The Asshole 11

[Hello Chuy fans. This might be a hard chapter for those of you who want something better for Jess and Chuy. Jess is not doing well in this chapter. As always, I appreciate constructive feedback, even when those giving it don't some or all of what I've written. And for those of you who love to hate and zero-star cheating wife stories, just skip to the end and leave your naught because this won't be fun for you.]

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[Jess]

The next week started with a hiccup. While the launch of the new line had gone even better than I'd hoped, but one of our most successful sponsored athletes felt the new line put more emphasis on how women look than on how they perform and wanted to leave the brand. I spent most of the morning trying to soothe her. I quoted women who posted about how they loved finally having athletic clothes that showed off their bike bods, and others who talked about how empowered they felt owning their sexuality with a woman-owned and -designed brand that didn't pull back from "every aspect of a woman's life, including her desire to be beautiful and sexy," to quote the most flattering review on BikeTok.

I had an eye for women's talent and signed the cyclist before she started really doing well. She was an aggressive rider who occasionally finished in the top 10 in big races, but almost always got a lot of brand exposure from her gutsy break aways. She had been a big part of our early growth, but the best I could do is negotiating her leaving the brand quietly.

Losing her hurt. But the next morning, Cicletta blew up after a major fitness influencer posted pics of herself in the Very Serious Short Shorts, which was followed later in the week by two even bigger fitness influencers wearing them. All unsponsored. My boss laughingly complained that we couldn't get production up fast enough to meet demand. I had to stop chaining myself up and masturbating to make sure we redirected our marketing resources towards the new market we'd tapped into.

JESS: Rebecca sent a Slack saying she'd got a call from a VC firm that used the magic words.

CHUY: Magic words?

JESS: The next Lululemon.

CHUY:!!!! $$$$$?

JESS: It's probably just them blowing smoke up Rebecca's ass, but we're really blowing up on TikTok. I'm looking at a Brazilian fitness influencer's ass right now. She's pulled our Short Shorts up to make them even shorter.

CHUY: [picture of me on the first tease ride we took with the asshole]

JESS: Bingo, Baby. Rebecca and I had talked about ReVelotions before that, but those shorts are what made me think we should take it even shorter. So I guess if I get a huge bonus this year, we can thank teasing the asshole for it.

CHUY: I miss that. Sadly ironic that we can celebrate with a big tease.

JESS:...

JESS:...

JESS: I miss that, too. Can you get home earlier today? I could tease you.

CHUY:!!! I'll try. I'll try SO hard.

I signed off by sending him a picture of my face, taken leaning over so my nipples are visible through the neck hole of the oversized shirt (his) I was wearing.

I was wearing the original short shorts when he came home and teased him mercilessly for almost two hours before I fucked him so good. I might be a horrible person, but I know how to fuck.

[CHUY]

The news about Cicletta's new line was an immense relief for me, and not just because of the teasing Jess did, and not about the potential financial windfall it might represent. Since she got injured, I've been worried about her. She never complains, but I know from her last job, Jess isn't good at getting help when things are going wrong. She puts on a cheerful face that, honestly, I can't usually see through. She's so full of joyful energy when things are going well, I have to guess if it's real or not.

It sounds strange to say it, but the thing that was worrying me is that even for Jess, she'd been ravenous for sex. And not just sex, fucking instead of making love. It started to feel that she wasn't trying to connect with me anymore, just get off. It didn't help that she was masturbating herself to sleep every night. She's always done that when she's struggling to sleep and I've never felt it meant I didn't do a good job of getting her off. However, every night, and sometimes more than once, wasn't a good sign. It reminded me of the last couple of months at her old job, when she was working 70-90 hours a week, could come home exhausted, but still masturbate to get to sleep. There were days when she'd had 4 hours of sleep and still took 30 minutes of playing with herself before she could drift off.

My hours weren't helping. The first week wasn't terrible, but since then, I'd had insane hours because of the time zone differences. And the fuckers at the DOT were adding new requirements, almost like they wanted to ensure the Koreans did most of the work. Other than destroying the environment by paving anything they can, the DOT's principal job is to create jobs for people in the state. Seriously. Construction is a great employer. And if we...Anyway, as Jess was getting all of her good news, it was looking increasingly likely I'd have to go to Seoul for a few weeks. Katie thought maybe Jess could come with me--as fucked as the DOT's involvement was, it meant she could easily pay for Jess to travel with me. But I didn't even bring it up with Jess. I'd be working long hours and understood I'd also be expected go drinking afterwards. She's already lonely out in our development. Being in a country with nobody she knows, can't read the signs to walk around,

and can't even walk

--nope. Bad idea.

As we showered, I asked, "Are you still seeing your therapist?"

"Yep. I talked to Maryam yesterday, as a matter of fact."

"Good. I know not being able to ride and me being gone so much is hard, especially all the way out here."

She caressed my dick. "Well, not everything is hard...yet. Do you have time for another go?"

I laughed, but as I drove to work, I noticed she dodged the conversation.

[Jess]

I think about what might have been too much, I know, and nothing that happens now can change what's already happened. But I really think that if it hadn't been for two small things, none of this would have happened. I mean, more than it already had. I would have stopped things with the asshole, and maybe even someday told Chuy the truth about what happened the day of my injury. Or maybe lived with that guilt instead of the G U I L T that I have today.

First, there was a big thing, but I honestly think I would have made it through if it hadn't been the small things. The big thing was Friday morning I went to the doctors, believing the boot would come off, and I'd return to my old life. Wrong. The only good news is I didn't need surgery...yet. The boot was staying for at least another month, the roller thing was back for most of the time, although I could use a cane a little if I needed to. I cried all the way home, texted Chuy and Rebecca the news, and then ignored my phone as I crawled into a ball until the need to come became too great and I masturbated until noon. I didn't even come.

But, swear to God, I would have been okay. I'd been really engaged in work that week and had cut back on masturbating and self-bondage. I had! But then two small things came together to undermine everything I'd been doing for a month.

Small thing one: I ordered more bondage gear. I'd been trying to tell Chuy that I wanted, no,

needed

him to dominate me sometimes and to have him tie and cuff me. I don't understand why I need it, but after Gabby, I couldn't pretend it was just something I did for Mike. I couldn't put that part of me away. The problem was that I didn't want to ask Chuy, I wanted him to make me do it. Yes, I know that sometimes asking is the part you do before fulfilling the fantasy. I know it's the healthy way to do all of this. But I couldn't. So I ordered more partner bondage stuff. Padded leather cuffs that match the S L U T collar I have hidden in the back of my dresser, some more chains, a flogger I could use on myself until I could let him know about it. I started to be sloppy with hiding it. It wasn't exactly intentional, but it wasn't exactly a mistake. I wanted him to find it, just somewhere between consciously and unconsciously. And if Chuy was less tired when he got home, or had more time there, he would have found at least some of it. But he didn't.

Small thing two: Rebecca and I had talked about doing lamé versions of the ReVelotions line if they did well, mostly joking. It would be the kind of special edition you could seed to the right influencers to keep the buzz going, even though neither of us expected the Very Seriously Short Shorts to take off the way they did. But they did take off and she decided to ship me samples of the entire line in copper and gold lamé, along with samples of where our designer thought the line should go next. This wasn't like a normal Amazon box with some clothes. It was huge and weighed enough that even without the boot and everything, I'd have needed Chuy's help getting it into the house. If I hadn't been fucking my ass with dildo suction cupped to the bathroom floor while my hands were cuffed to the sink, I could have answered the doorbell and had the delivery guy bring it in. But I was.

You can see where this is going, right? And, yeah, I'm sure if I were in a better state, the fact that I was fucking myself in the ass led to my life getting fucked in the ass would be ironically funny or something. Anyway, back to my delightful narration.

I honestly, like unconsciously and consciously, thought I could get the asshole's help and not have it lead to anything. I wasn't a total moron. I may have been wearing a skirt because I was avoiding pulling tights or jeans over my ankle, but it went down to mid-calf and I wore one of Chuy's sweatshirts over a t-shirt and bra. Plus, I was still wearing the boot and using a cane. I did not dress to tease or allure when I went across the street to get his help.

Okay. I did feel...something...as I stood at his door. Something that should have sent me home to tell Rebecca I had to wait to get the package inside until Chuy got home. But I had a script in my head, just as I'd been doing all month with the weekly barbecue deliveries, and I used it.

[Pleasantries]

"Hey Asshole, God that smells good. Is that the meat in the smoker?"

"Yep. That's my delicious meat. Getting ready for you, Jess. What brings you over? Need to check out my meat early? Hungry for it?"

[Deflect from his attempt to make the conversation sexual]

"Nope. I have a huge box of samples I need to get inside. I'd have a hard time with it without the boot, but with it, I can't get it in. I hoped you might be willing to carry it in for me."

"Mmm. Is that a big wet box you need help with?"

[Deflect from his second attempt--yes, my mental script predicted this--without acknowledging it]

"No. It's got design samples. Just a bunch of clothes. I don't think it's going to rain, but I should get inside and see what my boss sent me. Our new line launch went really well. Do you think you could help? I don't think it will take more than a few minutes."

He laughed. "Yeah, I can do that."

As we walked across the street, he asked about the new line. "What's the new line? Something sexy?"

I did not have a script for this. "Um, it's called ReVelotions."

"Ha. So a revolution in sexy cycling clothes."

"You've seen the website, haven't you?" I said dourly. It felt a little creepy, although not in a way I could really work out. He probably jerked off to product photos.

"Guilty as charged. It's a shame they didn't have you model them. Even with that skirt on, that is one world-class ass. And that's only your third best feature."

"One, I'm not a model, and two, that's the box."

"Should have been. Damn, I'd buy anything you're selling."

"Good, because I'm selling you taking the box into the house and then leaving."

"Ha. Touché. God, that is a big box. How many samples did they send you?"

"I don't know. With the launch going so well, we're trying some new designs."

"I got that idea. I saw a lot of Instagram posts of hashtag Cicletta. Seems like it's blowing up big."

I opened the door. "It really is. Look up Áurea Bosco's TikTok if you want to see what a real model looks like. She's way hotter than me. Seriously,

that's

a hot ass. I guess I'll just open the door and get out of your way. You can leave the box in the doorway. Chuy can bring it upstairs when he gets home."

He put his hand on my ass. Cupped it. "Nah, I saw that photo.

A-may-zing

photo, but this is an ass. Fucking so good. That Bosco woman's is too big. This is--"

I brushed his hand away and got behind the door. "Please, Asshole, just bring the box in."

"Okay, but at least let me see some of the new designs."

I sighed. "I need to get this stuff opened and start assessing it for our brand. Like this is my job, Asshole, okay? Besides, don't you have to go back to your smoker so your meat doesn't get burned?"

He grinned. "My meat is already to go. How about I help you unpack it? You've seen how neat I am. I'll be useful. Help lay things out for you to assess them."

If I'd had a script, I would have said no. This really was a small thing. He brings the box in, I say my script thing, and then he leaves. Life goes on, the asshole fades away from our lives. But I didn't.

Did my body respond to him touching me? Yes. But I swear I was just fatigued from saying no, from learning I'd be in that boot forever, from not seeing my husband hardly ever, from being in the middle of nowhere for even longer. I hadn't even eaten yet. That's why I said, "Fine." And I didn't put any invitation in my voice. I tried. I had scripts. I dressed to avoid things. I sounded annoyed when I gave permission.

When he took it upstairs, I said, "I meant..." but he was halfway up the stairs, so I didn't say the "down here" part. And I had said Chuy would take it upstairs. If he weren't the asshole, that would have been the right place to put it.

He was up there too long. Any time was too long, but he'd been up there long enough to open the boxes, long enough to look around.

"Hey, Asshole, what the fuck are you doing?"

"Chill out. I'm just trying to be a good neighbor. Jess, this new stuff is amazing. It's like stripper clothes for bike chicks. Your bosses are going to cream their trousers when this stuff hits the stores. Every bike slut in the world is going to want it."

Fuck. Of course he was unpacking it. The last thing I wanted was for him to open the boxes and touch the stuff that I was going to try on.

"Please don't unpack it. I need to catalogue everything when I take it out and make sure I have what they sent," I lied, hoping to get him out of the house.

"Come upstairs and I'll help. I used to manage inventory. I'm great at that."

I sighed. Of course he had a comeback. Going up the stairs with my cane is hard. We don't have a railing I could use, so I had to be careful with the balance not either put weight on my ankle or fall backwards and die. As I went up the stairs, I imagined I put the cane wrong and fell down the stairs, hitting my head and dying. It wasn't a terrible thought. I knew my plan to get him out of the house was going spectacularly bad. I didn't want to die, but being dead ceased to be an upsetting thought. I wasn't in control anymore.

At the top of the stairs, I could see into our bedroom. To his credit, the asshole had arranged the contents of the boxes neatly on the chest at the base of our bed. Four stacks of cycling clothes, each topped by a silver lamé piece, every edge as aligned as fabric could be. That's when I had the thought, "He's going to fuck me today." It wasn't an excited thought. It wasn't a panicked thought. I suppose it was a resigned thought.

Well, almost resigned. Maryam, I know my attempt was pathetic, but I did try to stop it from happening. I did.

[Attempted script: negotiation]

"Look, Asshole, I appreciate your help, but you need to leave, okay? I promise we'll have some fun when Chuy's back, okay?"

He smirked, but didn't say anything. Of course not. The room had shrunk to the two of us, the shining clothes flickers of bokeh'ed light at the corner of my vision. He was a giant towering over me while I grasped at the edge of the door, hiding from my inevitable fate.

When he didn't move towards leaving, I tried offering something. Yes, demanding he leave and pulling out my phone to call 911 would have been more effective. "You helped with the box, so you probably want something. I'll try on a few of the outfits for you, okay? Then you'll leave. Okay?"

"I knew you'd want to show them off, Jess." He pointed to the French doors. "But out on the balcony. You love teasing on the balcony. This time, I get to be here."

I didn't want to laugh, but I did. "God, you're such a fucking pervert, Asshole. But no touching, okay?"

He pointed to the chair in the corner of our bedroom. "I'll just pull this out so I can watch from inside while you give me a show. Come on, Jess, you know you want to show me these clothes. I want to see you in the silver."

Did I notice he never agreed to anything? My brain didn't, but I think my body did. The weight that had been with me almost continuously since I got the boot wasn't there as I picked up the samples of what might become the newest editions of the ReVelotions line and went into the bathroom to change.

"I don't know how this is going to work with the boot," I said through the door. "I have to use the cane if I'm standing."

It's hard to recall this, Maryam. When I got to the top of the stairs, I'd been a zombie. I was resisting. But something changed once I agreed to tease him. Was it all the fun Chuy, the asshole, and I had coming back? Was it that I believed he'd stop after I teased him? I think I did.

Yeah, I remember that now. I smiled when he said, "I'm sure you'll work something out. Something really sexy," because I believed he'd agreed to my offer.

I just laughed--right now as I type this into Notes on my phone. How could I have believed that? Somehow, I'd grown up to be optimistic, but I wasn't naïve. Did I choose to be naïve? That's a thought I don't want. Back to my shameful journal.

"Are you sure you want this, Asshole? A sexy woman in a therapy boot teasing you with short, shiny clothes? You might have to skulk home with wet panties." It felt so good to tease. So safe, too. We had rules for this, rules where we both got to have sexy times without me breaking my vows.

One of the selling points of our townhome was the en suite bathroom, with the toilet walled off from the bath, a deep tub, glass-walled shower, and room for a chair. It was a half of the size of our entire apartment in NoLiTa. All that space turned out to be a wonder since the boot. The Boot (Aug 19-Nov 24, 2024). It needs to be treated like a historical event. Or maybe the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand.

"I'm not the one with wet panties. Every time you see me, your panties get all gooey and wet."

I sat in the chair and unbuckled the boot and washed my foot before undressing, while continuing the banter.

"Gooey? Really, Asshole? You're probably stroking yourself through your pants, wishing you were in here seeing me take off this boot. My little foot all exposed."

The truth was, I was wet, maybe even gooey, and I used that to trace my pussy lips, imagining him playing with himself in anticipation of seeing me. You'll probably tell me I'm misremembering, since there's no way I could have been playing with myself and pulling on my nipples without admitting I was going to fuck the asshole, but I was just getting ready for another tease. He'd get horny but have to go home frustrated. As I pulled on my nipple, I trace around my wrist, imagining the fun I'd have once he left. And when that fantasy turned to him handcuffing me to the bed and jerking off on me, I pushed it away and examined the new line.