The candles flicker weakly, flames digesting the last of the wick as I watch. My hopes and enthusiasm for the evening wanes, just as the candlelight does. Just as it had for several months now. With a heavy sigh, I look at my phone and read Charles' last text for at least the twentieth time and find myself wondering if he really is pulling an all-nighter at the office before tomorrow's important client meeting. Or is he busy pulling out of that young, unmarried secretary that he's told me not to worry about, time and again.
Defeated, I gather myself and head into the kitchen so I can pack the uneaten bourbon chicken and fried rice into meal prep containers-everything homemade, of course-before I head upstairs to wash off the makeup that I'd so carefully applied hours ago. My face clean, I walk into the bedroom and remove my new black dress-it has a tantalizing slit along the outside and the neckline tastefully hints at the treasures contained within. It had taken me weeks to find the perfect black dress, one that would fit my ample body without making me look overly slutty, or worse, like a desperate heavyset housewife who hadn't experienced the affections of her husband in months.
Charles had been working hard over the last few months, stepping up to fill extra duties when an embarrassing scandal rocked the leadership of the advertising agency. My husband had the opportunity to help keep the agency afloat and maybe, just maybe, finally rise in the ranks into a key role. We discussed what his efforts would entail, how much extra time he would have to spend with his handsome, slightly crooked nose to the grindstone. Foolish woman that I am, I encouraged Charles to push himself. I accepted that missed date nights, cold dinners, and lonely weekends would be a temporary price for a permanent improvement in our lives.
For a while, I was coping with the loneliness-it helped when Charles surprised me with an assortment of naughty toys one weekend. Just something to keep me from getting lonely. I struggled with embarrassment as I learned how to pleasure myself in so many creative ways. One day, encouraged by a bottle of dry red wine, I made a series of videos and sent them, one by one to my still working husband. After every video, he would send me pictures of his engorged manhood, along with a request for the next video. We played like that for a few weeks before the novelty wore off.
When the holiday season rolled around, Charles brought me to the office party and cheerfully introduced me to several of his co-workers, including a nubile young secretary named Jessica. Alcohol flowed freely, and as I became more intoxicated, I let my inhibitions down. My husband pulled me into an office, closing the door behind us as his hands touched and flicked all the sensitive areas of my body. Under other circumstances, I never would have allowed such behavior in public, but the lack of sex and the consumption of wine readily opened my thighs. Charles began driving into me, whispering that he'd let some of his coworkers see my videos. I should have been angry at the betrayal, but I was too far lost in our lovemaking. I should have been angry when the company owner and Charles' immediate boss walked into the room just as my husband reached his climax inside me. And I should have been downright furious when my loving husband and his secretary held me down while the other two men used me viciously. But I wasn't. I accepted it, because I am a good wife and I wanted my husband to climb that corporate ladder.
Charles career took off after that dark, cold night. The man is exceptionally talented in his chosen profession, but opportunity isn't always fair to those with talent. He assured me that my holiday party experience had aroused him, which was most likely true given the vigor with which he fucked me after his bosses were done. He insisted that my forced excursion with the owner and his boss had bolstered his career, so I accepted what happened and moved on. A few weeks later, he begged me to come to the office for a New Years Eve celebration. I conceded, on the condition that I wouldn't be used as the office whore. I should have known what to expect, especially when the only people in attendance were his two bosses and Jessica. They assured me that more people were coming, made me feel comfortable and gave me plenty of drinks and something else to relax me. I had no concept of danger until the three men gradually pinned me to the desk so they could watch Jessica bring me to multiple orgasms with her tongue and fingers. The next morning, I left the office sore, wet, and used thoroughly. On the way home, I told Charles that I would never set foot back in that office.
It was after that night at the beginning of the New Year, that our sex life began to dwindle to nothing. Charles sunk himself into work, only occasionally tending to my baser needs. Date nights became rarer. Cold, missed dinners-like tonight's-became more common.
I sprawl naked across my empty marital bed, my interest in my toys is lost and my heart wounded. Charles and I had been through everything together, spent years relying on one another to make thing work. And I'd ruined it by telling him to go ahead and focus completely on his career.
Lonely and hurting, I thumb through my phone as I search for something that will stoke my interest. Something to make me feel alive again. I briefly skim the personal ads, knowing damned well that I won't ever have the courage to answer one, much less meet with a stranger for carnal satisfaction. A brief search takes me to another webpage, where I spend several minutes watching a supposed homemade video of a young, helpless woman thrashing and screaming as a well-endowed man violates her tight anus. The video is far too brief, so I watch it a few times and finally turn the sound up so I can hear her screaming and begging him to stop. After watching her violation a third time, I'm wet and squirming. I start the video yet again, dropping my phone so I can focus on touching myself as I close my eyes and listen to the screaming. The begging. The wet, sloppy noises of a cock being pushed through such a tight opening. I'm close. So close.
My phone dings and vibrates, shattering my illusion and returning me to my miserable, unsatisfied life. Defeated, I pull my fingers away from my swollen, wet clit and look at the screen. It's Charles, announcing that he is finally coming home. Dejected and wholly unsatisfied, I head into the bathroom to clean up and put my pajamas on before walking back downstairs to heat up Charles' dinner.
#
I break a few eggs into a bowl, whipping them with seasoning and just a touch of milk-to fluff up the eggs-and set about making us cheese stuffed omelets for breakfast. Charles is making coffee, excitedly chattering on about the meeting today and its implications for his precious career.
I nod and make enthusiastic noises, much as I did last night when he started touching me and encouraging me to take his shaft in my mouth. I tried to be excited, but in all honestly, I wasn't in the mood for the mundane. My hips gyrated and I grew wet when I forced his cock down my throat, though he responded by immediately laying me on the bed for unsatisfying missionary-style sex. I'd pleaded with him to use a toy. To take my virgin ass. To choke me. All to no avail, though he was enthusiastic about taking me doggie style-at least I reached an orgasm as I fingered myself and remembered his boss roughly fucking me from behind, sans invitation.
I serve him breakfast, listening as he explains that he won't be home tonight. The owner and his boss have a large hotel suite booked so they can entertain their important client. I grind my teeth together, my growing hostility hidden from his view by the newspaper he's skimming through. Glaring, I cut into my heavy omelet and hope that the intensity of my stare somehow reaches my clueless husband. As he flips another page, a flash of a headline catches my eye.
. . .Woman Claims Rape . . .
My hips start moving on their own, grinding my needy lips against the chair cushion. I make a mental note to read today's paper after Charles leaves for work.
"Charles," I say suddenly. I continue once he drops a corner of the paper down and makes eye contact.
"Charles, are you fucking Jessica?"
I have no idea where my nerve came from, but I suddenly needed to know.
He sighs heavily, simultaneously setting down his fork and the newspaper. We stare at one another across the table for several moments, silence building to an unbearable level before his lips start moving.
"Winston has me hold her down sometimes," he admits. "Like we did to you." His eyes drop, hinting at his shame in the act. "He watches and makes her suck me off every once in a while. But mostly," Charles sighs, "mostly Winston and Adam make me watch them have sex with her. It's a fetish or something."
"I see."
He pushes on, obviously needing to confess. "I'm to ensure Jessica keeps the client entertained tonight, whether she wants to or not. She fights, but I think she gets off on it," he shudders.
"Do you?"
