisper in his ear, "It's been ages since you fucked me." Mark loved her accent, it gave her words a musical lilt: "Aytes bain ages since ya fooked mae." She was irresistible and he couldn't imagine a future in which they wouldn't be together.
Around the house Carrie wore skimpy clothes, tight and revealing, or loose, sheer gauzy things, all designed to keep Mark aroused. Carrie liked Mark in loose athletic shorts for easy access. She liked him shirtless or in form fitting tees. She adored his wide shoulders and torso that tapered to a slim waist. Carrie swooned over his defined chest, strong legs and tight ass. She couldn't keep her hands and mouth off of him.
Life settled into a routine of sorts. Carrie wrote wherever it suited, often on the back deck overlooking the bay in the distance. Mark mostly worked in his office since he liked using a large monitor. They'd intersect and make love, seek each other out and fuck.
About six months living in their home Mark finally got around to clearing the garage of the boxes they stored there when they first moved in. Most of the boxes were miscellaneous items that collect over time that have no particular place to go. Some were Mark's and some were Carrie's. Mark was carrying the last two boxes to the walk-up attic. His foot caught the uppermost step and he stumbled. The top box fell and hit the floor at an angle causing the lid to pop open and the contents spilled, fanning out across the plywood floor.
"Dammit," Mark said. He put the other box in its place and returned with a sigh to pick up the mess scattered about. Mark knelt down, opened the box completely so he could put the items back in. The box was marked "Carrie" and contained photos. As Mark picked them up and sorted through them a sick, sinking feeling crept over him.
There were pictures of Carrie, of men, and of Carrie with the men. Smiling at the men, arms around each other, happy. A few of Carrie in lingerie. A naked man in a chair, a book over his privates. A couple hundred pictures of Carrie and other men.
Mark was reeling. His stomach was in knots, his heart was in his throat. He didn't know what to think, what to do. Mark fought the urge to run downstairs and confront Carrie before she left for town, to find out exactly what the pictures were about. His heart was beating like a jackhammer and he realized he was breathing hard. He had to slow down. He had to think.
Mark sifted through the pictures, a loud buzzing in his ears. He counted about seventy-five men from what he could tell. Seventy-five men. No sex pictures, but it was clear she wasn't just friends with these men.
Had Carried really slept with seventy-five men? Mark knew she had three long-term relationships that lasted between one and two years, but he had no idea about all these men. He figured she probably had a few other lovers, but this? This? This never even crossed his mind.
Think, Mark told himself, think. He decided to not confront her until he could sort through his feelings. He loved her, after all. With all his heart. But now...did he really know Carrie? He thought he had. But...seventy-five men? Mark put the pictures in the box and put the box on top of the others. He walked slowly, stiffly back downstairs to his office, sat down and stared at his computer screen, seeing nothing. He was glad Carrie had already left for a meeting at her publisher's office so he wouldn't have to see her. Mark didn't think he could act normal around her at the moment. He had to prepare himself. And think.
Carrie arrived home while Mark was in the kitchen. She came to him, put her hand on the back of his neck, pulled him to her and kissed him. She pulled him to the den, pushed his shorts down and shoved him onto the couch.
He was hard. Sometimes Carrie simply walked by, gave him a look and he got hard. He'd grab her, bend her over a club chair or counter, lift her skirt and fuck her. She rarely wore panties at home, though sometimes did only so she could peel them off for him. Other times Carrie would get a surge, push Mark to the floor and sit on his face. He'd grab her ass and make her come.
"Oh my god, I'm so horned up," she said as she sat on his cock, her skirt flowing around them. "I was at the store thinkin' of a new sex scene for my book and it became us and I got sooo wet. I'm fuckin' drippin' wet for you, darlin'." Carrie took Mark's head in her hands and kissed him. "I love you so much, Mark. I love you so, so much," she said and rocked on him.
Mark put a hand on her ass and added pressure to her movements. He grabbed Carrie's breast and massaged it, squeezed it. He yanked her t-shirt off. Carrie arched and presented her breasts to him. The box of pictures flashed through his mind and a mixture of emotions surged. He thrust into her and she grunted. He bit and twisted her nipples and she moaned and held his head to her.
Mark lifted Carrie and she squealed in delight as he whipped her around and down on her back, never withdrawing his cock from her cunt. Mark pushed her legs up and back and fucked his beautiful wife, his precious wife, as hard as he could. He pounded into Carrie, driving her into the cushion.
Carrie moaned and grunted and urged him to fuck her harder, deeper, faster. It went on and on and on and finally she rasped, "Yes. I'm there!" She grabbed his arms, went rigid, and yelped. Mark felt her spasm and pump her hips and he thrust and came deep inside of his soulmate.
Mark lay on Carrie as they caught their breath. She stroked his hair and back. "Wow, love. That was quite a matinee performance. I hope you got enough left for the evenin' show."
"It might be two shows tonight."
"Oooh, I could live with that."
"I love you, Carrie. I love you so much," Mark said softly. The picture of Carrie with the man at the beach popped in and out of his mind and a hollow feeling seeped into his gut.
"Me too, darlin'." They kissed, disengaged and she said, "I need to write that chapter while it's still fresh in my mind. God, that was good, honey," she said and whisked away.
Mark slowly pulled his shorts on and thought about Carrie and seventy-five men while his stomach churned.
That evening they snuggled on the couch and watched television. Mark flipped through all those channels finding nothing to land on. Carrie was content to just be with him. She tiptoed her fingers up his thigh, under his shorts and massaged him. She removed her hand, tugged at his shorts and Mark lifted his rear so she could pull them down and off.
Carrie fondled his cock, ran her hand up, circled her palm around the head, back down. Her soft hand felt wonderful. Carrie brought Mark so much pleasure, but he couldn't help wonder if she had caressed seventy-five other men in the same manner. Wondered about all the cocks she'd seen and felt.
"What's wrong, me dear, you seem distracted," Carrie said, scooped Mark's pre-cum onto her finger, into her mouth.
"Nothing."
"Don't nothin' me. I can tell when somethin's on your mind."
Mark took a deep breath, watched Carrie's hand stroke him and said, "I took a bunch of boxes to the attic today."
"Mmm hmmm," she said and massaged his balls. She kept his cock and balls shaved because she loved the smooth feel when they were in her mouth.
"One fell and broke open."
"Mmm hmmm." She swirled her palm over his head, then the sensitive glans, and she smiled when he moaned.
Mark was breathing harder. "And a bunch of pictures fell out."
"Mmm hmmm." She stroked him up and down with her small hand.
"Pictures of you. With other men. A lot of men."
Carrie paused a moment before continuing to stroke him. Slower and with less pressure than before.
"And?"
"What does it mean? All those pictures of you with those men." Mark's heart was beating fast.
"They're just pictures, dear."
Mark's heart was in his throat. Carrie's was sinking bit by bit.
"You told me you had three long term relationships."
"I did."
"So...those pictures...those men?"
Carrie stroked Mark gently, looked at him and said, "Darlin', I love
you
. You and only you. Out of all the men in the world I fell deeply in love with you. There is no one else but
you
."
"But those pictures."
"Do I make you happy?
"Yes."
"Do you love me?
"Of course."
"How much?"
"With all my heart," Mark said.
"With all me soul," Carrie said.
"Forever and always my heart belongs to you," they said together.
Carrie stroked Mark and said, "That's all that matters, then. Anythin' before us doesn't matter. All that matters is us. Together. Right now." Mark nodded. Carrie leaned up and kissed him then went down on him and made him come.
In bed that night before she fell asleep Carrie wished she had thrown that box away. She wished she had even remembered the box of pictures so she could throw it away. She was gloriously happy with Mark, deliriously happy. She said a small prayer before drifting off.
Images of Carrie with other men kept Mark awake long after he should have been asleep. A handful of men wasn't an issue, so why was the thought of her with so many men disturbing. Did it matter? Why does it bother me, he wondered.
Things were almost normal the next few days, but Carrie noticed Mark was slightly quieter, a hair more distant. Carrie was a bit on edge, nervous, wondering how Mark was working things out. If he would want to know more about her past and how she would handle it. He'd never asked and she'd never offered. Mark only asked about her meaningful, long term relationships. She wasn't ashamed of anything she had done, but wasn't sure how he'd react. Besides, her past was not at all important in her relationship with Mark.
"Carrie," Mark said one evening over a dinner of blackened salmon, asparagus and chardonnay, "It's been on my mind, those pictures."
Carrie paused, her fork not quite at her mouth.
"How...how many men have you been with?"
Carrie didn't speak for a long moment. "I've had three long-term relationships before you. And like you, I've had other encounters. But I don't see how recitin' every detail is helpful."
"I'm not asking for every detail."
"I also don't see how runnin' the numbers matters." Carrie reached over and held Mark's hand. "Mark, I love you. My heart is so full of love for you that it bursts with joy each time I see you. Can't that be enough? Our love for each other? You are my world. Don't you know that?"
"I do. I know. But..."
"Come, let me show you how so very much you mean to me," Carrie said and led Mark to the bedroom where she was tender and loving and nurturing and reassuring.
Mark tried to let it go. The pictures of Carrie with other men. He tried to stop the mental images of her with other men, laughing with them, sucking their cocks, taking them inside her body and fucking them. It was before he even knew her and it shouldn't matter. But so many? Why? And how many? But it shouldn't matter. Around and around his thoughts went, dragging his emotions through hell as well.
A few more days passed and it built up inside of Mark. The elusive feeling in the pit of his stomach when he thought of his beloved with other men. Hurt, betrayal and...a tingle of something vague that he couldn't identify or explain.
Carrie was in the kitchen. She looked stunning, as always, in a loose indigo blue camisole top and matching tanga panty, her thick, straight red hair fanned out just below her shoulders. Her back was to him and he felt a stirring as he admired her lithe form, her small back, those impossibly long legs and perfect ass.
