Wife sharing, wife swapping, cuckolding, ugh! I'm the type of person that could never get over something like that happening to me. Unfortunately something like that did happen and the anger, hurt and humiliation from it has turned my caring, loving heart into a dead black organ of vile that now directs all its energy towards my wife.
Why she strayed, it doesn't matter. There's always a justification for our actions and if you can speak long enough on a subject, sooner or later you can convince anyone that it was your fault even if it was theirs. Like I'm the one that took her pants and panties down and placed her on that other guys cock! Quickly she admitted it, threw it in my face, laughed and walked out of my life.
The next two years I spent learning a new way of sex, a new way of relation. Perverting BDSM into an unethical code of physiological twisted code, I refined my techniques with many partners and mentors, so many because once they had seen what was inside me, they quickly moved on wanting to have no part in my darkness. A few wondered if they had trained the next serial killer, others just stopped talking to me, avoided my gaze whenever we found ourselves in the same area together.
I attracted the real edge players. My name and reputation got around in circles, and the internet. Edgy Goths, punk rocker wannabes, tattooed and pierced freaks sought me out to see if I could challenge them, push them past their edge of comfort. I did of course, no real feeling within me allowed me to be callous and cruel even by their standards. I was over her, my wife. That would have taken a lot longer than a two years if things continued as they were.
They didn't continue, of course, nothing stays the same and things change. One evening the phone rang and when I answered it, my legs gave out on me as the croaking whisper of my wife responded through the phone. "R...R...Rich...ard?"
I was silent, in truth I couldn't speak. My throat swelled and I couldn't breathe.
I eventually mumbled my assent.
She composed herself. Something was wrong. The cocksure manner of her voice from when she strode out of my life had vanished. There was fear in her voice. She finally got to the point and wanting, no needing to see me.
Shocked and still off guard from her call, I stupidly agreed before I knew what I was doing. All a haze, before I knew it she had arranged to come over that evening after I had gotten off work.
A few minutes after hanging up, I hit myself in the head over and over again. FUCK! I said to no one in particular, what a fucking idiot I was. I didn't want to see her, at least I think I didn't. My heart reopened. The wound fresh again. How dare that bitch do this to me again! I hadn't thought about her for a while and now this.
Work sucked. I was a zombie just going through the motions, trying to figure out what the hell she wanted, why did she call, why was she scarred. I tried to plan out all my best responses to anything she said to me, but she was cryptic in leaving me not much to go on as to why she needed to see me. I naturally thought that she might want to get back with me, but I really couldn't think about that as that distracted me even more at work. There's no way she wants that, I told myself. The way she walked out on me and the things she said before made that almost impossible. Still a small part of me thought that was it. The rest of my mind and heart came up with many reason why that wouldn't be the case, no use hurting myself again when that turned out to be false. Most likely, I told myself, that she was finally ready to finalize the divorce.
When she left, we cut off all communication. I literally hadn't seen, spoken or heard from her since that night. Where and what she did, I often, in bed all alone at night, wondered, but that just made me more furious.
I left work right on time, eager to get home before she got there and try to compose myself. I pulled into the driveway and saw her car there as well. Fuck! She couldn't even give me the time to myself. I got out the car and saw her waiting at the front door. Wow! She looked tired. She looked old. The bitch, when we were married was a decent shaped redhead, a tad overweight with a pretty face, she was three years younger than I. Now she looked almost ten years older. Hard living in the past two years, I muttered to myself, not that my time had been fun and games. She had now packed on at least another thirty pounds from her former weight, wrinkles around her face made her look like a smoker, and her skin seemed rather yellow. She had a look of total misery on her face. I could have been a ploy for sympathy, a way to get me to go easy on her, I thought. I smiled. Even if the look on her face was false, she still had not had the "better" life she had ran off to while ditching me.
I lead her inside to our house...my house, she had given up that right when she had left. I put my stuff away, pulled out two glasses of bourbon and offered her one as we sat in the living room, here on the edge of the couch, my in my chair. She glanced around, made small talk, mentioning the changes that I had made, keeping to herself the fact that all evidence of her being in this house were gone, pictures, stuff she had bought on her own, picked out, etc.
I kept quiet, nursed my drink, and tried to remain as calm as possible and push all thoughts of strangling her right then and there, as deep within me as possible. She took another swig, and sighed.
"I, guess you're wondered why I called..."
Tersely, I said, "Yeah...a bit of a shock..."
She was shaking, and I could see the composure fall from her. Suddenly, she blurted out, "Oh David, I've made a terrible mistake!" She broke down there crying.
A mistake? Really? No fucking shit! I wondered.
I said nothing, I did nothing. I tried to be a cold as possible. No way was I going to make this easy on her.
"I was such a fool," she finally said between sniffles after she had given a good cry.
She tried to look at me, her eyes teary, mascara running, she looked pathetic, and I just now had noticed that she had made an attempt to do herself up for me. It was a failed attempt. This past two years, while she was gone, I played with far better, far sexier, far fresher women and girls than what she had become. I met her eyes, I showed no emotion. Here comes the negotiation, I realized, and I didn't want to give anything away by showing her a weakness.
She pushed forward.
"David, this past two years has been horrible, miserable for me. I never realized what I had with you until I walked out that door..."
