I slammed my purse along with the overflowing grocery bag against the kitchen counter.
What was supposed to be me letting out some steam turned into further annoyance, however, since I now had a bag of half-ruined items to deal with as well.
I groaned in impotent frustration, watching as my discounted oranges rolled off the smooth surface before falling onto the hard floor with a squish, revealing the carton of broken eggs and the dented carton of milk inside the bag. Cartons which, of course, were now leaking their contents, slowly but surely, spreading the initial waves of destruction.
“Fuck!” I cursed out, but it wasn’t enough.
It wasn’t anywhere near enough for the shit day I had.
“Fuckity fuck fuck fuck! Argh!!!”
I kicked and slammed at the cabinets like a madwoman before adding another thing on my list of today’s regrets: going up against solid wood in a kickboxing match only hurt my body and my pride.
I was just about to call it quits with being an adult and throw the most childish tantrum ever, surpassing the scene from just now, when my husband, James, called out to me from the living room.
“Honey, is everything alright? Do you need my help fighting off the wild raccoons in there?”
I could hear him getting up from the sofa, the soft footsteps sounding nearer and nearer.
“I’ll tell ya, I’m going to be very disappointed in you if I don’t find at least one trash panda in there,” he chuckled.
He was coming to pacify me, mildly amused by the ruckus I had caused. If I wasn’t so infuriated, I probably would have felt embarrassed right about now. It wasn’t like me to behave like this, I was usually so calm and level-headed, but it had all gotten too much to bear.
“No trashy babies, sorry. It’s just your wife going crazy. Nothing is working out for me today,” I replied, letting my emotions seep through my voice.
I used one of my blouse sleeves to wipe away at my tears.
I was home now, safe, and I could stop pretending I had it all together.
“God, Emma, what happened?” James asked, his voice full of concern.
“Everything,” I cried.
Upon seeing me and the disaster I had made of our kitchen, his amusement had turned into worry and he rushed to wrap his arms around me. He gave me a tight, reassuring squeeze and I traded my frustration for an intense need for comforting from the man I loved the most. I sagged in my husband’s firm embrace, and James let me break down completely and just sob like that until enough of the day’s heartache had been poured out.
“I hate the police,” I eventually hiccuped, breaking the physical contact.
“No, you don’t,” James chuckled.
He reached out his hands, cupping my cheeks, wiping away the wetness.
“Maybe,” I pouted, “but right now I don’t like them one bit. They’re all useless and uncaring.”
“Can you tell me what happened, my love?”
I took a deep breath.
This was hard for me to talk about, especially with him.
Especially with him caressing me like that, like I was so precious.
I removed his hands from my body and I stepped away from him.
James didn’t seem to mind, because I just needed a little bit of distance, that was all. Because as much as I craved his comforting touches, I couldn’t help but feel a little dirtied every time I mentioned this.
“I went to report that pervert,” I said, hating how low my voice was.
The shame of having been taken advantage of was why I had kept this a secret for as long as I had. That was until a similar meltdown got me under his radar and I had to spill the beans. James had since kept insisting that there was nothing to be ashamed of, but I couldn’t help it, it felt wrong for another man to touch me, especially when I belonged to my husband.
“Who, the subway guy?”
“Yeah.”
“Go on.”
James’ posture changed immediately.
It was clear that I had his entire attention now, the expression on his face seeming as if he was hanging onto every word coming out of my mouth now.
I couldn’t bear his intensely focused gaze and I closed my eyes before confessing my faults.
“He groped me again today. He had been even more aggressive than usual, feeling me down there.”
“Yeah, probably because he hadn’t touched you for a while,” he remarked. “He’s always the worst on Mondays from what you told me and now we’d been holed up in here for almost an entire week. He needed his fix, so to speak. I’m sorry, Emma.”
It had been what I had assumed too, but hearing James voice it aloud, I didn’t like how that made me feel.
It was clear that whoever this guy was, he was fixated on me.
Out of all the women in the subway, it seemed like I was the only one drawing such unwanted attention.
And I could swear it was unwanted.
I was happily married, after all, why would I need another man to pay me that kind of attention?
So naturally, I had tried everything I could to stop this from happening again.
I stopped wearing dresses and skirts, or tight-fitting clothes in general, thinking it was my full, womanly figure that had caused this misfortune. Gone were the cute blouses with deep cleavage that showed off my lovely plump breasts, and gone were the feminine skirts that hugged my ass, the ones that made James pounce on me before I had to leave for work, making me run late so many times.
I also tried changing routes, and my routine in general. I tried going by bus, leaving earlier, meeting up with a friend.
The guy would eventually find me again, and punish me by being extra lewd.
If it wasn’t for our poor financial situation, I’d have quit my job, but as it stood, since I didn’t have any other prospects, all I could do was endure.
Luckily for me, James was so understanding and always supportive, letting me vent every time. So many afternoons and nights he had stood in this kitchen, asking me to unburden myself, listening attentively, not judging.
Just like now.
God, he was the perfect husband.
“And what did the police say?”
“That they couldn’t do anything, basically. I had to catch him in the act and have proof of everything and-”
“-and you still haven’t seen his face.”
“I didn’t. I mean,” I trailed off, shame overwhelming me.
“I know it’s hard, Emma. It’s okay.”
It wasn’t okay at all!
What sort of woman didn’t even try to look at whoever’s hand went up her skirt?
A coward, that was who.
Every time it happened, I just stood there and let it run its course. I let some other man feel me up, ass, tits and pussy and I did not do a thing.
I felt like crying again.
“Emma, you can talk to me.”
I spat out the next words, hoping to scare James off with what I let another man get away with, to show my husband that I wasn’t worthy of his love.
“He grabbed my pussy today, okay? A full on grab and he gave me a hard squeeze. I can still feel his hand on me down there, it’s like burned into my skin. And then he fingered me through the fabric of my pants and he rubbed my clit and he did not stop. He never stopped, he kept pressing against my clit, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hurt me or…”
“Pleasure you,” James finished for me.
I was positively burning with shame now. I could feel it in the coolness of my tears, wetting the reddened skin of my hot cheeks, in how the tips of my ears hurt, set aflame by my sins.
“Yes…”
“Did he make you cum?”
“What?”
“Did he make you cum, Emma?” He asked again, louder. “When he rubbed your clit through your pants, did he got you excited enough to finish?”
His question shocked me.
His serious expression scared me.
His possible reaction to the truth terrified me, but I had never lied to James before and I wasn’t going to start doing that now. He deserved to know the truth, even if I wasn’t ready to admit it.
I swallowed hard before replying.
“Yes, he did.”
“So you had an orgasm while being fingered by a total stranger in a crowded subway car,” he said, his voice restrained, his eyes glaring at me. “And you liked it. You came at the hand of another man.”
I let myself drop to my knees on the floor.
I was such a disgusting slut.
I didn’t try to stop James when he left, groaning, muttering things I couldn’t really piece together. It hurt to hear him like that. I felt cast aside, discarded like a ruined toy. I couldn’t believe we had reached such a point in our otherwise happy marriage, but then again… Of course he was going to leave me, after what I had just told him. Whose husband was happy with a slutty wife?
I wasn’t sure how long I stood there, kneeling on the floor, but soon enough sounds of labored breathing began flowing into the living room and, consequently, my ears. They were coming from our bedroom, where James had gone, probably to pack his bags.
Was he trying to stifle his crying?
Had I broken his heart that badly?
I hated myself for being so weak, so slutty.
And I knew I didn’t deserve it, but I was nothing without the love of my life, so I rose and ran to the bedroom, ready to beg my husband for a second chance. I was willing to do anything to prove that despite the orgasm, he was still the only one in my heart.
However, when I opened the door, instead of a half filled travel suitcase, like I was expecting to find, my husband had his hand on his cock, furiously jerking himself off.
“What… What are you doing?”
James threw me a panicked look.
He clearly hadn’t counted on me walking in on him like that.
“Forgive me, Emma,” he grunted.
Before I could react any further, James had me on the bed, face down, ass up, and he was literally ripping my clothes off my body. First the blouse, then the pants, then he pawed at my bra and panties, but when the fabric didn’t prove as flimsy, he just pushed them aside, for convenience.
He grabbed my hips, keeping me in place, and entered my violated pussy in one hard thrust, before proceeding to fuck me with more wild abandon than he had ever taken me with.
The entire bed was shaking with the force of his fucking.
I had to brace myself for the occasional bout of pain, for when his cock would slam against my cervix, as if he was trying to enter my womb and fuck me in there too, or for when his hand would maul my breast with too much gusto, squeezing my soft flesh, pinching and pulling on my nipples, until I cried out in a strange mix of pain and pleasure.
James was so crazed, he was ignoring everything except his need, which was just as well, since I could hardly speak under such assault.
He fucked me, used me like a cock-sleeve, biting at my skin, grazing me with his teeth, mumbling something about me being molested by men and being a slut who enjoyed cock.
My mind was telling me to deny all that, to put an end to James’s sexual madness, but my body was loving every second of it. Yes, I did like being touched, used, I liked it when that man felt me up, despite him not being my husband. In fact, him being a total stranger was the best thing about it.
I let myself go completely, spurred on by my husband’s unabashed lust and I moaned and cried like a total whore, letting James hear the entire effect of what he was doing to me.
After he finally spilled himself inside my pussy, filling me with his hot seed, spurting more cum more than ever before, he took a moment to catch his breath, not yet pulling out. He placed a tender kiss on the hot skin between my shoulder blades and murmured an apology. And then he was out of me, and off of me, all too soon.
Confused, I was about to ask why he’d apologize for the best fuck in our married life, but then it hit me. And then the realization made me even more confused.
Attuned to my body and moods, James must have quickly caught onto how I had just figured him out, because he was the first to speak.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed, his energy clearly all sapped from the exertion, “but the idea of you cumming because of another man’s hands on you is something I find hot. I hope you can forgive me.”
And then he left again, heading for the bathroom, and I remained there, on the bed, feeling his cum oozing out of my freshly used hole and thinking that maybe I didn’t know my husband as well as I thought I did.
Was this revelation going to change things between us?
And if so, how?
---
Author Note:
If you like my style, I am also a published author over on Smashwords (find me as LoveHazePub). Purchases are welcomed, but not imperative. They simply show enjoyment of my work and help support the creation of more free content. Thank you for reading!
