Biggest Risk of My Life Ch. 08-1

Ch.08-1 Alternative ending

Did you ever make a flippant remark or retort... and then regret it later? Well, sometimes I have been guilty of that with my writing. When I was getting badgered by a few friends after I let them see my first ending, (They wanted an ending of a different direction) I mentally rebelled from their attempts to coerce my thinking by intentionally heading off at a tangent. Almost as if to spite them. Perhaps I went too far.

If this story was being handled by my publisher, he would have figuratively sunk his size 12 boot into my backside and in his pure dulcet tones announce, "That last chapter doesn't fit the tone and context of the previous 7 chapters. What the fuck were you thinking, ya dickhead!"

After a mere 10 rounds of MMA where we "discussed" his point of view, we would have taken our bruised, battered and bloodied bodies back to a Bar where we would have finally come to some type of agreement, inspired by James Beam, at around 2 o'clock in the morning.

As this was not a "paid for" short story, his mercenary guidance was missing. Plus, I began receiving emails from readers that expressed "disappointment" in the last chapter. It wasn't what they expected.

If they had stated their reasons as being it was too crude, too violent, too cruel or too much non-consensual sex, I would probably have just shrugged them off. But "disappointment" mmm now that struck home. Of course their "scoring" also reflects what they thought.

So, here I am, writing an alternate ending. You may or may not enjoy it but it will be, at least, different to the original post of chapter 8. Let me know what you think, either by comments, email or scoring.

Happy reading.

LS

...

Steve continues

I had phoned and left a message on our home landline, informing Christina of my arrival time. Now I was driving home, to a future that was uncertain.

Towards the end of my exploits earlier in the day I had had a sudden epiphany of sorts. I could see with a clarity that was unexpected, exactly what I was doing to and with my wonderful wife.

How she was changing before my very eyes; letting herself respond to the things I was doing to her. While, I had to admit, I was enjoying myself and her descent into a type of depravity she had never exhibited before, a wave of guilt struck me. What was I doing? Was this really to help my wife open up her reserved nature? Or was I simply doing this to "get my rocks off"? The inappropriateness of my actions whacked me over the head like a piece of 4 x 2 timber.

In a response to my wave of guilt, I had quickly extracted myself from the situation. I had driven away almost aimlessly before realising that my lack of concentration to the road was putting myself and other motorists in a dangerous position. I had pulled off into a shopping mall while I gave myself time to reflect.

The remainder of the afternoon had been spent sitting in a Café, sipping at the hot Beveridge while I was lost in a sea of thought. Perhaps, I surmised, caffeine was now my drug of choice that provided answers to the problems that I could see were now surfacing. Who knew?

My beautiful wife had finally and completely given in to the fiery lusts that I had sensed dwelled beneath her protective airs. I was left in total awe of her physical reactions to what I had put her through. The exposure of those sensual, erotic lusts plus the exposure of her fantastic, gorgeous body, should have left me with a triumphant air. A "shit kicking" grin should be plastered across my face as I basked in the joy of success.

So, why was I not actually joyful? Why wasn't I practically dancing a jig at the level of my success?

The answer was simple: because it was not ME she had opened up to. It was to her MASTER that she had pledged her loyalty plus her lust boosted love and obedience.

I, Steve Ross, her husband, was no closer to uncovering the "real" Christina than I had been 6 months or 12 months ago. She viewed both me and her master as two different entities. Now, in her mind, she was having an affair... but not by her choice. That affair provided her an outlet for all the "dirty, kinky" things she was now doing because she was being "made" to do them. It wasn't really her fault. She could simply "go with the flow" and avoid the responsibility of making conscious decisions because it was all out of her control.

She was cheating on me... with me! Without realising it. In essence, my wife had left me for my alter ego; her mystery Master.

"Fuck!" I exclaimed out loud and then had to wave off the attention of a waitress/server as looks of distain were sent in my direction.

The only thing she couldn't really justify was the secrecy; the keeping it all to herself without telling me, her husband. A pure example of a breakdown in our level of communication. Perhaps it was her shame at her actions. Or, perhaps it was fear that if she revealed herself to me, her husband, I may have been disgusted, horrified or whatever. If blame had to be attributed, I would have my fair share for not having opened up more of myself to her through-out our marriage. If she knew of my background... who knows what would have happened to our sex life. Maybe we wouldn't have got married in the first place.

That thought was depressing in itself. If this self-examination achieved nothing else, I finally decided, it had verified that I love my wife. ALL aspects of her. Her quirkiness, her personality; the way she smiled at me. Her genuine loving nature, even if she still hung desperately on to the indoctrinated beliefs of her family's religion regarding sex.

It was all my fault. I had allowed this to escalate to the situation we were now in that had resulted in Christine developing a strong, submissive relationship with this new person, her Master. No, not allowed, I had to admit. I had specifically engineered the situation from a selfish perspective, without completely thinking through the possible ramifications.

Now... what was I going to do about it? The $64,000 question, or whatever that old quiz show offered.

There was really only one way forward if we were to survive: I would have to tell her the truth. About everything. About me, about the games I've been playing with her. About who her "master" really was. And... I would have to do it in a way that would allow both of us to retain respect for each other.

They say that love is blind... and forgiving. Well, I was about to put all that to the test.

How would I do this, I had to ask myself. "Softly, softly; catchee monkey", flittered briefly into my head from some half-forgotten saying.

Well, I decided, it will be extremely difficult, so I will have to pick the right times to deliver certain information. I couldn't just dump all this on Christina and expect her to take it all in. Now, the concept of "little steps" had an entirely different application.

With a new resolve but no initial clear plan to implement change, I had finally disconnected from my intravenous caffeine fix and headed off home. One thing was certain: there would be no more visits from the "Master".

As I pulled into our garage, I wondered which Christina I would meet. The same old, same old... or a new, modified version. It didn't take long to find out.

...

Christina

"Hi there sweetheart," I announced as Steve entered the apartment.

I had rushed down to the entry from our garage, from our bedroom, as soon as I heard the noise of the doors opening. I moved into his arms and gave him a big welcoming kiss on the lips and a big hug. This was my man, my hero, returning from the front lines, the salt mines, or whatever analogy works for the returning principal wage earner after a hard day.

I was still on cloud nine from my experiences earlier. My body felt alive. Very sore in delicate places but it was the fulfilling soreness of the aftermath of extreme activity. Like the feeling a person gets when relaxing after a hard gym workout. Or a tough Basketball game.

When I had finally managed to soak my poor abused body into a hot bath, filled with lovely smelling salts and soothing crystals, things began to feel all ok. I could relax and think things through. Everything was right in my little world. My Master loved me: I was certain. A very, very strange way of showing it, I had to admit. But WOW.

The things he did to me. I could feel myself beginning to blush as I allowed myself the faintest glimpse of the memory. Why did it affect me so much, so quickly, even right now as I hug greeted my loving husband?

It seemed that, the moment I willingly acknowledged something about myself, it all became so clear. The answers were in front of me. I was a slut. A brazen hussy, like my father had called those "fallen" women he so often railed against.

My fear that I would be a slut for everyone was not borne out. My Master had explained it: I was just a slut for HIM and him only. It could all be kept private and no one else needed to know. All those wicked thoughts I had fought so hard to repress during my teenage years. It was ok to have them. Ok to even act on them. Only with my Master, of course.

I was so happy my joy was overflowing and I couldn't stop smiling.

After my long bath I had tidied the bedroom and put away those sex toys. Master would need to know where I had placed them, I suppose. In case he wanted to use them again on me. No... WHEN he used them again. He was sure to do so now on a regular basis, I hoped. Yes, I had admitted it. I hoped he planned to use them regularly. Just not too soon as I needed a few days to recover first.

What if my husband wanted to do things to me before then, in his vanilla way? Well, I would just have to put him off like I normally do, I decided. He seemed to understand and had accepted my sexual rationing. After all, I had to hide the slut from him.

I stepped back from the loving embrace. My wonderful Steve just looked at me a bit shocked and confused, trying to read my expressions. I gave him my best smile and headed into the kitchen. The nice meal I had prepared should just about be ready and I was starving. What a way to work up an appetite, I realised, continuing my smile as I began dishing up the meal.

...

Steve

WTF! I had expected a range of possible scenarios when I returned but not this. Crying and sobbing featured high on the list. Perhaps hate filled rage or even a casual indifference. Any number of things between. But this?

My beautiful wife greeted me at the door with a kiss and a wonderful hug. I'm almost ashamed to admit it but she is NEVER proactive regarding intimate moments. I have never received a greeting like this from her before. It was wonderful.

She stood before me dressed in her normal long dress. Nothing different there. But she had a beautiful smile and her eyes shone. She was beaming with happiness. Full of a joie de vivre I have seldom seen, if ever. The epitome of "bright eyed and busy tailed", applied to humans. Her kiss and tight hug were both unexpected and wonderful.

I was speechless. I just didn't know what to say or think so, luckily, I said nothing. Really, would you question your wife if she greeted you like that? Like a good horn-dog, I wanted more but I was also extremely curious.

Was this all a front? A way of hiding what had happened to her? Did she really mean it or was she a better actress than I gave her credit for? So many questions and no answers. I decided to let things unravel naturally and perhaps some answers might reveal themselves.

As I was following Christina into the kitchen I had a sudden possible insight. Were her current actions a response to what her Master had done? Did HE provoke her happiness?

My own enjoyment level took a sudden dive as I pondered the possibilities. Was she bouncing for joy because of what her Master had instigated? Damn. Did this mean she was lost to me, her husband?

It was with a more sombre attitude that I enjoyed the nice meal Christina had prepared. In fact, it was very nice. Just tempered by my realisation that it wasn't ME who had been the catalyst for her joy. It was that fucking Master of hers. How could I be jealous of... myself?

What a fucking mess I had created.

After dinner we had an early night. Well, we had both definitely had a tiring day, I grinned to myself. She wore her normal nightgown. Something an LDS church would endorse, I had surmised. I didn't get to see her naked body as she had changed, as per normal, in the bathroom. I did wonder if the marks I had left on the canvass of her sweet body had faded. Looks like I'll never know.

Just to test the waters, I ran my hands on to her body and received the standard response of "I'm tired, sweetheart." Not that I could have done anything anyway. I was sexually drained from my earlier excursions and nowhere near mentally in to it.

However, rather surprisingly, I did get a loving kiss as she dismissed my advances before she added, "Good night, sweetheart. I love you." Something also new.

Surprisingly, sleep was easy to drift into.

...

Steve continued.

Tuesday was a workday for both of us and for the rest of the week the household drifted back into what had been normal behaviour. However, there was one major difference. While my sexual approaches were only half-hearted and the normal rejections ensued, Christina's whole attitude had changed.

She was happy. She was quick to smile and it was all real. Nothing artificial like the highs displayed by some born-again Christian or Hari-Krishna devotees. Their indoctrination often left them looking as if they were drugged. But not my Christina.

Christina seemed to be truly happy. The goodbye and welcoming kisses and hugs continued. As did the goodnight kisses and salutations.

The real shock came Friday evening when we went to bed. It wasn't as if she instigated anything but, this time, there was no rejection.

Oh, the sex itself was nothing to write home about but she was actually receptive. When I pulled up her nightgown I discovered she was "sans panties". Another first. Had she planned for this to happen? When I entered her, she was already wet and welcoming. In marked contrast to our historical couplings. As I thrust in to her, she seemed to open up more and brought her hands up on to my buttocks and pulled me into her aggressively as her arousal heightened.

There was no talking either during the sex nor immediately after I had orgasmed deep inside her glorious honeypot of a pussy. Things were definitely looking up in that area, I decided.

Christina made a quick trip to the bathroom to clean up before returning to our bed and immediately turning on to her side as I spooned behind her. Nightgown tugged back down, of course, so none of the naked skin-to-skin contact that I always loved. Oh well.

But, as I said, it was a start.

Warm and relaxed and cuddled up close to my love, I allowed myself to review our situation.

I still hadn't started telling her anything. Truth be known, I just didn't know where to begin. This new Christina was a revelation. All my original reasons for loving her had risen to the surface. Yes, this was the Christina I wanted in my life. My future. She was my everything.

Was my decision to slowly begin telling her... confessing to her, what I had done, was that the right thing to do? How would it help us move forward? Would she reject me for my betrayal? Perhaps I should hold off telling her? Decisions, decisions.

The situation between us had definitely improved, I had to acknowledge. I could smell the fresh, apple smell of her hair shampoo or conditioner and breathed in deeply. It was the gentle, loving moments like these that provided the lasting memories of a relationship. I also caught the lingering smell of the sexual arousal from our bodies and hugged her body closer to mine.

Jeez, I loved this woman. The cocoon of love and contentment moulded around us and we slept the sleep of the sated.

...

Christina

I wasn't sure what to expect. After a few days the soreness in my body left me but my memories of the hot desires and arousal I had experienced did not.

Each night when I got home from work, I stripped naked and closely examined my body. The swelling all around my nipples and genital area had subsided. The red marks seemed to quickly disappear and by Friday no one would have been able to tell anything about what my body had been put through.

Steve continued to half-heartedly attempt to initiate sex but the good girl in me kept him at bay. He didn't push it or demand it, so I got away with blocking him. Why did he give up so easily, I wondered? Didn't he want to make me his woman?

Meanwhile, I couldn't stop my mind thinking about what had been done to me on Monday. It was horrible, truly horrible. My body was forcibly aroused. I was made to have numerous orgasms. I never knew I could have so many; they just didn't seem to stop. My body had been on fire from the abuse it received... and I had loved it!

When I examined myself each day I couldn't ignore the evidence of my seemingly constant arousal. The abusive markings disappeared but my mind constantly remembered.

By the Wednesday after my Monday "adventure" I seemed to be constantly wet... down below. In my pussy. No, sluts don't have pussies; they have cunts, I reminded myself, sending shivers down my body at my acceptance. I had proved beyond doubt that I was a slut. For my Master to control. But, not my husband. For that reason I had held off from Steve's advances. He mustn't be allowed to see me as I truly am, I decided.

By the Friday, while my body had healed, my arousal had increased such that I had to visit the bathroom on a number of occasions to mop up the excess moisture. This was during the day while I was at work. My panties were soaked. I would have to remember to bring a spare pair each day if this were to continue, I mentally noted.

I only just managed to hold off from masturbating when I got home and, by bedtime I finally gave in to my desires. I indicated to Steve that I would be receptive to his advances. He seemed so surprised he didn't even attempt any kissing foreplay. I was scared he would ask me why I was so aroused for him but he was so grateful to get anything that he simply moved between my legs and inserted himself inside my hot pussy... my cunt. I loved it.

I had to fight myself to calm down my reactions. If the lights were on I'm sure he would have seen the effect he had on me more clearly and would, no doubt, have questioned me. In the dark I could protect his image of me.

I really enjoyed the sex we had and reached a nice orgasm. Not the volcanic type I had experienced with my Master but loving and enjoyable none-the-less.

What was particularly enjoyable was the aftermath when he cuddled me as we drifted off to sleep. Pure bliss. I so love him.

The weekend was a busy one as we grocery shopped together and attended to the mundane items of keeping our residence clean and well maintained. We even went out for a meal Saturday night, followed by a movie in a theatre. I believe it really adds to the experience: watching a movie in a big theatre with hundreds of other people around us. Eating popcorn, drinking soda and cuddling close.

The feeling of togetherness continued at home later in bed when Steve again made love to me. Only in the style I allowed him, of course. No overt kissing. No sucking on my breasts and nipples, nor oral sex of any type. Again I was wet and welcoming when he entered me and again, I had a nice orgasm. Oh, the things I had been denying myself all these years. But I would have to keep rationing Steve lest he begin to suspect my lewdness luring beneath my exterior. My inner slut must be contained, I resolved.

During the following weeks our lives continued in a standard, unspectacular way. Steve was particularly busy at work and was getting home later and more exhausted from the increased stress. We had settled into a regular, steady sex life of Saturday night, occasionally Sunday night and a regular Wednesday night. Dramatically different from what had occurred earlier in our relationship, so Steve wasn't questioning it: just accepting what he could get.