One Jerk Too Many

"What the FUCK?"

Emma was home early. It could have been worse, sure: but she'd arrived to find husband Steve, a business accountant, with his trousers and pants pulled down to his knees. He was staring at some young model on a cosplay site. It might not be having an affair, but this felt like a betrayal nonetheless. Neither was it going to produce the client strategy that he was supposedly working on, to cover their growing household bills. And - oh god, she thought, looking more closely - what a cliche! The young girl pictured on the screen - and she was barely in her twenties - was a ludicrous caricature: sheathed in a pencil-skirt and stockings, peering vacantly over her prop spectacles, and suggestively sucking a pen between her bright red lips. Was this what it took to get him off, now?

Emma was fuming. Barely forty, she looked more like thirty, with a gym-toned figure that belied her years. With her fine auburn hair, classical hourglass figure, and a flawless complexion that suggested an exacting skincare routine, she was still very much capable of turning heads in any social setting. And yet, apparently this wasn't enough for him. No wonder he'd been lacklustre in the bedroom of late.

Steve looked up, shamefaced. He didn't even attempt to cover himself - the situation was a little beyond that, now. It would be possible to debate whether he'd been caught red-handed, or white-handed, but technicalities were unlikely to get much of a hearing here, he knew.

"I'm sorry, darling. Look I'm just a guy, it's what we do sometimes. It doesn't mean that - "

"Don't fucking try to normalise this, you wanker. I've been out at work all day - and it's been a properly shit one, thanks for asking - while you've been staring slack-mouthed at other women. With your cock out. I should tell you to pack your bags and move back with your parents for a few days. I'd love to know what reason you'd find to tell them for your arrival."

Sensing too late the upset he'd caused, Steve pulled his trousers back up, and closed his laptop. Emma was a special woman, and if he was honest with himself he knew that he'd pretty much won the jackpot in life's lottery. Before they'd met, her obvious sex appeal had made her both popular and willing, and he always had a vague paranoia that it wouldn't take much for her to fly free again. She certainly wouldn't be short of offers.

"Look, I'm really sorry. I know I'm in the wrong, and you're absolutely right: there's no excuse for it. I promise I'll make it up. Sit down, and I'll go start dinner. And you can think about how I can try to get your trust back. Honestly, I understand why you're so upset."

He exited, and Emma threw herself into the chair, angrily muttering. "You can fetch me a glass of wine, too. And then I don't want to see you for a while."

***

An hour and a half later, Steve had made his best efforts to recover the situation. The table was set with best linen, he'd lit a candle or two, and he'd endeavoured to pull together a special meal with what was at hand. But it was the romantic background music that went a little too far for Emma's liking.

"This isn't a damned seduction, you know. Just to be clear, you won't be getting any action for a while. Not with me, and not - if you know what's good for you - with any internet bimbos. Just give me the plate, and I'm eating in the lounge. You can do what you please. And then you can get whatever stuff you need out of the bedroom, because you'll be on the sofa tonight."

It would take something a little radical for Emma to feel that amends had been made. She needed to come up with something that would teach him a proper lesson, to remind him that she was the important one around here. In between summonsing her disgraced husband for more wine, she hatched plans. And by the time she was ready to vacate the lounge for Steve, she'd finalised them. "We'll talk about this in the morning. I'm going to make sure you remember how lucky you are to have me. And if you don't get with the programme, mister, you can go and find someone else willing to support your jerk-off lifestyle."

She turned on her heel, and exited. Steve threw a pillow onto the couch, and collapsed disconsolately onto it. Damn, he'd really fucked up here.

***

Next morning, normal routines were resumed. Emma dressed for work, Steve shaved and gelled his hair, ready for the occasional videocalls that were still part of working from home; and other than the duvet still draped across the sofa, a casual observer wouldn't have noticed that anything was amiss. Steve was beginning to think that he'd maybe got away with this, and ventured some small talk about Emma's forthcoming day. She cut him short.

"So. I've been giving this some thought. You've a busy day today, because you need to catch up on your wasted time yesterday - and please don't tell me exactly how much time you wasted, because I really don't want to know. But I've got some tasks for you. I'm going to be sending you three emails today. You're to read them straight away, and do as they say. And I'll see you tonight, when I get home. Which, by the way, could be at any point, just so you're aware. Got that?"

Steve's head dropped. "Sure. And look, again, I'm really sorry."

Emma held up a hand. "I don't want to hear it. If we're to get over this, it's going to be on my terms. Or not at all. Right now, your apologies are a bit hollow. I'm heading off. I'll see you later."

Steve watched her tight ass leaving the room. God, she was hot, though. Sighing, he picked up the dishes, and prepared to open his laptop for more productive purposes.

***

At 10am, Emma's first email dropped into his inbox. Untitled, with attachment. He opened it, approving the read receipt which she'd attached.

"Steve - you're lucky to have me, and you shouldn't have eyes for anyone else. I've attached a photograph from my files. I want you to open it, and I want you to print it out.

"Then I want you to masturbate over it.

"You don't have much time for this though, because you've some catching up to do. So I want a return email by 10:10 with an image of the picture, covered in your sperm. And then you can get back to work.

"And just to remind you: none of this is up for discussion. If you can't play by the rules, then you can pack your bags. My way, or the highway. You choose. I'll want to see the physical evidence when I get home, by the way."

Steve wasn't sure how he felt about this. On the one hand. she was obviously still pissed off, which couldn't be good. But on the other, she was essentially demanding that he stop and wank. That felt pretty positive. He felt a semi coming on, but then glanced at his watch and saw the time. 10:03. Shit.

He opened the image. He'd been hoping for something seductive from their secret file, but the image was a pretty workaday one: a headshot of Emma from when they'd been off to dinner a month or two back. Still, there was something a little hot in the new power dynamic here, and he pulled out his stiffening member, and began to rub it vigorously.

Four minutes later, Steve grunted with pleasure as he released himself across Emma's printed face. Conscious of time, he squeezed the last drops onto the paper and took a quick snap. He muttered to himself. "Share... email... send. No, wait. I should type a message. Ummm... 'As requested, darling. You know I've eyes only for you, really. Sorry. Love you. Steve. x'"

He got back to his day job, and sighed. Truly, Excel spreadsheets were one of life's little joys. Well, from one extreme to another, he mused, glancing over at the clock.

Almost two hours later, he'd lost himself in a particularly vicious puzzle of trying to reconcile some numbers, when a small preview box appeared at the foot of his screen. Shit, it was another email. Hurriedly, he pressed 'save', and opened the message.

"You might have seen this one coming. Attached are another two files. You've got twenty minutes. But just to be clear. I want a full load on each. And no cheating. You might get away with yoghurt or water or whatever for a picture, but as I've said, I'll be making a closer inspection when I get home. And this time, the link is to a protected fileshare site; you only get to print once. Enjoy, honey. I hope I'm enough of a turn on for you."

Dammit, thought Steve. This was starting to feel like hard work. And - oh shit, oh shit - he had a nasty feeling that he might know what to expect from the third email. He inspected the new images. The first was of Emma at a family wedding, with a cute suit on. He could see her legs at the bottom of the picture, and recalled that she'd been wearing a pair of pretty spectacular fuck-me heels which had got her plenty of attention that day. The second picture was a fun one which he'd taken on a long weekend: Emma trying on a floppy hat, and sticking her tongue out at the camera. Nothing sexual there, but he'd some memories which he could draw on. He got to work.

Fifteen minutes and one sore arm later, Steve had done what he needed. Both sheets were spattered with his spunk, perhaps in diminishing quantities, but hopefully enough to pass. He was feeling a bit sore below, now too, and had a clear idea that this was only going to get worse. Pressing send at 12:19, he went off to the kitchen and filled a large glass of water. He'd a feeling that he would be needing some fluids.

The final email arrived at 1437, again with a read receipt attached.

"Hi Steve. I just wanted to make sure you weren't straying from your computer. I've learned that it's good to be a little unpredictable. This time, there are three more images attached. Not that you deserve it, but I've taken pity on you this time, just in case you're flagging a little - and to remind you what you're almost missing. Same instructions. You've until a quarter past. Because I'm nicer than you deserve."

Steve opened the files. The first one was a boudoir shot, of Emma in racy black lingerie and a pair of heels. Damn, but she was fine. The second was in a similar vein: she was peering back over her shoulder at the camera, raising her short skirt to reveal a peach of an ass. The third was one of their more private shots, and Steve could recall the evening that she'd agreed to be photographed for a POV shot, with her cock filling her cheeks. She gazed lustfully at the camera, lipstick smudged but every bit the male fantasy she'd always been.

Steve got it. She was more of a turn on than anything he was likely to find online, and he knew it. That said, he wasn't sure whether he had it in him now to deliver what she was asking. He printed out the sheets, and looking briefly at their three already smeared and sticky counterparts sitting on the bureau for later inspection, he pulled out his flaccid cock and coaxed it back into action.

Finishing the first one quickly, Steve took a breath. Two to go. He'd best fetch some lube from upstairs - things were getting a little tender, now. And his arm was aching. Getting to work on the second, he was just about able to produce a thin stream of drops which dripped across Emma's ass and skirt. Twenty minutes remaining. Shit. He pulled over the blowjob image, which in normal times would have had him hard as a rock. By now, he could now do little more than tug away at a softening dick that really didn't want to comply. Grunting through clenched teeth, he pounded away with neither finesse or enjoyment, trying as hard as he could to summons up a last ejaculation. And then, with relief, it came. Holding his cock as close to the paper as he could, he watched it drip one, two, three times. Oh, fuck. That was never going to be enough.

He was going to have to try again. Six minutes left. He tugged, frantically and repeatedly, staring hard at the image and trying to conjure up every last erotic fantasy about Emma that he could recall. The day she'd woken him with a gentle edging handjob, last week. The blowjob she'd given him in the car, as they drove along a busy motorway with commuters six feet on either side. And - where was this coming from? - the others that she'd fucked through the years before they married, those many guys who'd brought her to reciprocal orgasms, but who'd been able to possess her only once before she chose him. Red-faced, and with a final cry, he shot once more across the picture. It wasn't much, but he hoped it would pass inspection. He gingerly eased his sore dick back into his briefs, and opened his camera app, pressing send at precisely the allotted time.

***

Three hours later, Emma opened the door. Steve rose stiffly to greet her. He looked at her, uncertain of what to say, and as she stared silently at him, he gestured across to the six sheets of paper at the side of the room.

"I did as you asked. Am I forgiven?"

"Not quite." Emma glanced briefly at the evidence of his day's non-working activity. "You can throw those in the bin. I don't want to see them. But I hope they had an impact on you?"

"Yes, I'm sorry. Look, I know where you're coming from. What else do you need me to do to make this better?" He gambled, and tried to lighten the mood. "As long as it's not sex, tonight?"

"In your dreams, buddy. No, it's not. I'm going up to change. And I'm heading out tonight, while you sit at home. I suggest you get back to the day job for a while. You must still be behind. Assuming you've the strength left in your wrists for typing, of course?"

She breezed past him, straight up the stairs. Steve heard the bedroom door shut. And open. And then she was showering. An hour later, she reappeared at the foot of the stairs. Steve looked across.

Fucking hell.

Emma was dressed in a pencil skirt, and fitted white blouse. Her hair was up, and on her full lips she'd applied an almost pornographic coat of bright red lipstick. Her legs were sheathed in sheer black hose, and as she turned briefly in her vertiginous heels, Steve could see seams running up the back of her legs. When she faced him again, she'd pulled a pen and a pair of glasses out of her jacket pocket.

"Remind you of anything?"

He felt conflicted. What was the right answer here? But she spared him; the question was rhetorical.

"Don't worry, this isn't for you. Before you came along, there were plenty of others. And if you think it's ok to have a little fun on the side, then perhaps I should do the same. So I'm heading out, and you can nurse your sad cock here alone. But first, you've a final thing to do for me."

She sat, crossed her legs, and shimmied her tight skirt up a few inches, revealing her stocking tops and an inch of bare toned thigh above.

"From now on, I'm the only fantasy you get to enjoy. And if that's not enough, you know what you can do." She looked him in the eye, and with a varnished fingernail, she beckoned him twice. "Come here."

As Steve stood next to her, she unzipped him, and pulled out his reddened, pulsing cock. It drooped tragically in her hand, unable to do more.

"Hold it." She relinquished her grip, and pointed down at the tops of her stockings.

"I want you to wank on these. I don't suppose you'll get me very messy, now. And once you're done, I'm going to take my free pass and make some use of it with someone who'll have eyes only for me." She clapped her hands, twice.

"Come on, I'm waiting."