He Didnt Say A Word

She sauntered back into his life after being away. Life was delicious. She had a quiet loving man at home, but could go out at any time and pick up something hot and spicy for a night. She had the best of both worlds.

Tommy couldn't stop her. She knew it. He knew it. She couldn't stop herself. She had tried, but failed. She had tried when they first started dating, but that salesman came to her store within the first week they had agreed to be exclusive, and she couldn't resist his charm.

He was smooth. His samples sucked, and she didn't order a thing, but she swooned at his deep baritone voice. It was hypnotic. Before he left her little office she had lured him to drop his pants and stick his throbbing cock into her dripping cunt as she leaned over her desk. She didn't even undress. He just pulled her panties aside and.....

Even now, two years later, her cunt flooded at the memory. Her cunt. She had always hated that term, but somehow she couldn't think of it any other way when it gushed with her lust for any man who wasn't Tommy. It was her cunt. She was a slut. And she couldn't change.

There were other salesmen. And there were cab drivers, repairmen, shoe salesmen and cowboys at the clubs she liked to visit on nights when Tommy worked late. And they all had cocks, cocks for her cunt. All of those cocks were hard for her cunt, but they didn't go home hard. Tommy knew. He had to know.

He didn't say a word.

In fact, he proposed? What kind of man would propose to a slut with an easy cunt? What kind of man would want a slut who couldn't keep her promise to love him, and only him? What kind of man would want a cunt like her? Tommy wasn't the kind of man she pictured as the answer to her questions. He was a good man. He was kind and careful. He was thoughtful and generous, and he loved her.

Her guilt was overwhelming when he slipped the ring on her left hand. Tommy's girl was to become Tommy's wife. She had to stop. If he didn't know she was a cunt, she couldn't let him find out. A boyfriend could be fooled, but a fiancé? People looked out for fiancés. Cheating was no good for anyone, but for a fiancé to drop a cheating partner was nothing. No lawyers, no courts, no long history, just a ring to return.

He didn't have to say a word.

It was pretty, the ring. Tommy was pretty. Life could be so pretty. She knew she could do it. She could give up the lifestyle she had led and be true to Tommy. She could wear that ring proudly. She could wash away her past, and her cunt could be a pussy, cute and worthy of petting. When salesmen cane around, she would be strictly professional. She would be a one man woman, and they could live happily ever after.

Ever after lasted until the night before the wedding. She survived her hen night unsullied. She had survived company parties, girls nights out, and even visits with ex-boyfriends without converting to her former slutty ways.

She returned to her apartment after the rehearsal dinner to find her neighbor having a party on his deck. He invited her over for a drink. His friends learned it was the night before her wedding, and the liquor flowed. Toasts led to dancing. Dancing led to more liquor. More liquor led to more toasts....and fewer inhibitions. Her resolve dissolved in Tanqeray and tonic, her pussy flooded as her neighbor and five of his closest friends flattered and teased her about the impending ball and chain. Her pussy was a flowing cunt by the time they commenced to convince her one last fling was in order. And after her striptease to a chorus of manly oohs and has, she spread her legs and let them have their way all night long.

The make up artist was gifted. The hair stylist was skilled. The dress fit perfectly. Tommy never caught the bags under her eyes or the hickeys on her neck. He didn't see the love bites on her chest and shoulder, in spite of the low cut backless gown.

He didn't say a word.

He didn't complain when she fell asleep on their wedding night. She was exhausted from the wedding. He didn't complain the next day when they flew to Puerto Rico for their honeymoon. She was still exhausted. She didn't feel well the next day, and fell asleep by the pool and sunburned so badly, he couldn't touch her for two more nights. He didn't complain. He loved her, she would be worth the wait. He bit his tongue, jerked off in the bathroom, and lotioned her skin.

But he didn't say a word.

She loved him for that. She had burned in the tropical sun on purpose so her sloppy-loose cunt could tighten back up and heal into a pussy again, and she rewarded his patience.

The morning of her recovery, she put her all into sucking his dick dry. She sucked him as he woke, with her warm wet mouth dropping full over his long, thick hard on. Her tongue flagellated slowly and sensuously along the sensitive bottom as she draped her teeth gently along the top. She knew just how much to suck to entice without causing the kind of discomfort a yard suck could bring to the sensitive appendage. Her head pumped up and down slowly, as her determination to give him the best a wife could give drew encouragement from the pulsating throbs. When he was ready, he tried to pull out, but she was destined and decided to take his force into her mouth. She did. He moaned. He panted. He shook. He grunted as he spewed into her eager mouth, but he didn't say a word.

She showered as he lay there, and when she came out to dress, he was lying spread eagled, on his back, jerking an angry red, throbbing hard on. "Again?" she asked, flirtatiously. He smiled. So she mounted him and began to pump. She ground herself on him, careful to hold his gaze with her own. His hands were all over her, especially her generous breasts. They both came together, and then collapsed into each other's arms. She sighed. He smiled, and kissed her as she dropped back to sleep.

He didn't say a word.

He owned her mind and her body for the rest of their honeymoon. He continued to own it when they went home. He kept her so busy in bed, she had no time to think of other men. She smiled to think what was once her cunt was now his pussy. He loved his pussy. He stroked it gently. He held it, and cared for it, and fed it well. And it loved him in return, for years.

But life has a way of taking over, and following its own course. They both became good at their jobs, especially Tommy. Investing more of themselves in their work took a toll on their sex lives, however. They cuddled and kissed every night, but there were more and more nights when one or both of them had to work late, and came home too exhausted to do more than that. It was a short step from there to days when they had sex just for the sake of saying they had sex, rather than making love.

On their second anniversary, she was invited to a happy hour with some of the movers and shakers in her company. She knew Tommy would have a special evening planned, but she had never been invited to one of these famous soirees before, and they were famous for greasing the skids on an advancing career. She was ambitious. She wanted to step up into this higher echelon in the worst way, and she knew she could go far in a social setting. She could work a room....oh yes she could.

Tommy wasn't happy when she called to warn him she would be a couple of hours late. But she promised she would make it up to him when she got home, and she would be home at a very respectable hour. "Light the candles on the table," she told him, "I'll be there in time to have dinner by their glow."

Of course one drink led to another, and there was dancing, and she enjoyed the attentions of the junior executives so much, she didn't even remember to call and tell Tommy to extinguish the candles, she'd be late after all. She barely even thought of Tommy as she rolled about the bed with the managing director of Eastern Regional sales, but she was painfully aware of him as she drove home. She showered in the room, and reapplied her make up, but the late hour would not sit well with her husband. She never had worked past 10:00, even entertaining out of town clients. How would she explain 3:30 am on their anniversary?

She walked in the house, as quietly as possible. Tommy had left low lights on for her, but there was no sign of him. The kitchen was immaculate, but she could smell the faint remnant odors of what must have been a delicious meal. He had cooked bread, she could see the tell tale shape of his loaves on the counter. A peek in the 'fridge revealed remnants of filet mignon, and her favorite cream pie. The contrast struck her. The cream pie looked delicious, but she couldn't live on sugar alone. The dinner was the big deal. Just like tonight's lover and her husband. She liked the pie as a treat, but she couldn't lose Tommy. She knew what she was risking, but hadn't been able to resist. What was wrong with her! She had to stop this, or she could lose Tommy, her main course.

She slipped out of her clothes and into bed, desperately trying to avoid waking Tommy. He just lay there motionless, and she was sure he was sound asleep. But she only saw his back, not his face. He was watching the minutes tick off on the clock at his bedside. She fell quickly to sleep.

He said nothing.

The next morning he was gone when she woke up. She raced through the house frantically looking for him, but he was nowhere. That's when she noticed the dining room table. It was set with their good China, and her mother's silver service. Everything sparkled and gleamed from a recent polishing. In the center, two candle sticks each held a mass of melted wax. The candles had burned out, and Tommy had left them for her to see. A photo sat in the middle of her plate showing the table set for a feast, with fresh flowers everywhere, a bottle of champagne in the ice bucket, and a gift box on the plate where the picture now sat. He had written "Happy Anniversary" across the picture.

For a man who said nothing, he was saying a lot.

She scurried for her phone, and called his office. No answer. Of course, it was Saturday, and few, if any, people in his office worked on the weekends. She tried his cell and got his away message. San Diego? He had gone to San Diego? He didn't travel all that much in his work, and when he did, he usually left on a Wednesday for a late week conference. He never left on a Saturday.

Shit. He knew. He must know. And he said nothing. She feared the worst. He never left without saying good bye and he never left without leaving an itinerary.....that was it! He always left an itinerary with flight information and numbers for the hotel where he would stay. She opened her laptop, and fired up her email program. There it was, sent a month ago, with changes he had made last week. Shit. How could she have missed this. He did tell her.....oh fuck! This was THAT trip! She had promised to take the week off and go along with him as an anniversary get-away. How could that slip her mind!? Too much about her husband was slipping her mind lately.

She tried to call all day, but he didn't answer. She didn't leave a message. What could she say? She didn't know how much he knew. He certainly knew she had blown off their anniversary dinner last night, and that she didn't wake up to go on the trip. That may have been lucky, since she had forgotten to take vacation time. Did she really justify sleeping in on him as a good thing based on her not getting vacation time? This was getting worse. She found herself deep in a web of missed chances and forgotten appointments. How many times had she been late going home after work? Too many. At least it was just that one time that she cheated on him. That is to say cheated on him sexually. She realized all the times she missed dinner or cancelled a date for work, that was cheating on him too. She was feeling lower and lower. She called again and again. No answer.

He had nothing to say.

The next morning she found a text waiting. He had arrived and after checking in, he had gone to the beach to watch the sunset. It was beautiful, but by the time he got back to the hotel, it was 2:00 am her time. He didn't call because it was not their usual practice to call that late. Of course, maybe it should be, since she seemed to like the wee hours of the morning.

He knows how late she stayed out. Shit. She can't talk to him....shit shit. There's a four hour time difference. Shit, if I don't get him Sunday, I won't reach him. He is so busy when he works, I can only usually get him late in the evening. So she called Sunday all day. Nothing. Monday morning she found another text. Sorry. Busy with work, may not be a chance to call. Be home late Friday. Very late. Later than usual. Like you.

Ok he said something, but she still didn't know how much he really knew. She texted back. Miss you. Sorry about Friday night. We can celebrate when you get back. He didn't answer. He didn't call her back either. She wished he would. She missed his voice, and longed to hear him sign off with his usual "I love you."

He didn't say a thing.

Monday morning dawned on a shit storm at work. The boss cleaned house, and fired the managing director of Eastern Regional sales along with his team. They were ushered off the premises by police detectives in handcuffs. Rumors flew around the office. A team of detectives stayed behind to interview employees. She was the last interview of the day. She didn't know any answers to what the police wanted to know. "Don't leave town," they told her.

Apparently there had been some hanky panky with the books, some inventory that vanished from a loading dock, and some secrets sold to a competitor. Mr. Eastern Regional and his circle of cronies were in deep trouble, and everyone with connections was a person of interest in the case. Everyone who had been at the happy hour was a person of interest. She was there instead of going home to celebrate her anniversary. She was on hotel surveillance cameras going up to his room. She had more connections than most.

She didn't do anything, she didn't know of any schemes or industrial espionage. She just had sex. How out of proportion that sounded. She "just had sex." She just cheated on the most wonderful husband a girl could have. She deserved jail, but not for anything the police could arrest her for. She called her husband's cell. No answer. She tried his secretary, who wouldn't tell her where he was.

"But I'm his wife!"

"If that made a difference, you would already know where he is."

She had a point. He was out of touch....saying...nothing.

A week passed. The police cleared her of any wrong. Her life returned to its routine, without her husband. He stayed away. She felt lonely, though there were people all around her. Friends and colleagues tried to cheer her up. It didn't work. They were not him. She needed him. She sent another text. Hoping he would answer.

"Where are you?"

He did.

"Tucson."

She hoped he would say more. They hadn't spoken since before her anniversary absence.

"When will you come home."

"I don't know."

"I need you."

No response.

"Please honey. It was just a business dinner."

"No it was an anniversary dinner."

"I didn't plan to be late. Let me make it up to you."

"Make what up?"

"Our anniversary."

"How?"

"It was just a dinner. We can celebrate with a dinner anytime."

No response.

"Please Sweetie? Come home! I will make it up to you?"

"All of it?"

How much did he know? What did he mean by "All of it?" He couldn't know! This can't happen.

"Baby, you're scaring me. Come home."

"Tell me about it then. How will you make it all up?"

"Baby, what do you want to know?"

"Like I said. All of it."

"Ok. I went to dinner."

"No, all of it. Start with that first salesman before we were married."

She said nothing. She was stunned. He went on, dropping names that represented her entire history of indiscretion. He knew it all. He listed every time she had betrayed him. His voice droned on and on over the phone. Tears streaked her make up. He had never said a thing. He was making up for it.

Then he told her how he had systematically siphoned off his assets, and hidden the them where she could not get them. There were divorce papers in his desk drawer for her, but they were just for her convenience. He had taken a transfer overseas where divorce laws were quite different, and didn't recognize support payments or community property. He would not be returning.

"Have a nice life," he told her as he hung up.

She had nothing to say.