The anger in her face was palpable but he couldn't see it. He was on top of her, his face buried into her shoulder, pumping up and down, in and out. Slowly, methodically, moving his cock in and out while she lay there motionless. She was, yet again, doing her duty, taking what he gave her, initially just bored, but as the pumping continued, she became angry, then furious. She'd had enough.
"Get off of me!" she yelled, pushing her hands against his chest. "Get the fuck off me! Get off! Christ!"
She pushed him hard enough that he fell backwards onto the bed, leaving his wet cock poking upwards toward the ceiling. He sat up and looked at her with those puppy-dog eyes. What had he done wrong?
Jenna got out of the bed and straightened the nightgown that had been pulled up just far enough to let him into her. She glared at him with the force of a thousand aggrieved women who just couldn't take it anymore. Then she unloaded on him.
"You know what you are? You're pathetic. You think you're a good man because you do the dishes and wash my car and cook my favorite meals. You buy me flowers and gifts, and you tell me 'Yes, Dear,' and 'If you think so, Dear,' and 'Whatever you want, Dear.' You think that makes you a good man? Well, think again.
"You know what a good man is? A good man is somebody who strips his wife whether she likes it or not, throws her onto the mattress, and stuffs his big cock into her like he means it. You think he'd allow his wife to keep her nightgown and bra on while he fucks her? Hell, no. He's a big, strong man with a big strong cock and he puts himself on top of her and fucks her into the mattress until her head spins around and she thinks she'll never be able to walk again. That's what a good man is!
"There's a word for simpering losers like you. They're called 'simps.' But, you know what? I have a better word for you. You're a mistake, that's what you are. The biggest mistake of my life. And you know what? That's what I'm going to call you from now on. Mistake. That's your name. That's what I'm going to call you."
She was quiet now, still huffing and puffing and fuming anger out of her eyes and nose and ears, but she had no more words. She looked at Mistake, and saw a weak man, unable to even speak to defend himself. He was looking back at her, and she wondered if he would cry. Christ, what a loser.
"So here's what's going to happen," Jenna told him. You're going to get out of that bed and get yourself into the shower. Maybe that will wash some of the pathetic off of you. Then you're going to get dressed, and we're going out."
Finally Mistake could speak. "Where are we going?" he asked.
"Wherever I fucking want. That's where we're going. Just do it and shut the fuck up. I'll let you know when it's your turn to talk, if it ever is."
He got out of the bed and went to the bathroom, and, as instructed, took a shower. He came out of the bathroom, still naked, to see his wife going through the closet and drawers, picking out clothes for both herself and for him. She threw his onto the bed. "Put those on," she instructed. "And cover up that ridiculous excuse for a cock. I don't want to have to look at it."
While Mistake dressed, he saw, out of the corner of his eye, what his wife was putting on. He didn't dare look openly at her, but he could catch a glimpse if he was careful. She had discarded the nightgown and bra, and had put on the tiniest panties he'd ever seen. Maybe a G-string. He didn't know she even owned such things.
Then she pulled over her head a flaming red dress, barely long enough to cover the G-string and so lowcut that her big areolas were, just slightly, poking out the top. Her back was bare, all the way to the top of her butt crack. When did she buy a dress like that, he wondered? She put on dangly earrings and a pearl necklace, both of which he'd bought her as gifts over the years. Then, she slipped into a pair of high-heeled open-toed fuck-me sandals, and was as dressed as she intended to be.
Mistake gawked at her. Never had he seen her like this. He saw that her toes had been freshly painted to match the dress. Had she planned this?
"Did I tell you to look at me?" she growled. "Get your wallet and keys. I hope that wallet is full because you're going to need a fuck-load of money."
He looked away from her. He didn't want to piss her off any more than he had. He put the wallet and car keys into his pockets and waited for instruction. What was he supposed to do now?
She pointed to the door. "Go!" she told him. She waved her hand, as if to shoo him out of the room. "Go!"
When they got to the driveway, Mistake didn't know which car they were taking, and whether he was supposed to drive or if she was going to. She pointed to her car, the nice one, and pointed to the driver's seat. "Get in," she said. "I'll tell you where to go."
He sat down in the driver's seat and she got into the back seat. He was going to chauffer her.
They drove for about twenty minutes, as she barked instructions from the back seat, berating him if he was in the wrong lane or was going too fast or too slow or stopped too quickly at a traffic light or failed to go through a yellow light. Eventually, she told him to turn into a driveway.
They were at a strip club, with big neon signs advertising "Girls! Girls!" and "Fully Nude Girls!"
Mistake wondered what in the world they were doing here, but he dared not ask. He held his tongue, intent on avoiding any unnecessary fury from her.
They walked to the door and went inside. The doorman eyed her up and down, up and down. She stood there, waiting, while he looked at her boobs that were so close to falling out of her dress and at her legs that went on forever until they finally ended at her jungle-red toes. Finally, he complimented her outfit and told them what the cover charge was. Ten dollars for him, free for her. "Pay!" she barked at her husband. He paid, and the doorman escorted them to a table.
Soon, a pretty young waitress arrived, wearing a tiny skirt and a tiny top. Unlike the girls on the stage, her boobs were covered, but it was obvious they were plentiful. "What can I get you?" she asked.
Jenna answered for them both. "Champagne for me and a Diet Coke for him," she instructed. "This thing needs to be on a diet," she said, pointing to Mistake. "He could stand to lose some weight."
Mistake hadn't known that he was on a diet and didn't think he needed to lose weight, but what right did he have to think? He sat there quietly, looking at the topless girl on the stage who was climbing a pole. She climbed down the pole, wiggled her butt for a minute, and slowly lowered her panties to her stiletto shoes, then off. A man close to the stage put some money into her garter belt. She danced over to a neighboring table where a pair of men, a little tipsy, also gave her tips.
Jenna noticed that her husband was looking at the stage. That was unacceptable. "Move your chair," she commanded, showing him where the chair should be, facing away from the stage. He did as he was told.
The waitress brought the drinks. Jenna pointed to the tray the girl was carrying. "Pay," she barked. The waitress told her the amount, and Mistake pulled out his wallet and paid. He began to put the wallet back in his pocket, but his wife stopped him. She took the wallet from him and opened it, looking to see how much money was in it. She nodded her approval. "I'll keep this," she said.
She took a bill out and walked to the stage, and gave the naked dancer a tip, putting the bill in the girl's garter belt. Then she returned to the table and tasted her champagne. She pointed to Mistake's soft drink. "Drink," she told him.
As he drank, he could see the waitress talking with the other girls, telling them about what was going on at their table. The girls were sneaking glances at the two of them. He looked away.
The dancer on the stage finished her three songs, picked up her clothes, and left the stage. The DJ introduced the next dancer who took the stage, wearing a barely-dressed nurse costume.
A couple of minutes later, one of the dancers came over, to make conversation and, hopefully, sell them a lap dance. Jenna waved her away. Then Jenna spotted the dancer she wanted, and waved her over. Before the dancer could sit down, Jenna stopped her. "Will you do me a favor?" she asked. As she spoke, she laid money on the table. That caught the dancer's attention.
"You see that guy over there?" Jenna said, pointing to a man sitting by himself, drinking a beer and watching the stage.
"Yeh. What about him?"
"Take him to the private room and give him a dance." The dancer looked at the money on the table. It was twice the normal price of a dance. "Give him a boner, then report back to me on how good it felt through his pants. You know, size, hardness, that kind of thing. If it's good, send him over here when you're done."
Mistake didn't speak and was looking down at his Diet Coke. The dancer looked at Jenna, then at Mistake, trying to figure out the power dynamics at the table. She decided it was none of her business.
"Will you do that for me?" Jenna asked.
"I guess," the dancer said, picking up the money. She headed toward the man and explained that the couple at the other table had given him a free dance. He looked toward the couple, puzzled, and mouthed "thank you," then followed the dancer into the private room.
Jenna and Mistake sat quietly at their table. Jenna gave the new stage dancer a tip, and came back to the table. They waited.
