Deirdre's Downfall Ch. 04

I started to say, I'll bet she is! as I pictured their bodies locked together, but just mumbled, "Hmm, I bet...".

Jack looked confused for an instant, then hesitated, appearing to stifle a remark. Gently, he took the wineglass from me, put it down, and said, "Get into bed, Dee Dee," as he drew back the covers.

I crawled onto the bed as he undressed. Sliding next to me, his abiding warmth felt divine. He was already half-erect and I was impatient, wanting to drive away my suspicions with his body. "Gimme that!" I gasped sloppily, and thrust his cock roughly into my mouth, sucking noisily as saliva ran down his length. I knew I was tipsy, because I said, "You like the way I suck your cock? Huh? Am I good? Huh?"

"Ohh...yeah...Dee Dee," he murmured, closing his eyes and craning his neck, seeming to forget about my tipsiness...or my implied mistrust. For future reference I filed away a quick realization that, like all men, Jack could be manipulated by sex. Cynically, I remembered Mandy saying that a woman can always divert a man's attention by sucking his cock.

"Good, 'cuz I'm gonna' fuck your brains out!" I threatened, pulling off the thong and tossing it on a chair. "But first, I'm gonna' sit on your face!" I said, quickly reversing myself to straddle his head and place us in a "69" position. "Ohh, yeah!" I yelled, as Jack's tongue pierced my labia. "Eat my cuuunt, Jack!" I moaned, making it a three-syllable word as I gobbled as much of his cock as I could.

We lapped noisily at one another for what seemed like forever, as Jack brought me to two orgasms, which I screeched through, making the walls ring with my volume. Then, with my jaw tired, I leaned off of him and – now very seriously – turned and lay on my back to accept his huge, angry cock into my body. Along with the alcohol, my manic mood demanded that he fuck me...to punish me...to hurt me physically for being such a conniving, whoring, lying bitch. I wanted him to use my body in all of its orifices, taking his pleasure from my slatternly self as discipline for my insecurities as well as my dissolute actions. I'd turned from being a confident, principled, faithful woman into a suspicious, sluttish piece of wanton flesh who deserved whatever fate befell her. At this moment I mistakenly chose him as the preceptor of my feminine fate rather than my husband. I wanted to submit to his every physical whim...and for him to master me.

As Jack entered my body I encouraged him vocally, "Ohh...yeah...Jack, fuck me...really hard. Do me...lover...really...hard!" Angrily, I urged him on as he pounded into me. My breath reeked of wine as I breathed heavily into his open mouth, which grimaced jaggedly as he gasped for oxygen to fuel the persistent hammering of his loins. I lifted my legs higher...then higher again...finally spreading my now-hairless pussy fully open to his driving member. My hands went to his muscular buttocks and I closed my eyes to grunt each time I felt their striations whip his probe into me.

I envisioned, perversely, a veiled scene in which I was being plundered by a male I didn't know...an anonymous body that was fucking me, taking from me what once I'd regarded as something avowedly sacred, but now was being given lewdly to anyone interested. And...with that picture in my mind, I shrieked and pounded back at Jack through a monumental orgasm. "Ohh, ohh...eeeyeeaaahhhhgg!" I screamed, which triggered his climax. He humped me, pouring his seed into me nonstop, for what seemed like minutes. And, I clawed at him. Yes! I justified to myself: These are my scratches! Let every woman who sees you witness my ritual scarifications! I will mark you forever, Jack Taylor! I flashed, as my nails tore at his back, shoulders and chest. We grunted through our rough, almost loveless coupling until he collapsed on me. His torso was laced with deep, red gouges.

"God! Dee Dee," he murmured, half into the pillow, "What got into you?"

Sober now, and not knowing how to respond, I mumbled, "Sorry, baby. I'm not really myself today." I sounded so cold and distant!

"Wanta' talk about it?" he asked.

"Mmm, no," I said as I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. "Oooh, it's late," I added, breezily. "Better go. Gotta' fix dinner."

I think that I left Jack very confused as I walked out. He'd given me a couple of B-12 capsules in a vain attempt to sober me up. But, driving home I had to pull over and cry for a few minutes, just to relieve the tension. I felt as if something had broken inside me. I'd acted horribly to the man I revered, suspecting the worst of him with other women...even the UPS driver! I'd descended from being an upbeat, faithful, innocent wife with a rosy future to the level of an angry, calculating, lascivious beast who'd brazenly rubbed my lover's nose in a tawdry mess in which he'd been – I reckoned – willingly though only coincidentally involved. Finally thinking rationally, I decided that I was not being responsible for my own actions.

At home I called him and apologized for treating him so shabbily. I told him there was a lot on my mind, and that I'd explain everything to him...possibly over the weekend since he'd wanted to show us final drawings for our remodel project. I also looked forward to being with him at his architectural show the following week.

Of all days, I was sorry that Frank's boss, Bruce, was coming to dinner that night. I was very depressed that I'd taken revenge on Jack without truly knowing the circumstances. And, I was shocked that my emotions had driven me to such desperate ends.

I took a hot bath to purge my system of the wine and ease the afternoon's discomfort. My mood improved immensely, enhanced by the way I looked naked. So sexy!...with my shaven crotch and my new lingerie. I chose a red lace bra to go with the red thong, decided against stockings, and put the rest away. Would Frank ever be surprised at my daring new image! I thought.

My outfit for the evening was a long-sleeved, form-fitting, belted coatdress in tan cotton gabardine that ended below the knee. It had a deep neckline that showed just a sliver of the red bra at the closure, and had hidden buttons that ended in a six-inch slit in front. It's a very plain dress, but I spiced it up with a red satin belt, low red heels, and a carved rose necklace, also in red. I put red plastic studs in my pierced ears. I looked like a very sensible, suburban housewife, I thought, ...except for the scarlet accents.

I'd prepared chicken and spinach manicotti with herbed tomato sauce the night before. All I needed to do was cook it, along with broccoli with a peppery white sauce. The cucumber antipasto salad could be fixed quickly. For dessert, I'd gotten a small chocolate fudge torte. I shuddered as I brought three bottles of chianti from the wine cellar, promising myself to nurse only one glass all evening. As I worked in the kitchen, I remembered how much I liked cooking for others and stifled a pang, thinking of having kids. With the kitchen radio playing soothing classical music, my mood was decidedly up from the afternoon when I'd been so brutal to Jack. As I thought of him again I felt myself moisten under my new thong.

At 7:45, Frank, Bruce, and his girlfriend burst in the front door with a great deal of laughter. Frank gave me a quick kiss and introduced me to Bruce's friend, Corky, a tall, dyed-blonde, 35-ish woman who was dressed – I thought – rather gaudily for a mid-week dinner. She wore a sleeveless, red ruffle dress with a vee neckline that plunged below her sternum and laced up over her half-displayed breasts, which looked enhanced with silicone. It hugged her lissome body and ended in a ragged, "hanky" hemline that unevenly showed slim, muscular legs to above the knee. On her feet were tassel-tie sandals with 4" stiletto heels. Below her wavy, stylishly rumpled hair of pageboy length hung six-inch, white crystal dangle earrings that projected...an "interesting" image. She was what Frank would call "a hot number." I thought she looked like a tramp.

Bruce, of course, was his typical obnoxious self. Red-faced, he grabbed me off the floor in his usual way and boomed, "Dee, baby booby, gimme a smack!" and caught me on the cheek with a boozy slobber as I turned my head in time to avoid what would have been a tongue in my mouth. "Drinks! Drinks! Frank, boy," he yelled, "an' le's tell Dee what we did after work!" at which all three giggled drunkenly.

As Frank disappeared into the kitchen for the libations, Bruce and Corky plopped down in the living room and Bruce lowered his voice at Corky's urging. "Well," he said, preparing for a long story. "First, we had a few pops at the bar. Then, on the way here we stopped by that new place...the adult book store...just off the Interstate. Corky was drivin' so it was okay, since she doesn't drink much," he said, rolling his eyes at her, which stimulated a high-pitched giggle from her fully open mouth. Hmm, I thought, she has a lot of old fillings. Probably doesn't visit the dentist often.

"Anyway," continued Bruce, as Frank returned with three beverages, obviously cognizant of what they were drinking. "We went in with Corky an' you shoulda' seen the looks on the faces of the guys in there," he said, causing laughter from both his girlfriend and my husband. "They coulda' died when we walked inta' the back...ya' know, where the 'gloryhole' booths are?"

I shook my head, not comprehending, and smiled wanly.

"So, they got TV cameras in there, an' when a woman...or even a gay guy, I guess...goes in there, they video the scene and play it on a big screen in another room!" His booming laughter hurt my ears as he looked at Frank and Corky, who shared the salacious amusement with him.

"So, anyway," he went on, "I'm not tellin' any tales when I say Corky is a party girl, so she unzips me and starts to go to work. An' I get off! On camera! Well, some guy – who I guess watched it on TV – walks into the booth next to ours and sticks his uhhh...ya' know...his pecker, through the hole, wantin' Corky to blow 'im. An' what's she do? She flips him on the end of it an' says, 'Come back when you grow up, Buster!'" Then, they all burst into peals of laughter. I was appalled, and sickened, as I watched Frank double over in a guffaw. He, apparently, had watched the entire proceeding on television.

The fact that I didn't laugh, and punctuated my silence with, "Well, I can't top that story!" lowered the level of mirth significantly. "Ready for dinner?" I asked, getting up to go to the kitchen.

"Yeah! Let's eat!" Frank enthused, leading his two friends to the table, from which I'd removed several of its oak leaves to make it intimate enough for a foursome. Bruce sat across from me...thankfully...since I didn't want him pawing me, with Corky and Frank facing each other. I served the salad, which was well received, while we were regaled by Bruce's repertoire of filthy jokes, none of which I'd heard. I marveled at how a successful insurance executive could find the time to memorize so many stories, as well as drink so much. The manicotti and vegetables were served and the second, then the third, bottle of wine was opened. I was still nursing my half-full glass as a sizable dent was put in the last bottle. Bruce proposed toasts, to Frank, "and his scrumptious wife, Dee," and glasses clinked all around. I glanced at my watch: 9:45, and decided to hurry things along with dessert, so I exited to the kitchen with dirty plates.

In a few minutes I returned to see Bruce dozing with his head on his chest. From the kitchen door, as I carried plates of the chocolate torte, I distinctly saw Corky's stockinged foot nuzzling Frank's crotch between his legs. Surprised at my quick entrance, she withdrew it and, with some difficulty, put her shoe back on. I cast a quick, daggered, look in her direction, served the dessert, and she shook Bruce rudely to awaken him. If I'd thought Bruce were drunk, I ruefully noticed that Frank, himself, was feeling little pain. "Greeaat dinner, honneeey," he slurred, reaching for my hand and knocking over his full glass of wine, which caused Bruce to bellow something about taking the tablecloth's virginity. I was appalled and rushed to the kitchen for some towels.

When I returned, Frank had gotten up and sprinted to the nearby half-bath...to be sick. "Cake musta' done it," Bruce mumbled, as we heard my husband retching his stomach empty. Corky looked at me and asked with real concern if Frank was okay.

"Oh, yes. He's been working awfully hard and...maybe with the drinks and stuff...," I said, making excuses.

"Well, put 'im ta' bed," Bruce exhorted. "We can party ourselves!"

Frank lurched out of the bathroom and, apologizing, said, "I better go ta' bed. Can't understand how this happened," as he stumbled upstairs.

I started to follow him, thinking I could undress him and tuck him in, but didn't. Corky then said to Bruce, "Let's go. It's gettin' late."

"Nah," Bruce retorted. "Le's help l'il Dee clean up," as he leered across the table at me.

"Well, I'm leaving. You can catch a cab," Corky responded, leaving behind her dessert. "Night, Dee. Thanks for dinner. Nice to meet you." That was the most she'd said to me all night.

"Call me tomorrow, Bruce," she said, blithely, as she swept out the front door, closing it hard.

At that I excused myself and went upstairs to enlist Frank's support. He was way beyond helping me, though, as he'd taken off his tie, shoes and trousers, and collapsed into bed wearing his shirt. Very nervous, I walked downstairs and discovered Bruce in the kitchen, wearing one of my aprons and rinsing dishes under the tap. His huge frame looked so comical with my frilly, postage-stamp-sized apron around his fat middle, that I laughed. He looked around and said, "Thas' the first time you've smiled tonight, Dee. Whas' wrong?"

"Oh, nothing, Bruce. My kitchen help normally isn't so big!" I snickered.

"Always glad ta' help," he said, as we both tended to the dishes, loading them into the washer. While working, Bruce said, "You've got a great tan, Dee. Frank tells me you sun in the back yard on weekends. You tan all over?" he asked, leering once again.

"Oh, Bruce..." I said, blushing.

He turned toward me and I saw the front of the apron he was wearing sticking out in front of him, right at his crotch. "C'mon, you said I was big. Wanna' see how big? Show me your tan an' I'll show you my cock!" he rasped, giving me a lewd grin. I froze with the knowledge that his naked member was underneath the apron. Then he grabbed me by the wrists in his huge hands, drawing me up to him and breathing his boozy breath into my face. He pushed me against the refrigerator and bent down, trying to mash his mouth against mine as I groaned disapproval. I turned and he found my neck, biting a bit of it with his lips. Then he locked both of my wrists in one hand and held them in an iron grip above my head, as I cried out in pain. With the other he reached for the neck of my dress and pulled hard, popping loose two of the hidden buttons to grab at my heaving breasts as I tried to catch my breath. He then peeled back the top of the dress – popping more buttons as he did so – and lowered my arms behind my back to render them useless. Loudly objecting, I begged him to quit his groping. "Mmmm, let's see these beauties," he snarled, pulling up my bra to bare my tits.

I screamed, "NO-O-O-O!" hoping that Frank would hear. "Bruce...stop...I'll tell Fraaank!" I shrieked, as he pushed his attack.

"Jus' wanna' tas' 'em," he mumbled, as he closed his lips around the nipple of one uplifted breast and sucked and nibbled at it. I groaned and thrashed about, trying to break his manacling hold.

"STO-O-OP!" I yelled, knowing that Frank was dead-to-the-world and would be no help at all in saving me from this horrible assault.

"You gorgeous babe. Now for the real thing!" he gloated, as he stretched my arms up further behind me, drawing me up on tiptoe. Then, he did the unforgivable. He thrust his free hand under my dress and grabbed my crotch, ripping away my new thong! I shrieked, whimpering out the objection with a pitiful squall. "Mmm, lookit that!" he snarled triumphantly, as he passed the moist undie beneath his nose. "I knew you were a hot little slut!" Then, dropping the thong, he forced my legs apart with his and stuck all four of his fingers between them, muttering "Yeaahh!" and bruising my newly shaven pussy. He tried to plow a finger into me, but I writhed away, yet still was unable to release his grip from my wrists. He withdrew his hand and licked his moist fingers, growling, "Gonna' eatcha' 'til ya' die, baby!" and tore back the apron covering his middle to reveal his thick, ugly cock. I was sickened by the sight. It was fiery red, horribly scarred, and had a large wart atop it, just behind its drooling head. "Whaddaya' thinka' that, Dee? Want a taste?" he asked, leering proudly and groping for my head. I responded by wailing loudly and grunting, mustering all the strength that I had, and lashing a knee up at his groin to connect solidly with his scrotum.

That's all it took. He snorted like a bull and dropped my wrists to bend forward and grab his testicles, which allowed me time to grasp a quart-sized jar of candy off the counter and smash it down on top of his head, scattering glass and Hershey's "Kisses" everywhere. He went down hard, groaning, and I grabbed the phone to call 911. He suddenly took me seriously and, as I made the connection, he begged, "Please, no, Dee. I'll go. Don' call the cops." His hurt puppy dog look convinced me and I disconnected, instead calling the local cab company whose number was on a refrigerator door magnet. A cab would be here in 15 minutes, I was told.

I hung up and ran into the living room, arming myself threateningly with our fireplace poker. Bruce followed me, stumbling, and I handed him his coat, saying dully, "A cab will be here soon. Go outside to the curb under the streetlight where I can see you. When the cab picks you up, consider yourself lucky for not going to jail. And if you ever do anything like this again, not only will I tell Frank, but I'll see to it that you're ruined."

As the cab drove Bruce away, my metabolism slowed a bit and my breathing returned to normal. The residual adrenalin spirited me through the kitchen cleanup, though, and in a short while I collapsed onto the couch with my second glass of wine...to reflect on my plight. My body hurt. My mauled breasts, wrists, and crotch ached from their unwanted violation. My shoulder joints throbbed with pain and my ego was bruised beyond redemption. Deep in thought, I reflected on my marriage and reached a troubling awareness: it had started nearly ten years ago with love, then had built toward bitterness, a result of miscommunication and muted hostility. My affair with Jack was merely a logical product of that, I thought, as I fell into a fitful asleep after covering myself with an afghan.

At dawn Frank crept downstairs looking for me. I was in a foul mood when he told me how hung over he was, and that he was going to take the morning off to recuperate. I'd fastened my damaged dress but still looked a mess as I silently made coffee. Sitting in the breakfast nook, I directed my anger at Frank.

"If you ever bring that man here again, I'll leave!" I threatened. "I'm sick to death of his horny hands and filthy jokes!" I fumed, though didn't provide him with the raw details of his boss's assault. "And, what was that under-the-table bit with that...that trollop?!" I spat. "I don't care if you...and your friends...go to...to 'gloryholes,' Frank! In fact, I've ceased caring what you do!" I continued, relentlessly, blaming him for my combined rage and fear. "Just keep those...those tawdry people away from me...and this house...out of my life!"