. But that is probably obvious. Of course I did that. I'm a fucking evil whore, not Timur the Conqueror or something. But I went farther.
I swore off masturbating and bondage.
I couldn't tell Chuy the truth. I wouldn't be fair to hurt him like that. I had to solve this problem on my own, and the only way to do that was to make sure the only person I was sexual with was him.
[Chuy]
The only way forward is ahead
. It's something my dad told me when I was in high school after I got a B and convinced myself I'd never be an engineer (yes, I planned on being a civil engineer since I was eleven and found out it was a job; it was a little more glamorous in my young head). I've tried to live that philosophy ever since. I've sometimes been sad when things didn't go the way I wanted, but I kept my eyes on what I could do to move forward. Then this fucked up job happened, and I wondered if I needed to slam on the brakes.
To start, I hated this project. I didn't like it initially, but at the start, it felt like it was doing some good. The best and most obvious solution was to reroute the highway a quarter mile west and put in an overpass. Politically, it meant shutting down the highway for a year and the fucking car dependent NIMBYs would riot, so that was out, but we had a good backup. Plus, the technical challenges were enjoyable. It wasn't exactly cutting-edge work, but it was innovative. Then the idiots at the state DOT came in and thought what the world needs is more big ass trucks plowing into people so morons who drive giant trucks as passenger vehicles can prove their manhood by running over children. Which meant more lanes that do nothing to relieve long-term congestion, but kills the light rail systems use potential. My path forward had always been accepting that no matter how fucked up the project was, less than ideal was at least a step in the right direction. But then they expanded it and I'm working with the Koreans at all hours, never seeing my wife, who won't admit it but is obviously in a state crisis.
The thing about Jess is that during her last crisis, the worse it got, the more she pretended everything was fine. She's convincing, too. I almost believed her. But she was too excited about the new product line. As she danced about, showing me the new pieces, she was more focused on teasing me than the technical qualities. I'm sure anyone hearing me complain about this would say
Pobrecito Chuy
, but this wasn't Jess. I mean, this was Jess, in the sense that she loves to tease and flirt with me and the clothes are really sexy. But she was giggling like she was drunk and went back and forth between technical details and being...How do I explain how childish she was acting? There was something unsettling about her pitching her voice up and being cutesy. She's a small woman with small breasts. Her playing young isn't sexy. Which doesn't mean we didn't have sex. My wife is so fucking sexy and she knows how to tease, she knows what to shake and what to move. It wasn't long before I was caught up in it. And the more we fucked, the more she wanted, but...
...I don't think she was getting off. I asked, and she said she wasn't faking it. We've always had good communication in bed, and she's told me when she needed some extra help to get over the line or when she wasn't going to come. It didn't happen, but when it did, she didn't feel the need to lie to me. Afterwards, though, I couldn't shake the feeling it was all a performance. I mean...okay, there was this point where she teased doing anal. We've never tried for obvious reasons, but she told me, "What if your little slut wants something new?" while rubbing my cock against her ass.
"What new?"
She giggled and didn't answer.
"Does my little slut want it in the ass?"
She giggled again and turned around to give me a blow job. She went all out, taking me in as much as she'd ever done and really working on my balls. I got lost in how good it was. This was new for her and maybe in the back of my head somewhere, I wondered where she'd learned to do this. In my head, I thanked Gabby before Jess's tongue slid down from my balls to tap my asshole. Jesus, that felt so good, my brain shut down.
After four orgasms, I was spent. It wasn't just that my balls were dry; it was all the hours, all the bad food, all the stress from work, and all the worry about Jess hit me. I wanted to finish Jess off and went to go down on her, but she pulled me up to cuddle.
I was half asleep when she started to masturbate. She wasn't going for a quick good night cum. Even with her back to me and her trying to keep her movements small, I could tell she was engaging with a fantasy she was drawing out. I rolled over partly to hide that my cock was getting hard, but mostly so she could do what she needed to do without feeling inhibited. Or was it to see what she was doing? Dark thoughts had started to creep in, thoughts about what was going on with my wife's mental health. Her earlier giggles haunted me even as her soft moans tempted me to try for more. The
your slut wife
and giggles juxtaposed in uncomfortable ways and memories of her struggles in her last job came back.
I drifted into weird dreams about giant trucks running over model trains, crushing little plastic people over parking lot pavement. Yeah, my dreams can be a bit obvious at times. The track suddenly jumped like it was on a wave, and I half-woke, realizing Jess had slipped out of bed. The bathroom door opened and closed and I started to go back to sleep when I heard a slap and Jess's hoarse whisper, "Yeah, punish your bitch."
She was obviously trying to be quiet, but little slaps and interjections like, "oh, God, take your whore," "fuck me, fuck your bitch, harder, fuck this whore harder," slipped through the night. I wanted to get up and join her. I wanted to be the person she was fantasizing about. It felt like it would violate something private. Why did she need this? Should I have fucked her ass when she pressed my cock between her cheeks? Before we married, she told me she liked anal sometimes and we've played a few times with toys, but accepted we'd have to work up it and it was never something either of us got into enough to keep at it. Or maybe it was just that the idea didn't do anything for me. Did I miss her signs? Was I taking our communication for granted and assuming everything was good for her? But I asked! I fucking asked all the time about what she wanted. Fucking Gabby. I thought we'd both found out things about ourselves and sexuality with her, and that we'd opened up with each other even more than before.
Fuck. Jess revealed her submissive side and her joy at playing the whore. I'd seen how much she liked surrendering and being called names. She'd tried to get me to spank her and I couldn't. I still couldn't. And she was in the bathroom, getting off without me.
I needed to talk to her. I needed to push past this new giggle shit and have a real conversation about everything. But I let her come back to bed at 5:17 am without a word. And when my watch vibrated on my wrist 43 minutes later, notifying me of a text from my boss, I let her sleep as I got up to read it and get ready for work. Twelve minutes later, I was dressed and pulling out of the garage, my mind caught between what the fuck was going on with Jess, the new details we'd learned from a soil report that came in from a lab in Switzerland a few hours before, and my seething resentment at the entire world for making this fucking project a thing that existed.
[Jess]
It didn't matter what I did, the thoughts of giving in kept growing more frequent and louder. The more I had sex with Chuy, the worse it got. The first night, I failed entirely. I was feeling almost sick with worry. I've never done many drugs, but I felt like I was on what I assume a terrible acid or ketamine trip would be like. I was desperate to hide how I felt and kept giggling. I could tell Chuy knew I was off, which made me worry more, and the more I worried, the more I was certain I had to keep him focused on getting off so he wouldn't realize what I'd done. Yes, Maryam, I know that's broken brain thinking. This whole story is broken brain thinking. Sometimes I wonder if I'm in an institution like my mom and this is all some kind of super fucked up Freudian hallucination. If it is, could you please adjust the straight jacket so I feel more bound? Sorry. I know that's not true. I was avoiding this. The point is, I was really trying. Trying hard to connect with Chuy, trying hard to keep my sexual energy 100% focused on my husband, trying to keep my word. I kept going to the point that I knew he wanted to stop and cuddle, but I couldn't. Stopping would lead to a conversation and I knew if I opened my mouth, truths would come out I couldn't bear to reveal. But I couldn't get off. I got close a few times. Chuy knows my body so well, but I wanted to be punished, humiliated and abused. So I kept fucking him until he was completely fucked out. Thank God he was too exhausted to talk at that point. He knew something was wrong. He's so perceptive. If it hadn't been for his work being so demanding, even after four hours of constant sex, he'd pull me against me, protecting me from the world with his gentle strength, and ask me what's wrong. He'd be so kind and gentle and supportive. And I'd given in to needing that and told him the truth. At which point it would all go away because he'd know who he really married. He's strong enough to forgive, but that same strength means he won't stay in a relationship with somebody as toxic as me once he discovers how evil I am.
The whole time, I was desperate to come. Not just come, but have a mind-shattering orgasm. Fuck, I wanted something literally mind-shattering. Something so intense, it would destroy every thought I ever had. I couldn't get there with my husband. I couldn't get there with the one person who truly loves me, who cares for me, who offers me forgiveness until it becomes poison to him. So played with myself, playing with how much loathing I could pile up on myself in my head, until he drifted off. And then I went to the bathroom and imagined the Asshole using his bitch. I came so easily in the darkness. I'd always been a whore. My body tempted men,