Falling in Love Again

"Yes, yes, oh god, yes." 'Slap'. "Harder." 'SLAP'. "Oh my god, yes, more, more ..."

"What the fuck?" Chris roared.

The couple on the bed froze. She was bound, hand and foot, arms behind her back, feet underneath her, leaving her buttocks pushed high into the air. These buttocks glowed red, almost luminous, matching her face, which was sweating and flushed. Her breasts were large, and while mostly hidden, it was possible to see nipple clamps. She had dark hair, but the roots needed retouching, as her natural lighter shade was showing, where the man was pulling it horizontal, forcing her head back.

The man was middle-aged, grey hair sprouting over much of his body. He too was sweating profusely. He was a little overweight, having the shape of a man who spent his life behind a desk, and paid more attention to fine dining than exercise. He was behind the woman, and his whole body was visible, except for the end of his (unimpressive) penis, which was inserted in the woman's anus.

Chris raised his phone and took a picture. Then he strolled over to the pile of clothes and took out the man's wallet. He slipped it in his pocket, picked up the rest of the clothes, walked to the bedroom window, and dropped them on to the garden below.

The man on the bed began to mouth his objections, but remained frozen on the bed - well - almost. He moved his hips forward, hiding his penis, by burying it further into the woman's back passage.

"Now, fuck off, you sad, inadequate, old bastard." Chris forced the words between gritted teeth. "Next time you want a whore, pay for one, like every other desperate, limp-dicked twat, who's too scared to tell their wife what they want. I've got your name and details in your wallet. If you're not gone when I count to three, your wife's gonna see the photo - and your kids if they're old enough, and everyone at your work.

"GO!" He roared.

The man did not need telling twice. He ran from the house, naked and terrified, grabbing his clothes on the way to his BMW. A few seconds later, the engine raced and there was a squeal of tyres as the car disappeared round the corner. He drove home at high speed, triggering not one, but three speed cameras. He was just thankful that his wife was out.

"Never again, never again," he muttered throughout the journey - though it was only three days before he was back on the same website where he had met Kay.

Meanwhile, Chris glared at Kay. "Look at you," he whispered, "trussed up like a piece of meat. I suppose that's what you are. A piece of meat to these people. A sad, stupid woman, desperate and unsatisfied. Begging to be humiliated, because your husband of ten years actually respects you."

Kay whimpered through the tears pouring down her cheeks.

"SHUT UP!"

There was silence while Chris walked round and appraised her. She was a good-looking woman, although her current position did little to show it. Her arse looked OK, stuck up in the air, cheeks spread, showing the brown hole in the centre, larger than usual, due to its recent activity. The cheeks were, perhaps, a little fleshy, but time at the gym kept them firm.

Her labia, just below, were red and puffy, running with her juices, slightly open to show her vagina, and maybe just a hint of clitoris.

Kay wept, distraught. She loved Chris - adored him - but she knew she had her flaws. She had an addictive personality, and currently had rediscovered her love of online Bingo. She also needed constant reassurance, and having people tell her how wonderful she was amounted to addiction.

She had, in fact, found the perfect place for people to tell her how wonderful she was - how beautiful, what great company - constant praise was like a drug to her. It came at a price, however. Single women (regardless of looks) might draw huge amounts of praise on the swinger website, as they were rare, but the price of that was sex - and it was a price she was willing to pay.

Kay's guilt was running wild. She needed to apologise, to beg Chris to take her back again, to promise it would never happen again. Would he believe her this time? Why should he? How could she prove her love for him?

"After last time," Chris began, "I forgave you. Even though every time you went out, I was terrified. You said I was trying to be controlling, but that's bullshit. I was scared. It took months before I could get a hard on with you, because of what you'd done, and because I thought you might have any number of diseases. I even made you have an HIV test."

Kay tried to protest. She had always been safe. Even the man who just left had run away with a condom dangling absurdly from his limp dick.

"And now I catch you again. I've known for a while. Problem is, you're a shit liar. I know when you're fucking about. Then you do stupid things. This time, you left your phone without locking it. I only needed to see the pictures you're sharing and I knew.

"Before you keep saying that I'm spying on you, and where's the trust? I only checked when I knew you were up to something - I haven't done since the last time. And as for trust. Don't make me fucking laugh. I didn't trust you, because you lie and you cheat. It'd be like trusting a paedo in a classroom.

"I'm going downstairs. Come down when you're ready. I know you think I'm boring and 'vanilla' - because every time I suggested something, you turned your nose up at it. When you come down, I'll tell you what I like. Then you can fuck off. Forget getting any of my dad's money in a divorce settlement. You've had more than your share already."

He walked out of the room, leaving her bound on the bed, crying and unable to call his name. He went downstairs, turned on the TV and switched on the football - a very uninteresting game, which Manchester City would win (they always did) - and sat with his confused thoughts fracturing his mind.

It was twenty minutes before Kay started calling his name, and thirty before he made his way, heavily, upstairs. It was not in his nature to be cruel, even to those who were cruel to him - and anyway, she might piss on the bed, and he did not want to clean that up.

He walked into the room and glared at her. "Shut up."

The knots were not difficult to undo, and anyway, he had watched videos about using ropes, when he had asked Becky if they could experiment with bondage (she had refused). The ropes fell away easily.

Her arms and legs were numb and immobile, and much as she did not want to ask him for help, she needed to.

"P ... p .... Please. The clamps. They're agony."

He slid the small, rubber loop down the 'tweezer' type nipple clamps. The marks they left were vicious, and he almost felt sympathy for her - on the other hand, she had clearly wanted them put on. Her lovely, pert nipples were crushed, distended and mis-shapen, but they'd recover.

"I need the loo," she stammered, hopping off the bed and running to the bathroom.

She stayed there for twenty minutes, crying, while he waited. Eventually, he heard the door unlock and she shuffled along the landing. She entered the bedroom, wrapped in a large bath towel.

"Don't be bloody ridiculous," he laughed, humourlessly, "you put on a towel for me, when I've seen you naked for god knows how long, but you're happy enough to put it all on show for total fucking strangers. Pathetic. Take it off."

She considered protesting, but recognised that he was right - and actually, after all the years of being put on a pedestal, while he constantly 'respected' her, or simply went along with her whims, this more forceful side was good to see. A bit of a turn-on even. She dropped the towel and stood before him, naked.

"Turn round," he directed. She did, and he looked at her buttocks. The man had spanked her hard - very hard. Chris looked at the redness on her buttocks, spreading and merging from the original handprints. It looked as if she would be bruised. To him, that was not acceptable.

"Sit down," he said, patting the bed next to him. "Why? Why do this again? Why not talk to me? Oh, I know - good old Chris, boring, 'vanilla', never up for 'fun'. Ever thought you might be wrong? Ever thought if you talked to me, I might listen? Ever thought I might have some 'kinks' myself, that I'd like to act on?"

She looked at him. His face was pale, almost white. This was clear sign that he was angry. Not angry. Furious. When he was angry, he went red, like most people. This pale, white, bloodless look meant he was beyond that. His anger was no longer irrational, it was deep-seated and had coalesced into a need for revenge.

"What d'you mean?" She whispered, intrigued. She might feel shamed, embarrassed and a little scared, but could he really have a more interesting sexual side?

They had been more exploratory early in their relationship - different positions, dressing up, making videos and taking pictures - even going on a public webcam site. They had talked about swinging, and agreed it might be fun, but never acted on it. Over the years, their sexual adventures had died out, getting predictable and boring (for her anyway), and finally stopping about two years ago.

She never stopped loving him, but as the sex stopped, she started to miss it. She didn't want an affair, so the swinging website seemed a good way to have casual, adventurous relationships. She had met men and women, enjoyed threesomes and parties, gone to swingers' clubs and experienced everything - anal, bondage, lesbianism, modelling, fucking machines, exhibitionism, S and M - and more. It became a drug, and she was addicted.

And the money, of course. At first, she refused when some men offered to pay her - well - except for the gifts, meals, hotel rooms and so on. Then she realised how deeply in debt she was. She had brought vast numbers of sex toys, lingerie, outfits. She had even paid for hotel rooms with some regular 'friends', who were particularly 'fun'.

She started just taking a bit for especially kinky things (things she enjoyed, but which she knew these men would usually have to pay for). Then she did photo and video shoots - with other women in hotels, surrounded by men with cameras or phones; in threesomes or groups; on her own, with a machine which fucked her as she lay back, legs wide, vagina yawning as a ten inch rubber cock pumped in and out from a device made of pistons and shiny metal.

Still, her credit cards maxed out and the account with the household budget suffered. Chris had not understood, and she used 'depression' as an excuse. He had cashed in his pensions to clear their debts.

Then he found the pictures. She had taken to drinking - sometimes way too much - and had simply closed her laptop without logging off. She knew he was suspicious - all the sudden disappearances, feeble excuses to get out, obvious lies - and he had opened the laptop and checked on her photos on the cloud. It was all there. Hundreds of selfies, naked, using toys, dressed up - and plenty of others - with other men, other women, the machine (at least she looked as if she hated it).

He had taken all of them - even the ones of men who had sent photos of themselves - and had deleted every single one from her account. Then he had been furious.

He had shouted at her and she had been afraid. She thought he would kick her out - and she deserved it - but he hadn't. He had demanded that she stop all of it - immediately - and she had sobbed and agreed. Anything to keep him.

Then he had looked at the images more closely, and spotted the words: 'www.funswinging.com - profile'. He hadn't told her immediately. Instead, he had registered on the site and found her profile. He had contacted everyone on her friends' list, and taken screenshots of their profiles, advising them that he would be informing their families and employers.

He had posed as a woman, which was worse, and seen the kind of messages that were exchanged, and how she had been treated. Some of her contacts had even set up meetings with him, where he had not turned up, of course, but had followed them home or to places of work. He even had their phone numbers.

Yet, he had done nothing.

He had insisted she be tested for HIV and all other sexual infections - although she insisted she had always been 'safe'. He had found her tablets from when she had chlamydia, and rationalised, correctly, that she could not have been totally safe - and if she could catch chlamydia, she could catch other things. In fact, she had always used condoms, but they broke or came off - and in some groups, maybe others were less cautious - not to mention when she was drunk.

They had stayed together, but he could not touch her. She thought he hated her. Still, through lockdown and beyond, she stayed faithful.

Then she joined the site again, not knowing that he had never left. He didn't find her immediately, and she had several liaisons. It was all about money this time. She had got into Bingo online, and the few pence per card quickly mounted up. Her early wins soon vanished, and before she realised, she was thousands in debt. She could have talked to him - but ...

"I found your photos again," he whispered, his voice cold as he moved beyond emotion, "what the fuck are you playing at? Again."

She sniffed. "I ... I needed money."

"I know," he breathed, "I found the receipts. Those fucking credit cards. No doubt relying on me to pick up the tab eventually. I check the joint account, y'know. Thank fuck I kept my money separate, or you'd have gone through that by now. Though you've always had access to it."

It was true. He had never refused her anything. She had hated the idea of him having a separate account, but she understood why.

"I've checked out your profile on the site too. Lovely pics. So tasteful." Sarcasm dripped, and she knew why. This time, she had kept her face hidden, showing just her arse and her cunt. There were more in the 'friends only' section, which he knew would show more - two dozen photos, in fact. She had been contacting people she knew before, but it was amazing how many were impressed by an arse.

She snivelled, tears dripping off her nose.

"Oh, stop it. You knew I'd find out. You're a shit liar and you never cover up properly when you're drunk. I've checked out everything very carefully this time - how d'you think I managed to appear here today? Let you know when I'm out, chat with your contacts and see when they're available and sit outside to see if they arrive. A few false starts, but I caught you in the end.

"Don't give me all the 'trust' crap. I think that's long gone. Once was bloody stupid, but twice? Give me one reason why I shouldn't kick you out now, just like I did that fat old fucker. Only difference would be that you'd have no clothes and no car."

"I love you," she whispered.

He laughed. "Seriously. You love me and treat me like this?"

"Please. I'll never do it again. Never. I'll do anything. Anything. You ... you said you have kinks ... could we ... please ..."

He looked at her. Actually, he hated seeing her like this, and he loved her too, much as he hated her deceit. She had wasted thousands of pounds of his money, had made him look an idiot, worse still, had made herself look an idiot. Yet he loved her, and wanted this put right, for both of them.

"This has to stop. Now."

She nodded and tried to embrace him. He let her, but made no move to embrace her back. "I'll stop. Never again. I'll pay back the money - I'll ... anything ..."

"Pay back the money? How?" He asked, knowing she had no answer.

"I'll ... I'll ... I don't know. I'll get a job, I'll sell stuff, I'll ..." She knew she had no realistic way of recouping the money, and anyway, with what he had inherited, he had no real need for her to repay him.

He came to a decision. "Clean yourself up, get dressed and we'll talk."

He stood and left the room. She heard him go downstairs and turn on the TV, the sounds of football permeating through the floor as she curled up and cried.

Showering seemed wrong. She needed time to cry and then wanted to wash her face and dress - in loose, soft clothes. Her bum was definitely bruised, and her nipples hurt. She pulled the quilt around her and cried. It was her own fault, she knew, and he was right, he could have kicked her out. Self-pity was inappropriate. She wiped her tears on the pillow and got out of bed.

As she went downstairs in a loose dress, cotton knickers, t-shirt and silky bra, her face washed but not made-up, hair brushed, her stomach churned. For once, she had no idea what was coming. Chris was usually predictable, but not this time. He was never violent - that much she knew - he was loyal and had been totally trusting until ... well ... until. For once, she had absolutely no idea what was going on in his head.

He did not look round as she walked in, just kept watching the football match on TV, tutting occasionally at a misplaced pass or poor refereeing decision. She sat at the opposite end of the sofa and waited. Ninety minutes were up in the match - just added time.

Eventually, the final whistle blew. Chris made no move to turn the TV off, or to look at Kay, but he drew in a deep, slow breath. Without looking at her, he began to speak.

"Before anything, you need and HIV test and all the rest, including Hep C. I know you can't get it from sex, but what you've been doing is rough sex, and there could be blood to blood contact." He was right. She had endured rough anal sex and had bled.

She nodded, feeling ashamed that she might have taken these risks. He breathed deeply again.

"How would you feel if I did the things to you that other men do. Is it what you want?"

She looked at him, momentarily surprised out of her misery. Was that what he wanted?

"No," she whispered, "well ... some things, but ... I don't want you to hurt me. Not like some. I love you."

"OK," he nodded, "good. I don't want to hurt you. Has it ever occurred to you, though, that I might enjoy some of these things? Have you ever thought to ask me what I might like? We used to talk - then we stopped and you decided to do your own thing - you could tell everyone but me. The one you claim to love."

"I know," she sniffed, "but I couldn't tell you, because I love you. I didn't want you to think badly of me, if I said I like being submissive, or I enjoy being spanked, or tied up or hand-cuffed. Or I enjoy women or ..." She stopped, realising she was getting carried away.

He looked at her for the first time, still devoid of emotion. "And I'm incapable of those things? Well - being a woman, obviously."

She shook her head, miserably. "I didn't want to ask. I thought you'd say no, then I'd never do them."

"And that's your excuse? Well here's the deal: first - health checks; second - get rid of every sex toy and every outfit and piece of lingerie you've been using with your ... 'clients', I suppose; third - we buy our own supplies of sex toys and outfits - new ones, better ones; fourth - we start working through MY preferences. If all that happens, and you're still not satisfied, sexually, then I'll give up."

She looked at him. "What if there's things I don't want to do?"

He sneered. "You know me well enough to know I'd never force you. I'm not like those who pay."

She'd deserved that, and looked down again. It was true. There had been things she didn't want to do, but she had allowed her consent to be bought. Chris had once called the website 'a place for sad men who don't want to pay for prostitutes - and he was right - although some would pay for certain things.

"Do you agree?" he asked. She nodded. "Say it."

"I agree. I'll call the doctor in the morning and arrange the tests - then ..." She had no idea what happened next. Perhaps he'd forget, and they'd drop back into the same taciturn routines as before. This time, however, she really hoped not. The idea of having a full sexual relationship - kinks and all - with her husband appealed to her.