Tommy woke to his worst nightmare the morning following the men's bathroom ... thing. He didn't know what else to call it. He had watched open mouthed as his beautiful young wife was treated like a complete whore in the men's room of The Huddle.
The next-day nightmare was a text conversation with Bryan. It came with a screenshot of Kristen leaning back over a sink, her legs spread open for anyone to see with her pussy on unfocused and pixelated display. She wore a silly dazed smile on her face.
"What the fuck were you thinking, dipshit???" the text read. "You let our girl get treated like this in that awful place by your football friends, and you didn't kill someone? Neither of you will ever be able to show your faces again in this town. You stupid fuck!"
Tommy didn't know why he felt the need to defend himself. That's what Bryan did, and that's why he hated him. The old bastard always treated Tommy like a stupid football Neanderthal, or worse, a little boy, and he hated that he always responded defensively. He was a grown man now -- a goddamn lawyer. Hadn't he proven his intelligence? He didn't need this shit from fucking Bryan.
"It wasn't like that. It happened so fast. She's so hooked on him. There wasn't much I could have done."
"Hooked on that piece of shit coach of yours?"
"Yes, and he's more your coach than mine these days."
"Don't be argumentative, you little shit! I heard a rumor just the other day about this, but I couldn't believe it. My girl and that bastard. How could you have let that happen? He's never been good for any woman in his entire life, and you let him near my girl."
That was about all Tommy could take from the sanctimonious bastard. "Says the man who fucked his stepdaughter right under the nose of his sick wife. And she's not 'your girl,' she's mine."
A short silence was followed by, "Yeah. I guess I deserve that."
"No shit, asshole. Any emotional damage done to Kristen over the years you are no doubt responsible for."
Tommy stopped responding after that, but Kristen's phone blew up. Bryan called constantly. Her friends called. Leon, one of the guys from last night even had the balls to text for a date request.
She finally woke to one of Bryan's repeated calls. Tommy watched from the other room as she answered it in a daze, pulling the phone under the covers with her. She barely spoke above a muffled whisper. He couldn't understand a thing she said, and the call didn't last long. He wasn't really sure what was discussed.
She hung up and pulled the covers back up over her head. She stayed in bed for another two hours. Eventually, she pulled herself up and dragged her body into the shower.
The young couple had not spoken since before the incident. The silence in their house was deafening. Finally, Tommy watched her clomp into the kitchen dressed in sweatpants and a bulky sweater, and pour herself some coffee.
She sat at the table without looking at him, her head down. "I made a real spectacle of myself, didn't I? Do you hate me?"
He didn't say anything at first, just examined her. Even dressed down like this, she was perfection itself. She was still the woman he loved and always would be.
It's easy to judge others. Some people delight in it. Most people are very certain what they would do if their spouse cheated, but it's not that fucking easy, Tommy thought. How do you unlove someone? How do you unwant to be with someone for the rest of your life?
"It wasn't your finest moment," he said, letting that sink in for a moment. Her head sagged deeper. "But perhaps, your sexiest." Her head popped up.
"You're not mad?"
"I'm disappointed, I'll admit. You were not as discreet as I would have liked. In fact, you weren't discreet at all."
"But you don't hate me?"
"I don't have the capacity for hate, I believe, where you are concerned."
Kristen flung her arms around Tommy's neck. "I don't deserve you," she said, crying. He didn't respond, but smiled to himself.
"I don't deserve Bryan either. He was very kind on the phone. He wants to take me to see mom. He wanted to come over, but I said to wait until after we talked." He was the very last person Tommy wanted to see.
"I don't want him here right now. I have a thought about this situation, and I think he is the cause of everything."
"Bryan? What did he do?"
"Seriously, Kristen. He took advantage of a young girl and messed her up sexually."
"Do you think so?"
"Without question."
"I think I must have been pretty fucked up already, because I did all that stuff willingly -- with him, back then. I hate to admit it, but it was exciting. Just like it is with Coach," she said wistfully and staring off into space. "In fact, it's strangely similar."
She had a look in her eye Tommy didn't like. She was remembering last night without any of the bad stuff. She was thinking about how good Coach's rough, humiliating and abusive treatment felt. She was remembering how much she liked having her pussy stretched by that big cock in front of Coach's friends.
"Kristen!" he snapped. She turned her head to him slower than he would have liked.
"Yes." Her eyes were ablaze.
"You can't keep doing this. We grew up in this town. We live in this town. We work in this town. My practice is in this town."
"I get it, Tommy," she snapped back. She didn't sound as apologetic as she did before.
-----
It didn't take Kristen long to forget that she got it. Fortunately, the word of her illicit behavior at The Huddle did not spread as widely as Tommy or Bryan had feared it might. Coach had warned his friends not to share their images and videos widely under penalty of death, so it stayed pretty well contained.
In part, the town was just used to Coach's antics. No one was surprised anymore that any woman would give in to him. It was almost expected given his reputation. It wasn't even really news anymore, although a wide release of the video might change that.
However, Coach still played hard to get and that pissed Kristen off. She hadn't seen him for days and days. It did not help that rumors were spreading about Coach and a new woman. Kristen refused to believe it until she watched the local news one night and saw it with her own two eyes.
Marilyn Hawthorne was not a new sports reporter, apparently. She was a striking redhead well into her 30s, who had bounced around from small market to small market and had a short shot at the big time with a network gig. She was, however, new to Coach and all new pussy was welcomed by him. She'd been at the local affiliate for over a year, but this year she'd gotten the assignment to do the high school football preseason reports.
Marilyn was a former beauty queen from another state, and Kristen could see that she was quite attractive. As the titian haired woman stood on that field and interviewed Coach about his defense, anyone could see that slut flirt with him. She touched his fucking arm at one point. The fucking whore!
Then word came that they'd been seen together at this event or that restaurant, and Kristen was livid. She finally ran into him at the grocery store of all places. She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the little restroom hallway.
He said nothing and went with her willingly enough, amused by her aggressiveness. "Do you need something, ma'am?" he asked with mock concern when they were safely in semi-privacy.
"Where have you been?" she snapped.
"You know we're not married, and I am not accountable to you for my movements."
"You don't think you owe me anything?"
