Measuring Up

I originally submitted this story in the non-consent/reluctance category. After considering readers' comments, I have moved the edited version to the Romances. I did consider submitting in the Loving-Wives thread but in the end decided that I had come to like the two main characters and felt that they deserved an audience that was a little more forgiving.

This entirely fictional story, involving adults over 18, is set in the UK.

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My name is Scott; Scott Mason. I'm twenty six, a civil engineer and, up until a week ago, happily married. What happened to change that? It depends on your point of view. Let's say it was Davey finally announcing that he had got around to proposing to Anna, his long-term, live-in partner. Anyway, when he announced to the office that she'd actually said yes, we knew that we had to have a session in the pub to celebrate. Doing it straight after work that afternoon was a non-starter; not knowing there would be drinking involved after work, we'd all driven into the office that morning. Tuesday though, public transport and lifts would be the order of the day.

I told my wife, Liv (she hates being called Olivia) about Davey's news and asked if she was happy to drop me off in the morning and collect me from the pub near the office around eight that evening. Of course, being the amazing woman she is, she agreed without hesitation. That was our last ordinary evening. We ate, cleared up and she went to complete some outstanding accounting for her business while I read.

When she finished, she joined me and we sat and talked about our day as we watched some fluff on TV. That night we made love and it was as good as ever.

As I climbed into bed, she snuggled backwards into me, grinding her tight little bum into my groin. I responded, of course, and reciprocated by reaching over her body to cup her breast. The course was set now. Within a few minutes we were face to face; kissing and exploring each other's bodies with our hands.

Eventually that wasn't enough for me and I set off on a journey of oral rediscovery. Her breasts were as delicious as ever; her nipples grew even more pronounced as I suckled. She moaned anticipation as I reluctantly moved on from the starter though, in fairness, I was well aware of the delights awaiting me at the junction of her thighs.

I tasted and tantalised with my tongue until I heard her breathing began to catch. That was when I slipped my index finger between her slippery, engorged labia and pressed my thumb against her clit. Less than two minutes later, she began to chant my favourite refrain, "Yes; there; just there; harder; oh, fuck; oh: Yes....!"

I always tried to make Liv come before I actually slip inside her. It might seem pathetic but, despite having had several lovers, I'm painfully self-conscious about my cock and seem to over-compensate as a result: Not that the women tend to complain.

Despite my insecurity about my size (barely four and a half inches) Liv insists that I am all she needs. When we first started dating seriously, we agreed not to compare our body counts, but Liv admitted that she had slept with men larger than me. She claimed that she didn't care. That night, as the muscles of her vagina milked me as she orgasmed while riding me like gorgeous, wanton Valkyrie, I believed her.

A word about us; it is relevant. Liv and I are the same age, 26, our birthdays only two months apart. She's a slender woman of average height with a taut figure that she maintains by swimming a couple of times a week. Her boobs are small but perfectly proportioned for her build. Her long brown hair with its flecks of auburn contrast with her flawless pale skin. With her adorable open features and a hint of flush on her cheeks, she was my perfect English rose. Any Disney casting director would give a kidney to have her in the role of Snow White. Ironic really.

Me? I'm just under six foot and just about good looking enough not to scare babies. I've darker hair than Liv but we share the same shade of blue-grey eyes. I swim with her occasionally but my work on site involves a lot of walking and hauling gear about, so the gym and I tend to be strangers. I seem to be popular with the women at work. In truth, I think that my insecurity about my penis size makes me behave less, I don't know, less like they are potential conquests and more like friends.

Tuesday started much as I expected. We had recently won a new contract for a major river crossing to replace a rather tired bridge on a section of road that was being upgraded. A couple of us had been tasked to come up with stress analyses to ensure that the project ran smoothly. Apart from a brief lunch and coffee and toilet breaks, I barely came up for air until after five o'clock.

Davey finally dragged me away from my workstation and into the pub just before six. It was a pleasant evening, at first. A dozen of us, eight blokes, four women, all gently teasing Davey, asking him if he worried that Anna would get her sight back one day, or if she'd ever exhibited any other signs of mental incapacity.

I had completely lost track of time and was listening to Becka unload about her latest ex when I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Liv. "Don't rush," she reassured me. "Finish your pint."

She sat next to me as I introduced her to a couple of colleagues that she'd never met before and, as she congratulated Davey on his engagement, I stood up. "I'll pop to the loo, love, then I'm ready to go." She nodded absently as she turned to chat to Becka.

I noticed Jerry, an engineer on assignment from another office, staring at Liv from the other end of the table. He looked puzzled, as though he was trying to place her but couldn't. I tried to squeeze past the assembled drinkers, politely ignoring their playful attempts to block me as Becka continued to berate her ex, only now Liv was on the receiving end.

Becka must have got to the part about the sext he'd accidentally sent to her instead of another girl, because I heard Liv's characteristic throaty chuckle and her demand to see it. "Oh, this I have to see," she exclaimed. "Show me!" I noticed, without realising, that this seemed to trigger a recognition in Jerry's memory but, at that moment, my need to pee was more urgent. I finally got free of the office hooligans and set off to the toilets.

Jerry followed me, frowning as he tapped on the screen of his phone. "Where the fuck is it?" I heard him mutter in frustration as I let loose into the urinal. I was just washing my hands afterwards when I heard him exclaim, "I was fucking right! I fucking knew it!" I looked up from the hand basin. He was still on his phone.

"You need to see this, Scott," he told me as I dried my hands. I couldn't interpret the look on his face. He held his phone towards me. "Hit 'play'," he instructed me.

Not having a clue what was going on and, admittedly having sunk a few ales, I complied. It was porn. Some young blonde's boyfriend had arranged a special treat for her; his best buddy from work, a big black guy, had come round to give her a go with a huge black dick. And he did. They both took her. In turns and together the two men, both with cocks maybe twice the size of mine or more, rammed them into the girl, my girl, my Liv. Not Liv with her natural brown hair, no. But still my Liv, for certain.

I stood, stunned, for a moment, just processing what Jerry had shown me. That Jerry had porn on his phone didn't surprise me. He was a good engineer but a bit creepy. None of the girls in the office liked him. They said he looked at them like things, rather than people. But that didn't explain Liv; on his phone.

Then the enormity of what I had just seen hit me, and I turned and threw up in an empty stall, barely reaching it in time. "Send it to me," I told him between heaves once my belly was empty. "To my fucking phone. Now! Send me the fucking link."

He nodded uncomfortably, then, after rinsing my mouth and taking a deep breath, I walked back into the pub. Liv looked up and gave me her radiant smile. "Ready love?" she asked. I nodded mutely, not even knowing how to begin to speak to her. I managed to raise my hand in farewell to Davey as I left the pub, but otherwise I must have looked like a zombie. "Are you okay, Scott?" She asked as we walked to her car. I shook my head, unable to speak, unable even to look at her. I was many things; broken, confused, despairing, bereft, but okay wasn't even fucking close to being on the list.

We drove home in silence: or at least there was no conversation. I think Liv tried talking to me but none of her words registered. My mind couldn't tear itself away from the images I'd just seen. I did recognise the sound of an incoming message on my phone. What the fuck to do about it though, I couldn't begin to decide.

When we got home, Liv was in a terrible state as she helped me from the car. My mind, looking back to that moment, seemed by then to have completely dissociated. She says that I just stared at her as though she was a stranger, but then blindly followed her instructions as she guided me into our home and sat me down in our living room.

"Scott? Scott? What happened sweetheart?" I heard her asking, obviously desperately concerned about someone. Strange; no-one answered her.

I heard her start to cry. "Scott? Darling. What's wrong? Please Scott; you're scaring me."

Scott? I knew a Scott. Who was it? Oh! Realisation dawned: it was my name; she was asking me. What was wrong? Why was she crying? She shouldn't be sad. She'd just been fucked by two guys with huge dicks. She should be happy. She had looked happy on Jerry's phone. I was sad though. Why was I sad? Ohhh. That's right. Liv, the girl in the video, she's my wife but she likes big dicks and I only have a small dick. Well that can't end well, so I started to cry too.

I seem to remember her pulling me to her. I couldn't understand why. She should have been happy and it was only me that was sad. Why should she be bothered about me and my little dick?

"Scott? Please talk to me. Just say something. Tell me what happened in the pub after you left the table."

I sat mutely not having the slightest idea where to begin. Then I remembered the notification in my phone. I felt as though I was watching myself remotely as my fumbling fingers found Jerry's message and opened the included link. Still without speaking, I passed my phone to Liv. She frowned as she hit the play button, knowing that I didn't really enjoy porn. Then she paled as the intro screen faded out and her clip began. She dropped the phone on the floor as her boyfriend told her that he had a surprise for her.

"Oh, Scott, sweetheart. I'm so sorry you found out like this," my Liv sobbed into my chest as she hugged me.

"Oh, this I have to see," the other Liv said, the size queen Liv, her tinny voice exclaiming from my phone, "Show me!"

We stayed like that for a while, both lost in tears. Eventually she picked up my phone and sat next to me trying to comfort me. In time, drained and exhausted by my emotions, I slept. I awoke about six the following morning, cold and cramped from sleeping almost upright on the sofa, Liv still holding me. I needed to pee and managed to extricate myself without waking her. I grabbed my phone and staggered to the bathroom.

Don't judge me but, as I sat using the toilet, I tortured myself watching the clip from start to finish. It was a five minute teaser for a subscription channel. That was still long enough to recognise the familiar signs of my wife having a genuine, not faked, orgasm as the black guy rammed his dick into her. For fuck's sake! He was so fucking big that, hard as he thrust, he still had an inch or more that he couldn't force into her cunt. I started shaking again as I watched.

There was a knock at the door. "Scott," she called, softly. "Scott, are you okay in there?"

I wasn't, but I understood what she meant. "I need a few minutes," I mumbled in reply.

"Okay hun," she answered. "I'll put the kettle on and make something to eat. I'm sure that you have a lot of questions to ask me," she finished, sadly.

I pulled myself together enough to shower and change before gathering the courage to go back downstairs. Liv gave me a wan little smile as I sat in my usual place at the kitchen table. She gave a huge sigh. "Do you want me to tell you the story or would you just prefer to ask the questions that are most important to you?" she asked, uncertainly.

I didn't know how to answer. I honestly wanted to be able to just go back to not knowing at all, but that ship had sailed the previous evening. She recognised my indecision and decided for me. I already knew part of her story. In her early teens, her parents had been involved in an evangelical Baptist church in the UK. The local pastor had invited an inspirational speaker, touring from the USA, to address their congregation. This guy had convinced her parents to abandon their home in England as a godless den of sin and move to his perfect community in the US. Even then, teenage Liv had him tagged as a con man. Her attitude hardened even further in the years that followed and her rejection of his teachings had enraged her parents so much that, on her eighteenth birthday, they threw her out.

She was not entirely surprised and, as much as she could, had prepared. Her ID, her UK passport and even some money were stashed with a trusted school friend. Even so, she struggled to get by. She found work behind the bar in a strip club. I already knew that much. What was new to me was that her flatmate, a stripper at the club, had offered her a way to earn a little extra cash. It was as an extra in a porn movie. There's apparently a genre called CFNM (clothed female, naked male) where a common trope is a wild hen party with male strippers engaging in increasingly intimate acts with some of the audience, often culminating with the stripper banging the 'bride-to-be'. Liv's introduction to the industry was purely as one of the cute girls watching in the background, pretending to be horrified as the actual porn actors had sex.

Of course, her involvement had progressed from there. She swore that after that first film, she had taken part in only four more over a period of three months. Each, in turn, getting progressively more hard-core. That earned her more than enough to buy a ticket back to the UK and find lodgings while she looked for work.

The clip that I had seen was from her last job. She told me that, even if she had not earned enough by then, that experience alone would have finished her career in porn. The two guys were jerks. The black guy in particular knew how much he hurt the girls but he fucked them as hard as he could anyway, just because he got off on it. Unfortunately Liv, or Bonnie Brit as she appeared in the credits, didn't find that out until after the fact. To this day she still feels betrayed by the girls that knew, but kept silent.

Her tone was dead as she told her story. The pain after the shoot. Two days in bed doped up with the strongest over-the-counter painkillers that her room-mate could buy. Her cervix was so badly bruised that she was uncomfortable walking for over a week. She only coped during the shoot because the sound guy had shared some weed before they started. Once she recovered, she'd tested clear for STIs and made her plans to return home. She hadn't spoken with her parents in the eight years since they abandoned her.

She looked me in the eye and said, "We agreed the past wasn't important. We agreed that our body counts didn't matter. I was dishonest though, you couldn't have anticipated this. I was naïve but I truly believed that, by going blonde and cutting my hair short, I looked so different that no-one would ever connect the real me with 'her', with Bonnie." She reached and touched my hand, carefully, perhaps fearful that I would recoil. "As Liv, I had four male and two female lovers in the States and two men in the UK before you. No-one but you since our first date."

She looked down at the floor. "As Bonnie, I fucked three women and five men, including those two big-dicked bastards."

She looked up then, perhaps for reassurance. "I'm telling you this freely. I don't want you to reciprocate. You owe me nothing in return." She gave another weak smile as she sipped her tea. "You weren't a virgin when we met," she observed. "That was obvious." She took my hand in hers, looking pained when I struggled to respond. "You are, without question, the most thoughtful lover that I have ever had."

I began to protest. She hushed me. "I know. I try to convince you that you are all that I need, but I know you struggle to believe me. You're wrong, but I don't know what else to do or say to make you understand." Her voice began to break with frustration and fear. "I love you so much and I know you love me but now you have seen that video and you didn't believe me before so now you're never going to believe me and I wanted so much to be with you forever but instead you'll hate me." Her barrage of words stopped as she began to sob.

I stared at my cup, the contents cooling and barely touched. "I don't hate you," I said, as steadily as I could. "I'm overcome at the moment; but I don't hate you." I tried to gather my thoughts. "I know that I still love you. I know that I always will... But... I don't know if I can BE with you." I gazed into her eyes, looking for understanding but seeing only resignation. "What I saw: what I heard. I know these men weren't lovers in any meaningful way. But." My voice cracked and I had to stop. I pushed the emotion down and forced myself to continue. "But I saw you come as he fucked you. He was twice my size and, just fucking you, he made you come!" I shook my head sadly. "I can't compete with that."

The tears streamed down her face as she heard me out without interrupting. "You can compete with that!" She cried out in frustration and despair. "You competed and won!" She shook her head as her anger subsided. "In every way that matters to me you are three times the man on your worst day than either of those bastards will ever be. And what is so FUCKING annoying is that the one thing they had that you think is so important to me, is what left me crying and in pain for a week."

She tried to compose herself. "You need time to think. I can't make you believe me but trust me on this one thing: I have never lied to you. If you had asked about my sexual history, I would have told you; everything. If now you want to ask about my other lovers, then I'll answer. If you want to see the other videos, then I will look for them. Take your time, but ask me anything."

She stood and quietly cleared the table of untouched food. I sat quietly, nursing my cup, occasionally sipping the barely warm drink. "Shall I cancel my appointments today?" she asked. On her return home to the UK, she had studied Beauty and Hairstyling at college, surprising herself at how naturally it came to her. Now she ran her own business, specialising in wedding parties and make-overs. She made a decent living, but not good enough to be able to afford cancelling clients in order to hold my hand.

"No," I told her. Then I finally made my mind up about something. "Liv?"

"Yes?"

"I can't be here just now. I'm not leaving you," I added hastily, seeing her beautiful face begin to crumple in grief. "I just need to be alone to deal with all this." I waved my arms about to indicate, well, everything.

"Where will you go?" she asked quietly.

"Not sure," I confessed.

"At least let me know you're safe and well," she pleaded.

I understood. I stood and opened my arms embracing her as she ran to me. "I'm conflicted. I'm hurting," I admitted. "But I'm not suicidal." I kissed the top of her head. She pulled me even closer. "I'm not trying to punish you Liv," I told her, honestly. "But you know how I feel about my..."