The Bet - the Complete Book

I suspected my marriage was over. How could it survive this weekend? Who wants a whore for a wife? He wasn't moving, just staring at me. Would he leave me tied to the bed to starve to death, or kick me out of the house. I had no expectations, one way or the other. Finally, he moved, not toward the bed, nor away from the door. He still stood there, but started removing his shirt, then his pants, finally his shoes. The last thing he removed was his underwear, and his cock was erect beneath them.

Naked and hard, Pietro approached the bed and climbed between my legs. Without a word, he speared into my cum laden cunt, thrusting forcefully into my pussy, slamming against my mound. I grunted, unable to do more. Over and over, he pounded me. Was he trying to claim me again, make me forget Luca's cock. He succeeded in giving me an orgasm. My body finely tuned to pleasure after the weekend, my breath panting through my nose, my hips arching against him, though barely, my bonds holding me captive for him. I had another before he emptied himself, grunting, the only sounds he'd made so far except the sounds of his cock sluicing through my cunt and the slap of his flesh against mine.

I expected it to be over then, for Pietro to pull out and leave me. He did pull out, but only long enough to adjust his aim downward, sliding up into my slick rectum, coated more than a few times in his friends cum, not losing his erection after his orgasm, the first time I could remember it happening since we'd been married. Pietro managed to fuck my ass another fifteen or twenty minutes, eventually sending his seed to join the rest of it. Like the whore I was, I climaxed several more times during his ass fucking, weakly bucking against him.

Then he got up and left the room. I lay there, fresh cum dripping from me, my husband's the freshest. I didn't know if I'd see him again. Perhaps the security company would eventually start monitoring again and my body would be seen tied to the bed. The need to pee beginning to grow and I wondered if I should just release it and lie in it. I could wait longer, but not much. After five minutes he returned, staring at me again, holding a glass of wine, drinking from it. He shook his head and walked back to the bed. Pulling the tape from my mouth with a quick yank, he gave me a pill, then held my head up to take a sip of his wine.

I swallowed dutifully. "Is it poison?" I asked.

"A morning after pill. I don't know if it's too late or not, but I thought it prudent to try."

"The doctor said it may be a few months after I came off birth control before I was fertile again."

He nodded, silent, not moving, not speaking, just sitting there. I was still confined and couldn't leave the bed. I didn't know what he wanted.

"I have to pee," I said. "I don't know if you want me to go in the bed."

"How do I get this plastic wrap off you?" Pietro asked, looking for an edge.

"They usually cut it off," I replied, wondering if he would find a different use for a knife.

He nodded again and left, heading towards the kitchen and the knives. He came back with a big butcher knife, the sharpest knife in the knife rack. I watched him approach the bed. Starting with my feet, he sliced off the plastic wrap. I closed my legs when I could, far too late in my estimation. Then he cut my hands free. Without another word, I got up and went to the bathroom, relieving myself. Unable to bear the thought of facing him again nude, I got a robe and wrapped it around me when I was done. I went back to his office where he was now dressed, though still sitting on the bed, deep in his own thoughts. I cleared my throat and he looked up.

"What are we going to do?" I asked.

"What do you want to do?" Pietro asked back.

"I don't know," I replied. "What do you want to do?"

"I'm not sure either," he replied honestly. "Will you fuck them again?"

"I don't know," I replied, as frankly as he'd done. "This weekend changed me. I can't honestly say to what extent. It's entirely possible."

"Do you want a divorce? They're legal in Italy now."

"I don't believe so. I still love you, though not as deeply as before you wagered me with your friends."

"That's fair and deserved. You were right of course."

"About what?"

"That you would have ended up fucking them this weekend no matter what you said. I thought about it the past couple days and there was no way it wouldn't happen, though maybe not to this extent. I apologize for betting you."

I nodded. Not to the extent of a whore, but it would have happened. Though I suspect Giovanni would have pushed for this regardless, taking advantage. Pietro sounded more humble than he'd been before. Having your wife fuck many of your friends would tend to do it, I think; introduce some humbleness to your life.

"Will you be able to face your friends again," I asked, "if you keep me as your wife?"

"It will be hard," he admitted, "knowing they've seen you, had you. It will always be in the back of my mind, seeing you on your hands and knees, a man in your cunt and another in your mouth, lined up to use you."

Completely understandable. "I'll not fight a divorce if it's what you want." I could give up being a wife, a mother, return to whoring around, taking every prick I could, lost in the sensations of fucking, turning my weekend into a lifetime of promiscuity, of raunchy, degenerate, depraved sex. It would be relatively easy now.

"I'm not sure if I want a divorce," Pietro said. "I still love you, despite what happened."

It shocked me; his declaration. Not what I expected at all this morning in the aftermath of my wild weekend.

"Not even if I can't promise to remain faithful anymore?" I asked, knowing I might not be able to.

"It does make it harder to contemplate," he said. "I don't want you to, of course; fuck other people. Perhaps it would be easier to live with if it happened more discretely. I don't know."

That was an amazing admission. I didn't know what to make of it. That it would be okay to fuck other people if I were discrete about it? Did it mean he loved me too much to let me go despite what a whore I'd proven to be? What did it mean?

"I will promise to try not fucking them anymore, even if I can't promise I won't," I said, "and to be more discrete if I do." It was all I could promise. Anything else would be a lie.

He nodded. It was up to Pietro.

"Perhaps we should abandon the idea of having children until we see how it goes," he said.

"I think it would be wise," I replied, if I weren't pregnant already. God knows I'd had enough cum in me to impregnate an army of fertile women. The only question being how fertile I was.

He said nothing. He still wore the look of sadness I'd seen when I first saw him, though the desire had dissipated with his fucking me. Only the pain remained.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I think I should clean up now."

He nodded. "I'll start the espresso." He got up and left for the kitchen, his feet padding down the hall.

I stripped everything off the bed, too cum stained to leave it as a reminder of what happened here in Pietro's office. I threw the plaid blanket away, knowing every time Pietro saw it, he would remember the pictures of me on it. The rest went into the washer and fresh everything else went on the bed. Would he be able to sleep on it again, knowing what happened here?

I showered, scouring myself, nearly rubbing myself raw in the process, trying to reduce the stench of unbridled sex on me. Maybe I succeeded. I was used to the smell of sex now; it was hard to tell. I dressed, covering myself, long sleeve blouse, slacks, shoes. I joined Pietro in the kitchen. A cup of hot espresso waiting for me at my usual chair. I sat down and looked at Pietro. Some of the pain had dissipated from his face. I raised my cup in a mock toast.

"Cin cin," I said. Cheers. We drank.

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