Lies

Camille fidgeted with her light summer skirt, studying herself in the bedroom mirror. At barely 26, she was married, renting a small apartment with her husband, and doing the best impersonation of a prototypical housewife she could muster. Steven, her high school sweetheart, was good natured and handsome but had trouble finding steady work that could support the two of them, and that meant money was pretty tight. Even when he did manage to hold a job like the one he'd had for the last month, the salary was so modest that their shopping was restricted to thrift stores or discount grocers.

It was summer, but it was no way they could afford a vacation together.

Despite the financial concerns, Camille wanted to remain optimistic. She applied for work in the hopes of supplementing Steven's income, but rolled her eyes at the rather shady offers she received. A handful of managers hinted they needed some '

incentive

' in order to hire her. They stated this while glaring at her tits or smiling and winking repulsively... One even brazenly declared that she would get a job if she could turn his dick the same color as her lips.

Suffice to say, Camille was miffed.

Steven was not that surprised at the offensive objectification of his wife.

Camille was a catch. The 5'3" beauty, with her slender physique, petite waist, and voluptuous curves could mesmerize any man. She was just a B-cup, but perky and on her small frame her boobs were impossible to miss. Tresses of auburn hair framed an oval face with high cheekbones and bright, sapphire eyes. A nice round ass sat upon a pair of long shapely legs. Camille was so used to guys gawking at them when she wore short skirts that she no longer paid any attention. It was difficult for Steven not to feel a tinge of jealousy every time his wife walked out the front door looking so hot. He would chastise himself, knowing Camille was as faithful as they come and would never do anything to hurt him.

Time passed as they struggled. They were young and hopeful and one day there was a break. Camille squealed, threw her arms around her husband, and pressed her lips to his in a big, loud smooch the day he came home with news of a bonus. It felt like a minor miracle. Their bank accounts were depleted and the strain it was putting on their lives was keeping them up at night. Camille had to laugh at herself. She would never admit it, but in a desperate fit of anxiety she had even debated the moral implications of the sleazy job offers. Sex was off the table, but she speculated many would have hired her if she'd just stripped naked. That didn't matter anymore, and it made Camille deliriously happy. She hugged Steven close. He'd even bought her flowers, a luxury they could rarely afford.

Camille was flattered but warned Steven to be careful. They couldn't spend frivolously since money doesn't last forever. He smiled and assured her that their troubles were over. The company was doing well and would be paying out routine bonuses to its employees. Plus, he added nonchalantly, his boss really seemed to like him.

Months passed and it still went well for Steven at his new work. Around Christmas Camille met Steven's boss, Mark, he seemed '

OK

', but gave off a creepy vibe. The way he looked at her made her uncomfortable. He was around 50, balding, with a stocky body that bordered on obese. His shabby, wrinkled clothes and unkempt manner screamed that he was single. His dark, beady eyes locked on her hungrily. It truly felt like he was mentally undressing her. On subsequent meetings, he never failed to touch her if there was an opportunity, and he usually made one. Whether it be placing his large hand on her arm when he talked to her or sliding his fingers over her shoulder when she passed through a doorway, it always made her cringe. Camille did not want to come across rude, but she hated having his skin touch hers. It felt unclean. She was forced to bite her tongue and smile politely. They owed Mark their gratitude. Without him, her husband may not have gotten a bonus. She couldn't risk hurting the work relationship, or worse, risk Steven's job over something so trivial.

Steven didn't seem to notice his bosses' antics, which was probably for the best. Camille certainly didn't care to describe how his misogynistic pig of a boss had practically drooled down her cleavage when she'd picked up her purse. He probably treated every woman like some buxom 1950s secretary. Camille shook her head in dismay.

Sure enough, Steven began receiving frequent bonuses. It was odd. Two times that month his company paid out extra to the staff. Then the same thing happened the following month. Gradually, the strain of living on the margins and frugally counting every coin became a thing of the past. Camille no longer needed to look for a job. Steven was providing, and life was good.

One day around lunchtime, while her husband was at work, Camille was startled by a surprise visitor knocking on the front door. She peeked through the peephole, recognized the scruffy man as her husband's employer, and turned the knob. Mark greeted the perplexed housewife with a curt hello, before brushing past her and barging into the living room. Worried something had happened to Steven, Camille closed the door and turned to face the ugly oaf. He was sitting on her new sofa holding a large manila folder with a solemn disposition. Camille took a seat across from him, careful to cross her long legs and pull her skirt down so it didn't ride up her thighs. Mark opened the folder and she stared at it curiously. She was confused by the pile of spreadsheets he removed.

That's when Mark dropped the bomb. Steven had been skimming from the company, and he'd been doing it for quite some time. Camille shook her head ardently, but before she could even argue Mark pointed to an underlined number on the top document. Camille's mouth went dry. It was the exact amount of Steven's last bonus. She had cashed the check herself. As her eyes scrolled up the list of suspect transactions, each correlated with money Steven had brought in under the guise of "a bonus." Camille's heart dropped as Mark laid out the records, explaining exactly how Steven had manipulated the company's system for his own gain. The proof was there, and the evidence was clear.

It was as if reality was crashing down on Camille. She was thrown completely off balance, a mixture of jumbled emotions. She felt scared. She felt angry. She felt betrayed. Steven had been lying to her. He had made her unknowingly complicit in theft. He could go to jail. She would be left with nothing. Lightheaded, the papers spread out in front of her began to blur. Tears welled in her eyes. She pleaded with Mark, hoping he'd take pity on her, promising to return the money even though she knew that was practically impossible. Mark leaned forward, leering at the stricken woman. There was a wicked sparkle in his eyes. He fought back a smile as he extended a hairy hand and placed it over hers. The implicit gesture was telling. Camille met his eyes and then looked away with disgust. She didn't have a choice.

Camille bolted the door as Mark left a few hours later. She was in a surreal state, feeling like she was about to wake up from a horrible nightmare. But even a nightmare like this would have scarred her. Mark was a monster. In an afternoon, he had besmirched her husband, destroyed her vows, and left her feeling like a dirty whore.

You didn't have a choice, she told herself. There was no other way. She cringed at what she had just done. Everything about it was despicable. The smarmy asshole had not only insisted on sex, but that they fuck in her matrimonial bed.

She felt nauseous. Steven was the first and only lover she'd ever had; the only man who had ever been inside of her. That was gone now. Tarnished by the memory of Mark's sweaty body crushing her under his weight. The way he forced his thick cock in her unlubricated pussy. She had tried desperately to zone out, while the sensitive inner membrane of her dry vaginal canal was savagely plundered. The pain had her holding back tears. It didn't help that Mark's penis was bigger than her husband's. Her cunt tried to adjust to the unwanted invasion, but his long shaft bent in an unfamiliar way, which just caused even more friction. Brow knitted and teeth gritted, Camille had clutched the sheets as Mark passed her husband's deepest. He squeezed her tender boobs, twisting her nipples until she yelped, clenching her eyes shut.

The moments burnt into her consciousness like a string of unwanted tattoos. She gagged at the unsavory taste and sensation of Mark's tongue as it jabbed it's way between her lips. She squealed, twisting her head, but his fat fingers grasped her chin and held it still. Her tongue floundered, futilely pushing Mark's away as his wound around hers like a snake. The taste was peculiarly strong. Humid, hot air blew from his mouth into hers. The slurping and smacking sounds of their lips was almost as terrifying as the rhythmic screeching of the bedsprings as he humped his rod into her open snatch. The forced kiss went on for a long while. Her lips were soft and delicate, and he loved the sweet essence as he mashed his mouth against them. At long last, the excessive stimulation brought slight relief as her pussy dampened in a purely primal reflex to all the abuse. Mark made the most of her bodies acceptance, decelerating his tempo and delivering a bout of drawn-out, powerful strokes. He roared as he came, dowsing Camille's womb with thick wads of virile ejaculate.

Mark was clear that he wanted their coital arrangement to remain a secret to Steven. Camille had bailed her spouse out, but if she alerted him that Mark knew he was skimming from the top, there would be trouble. It was a terrible position to be in.

Standing in the shower, washing away the evidence of her infidelity and the feeling of being violated, she realized the gravity of her predicament. Mark's parting words that he looked forward to seeing her again, soon. The sinking feeling in her stomach told her that she was at the mercy of a fiend. She went to bed early, hardly saying a word to her husband when he returned that evening.

Less than ten days had passed since Mark's wicked intervention into her life when he returned to her apartment.

Camille did everything she could to reason with the obscene man, but no amount of bargaining veered him from his lewd agenda. He was adamant.

His big hands were on her before they reached the bedroom, yanking the clothes from her slender body and lobbing them away. She winced as he grabbed her breasts, mauling them like a pair of plump stress balls. Suddenly, his mouth was on hers again. The taste of his bitter saliva overwhelming her senses. His fingers clasped onto her sensitive, pink nipples as she tried to pull away. She opened her mouth wide to scream, enabling him to shove the length of his tongue to her gullet. They made out for several excruciating minutes, only pausing so he could center his dick in front of her slit.

The surreal feeling returned. This couldn't be happening. She could feel his erection splitting between the folds of her labia. Then he was driving his shaft inside of her. They were fucking. The inner walls of her cunt acclimated to his prick a little quicker, but the tender flesh quickly became sore as he repeatedly impaled her.

When he was done, her used pussy was raw with a fresh deposit of his seed oozing out her love hole. Camille covered herself with the first article of clothing she could reach, a flimsy, white lace robe. She shivered as Mark's semen dribbled down her inner thighs. While Mark dressed, she silently slipped from the room and into the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of water and held it for a minute in an attempt to stop her hand from shaking. She needed to stay calm. Before she could even take a sip, she felt Mark's pudgy palm slide inside her robe and fondle her exposed breast. She didn't have the energy to push it away.

That evening, Camille was exhausted. Mark had left her with little time to switch the sheets, shower, and cleanse the apartment for evidence of their transgressions before Steven got home. She didn't have time to prepare dinner and froze when Steven inquired about her day. Mark had reiterated that he would expose Steven if Camille informed him of anything. He stressed that Steven was better off in the dark and oblivious to what she had done for him. And as much as Camille hated lying to her husband, a part of her didn't want to admit to having sex with Mark. It was the same part of her that foolishly believed that Mark would eventually leave her alone, forgive Steven, and let her get back to being a loving, committed wife.

Mark did not leave Camille alone. His visits became somewhat routine, stopping by at least once a week. The pop ins were random, not always on the same day or at any particular time, yet never late enough that there was danger of being caught by Steven. If there had been a schedule, Camille was sure it would have been easier to dissociate herself from the forced affair. The spontaneity left her constantly on edge, anxious and wary of the slightest noises outside her apartment.

Their periodic encounters intensified as Mark grew bolder and bored of conventional copulation. He berated her until she let him take her from behind. It brought on a different sort of pain, but it made it easier to pretend she wasn't giving herself to a foul ogre. Mark relished watching the conflicted wife degrade herself. His lecherous appetite would not be sated until he had torn down all her boundaries. His persistence and domineering attitude subdued her objections, and every time she yielded, he demanded a little more. As weeks passed, Camille accepted more of her role, forgoing some struggle and submitting to Mark's escalating desires. He was elated the day she agreed suck his cock. His fingers entwined in her beautiful, fiery hair as he coerced her face toward his meat stick. Her taste buds exploded as she wrapped her lips around the tip, the masculine odor making her nostrils flare. She bobbed her head steadily. The tang of his precum was so strong she had trouble concentrating.

Once her pussy was accustomed to his bulkier dick, she would roll her hips, meet his thrusts, and ride him while he came. It was an instinctual response. She also resigned to his perpetual wish to make out constantly. It was common for him to not just kiss, but slobber all over her face and sensitive neck while they were fucking. He loved kissing and licking every square inch of her lean body. When he ate her out, she learned his tongue was more dexterous than his finger. When straddling his face, something she had never done with her husband, Mark would work his thick, long tongue deep inside her and while relentlessly teasing her clit with his nose until, to her great shame and embarrassment, her pussy would flood with juices.

She despised Mark and what he forced her to do. He considered it the perfect arrangement. While she played the role of dedicated wife, her husband would continue skimming money from the books and feel like he was getting away with it. Mark, in turn, would foresee Steven didn't leave any loose ends and get himself fired. He didn't give a shit about Steven, but by acting protector he guaranteed himself free reign of Camille's pussy... A benefit few men with his looks and flabby disposition would ever get the chance at.

Though Camille loathed Mark, she grew conditioned to his hairy, fat physique in the bedroom. In a perverted rational, she was glad her husband was ignorant to her plight. Too much time had passed for Steven to ever forgive such a betrayal, even if it had been on his behalf.

Mark liked to point out that by making her unfaithful, he had in fact saved her marriage. He also enjoyed insulting her husband's character, insinuating Steven was a liar because he told her he'd come by his "bonus" honestly. The first hundred times, Camille defended her husband, which gave Mark the perfect opportunity to pull out the documents proving Steven was stealing. He would even guesstimate when Steven would likely make his next illegal withdrawal. Sure enough, Steven would come home with a story about how he'd earned the extra paycheck. She would feign a smile and kiss him, but her heart would ache knowing full well of his deceit. Inwardly, she cursed Mark for nurturing that small but undeniable feeling of resentment towards her husband. Eventually, she stopped defending Steven when Mark brought him up. She listened to him as he mocked and called her husband a fool to risk losing such a hot woman because he was too stupid to make an honest buck.

The more Camille tried to suppress the lurking feelings of resentment and building anger towards her husband, the harder it was to tune out Mark. Steven was lying to her and committing a serious crime. Did she really marry someone who would stoop so low? If it wasn't for him, she wouldn't be indebted to his boss. She wouldn't have to endure Mark's sweaty, old body violating and treating her like some cum disposal rag doll.

From then on, she avoided talking with Steven about his work as much as possible. She couldn't stand him lying to her face.

Camille's relationship with her husband suffered as time passed. Guilt and fear plagued her mind. Every day was an exhausting charade of deception and lies. It was a hurdle having to wash so many sheets, or explain why dinner was late again, or come up a good excuse for being too tired to make love. Physically, her body was zapped of energy. Her husband's boss had the libido of a horny teenager. After their bouts in the sheets, all she wanted to do was roll over and sleep for a week. Instead, she'd have to scramble to her phone and check how much time was left in her husband's workday. There were a few close calls, like when she forgot to trash a slip dress that had been torn from cleavage to hem. Steven didn't blink twice when she told him she'd snagged it on a loose nail... Yet he'd found it scrunched between the mattress and bedframe. Camille was put off by her husband's gullibility. How could he not sense something was wrong? Was he dense?

Mark was a parasite, depleting her energy and poisoning the bond pledged within her marriage vows. He'd corroded her spirit and ingrained himself in her life. Dormant was the resistance Camille once used to fight him. Over months of conditioning, her body now recognized and responded to him as an experienced lover. She had never been more sexually active in her life, and the onslaught of intimacy was affecting her mood.

A major turning point came during a particularly hot day, while Mark took Camille from behind. Something about his thick, throbbing cock felt really good. It was like he'd found a map and had centered in on her erogenous zone. As his pelvis vulgarly smacked against her buttcheecks, she felt a tickling tremor deep in her belly. She groaned and whipped her hair back, looking over her shoulder at Mark. Somewhere within her bemused and dehydrated state, the impending knowledge of what was about to happen registered in her brain. Mark bottomed out just as his glans stroked the door to her womb. The tickle turned into a burning sensation, rolling through her body as she coated his dick with a fresh gush of juices and contractions of her vagina. Her arms buckled as she collapsed into the bedspread. It was her first real orgasm in ages.

There was no denying it. Mark knew the housewife too well to miss the obvious climax. As the petite girl lay in a sweaty heap in front of him, he goaded her. This was proof that she was enjoying the deal they'd made. This verified she was complicit in the affair. From then on out, Mark made it his mission to get her to cum. Camille noticed, and did her best to combat his efforts. It took him a few weeks, but eventually Mark prevailed again. Camille couldn't stop her hormones. With eyes shut tight, face and chest flushed bright red and legs shaking with cunt-quaking aftershocks, she gave in. Soon enough, Mark was proficient at making her come every visit.