Karen never suffered from postnatal depression. She adores Lilly. She plays with her all the time and takes her out to the park and swimming and coffee and all that. She doesn't look like a Mum though. An older sister, yes. Passersby frankly don't believe her when she tells them she's Lilly's Mum and some have even been rude, judging her with dubious frowns. Most women would take it as a compliment but it upsets Karen. Perhaps if she spent more time changing nappies and dealing with tantrums she might conform better to that shape of Motherhood but James and I tend to those grimmer duties and she never has to. She swoops in for the fun stuff and swoops away again like fathers' used to in more traditional times. She's free to pursue her interests - her friends, shopping, reading, hiking, dancing. And you'd think this would make her happy but she's not. She hasn't been happy for a long time now... and she won't confide in me. The more I try to get her to... the more she pushes me away. I irritate her to the point that she'll storm off in a rage.
We make love often. Not as often as I'd like. I don't think our lovemaking satisfies her even though I'm considerate and attentive and make her achieve orgasm every time. I think that might actually be the problem. I think I might be too nice! I sense she wants more. She wants what James Thompson used to give her before the baby. She wants to be pounded into next week and used like a cheap rag.
I discovered that tonight.
But James is tame now. She still spends an occasional night at his apartment but always comes home frustrated and I can tell he didn't fulfill her needs. He plays a big part in our lives having taken over nanny duties entirely. He dotes on Lilly and spends a lot of time with her. And so does Mr. Rippendale, our elderly neighbour. He is our second male-nanny, I suppose. John Rippendale. He's the old fella who lives across the street. He was Karen's lover too. James and John. She no longer has sex with him either, for fear of giving the poor old fella a heart attack.
James Thompson, for those who don't know our history, was a boy I went to school with. Back then he was my tormentor and bully. In adulthood, he continued this tradition by becoming my wife's lover. I came to terms with it. I didn't really have a choice. It's okay. We're not exactly friends, James and I. I used to hate him but I dunno... nowadays we get along. Sometimes he's kind. Like tonight. He took me to the Cordialis Club. To cheer me up.
When James first hooked up with my wife, he revelled in misbehaviour. He screwed my wife morning, noon and night, taking her away for days on trips around the world, tormenting me by texting pornographic photos of her. He went so far as to have a photographic print of her made and hung it proudly in his lavish studio apartment for all the world to admire. It was as big as a fucking pool table and absolutely obscene! Karen is on top of him in the full-Nelson position. Both are naked and facing the camera. She's on his lap with her legs pinned back to her chest by his strong arms, her feet pointing up into the air with tennis shoes on and his hands are linked behind her head. The bottom two thirds of the photo are taken up by his giant cock stretching out her glistening pussy. Her breasts are squashed together and she's laughing. As I said, it's obscene.
He also used to fuck her in his car, outside our house, when he brought her home. Not caring if our neighbours saw. He'd keep her clothes and force her to run to our front door wearing not a stitch. Totally nude! This is where Karen's second lover entered our history. On one of these nights I wasn't at home and Karen couldn't get in! James had already peeled away in his fancy sports car and mortified and panicked and naked as the day she was born, Karen was stranded and helpless on our doorstep... ashamed as Eve leaving the Garden of Eden. Mr. Rippendale, our pensioner neighbour across the cul-de-sac gave her sanctuary and in return, she gave him her body... and her heart. Not caring that he's more than double her age, old enough to be her grandfather in fact, she gave herself to him completely. Lucky old bastard.
I can't stress that enough! The luck of this old man!
Karen adopted this kinky quirk where, in his company, she insists on being nude! Completely fully nude! Even if he's in our house watching TV as he is most nights. She still does it! She lies cuddled under his arm and he strokes her ass, her boobs, hardly even aware he's doing it! The second he walks in the door, off come her clothes! Not just that... her three best friends have also adopted her tradition! Samantha, Kay and Michelle... they all followed suit! Four fucking goddesses! When they visit John's house for afternoon tea, which is very often, four of the most beautiful women you can possibly imagine... they don't wear clothes in his house! Never! How can this be?! Lucky, lucky old man!
He's a good bit older now and despite his best efforts and encouragement from the girls, he's not as virile as he once was. Sometimes I don't think he even registers their nakedness. Perhaps this is why the girls feel as comfortable as they do around him. That being said, he does enjoy watching the girls making out for his pleasure. I caught them the other day. Unaware, I entered John's house to borrow something and Kay and Michelle, completely nude, were French kissing on the couch while Samantha lovingly played with his huge soft cock, cuddled into the crook of his arm. Karen wasn't even present! The four of them are devoted this old man. This lucky, lucky old man.
I've waited a long, long time for my wife to stop screwing her two lovers, hoping to have her back all to myself. But now that she has... I never thought I'd say this... I wish we could go back to that time because... unlike now... she was happy. She might have been fucking two men who weren't me... her husband... but at least she was open and honest about it. She told me everything she did! She loved pleasuring me as she described what James had done to her that night. She loved sucking John's old cock in front of me as we watched TV, enjoying how I watched his liver spotted hands caressing her gorgeous firm tits.
But those days are gone and she's in a darker place.
She cheats on me now.
And the guilt... well, it's clearly tearing her apart. She's not naturally duplicitous. Until now, I don't think she's ever lied once in her whole life. About anything! Now she's sneaking around and... well, denying her own nature. And it's all because of David Cosgrove.
He's the wolf who has his teeth around my wife's throat.
He's my boss. Literally. I work for him. I didn't used to but his much larger firm swallowed mine and he became my manager. I shouldn't complain. I work in the financial district and get paid reasonably well but... well actually, that's not true. For what I endure every day... how he enjoys torturing me... there isn't enough money in the world for that. He is a bully and a prick of unprecedented level. An evil fucker. James Thompson, sending me nudes of my wife was nothing compared to David's obsessions. He's a sadist. And I mean that literally. He's into the whole ball-gag and whip thing. And forces Karen to be as well. He sends me actual printed A4 photographs in brown envelopes, to my desk every week. They show my wife demeaned and used. Tied up. Slapped. He spits on her and pisses in her mouth. One photo shows her standing there like a fucking idiot with a wine bottle jammed up her and looking utterly miserable. And that's why I want her back to James. Because with him... sex was all about passion and pleasure. In these pictures... she looks... utterly miserable.
I'm not as weak and meek and pathetic as you might think. Why do I put up with this? I did actually smash my way into David Cosgrove's office once... when I could take it no more. With every intention of beating him to a pulp. Even killing him with my bare hands. What stopped me though... was the hunger that appeared suddenly in his eyes. His ears practically stood up like an excited dog and he actually spun his chair around to face me, thrusting his hands behind his back... instead of raising them to defend himself. They were actually behind him! He looked like he'd been waiting for this moment and he wanted it! He was almost panting!
Completely disarmed, not knowing what to do but determining not to give him what he wanted most, I turned and fled. That night he whipped my wife till she bled. She tried to hide the marks beneath her pyjamas but I saw. And I cried in the darkness. And dreamed of murder.
Of course I confronted Karen. Accused. I lost my temper. And this is the bit I can't get my head around... she denies it all. "I've got fifty fucking photographs on my fucking desk!" I screamed at her. And still, she denied it! When I described the things she was doing, what she was wearing, she... I hate to say this... she sorta... broke. She escaped inward, retreating from the world and for weeks, not only did she lose the ability to speak, she was also unresponsive for long intervals. And this was no act. She'd bang her head against the walls when no one was there. She hurt herself. Pulled out her own hair. And she was scared. Really fucking terrified. All the time! She lost it. Lost it big time.
