Ch.08-1 Alternative ending
Did you ever make a flippant remark or retort... and then regret it later? Well, sometimes I have been guilty of that with my writing. When I was getting badgered by a few friends after I let them see my first ending, (They wanted an ending of a different direction) I mentally rebelled from their attempts to coerce my thinking by intentionally heading off at a tangent. Almost as if to spite them. Perhaps I went too far.
If this story was being handled by my publisher, he would have figuratively sunk his size 12 boot into my backside and in his pure dulcet tones announce, "That last chapter doesn't fit the tone and context of the previous 7 chapters. What the fuck were you thinking, ya dickhead!"
After a mere 10 rounds of MMA where we "discussed" his point of view, we would have taken our bruised, battered and bloodied bodies back to a Bar where we would have finally come to some type of agreement, inspired by James Beam, at around 2 o'clock in the morning.
As this was not a "paid for" short story, his mercenary guidance was missing. Plus, I began receiving emails from readers that expressed "disappointment" in the last chapter. It wasn't what they expected.
If they had stated their reasons as being it was too crude, too violent, too cruel or too much non-consensual sex, I would probably have just shrugged them off. But "disappointment" mmm now that struck home. Of course their "scoring" also reflects what they thought.
So, here I am, writing an alternate ending. You may or may not enjoy it but it will be, at least, different to the original post of chapter 8. Let me know what you think, either by comments, email or scoring.
Happy reading.
LS
...
Steve continues
I had phoned and left a message on our home landline, informing Christina of my arrival time. Now I was driving home, to a future that was uncertain.
Towards the end of my exploits earlier in the day I had had a sudden epiphany of sorts. I could see with a clarity that was unexpected, exactly what I was doing to and with my wonderful wife.
How she was changing before my very eyes; letting herself respond to the things I was doing to her. While, I had to admit, I was enjoying myself and her descent into a type of depravity she had never exhibited before, a wave of guilt struck me. What was I doing? Was this really to help my wife open up her reserved nature? Or was I simply doing this to "get my rocks off"? The inappropriateness of my actions whacked me over the head like a piece of 4 x 2 timber.
In a response to my wave of guilt, I had quickly extracted myself from the situation. I had driven away almost aimlessly before realising that my lack of concentration to the road was putting myself and other motorists in a dangerous position. I had pulled off into a shopping mall while I gave myself time to reflect.
The remainder of the afternoon had been spent sitting in a Café, sipping at the hot Beveridge while I was lost in a sea of thought. Perhaps, I surmised, caffeine was now my drug of choice that provided answers to the problems that I could see were now surfacing. Who knew?
My beautiful wife had finally and completely given in to the fiery lusts that I had sensed dwelled beneath her protective airs. I was left in total awe of her physical reactions to what I had put her through. The exposure of those sensual, erotic lusts plus the exposure of her fantastic, gorgeous body, should have left me with a triumphant air. A "shit kicking" grin should be plastered across my face as I basked in the joy of success.
So, why was I not actually joyful? Why wasn't I practically dancing a jig at the level of my success?
The answer was simple: because it was not ME she had opened up to. It was to her MASTER that she had pledged her loyalty plus her lust boosted love and obedience.
I, Steve Ross, her husband, was no closer to uncovering the "real" Christina than I had been 6 months or 12 months ago. She viewed both me and her master as two different entities. Now, in her mind, she was having an affair... but not by her choice. That affair provided her an outlet for all the "dirty, kinky" things she was now doing because she was being "made" to do them. It wasn't really her fault. She could simply "go with the flow" and avoid the responsibility of making conscious decisions because it was all out of her control.
She was cheating on me... with me! Without realising it. In essence, my wife had left me for my alter ego; her mystery Master.
"Fuck!" I exclaimed out loud and then had to wave off the attention of a waitress/server as looks of distain were sent in my direction.
The only thing she couldn't really justify was the secrecy; the keeping it all to herself without telling me, her husband. A pure example of a breakdown in our level of communication. Perhaps it was her shame at her actions. Or, perhaps it was fear that if she revealed herself to me, her husband, I may have been disgusted, horrified or whatever. If blame had to be attributed, I would have my fair share for not having opened up more of myself to her through-out our marriage. If she knew of my background... who knows what would have happened to our sex life. Maybe we wouldn't have got married in the first place.
That thought was depressing in itself. If this self-examination achieved nothing else, I finally decided, it had verified that I love my wife. ALL aspects of her. Her quirkiness, her personality; the way she smiled at me. Her genuine loving nature, even if she still hung desperately on to the indoctrinated beliefs of her family's religion regarding sex.
It was all my fault. I had allowed this to escalate to the situation we were now in that had resulted in Christine developing a strong, submissive relationship with this new person, her Master. No, not allowed, I had to admit. I had specifically engineered the situation from a selfish perspective, without completely thinking through the possible ramifications.
Now... what was I going to do about it? The $64,000 question, or whatever that old quiz show offered.
There was really only one way forward if we were to survive: I would have to tell her the truth. About everything. About me, about the games I've been playing with her. About who her "master" really was. And... I would have to do it in a way that would allow both of us to retain respect for each other.
They say that love is blind... and forgiving. Well, I was about to put all that to the test.
How would I do this, I had to ask myself. "Softly, softly; catchee monkey", flittered briefly into my head from some half-forgotten saying.
Well, I decided, it will be extremely difficult, so I will have to pick the right times to deliver certain information. I couldn't just dump all this on Christina and expect her to take it all in. Now, the concept of "little steps" had an entirely different application.
With a new resolve but no initial clear plan to implement change, I had finally disconnected from my intravenous caffeine fix and headed off home. One thing was certain: there would be no more visits from the "Master".
As I pulled into our garage, I wondered which Christina I would meet. The same old, same old... or a new, modified version. It didn't take long to find out.
...
Christina
"Hi there sweetheart," I announced as Steve entered the apartment.
I had rushed down to the entry from our garage, from our bedroom, as soon as I heard the noise of the doors opening. I moved into his arms and gave him a big welcoming kiss on the lips and a big hug. This was my man, my hero, returning from the front lines, the salt mines, or whatever analogy works for the returning principal wage earner after a hard day.
I was still on cloud nine from my experiences earlier. My body felt alive. Very sore in delicate places but it was the fulfilling soreness of the aftermath of extreme activity. Like the feeling a person gets when relaxing after a hard gym workout. Or a tough Basketball game.
When I had finally managed to soak my poor abused body into a hot bath, filled with lovely smelling salts and soothing crystals, things began to feel all ok. I could relax and think things through. Everything was right in my little world. My Master loved me: I was certain. A very, very strange way of showing it, I had to admit. But WOW.
The things he did to me. I could feel myself beginning to blush as I allowed myself the faintest glimpse of the memory. Why did it affect me so much, so quickly, even right now as I hug greeted my loving husband?
It seemed that, the moment I willingly acknowledged something about myself, it all became so clear. The answers were in front of me. I was a slut. A brazen hussy, like my father had called those "fallen" women he so often railed against.
My fear that I would be a slut for everyone was not borne out. My Master had explained it: I was just a slut for HIM and him only. It could all be kept private and no one else needed to know. All those wicked thoughts I had fought so hard to repress during my teenage years. It was ok to have them. Ok to even act on them. Only with my Master, of course.
I was so happy my joy was overflowing and I couldn't stop smiling.
After my long bath I had tidied the bedroom and put away those sex toys. Master would need to know where I had placed them, I suppose. In case he wanted to use them again on me. No... WHEN he used them again. He was sure to do so now on a regular basis, I hoped. Yes, I had admitted it. I hoped he planned to use them regularly. Just not too soon as I needed a few days to recover first.
What if my husband wanted to do things to me before then, in his vanilla way? Well, I would just have to put him off like I normally do, I decided. He seemed to understand and had accepted my sexual rationing. After all, I had to hide the slut from him.
I stepped back from the loving embrace. My wonderful Steve just looked at me a bit shocked and confused, trying to read my expressions. I gave him my best smile and headed into the kitchen. The nice meal I had prepared should just about be ready and I was starving. What a way to work up an appetite, I realised, continuing my smile as I began dishing up the meal.
