Marriage Pulled Back from the Abyss

© 2021 by T.S. Fairfield. Uploaded to Literotica.com; The author reserves all rights. No further use or dissemination without the author's expressed permission.

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Marissa and a guy she introduced as Don entered our up-scale Hyatt Regency hotel room. My wife, Kay, had retired to the bathroom to deal with the nervous sweat threatening to destroy her makeup and body lotion. Don shook my hand but seemed pretty aloof, his smile, a barely-hidden sneer. I was probably blushing, and there was an awkward silence that Kay's friend - the tall, overpowering Marissa - couldn't dispel, even with her controlling, bossy demeanor.

When Kay stepped into the room, my wife was stunning in her red, shorty silk robe, fishnets, and black panty and bra set. My wife's light brown hair was perfectly curled and coiffed, and Kay's beautiful, caramel-colored eyes shone brilliantly, their beauty enhanced by the heavy, sexy eye makeup she wore. Balanced on 4" stilettos, Kay looked taller than 5'7", and the extreme heels remarkably emphasized the shapeliness of her legs and ass. Her sexy, brand-new bra showcased her 34B breasts. She'd left the robe unbelted, and as many times as I'd seen her similarly dressed, I thought she looked more incredible than ever.

Her light brown eyes were bright, much more expressive than usual when she looked at me, and Kay seemed to be hyper-aware. She mouthed the words, "I love you!" to me. I responded in kind.

Marissa introduced her to Don, and when he took her hand, I noticed that she was trembling. He kissed her hand, his lips full and sensual, and Kay looked over at me and then back at Marissa, almost pleading. Marissa said, "Kay, Don is one of my favorite guys. He's going to treat you good. Right Don? Just relax and enjoy it!"

Squeezing Marissa's hand, Don said, "You better believe I'll take good care of her!" They kissed lightly on the lips, and she departed with a casual wave.

I sat in the chair at the foot of the bed, which Kay had stripped down to the fitted sheet and pillows. Don wrapped his arms around Kay and began passionately kissing her. I could tell that she was still nervous, but Don knew his stuff. As they kissed, he moved his hands under the robe and began working it off her shoulders. He tossed it on the other bed without breaking their kiss. Gently laying my wife on the bed, Don manhandled her as if she weighed nothing.

As he kissed her long, beautiful neck, Don ran his supple hands along the smooth curves of her hips and ass. She threw her head back in rapture, her eyes closed. Kay's hands caressed him, urging him on, as her passion grew. The diamond in her engagement ring sparkled madly, and the whole scene became strangely incongruous with my emotions and feelings. I felt no excitement or lust, or anticipation. It felt wrong.

That's when the insanity of it all hit me. The things Kay was doing, her sensual reaction, and growing arousal to his foreplay were all intimately familiar to me, yet alien because they were not from my point-of-view. Those were not my hands touching her and causing those intimate reactions, yet I could almost feel them. As their passion grew, my sense of alienation, fear, jealousy, and anger, and yes, hatred grew.

Gone were the thrilling feelings of our fantasy life, where it felt naughty and sexy to juxtapose marital fidelity and random intimacy. Out of that, we gleaned an almost toxically erotic mixture of humiliation and jealousy, intermixed with a forbidden strain of heady voyeurism. However, in this uncontrolled, real version were all the immutable truths and uncertain outcomes. The implications of third-person romance with my wife reared its ugly head as twisted and poisonous.

In our fantasies, I gladly gave up control of my wife, and our marriage vows as a selfless, do-or-die expression of my ultimate trust of, and my love for, Kay. In real life, you can't unsee this betrayal that you have suborned and encouraged! You cannot un-feel the bad parts, and there's no way to fix your broken wedding vows! I saw an inviolable line fast approaching. Once crossed, it could either be just another of life's momentarily bad growing pains, or it could be the Rubicon, the crossing of which would be final and might spell lasting and eternal doom for our marriage. I fought down a growing panic of internal conflict. I wanted to please Kay, to fulfill this fantasy, but doubt loomed largely, and fear's spectral fingers began to tighten its icy grip on my core.

When my wife began rubbing his cock, and Don was sucking on her small, perfect breasts, my body finally told my reeling mind, 'If you don't do jack-shit to stop this insane bullshit, I will! So, look out, motherfucker, here it comes!' Thus, the splendid seafood meal I'd eaten with Kay about two hours ago, as the prelude to her "Dream Date," decided to abandon ship. It said adios! Dinner get the fuck out of Dodge!

My stomach's contents escaped like rats abandoning a burning ship. A torrent of shrimp scampi, steamed mussels, and blackened tilapia poured forth, with stomach acid burning my esophagus like molten steel. My nose burned as some of the hot, viscous jet diverted through my nostrils. Just before my eyes closed in response to my projectile vomiting, I saw the two surprised lovers' faces and bodies twisting towards me in a horror-filled moment of slow-motion clarity, worthy of a Sam Peckinpah film!

Kay screamed, and Don started cursing me and bolted from their bed. His feet and legs were covered with a partially digested seafood medley, late of a Michelin 4-Star restaurant! Gone were any thoughts of keeping my cool, being what Kay considered a "loving husband," or of giving a shit about any of this wife-sharing bullshit.

As I sat there covered in the filth and gore of this violent reaction by my nervous and digestive systems, I felt both embarrassment and sense of relief I'd never felt. It was like an 11:59 pm commutation call from the governor to Death Row. Hell, if freshly-vomited seafood surprise on my wife's "date" didn't stop this madness, nothing would!

Kay sat speechless against the headboard of the king-size bed, horrified, clad only in her black panties and fishnets. Suddenly, she pulled a pillow against her, hiding her breasts and panty-clad torso.

Don fled to the bathroom shower and was angrily cursing at me. "You fucking, candy-assed, cuckold fucking, cock-sucking fairy motherfucker! Get the fuck out of here, or I'm going to fuck you up, you fucking pussy! Be gone when I'm finished, or I'll put your sissy-ass in the hospital!"

That did it, and Kay saw my reaction. Kay's eyes widened, her mouth said, "No!" but no sound came out.

What does a man in my mental, physical and emotional state have to lose? Don didn't realize that he was supposed to be our guest, whatever the fuck that meant. He belittled me, which I probably deserved for buying into this madness. Yet, Don had agreed that humiliation and threats were not part of the "experience" (apparently, some cuckolded men craved that from their wives' dates). Also, he was threatening my safety and well-being, but the worst thing? The twinkle-toed cock-sucker had just made noises like he had some propriety right with my wife. That was what did it! To quote Clint Eastwood, "A man's got to know his limits!" I did, and I'd passed them long ago!

I perceived the threat, analyzed it, and decided to act, which required about five seconds. Hardly Boyd's OODA Loop, but the outcome was the same: I started moving in a well-timed, angry, adrenaline-fueled rush. He didn't hear me over the sound of the water as he was on his knees adjusting the shower valve.

I caught Don by his long hair and dragged him out of the bathroom. Even though he was a bit larger than me, I had the literal and emotional high-ground, as well as the situational advantage. Me, the prospective cuck, the perceived wimpy-assed motherfucker that was going to get 'fucked up' by big bad Don, was just a regular dude who'd bought into a bullshit, destructive fantasy. And he wasn't happy! Don was the one who'd crossed the Rubicon, and I was the Praetorian Motherfucking Guard! Maybe he was merely a loud-mouthed, cheap bully, but to me, the threat was real. He was, for the moment, everything that had threatened my marriage!

I brutally dragged Don to the foot of the bed nearest the bathroom. Eyes filled with rage, Don recovered and struggled to stand. I used a couple of Krav-Mga techniques to keep him down. A hard, flat-hand smash to his nose caused his eyes to water and his breathing to go shit-crazy for a moment. Roughly grabbing his right ear (where the ear goes, the rest follows), I rolled him face-down. To subdue him and persuade Don to stay down, I knuckle-punched the pressure points on the top of his muscular shoulders, which more-or-less immobilized his arms.

Don lay there, his handsome face a mask of pain, suffused with fright and anger, his eyes wide and unblinking. I looked down at him and said, "Go take your fucking shower. Then, dress and leave quietly. Nobody gets cucked or ass-whipped or sent to the E.R. tonight. Let's just call this an emergency stop." I stepped back, pointed at the bathroom, and snapped, "Go!" Little pieces of partially-digested seafood had fallen from my clothes and now stuck to Don's skin. He went without looking back.

I calmed myself and peeled off my filthy shirt and tie. The vomit also ruined my pants, and my shoes and socks were no better. Right then, I was still upset - mostly with myself - humiliated and damn sad, too. I just could not look at my wife. I thought of Kay's words when she and Marissa had come to me with this new and supposedly popular way to improve our sex life. Hell, we'd fantasized about it in private, and she assured me that the real-life experience would be a hundred times better.

To close the deal and push me off my reluctance, Kay had unloosed on me the most dangerous, emotionally-destructive, pathologically passive-aggressive phrase in the English language, "Honey, if you LOVE me, you'll...". This fucking expression, whether used by a parent, a spouse, or a sibling, should carry a mandatory warning because it conflates the idea of love being conditional with fulfilling a specific request or demand. It turns true love into a poison dagger, a sword that only cuts one way. It turns good people into cruel manipulators, and I'd venture to guess that most of them do not even see what harm they're doing. Along with that other horrible phrase, "If YOU want to make ME happy...", these two are the unholy Janus of emotional blackmail and manipulation! She previously sapped me with both of these verbal cudgels on the way to this nightmare.

I went to the closet and found the plastic hotel laundry bag. I could see Kay texting out of the corner of my eye as I stuffed my soiled clothes into the bag. After wiping my hands on a washcloth, I grabbed Don's clothes, placed them on the bathroom counter, and closed the door. He'd get the hint. I slipped on the robe brought from home for the beautiful, romantic night of mindless fucking that was supposed to take place after Don had fucked my wife and left. Now, the fine, red satin robe, the matching one to my wife's, was covering my smelly body, waiting for my turn in the bathroom.

Kay's phone rang, and she held the pillow up to her head, shielding behind it, keeping her voice low. There was no anger in her voice, though I couldn't make out her words. When she hung up, Kay said, her voice flat, "That's Marissa. She's waiting in the hotel bar for Don." She looked away.

In her face, I saw a mixture of sadness, embarrassment, and anger. Damn, I thought, 'I know her so well, but right now, I don't know her at all in some ways. Not this Kay. All arrows leading to this debacle seemed to point back to Marissa. The insidious march towards "loving cuckoldry" had started when they'd become friends a few months ago.

Kay said, "Marissa wants me to go with them, back to her place."

The shower cut off, and the curtain clattered back. I chose my words carefully. "I guess she wants to fulfill your 'dream date'? Right? Without the puking spouse?"

"She didn't come right out and say that, but I'd guess that's what she meant."

"Damn, Kay, you'd think she was emotionally invested in this. Maybe she wants me to keep her hubby company on date nights. Maybe the two of you could double-cuck together!"

Kay's eyes flared in anger, but with a loud exhale, she let it go. She shook her head slowly. "No, I don't think that."

"What do YOU want to do, Kay?" I asked. "Do you want to go solo on this, because I'm not going along with any of this! Hell, if I can't bear to watch you, what makes you think I'd let you go on your own?"

"I understand," Kay said quietly. She looked away, contemplating an invisible point in space. "I know the evening is over for us. We need to talk about what happened, honey." Her gaze met mine, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"Kay," I said, "Please understand that I love you more than life itself, baby. I just couldn't go through with this." She nodded.

We sat there for a moment, listening to the low rustling of Don getting dressed. The bathroom door opened, and a damp version of the former, cocky Don stepped out, dressed but a little disheveled. He stood at the door, looked across at Kay, and said, "You are one hot woman. First-class all the way, sweetheart." He pointed at me and said, "Once you dump fuckface over here, give Marissa a call, and I'll fuck you properly, baby."

I thought, 'Don was once more trying to assert some kind of right over my wife! I guess he didn't get the message a few minutes ago.'

His intentions were clear. He was going to get in his chickenshit, Parthian shot, and bolt. I rushed across the short distance to the entry, and in full anticipation of getting out the door, Don hadn't noticed the fastened security chain. Whoops. That was the first detail I'd noted when Don paused to open his loud mouth.

The look of surprise was complete as the door banged loudly against the sturdy chain. My full weight hit him, pinning Don against the door. I grabbed his neck with an iron grip and held his face against the "Room Rates" placard. I whispered in his ear, red and swollen from my earlier actions, "If I ever see you close to my wife again, I will kill you. Dead, room temperature, you fuck! You need to walk the hell away, quietly." His eyes were wide, and he just nodded. I unlatched the security chain, and Don was out the door in a flash.

I turned and looked at Kay, who'd grabbed her robe and was staring with wide, frightened eyes. I waved my hands towards my nose, cupping them as if sampling the air. Inhaling deeply and smelling the wetness of the steamy bathroom and the stench of vomit, I remarked, "With him gone, it doesn't smell half-bad in here."

Angrily, Kay said, "I think we need to leave! I don't know what we'll do about this... your mess!" She turned her back and began to dress.

Emotionally, I was perched on the ragged edge. While Kay dressed, I stripped the bed to the mattress cover, rolled up the filthy sheets, and opened the window. I removed $50 from my wallet and wrote a note on the freebie hotel pad, apologizing to the housekeeping crew for the mess I'd left. The laundry bag of soiled clothes went into the trash; I never wanted to see those clothes or shoes, ever again.

I also picked up a 3-pack of condoms Don had left - the regular size I noticed - and tossed them in the other trash, along with a wine bottle and all the other detritus of my wife's 'date'. While I went to shower, Kay was packing the sex toys, lubes, and cremes we'd brought for our "night of wild sex" we were supposed to have after Don had fucked her. Looking at the collection in light of their canceled mission, they appeared lewd and misplaced.

"Where are you going?" Kay asked, dressed and ready, as she sat on the other bed.

"Shower, hon." I handed her my robe to pack. I wasn't even sure I ever wanted to see the damn robe again, but that wasn't a battle for right now.

I showered with the door open, half-fearing she'd leave, or Don would return. Man, I had turned paranoid, afraid, and angry since this had begun. I showered as I did in high school and college athletics; quick wet, fast soap head to toe, shampoo, and rinse off. Four minutes tops. I noticed that Kay had put my clean clothes on the counter while I'd showered. I said, "Thanks, Kay. I forgot my clothes."

"Noooo problem-o," she said distractedly.

I dressed, my skin still damp. Then, I looked at Kay, thinking about her rolling around with Don, and asked, "You want the shower next?"

"Nope. You missed me with...that," she indicated with a wave towards the wet, stinking, bundled mess. Kay went back to something she was reading on her phone.

"Oh...". Long pause. "Okay, I just...". I said, trying to get Kay to think about what my question actually meant.

She looked up angrily and snapped, "What? What's your problem, now?"

Like the pissed-off man I was, I replied sarcastically, "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't see the Tyvek Haz-Mat suit Don was wearing. My bad."

Angrily, she responded, "Oh, is that it? My Don germs?" Kay shook her head, grabbed her bags, and was out the door. As the door closed, she said, "I don't fucking believe you!"

The ride home was quiet. I could see that she was texting Marissa. I said, "You want me to call Marissa and apologize? Ask her for another chance?" There was a snowball's chance in the seventh level of Dante's hell of me doing that. Yes, I was just being an angry dick. Call it what it was: threatened, male ego. I have a Y-chromosome, so guilty as charged.

"Just drive." She stopped texting and slapped her phone in her purse. "We'll talk at home."

--

Once inside, we unpacked and changed clothes. Kay threw everything into the washing machine, including our recent change of clothes. When I say she threw everything, it describes precisely what she did. She was angry and disappointed.

I walked away from her and stowed our toiletries and sex toys. The sex toys, cremes, and lubes looked as out of place as screen-door on a submarine in the aftermath of this debacle. Finished, I headed back downstairs to a comfortable, casual chair after pouring a Jameson and soda. When Kay came in, she surprisingly looked calmer and pulled me over to the couch with her.

Okay," she said, "Tell me what happened with you tonight. And be honest." I saw traces of the real Kay sitting beside me.

I first offered her a drink, which she declined with a wave of her hand. I went on to describe how everything had suddenly gone haywire when the fantasy became real-life, 3D, and eternally irrevocable. Yes, I told her I was embarrassed that I threw up, but I told her that I was getting ready to say 'stop' when I did. My explanation was technically a lie because at the point I got sick, I was so confused, so overwhelmed, I froze. I tried to describe how I was feeling, the emotions and inner conflict, but there on the couch, I couldn't get my mind completely around it. I was still reeling.

"But honey, we talked about this," she said, her brown eyes intense. "I gave you a dozen chances for us back-out. Why didn't you say something?"