The Profitable Wife Ch. 01

From Boring House Wife...

Isabella (Izzy) was young and beautiful when first we wed. I remember the courtship was always a sweet affair; with plenty of stolen kisses and tiny gifts exchanged. Izzy was meant to be my trophy wife. Though young, I was already starting up a small precision tooling shop and had started paying on my very first mortgage. I had been groomed for success since I was a child, having come from a long line of rural businessmen and local politicians. Success being relative, I was always meant to run my own small business, then retire into politics just as my Uncle, Father, Grandfather and Great Grandfather had done. It was a solid family model for success and I certainly had no desire to question it.

The only issue I had was the marriage part. See, in rural America a man had to be seen as traditional in order to maintain all the necessary connections that kept business doors open to him. Well, if he wanted to succeed that is. A man must go to the right church, he must eat his breakfast at the right restaurant on the right days, and he must appear to live a traditional, moral life. In other words, he had to be boring and marry into the right Christian family, and hope things went perfect forever because all of his hard work could be for nothing if that little trophy wife decided to divorce. I learned young that tradition is for men only. The female gender had been brought up to escape consequence for so long, that it had become institutionalized.

I didn't find that particularly fair, as a boy, so I didn't want to marry. I wanted to have the wealth and success without the risk of losing it to the changeable nature and fast discontent of the opposite gender. As I grew into a teenager, I found myself confirming this belief. Girlfriend after girlfriend would fall in love with me, then a month later she would have a whole new love of her life. Any time I got a new girlfriend, all eyes slanted my way in disapproval. All the ex's could do what and who they pleased and it was simply swept under the rug like it never happened. In rural America, memories can be short.

So, at 22 years of age I had already completed my MBA, courted Izzy and started my shop. I was on the fast track to success. But, to be honest, I wasn't even close to happy. I loved having my own business, I loved having a home to call my own, but Izzy wasn't really mine. We had barely been married a year and already the sex life was all but forgotten. We didn't really argue much, but then again, what could we argue about? Izzy was almost a non-entity in our marriage. She didn't clean, cook, fuck. We didn't have kids, she didn't work and, after completing High School, she was done. What could I argue about other than her complete lack of doing? No, instead I simply stayed at work. Like most men do, I used work to escape my frustrations with home. Izzy was just a beautiful trophy mattress that wanted nothing to do with the marriage or the home once she had it. The few and far between nights together I might as well had been jacking myself for all the activity in our bed. Izzy had gone from cute courtship to boring sow practically overnight. And sadly, this was not unique. All of my married friends had the same problems and many had it worse than I did.

The reality is, the world had changed. It wasn't that our model of success was found to be flawed, rather, it was deliberately under attack by an elitist system that could no longer stand the successful competition of us gentry class. They were telling women that they no longer needed to participate in their marriages and families. They were trying to force out every small business. They were trying to buy or steal every inch of land. And though it is a slow process, it is working. Every day women are destroying their relationships. Every day inheritances are being ripped away from families and given to the Government to sell to the elite. Every day business are being forced out, shut down while homes are being foreclosed on then marked up too high for most people to ever have a hope of getting into.

In short, though I was spending more and more time in my shop, I was already getting fewer and fewer orders.

Moving forward another 3 years and very little had changed. It is now common place for me to be spending my nights working in the shop, though barely pulling in enough to pay the mortgage. I haven't slept with Izzy in months and I've had to hire a housekeeper just so my home doesn't look like a sty when I do come home. Life is hard and everyone around me is in some kind of dire straight. Many of my friends are divorced or in the process. I've found only tertiary conciliation in that women going through a divorce are ripe for a plucking. They are so desperate to prove that sex wasn't the problem because they know they have to remarry that they hope to get caught. It's always the same game. Put on the make-up, wear the right color's to hide the waist line, and appear like you have a sex drive so that the next guy you are hunting feels like he is getting a great deal. Then, when he marries you, take it all off and show him the truth behind the lie that he purchased.

Fortunately, it turns out that a married man is still expected to have affairs. So even when someone finds out, it doesn't do much. Of course, the silver lining is that there isn't much it can do. When the church pastor can't keep a wife, even the rural community must turn a blind eye to men seeking relief and companionship.

As usual, there is always more to the story. So far, this whole diatribe sounds like a woman hating fun fest. But there is another side to all this and I was about to find that out. Izzy wasn't aware of this, but months ago I was forced to drop myself from our health plan. Turns out all the Government administered healthcare was as much of a dark joke as us country folk believed it to be. Rates for insurance had been skyrocketing for years and it finally got to the point where I could no longer afford both Izzy and my insurance. So, I dropped myself so I could continue providing for little miss do nothing.

Unfortunately for me, while working on the Bridgeport Mill Machine, I cut my hand fairly deep and I only had a couple, rather dirty, first aid kits. I would need stitches, of course, and I had my big kit at home. So I got the bleeding to slow as much as I could, then drove on home. It was probably around 7pm when I pulled in, already dark in mid November, and noticed that my cleaning ladies car was still in the drive. I was a little irritated, but tried to pay it no mind. Not difficult as my hand had already begun to throb. When I walked through the door I heard muffled yelps that sounded like kids who got caught stealing. Some more muffled sounds and what sounded like someone falling to the floor, I opened the door to my utility room (where I kept my big first aid kit) and there was Izzy, half naked, sitting on the washer with the cleaning lady trying to stand up while pulling her cloths on! Both women yelped again, knowing they had been caught. I looked for a moment, shocked, but realized my hand had already started bleeding again.

I grabbed the first aid kit that was stored just above Izzy's head. She flinched as if expecting to be hit. I'd never laid a hand in anger on that women before and I doubt anyone else had. It just seemed to be a reflex all women had. She knew she was caught doing something awful and was waiting for retribution. I took the kit into the bathroom and began washing my hands, getting the grease off and cleaning out my wound before I tried stitching it up; yes, myself.

About half way through my not so expert stitching job and Izzy demurely came through the bathroom door. Lora, the cleaning lady, had quietly exited and drove on home. I had already heard the muffled, tear soaked speech while I was cleaning myself up. That had actually confirmed things for me more than the affair itself. To Izzy, I was the means to comfortable life and nothing more. She needed to console her lover before trying to speak to her husband. That, it turned out, was the last straw for me. What love I had built in me for Izzy had suddenly and inescapably vanished. We would never be the same and I knew I could divorce here without anyone in my family or in my community giving me a sideways glance as to why. Izzy not only cheated with another woman, but she did so with the help. In our world, that was probably the only sin a woman could ever commit and she had done it. All it would take was for me to expose that truth and Izzy would never have a chance at a comfortable life, again.

A good marriage requires a desperate wife.

Izzy took my hand and looked over my poor handiwork. Not that she was an expert, but she finally felt she needed to do something. To be fair, trying to stitch your dominant hand with its less useful counterpart is difficult. Izzy had no hesitation in jabbing the stitching needle through the flesh of my hand. But, in her complete lack of emotional connection, she had done a much better job stitching the other half of my wound. Neither of us spoke while fixing up my hand.

Wound cleaned and stitched, hand bandaged, Izzy began to shake. It was time for talk to happen. She needed to know, was desperate to know, what I was going to do.

"So, what do we do now?" Izzy asks in a hushed tone.

"I'm not sure yet. I should be probably file for divorce." I say without emotional undertone.

Izzy freezes up and her face goes white. She knows it would ruin her reputation enough that her family wouldn't take her in. Christian Families aren't known for their forgiveness regarding children embarrassing them with sexual deviancy. Her friends wouldn't think much of a well to do woman sleeping with her maid, either. To me, it wouldn't matter. With my world already falling apart, the last thing I am worried about is being shamed by the community, but Izzy, well, for Izzy that is the only currency she has. Without me she has no social standing outside of her family and divorce on the grounds of extramarital relations with a member of the same sex, Izzy won't exactly be welcome in church come Sunday's. And both of us are aware that rural homosexuals don't exactly have the best lives. They mostly find themselves constantly struggling, always fighting and shunned by everyone.

"Please don't. A divorce would look poorly on both of us. There's got to be a way we can work through this!" She said, beginning to cry.

I knew it was bullshit when I heard it. She was concerned only with herself. I would come out fine. I had nothing she could take in a divorce. The business was barely running, the house still had 25 years of mortgage on it to pay. To be honest I would probably be better off financially and in my mental health if Isabella was my ex wife. I could start taking the risks I needed to get ahead rather than taking the safer route and praying it worked out enough to at least keep us on status quo.

But something else occurred to me. Izzy was desperate. But there was something more. There was a third story here that I realized had to be taken into account. The maid was also married and her husband was a known drunk with a history of domestic violence. Izzy wasn't just trying to protect herself, she was trying to protect her lover from the violence of a proven abuser. It boggles the mind that such terrible consequences could be waiting for both of these women and yet it never stopped them from acting out. That's when it came to me, they are both just silly little idiots trying to get away with something dirty! Part of the fun was the possibility of getting caught, being seen, exposed; but when it finally happened, it was nothing but fear and dread.

"You are very pretty, Izzy. Even now you are very pretty. The maid not as much, but you are still rather fine. I'm not going to bother trying to express how much this hurts. I realize now that you have never cared about me as a person anyway, so it would fall on deaf ears. You've lied and deceived me the entire time we've known each other. You've used me to keep you comfortable while you do nothing but endanger us. I have cause to divorce you and come out looking saintly for doing so. So this is my idea, you need to give me a reason not to."

The Bargain begins

"I'm so sorry, I promise to make it up to you..." Izzy rushes before I quiet her.

"Shhhh sshh, now now, you can't honestly believe that I would ever believe anything you! No no no, your words are empty, your platitudes mute. I have no need of your deceit. No no no little puppet, you are going to act. From this moment forward, you will do and act precisely as I say. You will cook, you will clean, you will fuck any way I demand. You must imagine a way to keep me from divorcing you. I can do it any time, for any reason now. No more will I be forced to find comfort in the arms of lesser women. You will be every girl I ever want. You will do what ever I ask. You will participate in any escapade I demand. You will not complain, refuse, or reject anything I want. And sweet Izzy, you have years to make up for!"

It was clear she didn't know how to respond. She spent her entire life manipulating with her words. Now that I didn't care; now that I knew everything she said would be a lie or some hollow promise, she no longer had any power. She simply nodded her head.

"So, I guess this means you expect to sleep with me more?" She asked.

"Izzy, you will not escape this by being your usual flat mattress self until I am so frustrated that I go back to my shop. Now I know there is so much more to you. It's high time I find out what kind of limits you have. And you know the best part?" I ask mischievously.

She hesitates before completing the necessary line, "No, what?"

"The best part is, you can even continue fucking the help. Of course, from now on I have to be present. From this moment forward, you don't have any sexual activity without my express say so and without my presence. But you can keep on going. I won't even tell her husband. If he was a good man, I would, but let's be honest, he is a prick. She deserves him, but she doesn't deserve to be murdered by him."

"I, I don't think she'll be okay with that?"

"With what? Surviving? Lets be clear here my sweet wife, survival is exactly what is on the line here. You are on the precipice of losing all your social credit. She's is facing a beating, possibly even her own death. Both of you are not just okay with it, you are going to be fucking grateful for this benevolence!"

It finally occurred to Izzy that this wasn't a game. I was no longer going to be the neglected and used. It was her turn to face the consequences of a life we never wanted.

"Stand up and take your clothes off."

Izzy didn't speak, she simply complied. When her clothes were off and her full nakedness was bare before me, for the first time in years I was aroused by her form. She was beautiful. It didn't matter that she had been keeping herself in shape for another woman, what mattered was that I now had her and I could have anything from her.

I got her on her knees and indicated to her to take off my pants. She had never been inclined to please me before, but now she was going to. Pants off and member fully erect, I slid myself inside her mouth. At first she tried to weaken the whole thing by bubbling her cheeks and doing basically nothing. However, I little reminder of the consequence suddenly turned Izzy into quite the little vacuum. She had talent, of that I now knew. She could take my entire length into her mouth and down her throat without so much as a shudder. Part of me wanted to extend the moment, make her stop so I could take her longer. But, it had been a long while and I wasn't completely in control of my faculties. I grabbed her hair and drove myself down her throat as hard as I could without seriously hurting her. I began to cum! She tried to pull away but was nowhere near strong enough. Every drop of cum flowed down her throat before I let go so she could try, in vain, to cough it all back up. She was angry about it all, but she said nothing. She just got up, went to the bathroom, brushed her teeth, put her silk nightgown on, and tried crawling into bed.

"Oh no sweetheart, that wont due."

"Oh, let me guess, you want me to sleep on the floor? Or maybe the couch!" She said in obvious discontent.

"Not at all. You simply no longer have the privilege of sleeping with any clothing on."

Izzy gave me a serious pout, which I mostly ignored, leaving her to disrobe and crawl into bed. She had no idea that I had already turned the heater down (partly to save money and partly to bring her some discomfort) but the woodstove was keeping the house warm. It wouldn't start to chill until early in the morning.

At first I felt uncomfortable. I had gotten used to sleeping alone. So often I just slept at the shop or piled up in the guest room. I kept waking up, which was getting frustrating. Around 3am I woke up and it was noticeably cooler in the house. Izzy had unconsciously moved closer to me for warmth. It would have been nice had the situation not been what it was. I was immediately reminded that to her, I was just something to use for her comfort. "Well" I thought, "now we are both just tools in each others lives!" Izzy's back was too me as I started rubbing myself on her soft skin. I was hard rather fast and had started massaging softly between her butt cheeks, with my fingers. Izzy didn't rouse from that so I decided to be a bit bolder. I grabbed my member and started rubbing it with increasing pressure, trying to push between her legs. Very shortly after, the first drops of pre-cum flowed and I decided to use it to lubricate her crack.

I started to massage the surface of her butthole with my index finger, keeping my member in that same hand. It was difficult using my left hand for such things, to be perfectly honest. Within a few minutes, Izzy was responding to what I was doing. She was still very much asleep, but her body was trying to grind into me while I played with her butt. By now my pre-cum was mostly flowing, giving me plenty of lubrication. Covering my index finger with the fluid, I pushed it inside her rectum. Izzy and I had only tried anal once and it didn't really work out. As usual, she had complaints. Oddly enough, in her sleep, she seemed to enjoy at least my finger.

It finally got to a point where I couldn't handle it. I covered my member in fluid and started sliding it between her buttcheeks and into her asshole. I was able to get my member about 2/3 the way inside her. I did this for several thrusts, her body responding rather positively to it before she roused into semi consciousness. Izzy turned herself back slightly, pushed her ass towards me. At first, I thought she was trying o get away, but her movement ended up allowing me to slide my full girth inside her ass. I began a kind of lazy pounding, sliding deep into her anus. Her ass felt amazing! My left hand was still covered in pre-cum when I grabbed her waist to give me more thrusting leverage. But Izzy pulled my hand away and starting sucking the pre-cum off my index finger. It was pretty hot, really. Having already relieved myself only hours before, I was mostly ready to go for the long haul. No 5 minute suck and dump! We went for a good 20 minutes of pure anal action. My member was soaking wet with pre-cum fluid and anal juice! When I came, it felt almost burning hot! It had been so long my body didn't know how to respond to finishing so near to the last time.