I would love to tell you that life was a bed of roses when Rudy took me back, despite my weekend of debauchery.
Life was a bed of roses when Rudy took me back.
There. Now that that's out of the way, I'd like to remind you that roses are more than an enticing scent and beautiful appearance. Roses have thorns, and thorns can hurt. They can make you bleed. Anyone with a brain expects and prepares for thorns.
What I didn't prepare for was the snake; it belonged in the grass, not amongst the flowers. The result was more than badly mixed metaphors.
I was ecstatic when Rudy and I left Alex's wedding. Rudy said he was taking me "home." For the last several months I had lived in the maid's quarters of his large beautiful house as a guest or occupant. I had a separate entrance, we had separate lives. Every day I pined to use the front door rather than the side entry by the garage. Every day I pined for the bedroom, the marital bed I had shared with Rudy, that I had expected to be ours forever.
Till I fucked it all up.
And now Rudy was taking me back. Forgiving? No, I don't think so. What I had done was beyond forgiveness. It was 'moving forward.' We both wanted to raise a family, and to my delight Rudy once again wanted to do it with me. He informed me of that with a passionate kiss at his cousin's wedding.
I was horny from the moment we got in the car after leaving the wedding reception. It didn't take long from when we parked in the driveway till we were naked in bed, my gown and his tux lying on the floor in the hall. It didn't take long till our bodies were wrapped around each other, his semi-erect penis pressed against my thigh. I licked my way downwards, but Rudy stopped me half-way.
"No. Let me look into your eyes."
I brought my face close to his, and we gazed past the clouds into each other's heart. I reached down to massage him, he reached down and found me already wet. It didn't take long till Rudy was on top of me, inside me, coating my uterus with his seed. That brought me over the edge; not as big a climax as I used to have with him, but still a climax with my beloved husband. I caressed the dampness on his face, hoping that his tears, like mine, were tears of joy. I reached again for his dick, but he intercepted my hand.
"Let's just hold each other now, my love. I'm overwhelmed by the joy of having you beside me again."
I rested my head on his chest and he played with my hair until we both fell asleep. It was probably the first time since we married that we made love without oral sex, but I was too happy to realize it at the moment.
The smell of French Toast tickled my senses awake the next morning. I put on my robe, ignoring the musty scent of the storage box to which it had been confined. Rudy was setting maple syrup on the table; I took milk for coffee out of the fridge. "What's the occasion?" We rarely consumed unhealthy food, but French Toast was one of my favorites.
"We're together. What occasion could be more important than that?"
"When I give birth to our children?" Seeing Rudy smile in response was worth all the pain I had gone through since crushing our marriage.
"Well, eat up. You're going to need a lot of energy for that." He put two thick slices on my plate. After we finished, we licked the syrup off each other's fingers, off each other's tongues, and had another go-around at causing me to need a lot of energy.
We spent the rest of the day exchanging kisses, hugs, and the occasional grope while unloading my things from boxes. Rudy had movers pack up my possessions while I was getting ass-fucked by strangers in the Caribbean. That evening we had another one-shot missionary sex session, and by Monday morning it was off to work for both of us, setting up a comfortable routine. There was love, there was passion, but it seemed there was still a barrier between us: the memory of my betrayal. I wasn't worried though. I was sure time and love would tear down that wall, especially when we would add pregnancy to the mix. My job was a distraction from the task of tearing it down, but it seems that I was good at it. Business and the work load increased exponentially.
Richard Jones was the Regional VP who set up and directed our office. He was annoyed that working late for me was six p.m., as he "expected commitment" from all the staff. I explained that I was committed to my family, and if he wasn't satisfied, he could fire me. I suspect that he was looking for more than office work after hours, but I never gave him the chance to pursue it. I casually dropped the name of my husband's law firm, mentioning that they were now handling a lot more sexual harassment cases than in the past.
A month after the wedding, a month after my return to my husband's home, Rudy bought me an anniversary present: a pregnancy test kit. We weren't too worried when the results came back negative. We had lots of time, and lots of love to change the result to positive. As the weeks, then months passed we got more comfortable with each other. Our passion for each other became less overt as once again we became a single unit, rather than two individuals trying to cope with the other's quirks and characteristics.
We were doing the pregnancy tests once a month. As we were getting into bed for the night, I told Rudy that the fifth one was negative. He said "shit," and stomped out of the bedroom. After an hour I went to look for him. He was lying on a couch in the den; the armrest supporting his head was visibly damp. I took his hand and started rubbing the back of it.
"You're super fertile, remember? You got knocked up even when on the pill."
I wanted to slap his face for bringing that up. "Rudy, my darling. You know that was a fluke. It didn't mean anything. We'll keep trying."
"Yeah, right, it didn't mean anything. It looked to me like you were enjoying getting pregnant. Did the people lining up to do it with you mean anything?"
There was an ebony wood sculpture on the coffee table, about ten inches high, three inches across at the base. What it depicted was unimportant. I glanced at it, considering its potential impact on Rudy's skull. I used my lips instead, gently kissing his temple. "You know they didn't. You know that I love only you. Many couples have a hard time getting pregnant. Five months is nothing unusual."
"You're easy, though."
It was clear my lips had no impact. Maybe I should have used the sculpture. "Why are you doing this to us, Rudy? I thought you wanted to be back together. Was it so you could torture me?"
"Torture you?"
I pointed to the damp spot on the armrest. "Torture both of us, from the looks of it."
Rudy sat up and ran his fingers over the wet area. "Oh. Sorry."
"No, don't apologize. What you've done is nothing compared to the way I made you suffer." I handed him a tissue. "Come back to bed." I took his hand as he stood, and led the way, stopping him as he was about to lie down.
"What?"
I stuck a hand in the back of his boxers, squeezing his ass as I forced my tongue into his mouth. He didn't respond, so I slid his underpants down, dropped to my knees, and quickly took his flaccid penis into my mouth. It remained unresponsive.
When would I ever learn? The gentle kiss didn't have the impact the hard sculpture would have. Sucking and kissing his prick wasn't getting any response, so I licked my finger, and stuck it hard into his asshole. He gasped as his dick shot up. I clamped down on it with my lips, adding my teeth when he tried to pull away. His only escape came after he shot a load down my throat and softened for a moment.
I didn't let Rudy stay soft, shoving him onto the bed and going to work on him. By the time we surfaced for air the missionary position had been left in the dust, I was feeling as sated as I had been the night before I went to the resort. I was drifting off to sleep when I realized that the movement in the bed was Rudy being racked by sobs. I was too exhausted and felt too helpless to do anything but finish drifting off to sleep.
It may have been slow at home, but at work we were going gangbusters. The VP came into my office, shut the door and sat down on my desk.
"Leave the door open please, Mr. Jones."
"I have something confidential to tell you."
"So speak softly."
He sighed, opened the door, and returned to his position on the desk. "You have too much to do, and important things are not getting taken care of because you refuse to work late."
"Are you sacking me? You know that we're busy only because I'm so good at my job."
"You're right about why you're busy. You're good, and you're good looking. It's a winning combination."
'What does looks have to do with it?"
"Many of the clients you've brought in ask me if you're available, if they've got any chance with you. Once they've signed a contract, I tell them not to even think about you that way."
I pretended to be, but wasn't shocked. In my previous job with Pencer Research Associates one of my roles was eye candy. It was not something I could easily escape. "What are you telling me, Mr. Jones?"
"We're bringing in another analyst to work with you. Robert Jones has been at the head office for almost a decade and is looking for a change of scenery. He's the same management level as you, but obviously has seniority."
"What do you mean 'work with me?' What kind of working relation are we supposed to have?"
"You're both highly talented, experienced analysts. We're going to leave the relation up to the two of you. You hand material off to him, he hands off to you, whatever works. He's been warned that you're a beautiful woman, and to keep in mind company policy on sexual relations between employees. He's already signed an acknowledgement form. You'll be asked to do the same."
"When's this happening?"
"I wanted to bring him right away, but that would have meant the two of you sharing an office, which I know you wouldn't like. It will be a month, maybe six weeks. He'll have time to pack up and re-settle himself properly while we build him an office. And no, regarding your unasked question about whether Robert Jones is related to Richard Jones: we're not."
Richard stood and walked to the door. "Congratulations, Mrs. Freeland. Usually people who don't show the requisite commitment to work end up being demoted. You've effectively been given an assistant.
It wasn't going gangbusters at home. In the days and weeks that followed, we reverted to the missionary position maybe once every week or so. The problem was that it was the only position we used. I switched to doing weekly pregnancy tests, hoping desperately to have something to snap Rudy out of his funk. Nothing worked; I needed help.
I called Rudy's cousin Alex, the man responsible for exposing my debauchery. Alex pointed out the obvious- we should go to a fertility clinic.
I presented the idea when we were in the den. "No!" was Rudy's response. "What will that accomplish? We know you can get pregnant with the right guy. Obviously, I'm not him."
I got up, went to the bedroom, packed a small suitcase and moved back to the maid's quarters. Five days later I came from work to find a printout listing fertility clinics in the area. Scrawled across the bottom were the words "I miss you." Clipped to it was a business card of my favorite seafood restaurant, with a big question mark.
