Getting The Contract

"It's downstairs." I replied avoiding her eyes, "Eat your breakfast and get some rest, I've got a couple of things I need to do, but I'll check on you later."

I almost fled from the room even though all I really wanted to do was to hold my wife I could not face the accusing looks I expected her to give me. Nor could I face another sharp 'don't touch me' from her, those three words and the tone of voice they had been delivered in still haunted me.

That was the start of the worst three weeks of our marriage, for the first three days Jean lay in bed as while her emerging bruises made her stiff and sore, during those days I would attend to her needs, but I couldn't meet her eyes, nor could I stay with her for long, my own feelings of guilt drove me from the bedroom. That first night I moved into the spare room, my excuse being that my being in the bed with her could be painful for her if I rolled over in the night, even to me it sounded a feeble excuse. On the fourth day Jean got out of bed, though the stiff way she move told me that her body still ached; now that she was not confined to the bedroom I sought escape by going to work, not that there was much to do there, but it was the only way I could avoid Jean. Not that I was idle all the time I was at the office, I spent some of the time setting up the orders and deliveries to fulfil that damned contract with Wellswood, but most of the time I sat staring at a blank wall remembering the things that had been done to my wife and getting erections that literally ached until I wanked to relieve the pressure. Of course this merely added to my guilt feelings.

As the days stretched into a week a sort of tense silence filled the house, alone in the spare room at night I would wank to thoughts of taking Jean the way the men at the party had taken her, my dreams were filled with using her body as they had and every morning saw a new sticky wet patch on the sheets. During the days I would hide in the office, but even there I was unable to escape the arousing thoughts or the guilt that filled me even as I had them.

The second week saw Jean well on the way to recovery physically, from time to time I noticed her about to speak and would escape before she could berate me for my excitement at her abuse. During that week I rarely saw my wife and towards the later part of the week I was almost relieved to find that she would be in the bedroom before I got back. Alone in the office I would have moments of anger, raging in impotent fury I would curse Wellswood and my own weakness in letting Jean agree to his terms, our business may well have been saved, but our marriage was falling apart around me and I dreaded the inevitable point when Jean would ask me to leave our home. More than once I tried to pluck up the courage to talk to her, to apologise for becoming so aroused by what had happened to her, but my courage came from a bottle and by the time I had drunk enough 'brave' I was too pissed to leave the office.

It was at the end of the third week that the event I was dreading occurred, Jean confronted me. She caught me as I slipped in after midnight, appearing as though from nowhere in the darkness of the hall she blocked my path to the stairs.

"Mark, we need to talk." She said quietly.

"It's late," I muttered lamely, "can't this wait until morning?"

"And have you sneaking out of the house before I wake," she replied flatly, "we can't avoid this any longer Mark."

Nodding I followed her into the living room, blinking as she turned on the light I headed straight for the drinks cabinet, there was no way I could face what was to come without a drink. A moment later I turned to face the music, unable to look Jean in the face I stared at the bottom of my glass, clearing my throat I started to try to explain the excitement I had felt that night, even though I didn't understand it myself. Jean never gave me the chance to speak, suddenly she was standing inches away from me, I couldn't help but look at her face in surprise, what I saw surprised me even more; tears flowed freely from her eyes.

"Mark," she was sobbing, "I can't bear this any longer, please Mark, please don't reject me this way. I understand that you hate me for letting all those men use me, but I thought ... oh God ... I thought if I could get through that night we could save everything we have, but none of it is worth anything if you leave me."

I stared at her in disbelief, for three weeks I had believed that it was she that was disgusted with me because I had been so aroused to see her used by all those men, my own guilt had torn me apart. Now Jean was telling me that she thought that I was rejecting her; could all my fears have been so groundless? Then I remembered how she had snapped at me not to touch her.

"Mark?" she sobbed softly.

"That night ... you ..." I faltered then tried again, "Jean when I went to help you ... the way you told me not to touch you ... I thought you ..." I felt my mouth go try as I forced the words out, "that you were rejecting me ... that you had seen how turned on the things they did to you made me. And I was afraid ... afraid that I couldn't satisfy you the way they did."

This time it was Jean that stared in disbelief, her eyes had gone wide as I had talked until it seemed they would bulge from their sockets.

"You thought I ..." she almost whispered, "Oh Mark, never, I could never reject you! The way I spoke, I had to stop you, we were still in his house, I was afraid that if you touched me it would all have been for nothing." Then she blinked and went on, "Is that why you didn't help me after that?"

"Yes," I sighed looking at the floor, "I thought you didn't want me to ..."

"Oh Mark, no, no." She said firmly, "I dearly wanted nothing more than for you to hold me."

I was dumbstruck at her words as I realised what a fool I had been all this time.

"As for the rest," she said with a shake of her head, "I don't blame you for being turned on, you'd have had to be inhuman not to have got some thrill out of seeing a woman being fucked that way, even if that woman was your wife. I thought you were angry because of my climaxing with them and ... and for letting them do things I had always denied you."

"I was angry for a while," I admitted with a sigh, "not about you climaxing, that was inevitable with so many of them playing with your body, but seeing you do things ... well I felt angry and inadequate."

"Inadequate?" she frowned.

"That I didn't excite you enough to want to try new things with me," I explained, "stupid of me I know, but that was how I felt at the time."

We looked at each other then burst out laughing, partly from the humour in the whole situation, but mostly from sheer relief. Putting my glass down I took Jean in my arms and held her tight, silently I vowed never again to stay quiet if I had a concern, my silence had almost destroyed the thing most precious to me, our marriage. For the rest of that night we talked as we had never done before, the sun was just rising when we finally went upstairs to our bedroom and climbed into bed together. Tired though we were we made passionate love together then fell asleep cradled in each other's arms.

* * * * *

Three years on we had everything we had ever dreamed of, the Wellswood contract and the contracts we received from others who had been there that night not only got us out of debt, they made us a booming company. Other contracts came in, ones not associated with Wellswood or his circle, until we reached a point where we could tell Wellswood and his friends just where to go, there was a great deal of satisfaction in that for both of us. Yet in a way I suppose I owed Wellswood a little gratitude, from the night Jean and I found out how foolish we had been she denied me nothing in the area of sex, Jean's reasoning was that if she'd let strangers fuck the shit out of her how can she deny me the same pleasure. And let me tell you, it was a pleasure!

As for the tapes of that night, we still have our copies, I told Jean about them and we watched them the once a couple of days later, but just the once; though we both got turned on by what was on the tapes we preferred to put that night behind us.

And there you have it, how we achieved our success.