tagLoving WivesA New and Delicate Balance Ch. 06

A New and Delicate Balance Ch. 06


Why do nice women fall for bastards? Why do they betray their loving, devoted husbands to have their slutty, shortlived desires satisfied?

Why is it always the sweet, dedicated lover who bites the dust? The husband who quietly works his ass off for her. The patient friend who listens to her wishes, even the silly wishes, and tries to find ways to make her life better? The man who honestly tries to polish his obnoxious ways, giving up his bar brawls and bowling buddies. The man who even lets her tell him what to wear?

Why are we always ready to call him a softie for that, or even a wimp or a loser?

We always insist on being treated with care and love. We fill glossy magazines with it. We think up TV -shows about it. Then we turn around and throw ourselves at the mercy of an uncaring, callous bastard. We give him our mouth, our cunt and our ass. We beg him to take our dignity. We even gladly give him what we deny our husbands.

And then we beg for more.

Yes, I know. I married a bastard. Don't ask me why. It seemed the thing to do at the time. What did I know? He was good looking, wealthy, popular, wealthy, witty, smooth, wealthy...

Ah, well, you get the picture.

I should have been forewarned, even before we got married. I met him in high school, he was three years my senior. I was awed. He impressed me. He hypnotized me.

He went to study law at Harvard. So law was the thing for me. I struggled in his wake at a New York law school. I have never seen him fail a test. I had to redo most of them. As a matter of fact,: I have never seen him with a book. I was never without one.

After we married we went to work. I was still gasping to keep my head above water when he was admitted to the bar. I was still slaving through hopeless briefs and pro bono cases when he was made the youngest partner in his father's firm. By then he earned exactly three times as much as I did.

I admired him. He was brilliant. Problem was, it was almost impossible to admire him more than he admired himself. It was also impossible for him to admire others. Like me, for instance. He ridiculed my pro bono cases. He made fun of my trying to get things done for kids in bad neighbourhoods.

I lapped it all up. And purred.

Of course I saw in the end who he was. A bit late, I admit. But hey, even dumbo's have to start somewhere. Problem with this dumbo, though, was that she didn't stop admiring him. Doting on him might be a better word.

I was never a girl to have many friends. Especially after I became moonstruck over damn Phil. The few girlfriends I did have I had pushed away by then, a habit I had always found disgusting in other girls.

The only friend who did not accept being pushed away, was Irene Gallaghan. We went to kindergarten together, peed on potties together. She is all I am not. Tall, uncomplicated, clever. And beautiful.

I am pretty. Cute they say. The kind of pretty you come up with if someone forces you to tell something nice about a girl. They might even have to use force on you to see me at all.

But that's enough self-pity, Mary Eckstein. Get a grip on yourself. You know better than that.


I am not sure I want to talk about Irene. Phil is a bastard who fucked around on me even in our first year of marriage. I didn't know then, as I was rather blind at the period. It certainly wasn't because he was discreet about it.

I remember Irene hinting at it. She had been divorced at that time, only a year and a bit after marrying this sleaze ball Dean-somethingorother. Yes, we two girls had a great nose for perfect husbands.

She said she had seen Phil with a blonde. At the Plaza, no less. There hadn't been much space between him and her, in the lobby. And the aim of their mutual beeline was the elevators.

I lied to her that I knew about it and that it was nothing. I was dying inside. She never returned to the subject, though I am sure she had ample opportunity in the months after.

Irene. At the time I thought she cared about me. Even after she fell head over heels for this advertising guy Eric, she kept seeing me, listening to me, keeping me in her social orbit.

I tended to bury myself in work, by that time. You know, being buried excuses you from seeing things, like cheating husbands. The downside of it is that you have preciously few good times.

Did I like my work? Pro bono cases, good deeds in paupered neighborhoods? Well, I sure loved being appreciated, if even by teenaged mothers and desperate parents of juvenile delinquents.

Yes, I loved my work. Especially since the one thing I really loved wasn't available to me. I wanted a child. Now don't laugh. I wanted Phil's child. But it was not to be. The friendly doctor had had the good grace not to smile patronizingly when he told me I couldn't bear children.

I remember telling Phil, five years ago. "Well," he said, and he did smile,. "Life's a bitch. But there are compensations. Look at it this way, honey. You won't ever have to worry about getting pregnant anymore."

Did I tell you Phil is a bastard?

Did I tell you I loved him?


I believe Irene fucked Phil from the moment they met, years and years ago. She may deny that, but I don't care. I would also deny it if I were her. I would especially deny it if I had a husband like her Eric. Then again, if I had him I would not be as stupid a cunt as I am now. Or as she is, screwing around on him.

I believe she did fuck Phil a lot, maybe she still does. But I only know for sure she did it once. This summer at the villa. She and Eric often stayed as our guests for the weekends, when New York was too hot to live in. They were great weekends, even though Phil could not keep himself from flirting with Irene in the most blatant way.

I remember a small dinner party for my birthday, right after Irene had been divorced. Phil was laying it on, buttering his charms and lame attentions, when Irene apruptly rose and walked away from the table. I followed her to the ladies room. She said she suddenly didn't feel good. I called a taxi and she left for home.

It took a month until we started seeing each other again, apart from Phil. She never really told me what happened, but I guessed. I suppose she didn't think it wise to fuck my husband right under my eyes. And maybe Phil didn't understand.

You're right. I'm bitter. Shouldn't be, but I am.

That long weekend I am referring to was the absolute pinnacle of summer. It was sweltering. A merciless sun beat down from a cloudless sky and yet there was a lovely little sea breeze. Thursday night was lovely. I sat with Irene on the terrace sipping wine. She had arrived that afternoon and had found a way to take Friday off. Eric was still in the city, he would join us the next evening.

Even being almost sure that she fucked Phil, I loved her company. Then again, I had hardly a choice, had I? My world would be definitely empty without her. I had no choice but to rejoice. No alternative but to be happy and keep my mouth shut.

I hated to go to bed and end the evening. I felt unsure about what had to be done. But as I had told Irene that I must be in Harlem the next morning to sweat through a case of juvenile drug dealing, I could not stay up late.

So I left her on the terrace. I went into the dark house and watched her from the living room. I drank in her lovely body, more displayed than covered by the sexy new bikini. She had bought it while on vacation on Aruba with Eric. Her sweet silhouette was lined out against the glimmering surface of the pool. Her full moist lips kissed the rim of her glass.

There was the auburn cloud of hair. God, how I have always envied her for that.

I watched. Then I turned and went to see Phil.

"Slut," I whispered.


"Does it make you feel horny?"

"Oh God, yes..."

"Good. Are you wet now?"


"I told you not to touch yourself."

"I won't, Master."

"Good girl."


"Does it make you feel jealous?"


"Answer me."

"Yes, it does, Master."

"You can't be jealous, girl."

"I know, Master. I shall fight it."

"Good girl."

"Thank you, Master."

"Now go to sleep."

"Yes, Master."


The next morning was brilliant.

I tiptoed through the house, preparing. Irene was in a deep sleep when I checked on her. Good.

I had a very light breakfast. It would be unwise to stuff myself.

Phil had returned from taking care of my car. Then he took me to the hiding place. My eyes begged for mercy, but it only made him pull the catches tighter.

I knew how to breath high and shallow. I loved the way my ribcage was squeezed. It felt like the velvet fist of a giant. My lower arms were gathered in a leather sleeve and tied at my back. It made my modest tits jut out. The long nipples screamed for attention. I have long nipples, yes. And they're very sensitive.

Phil pushed me down until I was on my knees. He tied my legs to the hooks in the floor. I was going nowhere. Then he took the ball gag. He waited just the second that allowed me to thank him. He then popped the red rubber ball past my teeth and tied the leather straps at the back of my head.

He knelt in front of me, cupping my face in his big warm hands. He smiled. Then he sank lower and took a swollen nipple into his hot mouth. He sucked on it and almost pushed me over the edge.

The cruel teeth of the clamp sent blasts of white heat through my entire body. I groaned around the gag and felt a squirt of urine force its way out of my body.

I was ready.

Phil opened the small hatch. It gave me an unhindered view of the poolside, right down to where the chaise lounge lay.

He pulled hard on my nipples before he left.

I love him.


I had to wait for half an hour. At last the slut walked onto the terrace.

She hadn't bothered to put the bikini-top on. Her tanned tits swayed with her movements. I hated those tits. I hated her beautiful hair. I hated her carefree ways.

I hated her. But Master had told me to love her. I loved her.

She spread her towel on the chaise lounge. She bent from her waist doing so, exposing her high, well-trained ass in the almost nonexistent thong. Then she sank down on the lounge, right at the center of my view. She gathered her hair and tied it with a gold little scrunchy. She shook her head, making the ponytail dance.

Then she slowly started oiling her skin. It added a sexy golden glow to the lovely tan. It also made the sun lick her curves with sensuous highlights.

Irene. How I love to hate her.

She spread herself in the sun and seemed to fall asleep. After a few minutes a slow shadow crept from the left into my field of vision. It slowly engulfed her legs. A man stood over her now. He reached down and took a dormant nipple between his lips. He licked it and made it grow.

The sleeping girl moaned. Her eyes stayed closed. Her body arched as the man made his tongue travel down to her belly. She shivered when he closed his mouth over her cunt.

I saw her legs spread.

The man started talking to the slut. At first she seemed surprised. But then I saw how she ground her crotch against his probing fingers. She sighed., I couldn't hear, but I saw it. Her eyes were tightly shut, but her mouth opened to let out her approval.

Her toes clawed into the towel.

I was very wet by then. Oh God, how I ached to release my poor needs. But Master won't have it. So I won't.

Through a haze I saw the man fuck the slut with his tongue. I saw how she pushed back. I even heard her louder moans, now.

Then I saw her body spasm with a massive orgasm.

How I envied her. I envied them both, as they lay smiling afterwards. I envied her taking his wonderful cock in her mouth. Ah, but she was good. She swallowed all his sperm. Then she sucked him back into hardness as he ate her cunt.

He fucked her hard. She went crazy. Then he scooped up the sperm he left inside her and lubricated her slutty ass hole. She screamed when he entered her there.

I screamed with her.


Master fucked her for almost two hours. She became real wild and started anticipating his wishes. At last she drained him of all his energy and they lay gasping in the sun like landed fishes.

After a while he stood and walked into the house. He came up to liberate me from my shackles and bonds. My arms and legs were numb. They started to tingle all over when the blood returned.

I almost screamed when he released my nipples. I came very close to a forbidden orgasm.

Master offered me his spent cock. I licked it with relish, tasting the whore on it. Then he pissed on my face. At long last it made me come.

I thanked him. He went back to the slut, faking that he had just gone inside for refreshments. I quickly ran a shower and dressed. I sneaked out of the house and into his waiting car, hiding. I saw him kiss the whore. Then he joined me in the car and dropped me off at mine.

The poor slut never knew how or why it all happened. Or that I knew. I laughed secretly at the clumsy way she tried to mislead her husband, that evening. I almost felt sorry for them. Pretty sweet newlywed couple. He doesn't know a thing. She doesn't know that I know.

I watched the slut. I saw how amazed she was at the cool, suave way Phil handled it all. I saw how in his superior way he taught her his solution. Ah well, it can't have been difficult for her to learn so quickly, being the slut she is.

My heart went out to Eric, though. To his innocence. His wide-open trust. His stunning naivete. But then again, my heart wasn't mine to give, was it?

Sorry, Eric.

I know. I am an evil person. Maybe I am worse than my Master. I am a worm, he is an eagle. Eagles are cruel. But worms are spineless, slimy and treacherous creepers.

I betray easily. I lie and break trusts. I have been taught that all my life. I got hurt so much that I can't stand other people being happy. Or even,: other people not hurting. Life is a bitch, they say. And then you die. Not true. I am that bitch. And I won't allow you to die, Irene.


But then things started to fall apart.

About a month later Irene told me she was pregnant. She acted very happy, but I saw the strain. I congratulated her. I congratulated her while I died inside. Phil would have been proud of the way I pulled it off. I was all warm and sympathetic. A true friend. Asking the right questions, faking the right excitement.

And all the while my heart bled.

Phil had fucked a child into her. My barren womb howled with frustration. Tears tried to fight their way out against my determination to keep them in. The goddamn slut carried the child that should be mine. Mine! All my devotion, all my humiliation had been for nothing. He would take her and kick me out. He would take the proud, sexy slut and feed me to the swine.

When Irene left, I thought about killing myself. About sinking into the bathtub and slitting my wrists. About getting myself a million pills and dieing. About going into the attic and hanging myself from the goddamn hook the bastard used for our games.

That would teach him.

I did nothing like that. Of course not. I am a worm, Worms don't do heroic deeds. They slither into dark moist holes and think. Their slimy brains gobble up a problem and digest it. They suck on it patiently, until all the irritating edges have disappeared and all the problems are solved. Dissolved, rather.

Yes. I am a worm. You can hurt me and I won't scream. You can piss on me and I'll wallow in it. You can humiliate me, discard me, even cut me into pieces and I'll live on.

But you can't betray me. I am the one who betrays. You can't.

Phil couldn't. Masters don't. They lose their right. He set me free. I am a free worm, now. Maybe I can grow wings.

I went to the trophy case and did the unthinkable. I opened it and selected a little stack of pictures. Then I wrote a letter and made a harried phone call.

Eric didn't know what to do with me. The darling sweetheart. He only thought of his little slut. Put her on a pedestal, not even to peep under her skirts.

Yes, I can be funny if you love vinegar.

I could not keep my little secret away from him. So I told him and saw it hit home. I was great. I was hurt and devastated. And the wonderful thing was: I really was. Devastated I mean. All my hurt came out, all the pain and frustration.

I could have filled a bucket.

Ah well, the whore got what she had coming. I heard they split. I guess she'll try to lie her way out, but he won't fall for it. It is his second cheat in three years. Poor sucker. It'll teach him to become a decent bastard. It's all scales and balances, darling. See? A whore needs a bastard. It is the only way to keep her in check.

Ask my ex-Master. But be quick. I might kill him first.

Killer-worms. Ever met one?

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byangiquesophie© 35 comments/ 85135 views/ 14 favorites
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by Anonymous

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by Chief3Blanket02/28/18


And more ugh. I should have skipped this chapter.

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by EMiamiRiverRat06/27/17

It's only my opinion

I really enjoyed your creative word play but thought it a bit overly dramatic in places. That said, I look forward to reading the rest of your tales.

Like many fledgling writers attempting to developmore...

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by Anonymous06/21/17


You really are apathetic bitch, aren't you??!!!

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