Igniting the Tinder of Lust Ch. 03

It didn't take a rocket scientist to see that my once conservative wife had found something hidden within her that became exhilarated by illicit sex. Before it all started, I had always assumed I would be the instigator, pushing her to accept my strange desires, and then, if anything happened, dealing with the aftermath of her guilt and anxiety. However, the reality I now faced was a developing addictive behavior from her that seemed to be drawn towards aggressive sexual exploration. The metal ring that penetrated the tender flesh of her nipple was a vivid and sobering reminder of how far things had gone, and what made it even more appalling was the fact that she had consented to the piercing, and then laid back, freshly fucked, while another man performed the procedure. I thought it likely that If I, her husband, had mentioned a piercing, I would have been reprimanded harshly for the mere suggestion. Thus, it seemed that her desire to please her lovers had created within her an alternate dimension of values.

The one upside to the situation was that her new sexual appetites weren't limited to her lovers. Her heightened arousal carried over into our bed, too. We were now making love at least three times a week with the only limiting factor being the demands of our children. In addition, Lauren was achieving a climax almost every time. In some ways she had become a focused sexual being that needed a release as basic sustenance.

At first, when I tried to remove the piercing, she claimed that her nipple was too sensitive. It was an understandable reaction, so I let it go for over a week but when I brought it up again, she gave me an odd look and tried to brush me off.

"Why Lauren? You want that thing?" I asked.

"I don't want to deal with it now. We can take it out another time," she replied.

I was certain she hadn't seen Cezar since receiving it, so I was confused about her motivation. In a certain way, its presence acted as a strange beacon signaling her change from reluctant participant to active player and from soccer mom to wanton woman. These circumstances, along with the memories of witnessing the debauchery churned in my brain, and it wasn't long before I called Dr. Sturm to schedule an appointment.

"Hello," I said as the counselor ushered me into her office.

"Greg, it's good to see you. How are things?" she replied, deftly giving me the opportunity to direct the discussion.

I started by explaining that things were mostly good, and then slowly went on to describe all that had occurred, including Lauren's involvement with Cezar and the nipple piercing. While I left out none of the facts, I was careful to skirt around my true feelings.

"I see. Well, that certainly is a big step from where you started," she said with a concerned look when I was finished.

"Yes...yes, it is..." I replied, uncertain about how to broach the real purpose of my visit.

"Are you comfortable with this...these things? Is it still what you desire?" she probed, accurately sensing my thoughts.

"I don't know...maybe...maybe it's all gone a little too far," I admitted.

"More than you anticipated? she asked, and when I nodded, she asked, "In what way?"

"I...I just...I don't know...it just seems to be getting out of control," I forced out.

"Out of control? Or, not in your control?" she asked.

For the next thirty minutes, we more or less spoke along the same lines. I realized part way through that she seemed to be more interested in gathering information than giving advice, so I wasn't completely surprised with her conclusion.

"Greg, I think I need to speak with Lauren individually, and based on that perhaps both of you together," she said.

"Okay...but why?" I asked, as I was hoping to keep my contact with her a secret.

"There are several dynamics at play that I need to understand, and since I have an established relationship with both of you, I think that route will prove the most productive," she explained.

Unfortunately, the plan left me with the obligation to discuss it with my wife and get her to schedule an appointment. I thought it would prove to be a difficult chore, so I was surprised when my suggestion was accepted with barely any push back. I explained that I had met with Dr. Sturm and discussed the current state of things and that she had suggested that it would be good to meet with Lauren as well. However, I danced around the actual reason for my visit, and neglected to tell her that there would likely be a follow-up session with both of us. Instead, my wife simply thought she was going in to have something of a catch-up session.

"Nothing from Cezar?" I asked later that evening.

I wanted a break, at least until after the meetings with the counselor, so I was interested in checking on her interactions.

"He wants to get together Saturday," she replied, although nothing in her expression indicated her thoughts.

"Uh uh...no...I want you to myself this weekend," I declared, which brought a smile to her face.

After that, I probed a little about Thomas and she informed me that he had recently started seeing someone and had backed off. Thus, it seemed the decks were clear to work through the meetings with our counselor.

Lauren's appointment was the following Thursday, late in the afternoon, and I was home when she arrived. My tension had built as I thought about their interaction and how Dr. Sturm might use the information I shared during my visit. So, I was a little surprised when Lauren entered the house showing no distress. In fact, she appeared a little bubbly, and accepted the glass of wine I offered.

"Looks like things went okay?" I said, hoping to hear some details.

"Yes, I feel like I'm really tuned into her," she replied.

"What did y'all discuss?" I tried once more.

"Really, just more or less the same things we talk about," she responded, then she turned and headed towards the bedroom. Halfway there, she called out, "We have an appointment next Friday at four if that works for you."

I was intrigued by Lauren's message or lack thereof, and since I didn't think she was being evasive or coy, I could only conclude that Dr. Sturm had steered clear of any sensitive areas. While, it removed the immediate stress, it did create some foreboding about our combined session. In the intervening time, on several occasions I considered sitting Lauren down and forcing a discussion about our individual messages, but each time something would happen and the moment would be lost.

"Come in, please," the counselor said with a smile as she held open the door.

Lauren and I took a seat together on the sofa, and Dr. Sturm moved to her chair. After exchanging a few pleasantries, she started.

"Look, I must say that the entire relationship with you two has been quite different. It's very uncommon for any professional person to counsel both husband and wife, but in this case, we have somehow evolved together over time," she started, and after a short pause where she exchanged eye contact with us individually, she continued, "I must also say that while the subject at hand is by no means unique, the openness between you too is vastly different than the norm. I think it's why things have developed between us the way they have."

"We understand Dr. Sturm, and have no issues with how things have been," Lauren interjected.

"Good...well...that brings us to today. I will be honest here and say that I see a diverging viewpoint that I'm quite concerned about," she said, which caused my wife's back to stiffen and she shot me a quick, questioning glance.

"What do you mean?" Lauren asked.

I could see the discomfort on the doctor's face, but she replied, "When I met with Greg, he voiced some concerns about how things had developed and perhaps they had gone too far. Lauren, our conversation was much different, with no similar issues. So, that makes me worried that you two are in different places, and most importantly, that there is less communication taking place. I truly believe that in your situation, that dialogue, honest dialogue, is the most important factor."

It was now out, thrown into the open in a professional, although not necessarily tactful way. I could see my wife's face turn red and knew from years of marriage that she was bristling while using every ounce of willpower to stay in control.

"I see...thank you," my wife said, and then continued with, "Perhaps Greg can elaborate on his concerns."

Now, all eyes turned to me, and even though I hoped for a lifeline from the doctor, none was forthcoming.

"I...I...recently, I've been getting worried. You know with Cezar and the things that happened," I said, and somehow my words gave me courage, so I added, "And the times with Thomas that you hid."

"Look...I feel...I think I'm being ganged up on," my wife suddenly responded in a voice tinged with anger.

"Lauren, that is certainly not the intent. I think we all want to foster open communication," the counselor replied.

"Yes, I'm all for that, but it seems my husband needs a formal setting," she fired back, making me cringe.

Somehow, we made it through the hour without anyone going ballistic, but I knew my wife was very upset. In addition, she had even been able to get the counselor to take sympathy with her view that I had been free to share my concerns at any time.

"I'm sorry...I thought...I thought I was doing the right thing," I offered once we were in the car.

"You did it again," she responded and we drove the rest of the way home in silence.

For the remainder of the day, Lauren only communicated with me with terse one-word responses. I can honestly say that I had never seen her so upset and even our kids picked up on the tension. After they were put to bed, I hoped to corner her in the bedroom and force a conversation. However, that plan didn't meet with any success.

"Lauren, come on. I know you're mad at me, but we need to talk," I tried.

"Mad? I don't think mad adequately conveys the emotion I'm feeling, and once again you hid things. It's so damn low, and how do you think I feel? I was basically on trial!" she exclaimed.

"We need to talk," I tried once more.

"Greg, we will...we will," she said, softening her voice and giving me hope before adding in a pointed, angry tone, "But, not tonight, and you're not sleeping in here."

In all our years together, I had never experienced Lauren this way, so I heeded her words and shuffled back to the kitchen where I poured a full glass of whiskey.

The rest of the weekend and the following week were more of the same. I felt like I was on eggshells, so I just decided it was best to give her space until she was ready to talk. It finally took place the next weekend, and the first indication was when I arrived home from work with the house quiet and Lauren sitting in the living room sipping on a drink.

"Where are the kids?" I asked.

"My mom drove in and got them," she explained in a voice still hinting of irritation.

She was still in her work clothes, a knee length black skirt, low heels and a red blouse, and I poured myself a drink and then quietly joined her. We sat together awkwardly as the minutes ticked by, sipping from our glasses, before my wife evidently had had enough.

"You're a bastard," she proclaimed.

"I'm sorry," I replied softly.

"What are you sorry for? Do you even know?" she challenged me.

"For making things awkward with Dr. Sturm," I replied.

"Greg, that's just the tip of the iceberg," she replied, and then paused before launching on me, "You push me to get into your perverted world, and you want more and more. Plus, these are people in our lives! Coworkers, friends, and...and...stuff! It was your deal...what you wanted and I didn't understand, but I tried to do it. Then, suddenly, I'm the one being judged! I'm the slut...the tramp, and I don't even hear about it from you! No! I get the message from some fucking doctor!"

Although there were monstrous gaps in her position, I decided it was best to accept the blame, so I merely said, "You're right. I should have come to you, and I'm very sorry. But, let me say I had no intention of judging or making you feel attacked."

"Let me tell you something else. I called Dr. Sturm Wednesday to schedule an appointment and she said she would no longer see us both. It was either you or me, but no more mutual counseling," she explained.

"Take her," I replied.

"What? No more conspiracies? What are you going to do?" she responded with condescension.

It caused my anger to flare, and suddenly I was playing offense instead of defense, "Look, Lauren. I made some mistakes, but quit acting like you're up for sainthood. You've been sneaking around with Thomas, and you moved from Zach to this...this...dangerous guy that just put metal through your nipple. I won't even get started on the whole pregnancy thing. It's a miracle you haven't got knocked up! It was supposed to be about us, but somehow you made it all about you! That's why I went to see the Dr. Sturm."

The wine from my wife's glass hit me square in the face, and I could hear her heels clicking on the floor as I tried to clear my vision. A few minutes later, I found her curled up on the bed, sobbing softly.

"Pretty good shot," I said as my hand found her shoulder, hoping to defuse the tension.

"I'm not a slut," she forced out between her sobs.

"Of course not. I don't know why you'd think that," I whispered.

"Why did you start this?" she whimpered, but before I could respond, she added, "No more...never again," she replied.

"Okay, honey," I said, and after stroking her back a few times, I added, "Let's talk some more."

"Get this thing out," she suddenly blurted out, ignoring my words, while she turned and glanced down at her breasts.

Lauren sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off her top and bra. I looked over the metal device, but having no experience, I only managed to irritate her nipple as I tried to figure out how to remove it. Finally, I stepped away and did an internet search, and after learning how the pieces went together, I was able to return and swiftly get it out.

"There," I said, hearing it clunk as I dropped the metal into her jewelry dish on the dresser.

When I turned back, she was examining her breast, and when she saw me staring, she said, "No permanent damage."

Her selection of words was poignant and I hoped they might prove to be a metaphor for our situation. I think Lauren's mind went to the same place because I saw something in her eyes, and then she patted the bed next to her, indicating for me to sit.

"I'm sorry," I said as I sat, hoping to head off another scolding.

"I don't want to be angry anymore," she replied in a soothing voice.

It was like a huge weight was pulled from my shoulders, and with just a hint of a smile, I answered, "I'll do better."

"Well...I...I hope you got out of it what you wanted," she stated.

"It's time to move on," I replied, and was happy when she started nodding her head slowly.

We made love that night. It lacked real passion, but it was needed, and there was enough tenderness to give me hope that we could return to our normal ways. I spent the following day with her shopping and then took her to one of the better restaurants for dinner. Afterwards, we made love again, but like the night before we couldn't progress to a deep level. Instead, after stopping when it was apparent she wasn't going to climax, we cuddled and kissed until we both drifted off. It was another four weeks before Lauren finally achieved an orgasm, and I could tell she was as happy as me to have it behind us. Other than the bedroom issues, she appeared to have returned to her old self, and was vivacious in our daily interactions. It made me feel that I was seeing the light at the end of the tunnel on our road back to normalcy. It would be nice to say that's what happened. That we re-connected completely as husband and wife, raised our children to be successful adults, and peacefully grew old together. However, it turned out things were not yet concluded, and the events unfolded in a very unexpected way.

"I still don't understand why you wanted me to do those things," Lauren said.

We had just finished a fulfilling round of lovemaking and were cuddled together, so her words caught me completely off-guard. I was surprised she wanted to revisit the subject especially since we had not discussed the whole mess since we put it aside many weeks ago.

"Let's don't talk about that," I replied and squeezed her harder.

"Tell me if you got out of it what you wanted?" she pushed.

"Lauren, we moved on, remember?" I replied, half-scolding.

"Tell me," she demanded.

Since it wasn't that long ago that she had been humiliated by my concerns and the sharing I had done with Dr. Sturm, at first, I thought she must have some ulterior motive, something she was trying to accomplish or get me to admit, but we went back and forth several times and I slowly accepted that she was being sincere.

"I guess...you know...it was seeing..." I began, but got nervous and stopped.

"Seeing what?" she pushed.

"Lauren, we've been together for ever and we know so much about each other," I said, and then paused and took a deep breath before continuing, "I don't know...maybe it was just to see if there was more of you than I knew. Or, maybe Dr. Sturm was right when she said it was biological. I don't know."

Of course, she picked up on the words she wanted and replied, "More than you knew? Why didn't you just ask?"

This time, I looked at her for a long time before I responded, and I could see she had become nervous when I finally answered, "You would never tell me and I don't think you even knew it yourself."

She gave me a strange look, and then she buried her head in my chest, and pulled me close. She kept worming against me, moving closer as if she were trying to find a safe spot, but finally she became still.

"That doesn't make me sound very good," she whispered.

"Why?" I asked.

"Some inhibited woman that doesn't know herself?" she responded.

Her statement held a great deal of judgement and I knew she expected me to comfort her and deny it, but in reality, I thought it was amazingly accurate.

"One should never stop learning," I replied, knowing it was a risky tact.

"Jerk," she shot back and pinched my arm.

"Did you learn anything?" I offered as a retort.

Several seconds of silence ensued before she replied, defensively, "It was complicated."

"It didn't look that complicated when Thomas made you orgasm," I answered sarcastically.

"Quit being an ass!" she declared, but as she spoke, she pushed my shoulders down, straddled my waist and guided me inside. When we were connected, she asked, "Didn't it bother you?"

Since we had discussed this aspect numerous times, I knew what she really wanted to know was why it didn't bother me. I had never been able to communicate my feelings in a way that was convincing to her, which I knew created a void in her psyche.

"Not when we were together on it, but it did...you know...with Cezar, and when I found out you were meeting Thomas without telling me," I said.

"What if I liked...uhhh...doing it with them better?" she asked, again covering ground we had been over before.

"Well, I wanted you to like the sex, and I...you know...didn't view them as threats to us...to our love," I explained.

"What about Chris?" she asked, referring to her friend's husband.

"Chris is too weak for you," I responded.

She hesitated for a moment and then answered, "Yeah...I never understood why you wanted him."

"To see how bad you were," I said with a laugh, while taking comfort in the openness of our discussion.

"I think I was bad enough," she replied, as a distressed look appeared on her face.

Even though we were connected, with my dick deep inside her, we had remained still as we talked. Suddenly, Lauren began to move in a slow, deliberate way while she looked down into my eyes. I could see there was more on her mind, but unsure about where she wanted to go, I remained quiet.