Marissa gaped. “Where did you find this place?”
Patrick gave her a quick look and said offhandedly, “It wasn't hard to find. There's lots of places like this all over the Blue Ridge. I bought this one last week.”
Marissa's jaw remained slack as she stared wide eyed at her husband.
“Did you just say you... bought this?”
“Yeah. It's great, isn't it?” He spoke as if buying a property was something he did every day.
Marissa stuttered, “But, but you didn't mention it. Isn't this the kind of thing we're supposed to talk about first?”
Patrick brought the car to a stop under the porte cochere, then turned to look at her fully before saying, “It's my money, isn't it? I can use it however I want.” Then he opened the car door and got out, slamming the door on her entirely shocked expression.
She recovered when she heard the trunk closing, then scrambled out of the car. Frowning as she watched him carry the bags to the door, she asked, “Patrick, what's going on?”
He stopped and gave her a bland look. “I just wanted to do something a little crazy. Something to get the blood flowing again. Add a little excitement. Don't you like your surprise?”
Marissa didn't think she'd imagined the stark tone of his voice, or the way his eyes cooled when he said the word “excitement”. Alarm bells were going off in her head, but she couldn't figure out what was wrong. An image of Benji came to mind, but she dismissed it. There was no way he could know. Could he? Suddenly, Marissa was really nervous.
The door stood open, and Marissa rushed in to find Patrick, only to be entirely distracted by the house. Inside, it was just as exquisite as the exterior. Rich woods paired with cool marbles and granite throughout the main floor. It boasted an open plan, with rooms flowing effortlessly into each other. The kitchen was gorgeous, with cabinets done in glossy white shaker style that, although simple, lent the room a quiet but modern grace. Large paned windows covered nearly the entire rear of the property, allowing the amazing lake view to fill the space.
There was one glaring issue. The house was entirely unfurnished. Marissa felt like a trespasser, walking through the large, empty rooms. When she came to the large family room, though, she paused. Here, there was the makings of a living space. A table with four chairs and a lumpy looking couch took up a portion of the floor area. What looked like a state of the art entertainment system took up center stage in front of the seating area, with an oversize flat screen TV and a few peripherals.
Marissa heard footsteps and turned to see Patrick coming in carrying a black leather bag. He walked by her and placed the bag by the couch, then came back to her. She watched him approach, a kind of fear curling in her stomach at the hard, determined look in his eyes. Then she was entirely unbalanced as he took her in his arms, cupped the nape of her neck and lowered his lips to hers in a hard, rough, searing kiss. She felt him dig his fingers into her back and mold her to him more firmly, his sinewy body fitting her curves perfectly, just like it always had. She felt his erection then, hard and insistent against her hip as he plundered her mouth.
Marissa gripped his shoulders and held on for the ride, feeling her body respond to more than just the fact that he was her husband. There was something about his forcefulness that spoke to her sexually submissive side, awakening her darker needs as surely as the strike of a match makes flame. She melted against him, whimpering into his mouth as his hand cupped her supple ass and squeezed.
Then he was gone, holding her away and staring at her with dark, unreadable eyes. Marissa was panting and trembling slightly as he looked her up and down, then purposefully took his hands off her. It felt like a slap of cold water to her and she struggled to find her composure.
“We'll have time for that later,” said Patrick. “I need to go make some calls. Could you make sure the kitchen is properly stocked for the week? I had a company come out and take care of it, but I'd like to double check. And maybe get started on some dinner. I'm starving.”
Marissa took a deep breath, then nodded, not trusting her voice at all. Patrick nodded back and walked off into one of the private wings of the house. Letting out the breath she didn't realize she was holding, she headed for the kitchen on unsteady legs. It didn't strike her until a bit later that that was the first time Patrick had so much as touched her, or actually smiled at her, in days.
* * *
“This is delicious, Marissa,” said Patrick, as he methodically made his way through the glazed pork chops and vegetables she'd prepared. He seemed to be genuinely enjoying the meal.
For her part, Marissa couldn't seem to eat very much at all. She toyed with her food, moving it from one side of the plate to the other, her stomach tied in odd, uncomfortable tension knots. She took a sip of her water, not wanting to partake in the robust red wine that Patrick had chosen.
Looking up from his food, Patrick asked, “Aren't you hungry?”
Marissa felt a little crazy for imagining the edge in his words. She had been analyzing every look, every single sound and gesture, he'd made all day. It had her on a tight, strained edge. Finally, she couldn't take any more.
“Patrick... what's going on?” she asked again, this time with a light tremble in her voice.
He seemed to not hear her, as he finished his last few bites in complete silence. Then, when he had set his utensils down and carefully wiped his mouth, he leaned back in his chair, reached for his wine glass and finally looked at her. Marissa physically leaned away from the barely restrained anger she saw. Patrick's eyes were dark, ominous, bottomless pools.
“Have you been enjoying your summer, Marissa?” he asked. Cold, ugly dread pooled in the pit of her stomach.
Marissa looked down at her suddenly nausea inspiring food and said, “I guess so.” She pushed it away and reached for her water glass, but her fingers trembled so much that she snatched them back and gripped them tightly in her lap.
“That's good. I hope it's been really... fun for you,” said Patrick. She felt the weight of his stare on her for a few more beats, then he wiped the top of the table with his hand and took a quick breath, seemingly brushing the topic away. Marissa looked up as he said, “Well, ready for some entertainment?”
She was unsure how to respond, so she just watched him get up and move to the TV area, where he began setting something up. When he'd finished fiddling with the electronics, he returned to the table, took one of the wooden chairs and carried it over, placing it square in front of the TV with a heavy thud. He caressed the arm rests then gave the seat a solid rap with his knuckles and looked back at her.
“Come sit. I've got something really special for you.”
With a sinking heart, Marissa stood from the table and slowly walked to him. He stood aside and gestured for her to sit, and she did, while he came to stand behind her, his hands sitting heavily on her shoulders.
Patrick gave her a squeeze, then released her and said, “I hope you appreciate this. It's been a bit challenging to put together, but I think the result will be entirely worth it.”
The TV suddenly lit up, and Marissa found herself staring at a still picture of their living room. She frowned, unsure what exactly was going on. “Patrick, what...” The next words died on her tongue as she saw herself on the screen. Naked, on her knees, being led by an equally naked Benji. The chain leash he held tugged at the thick, leather collar at her throat. Marissa ceased to breath as she watched the scene unfold, remembering with crystal clarity everything that had occurred.
It had happened that past Tuesday. Benji had practically paraded her all around the house on that fucking leash, spanking her ass until her pussy throbbed in excitement to the ache of her reddened bottom. She watched slack jawed as he fucked her with his fingers, and she writhed with the pleasure of it. He'd pulled her by the hair then and shoved his dick in her mouth, all the way down. Marissa recalled how he'd fucked her willing throat, urging her to play with herself until she came in gurgling messy fits and he emptied in her mouth, entirely unaware that their illicit behavior was being filmed.
Marissa went to stand, galvanized by some kind of self preservation, but Patrick held her firmly in the chair. “Watch,” he said, his voice the coldest and starkest she'd ever heard it.
The scene changed abruptly, and Marissa recognized another guilty, hedonistic moment. This time, they were in the master bath, and the camera caught the giant flesh colored dildo sinking into her ass. Her grunts were animalistic as she worked the obscenely large plastic cock in and out, while Benji stroked his cock and tugged at the chain attached to the nipple clamps on her tits. He called her the filthiest names, urging her to come on that massive tool, and she did, loudly, messily, squirting her cum all over her fingers and the floor. Then it was Benji's turn, splashing her face and chest with his copious sperm. The rivulets dripped down her sweat slicked body for a few seconds before the scene changed again.
On and on it went, with scene after scene from this past week. It was a damning reel of her infidelity, no doubt cobbled together to drive her into guilt riddled depths of despair. It succeeded, too, the sickening feeling of discovery leaving her feeling cold and vaguely ill. She was glad she hadn't eaten much of anything for dinner, because she would have thrown it up at her feet.
The truly heinous part, though, was that watching herself perform all those acts also had an unintended and entirely unforeseen side effect. It turned her on tremendously. Even with the crushing dread, the 'oh shit' litany on repeat in her head, she was fighting the urge to squirm in the chair. She knew she was dripping wet, and that was even more shameful.
When the video finally finished, it froze on a scene from yesterday, as she'd stood on the deck, naked except for the nipple clamps and chains. It was after she'd kicked Benji out, and the look on her face was one of triumph. There were long, ominous minutes of silence in the room, during which Marissa was captivated by the image. She was nearly panting, her face flushed as she shifted in her seat, feeling her sodden panties rub wetly at her crotch under the thin yoga pants she wore. Then Patrick walked into her field of vision and she felt everything stop.
“Can you explain to me why?” His question was quiet, devoid of any emotion. He stood rigidly, hands tucked almost carelessly into his pockets. Marissa took in his entirely empty demeanor and realized there was nothing she could say that would matter.
She shook her head, looking straight in his eyes when she said, “No. I can't.” It was true. The entire affair felt like the most depraved of fever dreams to her now. There was a dreamlike quality to her memories of it, even the most recent ones. It felt like she hadn't really lived it, more like experienced it as a passenger in her own body.
Patrick took a few breaths, and Marissa caught the subtle balling of his hands into fists, hidden in his pockets. Then, her gaze strayed to his crotch, and her eyes went wide. She saw, clearly delineated under the soft cloth of his expensive chinos, that his dick was unmistakably hard. He was aroused, and the idea of it confused her, but it also turned her own desire up to painful intensity. Marissa wasn't aware of the noise she'd made until after she did, the quiet, whimpered sigh echoing between them.
He took one step to her and said, “Do you want it to continue?”
Marissa shook her head almost instantly. “No. It's over. I want nothing from him ever again.”
Patrick stared her down hard. Marissa withstood his glittering, piercing gaze, entirely sure that she had just told the absolute truth. She was wholly done with Benji, and she realized, to her utter surprise, that her arousal right at that moment had nothing to do with him and everything to do with the exhibitionist nature of the video she had just watched. She was turned on by the act of performing for the camera, watching herself be the basest, most uninhibited whore she could be, while someone else watched. Not just anyone, though. Patrick. She found it nearly unbearably exciting to have him watch.
Suddenly entirely animated, Patrick lunged to her, took a hold of her loose, thick hair and gripped it hard, pulled so that she had no choice but to look up at his angry gaze. It was painful and made her cry out, but it also fed her growing desire.
“Do you have any idea how this makes me feel?” Patrick's face was inches from hers, his eyes livid, cheeks slightly flushed. He was panting now, and Marissa matched him breath for breath. Something wicked took hold of her and she smirked. That floaty quality was suffusing her mind as she stared into his electrified irises.
She glanced down his body in the general direction of his crotch, then back up at him and said, “I can guess at least one way it makes you feel.” Patrick growled – actually growled – and his grip tightened painfully, making Marissa hiss.
“Don't be fucking clever now, Marissa, or I swear to God, you'll regret it,” he said through gritted teeth. Then it was his turn to hiss when he felt her hands sliding up his legs. Marissa didn't know what insanity had taken hold of her, but she couldn't stop. She caressed his tight, trembling thighs with firm palms, converging them at the sides of his tented crotch. He choked out a groan, pulling her head back another impossibly painful inch, but stood still as she firmly stroked from his base to the tip and back again and again.
Her smirk turned into a full, seductive smile and she focused on his twitching tip. “I think you liked watching me be a truly filthy slut for him.” She squeezed him and he groaned out loud this time, his other hand coming to rest a firm grip at her throat. Marissa felt a thrilling kind of fear, along with an unparalleled wave of intense desire. It had a million times more dimension than what she'd felt with Benji. This was eons beyond those suddenly shallow seeming sensations.
“I think,” she said, squeezing his cock head, “that you want me to be that same filthy slutty wife for you.”
Patrick's face expressed an odd combination of ire and shock. He was panting, gritting his teeth, and possibly making that incredibly sexy growling sound entirely unconsciously. The hand at her throat squeezed tight for a few long entirely terrifying seconds, then relaxed, and Marissa nearly came from the waves of dark, sharp pleasure coursing through her. She whimpered and panted, hips gyrating madly to get some form of stimulation onto her clit. The peak was so close. She ached for it. Patrick, though, seemed to realize what was happening, even through his fog of angry desire. He released her neck and gave her a not too gentle slap across the cheek.
Stunned, Marissa looked up at Patrick with open shock and defiant anger. He just returned his hand to her throat and held her still.
“No, Marissa. You don't get to come. Not tonight. Not until I say you do.” He forcefully turned her head, so that her ear was leaning up to him, then whispered, “It's going to be a long, hard--” he punctuated that word with a thrust of his hips, driving his cock head into her hand, “--vacation for you, whore wife.”
Every word had pierced Marissa's entire self, leaving her a trembling, needy, whimpering mess. She deserved it, every single thing he called her, every spank, slap, denied orgasm, forceful face fuck, debased ass rending, and any other hedonistic form of 'punishment' that Patrick came up with. She'd made her bed, and while she hadn't expect it to turn out this way, she'd take it, lie in it, and fucking love every moment of it.
Patrick squeezed her throat again and said, “I'm going to wipe that goddamn Riley boy from your memory. I'm taking back what's fucking mine, and I'm going to start with this slut mouth.” His hand came to cup her chin and cheeks, and he squeezed her lips into an open, pouting 'o'. “Take my pants off, whore, and show me what a fantastic cock sucker you've become.”
Marissa held his eyes as her fingers fumbled to undo his belt, the button and zipper on his pants. She panted and licked her lips as she pushed the garment down, taking his boxers with them. Her eyes were drawn to his crotch, and went instantly wide. Patrick had always been meticulous about grooming, maintaining a neatly trimmed bush, but today, he was entirely hairless. His cock throbbed angrily, proud and straight, seeming to Marissa larger than it ever had before. Just as she was about to grip it in her palms, Patrick pulled at her hair, making her wince.
“No hands, slut. Open your mouth and stick out your tongue, hands crossed at your back.”
Marissa didn't waste a moment doing exactly as he said, her eyes once again trained on him. Patrick used his grip on her hair and throat to guide her exposed tongue to the underside of his weeping cock. He drew a line across the length of her tongue with his crown, smearing his precome across her saliva slicked muscle.
Grunting, he ordered, “Open wider.”
She did, and he leveraged himself into her wide, warm, willing mouth. Marissa buzzed with desire, feeling her husband's thick meat thrust into her mouth to the top of her throat. He held himself there, as if willing her to gag on him, but Marissa had learned quite a bit about throat fucking over the summer. She relaxed her throat and allowed Patrick's cock to slide in further. He gritted his teeth and ground out a gravelly 'fuck' before shifting his hips and burying himself forcefully in her throat. Marissa did gag then, but it didn't matter. Patrick was indeed taking what was his.
He tugged and pulled her head as he thrust into her mouth, the rough and insistent movement making Marissa's eyes tear and overflow. Saliva pooled and dripped out the sides of her mouth. She had become nothing but his whore fuck hole, and while it was something she'd done with Benji numerous times, this was entirely different.
Marissa's tears intensified as he fucked her faster, his breath coming in harsh gasps. Patrick's face was a mask of contorted pleasure and dark, sharp anger as he defiled her mouth again and again. It should have humiliated Marissa, but what it actually did was set her heart free. This was her husband, the man she had always loved, taking her. Owning her in a way she craved, and while it had taken her infidelity to achieve this result, right at that moment she couldn't be sorry. This Patrick, the dominant god currently throttling her throat, was her wet dream come true.
“Fuck, that's a good whore throat! Oh yeah, slut wife, take it.” He growled, and Marissa felt his cock grow impossibly hard in her throat. “Fuck yeah, I'm gonna come in this slutty whore mouth. You better swallow it all, Marissa. Yeah, oh yeah, here it comes!”
Patrick held her hair and neck in iron grips, burying his throbbing, kicking dick as deep as it would go. Marissa's eyes rolled back and closed in ecstasy as she felt him begin to shoot down her throat, and she worked her muscles to milk him further. He cried out in surprise and pleasure, and fucked her with feverish intensity, spurts of his cum still filling her. Marissa felt so close to coming that she was afraid she would; Patrick had told her she couldn't, though. More than anything, she wanted to please him, and that strengthened her resolve.
When he finally pulled out of her throat, she took explosive, gasping breaths, strings of saliva stretching from her parted lips to his slowly deflating cock. Her pussy quivered and ached to come, and she whined and squirmed, wanting the release but aware she wouldn't get it. It was maddening, the denial, but it brought Marissa more pride and pleasure to follow his demands.
Patrick's fingers gentled, and he combed her hair back away from her face lovingly. The delicate caress was unexpected, but so appreciated that Marissa whimpered, her tears flowing thicker as a hoarse sob caught in her battered throat. That simple gesture embodied everything she'd been craving from her interactions with Benji. She realized then that she'd never actually wanted that from him. It had always only been Patrick who could give her that.
His strong hands cupped her cheeks and turned her face up to look at him. Marissa cried openly as she took in her glorious husband, the man who held her heart and soul, and now had begun claiming her body in the way she so needed. Patrick stroked her cheek with his thumb, the small touch so very familiar that it made her break into loud, open sobbing. Patrick went down on his knees in front of her, then scooted up between her legs and wrapped his strong arms around her, hugging her close. Marissa leaned into him, her own arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders.
They held each other like that for a long time, until Marissa's sobs quieted. Patrick's hands had been rubbing slow, soothing circles on her back, but now he leaned away from her and looked into her tear swollen eyes. Marissa saw in them the love he still had for her, but there was a new depth and dimension to it, and also a darkness that sent a thrilling shiver down her spine.
Patrick said, “I'm not going to apologize for that. You deserved it, and so much more, but at the same time, I don't want to hurt you, Marissa. I didn't, did I? Was that too much?”
Marissa gave him a small, trembling smile and said, “No, that was so good. It was beyond anything I've ever felt.” Patrick gave her a look, like he was about to call bullshit on her, but she continued, “No, listen to me, please. I'm not going to deny that Benji was... good.” She blushed hotly, feeling the deep humiliation of telling her husband about her lover's prowess in the sack. “But what he did for me, it was so shallow, compared to this one thing we just did. I didn't love him, Patrick. He made my body feel things I'd never known, but he never touched my heart, my soul. Those are only for you.”
Patrick's eyes went hot and dark, his hand returning to lie possessively at her throat.
“From now on, your body is only for me, too,” he said roughly, and Marissa moaned quietly.
“Yes,” she said quietly, unable to look away from his gaze.
Patrick stepped away from her, tucking himself back into his slacks. Then he said, “Get up.