A Rich Fetish

In the brief moment after her words before the screen went black, Sarah smiled knowingly. It wasn't a nice smile, certainly not the happy and loving smile I was used to seeing on her face.

I felt sick and despondent, lower than a gnat's belly. I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to eat again, but at least the riddle of why was answered. The video wasn't blackmail; it was insurance.

I looked at the remaining video cases resting on the entertainment unit, uncertain if I could stomach sitting through five more like the one I'd just viewed. I knew if I didn't get through them today, I'd never be able to put myself through it again.

"Band-aid, Mike," I said aloud, as if verbalising it would somehow give me more resolve than the mere thought alone. "Rip it off quickly and in one hit. It will hurt less in the long run."

Sighing at the wisdom of my own logic, I walked as if through mud to the DVD player. I removed the SJ video, replacing it with RG 18^th October 2005.

As I hit the play button, I decided I didn't need to watch every moment, I just needed to be familiar with the broader story. RG, it turned out, was the wealthy, much-married CEO Richard, and Richard liked taking it up the arse with a strap-on.

Next was HD 25^th October 2005. Sarah had clearly been busy in October. HD, or Harold, as Sarah called him was another pervert. He got off on Sarah leading him around on a leash, putting his cock in a cage, and paddling his arse, all of which might offend or horrify Harold's customers at any one of his four car yards, not to mention, his good Christian wife and six kids.

Each video ended with the now familiar warning from Sarah. It was clear, at least to me, that in preparation for our upcoming wedding, she was distancing herself from her past.

I paused before slotting in the first of the AK videos; the one from June 2006. According to Sarah's ledgers, AK was an ongoing client. Why? What made him different? Why three videos? Was she genuinely fond of him? Love him, maybe?

I knew the only way I'd get any answers to my questions was to slot the first of his videos in, and still I hesitated.

They can't be any worse than you've seen already, I told myself. Get it over and done with.

AK stood for Arty. He looked familiar. I paused the movie on the opening scene, on a close-up of Arty's face, studying it. Where had I seen him before? The answer eluded me until I pressed the play button and Arty turned. His profile gave him away. He was the guy from the Ferrari, the one driven by the blonde. The blonde, who it seemed, was Sarah in a wig.

The first video proved my theory on degrees of pain correct. Well, almost. Sexually, it was tamer, but I recognised the master bedroom from our first home. Sarah, god damn her traitorous heart, had fucked him in our bed. Doing that she might as well have disembowelled me with blunt instrument. How could she? How could she bring him into our home?

And, what was with the guy? He kept suckling—that was the only word for it—at Sarah's breasts and rubbing Sarah's belly, repeating over and over again about putting a baby in her belly. Had my kids not borne a strong resemblance to my side of the family, I'd have been rushing out for DNA tests. As it was, James was a miniature me, and the girls both looked like my sister had at their respective ages. Sarah hadn't gotten much of a look-in with our children's appearance. She was true to her Irish origins having almost black hair but with brown eyes, whereas the kids were blonde-haired and blue-eyed, and Arty was a bloody redhead.

I went to the bathroom and splashed some cold water on my face. I was procrastinating, and I knew it. Unable to delay any longer, I returned to the living room. DVD #2 was calling. I couldn't help noticing the date; August 2013. Sarah had been in the first trimester with Jenny. How could she fuck some scrawny old guy when she was making babies with me? How could she fuck him when she had our little girl in her belly and had not even quite finished weaning our little boy? And why the long break between movies?

So many questions, so few answers.

Shaking my head in frustration, I pressed play and braced myself for the next display of betrayal by my wife. What perversity would she perpetrate this time?

It was as sick as I expected. More suckling of Sarah's breasts, so much so they squirted when he pulled his lips off them. Fucking bitch, squandering milk meant for James on a sicko. Was that why she hadn't had enough milk for Jamie? Why she'd had to supplement?

The guy was nothing if not consistent. There was more cooing about babies. More fucking on our bed in our old house. She even let him have her arse, though with his needle dick she probably hardly felt him. The guy's obsession with pregnancy and breastfeeding was repulsive. The whole time he was poking Sarah, he caressed her belly, moaning about having to be careful of the baby.

Tired and sickened, I slotted in the third and final AK movie, expecting to see more of the same. I knew by the date it was another one taken while Sarah was pregnant. This time with Cindy; the latter stage. That meant we were in this house. I sent up a silent prayer she hadn't sullied our marriage bed here.

My prayers were answered... sort of. She hadn't fucked him in our bed but had in what had been at the time a guest room and was now Cindy's room. He did his usual suckling and belly stroking, all the while mewling about babies. Instead of fucking her, he sat astride her thighs while she was on her back on the bed. He rubbed his penis between Sarah's breasts and all over her swollen belly. It was probably his biggest hard-on out of all three videos. His pregnancy-cum-nursing mother fetish was clearly at a height when the woman was large with child.

His eyes alternated from Sarah laying beneath him and a photo of Sarah and me on the bedside table. I frowned; what was a photo of us doing in the guest room? I'd wondered about it at the time Sarah decorated the room, and I wondered about it even more now. Did Sarah get off on it somehow? Like she did with the SJ guy from the first video? Did it turn her on to fuck a man while looking me in the eye via a photo? I gagged.

When he neared his climax, he rose from his seated position on Sarah's legs, urgently thrusting his pencil dick back and forth in the tight tunnel of his fist. I thought he intended to come all over her belly and breasts, but with his first two spurts he aimed at the photo, covering it with his jism. I gagged at seeing his come sliding down the glass of the frame, pooling along the wooden rim. Fucking bastard. He'd pay for that.

I turned away, unable to watch him dump the rest on her torso.

I rose, needing to get the filth off my TV and out of the family room where I played and watched movies with my children. Just as I was about to hit stop and eject the movie, I saw Sarah glare at the door Arthur had just exited via, her face a mask of utter loathing, making her features ugly. She grabbed the frame, and with a look of revulsion to match my earlier one, she gently cleaned it with the corner of the sheet. Her face softened, making her look like my Sarah. She tilted her head, placing a soft kiss on the glass before hugging the frame to her breast. With a small sigh, she returned the frame to the bedside table, kissed her fingertips before pressing them briefly to the glass. I watched as she rose, heading directly for the camera. Her increasing proximity to the lens distorted her shape and then the screen went black.

Unlike all the previous movies Sarah didn't speak directly to the camera, making her threats of exposure. Why? Like so many other things I'd discovered, I had even more questions than when I'd started.

As I returned all six horror movies to the hidden closet, a certainty crystallised in my shocked head. I'd married an alien. Without all the evidence I now possessed, never in a million years would I have believed my wife capable of what the movies revealed.

*****

IN A TRANCELIKE STATE, I went to pick up the kids. Again, my sister invited us to dinner. While the kids played, in abbreviated whispers, I revealed all I now knew. It wasn't a pretty picture. Sure, I skimmed over the movies and hadn't studied the ledgers properly, but there really was only one possible conclusion; I'd married a highly intelligent, very talented actress, who, when I met her, was a hooker.

She'd started off charging a modest amount. Without knowing how long her sessions were, it was impossible to judge exactly how modest. She'd slowly increased her fees toward what she thought she was worth. I could only assume paying for sex was like buying art—it was all about what a person was willing to pay. Sarah looking like she did—picture Kate Beckinsale and you'll get a fair idea—and her willingness to indulge their kinks, and I guess you could say men were prepared to pay her a pretty penny for her services.

After we met, and I, for one, was falling madly in love, she'd slowly dropped her clients. Clients, who, I suspected, were all members of the city elite. They had to be in order to be able to afford to pay for someone like Sarah; a good-looking, discrete woman to indulge all their kinks.

Dropped them all? Unfortunately, no. Whoever AK was, he'd survived the cull. Judging by the gifts he was probably buying her, most likely because he was so generous. If she sold the Ferrari, diamond ring, and bullion, she was set for a good life.

Sis asked the question I'd been avoiding. What was I going to do about all this? Divorce for the blatant dishonesty and being a closet slut was my knee-jerk reflex. Rage at Sarah's betrayal, at her long and ongoing deception pushed other emotions out. They, I guess, would get a look-in later. In a way, I didn't want the intensity of my anger to lessen; feeling beyond furious was better than heartbroken.

Brainstorming current divorce laws with Sis, led to a sombre conclusion. Sarah would probably keep the hidden stash and have a huge nest egg in reserve. All the while, she'd be living in my house, have custody of my kids, and live off my alimony, while probably continuing to bone the scrawny old sugar daddy.

The possibility of being separated from my kids was too abhorrent to contemplate. I would have to think of a way of avoiding that. That became the one non-negotiable platform of my planned response. If that meant still living with the slut, then so be it.

It was Carrie who brought me back to earth. I was assuming I would have a say in my future. What if I didn't? What was Sarah's game plan? With her assets and, no doubt, contacts, would I have any say at all in my future? What was Sarah's plan? The last video of her with the old pregnancy fetish guy made me think at least part of her loved me. Was I part of her future, in a good way? Or was it as I suspected? Was there a loving Sarah and an evil one? Did my future rely on whichever one was dominant?

Again, Sis questioned my assumptions. What if it was Sarah who didn't have any resources? In modern society, didn't fortune favour those with the fortune? Come to think of it, hadn't it always been thus? Then, as now, the 21^st century golden rule; he who has the gold, makes the rules.

So, after dinner, I accepted my sister's kind offer to spend the night with me and the kids, to free me up to do what I had to do and help me read the ledgers more thoroughly. After the kids were asleep, we discussed something I'd thought of in the car on the way over. Did I need to ring her aunt in England to confirm Sarah never spent a week a year with her? In the end, we concluded, no. If my guess was right, then Sarah rang her aunt in the period between the end of her cruise and my loving wife returning home. Sarah stocked up on photos and convincing stories before coming home. Whether or not her aunt was in on her game was irrelevant. Sarah would be forewarned she was coming home to a shit fight and I wanted her caught unawares. I wanted her reeling, as off guard as my discovery had made me.

With that decision, Sis started reading. Goal? To make an intelligent guess on whether or not I was included in Sarah's future plans. Two hours later, Sis was up to 2008 and the safe was empty of gold, jewellery, including Sarah's rings, Ferrari title, and cash. They were in waterproof camping tubs, buried under the compost heap. I'd check in daylight to see if my camouflage efforts were convincing.

Now, I was the one with the resources. Hopefully, if push came to shove, they would counteract Sarah's advantages under the law. If it came to that, that is. My plans were still fluid.

I joined Sis, and between us, we finished scanning the ledgers. Conclusion? My reading of the situation was confirmed. Sarah had multiple clients up until our engagement and only the one since our wedding. Entries from the earlier periods allowed us to match some client initials to the movies. From her little speeches at the end of each vid, except for AK's last one, we knew Sarah anticipated trouble with dropping some clients. Quite clever, really, to record a session for the purpose of blackmailing them into going away gracefully and discouraging them from approaching her if they saw her out with her happy family.

I didn't recognise any of the venues from the first three discs. Perhaps, she hadn't wanted to reveal where she lived to those particular clients. On the other hand, all three movies of AK were in our home. Sarah was smart. I couldn't see her organising to meet him there regularly. Too much chance of a neighbour mentioning it to me, or me coming home unexpectedly. There was evidence from the third AK movie that the guy got off on humiliating me. I could imagine the pressure he put on Sarah to hold their sessions in my bed. How often had she given in to that pressure? We could only surmise that AK knew where she lived so there was no reason to conceal that. Furthermore, setting up a blackmail camera is so much easier in your own home.

Keeping only the one client, probably due to his generosity as there certainly wasn't any video evidence she loved him, and if the final video was any indication, was possibly repulsed by him, Sarah's secret life had continued until now. The longevity of her deceit and betrayal was staggering. She'd evolved to charging $1,500 a pop every Wednesday. Well, every Wednesday outside some school and family holidays. Or, presumably, when lover boy was away, or Sarah had her period. The latter would explain why there were only three sessions most months. Once a year, we guessed, she faked a week with her aunt and either stayed in his house or really did travel somewhere with him. Whichever the case, it was costing him twenty grand.

The ledgers faithfully recorded his payments. Special notes gave us the dates he gave her a large cash bonus of $100K in the month following Jamie's birth and the big ring just after Jenny was born. Then the Ferrari while she was pregnant with Cindy. Both valuations were noted carefully. They showed withdrawals from petty cash for lingerie. Suddenly the abbreviated noted I'd read against one withdrawal made sense. VS stood for Victoria Secret and Ling was short for lingerie. Whether Sarah invested in sexy underwear to keep her lover interested, or merely for herself, was impossible to tell. After all, they'd been fucking for more than a decade. After that length of time you have to think of ways to keep the sex vibrant. Every few pages had receipts from when Sarah converted cash into gold. Small amounts. Below the limit that might have raised the interests of anyone looking for clues on organised crime. I would have found her cleverness and planning impressive had it not been overshadowed by her skill at deception.

There were only a few entries we couldn't explain. The biggest of which was only last month. It was the debit for $20,000 which had followed almost immediately from AK's 20K payment, and simply had the initials HM in the comments column. Had she bought something? Was she being blackmailed? Nothing among the paperwork or ledgers explained the debit. Bizarre.

While I was trying to ponder this, I noticed Carrie scanning photos of the children on the wall of the family room, then glancing at me. When questioned, she raised the point I'd thought of once I'd viewed the first AK movie; namely, that of the paternity of my children. She even went to the sideboard and extracted an old family photo album of us as kids and spent ten minutes comparing colouring, facial and other features to us at similar ages and I was relieved she saw the same family resemblance I did. It was reassuring because I knew I couldn't trust that I wasn't just seeing what I wanted to see.

Suddenly, the significance of the morning after pills and Sarah tracking her cycle hit me. Thank god. Sarah seemed to be doing the right thing by our family, if only in that one respect. Still, accidents happen. I resolved, family resemblance or not, to commission some DNA and STD tests.

With our investigations stalled, we decided on a plan. Wait until Sarah came home and confront her. What else could we do? It was Thursday night and Sarah wasn't due back until Sunday night. I'd already planned to take Monday off. Sis agreed to look after the kids Sunday and get them off to school Monday. The rest was in the lap of the gods.

Before we went to bed, I showed Carrie some excerpts from one of the AK videos. Sis also thought the guy was vaguely familiar but couldn't put a name to him.

*****

WHAT I DID FOR the rest of the week is a blur now. Thank god for the kids and their routines. Thank god for their needs and constant questions. They were my anchor. Loving them made it hard to sustain my rage, for as much as my children were a part of me, they were also a part of Sarah. I missed my anger. Anger made things easier to bear.

I was distracted and increasingly nervous, yet resolute, about Sunday. The expected call on Saturday from Sarah saying she was back in phone range never came. After dropping the kids off on Sunday, I sat and mentally prepared for the confrontation to come. Details of my contingency plan became irrelevant—Sarah didn't show.

Nor on Monday. Not a word. Now, extremely pissed off, had a companion emotion; worry.

With no word and no better idea, I filed a Missing Persons report late on Monday afternoon. I stuck to Sarah's stated facts with no hint I knew of her other life. I could tell from their responses, they thought she was just another runaway wife. I literally got a; don't call us, we'll call you.

I was sure to conceal my worry from the kids; just made non-binding statements she'd been delayed. I took the rest of the week off.

Wednesday, I was roused from reverie by the screech of brakes in the drive. I looked out the window to see my sister running toward the front door, waving a newspaper. She calmed down enough to show me page five. The leader read, RECLUSIVE LOCAL MILLIONAIRE OPENS NEW BATTERED WOMEN'S SHELTER. The guts of the article went on to say he'd donated the funds for the shelter, but that information hardly penetrated my brain. I couldn't see past the photographs. Arthur Kindred. AK.

He looked about the same as in Sarah's most recent video, apart from being clothed, that is. His wife was dourly standing beside him. At a glance she appeared much younger than her husband, even with the sour expression on her face. She perpetuated the stereotype of the bored wealthy wife—coiffed and painted to within an inch of her life. Upon closer inspection the age gap wasn't so vast; she'd just slowed the aging process down with the aid of the scalpel and maybe an injection or two. She was a looker, or at least, had been in her youth. Now she looked like a faded rose trying to recapture the first bloom of youth.