One white plate, infused with aqua blue flowers blooming across a ceramic surface, lays discarded at the bottom of the sink. Red ketchup stains crusted over the floral pattern. At the same time, a relatively clean glass keeps it company, mere feet from the cupboard where both should live. I feel my lips stretch into a smile. I’ve asked him before, multiple times, to put the dishes away when he was done. But it would not do to let him see me upset. I hear him in the next room, the furious clicking as his soft, flexible fingers manipulate the controller. He’d worked a double yesterday.

“Quinn,” my voice betrays no irritation, pitched at a delighted exasperation. “Do you know who left this plate here?”

The groan is strike two.

“Sorry,” he didn’t stop his game or even look in my direction. “I was going to do it before I headed out to work.”

Taking no responsibility at all for his actions. He knows how important this is to me. The plate came from our second apartment.

“No worries,” in two motions, the dish is cured of the ketchup. “I’ll take care of it.”

………………………………………………………………………………………………

The unconscious mind rules the universe. We’re not rational thinkers. That’s the first delusion. No. We don’t reason; we rationalize. No one decides to do anything; it’s all instinct. We come up with pretty reasons to explain our actions.

Second, furies live within each of us, uncontrollable, ecstatic, passionate, and eager to gorge on every desire. The only thing leashing them is fear. Get past that, and there are no limits.

The secret of life is learning how to bathe in those passions. Let every emotion overtake the senses: fury makes the air sweeter, laughter sets the nerves aflame, and pleasure should fill every inch of the body, flooding between the legs, drowning all the thoughts of the real world. Sex isn’t real unless humanity is fucked out of you. The housewife transformed into a howling unthinking animal.

I’m not greedy, but I want a clean home, comfortable living, a little spending money, and intimacy. Men, and I don’t mean this in a bad way, are built only to value prized possessions. The more secure their hold, the less they care. Don’t blame me; blame evolution. So dirty dishes aren’t a sign of forgetfulness or exhaustion. Those are the reasons, not the truth. He’s gotten complacent. He thinks I’m his. Quinn’s subconscious needs a reminder.

I hear the door close as he heads off to work, and I sit in front of the mirror, examining the situation. Lessons, even subconscious ones, need to fit the moment. I fucked his father the night before our wedding. It guaranteed more financial support for the family and gave his son an instinct to reclaim the bride. I still sometimes think about the fight Quinn started that week in Cancun, not knowing who he really wanted to punch. Afterward, his eye shining in the moonlight, he fucked me behind the bar, covering my mouth so I wouldn’t give us away. Didn’t work; I like to make noise.

But this isn’t the same situation. Besides, his Dad passed last year. Necessary as the old fart had gotten possessive, but I miss those nights.  

And it’s not about encouraging Quinn, either. When he needed to focus at work and that she-bitch, Gloria, stood in the way, I helped. I fucked her husband first the day after she took credit for Quinn’s PowerPoint, then her son when he visited, and finally, when she was broken, I made her cum over her desk as she begged me never to leave. A lovely few months. She left soon after for mental health reasons. I sometimes send her untraceable photos because cruelty can be delicious.    

No, Quinn needs a reminder about what a good husband does.

………………………………………………………………..

Eddy Sadarino met my husband in kindergarten, and it was love at first sight. Their friendship, born from a dinosaur obsession, flourished over twenty-five years. A quarter of a century of support, laughter, and nonsense. Eddy married Christine six years ago. He’s a model partner, father, and man. In another era, he’d ride a white stallion in gleaming armor looking for maidens to rescue. Which also happens to be the kind of woman he desires. The grateful wide-eyed ingénue who learns everything from his kind but firm hand. Paternalism can be deeply seductive. Fortunately for me, Christine had recently begun studying for her Master's in Art History. When they’d first met, little Chrissy had been going through a crisis. Something about her father’s death and her passion for stability, and his hunger helped fuel their desire. But people change. Christine bloomed as her talent became clearer. Eddy could not be prouder, but he could take no credit, offer no guidance, and this meant they were vulnerable. I’d never liked Christy ever since she implied my paint-by-numbers were tacky.

But how to drive them apart? I want my legs wrapped around his waist before the end of the month or, even better, if I can drive him to it, have my ankles over his shoulder as he bends me in half and fucks the rage into me. Eddy needs to feel justified, wanted, and needed, which means, fortunately, destroying his marriage.

I sit at my computer and close my eyes, imagining the pair. Eddy’s tall, scruffy black hair, perpetually untamed, wide embarrassed grin as he massages the back of his neck, his biceps half hidden by the short-sleeved tee-shirt. Strong but not vain. Chrissy, in heels, comes up adorably just under his broad shoulders. Her style has changed, but it fits. Hair evolving from quaffed updos to buzzed sides and blue dye, vests with no undershirt, and a tattoo growing up her left arm. I imagine their intimacy has gotten more intense over the last few months as they desperately try to find what keeps them together. Chrissy pushing him to expand his sexual taste. My imagination is a powerful thing, so I can see him using a belt to bind her wrists behind her back, the sweat dripping down his chest. Her face is hidden behind by the throw pillows as she spreads her legs, her frustrated voice muffled by the cushions.

“Spank me, for fuck’s sake! Harder!”

Chrissy wants to be different. Dangerous. Exotic.

I know precisely what to do. My friend Javier owes me a favor... lots. I send him a message that I’ll be using his photos. Creating a false identity is easy with this much practice. A private message to Chrissy’s Instagram about her newest portrait. I have genuine admiration for her work; she’s talented. Javier, is handsome, sophisticated, far off, and teasing. He’s shameless, but as he’s in another country she could reciprocate without fear.

I grin as I lay my trap.

………………………………………

 “Thank god!” I throw my arms around Eddy’s neck, pulling myself into a hug. “This has been driving me crazy!”

Breaking the food processor enough to be fixable took more work than I thought. I also don’t usually rock the housewife aesthetic this much, but I found an adorable flowery summer dress. A novice would show more skin, but Eddy craves innocence. I blink, framing these doe eyes in a wholesome thankful expression as I squeeze his arms. “Swear to God. I don’t know what I’d do without you sometimes, Eddy. Can’t get Quinn to help to save my life.”

“I’m sure he’s busy,” his eyes linger on mine, and I can sense the strain on his face. He’s trying to stop himself from looking me up and down. Three weeks of Chrissy pulling away into her new online “friendship” has taken its toll. He’s prowling as he turns towards the kitchen. His eyes dart from place to place.

“But I could fix up a few things while I’m here, maybe catch dinner with you and Q?” His left eye twitches. “Chrissy is busy tonight. So, I’m kinda roaming tonight.”

“Oh, absolutely. I’ve made a pot roast,” Eddy is a handsome man, and that unspent passion begins to infect my animal nature. Frustrated energy pours off him, and my body tenses. An ancient instinct growls as my body reacts. Flight or fuck. The finger curling my hair is not planned, nor is my breath slowing, and my lips parted as I bite into my bottom lip. His musk hits, and my throat begins to constrict. Up until now, this has been all business. A punishment for my husband on why he should take me seriously. Now I can’t wait to feel his calloused hands reach under this dress and tear aside my panties. Ivory colored matching my bra, sensual but not risqué and already soaked.

“Can you eat meat?” I ask, slapping his arm. “I know Chrissy is a vegetarian, but you can still have fun, right?”

He nods. If I moved now, he’d do it. He’s so close to breaking, and no doubt he’d rip the buttons apart, open me up, and feel the soaking pulsing interior grin like a wolf as he fucked. I’m not a quiet lover, and there is no finer music than my screams punctuated by his uncontrolled grunts and swearing. Our lips almost touch, and I want his tongue to gag me.

But if we do this now, guilt will overcome him. He’ll confess to his best friend, and this carefully arranged life will fall apart.

Patience.

“Yeah, Pot-Roast sounds great.” He nods and pulls himself away from our oncoming apocalypse.

…………..

“What do you mean you’re not coming home?” my voice catches as I fight back the tears. But Eddy catches the tone. He looks over from the kitchen island as he skins potatoes, an eyebrow raised.

“Uh,” Quinn’s confused tone tickles my ear. “I got the conference, remember? You helped me pack?

“Right, of course.” I sell the broken defeat, even flashing Eddy a water smile as if trying to convince him everything’s fine. “I’m stupid.”

“What? No! Hell, I forgot these all the time. Want me to come home early? I can catch a plane and be back tomorrow?”

Quinn can be such a little bitch.

“No, no. I’m fine. Just being silly. Have fun. Say hi to Margret.”

“Who?”

I hang up, my hands trembling. I turn my back so Eddy "won’t see," the tears running down my face, my shoulders shaking.

“Right, so Quinn won’t be able to make it. Sorry, I’m such an idiot. Can’t do anything right. Do you want to go…”

He’s faster than I imagined. A strong, calloused hand touches my shoulder before I even realize he’s moved. Eddy spins me, long black hair framing his piercing field green eyes and strong stubbly jaw. It's clenching, I can hear the teeth grinding and the vein pulse on his neck. He’s accidentally hurting my arm, squeezing as he asks. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I turn away, but his other hand comes out, tucking a finger under my chin and pushing me up. He’s so close.

Set up or not. Acting or not. I can’t help but feel the rhythmic pleasure building between my legs. The coarse fabric grows tighter as my senses heighten. My breath shortens with every inhale, and I find the edges of the world blur. The back of his hand gently strokes my cheek.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” my voice is hardly capable of pushing out enough breath to lie. The weight of my desire crushes the rational mind, but it’s all right. We’re almost there.

“Hold me,” I beg, peering up at his pained expression. “I just need a little affection.”

Eddy brings me in, and I inhale his musk. He’s mine; I can smell it. The body lets you know when you’ve broken the mind.

“Thank you,” I whisper into his chest, writhing as one large palm rubs my back and the other runs fingers through my hair. “I need you so much.”

Magic words activate.

His kiss starts gently before he begins to explore. His tongue expertly dances with mine, followed by sharp teeth gently biting my lip. The fingers in my hair tighten, and I realize Eddy is a particular kind of white knight. The one hiding darkness.

He pulls, forcing my head back as I gasp. The intensity of his expression has shifted to a cruel arrogance. A smirk I’d never seen on him before. I moan, but he brings his lips down again, cutting me off. This time, his kiss abuses my tongue. My entire body reacts, my hand gripping the strong cords of muscle in his neck. He knocks me off balance, and I still can’t breathe. When he finally pulls away from my lips, I hiss. The kitchen spins, and he releases me. My legs are weak, so I lean against the kitchen counter, my back to him. Eddy pushes against my ass, and I feel his cock for the first time. Maybe the lust's talking, but it feels impossibly thick. The kind of weapon which could split me open, dripping over the laminate. My left leg shudders as I spread in preparation. His fingers wrap around my throat, and even as he squeezes, I realize there is no more breath to steal.

“I’ll give you everything you need,” his voice is so harsh it feels like nails running down my spine.

He knocks my legs from under me, and suddenly I’m in his arms. Eddy seems drunk, his eyes unfocused as he lunges toward the kitchen island. He pins me down, snarling. He reaches out again, and his calloused hands rub my neck for a moment before he grips the neckline and rips.

The buttons scatter across the kitchen as his fury destroys my clothing. He doesn’t even take a moment to appreciate the bra and panties I’d painstakingly picked. Especially the underwear which he pulls aside as he gorges on my soaking juices. Feral. The scratchy five o clock rubs against my inner thighs as his tongue tastes every inch. A sharp sensation overwhelms me at first, so close to pain I’m already clutching his hair, squeezing my legs. But he doesn’t stop: sucking, licking, his breath sending a shock through my nervous system. I try to push his head away and pull him closer at the same time.

“Thank you, Eddy,” I’m screaming, and my voice echoes back. “I need this. I NEED YOU!”

My husband’s best friend lifts me up, my ass in his giant hands, as Eddy peers up. A childish boastful grin shines as my juices glisten off his face. Eddy slowly licks his lips so he can enjoy every drop. His thumb hooks my panties and begins to pull. I see stains as he slips the fabric from my ankles. He holds them for a moment, entranced.

“You’re amazing.” I love not having to lie. “Please. Fuck me. I need to be really, really fucked-

He flips me over on the island, not even straining. Eddy’s a strong boy and ready to prove himself. He squeezes my ass before letting lose a slap, hard enough that I lurch forward. The stinging flesh pulses in time to the building orgasmic beat growing inside. My senses explode. I see my reflection in the window, the hair sticking to my face, a feral expression I don’t recognize. I feel the fake marble tabletop pressing against my breasts, smell the sweat of our bodies, and taste the oxygen as my abused tongue presses against the roof of my mouth.

Then I hear him unzip.

The next slap I feel on my ass is certainly not from a hand. No matter how large I imagined that monster, the force of the smack clearly demonstrated the limits of my mind's eye. He rests that thick meaty rod atop my ass as he pushes my head down. “Breath deep and relax. Cause I’m not going to stop.”

“Promise?”

My back arches as he slowly fills me. I’m not new to dick. But he’s not even two inches in, and I’m gripping the edge, knuckles white, my breath coming out in harsh, rasping gasps. He keeps his promise and does not hesitate. With each passing eternity, not only air is forced from my body. It feels like I’m being replaced by this thick warm pressure. My entire body tenses as wave after wave of pleasure builds but does not break. This agonizing promise deep inside is held in place by a monstrous, beautiful cock.

“Jesus, Eddy,” I manage. “I needed this so much. Quinn can’t fuck like this.”

I feel him tense. Guilt flows through him and into me. I can almost see through his eyes. His best friend’s wife speared on his cock, whimpering as she spreads wider, learning how to take a real man. But… but. It’s against everything Eddy believes.

“I don’t know what Chrissy is thinking,” I mutter, just loud enough for him to hear.

That does it.

When he pulls out, it’s like I’ve been emptied, every part of me craving his return. I can hear the disgusting wet escape, which combines with my pathetic muttering. But I don’t have long to wait as he thrusts. I don’t just feel full. He’s destroying my insides, widening my possibilities as each newly discovered sensation fuels the building orgasm. I’m a greedy little bitch, and I want to come soon. So, I offer some loving encouragement.

“How! How are you so big! Not possible! Fuck. Faster. Fuck. Faster.”

He does. Two big hands grip my waist just above my ass as he picks up the intensity. Sweat drips onto my back. I can feel the ends of his long black hair tickle my shoulders as he whispers.

“This is what you deserve, baby girl. A real man fucks his wife. A real man makes his wife cum over and over and…

I admit I only spasmed for a few seconds as the orgasm spreads through my body. His weight comes down on me as he fails to pull out, and his cum drips down my legs. I wish my hubby was coming home later tonight. I love fucking him with another man’s seed in me.

“So sorry,” he groans behind me, and his regret irritates me to no end. “I can’t believe we did that. I’m… I’m…”

I roll my eyes, knowing he can’t see me, but I let the scene play out.

“What did we do?”

…………………………

Eddy won’t confess. We agreed this was a dark moment in our lives, yadda yadda, and I sent him home. Knowing him now, I imagine he’s going to go fuck the rebellion out of his lady, but we’ll see how that develops.

A little sore, I look forward to falling asleep in my bed, stretching out alone. But I have a few little chores to handle first.

I go over to the hidden camera I keep in the false mug on the shelf. Perfect place, and I look forward to adding the footage to my archive. The transfer only takes a moment, but I get to see some highlights. It’ll be fun to play with myself, actually getting to see everything Eddy did to me.

But tonight wasn’t just a relaxing way to spend the evening. This was a lesson in remembering to cherish your wife. Quinn isn’t ready yet to learn about his degradation, but the subconscious is my most powerful ally.

I rip the sound from the video and get to work. Quinn never sleeps without using a very particular white noise app. I can adjust the sound mixture from anywhere in the country. My favorite devious invention with a surprisingly wide number of applications. Tonight, as he drifts off into slumber, he’ll bask in the ambiance of the seaside, rain, nature, and under it all, the moans of his wife being fucked by his best friend.

That will teach him to leave dirty dishes in the sink.