The Story Of A Button

A 'thank you' goes out to readers who have checked for updates regularly and gotten in touch. Despite being plagued by a combination of work overload and some doubts over beliefs in creativity after a minor saga (in relation to a sequel posted on this site), outofshadows is back. Inspiration tends to strike at the oddest of times and this new story is my effort to practise what I preach.

The story's conclusion has been written and will be posted in a month's time. My hope is for readers and fellow writers to take on the challenge of writing their conclusions to this story before the original conclusion is posted. While I retain ownership of this original story, I believe in keeping it active and alive through a creative hackathon of sorts. So let's keep the creativity going! To enable tracking of the various conclusions, for writers taking on the challenge, please include in the title of your conclusion the acronym 'TSOAB' and send me the link to your story because I would like to read it!

For the haters, you wouldn't like the story, so save yourself time and conserve that vitriol! For readers, do leave feedback in the comments or in private messages via the feedback function Literotica has kindly provided. Read on!

"I don't believe there is a single person I loved that I didn't eventually betray."

― Albert Camus

The Fall

Regret.

Was that the name of the sharp pain fading into a dull burn and an indescribable ache that sat in my gut?

I could almost see the inscription on the headstone: Jackson Miles, (1974-2017), Beloved Husband and Father. Of course, Willa would probably replace the "Beloved" with "Asshole" or "Jackass" or whatever descriptive she seemed was appropriate. That is if she got away with murder. My murder. Or my death. Semantics was the least of my concerns right now.

A dark shadow. At least that was what it looked like to my blurring vision. It was that startling azure blue of her irises that told me it was my loving wife who now loomed over me. She looked like an avenging angel. She probably was one. Great, till the end, I was the fallen one. Lucifer — about to be slain by the sword of good. Somewhere in the beyond, Catherine Dubois, the Sunday school teacher who had warned my mother of my "inherent wickedness", was chuckling.

Willa raised her hand and I waited for the blow. Not cringing or resisting. After all, what would have been the point? Between Ashton and Willa, I was already done for. They had gotten me good. I was as good as dead. The wriggling specimen of insect pinned to the board, only alive because I was still breathing.

Even on the edge of oblivion, I could not understand how I'd messed up so badly...

Earlier in the day

"Damn it!" I cursed under my breath.

Not for the first time in the last fortnight, I regretted, sincerely regretted, ever having been involved with Rita Heynous. What had my old man said? Never eat where you shit. Well, he may not have been location specific but it sure applied to Rita. Not only was she the wife of our neighbour, Ashton Heynous, the mild-mannered lab technician at the local laboratory of the Centres for Disease Control and Prevention, she was also the long-time friend of my wife.

Well, at least Willa regarded her as a friend. I'm sure what Rita did in those afternoon sessions over at her house and in her car was outside of any definition of friendship, even the broadest definitions possible. She'd given a demonstration of the legendary Rita deep throat the first time we got together and the sight of her climaxing as she stretched those red lips around my cock while frigging herself was a scene that rivalled any porn video.

She had clearly pulled out all the stops that first time. To her twisted mind, I was probably a trophy of sorts, something else she'd managed to steal from her friends. I was very likely the latest in the line of boyfriends and husbands of friends she managed to hump behind their girlfriends' or wives' backs in the slutty hobby she'd revived some years back. Back in high school, or so I was told by some of my drinking buddies down at the local bar, Rita was legendary, having slept her way through entire teams. Some of her cheerleading squad mates had gotten into catfights with her after rumours spread of her spreading her thighs or lips for their boyfriends. The fact that she retained some friends from those days always amazed me. They fought but remained close. Particularly Willa, who was as different from Rita as the sun was from the moon. Everyone knew Willa was the quiet, nice girl while Rita was the biotch who thought nothing of screwing over her friends for something she wanted.

Despite all of Rita's hijinks, none of the girls did the sensible thing, that is, sever ties with her. Even when Becky looked like she was about to blow a gasket after finding her husband deep in the throes of ecstasy and equally deep in Rita's throat. Rita's one-liner always managed to silence the group, "Remember, you owe me." That one line inevitably brought silence and looks of guilt among the ladies. I remembered an occasion where the claws were out. Literally. And that one line brought those painted nails to a dead halt, just before they shredded Rita's skin. No matter how I bugged Willa about the story behind Rita's magical line, she simply refused to breathe a word about it. It was through a combination of what I'd overheard on occasion and town gossip that I managed to piece together the fact that Rita's past and her transformation to town slut owed much to a prank gone bad, date rape and a boy named Steve. In fact, the one time I mentioned all three in front of Rita, she went ballistic and threw me out of her house with my pants around my knees. I was just glad there were no witnesses, or so I thought.

Willa said nothing to me about Rita when we first got married. And to be fair, Rita seemed perfectly normal in the early years, like any ordinary housewife that lived in our neighbourhood. That changed in the last couple of years. At gatherings where her friends turned up with their boyfriends or partners in tow, the women invariably watched their men with eagle eyes whenever Rita made an appearance. There were occasions when sheepish or guilty-looking male companions were seen chasing after enraged females who stomped off from a party while Rita looked on with a smile Cruella de Vil probably patented. On a memorable occasion, Elaine's husband, Vic, was seen running after her with his shirtfront waving from his open fly. Yet, in the small town that we all lived in, there was an absurd need to maintain appearances so no one called Rita out for what she did. No one told Ashton either, who was more often than not working hard at his job and missing out on all the social gatherings in a bid to "provide a better life for his wife" as Willa reported after she tried to talk to the guy. She'd been in a dilemma, wanting to alert Ashton to the dangers his marriage was facing but hesitant about selling her best friend out.

****

Looking back, I can't, for the life of me, remember what it was that drew me to Rita. I'd thought she was skanky when she revived her career of being the neighbourhood whore. I pitied Ashton for having such a wife who went around making a cuckold of him. Of course, none of those thoughts came to mind on that hot fall night when I'd been brooding over a beer on the front porch and that peroxide blonde chatted me up. Didn't help that Willa and I had had one of our quiet arguments over bills and the future of the garage just that evening and she'd taken the kids to her sister's for a sleepover.

Well, I was still paying all the bills, wasn't I? I didn't stop her from going out and getting a job when she wanted to, though I would have preferred her to stay home with our kids. No, the fact that she cleared more in taxes last year than I did didn't make me feel bad. Neither did the fact that I was no longer getting those openly lustful stares from chicks who couldn't stop ogling me in my younger years. I knew the days of being that mysterious, brooding biker who got all the women he wanted and then some had to come to an end sometime. Just not now. Not when life seemed to beat the crap out of me with endless bills, screaming brats and mind numbing routine.

Could anyone blame me if I gave into temptation and got a little chance to blow steam with a woman who was obviously offering to blow me?

Willa, the kids and my life were nowhere remotely near my mind when I felt those clever hands moving over my crotch. I'd not been so hard in years as her tongue and lips wrapped around me and licked the precum from the tip of my cock. And when I pounded into her on the sofa where I'd had great times with Willa, the twinge or two of guilt that hit me were quickly brushed aside. As ridiculous as it seemed, my only thought was 'This has nothing to do with Willa. This is just something for myself. Surely I deserve something for myself!'

Somehow, despite everything I'd done to prevent it from becoming a disaster, it snowballed from a one-time mistake to a full-on affair the next day. I'd told myself when I'd woken up to another blowjob and a pussy riding me that this was a one-off mistake. All three times in the last 24 hours. Washing my face in the bathroom, I'd even convinced myself that alcohol and depression were to blame for the whole mess and I could settle matters with Rita and clear up everything without Willa ever knowing or being hurt by it. It had sounded reasonable in the bathroom.

I exited the bathroom with brash confidence and hustled, trying my best to clean up everything while Rita lay there looking at me with a smile on her face. Tamping down the urge to fuck her again, I told her in as cold a voice as possible to get her ass out of the place before my wife returned.

"Why? Feeling bad, lover boy?"

"I'm not your lover boy. I don't love you. I love my wife!" I gritted out as my jaw clenched.

Her narrowed eyes told me I'd pissed her off.

"Really? That's an ironic thing to say when you're still dripping from me, don't you think?"

The venom in that hiss made my blood run cold.

"What do you want, Rita?"

"I want more of what I had last night, more of what Willa's been having all these years. I knew she snagged a good deal when she hooked up with the bad-assed biker. I just never figured it was that good."

Somehow, in the light of day, Rita's antics looked vulgar beyond belief. Even the sight of her licking those red hot lips made me slightly ill. I couldn't understand what I saw in her the night before. My dick didn't have the same instinctive revulsion however. It began to stiffen at the sight of those breasts that were barely contained by the shirt she'd hastily thrown on. Didn't help that the drying cum on her thighs and mound looked sexy as hell. Seeing the rebellion of what lay between my legs against the voice of reason which was fading into oblivion in the white noise of lust, Rita smiled and said, "Well, a part of someone agrees, even if they deny it."

The chime from the clock brought the haze of lust that was quickly enveloping my senses to a halt.

"Shit! I can't deal with this right now. Just get your ass out of this house before Willa comes back with the kids!"

The look of anger on Rita's face made me aware that I was about to have a hellcat on my hands.

"So you think you can use me and just dump me like some trash?!!" Rita spat. Her claws were at the ready. I was gonna get skinned today.

It was the sound of an engine pulling into the driveway next door that saved me. A quick glance out the window told me it was Ashton returning from an overnight shift.

"Look," I said as I steered the pissed off female towards the back door. "Unless you want a domestic scene and a divorce from your husband, you should get back to your house. We can settle this another day."

I saw the indecision on Rita's face and knew I had just about gotten away. She knew she'd lose everything she had if Ashton were to divorce her and while she could upset things between Willa and me, she'd get nothing from us. The practical Rita took over and with a hard look which promised payback for my treatment of her, she left via the backdoor. After waiting a couple of minutes and failing to hear any sounds of a fight or those of an outraged husband about to seek vengeance from the house next door, I relaxed slightly and went about restoring to house to a state that didn't scream "I just fucked your best friend in our house" to Willa.

Things were actually better between Willa and me after that weekend. I'd be the first to admit that part of the reason could have been my attempt to dispel that nagging sense of guilt that plagued me after fucking Rita. I know, I know, nothing can really make up for fucking your wife's best friend. But what could I do? It happened. Shit happens. I just had to move on and try my best to not fuck things up.

And I did try. For all of a week. The next weekend was the neighbourhood barbecue party. Apart from the roiling heat coming off the hot coals, Rita was doing her best to raise temperatures. She'd poured herself into an ensemble which revealed more than it concealed. The plunging neckline which pushed her breasts upward and outward made for an arrow which directed eyes towards the shorts which barely covered her crotch. In fact, the shorts were so tight, I swear most of the guys in the party caught glimpses of that cameltoe she was flashing every time she bent at the waist.

I know this all sounds like a bastard giving excuses for not distancing himself from a mistake he'd already made and should know better to avoid repeating. But tell that to 10 hot blooded males under the age of 90 and 9 of them would look guilty while wiping the drool off their chins at the sight of such a mistake. Again, Jackson junior led me into trouble.

Rita promptly spilled a jug of sweet tea down her front, making her daring outfit completely obscene. The look she directed at me as she pretended to wipe herself dry left me in no doubt that it wasn't an accident. The fact was her hands were virtually running over hard nipples and a shaved pussy, a siren call which was answered by my stiffening cock. Mumbling some polite excuse when she asked for my help, I led the almost naked bitch away from the party, hardly heeding the sharp eyes that followed us. Once in the cool darkness of the pantry store, or at least that's where I think we ended up at, she was on me before I could get a word out. Not that I think I would have said anything very sensible at that point in time. After fucking her hard against the door and shooting my cum all over that naked, hot body, I became aware of a series of sharp knocks on the door. Before I could react, the door was abruptly wrenched open and three other of Willa's friends stood watching the guilty adulterers who stood naked with biological evidence of their infidelity decorating their bodies.

Recovering from the shock of the moment, Rita went on the attack. She screeched at Elaine and Becky who were busy taking pictures of the guilty parties. I noticed that our photographers took more pictures of my cock in its dripping, semi hard glory than they did of Rita. Caught unprepared and facing almost certain doom, I didn't pay any attention to the verbal battle between Rita and two of her friends. Neither did I bother with Lisa who stood watching me with her mouth gaping open. As I pulled up my jeans and prepared for hell to rain down on me, snatches of their conversation danced on the periphery of my ears.

"...well, then you're gonna have to share him"

"Hell no!"

"...too bad slut! Unless you want all of these pictures to show up on social media and Ashton to throw you out on your skanky ass without a dime!"

When Rita turned to look at me with pursed lips while a greedy gleam lit up Elaine's and Becky's eyes, I knew things were sliding down that hill fast.

"Jackson, you're gonna have a couple of playmates for the next couple of months," Rita said, openly sulking.

"What do you mean?"

Surely these women can't mean to... No, that would be crazy! They're all Willa's friends!

Elaine was the first to reply dryly.

"What our resident slut is saying is she's sharing you with us for the next couple of months. You wouldn't have a problem with that would you?"

"B-But, you're Willa's friends! I can't! We can't!"

"That didn't stop you from banging her," Becky pointed out huffily, her dismissive nod clearly indicating Rita.

"It-it was a mistake!"

"Was it your first mistake? No?" Elaine asked as I stuttered.

"Why are you doing this to Willa?"

The silence that followed as the three women regarded each other before focussing on Rita and me made me think I'd found a way out. That hope was dashed almost immediately.

"Technically, it was Rita the slut who stole from Willa. We're now 'stealing' from her. And only after all that she's stolen from us. Payback's a couple of bitches!" Elaine chortled.

"You can't do that! I-I'm not some, some fuck toy!"

"And you think Rita regards you as anything but that?"

The quiet gravity of Lisa's words silenced the protests that rose up my throat and died on my lips.

I looked at the ladies who surrounded me. They were all appealing in some way and it wouldn't be a burden to fuck them. In a twisted manner, I was probably fulfilling some kinky fantasy of fucking the wives of several men.

That began my second run as the neighbourhood manwhore. While it wasn't on par with the first run when I had the pick of pussies, the variety was enough to make up for the dry spell I had as a monogamous, married man.

I wasn't under any illusion that these women were in love with me. No, the fact was they saw sleeping with me as a way to pay Rita and their husbands back. I was initially intrigued by how natural they acted around Willa despite the fact that they were blatantly fucking their friend's husband. Looking back, I was given a glimpse of their easy hypocrisy that early fall night.

That night, I'd fucked not just Rita, but also Elaine and Becky, both of them in Becky's car. The pair had gone to pick up some pain medication and ice at the local drugstore and supermarket a short drive away. However, Becky's car proceeded to die on her and guess who had to go to their rescue?

Elaine's pain medication turned out to be a good hump in the backseat of Becky's car. Becky put that bag of ice to good use after I did her good against the steering wheel. Twice. She had light leather burns on her chest and back which she would have had difficulty explaining if she hadn't applied the ice. As it happened, we had to wait for Becky to get another bag of ice and Elaine some wet tissues to clean up the evidence of our fuckfest before we returned to the party. Our two-hour absence from the party was attributed by me, the subject expert, to the lack of spark plugs to replace the faulty item in Becky's car. While I avoided Willa's eyes the rest of that night and felt guilt in spades, none of her supposed friends seemed to feel any guilt towards her. Truth be told, they joked and laughed as naturally around Willa as if they hadn't just fucked themselves silly with her husband.

Lisa was the most hesitant of the lot. At first, I thought she'd decided to take the right path and avoid me. That made me respect her, after all, I wasn't that far gone that I didn't see what I'd done as a betrayal of my wedding vows. She turned up drunk one day when I was at Rita's place for my "appointment" with the head slut. It seemed she needed to fortify her nerves with alcohol before fucking me. Right before I started removing her clothes, she asked me with a curious flash of rage in her eyes if I routinely went around fucking other men's wives. I was annoyed by her uppity manner especially since she'd obviously given into temptation herself and answered rather crudely that I only fucked women who asked me to fuck them, wives or otherwise. The rage seemed to leech out of her and she closed her eyes as she gave herself over to me.