Behind the Screaming Headlines

"Hmm?" was all the response he gave as he nuzzled my neck.

"You have to dress and leave. The kids are coming back soon."

"No, I want more time with you."

"We can't, please. I'm married and we have kids, please don't make me hurt them even more," my whispers were beginning to turn into broken sobs.

"Alright, alright, hush," he reluctantly agreed in an effort to placate me.

He looked down between us where we were still joined intimately as he withdrew from me, smiling arrogantly as he noted our mixed cum glistening on his flaccid penis and flowing out of my battered pussy.

"Don't wipe us off," he demanded. "I want you to have some of our love in you for the rest of the day."

I bit back my instinctual retort that we were not in love and this was part of the deal he had struck with Patrick, whom I'd just betrayed because I'd enjoyed our fuck session. He kissed me and was gone. I found the remnants of my dress and bra which was ripped. For some reason, I never found the thong. I hurriedly cleaned up and changed my clothes before I tried to get Patrick out of the chair and into the study. In my abandoned enjoyment of the fuck session with Martin, I'd largely forgotten about my husband. Patrick was slumped in the chair, seemingly asleep. I kissed his cheek and tasted salt. As I looked in alarm at his emaciated features, I saw his swollen eyelids and felt how wet his collar was. It was only then that I realised my beloved husband had been crying all that time probably because he had heard the vocal proof of my betrayal. I collapsed in tears, my head upon his lap, mourning the state of my marriage and the irrefutable proof of my slutty self.

****

Things were tense and silent in the house during the weekend. When Patrick regained some semblance of consciousness, he was silent over what happened and I was so cowardly I took the chance to pretend nothing had gone wrong in the Friday session.

I'd scrubbed myself raw when I finally got into the shower. Somehow Patrick's silence made it all the more damning. My efforts at making it up to him in bed that night only frustrated me further. All attempts at getting him hard and giving him sexual release with my hands and mouth proved futile. His inability to be aroused by me only added to his humiliation and my despair. When tears fell on his thighs, Patrick's hands moved on my head, lightly caressing my hair before moving me away from his flaccid manhood.

"Nichola, it's not your fault. Stop, my love, stop."

The tears were coming fast and hard now.

"I-I'm so-o sorry," was all the response I could come up with.

"Shh..you were just doing what I asked you to, what would secure the future of our family. I'm just sorry I've got us into this situation, this damn illness is the culprit."

He was all choked up with emotions.

As my sobs subsided, Patrick recovered enough to continue.

"I only ask that I no longer be present during the sessions as-as you both take your pleasure."

He had averted his eyes from my stricken expression.

"Can you forgive the weakness of a husband who has so failed you and our marriage?"

"You've not failed me Patrick," the words rushed out of my mouth.

"The illness is not your fault."

Taking a deep breath, I confessed as one who has sinned against her saint, in this case, my husband.

"My body has betrayed me but my love for you remains. And will always remain. Please believe me, my love."

We simply looked at each other without speaking further. Further words were futile.

****

Martin sensed the tension when he turned up on Monday. Asking, as casually as he could under the circumstances, where Patrick was, he looked a little taken aback by my cold reply that Patrick wasn't well and wouldn't be at our sessions in the future.

When he sought to probe further, I simply cut him off crudely.

"Let's get on with the fuck session."

"Is that how you see it?"

His narrowed eyes warned me of his growing anger.

I stared him straight in the eye and answered, "Well, what else could it be?"

Truly angered by my reply and attitude, he wasted no time crushing my lips in a rough kiss while shoving me against the wall of the guest room.

He took me without care for my pleasure, tearing into me with his hard angry length and ignoring the involuntary cries of pain that came from my mouth.

He came quickly but continued pounding me against the wall as if he wanted to pound the defiance out of me. I was crying as much for the state of affairs I found myself in as the pain.

Suddenly he pulled out and carried me to the bed. Laying me down almost gently, he looked over me and wiped the tears away with his hand while caressing my face.

"God, I hate it when you shut yourself off from me like that. When you talk about what's between us like that."

He babbled like a hurt child.

"I know you don't want to hurt Patrick but don't shut me out, please." That hurt look and plaintive tone was back again.

I simply lay there not knowing what to think or feel.

He gently stripped me and sought to kiss away the red chaffed areas on my back which were right up against the wall and the soreness on my inner thighs. Dipping his fingers into my wet and sore slit, he used his cum like lotion to massage the bruised lips and clit, hoping to bring me some relief and pleasure.

"I'm sorry" he muttered over and over again. Curiously, the tears welling in his eyes had no effect on me.

I realised I had shut him out of my emotions and my heart. Where I'd seen him as a friend some months back, I now saw him as a predator. He may have my treacherous body which craved sexual release even if it were an enemy but he would never have my heart. As subtle as it was, his cruelty towards Patrick made me divorce my emotions, my mind and my heart from the reflexive responses of my body. Where I might have felt some guilt towards him earlier, Martin's callous attitude towards me and Patrick made me guilt free in my plan to avenge Patrick and our marriage.

I would give my body to him but deny him the final triumph of conquering my heart. I'd fake all emotions towards him and while he might sense it in time to come there would be little he could do and even less appear the victim in the public eye. No, I was going to bring him down in a way he couldn't imagine or retaliate and I'll be the one using his body for sexual release, he would be the tool. That brought the gentle smile to my face as I reached for Martin and reassured him that I was starting to feel for him and that he just had to give me time. The gleam of triumph in his eyes didn't go unnoticed by me but he had no idea why I was smiling.

****

Every time he fucked me, my hatred for Martin grew stronger. In a way, I needed it to. The hatred was what fueled me, kept me going no matter how hard it was. It was what made me whisper my plan to Patrick when he was asleep, trying to sooth his pain the only way I could without running the risk of Martin finding out. It was what made me go along with Martin's increasingly vulgar ideas for our fuck sessions. He was increasingly pushing the boundaries, trying to hurt Patrick in several ways. The last straw was his insistence that we fuck in the armchair that Patrick had sat in in our first 3 sessions.

"That or we fuck in your bed."

I refused and no matter his tantrums, I didn't budge but instead suggested we meet outside of my home to have more intimate time alone and where we could "explore". That mollified him and saved Patrick further humiliation. I knew it was a risk to take this affair outside but if it was the only way I could stop his devious schemes to hurt Patrick, I didn't have much of a choice.

I played his slut in various luxury hotel suites across the city. The staff at various luxury hotels bore witness to the strange sight of a celebrity in shades, wearing her trademark red lipstick and a long trench coat being whisked into elevators after entering the hotel from a discreet VIP entrance and emerging after a few hours in the same trench coat and whisked away in a Rolls Royce to destination unknown. Of course, they probably smiled to themselves, guessing that this slutty celebrity was stepping out on her poor clueless dying husband and tut-tutting over the state of my morals or lack of.

It didn't bother me as much as the wave of guilt that swamped me when I faced Patrick and the kids. Patrick was barely aware of what was going on around him with all the pain medication that was now administered intravenously. He was dying in the most painfully long manner in our bed. And there were times I almost wished he could just breathe his last and be rid of the pain, no matter how devastating that would have been for me and the kids.

I'd started keeping sets of clothes in the guest room wardrobe so I could scrub myself clean and be dressed properly before I returned from one of those fuck sessions with Martin. He treated me like a living fuck doll so I played up the slutty whore role for him, shedding my trench coat, beneath which I only had a sheer bra and stockings paired with a pair of slutty heels.

He was so turned on by that sight that he demanded I turn up for the rest of our sessions dressed like that. Throwing me on the bed and getting straight to eating me out , he never noticed the grimace of disgust that sometimes slipped out and crossed my face before I could stop it.

No, he was too busy trying to claim pussy victory to notice anything. He only seemed to notice my hard nipples and wet pussy. Or the whorish erotic sight of my Louboutins with their red soles flailing in the air as he fucked me hard on the bed and armchairs in the hotel suites. He never noticed that I didn't enjoy him coming on my face or tits when he was not trying to fill my pussy with his cum. He was so obsessed with branding me with his mouth, tool and cum that I felt like one of the racehorses being branded with the owner's insignia or mark.

He knew, of course that I was on the pill and couldn't possibly get pregnant. It didn't stop him trying to pump me full of his cum, hoping that he'd be the 1 percent who would beat the odds and impregnate me. I know that's what he was thinking as he stroked my belly after an intense fuck session that ended with him placing a pillow under my hips to keep his cum in me.

****

The day Patrick breathed his last, a part of me died too. It was a Sunday night and he'd been fading fast over the fortnight. Even Martin had enough decency to stay away except for quiet visits with groups of our friends.

In the last fortnight, John, Patrick's cousin and a dear family friend, had been unusually hostile to me and had confronted me after rumours about me and Martin started circulating. He had confronted me head on outside Patrick's bedroom. The condemnation in his eyes almost killed me but I couldn't protest without revealing Patrick's plan.

For some reason, Patrick sensed the tension despite the haze from the painkillers and had taken the effort to briefly explain the situation. John was the only other person privy to our arrangements and was thankfully able to help silence the cauldron of gossip and rumour that was boiling over. On hindsight, Patrick was his usual astute self, solving potential problems before I ever did.

The day we buried Patrick, another part of me died silently.

After barely hanging onto life through agonised gasps of breath, moments of lucid consciousness interspersed between long periods of fitful drugged sleep, Patrick seemed to improve slightly that Saturday evening. We'd called John when Patrick asked for him. To his credit, John dropped everything and appeared on our doorstep shortly. Patrick had a few minutes of quiet chat with John during which John nodded several times while I stepped aside to give them some privacy.

Patrick was exhausted when he finished the short chat with John and John had walked away with tears in his eyes but determination etched on his jaw. I hadn't known it but John had recorded that conversation as instructed by Patrick when they had discussed our deal with Martin earlier.

I cuddled with Patrick, perched awkwardly on the side of the bed. He slept somewhat better that night. He seemed slightly better the next morning and able to talk to the children for a short while. I recorded the touching moment on my mobile, feeling that it was perhaps one of the last times I'd ever see that. Patrick had another long period of drugged sleep and I'd dozed off in exhaustion when he woke up. When I finally stirred, his hand was feebly caressing my hair and my mobile was loosely in his other hand. He struggled to keep off the chains of drugged unconsciousness and spoke haltingly in a whisper, "Nichola...love you..live well my love."

He barely had time to hand me my phone before he slipped away. An hour later, he gasped his last breath and the heart monitor went into a flat beep. He never regained consciousness and left us.

The funeral was a quiet event and thankfully Martin had the decency to keep his distance from me and the family for a month after the funeral. John's quiet animosity towards Martin was hardly noticeable to others but was quite apparent to me. After the funeral and reading of the will, he took me aside and reassured me of his help should the need arise and he briefly referred to certain precautions and arrangements Patrick had made before his death. I was too numb to really take all of that in. It was only much later, after my marriage with Martin had disintegrated that I understood the true weight of what John referred to.

****

How it fell apart

I had woken up to the screaming tabloid headlines three days ago proclaiming the slut that I was for betraying Patrick. It was of course ironic that the person I'd betrayed Patrick with was the one making accusations and painting himself as a repentant sinner. I'd prepared myself somewhat for such a situation, having learnt what type of man Martin really was, knowledge that was confirmed by the years of intimate bullying that he subjected me to.

When he married me a year after Patrick had passed away, there were rumours of an affair while Patrick lay on his deathbed. They were quelled by Martin's stable of papers and team of expensive lawyers. However, the suspicion and "eyewitness" accounts that prompted those rumours never went away. John had kept quiet, I found out later, based on Patrick's instructions. It was a move that later proved advantageous since Martin never found out about the evidence and precautionary measures that Patrick took against his scheming friend.

The first three years of marriage were fine. In truth, I don't remember much of those years since I was preoccupied with taking care of my kids and growing my career.

Martin treated me like a queen in front of everyone and still regarded me as a favoured fuck toy behind closed doors. He loved parading me around at parties and events in sexy outfits with a proprietary arm around me, something that was clear in photos from that time. I guess I was lucky he didn't drape his hands or arms around my tits or pussy in public. When we were alone, he always demanded that I dress only in stockings and my heels, giving him easy access to my tits and pussy. He loved to fuck me roughly, bent over a desk or more often sprawled on the lounge or bed with my Louboutins waving crazily in the air while he pounded away between my legs. He was insatiable and increasingly indifferent to my pleasure. I merely saw these sessions as part of the routine of the job of being Martin's wife. While he had access to the body that more mature gents and young schoolboys across the UK fantasized about, he was completely shut out from my heart.

I would smile and play slut wife but my heart was full and closed. There was only room for my kids and Patrick.

There were times when I thought of Patrick as I went about the day and at times Martin seemed to sense that and was furious. This got worse as the years went by and my kids grew up. He was jealous of the time and love I spent on them. He even accused me of spending so much time and lavishing them with love such that he was neglected. David was a particular target of his ire. In fact, the first time he treated me with some violence was when we argued over David's accommodation. While David was going up to university, Martin suggested that he live in separate quarters. This was a suggestion I flatly refused. It was bad enough that he was to be away for much of the week in campus housing but to deprive him of family time even on the weekends, it was terrible.

This began a period where Martin's frustration and anger began showing itself. He would grip my arms so hard it left bruises and sometimes, when having sex, he would slap my breasts and grip my throat so hard that I ended up with red patches for a day or so. Things came to a head when we had a little argument over David in a restaurant and Martin, accustomed to getting his way, treated me violently in public.

Those photos of him gripping my throat and speaking nastily to me were taken by the staff and customers in the restaurant and made the headlines.

I decided I had enough and wasn't going to lie and protect the bastard. I'd put up with his perverse behaviour and increasingly perverted suggestions in relation to sex through the years. He made me do things I can't admit to in public just to show his control over me. Since my children were largely grown up and he had condemned himself by behaving in such a manner in public, I took the opportunity to ask for a divorce. Martin's reaction was predictably over the top, he accused me of betraying him and withholding love from him. And when public opinion was against him after the restaurant attack pictures went 'live', he decided to attack me. Hence, the engineered days of public shame aimed at lifestyle guru Nichola ran by his group of papers. I kept quiet through the furore and only sought to escape London.

There was some truth in all the lurid headlines and details revealed in the papers. After all, I had had those fuck sessions with Martin.

No one knew of Martin's arrangement with Patrick and I didn't want my husband's name to be affected by revelation of the truth. The biggest bit of truth that was concealed from everyone was which husband I had betrayed through the years. While most would think I'd betrayed Patrick, the truth was I'd betrayed Martin all the years I'd been married to him because Patrick never left my heart and all Martin had was the body he had purchased with his money and schemes. He never knew the real reason why he was never able to father a child on me: I'd discreetly gone for Nexplanon implants because I couldn't bear the idea of having his kids and therefore having that unbreakable bond with him that I have with Patrick.

I'm driving away to an uncertain future it seems, but at least I'm free at last.

Epilogue

In a living room somewhere in the UK

"Not again, that Nichola woman is in the papers again, love."

"I thought you liked her!"

"I liked her lifestyle and cookery programmes, not the scandal!"

~Sound of a snort ~

"Besides, you're the one who gapes at her, should I get you a bib darling before you drip all over the morning papers? They've got some racy description of her cheating behaviour with that newspaper tycoon. Ohh look, 'Nichola had secret rendezvous with second husband while first husband lay dying'. Nasty business that one."

~Sound of disgusted laugh~

"She likes doing it in only stockings and heels apparently. Ohh is that you fantasizing about her?"

"Shut up! It's just a morning thing. Besides, she's hot, a real MILF!"

"Ohh, they're talking about her on the telly."