It's Only Fair

It has been one hell of a journey and I want to thank everyone for their voices, both supportive and not.

I ended up combining some of the later parts on my outline to bring the word and page count up to what I feel is an acceptable level. This means that there is this chapter and one remaining. As my first submission to Literotica I cannot be happier with it as I finish up. As some have commented, this is not the normal fare one finds here, and some of the content has been distasteful, difficult, authentic and emotional.

And to me that's what good writing is supposed to do - it's supposed to generate an emotional response. Elation, terror, fury, ecstasy, confusion - it's supposed to pull something from you, something primal. And then it's supposed to make you swallow it.

If it does, then damn - you've read something great.

I will be working on the last chapter after this one is posted and bring the tale to close. Thanks again, everyone.

Like a great writer once said: Write what you know. So that's what this is, me writing what I know.

Again, no chainsaws or visits to the cornfield or CFNM situations or masturbation wearing a gimp mask. This is as close to reality as I could get it and still tell the story.

Enjoy! -V

*****

I scanned the emails, looking through the In Folder with my breath held.

There were lots of strange spam-like emails offering a wide gamut of kink. For some reason ProFlowers showed up a number of times. Weird. I saw, looking backward through to the first emails she received at the start of this account five months ago, that she had some presence on Craigslist and a number of stranger sites and forums that catered to bondage and the like. Steeling myself, I opened the first email from what I would guess to be a person and read it.

"I would very much like to get together with you. I am looking for an occasional Dom who is willing to explore this with me. Thanks for the interest and write me back. -Paul, Allentown PA"

What the hell is this shit? Who the fuck is Paul? Dom, like dominatrix? What the fuck? I read on, picking out every email afterwards that had this shithead's name in it. My eyes picked out random pieces of their email exchange as I flicked down their thread.

"I have never played with handcuffs before. I hope this will work out. -Paul"

"Would you be willing to drive out to Jersey and meet me halfway? I can help pay for a room. -Paul"

"I wish you were here. I'd force you to pleasure me with your tongue. -Elle"

"College is getting in the way of my fantasies with you. If you gave me the opportunity, I would love to eat you. Let me know if you can meet me. -Paul" College? Son of a bitch is in college?

"I'm not sure about meeting. It would be tough. I'd feel better if you came here. More in control. Let's be happy with what we have. -Elle."

My skin felt prickly as I became flush. What the fuck in hell are you doing? Did you do some Mrs. Robinson thing with some farmboy college no nut prick scumbag from Pennsylvania? Did you meet with this piece of shit and have him eat or fuck you?

I couldn't believe how angry I was feeling. I was mad at Elle, but I had been trying to make it all work out or at least calm down; but this was different. This guy, this Paul, most likely some 20 year old pimply faced nerd, was having an email relationship with my wife. Maybe it was because he was a guy and I didn't know him, I had a focus and direction for my anger; someplace that I can attack.

I scrubbed the emails in detail, not finding any confirmation that Elle and the Pennsylvania Prick ever actually met up. But I also couldn't find any proof that they didn't. Were there others?

I left Paul's email thread and looked carefully at any other one that was from a person. I 'starred' each one and when finished counted them up.

Eleven.

Holy shit, my wife was having, or had been having, some email correspondence and maybe more with eleven different people that she had met through her newfound interests. Even just hearing it spelled out in my head I found it almost unfathomable.

I had to get up from the computer and pace about the room. When that didn't work, I walked out of the office and wandered into the kitchen. I tore open the fridge and peered inside, finding nothing that I wanted to eat or drink. I stomped into the living room next but couldn't sit down on the couch I was too keyed up.

I had to do something, the pressure was building behind my eyes and it felt like my head was going to pop off. Instead I paced back and forth from the kitchen to the living room, turning with military precision when I came to the end of the room then returning the way I came. My hands were clenched and I could feel the sharp pressure of my fingernails digging into the palm of my hand.

Easy, Rick.

It took some time but I allowed my shoulders to unclench and my strides to shorten. My breathing became deeper, no longer whistling in and out of my nose. The red pain in the back of my vision became less until it faded entirely. I felt exhausted and my muscles hurt, but I was no longer in danger of losing the tattered shreds of my sanity.

Letting out my last pent up breath with a shuddering staccato wheeze, I went back to the office and sat again in front of Elle's system.

Eleven.

With nothing else to do, I felt detached as I read through each email chain from the flirty and 'get to know you' beginnings to their assorted ends.

Of the eleven, Elle identified herself as married to two of them when they were pressing for a meeting; doing so as an obvious foil to cut off their interest in pursuing futher online banter.

Of the remaining nine, four of them ended when it appeared that they wanted the opportunity to either be the dominant personality in the relationship or if they were interested in a back and forth exchange of assumed roles.

Of the remaining five, one ended when the other person stopped responding to Elle's attempts at dominating him. Another seemed to go away when the other person admitted he was not from the area but was writing from North Carolina.

That left three.

Three potential people who, at the minimum, were having an on-line relationship with Elle who was interested in dominating them and had made no mention that she was married. One was the aforementioned Paul from Allentown, PA, there was a Charlie from Westchester, NY, and there was a Spencer from Elmont, NY.

Paul, although interested, was not the closest distance wise of the potential get togethers; that dubious honor went to Spencer from Elmont. Fucking Queens County, without traffic, 35 minutes from my damned house. Did this piece of shit come to my home and get chained up in my basement? If he did, he had to know at that point that Elle was married and had a kid. Why would he stay?

What makes a man want to be beaten or abused or belittled by a sexual partner? I can understand it at least academically from a woman's point of view with the entire 'role-reversal' thing. But a man wanting to be dominated just didn't make any sense. A relationship, at least a real one, was supposed to be two people, treating each other like equals. At any point where the balance starts swinging in one direction and not in the other, you end up with a lopsided result and an unhealthy relationship.

Like the one I had with Elle.

I went through Spencer's emails again, hoping to find a phone number. And there it was, he gave it to her about a month and a half ago.

I grabbed my cell phone and hit *67 to block my number from coming up, and then I called Spencer's; my ire at this faceless prick dictating my actions. It rang, and then rang some more. "Come on, you prick. Answer the fucking phone." Eventually I heard a guy's voice say, "This is Spencer. Leave a message."

I hung up.

No fucking way I was going to leave a rambling anger infused message on some random person's phone who might or might not be engaged in some bondage handcuff kinky crap with my Elle. Every other week you hear about Alec Baldwin or that idiot with the basketball team leave a message or comment over the phone and then they are vilified in the media when it comes to light.

Mother Theresa, that's what Lenny had told me and that's what I was going to be.

I was just going to keep calling Spencer the Asshole again and again until he picked up and then...well, I didn't quite know exactly then what was going to happen, but I'm sure that it would involve me getting some questions answered and then yelling on my part.

The entire night had exhausted me and I had nothing left to give. I brushed my teeth and then crawled into bed, eyes closing as I let myself drift away.

When the morning came and I could hear the sounds of Amber stirring in her room, I felt no more rested than before I went to sleep. "Coming, honey," I croaked as I worked my way to her room, her smiling face and kicking legs brightening my mood a little bit. I changed her and then let her run ahead of me to the kitchen. I took out some cereal for both of us and we ate quickly and without fuss. From here I got us both cleaned up and then dressed her in a nice short's set and longer sleeved yellow and blue checked shirt.

There was little need to clean up about the house as I had done most of it last night; just a fast making of the bed and straightening up the dishes we ate on. It was horrible to say, but with Elle gone, the place was cleaner and I had less housework to do. I picked up the playpen where it was folded under the sofa and set it up outside on the porch. An armful of stuffed toys followed and then Amber joined them all. "Daddy has to mow the lawn, Sunshine."

I took out the mower, added gas, and topped off the oil. Two pulls on the starter and the engine rumbled to life. I started on the short side of the property and began walking back and forth across the lawn. Mowing was a good time for me to relax and reflect. It was simple and mindless, yet there was a sense of getting something done; a feeling of accomplishment as you worked your way one row at a time across the tall grass and cut it down to size. It was a mind dump for me and only brought a sense of peace as I maneuvered the mower up and down and back again.

I finished the front yard and turned the engine off, wiping the beads of sweat from my head as I dragged it to the backyard gate. Shoving the mower through, I went up to the stoop where Amber was gnawing on the three-toned green body of a plush 'Hungry Caterpillar', a sheen of drool all across her chin. "Ugh, Honey," I said, wiping her face with the non-grassy inside of my shirt. "You're a mess." I opened the front door and reached over to the counter, taking out an already prepared sippy cup and a bottle of water for me.

I sat next to her while we both had our drink, looking at the day and the few cars that passed by. The sun continued to climb and the weather was going to be in the high 70's or low 80's by mid-day. "Don't want to do this later," I said to no one in particular, picking Amber up from the playpen and then dragging it behind me to the gate and eventually the backyard.

I had a deck I had built here three years ago; nothing special, maybe 12 by 16. It was large enough for my barbeque grill a small glass topped round metal table, four chairs, and a low bench. The wood had been stained an orange-like cedar tone and the edges had been sanded smooth last year after Amber's birth. I pulled the playpen onto the deck and after giving my daughter another kiss on her cheek, put her back inside and continued with my mowing.

The backyard took longer; it was larger. So it gave me more time to muse on my circumstances and get back around to Elle and what was going on. It was obvious to me she was seeking some sort of sexual thrill with this very vanilla domination game she was participating in with these people she found online. There were a few questions as to how far (if at all) it had progressed that I could not get an answer on.

I know there were three guys that she was in communication with. One of them lived close enough to have actually driven out here. He did give her his number and it was possible that contact was made. So let's assume that they have been building up to a domination and submission get together. She chains him up in the basement, blindfolds him and duct tape on his mouth. Maybe whips him a bit with that flail looking thing she had and possibly some clothes pins on his skin or wherever (I shuddered). They both think it's great and then...what? He goes home? They have sex? She sucks him off? He plows her ass? What?

What the hell happened?

As I was finishing up the mowing I knew that unless I spoke to either Elle directly or to Spencer (or Paul or Charlie), I was never going to really know what happened.

The rest of my Saturday passed without issue; went food shopping, took Amber to the park, watched Sleeping Beauty, and then when she was asleep, I reread all the emails once more on Elle's system. I was not as riled up this time; the shock had already hit me yesterday. As I read through them I felt that sense of betrayal settle over my shoulders like a cloying blanket, damp and sucking, uncomfortable and smelling foul.

I had a strong suspicion that I was not going to be able to work through this and would need to talk to Elle.

Sunday morning was a rinse and repeat of Saturday. I did get a visit from Suffolk County Police, Officer Rafferty drove her blue and white onto my driveway and her and her partner came out to see me. "Mr. Masters."

"Hello Officer Rafferty. Officer Blake," shaking hands with each of them in turn. "What brings you out here today?" I was curious if they were going to want to look around the house again and if so, I was going to have to use my lawyer's name like a shield. Instead, I was surprised when they handed me back Elle's navy blue duffle bag.

"Just returning Mrs. Masters' possessions."

"What? Don't you need this for evidence or something?"

Rafferty smiled. "Mr. Masters, although you were assaulted, it was not with any of these items that you found. Secondly, it is not a crime to own any of these items, including the handcuffs. Admittedly, I don't see the reason for a civilian to own a pair, but my opinion in the matter has no bearing. This was a domestic disturbance call, it's been handled and resolved, and now it is currently closed. You've been watching too many CSI shows, Mr. Masters. We have no reason to keep this bag any longer."

I held the bag by the handle, feeling a bit foolish, but nodded in thanks. "Ok. Shows what I know."

"It's ok, Mr. Masters." Both cops nodded their head at me and bid Amber and I a farewell. "Please take care of yourself and if you find yourself in that sort of situation again, do not hesitate this time to call 911."

"I will, and thanks." I watched them drive away and brought the bag inside. "Now what?" I emptied the contents on the table and took stock of it all. I put both rolls of duct tape in my garage and the cord and clothes pins I brought down to the basement. I dumped the sleeping mask, the flail looking thing, and the handcuffs in the trash. The bandanas I fingered at first but then decided I don't know what they were used for or where they were used so I trashed them as well. I picked up the Neosporin and put it in the bathroom cabinet

Feeling angered again, I blocked my phone number and called Spencer once more. It rang 5 times like before and then went right to voice mail. Ok, Spence you cock, keep dodging me. I called his phone twice more today, each time it rang until the voice mail picked up and each time I hung up disgusted.

I didn't feel like cooking so I ordered a pizza. The delivery guy dropped it off and I decided it was a nice enough late afternoon to eat outside. So Amber and I hung out on the stoop, eating dinner and watching the neighbors and birds and squirrels do their thing. Stan came out and wandered across the street, hanging out with the two of us and passing the time. He dug into his pocket and tossed me a fiver before snagging a piece of pizza and joining me for dinner.

I talked, again, giving him the overview of what was going on, but not any of the depth of what had been happening. He kept up his end of the conversation but I could tell he was getting uncomfortable. "Hey, bud," I told him, "sorry for dumping on you. Looks like this is bumming you out."

He nodded. "It's alright, Rick. I mean, you've got to live it."

"Yeah, hell of a life, isn't it?"

"Maybe not now, but it could be a lot worse. Look at me? Barely a pot to piss in, living in my dead mom's house, the same one I was born in. I get to stay because my sister and brother each have their own home and family and they don't need the money by selling it out. Best job I have is working for my brother and it's not even full time. You've got a degree, a good job, a great kid, a nice house, and maybe your wife is fucked up right now, but she loves you."

I shook my head. "I don't know about the last part. How the fuck can she love me and entertain even the thought of other guys?"

"Rick, she didn't do anything with any of them, right?"

"Can't prove it. This dumb fuck from Elmont isn't answering his phone."

"Nah, I know you both. She loves you, man. She's also a bit fucked up in the head right now so maybe that fact has gotten muddy and she isn't paying attention to you and Amber, but it's there."

"What are you, Dear Abby?" I snorted. "I know she loves me, really I do. But I also know that whatever she has been suffering under that I have tried to get her help with has made her incapable of properly showing that love to me AND incapable of recognizing it when it is given to her." I sighed, "I guess I'll have to just wait and see."

Stan dusted off his hands on his pants and stood up. "I'm sorry for all this, bud. I am. I envy you, though. It'll work out."

"I hope so." I told him as he left to back across the street. I cleaned up after dinner, wrapped the last of the pizza and put it in the fridge, and then Amber and I finished up our Sunday night before turning in. My dreams were unfocused and disturbing, and when I did wake up the next day to the sound of the blaring clock I felt unfulfilled.

The week passed with glacial slowness. I joined Kerri for lunch on Tuesday at her request and again on Friday. Both times they were pleasantly surprising and I had to admit, it was nice having a female friend to talk to.

Ms. Marribaum from CPS contacted me on Wednesday to see if she could come by for a scheduled visit that night. I agreed and it was a bit less friendly than the end of the last one since my mother and mother-in-law were not there, but it was successful. I felt stilted and unnatural in the beginning of her visit, worried that she was watching my every move and weighing everything I did and said to Amber, but eventually I did relax and our interaction became smoother.

"Mr. Masters," she asked towards the end, "I have had conversation with Littletot's Daycare already concerning Amber and I was curious if your daughter was going to continue to go there."

I had been given a heads up from Kerri about CPS' phone call the day before so I wasn't surprised to hear that part of her question. "Yes, why do you ask? Is there a problem there?"

"No problem. I know that daycare is expensive and I was curious how this was going to impact you without Mrs. Master's salary?"

Crap. I knew it was going to be tight very soon without Elle's contribution. I had gotten the last direct deposit from Bill at Monochange for the work I had sent him, but there was going to be nothing more except what I had coming in. I had already given the lawyer his retainer and we had some savings floating about, but living on Long Island with one income was going to stretch my budget.