Second Wife Ch. 06

She shuddered in orgasm despite herself, and that was my cue. I mercilessly fucked her ass, reamed her, unconscionably used her tight butt for my bestial pleasure. She didn't like it. She didn't enjoy it. But she came her brains out. I pumped a powerful load up her butt, then without a further word I pulled free and left her, face down on the bed, my sperm leaking out of her not-quite-so-tight ass, and went upstairs to bed.

And yes, she was crying when I left, big juicy tears of self-pity, self-loathing, or just plain misery. But the journal entry for that night read like this:

Bill and I just had the most amazing sex ever. Better than our honeymoon. He came to my room and woke me up in the middle of the night and then he used me, used every hole, until he came while sodomizing me. He started fucking my face while I was sitting on the toilet, then he ate me out, then he fucked me hard before he put it in my ass. The entire time he berated me, called me names, made me feel ashamed, made me feel used.

I loved it.

I can't admit that to him, but it was the kind of thing I secretly craved since we were married but couldn't bring myself to admit. I felt so dirty, so humiliated, so used . . . and so unbelievably aroused. What is wrong with me? What makes a woman develop a need like that? I came harder with him fucking my ass and insulting me than I ever did making sweet, tender love with him. That can't be normal. I know it's not normal, and it scares me that I have that . . . unrepentant slut somewhere deep down in me. I'm about to be somebody's mother!

Sure, I felt humiliated. He insulted my character. He told me that all I was good for was sucking his cock. He said my pussy had gotten huge and ugly. He forced me to reveal my first same-sex experience. He made me call myself a slut and a whore while he fucked me. He did everything but rub dogshit into my face -- and I loved every second of it. I'm such a fucked-up person. And when he pushed his dick into my butt, it was as if the physical pain of entry was hooked directly into my brain. It hurt, but it felt so good -- who knew anal sex could be so fantastic? It wasn't even the sensation of the heat and friction, or the stimulation of my clit that did it, just the utter humiliation of being forced to give him my ass. Nay, beg for him to take my ass.

And then there was the promise. He made me promise that I'd try to think up something original and creative, in return for him licking my pussy. He gave me few guidelines, merely suggested that it had better be good and original or . . . well, now I'm wracking my brain for something creative. In the old days I'd just buy some new lingerie and let him spend a few minutes looking at me in it before we got busy, but I know for a fact that that won't cut it this time. Bill has upped the ante to the point where even a schoolgirl outfit is passé. I don't know where he's found these reserves of perversion, but I have to admit that I apparently didn't know my husband as well as I thought I did. Or myself, for that matter.

All I know is that I spent most of last night masturbating after he had made me cum and fucked my ass. Masturbating and crying. It was that good. And now I've got to really impress him. How the hell am I supposed to do that?

There was a little more, mostly about her conflicted feelings about her baby and assorted self-pity, but that was the good part. And I honestly was looking forward to Friday. Just what could my horny, desperate whore of a wife dream up? That would be an important test. Maybe it would make up for my birthday -- ordinarily, Mary and I gave each other one unfettered wish for our birthdays as a special indulgence, but this year had been a little odd on my birthday in early January, what with my marriage shattering and all.

That reminded me that Mary's birthday was coming up, and I played out all sorts of bizarre fantasies in my head about that. Should I honor our long-standing custom, even though we were technically split? Should I indulge her one last time, out of nostalgia? Was there a way I could turn it around and make it work for me? I would have to think about it, but it did raise some interesting possibilities.

And then there were my other dates. Susan didn't have anything set up for Friday night, luckily, but I had made a date -- on my own -- with an attractive colleague from a competing firm across town, a tall and striking redhead named Dana Adams. We had flirted good-naturedly at last-year's continuing education seminar, and she had lamented the fact I was married during collegial drinks afterwards. While I had considered the possibility that she was just kissing my ass in the name of networking, I had called her on a whim when I came across her business card a few weeks before, and she had pounced pretty eagerly when I mentioned I was splitting with my wife. She actually had proposed a lunch meeting, ostensibly to talk shop and exchange gossip, when I converted it to dinner and drinks at Ledbetters.

We were on for Thursday, and while I didn't have the anticipation of getting laid the way I did with Susan's "sure things", it would be a good opportunity to dust off my good dating behavior. And it would drive Mary crazy. She hated it when I got around my colleagues and spent the evening talking shop, leaving her bored and alone. She was also highly aware of the fact that some of my female colleagues not only had fine accountant's minds but tits, pussies, and overly liberal views on marriage vows. Before the split it was more her insecurity speaking than any real threat on my fidelity -- I wouldn't have strayed if they'd stripped naked during the keynote speech -- but now I was off the chain and had something to prove.

And that would be a problem for Mary. She knows how much I respect brains and how much I enjoy pussy -- and putting them both in one shapely package was a threat that she would find challenging to counter.

She was trying, though. She was putting out like a submissive little whore, and was getting off on the humiliation enough that it got me off. I'm not a natural sadist, usually -- before my marriage broke up I was always sweet and considerate and loving in the sack. But Mary had aroused a previously hidden side to my sexual subconscious that enjoyed the control and the humiliation I heaped upon her in ways that old Bill never would have dreamt of. I was a different man than the one who had married her. And she was a different woman, now, too.

I wondered just how much longer she could go before she cracked. Or if she would go the distance. I was hesitant to think of the repercussions either way, more out of concern for my own mental health than hers. But from the whorish way she put out in the middle of the night, she was clearly committed to this course of action, at least for the moment.

That suited me just fine. But maybe I could up the ante . . . really put her to the test. A lot would depend upon just what she came up with for my "birthday".