AUTHOR'S NOTE: I suggest reading Part One.
*
"We have to go to Parent's Weekend to see Rosie," Monica told me.
Her tone had the same awkward, forced affectation all our conversations had held for the past months. After the event with Desiree we didn't speak, expressing our mutual fear and shame with our silence. We conversed politely in front of our daughter, and in social situations, but in private we awkwardly avoided each other. When summer ended Rosie had gone back to school for her senior year and we settled into an edgy remoteness, talking only of household needs as though we were roommates instead of the loving spouses we once were.
I don't know what she thought of the events with Desiree, or how she felt; we had never discussed it. For the first few days after that evil, manipulative bitch left our house we hid from each other. As days passed we inevitably saw each other, passed terse words, and eventually settled into this silent agreement that the subject would not be raised, and that we would only talk to each other in public, in front of friends and family, pretending that nothing had happened, nothing had changed. But in private everything had changed. I had no idea who Monica was anymore, having seen a side of her that she had never shown before; a debased, disgusting willing participant in the most frightening sexual event of my history. She scared me, and the conditions that I participated under scared and shamed me.
Truth be told, I was just as frightened by my willingness to participate. Desiree had blackmailed me, sure, but I had gotten excited, and enjoyed the sex. Seeing my wife acting so sexually had aroused me, and I was ashamed of my participation. And I had too easily surrendered to the idea of fucking a young college girl. I tried unsuccessfully to convince myself that I had been forced to participate, but I knew in my heart that I enjoyed it, and the desire scared the hell out of me.
"Why?" I asked. "We haven't gone in two years. We went her first year of school; that's what parents do." I avoided her eyes as I spoke. I still couldn't look at her without seeing Desiree's Pet, the woman who willingly choked on my cock, and licked my cum from her Mistress's young pussy.
"I already told her we'd go," she replied meekly.
"You told Rosie we'd go?" I snapped angrily. "Without discussing it with me first?" We were eating dinner, and I slammed my fork down. "What the hell, Monica?" I looked at her, feeling the anger on my face, and she winced as she saw my expression. "Why would you do that without asking me?"
"She -- she told me to..." she trailed off.
"Rosie told you to come up?"
Monica lowered her head, her hands in her lap. I couldn't see her face, but when I opened my mouth to keep yelling I saw her shoulders trembling, and my anger softened a little. "I'm sorry," she squeaked. "My -- my -- my Mistress..."
"Your WHAT!?!" I bellowed.
She raised her head then, looked at me, and steeled her nerve. "My Mistress told me to tell Rosie we were coming up. So I did." As much as she had screwed her courage to say the words, her lip trembled, and her hands came to the table, shredding her napkin. "I'm sorry, Roy. She called. She told me we have to come to see her, and to tell Rosie we were coming."
"Fuck!" I screamed, and slammed my fork down on the table.
"I couldn't say no," she continued, pleading for my understanding. "I couldn't. I tried, but she, she" she paused, took a breath. A tear trickled down her cheek, and I remembered her, crying as she licked Desiree's shaved pussy. "She Ordered me." I could hear the importance the words held for her as she said it.
"God damn it, Monica!" I blasted as I stood and knocked my chair over. I felt the fear, then; the terror of the young girl's power over us, the seductive and manipulative control she wielded. She had seen something in my wife that I had never known; a desire to be controlled and commanded, a willingness to do unspeakably debasing sexual things, and she'd used it, and blackmailed me into participating, seducing and threatening me into the hottest and most frightening sex I'd ever had. She had left our lives a shambles, and now she was back. In a phone call she had turned my wife against me.
We talked late into the night; me berating her for her weakness, she alternately defending and apologizing for the same. She begged me to go along, telling me she needed to see her, but I insisted we resist, that we defy her, break ourselves free. In the end I turned her to my side. We would go, we would see our daughter, and we would stand up to this seductress Desiree. If need be we would confess to Rosie what had happened, and take her friend's power over us away. Time and distance from the event that afternoon had given me courage, fired by my anger, but I needed Monica with me, standing strong against a seemingly harmless college student. In the end I got her commitment that she could resist, WOULD resist, and would stand with me.
And so a few months later we found ourselves pulling into a hotel parking lot near the college and unloading our bags for the weekend. Monica moved in silent trepidation, while I had boundless nervous energy. We had spoken sparingly on the ride up; the only words passed between us were to bolster our resolve to end this debacle. We had arrived a day early, not telling Rosie, so that we could confront Desiree and lay down the law. We settled into the room and after arranging our clothes, I volunteered to go get us some takeout while she cleaned up after the trip.
