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The idea was wicked, so far from everything I had ever allowed myself to ponder that it left me breathless and wide-eyed. It was forbidden, crazy; if I was totally honest with myself, it was not something I should ever be contemplating. Yet there was this guilt that had wrapped itself around my heart like a wet, cold blanket and made my insides shiver, and I had been unable to shake it off. So I had confessed what I had done, trembling with fear that I had ruined the most precious thing I had ever had in one thoughtless moment. And the first few days, and more importantly, nights, it had felt as if I had managed to do just that. As I had lain next to my husband, only two weeks after our honeymoon, and fought uselessly to fall asleep, unsatisfied, guilty, tearful, and as I had listened to the equally wakeful shifting of his body, I had feared the worst. “Patrick,” I had whispered, putting my hand on his arm, but he had turned away from me without words. Two weeks ago, I had been ecstatic, returning from the perfect honeymoon in the Caribes, from two weeks of splashing in the warm sea, having romantic dinners and making love under a star-lit sky. But then Mark had happened, or better, my alcohol-infused and completely reckless idiocy had happened, and in the wake of our annual company summer party, I had allowed my co-worker to kiss me, to conquer my mouth with his tongue and let his hands roam underneath the fabric of my clothes. Only being startled by a door banging close by had saved me from allowing even more. I hadn’t been able to carry the secret for long. After one long day and night, the shell around my burning guilt cracked, and Sunday morning, when we started breakfast, I confessed. “Patrick?” My voice was thick, the syllables clinging to the insides of my mouth and not wanting to come out. “I…” The worried, caring look he immediately sent me from these beautiful, watery-blue eyes below a mob of short, tousled, sun-streaked blonde hair buried itself like in my heart like a spear of ice. “Honey? What’s wrong?” A choked sob escaped me. I covered my face in my hands. “Please don’t hate me!” I whimpered. He had been about to get up and rush over to me to comfort me, but he froze. “I’ve…” My chest constricted, but I couldn’t live with such a lie. “I’ve fucked up. God, I’m so sorry! Please don’t hate me!” “Cassie?” he asked quietly, but suddenly, there was a hard edge in his voice. “What, exactly, did you fuck up? Look at me!” I wiped the tears away. I was trembling. His gaze bore into mine, worried, questioning, full of that undeserved love, and it spilled out of me. How I’d had a few cocktails too many at the party. How I had suddenly found myself on the couch in the recreation room and snuggled up to Mark. How we had talked about work and colleagues, and how that talk had suddenly been riddled with compliments from him. How I had felt warm and flustered and enjoyed the closeness, and how I had allowed his greedy kisses and roaming hands without thought until the banging of the door had shaken my awareness awake. His voice trembled with pain, and I hated myself. “So if the door hadn’t banged, you’d…” “I don’t know!” I wailed, unable to lie. “Please, Patrick,” I repeated my mantra, “please don’t hate me!” The look of anguish on his face almost killed me. He slowly rose from the chair, his breakfast untouched. “I’m going out.” “Where,” I choked, “are you going?” His steps halted, and for a second, everything was silent. “Fishing.” He left. It hadn’t taken nearly long enough to pack the fishing gear when his car reversed down the driveway. I rocked back and forth on the kitchen chair, arms wrapped around my upper body, tears running down my cheeks, and cried silently, sure that I had destroyed everything my live was centered around in one single moment. * * * * The following days were long and exhausting. We only talked if it was absolutely necessary. Patrick came home late from work and left early, and we both had dark rings around our eyes from exhaustion as one sleepless night followed the other. “This can’t go on!” I declared, tear-streaked, staring at the shards of porcelain of the cup that had slipped my trembling hands and now lay in a huge puddle of coffee on the kitchen floor. “Patrick!” He looked at me, weary, unfocused. I stumbled around the table and slipped to my knees, grabbing his hand with both of mine. “Patrick! Please! This is killing us both. I’ll do anything to make it up to your! I swear his will never, ever happen again! Please!” My last plea was swallowed by a choked sob. I thought I saw a flicker of that compassionate love that had attracted me to him from the start in his eyes. But his jaw clenched. “I’m…” He looked away. “I’m not sure we can fix this.” His eyes closed, and his hand squeezed mine painfully hard. I didn’t try to pull it away though. I deserved this, and so much more. “I… Every time I look at you, I see his lips kiss you, see his hands touch you. You married me, and little more than two weeks later, you do that !” His hand shook in my grasp. “I tried…” His breath hitched. “I tried to forgive. But there’s this rage, this need to take revenge, to make you feel that helpless pain of betrayal you left me with tenfold in return.” “Patrick! Please!” I whimpered. “I’ll do anything!” “You think you would?” He stared hard at me, eyes full of accusation. “How do you think you would feel if I made out with another Karşıyaka escort woman, If you knew that I kissed her, touched her, made love to her? How would you feel?” “Hurt,” I confessed. “Fuck, it would tear my heart apart.” But in the dread of imagining it, a tiny flame of hope was kindled awake. I suddenly heard myself speaking from far away, “But if it is what you need, I will accept it.” Both our breathes hitched. Had I really just said that? His eyes widened, and his look seemed to bore right into my mind. “You would?” “Yes!” I sobbed. “I love you, Patrick. I’ll do anything. I can’t lose you!” “This is crazy,” he murmured to himself. “Fucking crazy!” But then a jolt raced through his body. He pulled away his hand, only to cup my cheeks and hold my head steadfast. “Anything?” “Anything! Anything at all!” “Even if I made you stay and watch? If I made love to another woman all night and you’d have to witness every single moment of it?” I couldn’t speak. I swallowed hard, nodding as good as his strong grip allowed me to. Something in him had shifted, I realized, and I saw a fire burn behind his eyes that I had only seen in the throes of our lovemaking. There was still that betrayed rage flickering, but I could also see a primal arousal, a part of him I had only seen glimpses of. It unsettled me. And it flowed over me like hot silk. The power in his eyes, the force and determination in his look wrapped around me like a tight net. His cock had become erect, a stiff, big flagpole at the front of his pajama pants that gave away his own excitement at the thought. It was more than just the need for revenge that drove him. “Anything!” I declared, trying to suppress the tremolo in my voice. “Anything to make it up to you.” I wanted to show him with action too. So far, I had always managed to get around giving him head. It was lewd and demeaning, introducing an inequality into sex that shouldn’t be there. Or that’s what I had thought. But now, kneeling next to him with all that guilt mixing with the shame and forbidden excitement, it somehow felt incredibly right. I pulled down the waistband of his pants with one hand and slowly leaned forward. His eyes grew big, but then he caught on to my intentions and let go of my face. He was rock hard. The tip was dark and swollen and glistening with a drop of pre-cum. The fantasy – no, the knowledge of this future depravity – was arousing him faster than I had ever managed on my own. I parted my lips and slid them over his silky cock-head. He groaned softly. I ran my tongue along the ridge on its underside, and his breath shuddered. “Fuck!” he moaned. “I want you to invite Marietta for dinner on Friday.” I froze. Marietta? My former best friend, the part-time model, the cock-tease whom I had parted ways with for flirting with my fiancé all the time? But he was right. She was the one friend who wouldn’t think twice about bedding my husband, or being bedded by him. I started twirling my tongue all around his cock, slowly bobbing up and down as I had seen others do when I watched them go at each other at these wild parties in my college days. He moaned again. Yes, from Patrick’s perspective, Marietta was the perfect choice. I had thrown her out of the house when she had made the wine-addled confession that she wouldn’t mind a romp with Patrick. He knew that my jealousy of her would run knifes through my heart and that all the insecurities about my too-small breasts and too-wide bum would surface with force if I had to compare myself to her perfect shape. His cock grew slick with spittle, and I bobbed further down, trying to relax my tongue and breath evenly through my nose as I had read. His hips started to twitch. I was doing it right. “I want you to outdo yourself with the dinner,” he groaned, his breathing speeding up. “Set up a romantic candle-light dinner for two!” I thought his cock was growing even stiffer in my mouth. More salty pre-cum covered my tongue. Fingers wrapped themselves in my hair and encouraged me to go faster and deeper. I fought not to choke. Saliva dribbled down my chin and along his shaft. This was messy and possessive – and sexy like hell. I didn’t feel it coming. Suddenly, his hand pressed down hard, and his rod slid all the way into my mouth, past a gut-wrenching moment where it touched the back of my throat, but I swallowed in reflex and felt it slide deeper. My forehead touched his thigh, he growled his delight above me, and with hard jerks of his hips, he filled my throat with hot cum, spurt after spurt after spurt. When he had spent himself and let go of my head, I gasped for air. A part of me felt used and cheap, but there was no denying the fluttery warmth between my thighs. Patrick was studying me, a look of bliss in his eyes, and my heart stumbled with happiness. As long as I could make him look this fulfilled, all wasn’t lost. * * * * God, it had been awkward in the beginning. I had stammered and offered excuses for my jealousy, but Marietta had acted guarded and hesitant to accept my change of heart. Or, perhaps, she was consciously trying to make it hard for me. She had always had a petty streak. “Please, Marietta,” I begged, ignoring the knot in my stomach. “We’d love to have you over for dinner on Friday. Patrick’s been asking about you all the time.” “He has?” Her voice softened for the first time in our conversation, and I could bornova escort bayan hear the curiosity. “Yes. He said he misses having you around.” There was a short pause. “Okay. Should I bring anything?” “Just yourself.” “Just myself?” Suddenly, the quick-witted, lewd Marietta I had liked so much – when her jabs weren’t aimed at me, that is – was back, and she couldn’t resist. “No clothes?” My cheeks heated up. She had no idea. “Only… only wear what you feel comfortable with.” A moment of silence followed again. That kind of banter was so not me, and she knew it. “Cassie, Cassie,” she sing-songed, “that’s an awfully dangerous thing to say when you invite an unattached girl into a house with such a hunk of a man.” She was testing me. My mind swirled. I couldn’t tell her outright what we had planned. My best bet was to try and play along. “You’re right, it is. It would be highly improper to have debauchery run rampant between our guest and my newly-wed husband.” I hadn’t dared to hope it, but it shut her up. “I’ll be there at seven, then, Cassie,” she told me, and after a soft click, the beep of the busy signal greeted me. That night, Patrick fucked me. It wasn’t lovemaking, it didn’t include any more foreplay than necessary. I was lying on my back already when he entered from the bathroom, and he pulled aside the cover, knelt down next to me and pulled my panties wordlessly down to my ankles. “Did she agree?” he asked while his hand cupped my pubes and started to rub softly back and forth. “She did.” Why did thinking back to the tense phone call add fuel to the tingles Patrick’s hand stirred awake? “What did she say?” His middle finger parted my folds. I loved when he did that, slowly adding pressure until my juices came freely and coated his digit. I blushed, but he probably couldn’t see that in the dim light of the bedside lamp. “At first, she let me sweat a bit. Then she joked about coming without clothes.” “What did you tell her?” His finger was sliding quite easy already. “To wear whatever little she’s comfortable with.” I moaned softly. “And…” he prompted, tickling my pearl and making me gasp. “She told me that saying that was dangerous, with a hunk like you.” My hips lifted slightly off the bed. “And what did you say?” His breathing was speeding up as well. “That it was. I said anything between you and her would be… improper.” He sucked in a shuddering breath and pushed against my entrance. I moaned. “Bad Cassie,” he murmured, and the words set my cheeks aflame. “What time?” “Seven.” “Make sure everything is perfect.” He grabbed my ankles and bent my legs up. “That talk, and thinking about fucking Marietta, has made me quite hot,” he told me, and the breathless hitch in his voice confirmed it. Then he guided my legs back further and further, until I was folded almost all the way. My bum lifted off the bedsheet. We had never done this. It felt lewd. I could feel my pussy lips open. He shuffled right in front of my spread pubes and pushed his cock against my slick entrance. “I need to fuck you.” His eyes glowed with lust. I knew that he was going to use me tonight. Right now, I wasn’t his beloved wife, I was still the cheater, the tramp. And I was hot. “Fuck me!” I pleaded, and he didn’t let me tell him twice. He pushed home with a single thrust, and his hips slapped loudly against my buttocks. “Oh! Fuck!” I moaned. His cock seemed to fill me deeper than ever before. “Fuck!” he grunted too, and then he started pounding me. My moans became a garbled mess of hitching breaths, and he grunted and moaned in ecstasy. My body shook and the bed creaked. The headboard thudded against the wall like a bass drum. His eyes narrowed, fluttered, and I started to sweat. It was carnal, intense, exhilarating – and then he pushed in hard, I felt his cock throb inside me, and his cum spurted into my womb with a mighty groan from his throat. Then he pulled out. My pussy screamed in disappointment. I think I whimpered, but he guided my legs back down on the bed, gently turned me onto my side and spooned me from behind. “Cassie,” he whispered, and I could already hear a hint of sleepiness in his voice. Normally, he made sure that I received my please, worked through that desire to fall asleep all men appeared to be cursed with and gifted me with an intense orgasm through the second round. Not tonight. “Will you do me a favor, Cassie?” “Of course, honey.” “I don’t want you to come until Friday night.” My heart misstepped. “Not come?” I asked in a whisper. “No. I want you horny. I know how high your sex drive is.” He wrapped his leg over mine and pulled me close, locking my arms in his embrace. “How do you think it will feel when I fuck Marietta and give her what you want so much?” A soft tremble raced through my body. “Humiliating,” I confessed, barely audible. “Mhmmm,” he whispered in my ear. Moments later, his breathing evened out and was accompanied by a soft snore. My pussy clenched around nothing, unfulfilled, needy and trickling with both my husband’s cum and my own desires. It took me a lot longer to fall asleep. * * * * The closer Friday came, the more devious ideas my husband had. I wanted to hate him for it, tried to not let these feelings deep inside me get stirred awake by his forceful treatment, but I failed. Each morning, I kneeled on the carpet in the entryway to send him off to work with his cock buried in Escort üçyol my throat, embarrassed and thrilled, and I was still finishing swallowing his spunk when he tugged his softening tool away, closed the zipper and left with a satisfied grin. I was busy all Friday, preparing an extravagant three-course menu, decorating the table in the living room with flowers and candles, polishing silverware and searching through the stack of CDs for the most romantic tunes. Patrick was still finishing his shower and I had just put the last touches on the salad with roasted seafood and candied pumpkin seeds when the doorbell chimed. I was still in my every-day outfit of a thin, white tank-top and three-quarter length, pink, shiny leggings, all at Patrick’s orders and far from the way I normally let myself seen by guests. “We can’t have you look smarter than the guest of honor,” he had said, and that had been it. My heart beat all the way up to my throat when I opened the door to let Marietta in. She was dressed to kill in a little black dress with sparkling, silvery seams that showed much of her perfect cleavage and blemishless thighs, and it was instantly obvious that wasn’t wearing a bra. She wore open-toed sandals with needle-thin heels and her dark hair, cut above her shoulders and held in place by elaborate lace bows, shone in the light. Her eyelids and lips were done in dark, seductive red. “Marietta!” I gushed, Patricks admonishment to make her feel like a queen still ringing in my ear. “Oh my god. You look stunning! We’re so happy you could come! Here, let me hang your vest!” I picked the flimsy, black, knitted garment that was draped over her arm and placed it neatly on a hanger. “Cassie?” She closed the door behind herself and took a step towards me. I felt my knees wobble for a second. She looked me up and down, then stared hard into my eyes. “Something is up with you.” She stepped closer. I tried to back up, but my bum bumped against the narrow wardrobe. “I’m… just hoping you’ll enjoy the evening. I’ve been such a bitch to you.” I caught myself wringing my hands like a nervous teenager and hid them behind my back. My chest was heaving more than it should, but I couldn’t do anything about that. Her eyes narrowed, and I swallowed. But then she smiled at me. “Very well. Lead the way.” The timing was devastatingly perfect. We entered the living room at the same moment as Patrick pressed the play button on the stereo, clad in black trousers and a white shirt, the top three buttons undone to allow us to see his tan and looking good enough to eat. “Marietta!” he exclaimed joyfully, holding out his arms. Marietta glided over to him, and I watched them hug and place tiny kisses on each other’s cheeks. I wouldn’t have minded that gesture so much in the past, but knowing what was ahead, envy already poked my insides. “Please, take a seat. Cassie has outdone herself today,” he told her, taking her hand and leading her to one of the opposing high-backed chairs. It had started. There was only the tiniest moment where surprise flickered over my friend’s face, then she melted in his touch, her eyes started to sparkle and she let herself be led to her seat. Like a perfect gentleman, he slid the chair under her, then stepped toward the table and lit the candles, nodding towards me. We had rehearsed that. I turned around and dimmed the light until the bulb was no match for the candles’ flames. “This is… a bit unusual,” Marietta remarked softly, taking in the two sets of plates, silverware and glasses while my husband sat down opposite of her. “But so are you, unusually beautiful and intelligent,” he charmed her, and my stomach clenched. “Cassie hasn’t been a good friend to you, so we both feel that you deserve some recompense.” He twirled a finger at me, low enough that it was hidden from my friend’s eyes by the table, and I sneaked back out and into the kitchen. I added the dressing to the salad, drawing neat spirals of creamy white over it, then sprinkled finely cut fresh over it. As a last touch, I added a beautiful, edible red rose blossom. I picked up the plates with shaking fingers and carefully stepped back to the living room. My husband chuckled, and Marietta giggled like a schoolgirl, leaning forward over the table as if hanging onto every word he said. Without doubt, she was giving him a show of her firm, big, bra-less tits. I traipsed to her side and set the plate down in front her. “Enjoy,” I whispered with a lump in my throat, then made my way around the table, glad that my blush couldn’t be seen in the flickering semi-darkness. “I was just saying that Marietta has never looked as beautiful as today,” Patrick told me when I served him his salad, “don’t you think so too?” “Yes,” I confirmed, hoping that the jitters in my voice were only audible to my own ears. “I’ve never seen her this stunning, and she’s always beautiful.” Patrick nodded, spearing a prawn with his fork. “Any man not falling instantly in love with such beauty would be a blind fool, don’t you think so too?” I could see her eyebrows rise upwards in the corner of my eye. My breath wanted to hitch, but I clenched my hands behind my back and pushed down the jealousy. “Yes,” I gushed instead, almost overwhelmed when I heard the hated words flow so easily from my lips, “they would be fools.” A slap to my bum told me that I had done well enough. “I’ll prepare the main course, then. I hope you enjoy the salad.” They had already stopped paying me any heed. I came back fifteen minutes later to clear away the salad plates, and my knees started to tremble when I saw them both propped up on one elbow, looking deeply into each other’s eyes and the fingers of their free hand caressing each other’s.
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