Gail and Nick have reached a fork in the road. Which way to go?
My heels tapped our pine log bed frame to the rhythm of Nic's thrusts. Faster, rhythmic, spasmodic, urgent, a drummer with his own tune, and he bit my earlobe and huffed hot breath on my neck. I tingled and gasped back and pinched his nipples hard. Nearly there, his thrusts deepened inside me, gentleness gone. I racked his shoulders and he came hard.
We kissed. We always kiss, but not the passion that divides sex from making love, and not playful or intimate. It felt more like closure as Nick slipped from inside me and flopped free, a small flood of him oozing after. It flowed down the crack of my ass as I let go his nipples and he rolled off. We used to spoon, but no more. He turned away and though I couldn't tell for sure when he fell asleep, soon his slow, rhythmic breath told me he was gone.
When we first married, when I made the leap from Gail Saltier to Mrs. Nicholas Abernathy, it meant something. Even after that first year, when couples lose the spark and enter a hold, we had something. Romance became dirty dishes and the way toothpaste squeezed, and notes on the fridge and texts, but the sex was still good and it was enough. Those days were gone.
I didn't mind the loss of sex so much. I had a vibrator and I played my lady parts like a sexual violin. By contrast Nick played second fiddle. No, what I missed was the closeness that we had. I became a doll not in need of inflation, almost but not quite disposable, a means to get Nick off. As I glanced at his motionless lump snoring in my bed, I knew we'd arrived at the inevitable fork where the last vestige of change beckoned.
Nick was going to have to change.
Nick leaves early. He beats the sun and the traffic, and it works for him. I'm no morning person. It takes sun and coffee to pry me out of bed, and once or twice a year, Nick when he just can't wait, but Thursday he was still in the shower, lights out, when my eyelids sprung wide and I focused on the green digital clock by the DVR. Rain, I thought, but it was Nick. His clothes were already laid out at the foot of the bed, ready.
It takes a lot to wake me. In 1996 an earthquake didn't do it. Maybe it was the aftershocks of love making: Nick sleeps but I'm always switched on. No matter. I was up, and so was Nick, and we rarely met in the AM.
I crept into the darkened room and shut the door. Nick's a hot water guy. I'm always hot. He loved the humid mist, thick, jungle-like. I parted the shower slider slowly, a surprise, but the shock was all mine. If I'd expected a quickie, Nick had started without me.
On his back, ankles apart, the showerhead cranked to the wall, Nick's cock poked through his fist, swollen, thick, as he pumped with abandon. Only the sea shell night light cast shadows across his closed eyelids. His face was a cocktail of determination and delight and I needn't read his thoughts to know them. Was it my swaying tits that he saw, or anothers?
First instinct was to yelp, but I held my tongue and watched, silent, an intruder in my own bathroom. I knew Nick masturbated, but never near me, and I thought, assumed, only when I didn't give enough. But now? We didn't just have a quickie a few hours ago. We fucked ourselves to a hot mess, and my vag tingled at the thought. I played my gaze across Nick's naked form in the steam, his curled toes, the way he paused at the top of each stroke, and bit my lip at the way he fingered his own left nipple. I did that too.
Nick's shower action split my mind. His guard was down, his breath short, and his motions deliberate and his toes curled. The tingle between my own thighs grew, new wet mixed with last night's sex, and my fingers drifted to my pussy, circled, and began to rub. My own breath quickened; my toes curled too. Nick's cock seemed impossibly big in his fist, though we fit together so well. I marveled that it all went in me, right to his balls, now tight against the base of his cock. That was one mind, turned on, feeling his heat, my own rising until I nearly stepped into the bath to take him in my mouth. I held back. I hungered him to explode.
My other mind was hurt, said I should be enough for one man. Did I not satisfy? Was our sex boredom, stable? Did I not do enough? Why, I wondered, did Nick need it again, and if he did, why not wake me?
I knew. The last time Nick rustled paper and woke me, he said I nearly bit his head off, though I don't remember. Who does, so early? So, Nick wouldn't wake me. Once, perhaps. But not now. Ten years of marriage comfort and quiet. Did he do this every morning for ten years?
It wasn't his jerking off that frightened me. I should expect it, guy and all, and he had porn. I saw it on his laptop, though I didn't look. I'd always trusted, and he me. Now, as I intruded in his stolen morning yank, I wondered. Would he work himself like that if there were another? No, but maybe another woman had him in her mouth while I watched. Behind those closed eyelids, who was he fucking, and if not me, why?
He drew closer. Steamy mist hung around us as his breath came in gasps, his lips apart, and his bicep rippled as he pumped faster in halts and jerks. I did too, matching pace with him, and it wasn't hard to recall the way he felt a few hours ago. He was still inside, slick, sweet, coating my fingers as I went direct on my clit. He was nearly there, me alongside, two race horses neck in neck in the final stretch.
And then he opened his eyes.
Nick gasped and stopped jerking, horror palpable as he lost control in a white jet that reached his chest. The rest dribbled out as his cock spasmed and pulsed, without any stimulus, and pooled below his dick in a thick puddle of slime. I didn't stop, but came even as he, my knees scarcely able to hold me as I gripped the shower door frame and hung on. Nick froze, a proverbial deer, clearly unprepared for an audience. He became spectator, studied my finish. I put on a show, finished in a flurry of finger inside, thumb on, and even I was pleased with the way my vagina gripped and pulled. I came twice.
Nick said not a word. I slowly withdrew from myself and sucked my own hand. Poor Nick, red I was sure, if only there was light, frustrated and wanting, the look of a dog with a bone and no teeth to chew it, as I showed off my bare ass and sauntered out the door.
I feigned sleep when Nick emerged, and he quickly dressed and left, returning once for his wallet and again for his socks. I knew he was ashamed, though he couldn't possibly be mad. My legs were jello when I slipped from the sheet and pee'd in the tub. It still smelled of steam and soap and Nick, his unmistakable sex so clear that I slipped between my legs to rub out one more. This time as I circled my clit and bore down, I replayed Nick's slow eruption and felt his warmth flow in me, and when the lightning arced down my thighs to the soles of my feet, I cried out his name and lay in the same wet spot as he. His image fluttered and faded and then beneath me he writhed, eyes wide as I bore down against this face and oh, God, I came once more, an aftershock of the last.
Nick vanished as I studied the green curtain overhead, a tsunami within ebbed back out to sea. Would this morning be another unspoken note in the air between us at dinner, and forgotten like junk mail, or should I seize upon it and milk it as the great cow of fortune? As my gaze shifted to a too-dusty vent on the glistening ceiling, I knew. I'd milk that cow, and Nick, for everything it had.
My day was full, blue hen-scratches filled my day timer with stuff to get done, but I cleared it save one appointment with Judy, my oldest friend and confidante. Instead of socks and bread and returned books at the East library, I went online to search and learn and the education wasn't just a bit. By the time I slipped the front door key and drove the three miles to Tully's, I'd planned a new tomorrow.
Judy Farrel was one sexy grandma, one of the few I knew who rocked grey hair and didn't try to change. A few years past me, laugh lines framed her infectious pout and betrayed more fun and sex than she'd ever confess, at least not to the world. But Judy told me all, and her fire inspired. It always had. She waved as my eyes adjusted and I settled into her table for two.
"Spill it," she said, my butt not fully in the chair. "It's killing you. Get it out there." The woman smelled dirt like a bomb dog with a bone. My lady-bone.
"I caught Nick masturbating." I blurted; a bit too fast. Inside voice, Gay, I chided. "He was jerking off in the tub this morning." I whispered.
"Entertaining darling, but not hardly a surprise." Judy said. "He is a man, after all."
"Yeah, I know." I stammered. "But we just made love last night."
"And you think that Nick should be fulfilled and satisfied and have no need to rub one out. Is that it?"
That was it, except I knew better. No secret, Nick's unrelenting drive, so no surprise he didn't get enough last night. Judy wasn't far off. It wasn't that my ego soared enough that I thought I was really so good in bed as to change Nick's nature. I was what? I was hurt.
"I'm his wife, Jood. I'm not controlling, but that little emission of his, that was mine. I don't know how to say it. It just feels like cheating, somehow. And you should have seen his face. Was I in there? Someone else?" I poured Judy the tale, no details spared, especially his shock and guilt and the way he dribbled out.
"That, my dove, was a first class ruined orgasm." She said.
"I know. I've been online all morning, and I can't let this go. I have to do something."
Coffee came, mine black, hers a cappuccino and we smiled at the waiter who was too cute not to be gay or in the priesthood. Boys like that were uninterested, or were romance novel covers. Judy watched him drift away.
"Ouch." She said.
"Would you?" I asked
"Would I? That boy would walk sideways after." Judy replied. "And Brent would watch." Brent. Judy's husband, except not a husband, because I was quite certain that I attended her wedding and it was not to Brent. He came later, after Maury. Cancer.
"Why do you make him do that?" I asked.
"He wouldn't have it any other way, pet." Judy laughed. "Cuckolding was his idea, not mine, and we both love it now. Brent gets off, rarely, on not getting off, and he loves to see me. He needs humiliation. It's more than just the sex."
"I guess. Not sure I ever could. Nick is good in bed. Sometimes a bit fast, but there's always later." Judy didn't break eye contact. She stared past me, behind my words. She always did.
"If you wait for next time to be good, my love, you'll look back one day at a life of next-times and sparks that never flew. You'll see a spoiled dish from a fire that never grew hot enough to cook."
My God. She was right. I didn't need math to know more nights ended with Nick rolling away to sleep while I tugged at the edge, never quite over. How many mornings after did he rise early and flog his cock to a happy finish while I slept a room away, without?
"You're not wrong, Jood. But it's a marriage, not a porno. It's a compromise." I wanted to believe it.
"Really?" Judy's one raised eyebrow was a question mark. "How many times in ten years have you come, and Nick not?"
None. Zero. Zilch. Nada. I didn't need to answer. Judy already knew, as well as I. Nick's getting off was a virtual guarantee. Mine, a crap-shoot at best.
"I've been thinking about making a change." I said.
"Thinking changes nothing." Judy said. "Doing does."
"Right there with you." I replied. "Nick's going to see some changes, starting tonight." Too many internet ideas, good ones. I only had to start with one or two.
"No. Me too. The new Gail hits the bricks at six o- clock sharp." I vowed.
"Attagirl." Judy swilled the last of her cappuccino. "My place next. I have just the thing."
Lunch arrived, cover-page bus-boy, the odor delicious. This day absorbed color by the minute.
Five o' clock. Nick would drift through in an hour. I wouldn't see him long. Tuesdays were his night to shoot, when he appeared long enough to grab a Glock and a box of ammunition and he was gone to the range. Boys night out. Nick wouldn't be too upset that no dinner awaited.
I perched on the sofa and studied the pink contraption on loan from Judy and Brent. Pink, plastic, and wicked; I wondered if it went too far. Would Nick say yes and wear it? I had doubts. This could go two ways. It might be the best thing that ever happened to us, or it might be the wedge that broke us apart, and all I had to do was not drive it. Just forget it, go on like normal, bury today with all the others, move on. Only, I couldn't. Tonight was it.
I dropped the cock cage in a Ziploc bag and slapped it in a drawer with the dish towels, a place Nick would never look. Nick was as likely to wash a plate as I was to pick up his gun.
Three minutes prior to six, his key slipped in the front door lock, and I shifted from the bedroom to the kitchen. It mattered. Since returning from Judy's place with Brent's barely-used dick gear (she washed it, Judy swore), I plotted and schemed. I had a plan, a bedroom trap with velvet jaws and a baited hook. Poised, I dripped resolve and oozed sweetness and light, and sex. Nick didn't stand a chance. Not until his key hit that lock and I changed my mind. Lioness left her den for the hunt.
Nick stopped dead, one foot across the threshold. He dropped the keys.
"Hi, baby." I purred my best Sharon Stone.
"Uh, hi." He said. "What's up?" Nick fumbled for the keys.
"You better be." I teased, and made a point to stare as he straightened. "Nope? We need to work on that."
Nick shut the door and in the second of dark, before he turned back, I was on him, his package in my palm.
Nick always appreciated my firm handshake. "Pretty good for a girl, he'd say. This time he grimaced. I grinned.
His grunt disappeared in my mouth as I smothered him, my tongue deep. He tasted like a cigarette, a smoke he gave up for me once. No, twice. He didn't smell, but the menthol gave him away. I didn't bat an eye.
"I want you inside me." I whispered, a tug on his thickening wad, to punctuate. "Right now."
My silk teddy probably told all. His approval grew in my palm. He kissed back, longer, slow, his tongue probed my lips, yet I didn't let it past.
Nick kissed my cheek, a put off if ever, and palmed my shoulder. I was about to be moved aside, God damn it.
"Tuesday night steel," Nick smiled sweetly, "waits for no man." He brushed past and pocketed the keys.
"No man, maybe." I said, two big steps to catch up. I shot a fist between his thighs and caught him in my grip again. "But a woman's different and this ain't just any woman, "I hissed sweetly through a concrete smile. "This is your wife. Now strip."
Greek statue. Nick Abernathy froze, except in my fist, clamped on his two finest tender giblets. Each squirmed gently in my grasp. Weird. Really weird. Nick wasn't moving a muscle, though, even when I doubled down on the squeeze with a slight lemon twist. I don't think he blinked.
"Maybe we could talk later?" When I rolled them his knees nearly buckled, and he didn't say more. Later, I made clear, was now.
"We have something to talk about, Nicholas." I seldom spoke his full name, except when pissed. He got the hint.
"This about this morning?" His voice was half an octave higher, and broke, like a teenage choir boy.
"It's about right now, husband-of-mine. We've got some things to work out."
"Like I'm going to tell you what to do and you're going to do it, no talk-back, no complaining, and I don't want to hear anything about Tuesday Night Steel or shooting buddies or the hard day you've had at the office. This is my turn. You had yours this morning."
Nick bit his lip and nodded, his gaze at my feet. Good dog. Maybe Judy was right.
Behind him, I didn't lead, but pushed him to the kitchen, just through the archway, and stopped him on the tile. I had plans for that tile, but we'd see about tonight. I envisioned a naked man on his knees scrubbing grout with a toothbrush. His. Thank God for the internet.
The cock cage lay just inside the towel drawer, key and all. It came with two, I took one off. I already had a necklace to put it on. I held nick tight, and slapped the cage on the counter in front. The way his ear washed in crimson betrayed his mind. He knew it right away. I didn't have to crack his password to know what was in his browser history. That, and I already had it. Score one for the wife.
"What's that?" He stammered. Nick's never been a very good liar. I've never worried about his cheating, because I don't think he would, and if he did it, he'd wear it like a scarlet cock cage. Poor bastard. But still, my poor bastard. I so wanted to see that little plastic prison on his needy dick. Moment of truth.
"Pick it up." He hesitated. I caught my breath. He didn't ask where I got it. He didn't even protest, though I knew he would. He poked it, one finger, then two, spun it around, and retrieved it off the counter as though it might bite.
He turned it over, examined it like a relic, peered in the too-short tube and fingered the hard plastic ring that would slip over his balls. "Seriously?"
"Very." I let him free. "Let's go try it on."
Oh, shit! Panic, euphoria, fear, skipped heartbeat, an avalanche crashed through me when he followed, dog on leash style on my heels, pink contraption in hand. It worked! Did it? Turn right in the hall, left to the bedroom, did he turn, too? Still there? He did it? He'll go left, safe in the closet, gun in the bag, out the door, blew my chance, power gone. What was I thinking? He didn't turn, still there, lapdog hubby, and oh, how cute. Hung head.
That man is pussy-whipped. Just this once. There, above his hand, below his belt, is that? God. It is. He's hard. Forget the cage. I could use that. Oh, could I use that. I want it in me, buried to his balls. I want it hard, slow then fast, taken, fucked. Seriously fucked. I'm wet, he's hard, what's the problem?
My mind spun and churned and mainlined justification, narcotic of my soul. Why shouldn't I have that cock? Me, holder of moral ground and my new plastic-prisoned slave? I craved it. My inner slut begged to fall on buckled knees at his feet, strip that stiff cock free and suck. No pride, just wet, tingle and fire. My soles burned. Tits, too. But no.
I held fast. Judy, Judy, where'd ya go, girl? Give me strength, snap that man in the cage and take the key. Not just his sacrifice, mine too. My cock, to have and to hold, and he promised, damn it, to honor and obey. I was excited, euphoric, afraid, heartbroken. And on the edge of every frayed nerve. I bit my lip, choked back the fear, and slipped against Nick's trembling back.
"Baby," I whispered, "This is for us."
"I know." He whispered back.
I never knew Nick to tremble. His hands, lightly caloused but never rough, firm in mine, steady on my breasts, baby-gentle in my pussy all these years, but rock-steady. The tremor that vibrated through his frame came deep within, not a chill but a quiver beneath the foundation. Maybe from his heart, maybe from his soul, I pressed my chest to him, his warmth, and let it flow through me. God, he smelled great.
The bag was silk, red, light, a golden draw string at the top, and I slipped it over his head and drew it gently at his throat. He didn't stir, didn't jump, didn't resist. I didn't think he would. He didn't ask why, or what. I wrapped his chest, fingers not quite able to touch, and laid my cheek against his neck.
"I need you to do whatever I say now, honey. Will you do that for me?"
He nodded ever so slightly, and I let my fingers slip to his slack front where his answer lay. Nick swelled in my palm. His breath deepened so slightly, I'd have missed it for the sound of his heart in my right ear, which beat fast. Diana Krall played softly in my left, the living room stereo, romance and sentiment with an edge of fuck. My lips brushed his skin, warm, inviting, as the apartment door opened.
Three figures tiptoed in, Jood in the lead and took their place on the couch. It was time to begin.
"Baby," I said, "I realized something this morning, and I hope you did too." Nick nodded once more as I brushed his chest. He beat faster.
"This isn't a fight." I so wanted the right words. What were they? "This is an intervention. That's right. You and me, we're comfortable, maybe too much. This morning proved it and I love you. More than when you swept me off my pins, more than 'I do,' more than every fuck we ever had rolled into one."
Judy's eyes twinkled atop a grin that split her ear to ear. I didn't know the other women, but the Brunette on Judy's left pressed fingers to her lips, and the ginger blonde one, my age or close, didn't blink. Thanks to Jood, I felt safe, among friends I didn't know yet. I hoped Nick might feel the same.
"Baby, we're going to play a game, called do as I say, and we're going to talk, and all I want from you right now is your honest heart. Okay?"
"Okay." Nick whispered.
"Okay." I whispered back. "Let's begin."
I tapped his shoe with my bare foot. "Lose them both, and stay a while. You won't be going shooting tonight."
Nick slumped, defeat etched in his frame, but didn't refuse, and he pried off one shoe without undoing the lace, and then the other. He kicked them aside. I knelt and drew off the socks, one at a time. Eye level to his buckle, I unzipped him and drew down his pants.
He did. Judy nodded, go on.
"These too." I said, and snicked his blue checkered boxers to his ankles, where they stayed. His tie came next, and then his shirt. Only his white singlet remained, and I cut that free with scissors, and set them aside.
Nick stood still, arms aside, so still for the river that must have careened through his gorgeous head. I swiped the cock cage from his finger tip, placed it by the scissors.
"Baby, let's start with you telling me what you were doing this morning." I cooed in Nick's ear. He shivered.
"You know what." He said. "I was getting ready for work."
Any other answer would have worked, but don't microwave and tell me it's gas. No.
I snaked a hardwood spoon from the stainless pot by the stove where the spatulas and tongs lived. Heavier, my favorite. I brought it down hard, fast, saucer-side on Nick's bare ass and he jumped a full step and covered. A second blow rapped his left knuckles and he yelped.
"What the fuck, honey?"
I smacked him again.
I never planned to hit him, yet it came, inspiration, obvious. Drop something, pick it up. Spill something, mop it up. Lie to your wife when she has you stripped and vulnerable, smack. Nick chose how hard. I like to think I heard and answered the call.
"Not a good time to lie to me, Nicholas. I want it from you. Spill it. What were you doing this morning?"
"You know, baby." He said to his feet.
I tipped his chin up with the spoon, through the red bag.
"Couldn't year you, hon. Confess, sweets. Say it." Cute how ten years into our vows I knew Nick's shade of red under the hood. A boy. He shifted, fidgeted, pressed his knees in, as if he couldn't hold his bladder.
"Okay, I was jerking off. You know it. You saw me. I get it." Did I detect a sour note?
"Nicholas?" I asked, my best curious innocence, "Were you masturbating in the bathtub?"
"You know I was, Gail. Men do that, you know."
"How about married men who just got their rocks off inside their wife?" I asked. "Was I not enough for you last night?"
I saw the light bulb come on. He got it.
"Is that what this is, honey? Sugar? Baby?"
Now I wanted to smack him. No mocking today.
"Yes, dear, it is. You sure you wanna play smart ass when yours is hanging out, so red? So available?" Ok. I wanted to bite it. I did.
"No, hon, that's not it. You were wonderful. An angel. You were perfect last night."
Good save. Precious.
"So what? You like your hand better than my vagina? Your fuckable, willing wife only an arms reach away, and you got the party started without? Hmmm?"
"Uh-uh." Genuine denial. I twirled the spoon. My favorite spoon. Spoon, meet favorite husband.
"Sure, you were hot. I fell asleep, but I dreamed about you. All night. I woke up hard, couldn't take it, couldn't go to work like that."
"So you helped yourself."
"I wanted you in the worst way." He said. A hint of growl betrayed his rising hardness. I knew it, primal. Hungry. I knew it well.
"You wanted it." I said. "Not me."
"Oh, I did. I was afire, and would have ravished you, Gail. I'd have been late, called in sick, lost my job to fuck you."
Judy's brow rose. Blondie stirred. I thought her name was Petra. Jood mentioned her once.
"Why not then, Nick? Why didn't I wake up screaming your name? Hmmm?"
He sighed, a faceless, naked man with a red ass and bag on his head. Was I boring him?
"I didn't wake you, hon, because you were a sleeping angel, and though the covers were tossed and though you slept nude, you were too perfect, too beautiful to disturb. Don't you know? It was too perfect to wreck, so I settled for myself. I'm sorry."
"Are you, baby?" How to be sure? "Sorry does it once. Sorry learns. Ten years we're tied, and ten years we've fucked and made love and violated each other's bodies."
"And hearts and minds." Nick interrupted.
"Those too. When it's there, it's good. Really, really good, but it's never about us any more, and never often. Not like at first, anyway. Sometimes, it's as if you don't see me."
"Baby, that's not true." Said Nick. "I see all of you, and I love what I see."
"Yeah, you love it so much, you'd rather make love to a fist."
Nick didn't respond.
"So tell me, husband of mine, how often does this happen? How often do you go masturbate without me?"
"Gay, it's not like that. Only in the mornings."
"Mornings? As in one morning each week? Twice a month? Because that's how often we make love."
"Just before work, that's all. I swear."
"Every day before work? So five or six days a week? My god! No wonder I'm not attractive to you any more. Now it all makes sense. You never want to eat the main course because you're always snacking, and you already had dessert!"
"Don't baby me."
"Honey, no. I love you. I'm just taking care of needs that sometimes don't get filled. It's not like I'm seeing someone else."
"Fuck!" Nick howled when the spoon snapped his cock aside and left it to sway, like a spring.
"No? You think that makes me feel better? It doesn't. That's not just baby juice you're pumping, bub. That's love-me juice, devotion fuel. It's not yours. It's mine. How do you not know that?"
Nick didn't respond.
"Tell me about all those women." I said.
"The ones in your head. The ones you're not cheating with. The ones fucking and getting fucked and doing all the things we don't." I couldn't hide the misery I felt by asking the question. "The ones in your heart."
The couch audience perched on the edge. No movie could top this.
"There aren't any." Nick said.
"It's true. Don't believe it, Gail, but I tell you that the only woman in my fantasy is you. You always were. I fantasize. You're my fantasy."
Ooh. Good one. I could always tell when Nick lied, which was rare, but not now. No way to stay focused when the man I loved said something like that. I didn't say 'you're my fantasy too, you stupid fuck.' But I wanted to. God, how I wanted to.
"Nick." I searched Judy's face for help. She was a rock. A sexy grandmother pillar of stone. 'Go on,' she didn't say. I went on.
"Nick, all that effort, and all that fantasy." I eyed his dick, already oozing a few drips of glistening, clear slime. "All that cum. Energy that might have gone to me, but didn't."
I silenced his excuse with a single smack. So empowering, this smacking business. Should have done it years ago.
"Here's how it's going to go, sugar. You're going to change. For me. For us. You're going to commit to change and you're going to make some promises right here, right now, or those fantasies will be all you have."
"Great! What do you want? I'll do it. You want more sex? Done. It's a no-brainer." That's my Nick. Offering to give me what he wants, like a boy choosing a present for his sister. I got you this toy car. If you don't want it, I'll use it. Uh-huh.
"You'll do what I want?"
"Yes, anything." Check.
"You'll do it for us?"
"Of course, for us. I want that more than anything." Check.
"I'll be having more sex?" I pressed.
"A lot more. Every day, if you want." Check.
"You promise? You really, really promise?" Judy leaned so far, she nearly fell off the couch.
"I promise, baby." Mate.
Judy beamed. Her couch friends, soon to become mine, too, shared a glance and a silent high five. My ship came in and wouldn't you know it? I was at the dock.
"Take a knee, honey."
Smack. A nice, oval afterglow on his left cheek. Nick sunk to one knee.
Smack. A companion on his right.
"Both, please." Nick knelt.
"Hubby Nicholas, on your knees on the holy carpet of our living room on Eighteen and Crenshaw. Do you promise to honor and obey your wife until death do you part?"
"Then say it, stupid."
"I, Nick Abernathy, do solemnly swear to honor and obey my wife." Nick said.
"My wife Gail." Better. I rewarded him with a pat on the head.
"Do you vow, without reservation, to devote yourself to Gail, and do whatever she asks, and please her in any way she chooses, unconditionally and without exception?"
Smack. That one made him jump.
"Okay. I promise to do whatever you want and will pleasure you any way you want. Carte blanche. Sky's the limit." Oh, Nick. You knew not what you said. You'd find out though, wouldn't you?
"Promise me no more masturbation." I said, my best business voice.
"I don't know, Gay. I'm a guy, you know?"
Smack. Smack. Smack. Nick's ass reddened to match his hood. His cock, however, didn't lie. It stuck straight out, slight curve, a flagpole.
"Okay, I'll do it."
"You'll do what, sugar?"
"I won't jerk off."
"And no cumming, without permission."
"Huh? Oh, I get, ah, okay. Sure. No cumming unless you say. Is that it?"
I cradled Nick's balls in my palm.
"It's a start." I said. "You're beginning strong, but no, that's not it."
"You promise to honor your wife?"
"Of course I do, Gail." Nick said. If only I could stare into those brown eyes. His voice spoke to years, but his eyes to my heart. "I promised you at the altar."
"Do you promise to obey?"
"Yes, Gay. I said I'd honor and obey, didn't I?"
"You did, hubby." How his mind must have raced, caged hamster on a wheel. "But it wasn't the last. Promise me again."
"I promise." Nick sighed. "Honor and obey."
"Okay." My lips spasmed, grin out of control. Giddy. Nick was my new drug. "I'll hold you to it."
I traced his cock with my spoon.
"I don't want to catch you jerking off again, buster. That clear?"
"You do it, it's because I tell you to, under my supervision, only. Promise?"
"Say it like you mean it, sport."
"I'll do it."
I tapped his balls with my favorite spoon. The one that would never see another day of kitchen duty again.
"I promise I'll do it!" Nick blurted. Oh, powerful spoon.
"Your vow is acceptable, hubby. We'll see if you mean it soon enough. Words make plans, you see, but they don't pay, and you do owe me. Can we agree?"
Nick nodded, or at least the bag over his head moved. Good enough. For a man who began the day decidedly selfish and in control, he'd come a long way. Judy was right, as always. Would she stay right?
Yanni's Night at the Acropolis flowed in stereo softly from. Six strategically hung speakers about the room. Nick hung them. Always well hung, my handy hub. Cute, too.
Judy rose. The brunette and her friend, as well. Time, I supposed. Who was I to break tradition? My heart, twice normal and ready to blow, crashed and boomed under my breasts. I shouldn't be so wet, but oh god, I was. Nearly as wet as Nick was hard. But how?
"Bend over". I triple tapped his right cheek, scoop-side up. "Touch carpet." Nick reached for the floor. "Legs and back straight."
Four grown women around a naked, bent-over married man. Wasn't weird. Needed candles. Or hoods and strange, freaky masks. Were they wet, too? Were we supposed to take turns? My place, my spoon? It bears saying, no way did I ever plan an evening house party of display-my-naked-man. Poor Nick. How humiliated when he'd see. Or so I hoped.
"Pick a number."
Nick hesitated. Smack. Surprisingly loud, the way a maple spoon echoed in our small room. A fleshy gunshot.
"Ten. Okay? Ten." Ten it was.
Slow, deliberate, with some wind-up. First to admit I hit like a girl, I was a girl on a mission. A new mission. One I never tried. Same spot? Spread it out? The first two were freebies, before the idea came.
"Count them off."
"No, we start over. Fresh count."
"That's for not waking me for sex."
"That's for starting without me."
"That's for failing to make me cum."
"That's for satisfying you and not me."
"That's for being a guy."
"That's for not telling the truth."
"That's for making other plans this evening."
"That's for cumming without permission."
"That's for cheating with yourself instead of a sex life with me."
"That's because I love you."
"What the hell, Gail? You said ten." Nick's hint of whine lacked a hook to appeal. Just self-pity.
"You said ten, subby hubby. I said touch the carpet, and I meant it. Ten is what you get after you beg me to stop. Feel like begging yet?"
Nick said nothing. I rubbed my palm across his ass, now rose-red, warm, three spoon-shaped welts slowly rose in 3-D relief. I swung and swung again. And again. Thighs, in and out. Smacks on blows on whacks. Nick tautened, clenched, probably grimaced under that bag, but didn't speak, didn't pull away.
I shouldn't love it. I fucking hated hurting Nick, and yet it aroused me. Not giving pain, but his acceptance. For me. My. Hubby. My hero. My rock star. My man. He took it all like one, and that was sexy.
I sped the tempo, drawn on primally. Every time Nick didn't resist became my clarion call, my mission to hear "uncle." When would he throw the towel? Faster, firmer, harder. And then he broke.
"You're doing so well, baby." I paused long enough to rub his back, the way he loved my nails drawn gently across, light. His whole body sighed.
Ten more. Strong finish. Probably worst of all, he braced. And it was over. I knelt and he sunk into me, his hooded face buried in my neck. He tremored, like cold, an adrenaline dump. I had one of my own. The women stood silent.
"Gay, can I take this fucking hood off, now?"
Yeah, well, that was the thing, make or break, 'cause until now, Nick knew we were alone. Only, we weren't.
"Oh, not yet, baby. You didn't finish your show for me this morning, and I want to see it all." I tipped his chin, kissed his forehead. "Don't ya think it's appropriate?"
"What do you mean?" Nick asked.
"This morning you got caught, but tonight I want you to masturbate for me, honey. Will you do that for me?"
"Right here, in the open?" So cute. Ten years of marriage, eleven years of sex. No secrets, right? Yet here he was, embarrassed, and yet his cock betrayed his interest. So cute.
"Yes, right here. I brought something for you." I slipped the little wavy purple label bottle into his hand. He knew the shape, astroglide, right away. "Will this help?"
"You really want me to jerk off in front of you? I can't tell. Are the lights on? Do you want to go in the bedroom?" Nick examined the bottle like a blind man, finger it, tracing it's zig-zag shape, snapping and unsnapping the cap. Delay tactics, though his dick showed his mind was made.
"Right here, hon. Stand up." Nick rose, hunched, exposed. Men, so thingy about their sex. Nick's demeanor in bed was so different. I was so wet. If only he knew. "Good boy."
"Should I start, just do it?" He asked.
"Uh-huh. Just do it." I sang back. "Only don't forget, no cumming without permission, baby. You've got to ask."
"Ok." He unsnapped the plastic flip-top lid, a squirt into his palm, wiped along his shaft, glistening. A little more, palms together, rubbed. One long exhale, a climber ready to scale, then cupped his balls with his left, and began delicately, two fingers, just the tip. Front and back, as though he held a pencil.
Ten years of marriage. Ten. Until this morning, I'd never seen Nick jerk himself off. Never. Instructive, this. Clearly an expert, my love went right for the nerve, hips curved up, back arched, a solitary clear bead at his cock head that crested and dribbled down the front.
This morning was a shock to us both, him more, yet the buzz in my thighs never left, a record on a loop with every thought, and even now as Nick stroked himself for me, for us, I needed to part my legs and play in my own wetness, yet I couldn't. Not in front of strangers, not in front of Judy. My panties, soaked. I pinched my knees together, entertained silently herding the ladies out. No, stay the course, I told myself.
Soon as they left, Nick was getting a face full of me. No two ways about that.
His tempo picked up, three fingers, then all five, his cock slick in a faux vagina, his fist, which pumped as he thrust. Nick's eyes shut tight beneath his velvet hood, I was sure, but what lay beneath them? Me? Just focus on his cock? What fantasies played out?
The scent of cinnamon cookies, baked an hour ago, gave way to Nick's sex as the lube mingled with his own scent, an intimate scratch and sniff that lured me off the arm chair, almost to my knees to take him in my mouth, yet I held my seat, pavalov in panties. I stole a glance at the girls, who didn't blink. Nick was a hit, no doubt. Were they as wet?
He grew closer, his rhythm quickened, his breath halting. Shyness gone, Nick stroked himself with abandon. I couldn't look away. Crash course in his pleasure, why didn't we do this before? In days to come, my turn, I knew, should have done it long ago. No more holding back, not in this marriage. Hubby would learn to play my pussy like he did his shaft, but my way. I had fifty ideas, at least.
"Slow down there, baby. Who's in your head? Penny for your thoughts."
"How about a blow job?" Such confidence. Emboldened.
"Uh-uh, hon." I couldn't help my bedroom voice. "talk to me."
"I'd give anything," Nick panted, "to eat your pussy right now."
Me too, baby. Me too.
"Let's take off this hood so I can fuck your brains out."
"You know just what to say to a girl, sugar." I stifled a laugh. He did, too.
Petra shifted, her knees pressed tight, too. The brunette, opposite Judy, sat forward, palms fingers splayed, captivated. A tense thriller. Judy's delight was clear in her grin.
"Hon, I have to cum. Can I cum, honey?"
That was fast. I expected longer, no matter.
"Not yet, baby. Hang on for me. Jerk that dicklet like you mean it. No mess on the carpet." He slowed, just a little, his left fingers tracing circles just behind his balls, drawn up, full.
"Please?" A hint of desperation.
"Hold on. I know you can." I didn't know.
"I can't. I have to cum. Please let me cum." Nick's plea, a grunt, an octave high. God, sexy when he begged.
I stood and slipped my panties off my hips, to my ankles. The padded crotch stuck, pulled away last, so obviously soaked. I stepped out, unrolled them, and whispered in his ear.
"Use these, baby. Nothing on the carpet, okay?"
He nodded, let go his balls and cradled my panties as he bent his cock to hover the tip over them. No holding back.
"Cum for me, honey. All of it. Pump it dry, okay?" Nick groaned in reply and came, a thick stream of white erupted into my panties, then another as his whole body shuddered. He came and came until only a dribble trickled. He pressed his fingers against his cock between his thighs and milked it up, squeezing himself like toothpaste until the last cum oozed into my silk. I slipped them from his hand, wiped him gently with the hem, and pinched his nipple.
"Good job, baby. You did good. That's how it's going to be from now on, supervised."
While I frig myself into a lather, I didn't say.
"Okay." Nick huffed, just off the three-hundred yard dash. He caught his breath, slowly exhaled, and I caught a solitary drop of cum from his drooping cock. I stroked his leg with mine, until my insole rested behind his knee. I pressed and he buckled, sunk to the carpet. I knelt at his side.
"Now can I take this off?"
"Sure, Sugar. Take it off, but stay down. Remember your promise."
Nick tugged at the gold braided cloth cord on the red velvet bag, loosened, and peeled it free. He froze, a long quarter second, and recoiled on his sore ass. His head snapped left and right, processing. Not alone. Naked. Room of women. His scarlet face flashed crimson, and drained to pale. He broke into sweat, eyes glazed. I let it sink in.
Judy broke the ice.
"You must be Nicholas." Her fingers waffled, a rodeo-queen wave. "I'm Judy." Nick only stared.
"What are these women doing in my home?"
"My home, honey. Well, our home, right?"
"What are they doing here?" He crab-walked backward, butt lifted, palms and feet flat, until he bumped the hardwood bookshelf. "What?"
"Take a deep breath, honey. You're with friends. Everyone is here for you."
"You don't mean they've been here the whole time?"
"Afraid so, sugar." I said, and crawled to him. Nick snatched the hood to cover his flacid exposure.
"Goddess." Petra corrected. "You did very well for the first time."
"First time?" Ashen, Nick didn't look well.
"We're not finished, dear. Remember that I said 'intervention?' This is it."
Confusion oozed alongside his beads of sweat.
"I'm Amanda." The brunette said. She didn't offer her hand, which I noticed held a sizeable rock. "I'm married. We all are. What we share in common are husbands we love, who were once right where you are."
"You're terrorists." Hick hissed through his disbelief. "This is a nightmare. I'm going to have nightmares."
"No, you won't." Judy crouched until eye level with Nick. "In fact, this will become your most cherished memory, the day your eyes opened for the first time, and you began to live."
"What's she talking about, Gail?" Nick's spanking composure fled the building, and left behind the husk of a frightened, confused, and embarrassed little boy.
Judy for the save. What could I say? I didn't know. I was seeing all this for the first time. Clearly Judy and Petra and who? Amanda? They'd seen it all before. How often? Would I be one of them, some other couch, some other home, watching, knowing?
"Nicholas, we, all of us in this room, are part of something. Marriages made better, saved. This one, too. Our husbands began a new life right where you are, and where they are now, you will be. Today, Nick," Judy said, "Today is your birthday."
Poor Nick. There he sat on his reddened, blistered butt, searching the faces of women he didn't know, but who knew him all too well. A trio of prophetesses here to minister and tell his future. Lucky Nick.
I stood, offered my hand. He took it, rose to me, a new man, or a start. The ladies took their place on the couch. I pecked his right cheek, kissed his forehead, and whispered in his ear.
"Almost there, sweety. Obey, right? Here's the last thing, and we're done."
Nick's unsteady gaze searched me as if to ask "there's more?" His lips worked, but no sound, which was okay.
"I know you love a good blow job, honey, and I love to give them to you, but today we're learning great lessons, don't you think?" He nodded, confusion, glanced past me to the ladies, then back to me.
"The thing is, I'm your wife. Your goddess, really. Right?" Nodded again. "Good. You wouldn't ever ask me for anything you're unwilling to do, would you?" Was he listening, or just nodding? I couldn't tell. "So here it is. You love a good blow job, don't you?" There he was. Focus was back. I just had to throw the dog a bone.
"Nick, I let you cum in my mouth, and that's okay. Sometimes I like it." I rolled my eyes. "Okay, sometimes I love it. But you can't expect your little wifey to do something you won't, so open up."
Nick didn't open, so I helped, my fingertips in his cheeks. I didn't hesitate, trooper that I was. The panties went in, cum first, until his was full, a bouquet of lavender silk erupting from his lips. His eyes wide, he reached, and I swatted him away. My husband, with a mouth full of cum.
"Leave it." I said. "My big, strong man leads by example, ready to do anything he's asked." I whispered, "Anything he's told."
The gag reflex strong, he choked. I lay my head against his chest, and hugged.
"Swallow, baby." I said. From below, his rubber legs tremored, a ripple rose through him, his personal earthquake, and he gulped. One loud, deliberate swallow. My man. Never so proud. I loved my man. The room erupted in applause, Nick pale, ears crimson, eyes shut.
"That wasn't the thing, hon. This is." I retrieved the cock cage, pink plastic with a very short tube, a hoop for his balls, and a lock.
"Jood, I haven't done this before. Would you do the honors?"
Judy didn't need told twice. She hopped from the couch, energy of a twenty year-old, and deftly worked both Nick's testes through the plastic hoop. Well practiced, she tugged his sack and squeezed as he poked through, then threaded his soft cock inside the ring. She slipped the cover, a small hard plastic pouch perhaps an inch long, over his penis and pressed it into the ring, and slipped a brass lock inside. She stepped clear.
I felt I should say something, but I was fresh out. I twisted, snicked the key free, and admired her work. Nick's cock was trapped, almost non-existent in the tiny little cage, his balls pressed out and trapped. No cheating now. Ten years just took a turn for the best.
Under his layers of shame, I knew him too well. Nicholas Abernathy's secret fantasy, the one I didn't know about from his web pages I hadn't seen, just came technicolor true.
"Go get the girls a drink, babe? Four glasses, fresh bottle of pinot noire, okay?
Nick nodded, dazed.
"Good boy, babe. Don't dress. Oh, and don't forget the cookies."
He vanished to the kitchen, mouth full of panty, his red hips barely swayed as our gazes followed. Mmmm.
"Ladies, I'm Gail. Let's talk?"