Nighttime Confessions - Concluded

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"Marge," the school secretary informed her, "Frank would like to see you in his office."

Marge looked at her watch and saw that there was still ten minutes until the end of the class period as well as the end of the school day. "What the hell does he want?" she muttered to herself.

Marge was aware that her job performance was not up to her typical standards, but the worry and tension at home was taking it's toll. She had lost a bit of weight and had also lost the sunny disposition she possessed. She constantly worried that Don was going to give up on her and move out. She was trying to do her best to save her marriage. She had also given up on accepting invitations to the department's weekend parties and get-to-gethers. She knew that Don hated them. Walking into Frank Morello's office, she seated herself and asked, "What's up, Frank. It's the end of the day and I'm bushed."

"Well, Marge. It looks like we have a small problem that the two of us will have to solve," he smirked.

"What problem?" she asked worriedly.

Frank sat and looked at her. Finally, finally he had her. Finally he would get between those legs, feel those lips around his cock. It took awhile, but she was now his.

He reached into his desk drawer and removed some 4 x 6 photographs and tossed them on his desk. "Take a look, Marge," he invited. "It seems that your lover at the conference wasn't content to just bang you, he had a camera hidden and took some interesting photos."

He watched as Marge, now deathly white, saw herself naked in bed with Phil Grant. Naked and being royally screwed.

"How did you get these?" she whispered, trying to not throw up. She felt herself become faint and the room spun. She felt herself being shaken. Frank was standing over her, glaring

"Shit, suck it in, Marge. Don't faint on me. There is a simple answer to our problem." He turned and seated himself again.

"You ok now?" Frank barked. Marge nodded, now numb, her world in tatters.

"Ok, Marge. You know that if these pictures became public, your marriage would be over, your career kaput and your reputation ruined. You are truly between a rock and a hard place and you really don't have too many options." Frank told her almost casuall.y.

"As to how I acquired them, your lover Phil was "persuaded" to part with them. You didn't know that he had a hidden camera? Frank watched the shock and disbelief on Marge's face. "Nah, he wasn't going to do anything with them, they were going to be for his private amusement. Well, now I have them and I have all the copies. So what are we going to do, Marge?" Frank inquired softly.

Marge sat numbly, her spirit totally crushed. As sure as night followed day she knew what was about to happen and she had absolutely no control. What could she do? She knew that if Don saw those pictures, that that would be the tipping point. He would leave for certain and he would never come back. Frank was right, her marriage would be over, her career done with, everything lost. She looked at him lifelessly.

"What do you want, Frank?" she asked, although she already knew.

"I'm glad that you're being sensible. First get up and close and lock the door. Then come and stand in front of me, " he ordered.

Marge did as she was told.

Frank looked up at her and smiled. "Finally," he thought to himself. "Unbuckle and open my slacks, Marge. That's good, now unzip me and take out my cock. Now on your knees, Marge. You know what comes next."

Marge knew. She knelt before him and held his erect cock, now inches from her face. She slowly bent forward and took the head between her lips, trying not to gag. He grabbed her head and began to fuck her face. He slowly slid his cock in and out of her mouth. He watched, fascinated, as he viewed her lips being invaded by his phallus.

"Suck it, Marge. Use your tongue," he ordered. "Take it deeper, take it into your throat."

Marge felt it slide deeper into her mouth, felt the head enter her throat and again tried not to gag . She breathed through her nose and let him use her. She suddenly felt him tense and he withdrew from her until only the head of his cock was in her mouth. He held her face still and ejaculated, spurt after spurt. She felt the warm semen on her tongue, flowing back down her throat. She had no choice, she swallowed until he was through.

"Good girl, Marge," he panted. "You swallowed my whole load. I'm sure that you've had lots of practice," he chuckled. "Now use your tongue, clean me up and then tuck my dick back in my pants."

Marge again did what she was told. Frank told her to sit down again.

"Very good, Marge. I will mark on your report card that you play well with others," he laughed. "Now, I will expect you in my office every day at this time. Eventually I will probably tire of you and you can get back to screwing your hubby exclusively, but until that time you are going to be my whore. Do you understand me, Marge?" he asked slowly and ominously.

Marge nodded dully, rose and left. She drove home in a daze, her mind empty. She operated strictly on instinct, stopping at red lights, proceeding again on green, taking the correct route. She pulled the car into the garage and entered the house. It was quiet and still. The kids were not yet home nor was Don.

She sat at the kitchen table and stared out of the window over the sink. She couldn't bring herself to think about what just happened. It had all been almost surreal, almost an imagined nightmare. But she knew that it wasn't unreal, it had actually happened. She was in shock yet, unable to reason, to think of what to do, what actions to take.

Marge knew that she had no one to turn to, could go to no one for help. She was in a purgatory of her own making, she suddenly realized. There were, realistically, no options open to her. She saw no light at the end of this nightmarish tunnel. She rose slowly and listlessly and started dinner.

Don and the children knew that there was something wrong that evening. Marge was silent and withdrawn. Her face was vacant, she was obviously preoccupied. She didn't respond to questions until prodded and then answered with a brief word or two. It turned into a silent and tense dinner until Marge excused herself, telling the family that she didn't feel well and wanted to go to bed.

Don had observed Marge's behavior that evening with interest. Something had obviously happened that had upset his wife rather dramatically. His curiosity was aroused, but he couldn't figure out exactly what was happening, not yet. He waited until everyone was in bed before he went into the den and examined what the surveillance cameras had captured. He found nothing there. He decided that he would have to wait to see exactly what was bothering Marge so intensely.

The next morning had Marge calling in sick. She told the family that she was sure she would feel better as the day went by and not to worry. The kids went off to school and she saw Don off to work. There was, of course, was no goodby kiss.

Marge moped about racking her brain for a solution to the horror that had overtaken her. Eventually, her head now aching, she took a couple of aspirin and returned to bed for another couple of hours of sleep. She awoke after noon, took a quick shower and dressed in her comfortable lightweight sweats.

The doorbell rang soon after and she was shocked to discover Frank Morello standing there.

"Frank," she gasped. "What are you doing here? What do you want with me?" A feeling of dread pervaded her .

"Why Marge," replied Frank softly. "I was concerned when you called in sick today. Did you think that you could miss our daily appointments so easily? Now let me in, now." and with that he pushed his way into the foyer.

"Strip Marge," commanded Frank, leading her into the living room. "Strip now. I want everything off, now."

Marge saw no escape, she knew that he was in total control. Her life was held in thrall to Frank Morello.

She lowered her head and slowly disrobed, standing there in bra and panties. Frank moved behind her and unclasped her bra, allowing it to fall to the floor. He reached from behind her and grasped her breasts, fondling them, pulling on the nipples. He then reached down and slowly lowered her panties until they also fell to the floor. He reached down and ran his fingers along the top of her pubes.

"Open your legs, Marge," he whispered. "Open your thighs, let me feel your pussy."

She reluctantly did as he ordered, allowing him to run his finger along the crease of her vulva.

"You're dry, Marge," whispered Frank again. "I'm going to have a problem getting my dick in there. We're going to have to think of a way to allow my dick to slide in easily, won't we? Oh, I think that I have an idea, Marge. Get down on your knees, suck my cock, Marge. Get it good and wet. I want you to slobber over it."

He forced Marge to her knees and shoved his now exposed and erect cock in her face. She opened her mouth and took him inside. She allowed her saliva to coat his phallus until it dripped onto the floor.

"That's good, Marge. You really are a great cocksucker. Now, bend over the arm of the sofa. Bend over and open your legs, now," he hissed.

Again Marge did as ordered and soon felt the head of his cock spread her labia and force its way into her pussy. Even coated with her saliva, it was a difficult entry and she felt pain. She bit her lip to keep from crying out and allowed him to plunder her.

"Ohhhh, ohhhhh, you've got a great cunt, Marge," panted Frank. "Ohhhh, I'm gonna come........ ohhhhh, I'm coming, you slut, I'm coming............."

Marge felt his cock pulse, again and again, and she knew that he had ejaculated in her vagina. She felt a pang of revulsion, but kept a neutral expression. She didn't want to anger him.

"Clean me up, Marge. Clean my cock off. Lick me clean," Frank ordered her to take him in her mouth. She laved his now flacid cock and then let it drop from her lips. She moved like an automaton. She felt like a slave, unable to function without orders.

"You're a good slut, Marge. You get an A for this session, but I also have to give you an F for trying to skip our appointment. You do that again and I'll have to punish you. You understand that, Marge?" threatened Frank.

Marge nodded, unable to speak. Frank smiled at her and told her that he would let himself out. "See you in my office on Monday, Marge. Make sure that you're there."

Marge slowly collected her clothing and mounted the stairs to her bedroom. She threw her clothes into the hamper and moved into the shower where she attempted to scrub the humiliation from her body. After quite a while under the water, she dried herself, put on a robe and crawled into bed where she lay in a fetal position. She started to cry, softly at first and then with great, heaving sobs, feeling as if her heart would burst and wishing that it would.

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

Don was worried. He knew that something was going on with Marge and it was driving him crazy that he didn't know what that was. He made it through the morning and early afternoon before, feeling decidedly uneasy, he left early and headed for home.

Arriving home, Don found his children, Brad and Sarah, coming up the walk.

"Hi, Dad," yelled Brad. "Remind Mom that I'm staying over at Josh's house tonight........"

He was interrupted by Sarah, "I'm going to be at Heather's, Dad. Tell Mom, she may have forgotten."

"Ok, kids. Don't worry, I'll tell her. Have a good time. Just remember to check in tomorrow morning." Don called after them. Entering the house, Don noticed that it seemed very still. It seemed that no one was home, but Marge's car was still in the driveway. He mounted the stairs and looked into the bedroom where he discovered his wife lying still, fast asleep.

"Damn," he thought to himself. "Maybe she really is ill. I wonder if I should call the doctor. Well, for now I'll just let her sleep," he decided.

Almost by habit, Don went into his den and began to check to see if there was anything from the spy cameras. It didn't take long for him to see Frank Morello entering the living room with Marge and then watched as she disrobed. He sat dumbfounded, than gasped as he realized that he was holding his breath. Despite being convinced that she was cheating, the sudden proof that he was right was like a blow to his gut.

He suddenly realized that he was crying and he couldn't stop. Shaking his head he tried to stem his tears. He knew that he had finally achieved his goal, he had the proof that he had so desperately sought. So why didn't he feel elated, satisfied that he had achieved his objective? He didn't feel satisfaction or justification. He just felt an overwhelming sense of sadness and loss.

He saw that he had averted his gaze from the computer screen. He couldn't watch. He quickly downloaded everything to a disc and turned off the computer. Then he just sat, his mind awhirl, trying to calm himself, trying to make decisions, trying not to run out of the house screaming. He had what he needed, what he wanted. Didn't he? Didn't he want this? Didn't he want the proof of his wife's infidelity? Didn't this justify his belief that his wife was a slut, that she had been unfaithful to him more than once? Here was the proof that he wanted.

"Wanted?" he asked himself. "Is this what I wanted? Did I want the evidence that my wife was unfaithful? That she was and had been unfaithful to him countless times? Then why am I not happy that I finally have what I need?"

He finally heaved himself up from his chair. He knew what he had to do. He had no other option. While he recognized that he indeed did love her, he knew that it would be impossible to live with her. He knew that he had no trust in her and had lost all respect for her. This wasn't the woman he had married.

He again mounted the stairs, entered the bedroom and shook Marge awake. She struggled to sit up, groggy and a bit unsteady. Don waited until he thought she was fully cogent.

"Margaret," he began coldly. "I now have all of the evidence I need . I know all about your affair with Morello and I have proof." He watched her, seated on the edge of the bed, gray faced with no expression in her eyes.

"I want you to dress and pack as much of your belongings as you can. I want you out of here before nightfall. Divorce papers will be served as soon as possible. I suggest that you get an attorney. I intend to request custody of the kids, I don't think that it would be in your best interest to contest that - I would be forced to produce irrefutable evidence of your moral character."

Marge didn't reply. She just sat and stared ahead with a totally blank look on her face.

Don turned and walked out of the bedroom, down the stairs and out of the front door. He got into his car and started to drive. He had no idea where he was going, he just wanted to go until he could go no more. He drove mechanically, giving no thought to anything but the act of driving his vehicle. He refused to even begin to think about what had just happened. The betrayal, the humiliation, the loss, all were emotions that he just couldn't handle at ther moment.

He had no idea how long he had driven when, suddenly, he remembered that he had left the computer disc on his desk. He needed that. He quickly turned the car around and headed for home. He pulled into the driveway and saw that Marge's car was still there. He quickly walked into the house and into his den. Relieved, he saw the disc still lying where he had left it.

He also realized that the house was very quiet. He thought he could hear water running upstairs. Uneasy now, he climbed the stairs and followed the sound into the master bedroom and then bathroom.

Don recoiled in horror when he saw Marge lying in the bathtub, unconscious, the water running slowly. He saw the blood seeping from her slashed wrists, coloring the water pink. The tub stopper wasn't fully blocking the water, a small stream was escaping the tub.

Don quickly gathered his wits about him and turned the water off. He rummaged quickly in the medicine cabinet for surgical pads and gauze bandaging. He struggled to slow himself from rushing and fashioned compress bandages which he applied to Marge's wrists, attempting to stop or at least slow the bleeding. He pulled her into a seated position and then ran to the phone and called 911.

He thought to carry her from the tub, but was afraid to move her. He had no idea what additional damage she had inflicted on herself. He knelt by the side of the tub and held his wife upright. He was still in that position when the paramedics arrived, rushing up the stairs. They quickly moved him out of the way, checked on the bandages on her wrists and turned to him.

"Nice job," one remarked. "You took the exact necessary steps. We're going to be taking her to the hospital. You can follow in your car."

Don nodded that he understood and followed the gurney as they loaded Marge into the ambulance. He followed them to the hospital and was told, as he entered, that he could wait in the ER waiting room. Someone would be out to speak with him.

Don Prescott sat quietly, ignoring the noise and bustle about him. He now recalled his wife's pleading to him to believe her when she told him that she had not had affairs, that the incident at the conference was the first time she had ever been unfaithful. He recalled her tearful plea for his forgiveness.

He began a conversation with his maker. "Please God," he silently prayed. "Please, don't let her die. She is a good woman. I know that now in my heart. We have both been fools, but if you let her live we will find our way back to each other. I promise, I promise I'll be a better person." He sat, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Please, just don't let her die."

Don didn't know how long he sat. He began to think of what he had witnessed in his living room not that long ago. He began to remember that Marge had been acting strange during that interlude with Morello, not as a typical lover would act. Her motions seemed to be jerky, almost marionette like. He wanted to get back and view that again. A lurking suspicion had begun to take hold of him.

"Mr. Prescott?" a tall man in a white physician's coat strode toward him. Don nodded, now fearful, his heart in his throat.

"I'm Dr. Everett. It looks like your wife will be fine, she's lucky that you intervened in time. It probably saved her life. We're going to keep her for a couple of days. I also have to tell you that she will be seeing a psychiatrist. That's hospital policy. Also, the police may want to interview her, but I suspect that you won't have to worry about them. They're always reluctant to move ahead in cases such as this. She's asleep and resting comfortably now. I suggest that you go home and get some rest. It's my expert medical opinion that you look like hell."

"Thanks doctor, I'll take your advice, but could I have permission to come see her early tomorrow morning, before visiting hours." Don asked.

The doctor nodded and told him that he would give orders to allow him in. "Now get the hell home and get some sleep before I have to admit you also.

Don, now relieved, hurried to get home. He parked and almost ran into the house. He fired up his computer and sat down to view those scenes again.

"Shit," he murmured to himself as he viewed Morello using Marge. He, this time, listened to what Morello was saying to her. He quickly came to the conclusion that Marge was not a willing or eager participant. Morello was obviously using something with which to blackmail her. Don sat back, relieved. He knew what he would have to now do.

Very early the next morning found Don striding into Marge's hospital room. He saw that, thankfully, she had no roommate. He also saw that Marge seemed to be a shadow of herself. She looked up and saw him, tears coming to her eyes.