The Call of Blood

She began. "There are pictures of me . . . with someone . . . someone not you."

"Pictures. You mean?" I let that float in the air. Amy nodded. I didn't move my hand. "You never told me there were pictures." She dropped her head. "That bastard," I stated firmly.

The big moment was at hand. We were through the enemy wire, moving toward their trenches. To the left, I could hear the chatter of a machine gun. In front of me waited destiny.

"Not him," Amy whispered. I slowly took my hand from head, not wanting to hear. "Oh God," she said.

"Not him?" The color had drained from my face. I swallowed hard. I tried to look at Amy, but my eyes hurt with the sight of her so I turned and faced the bathroom door.

"I was seeing someone else." Seeing? As in a couple of days ago? I am a good actor. Keep in character. Not so strong but still silent. I shook my head, indicating disbelief.

"I'm sorry," Amy said. She wasn't going to get off that easy. I stood and put my back against the bedroom wall where the shadows were strongest, where she could not see my face clearly.

"Amy. Amy. Amy," I repeated with the appropriate amount of acid and hurt in my voice. She rolled onto her stomach again, burying her face in the covers. I barked out the questions everyone has at moments like this, "Why? Why? Who was it? Who?"

She only cried harder. I dropped my mask of concern and dispassionately watched her. Thou shall reap what thou sows. My wife. My Amy. Head, shoulders, waist, nice ass, good legs, feet. A piece of meat. I left the bedroom.

I was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a single malt scotch - my second - when Amy came in. She gingerly sat opposite me. I could feel her look at me as I found solace in the amber liquid.

"You'll never forgive me," she said.

I snorted. "After you promised?"

Silence.

More silence.

"Do you want me to leave?" she asked.

I almost exploded. "No. I want you to tell me why. I want you tell me why you lied to me. I want you to tell me what I did wrong." Nice line readings. I was learning the key to acting is focus. As long as I maintained focus on something other than my lines, I could deliver the words naturally. I was locked into my scotch.

"You didn't do anything wrong." She paused. "I don't want to tell you." I glanced at her so she could see my look. A challenge. Tell me, bitch.

"I'm so ashamed." She put her head in her hands and began to cry again. I stood, as though frustrated by the display, and went to the sink. I ran the water, pressed my arms on the counter and, with my head down, ordered her to talk.

She gave me a half-assed, incomplete version of her affair with her hot, sexy stud. Not as often. Not as long in duration. Not really much of an affair at all, more a flirtation that grew out of a friendship that then became sexual. She told me his name only when I asked specifically for it. He's married. He and his wife had a miscarriage. He was depressed and she comforted him as a friend. She so badly wanted a baby - not with him, with me, she was quick to say - and that bonded them. It was wrong. Inappropriate - yes, she actually said it was inappropriate, like using the f word in front of a friend's little kids.

I could see Amy clearly in those minutes and the understanding swept through me that I knew her motivation for the affair better than she did. She was an actress. She wanted to act, needed to act. Managing an affair while keeping a happy marriage was, to her, an irresistible acting challenge. She was trying to act out a double life, as sex toy and faithful wife, as a great mistress and great wife. She would one day be the perfect mother and a slut on the side.

She was still acting, hoping against hope that she could pull off an Oscar-winning performance that would keep me. Had she never played out in her head the consequences of failure? She kept talking, now praising me and bemoaning how she had hurt me.

I ran the tap until the water was cold, then drank a tall glass. The taste of water at its best is refreshing as only water can be. We are made of water. It is life. My mouth felt clean. My teeth and gums tingled.

I could see it all. She loved me. She had fallen, like Adam and Eve, into a state of sin. Eve ate the apple but the knowledge contained in the apple ate Eve. I had no doubt that Amy had fallen step-by-step into the affair - from friendship and flirtation shaped by his need to run from grief and her unspoken fears about my willingness to start a family with her, and then to contact and then to more, and then to more. Until Amy was playing the role, acting the part, without ever realizing that the role had eaten her.

I smiled wearily, saddened by my understanding of her human frailty. "Yes my dear," I thought. "I am a man. My father's ghost speaks to me."

That is the state we are in, man and woman, Amy and me. Let the preachers deny it as they're found in bed with prostitutes. Let the priests hide behind the skirts of the church as they deny their lust for young boys. Look behind the image of almost any saint and you'll find the corruption that affects us all.

I saw Amy's frailty and felt a great kinship with her, not as husband and wife, not as lover to lover, but as people trapped in this endless cycle in which we have knowledge but lack wisdom, in which we have urges and the will to resist but not the strength to succeed.

Amy had done the best she could to paper over the crime.

"Why are you telling me this now," I asked.

"The pictures . . . I'm . . . " She couldn't go on.

I realized she'd started by mentioning the pictures but hadn't explained them. "What are these pictures?"

"Pictures of . . . me . . . doing it."

I was visibly angry. Pictures of my woman. That would make any man's blood boil. "Were you out of your mind?" I snapped. "What the fuck were you thinking?"

Amy was past cringing. This was the nightmare at the end of her dream rainbow. The role now controlled her. She was the acting puppet being danced around by larger forces.

She told me it was his idea. The pictures turned him on. I already knew that from their emails. My target was elsewhere.

"Is he threatening you? Is that what this is?" I grew indignant. She was trash but she was still my wife. "Is he threatening you with those pictures?"

Amy shook her head. She had no choice but to speak. I prepared for the inevitable, trying not to anticipate so I wouldn't blow my lines.

"I . . . I . . . I'm being black-mailed."

"By . . . ," I interrupted, the inference referring to him.

She shook her head again. "You won't believe this. I barely believe it." She stopped. "I thought it must be a joke." She gulped and steeled herself. "I received an email. It threatened me. Told me to go to a website. I did. It had pictures of me with my face . . . not clear. Pictures of me . . . you know. They told me to pay or else they'd tell everyone. They had addresses from my contacts list."

"It must have been him." We looked at each other.

"I thought so. At first." She paused. "His face is in the pictures. His wife will see them. Everyone we work with." She looked at me. "He almost had a heart attack when I told him. He kept saying his wife would divorce him, that he'd lose everything."

I snorted, indicating both displeasure and disgust.

Amy folded her hands. "All I could think of was that he'd emailed the pictures to someone else."

"You mean they were digital?" I was incredulous. Amy waved her hand yes. "You stupid . . ." I trailed off.

As Amy looked up, I looked away. I bit my lip. I focused on the taste of my lip. Focus.

"Don't you know . . . obviously you don't know," I said with special emphasis, "that digital files can be searched?" I clenched my fist so I could focus on that. "Your mail is on your servers. A good hacker who gets into your network can search for image files."

Silence. I waited, pondering the problem. "If it wasn't your boyfriend," I spit our that last word, "anyone could have picked up a password or cracked one. Maybe somebody left their laptop on. Or maybe somebody wrote down the password and lost the paper. I have to go to the bathroom."

I needed to get out of that room. I sensed I was losing control of my emotions and needed space to recover. And I had to pee. I let the liquid out, then washed my hands. When I returned to the kitchen, Amy was in the same spot, elbow on the table, holding her head with one hand.

"Not that it matters," I let those words sit between us. "If it was a hacker, they could have searched for image files and then narrowed in on your account. They didn't threaten him, did they?"

"No."

"Who knows. He sent the pictures to you, right? So they were also attached to his emails and they could have cracked his account."

"What am I going to do?" Amy half-asked, half-pleaded.

"You haven't told me what's going on." I kept our relationship out of my voice.

"They wanted $500 and said if I paid they'd take my pictures off their website."

"$500? You've got to be kidding. What is this website?"

"I'm ashamed to tell you."

I showed exasperation. "Let me see. Maybe I can figure out what's happening."

She told me the site's name and winced. I went to my computer and tried that name. I also Googled it. Nothing. I expected that since the link I'd sent her had a nonsense name.

"There's no site by that name," I yelled to her.

I could hear her chair scrape back. She came into the den, but stood two feet behind me. Having raised her hopes, I now crushed them.

"Did they give you a url or was there a link to click on?" I asked.

"A link."

"Probably some made up name. Can you get the email?"

Amy got her laptop from her briefcase, put it on her desk and logged into her work email account.

"Forward that email to me. No, that will probably turn the link into text. Let me see." I leaned over her desk. I opened a new email, addressed it to myself and then copied the threatening email with its link into that email. I sent it and went back to my desk.

The email arrived a minute later. I opened it and clicked the link. Amy was behind me. When the words Black Mailed Wives appeared on screen, I threw a glance over my shoulder and Amy moved involuntarily backward. I made a show of reading the text.

"Who the fuck are these assholes?" I wondered angrily out loud. A quick check of domain registries followed. "Irkutsk? Isn't that in fucking Siberia?" I turned around and looked directly at Amy. I was almost speechless. "Russians." I paused for dramatic effect. "Russians. These fuckers are probably Russian criminals. Oh hell, they could be anyone." A thought hit me.

"Did you pay them yet?"

"I paid them $500," Amy replied. Ah yes, that would have been blowjob evening.

"How?"

"I charged it on Visa. There's a credit card link."

I went through the site more thoroughly. "Your picture isn't here."

"They said they'd take it down if I paid."

I looked at her. Come on, tell me why you're confessing. Tell me. Don't make me force it out of you.

"This morning," Amy turned away, "they sent me . . . they threatened me again. If I don't pay them $10,000 by Monday, they'll send the pictures to everyone."

"My God. Is that true?" Amy nodded. She suddenly broke down.

"I've ruined everything. I can't believe this is happening. No, no, no." She plopped down on the floor, grabbed her knees and began rocking. "This isn't how I wanted my life to turn out."

I went to her. She threw her arms around my neck. I was going to fuck her senseless.

"I love you so much. What's wrong with me? God, God. No, please, no." She was inconsolable.

You reap what you sow, baby. Now you're going to reap some stiff dick. No pussy licking. I'm going to bang your cheating pussy and then jam my cock down your throat. I'm going to grease up your ass and stick my whole prick all the way up your hole with one big stroke.

I unwrapped her arms from me and stood up. Amy started rocking again, back and forth, back and forth. I got the lube and her vibrator from the bedroom and a large chef's knife from the kitchen. I wanted her to see the knife. I wanted her to fear me. I took off my shoes, socks and belt and went back into the den.

I knelt next to Amy holding the knife so she could see it. Then I pushed her onto her back. She didn't resist. I reached up her skirt and pulled at her pantyhose. I pulled hard so it hurt. Amy just lay on her back, passive. I cut a hole in the pantyhose. Then I quickly pulled off my pants and jumped roughly on top of her. I put my arms under her thighs and pushed her knees hard into her chest. I jammed my cock into her pussy and began to fuck her hard, without any preliminaries. I put all my weight onto her body. I forcibly straightened her legs and pushed them over her head until she was bent double.

"Take it, slut. Take it." I slammed my cock into her. I slapped her face and then shook it from side to side. "Tell me you're a slut."

Amy whimpered. "I'm a slut," she said quietly.

"Louder. I want the neighbors to hear you. Yell it. I'm a slut."

"I'm a slut," Amy said, louder this time.

"Yell it. I'm a slut. Say it." I was fucking her without any pretense of loving.

Amy closed her eyes. Her mouth opened and closed. Then she yelled, "I'm a slut. I'm a slut. I'm a slut."

"Now beg me to come in your mouth."

"Come in my mouth." I couldn't tell if she was excited or scared. I didn't care.

"Louder, slut. Say it like you want it."

Amy looked at me. Her eyes were full of emotion. "Come in my mouth," she screamed. "I want you to come in my mouth."

I put my nose to hers and glared into her eyes. "Good slut." I pumped her, lifting my whole body until only my hands, which were pressing her legs down, and my toes were on the ground, then I'd throw my whole body against her pussy, grinding hard against her. "You know what I'm going to do?" My nose still against hers. "You know what I'm going to do."

"No," Amy whispered.

"After I come in your mouth, you're going to suck my dick without stopping," I paused to pound her pussy. "And then I'm going to shove my cock all the way up your ass. And you know what you're going to do?"

She tried to shake her head.

"Tell me. You know what you're going to do?"

"No."

"You're going to say fuck my ass, fuck my ass. I'm going to slap your ass and every time you're going to say fuck my ass. No, you're going to yell it out as loud as possible."

I pulled out of Amy's pussy and released her legs. As her legs relaxed, I mounted her face, knees on either side of her head. I put my cock in her mouth. I put both hands behind her head, lifted it and started to stroke into her mouth. She gagged but didn't fight. I fucked her mouth. Just before I came, I pulled out and blew my sperm all over her face. I stuck my cock back in her mouth. She began to suck.

I reached for the vibrator and covered it in lube. Then I swiveled around, my cock still in Amy's mouth, flicked the vibrator on and stuck it in her asshole. It slid in. I listened to the whir and contemplated my choices. Doggy? Flat on her stomach? No, let's make the bitch work.

I picked up the knife and stood up. Amy's face was covered in my come. Her skirt was bunched around her thighs. Her blouse was a mess. "Stand up," I ordered. She struggled to her feet.

"Face me. Eyes open." I held the chef's knife high, point down, blade towards me, and slipped it under the top button of her blouse. I pulled down, popping each button. "Face the other way." She turned around. "Open your bra." It was a front fastener. She moved to take off her blouse. "Leave it on."

I stepped back and sat in my desk chair. "Lift the back of your skirt." She did. The vibrator was sticking out of her ass. "Now tuck your skirt into the waist band. Now back up toward me. Don't turn around."

I put the knife behind me on the desk and rubbed lube onto my cock. I grabbed Amy's waist with both hands. "Now what do you say?"

"Fuck my ass," she replied weakly.

"What do you say?"

"Fuck my ass," she said a little louder.

I pulled out the vibrator and turned it off. "Put your ass on my cock." Amy hesitated. "You heard me. Lower your slut ass on to my cock." I yanked down on her waist to make my meaning clear. "Reach behind and aim my cock." I propped her up with a firm grip so she'd be off balance as she lowered herself.

When my cockhead entered her ass, I slapped her ass. "What do you say, slut?"

"Fuck my ass."

"Not loud enough. Say it like a slut."

"Fuck my ass." As she yelled the words, I not only moved my hand so she'd fall backward, but actively pulled her down. Amy yelped. But her ass was all the way down on my lap.

I had an inspiration. I turned the chair so I could reach my keyboard. With Amy impaled on my cock, I opened my music folder and selected a favorite playlist.

As the music started, I said, "Okay, baby. Give me a buttfucking lap dance." I slapped her ass for emphasis. "What do you say when I slap your ass?"

"Fuck my ass."

"That's right. Now dance for me." She started to wiggle a little. "Not nearly good enough." I stopped the music. I pulled her blouse over her head and then held it over her face. I put my mouth to her ear. "Dance for me like I'm the sultan and you're my concubine." I started the music.

Amy began to move. She undulated her hips from side to side. I slapped her ass.

"Fuck my ass," she cried.

"Move it slut."

She rocked forward and back.

"Bigger strokes. Fuck my cock while you dance."

Amy spread her legs to either side and began to lift and drop her butt. "More," I said. "I want full strokes."

She lifted higher with the next few strokes. Then she started to twist and turn. I slapped her ass.

"Fuck my ass." She almost yelled it that time.

Her hands on her knees for support, Amy worked her ass up and down my cock. She threw her whole body into it. I reached around her and squeezed her tit hard.

"Say thank you when I do that."

"Thank you." I squeezed again. "Thank you."

I slapped her ass.

"Fuck my ass." This time she yelled it out.

I squeezed her tit. "Thank you."

The best part was that I was nowhere near coming. I was rock hard and in full command. The next song started. "Dance, slut, dance."

Amy rocked and swayed. She leaned forward and slapped her ass down on my cock. Then she held it halfway in and squeezed as she quickly lowered and raised herself. I squeezed her tit.

"Thank you." An orgasm shook her body.

I grabbed her other tit and said "Both tits you say I'm a slut."

"I'm a slut."

I slapped her ass.

"Fuck my ass."

I grabbed her tit.

"Thank you."

I grabed both tits.

"I'm a slut."

I slapped her ass.

"Fuck my ass."

I'm a slut. Thank you. Fuck my ass. Such eloquent language. After 20 minutes, Amy was worn down. I pulled her butt onto me.

"Do you love me?" I asked.

"Yes. God, yes."

I squeezed her tit.

"Thank you."

I squeezed both tits.

She hesitated, then "I'm a slut."

I squeezed both tits again.

"I'm a slut. Please forgive me."

I lifted her feet in the air and turned the chair toward the desk. I could see us reflected in the monitor. I tilted her forward and rose to standing, my cock still wedged in her ass.

I pushed her head down on the desk and held it there. I fucked her, slowly at first and then faster. I slapped her ass.

"Fuck my ass," she moaned.

"Louder." I slapped her again and again.

"Fuck my ass. Fuck my ass. Fuck my ass." Amy was screaming now.

"You know what I'm going to do." I hammered into her. Speaking sweetly, I repeated, "You know what I'm going to do."

"No," Amy whispered.

"I'm going to divorce your slut ass. That's what I'm going to do." Amy started to cry and I pumped her. "I'm going to come in your ass and divorce you." I slapped her ass. Amy cried. "What do you say?" I slapped her ass again. "What do you say?"