I Believed in Her. Did I?

After coffee I took a shower and woke up the children. I told them mommy was home, but sick. She slept and could not be disturbed. After school she would be better, no doubt. And she would be very happy to see them again.

I called in sick. It didn't sit well with my boss, as we were in the middle of a new business pitch. But I did not care. I stretched out on the sofa and slept a few hours.

Close to noon I went to see Belle. She was awake. I smiled at her. She tried to smile back.

"Tea?," I asked. She nodded.

I brought two cups and a plate of biscuits. I helped her sit up and sat on the bed next to her.

She avoided my eyes. I cupped her chin with a hand and forced her to look at me. "Don't feel guilty," I said. "It was my fault. I should have known what my stupid remarks would do to you. Please forgive me."

Tears ran down her cheeks. She shook her head vigorously.

"My fault!," she croaked and coughed. "You were right. I am a slut. Always been. Always will be."

She put down the cup and started to cry. I held her. She soaked my shirt.

Holding her like that we fell asleep, waking up when the girls came into the apartment, screaming. They ran into the bedroom and danced around Belle, hugging her, kissing her, talking about all they had to tell her.

I saw the first shimmer of light return to her eyes.

***********

Belle was as good as new. At least her body was. The doctor had examined her the next day. I saw that the woman looked a bit funny at me after the examination. I just smiled. There had been no serious injuries and the first tests were all negative. Belle stayed home for another week before returning to work. I returned after three days.

The atmosphere was odd. Although we were quite uneasy around each other, there was no chill in the air. The children were a great help. The house rang with their excited voices and laughter. It was impossible not to be infected by it. But in bed things were more difficult. Of course it was not physically possible to be intimate with each other the first days, but we cuddled and hugged. We touched a lot and kissed.

But we could not talk.

Belle repeated over and over how sorry she was for what she had done. And I kept answering that it was my fault. But that was it. When we were together we were never able to find the light tone back, the way we used to joke and talk. Whenever we tried, a dark cloud drifted in.

After two weeks, on a Friday night, I sat next to Belle on the couch. We were alone, the girls were staying over at friends. I put my arm around her and she leant into me. I nudged her neck with my nose, kissing the soft skin. She loved that. But when I slipped a hand inside her blouse to fondle her breasts, she stiffened and withdrew. I tried to catch her eyes, but she stood and walked to the kitchen. After a minute I followed her and found her weeping.

"We need help, Belle," I said. "Shall I call Agnes?"

Agnes was the psychiatrist Belle and I had been seeing for years at the start of our marriage.

Belle shook her head.

"No," she said with a muffled voice.

"Why not, Belle?," I asked. "She has helped us so well."

Belle kept staring at the tabletop.

Then she looked up. Her eyes were hard and bitter.

"She helped us?," she cried out. "Look at me! Look at the mess I am. Help?!"

I went to her, but she pushed me away.

"Don't touch me, Walter. I am a slut and a whore. I am a sick nymphomaniac. Let me go, Walter! Throw me out!"

At that she totally lost it. She screamed and stomped the table with her fists. A stream of obscenities left her mouth. Then she climbed on the chair and on the table. She tore the blouse off her chest. She wriggled out of her skirt and tore her pantyhose to shards. Then she started gyrating her hips and shook her tits like a stripper. She licked her lips and moaned in a deep and throaty way. "Hello, guy," she crooned and crooked her finger to invite me closer. She unhooked her bra and presented her full tits to me. "Want them, honey?," she breathed, swaying them close to my face. "Take 'em, lover. If you have a cock (here she groaned and licked her lips once more), a sweet hard big cock, honey...they are all yours. Suck them, darling...BITE THEM!" She laughed out loud and made the hard nipples point at me. Then she pushed them up and sucked on them herself.

She started dancing now on the shining surface, tweaking the nipples and caressing the curves of her body. The powder blue cotton panties got dark over her soaked pussy. She tore them off, then spread her cunt lips to show me their pink, sparkling insides.

I was stunned by the vehemence and the sudden change in Belle. In fact, although what she did was incredibly erotic, I felt no sexual stirrings at all. The only thing I felt was sorrow. Her obscenities washed over me, but I only could clasp my hands over my ears. She almost pushed her pussy into my face, but I turned away.

She laughed at that and started to masturbate herself, two fingers rubbing the clit at the top of her dripping slit.

"Can't you do it, lover?," she cried. "Aaaah, yessss, of course...you are disgusted. I am a whore and I disgust you. Well, fuck you Walter! FUCK YOU!!!"

I could see that her muscles spasmed around her probing fingers. She threw her head back and climaxed hard. It brought her down to her knees, breathing raggedly.

Then she collapsed on the table, sobbing. She mewled like a little kitten and once more banged the surface with her fist. I picked her up and took her to bed. I held her for a while until her breathing indicated that she slept. Then I went to the bar, poured a stiff drink and phoned the psychiatrist. It was late and weekend. But she had told us to call her anytime if necessary.

I thought it was.

That Monday afternoon found us in the office of doctor Agnes Bergstain. She is a woman in her fifties, not afraid to show the gray in her hair and the wrinkles around her eyes.

It had been hard to convince Belle to accompany me. Even now she did not look the doctor in the eyes. She seemed ashamed and that surprised me. We had always talked quite frankly and intimately with the psychiatrist in the past.

Agnes took a lot of time to reassure Belle. I doubted that she succeeded.

"Could you tell what happened, Belle?," the doctor asked.

"You already know," Belle answered. Her voice was flat and hostile.

"I'd love to hear it from you, Belle. Please?"

There was a silence.

Then Belle dashed her eyes in my direction.

"Stop this, Walter. There is no use."

She seemed to plead with me. But then she sat up straight. Her eyes turned to Agnes and her voice became a whine.

"Walter came and said I fucked around on him. And to prove him right I went out and fucked 24 hours in a row. I fucked and fucked a hundred men. In my cunt and my mouth and my ass. It is what I do. I am good! I am the best fucking cunt slut around!"

She slumped back and ended her outburst with a sob.

"But you know that," she continued with a very small voice. "You know. Walter knows. He told me, didn't he? He told me I cheated on him. Well...now he is right."

It took doctor Bergstain the rest of our meeting to reassure Belle that she was wrong. That no one accused her of anything. She also repeated over and over how important it was to keep coming to the sessions and talk. But the next meeting, on a Thursday, Belle refused to go. It was planned around four in the afternoon. When I came to pick her up at work, she had left. She had not felt well, her boss told me. I phoned home and got the teenage sitter. Belle wasn't there.

I went home to feed the children and help them to bed. Then all I could do was wait again. Her cell phone lay on the kitchen table. No way to reach her.

Around midnight she phoned. Her voice was slurred and behind her a party was going on. "Hi, lover," she purred. "There is a big fat black cock up my ass. And I just slipped my mouth of another, so you could understand me better." She chuckled.

"Don't wait up for me, lover," she continued after a short pause full of wet slurping noises.

The connection went. I sat staring as the beeps made their mocking little sounds in my ear.

Belle never came home that night. She also stayed away the next day and the days after.

The police brought her in after a week. I took her straight to the hospital.

*************

Belle recovered rather quickly. They found a few minor STD's that were easily cured. It would take a while to be sure that she wasn't HIV-positive.

After a week she was back home. But she wasn't Belle. She was quiet and subdued, even with the girls. She had taken leave from the agency. They had told her that she could take her time to get better. I phoned her boss to tell him how much we appreciated it. He said it was nothing.

Belle got nervous after a few days home. I tried to be around as much as I could. We went out a lot. We dined and saw shows, plays, movies. We ate with friends, everything to keep her mind distracted. But I had my work.

Two weeks after Belle had returned from hospital I had to go up to Canada to do a series of commercials. The shooting would be in Vancouver and would take a full week. I tried to find someone else to do it for me, but I knew that was silly. They were my ideas. I sold them myself and the client would not accept it if I sent someone else to supervise the shoot. Another option was to take Belle with me. My mother was willing to come over and be with the girls. Belle agreed reluctantly and we flew to Vancouver one day before the shooting started.

The directors, producers, actors and the entire crew would stay in the same hotel. I was glad we had this first night and day alone. But it did not work out the way I planned. At dinner Belle hardly ate anything. She would not drink at the bar, nor dance in the lounge where a wonderful jazz ensemble played some of our favourite music. We went up to our rooms early. Belle excused herself the moment we got there. She went to the bathroom and returned dressed in an ankle long cotton nightie. She slipped into bed and turned to sleep.

The next day we met with the people who would produce and shoot the commercials. Belle was like a changed person. She radiated charm and happiness, talking with everybody. I was glad, it took a heavy stone off my heart to see her retrieving everything I loved her for.

The shoot went smoothly. The evenings were wonderful. After wining and dining we turned in early as every day would have an early start. The second night was a surprise. I was already in bed when Belle came out of the bathroom in a very sexy sheer black nightie. She smiled seductively and went straight for my already hard cock. Her mouth is glorious and it took just a few minutes for me to blast into her throat. After that we made love twice. I think she came at least four times before it was evident that I would not rise to any occasion again. Hugging her we fell asleep. I knew the worst was over. I thought I knew.

Belle told me the next morning she would sleep in and stay at the hotel. Maybe she would do some sight seeing and shopping. I kissed her and went to look for breakfast and start another busy day.

When I returned that evening, Belle waited for me in the room. She was naked and very horny. We made wild love and skipped dinner in favour of room service.

The week went on like that, Belle staying back and being all hot and horny when I returned. I counted my blessings and congratulated myself for having found this splendid solution.

The last day we wrapped up early and instead of staying, I took a cab to the hotel. It was only 3 p.m. and I anticipated a long, long afternoon with my sweet born again lover.

Yes, I know what you think. And yes, of course you are right. I found out the moment I swiped the key card through the lock. Through the door came the voice of Belle. It was loud and high pitched. And it screamed: "Yesssss!! Yessss ooooh yesss...fuck me...FUCK ME HAAAARDD!!!"

She was on hands and knees in the middle of the bed. Her ass was filled with the black cock of a young, well-muscled guy. Her mouth closed around the hard meat of a guy who still wore his hotel uniform. A third guy stood by, pumping his cock and cheering his buddies.

It took them a while to see me enter. When they grabbed their belongings and ran off, I sagged down on the bed, next to Belle. She never spoke a word, but took the sheet and pulled it around her. Then she just sat there, knees pulled up, rocking slowly.

I watched her. She avoided me.

"I can't do it, Walter. I lost it," she said. Her voice was hoarse. There were no tears.

I saw that the door was still open. I walked over to close it. It gave me time to think, time to slow down my heart.

"Did you think of the girls, Belle?," I asked after returning.

Her eyes opened wide, they caught mine at last.

"No," she said, looking puzzled. "When I am like this, Walter, I can't think of anything but how hard I need to be fucked. I can't think of you or the girls or of anything we have. I am so sorry, Walter. It is who I am."

Only then her first tears appeared.

We flew back to New York early. I informed the producer that Belle did not feel well and I succeeded in changing the flights.

Belle disappeared the night after we returned. I have not seen her again. The last thing I got was a letter and a bulky envelope. It contained polaroids and digital pictures. It also contained an old fashioned videotape. I won't bother you with the obvious. The pictures showed Belle fucking men and women in all variations known to man. They had been taken over a long period of time. I saw dresses and underwear I remembered her buying years ago. Some of the men I knew. There were colleagues. One of them, yes, was the owner of the voice I heard on the toilet. Another was her boss. The one I thanked for giving her leave of work.

The videotape I had to watch at work. At home I only had dvd. It showed an hour of gangbanging. I counted at least ten guys waiting for their turn. At one moment Belle had herself plugged in all three holes while she was jerking off two guys with her hands. The tape ended with Belle lying on a slippery rubber mattress, covered with come. She was on her knees, her gaping ass high up, her tits crushed under her. White goo ran from both her holes and from her drooling mouth.

"Next...," she croaked.

I never read the letter. I never went looking for her. I never called the police. All I could do was tell the children that mommy loved them very much, but had to leave. I could not give them a reason, I did not want to tell the truth, nor did I want to lie to them. After a month they stopped asking.

Belle may well be dead by now.

In dark nights I hope she is. The alternatives are maybe even more horrible. Aren't they?