I woke early after a restless night and I ran. Sunday runs are usually 5k, more if I need to process something, like a problem at work or the smoking ruin of my marriage. I ran close to 10k that day. As my feet pounded the pavement mindlessly, I mentally played conversations I would have with Matthew. My imagined version of Matthew agreed with every one of my explanations. In the end it was just mental masturbation. I returned home to confront him, and myself.

I found him on the couch reading, wearing jeans and no shirt. He looked mighty fine to me and it took my breath away for a moment. Matthew has a commanding presence I find inexplicably alluring. Nine times out of ten I’m horny after a run. This time was no exception, after all I’d been thinking about sex and my husband and adultery. Finding him half naked buried in a book on a lazy Sunday morning.... Yum!

Matthew is always polite. If I walk into a room he acknowledges me. That morning he kept his face turned down at the book, ignoring me, reminding me just how fucked our relationship was. I wanted to rip his pants off badly, but that would have to wait. I needed to fix this first.

“Matthew, we need to talk.”

He sat up and put his book down on the coffee table and held out a hand to me wordlessly, a look of concern on his face. I put my hand in his, and for a second I let myself feel relief at his gentle touch.

He pulled me carefully down and reached out for my face with his other hand. I wanted to cry. Maybe he would finally talk. Instead, he grabbed a handful of scruff, roughly forcing me onto my knees and pulling my head back and up, forcing me to look up into his eyes which were glaring with sudden rage.

“l checked his phone. You called him twice.”  For a second his words confused me. Whose phone? Then I remembered, he’d taken Jimmy’s phone before running him off.

“I told you that’s what happened,” I said. After catching me and Jimmy, there was no point asking why he wouldn't trust me. All I could do was underline my honesty.

“No pictures of you, though,” he said.

“I’m no idiot,” I said. Matthew didn't look so sure about that.

“That girl down the street is. Seth’s daughter, I mean. I found some of her and him.”

“Ruth?” She was college aged, but innocent and sheltered, the child of strict religious upbringing.

“Yeah. Quite the slut, too. Seems to have a thing for sleazy slackers.” Matthew’s grip on my hair tightened even as he made his dig at me. He continued, “Pictures of other women, too. Including her mom.”

I gasped, “that shrew?”

“Yeah. Seth’s got some real problems on the home front. And you’ve got some real competition with that one. She’s had at least four of them together and she definitely likes posing with cocks all around her face. Does that make you jealous?”

“No,” I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “Who knew Jimmy would turn out so industrious.”

I could tell immediately by Matthew’s expression that I’d made a mistake taking this lightly.

“Yeah, he’s got a regular harem of whores. Probably wanted to add you to his photo album, but didn’t get the chance.” Yanking my head back further, he smiled down at me cruelly, seeing my pain, then pushed my head down to his belt buckle.

I tried to resist and pull up, outraged as he pushed my face into his crotch, but implacably he pushed my head down until he crushed my lips against the hard bulge of his cock. His jeans felt rough against my skin, and they smelled fragrently like detergent and musk. I suddenly remember how much I wanted to rip his pants off just a few minutes ago.

“‘Whore’ might be the wrong word. A whore is an honest about her line of work. ‘Slut’ isn’t right either. I dated a couple of sluts between Karen and you. Nice girls, forthright about their desires. They had some self-respect, too. Not you, though. I'm not sure what to call you.”  

He lifted my head back so we could look into each other's eyes. I’d like to say I resisted. That I somehow pulled away and struck back. Or that I showed him how I had self respect. Instead, after a momentary staring contest, I reached up to unzip him. His cock jumped out like a jack in the box, hitting my cheek.

He laughed at me and pushed me toward his spear. I swallowed the tip of his wonderful cock and suppressed a sigh of perverse delight. I spent a minute like that, sucking the head of his cock, rubbing the underside lovingly with my tongue, the whole time in a state of disbelief at my own passivity. I couldn't deny how at easy I felt, either. My mouth felt at home over the head of his cock, and I liked his rough treatment.

What the fuck was wrong with me?

“You’re something completely different. Whatever that is, you don’t get to decided if we talk. I do. And I have better uses for your mouth,” he said, pushing my head down, forcing more of himself into me, physically gagging me. He didn’t stop, either. Or talk.

I barely got a breath in once he began fucking my face, careless of my pain or pleasure. Finally, he let go of me and I sprawled back onto the floor between the couch and the coffee table, panting for breath, unable to speak. Matthew stood over me and came, in my hair, on my face, and all over my sports bra.

When he finished he pushed the head of his cock against my lips. I sucked him in, tasting the last of his orgasm. After a minute, it was clear he wasn’t softening. He pulled his cock out of my mouth and slapped it against my forehead. I fell onto my back more from shock than from the impact. Matthew laughed. I suppressed a giggle, not wanting let him know I thought it was funny, too. He grabbed my legs and casually flipped me over onto my stomach. I tried to rise up so he could yank down my shorts enter me from behind. He helped by yanking my shorts up hard. I heard them tear and felt the burning sensation of the band against my waist line, but I was on my knees now. He yanked again, this time hard enough to rip the shorts completely off me. I arched my back and lowered my face to the floor. He tossed the rags away, grabbed my hips, and entered me from behind.

“You’re soaking.”

He had a point. I’d come to talk, but now, even without a cock in my mouth, I said nothing waiting to be fucked, accommodatingly wet and silent. He fucked me like an animal and I came like a bitch in heat, moaning and biting my lips so I wouldn’t beg him to fuck me deeper. He came inside me and got up to leave, but not before getting in a last word.

“Slut and whore are too good for you. You’re just a warm wet hole to me and you don’t get to say any different, not after... that night. If you don’t like it, leave.”

I lay on the floor wracked with post-orgasmic cramps and panicky with feelings of loss.

--

Work occupied the rest of Sunday. I avoided Matthew in my office but kept tabs on his whereabouts, too. I would panic that he had left me if I didn't hear him walking around downstairs, or clinking dishes in the kitchen every once in a while. My dread of abandonment didn't fade, either. Matthew remained grounded that Monday but I had to work. I accomplished nothing. I could only think how unmoored Matthew and I were and how he had all day to pack, to call his lawyer, to leave. Worse than loosing him would be knowing I deserved to.

By the afternoon guilt, humiliation, and fear of abandonment turned to anger. Mostly with myself, but also at Matthew for the way he’d treated me. Rough sex or even his course, objectifying words, I could handle. His refusal to talk about us, grated. I left at three, unable to work and unwilling to spend a minute more torturing myself, imagining him packing his bags. My unease only grew as I got closer to home. Pent up breath burst from my lungs when I spotted his old Porsche on our street. I didn’t let my relief deter me, though.

“We need to talk,” I said. “Even if you don’t think so.”

I’d found him in the kitchen doorway, heading to the living area. At my words, he turned toward me with his hands out low, as if he wanted to pull me in for a hug. For a moment, I felt a connection of warmth that totally disarmed me. He crushed those positive feelings by spinning me around and pinning me against the wall with one hand.

I heard a zip and then my skirt was up, my thong down, and his cock in me. He felt even larger than normal and somehow better. I bit back a moan but pushed back, trying to get more of him in me. Without preamble or foreplay, somehow I'd gotten wet again. He stopped abruptly after only a few thrusts.

“Talk?” he laughed. “Looks like you've been wanting something else entirely. Haven't you?”

I looked at him over my shoulder, wanting to see humor or some shared sarcasm on his face, but there was only a glacial stare. I nodded. He resumed fucking me into the wall as I pushed back against him, I came before he did. Twice.

What was wrong with me?

I let him fuck me roughly again the next night and the night after that. Anytime I tried to have a serious conversation with Matthew he would either walk out without a word or to bend me over a convenient piece of furniture and use me hard. He took me against the wall, on the stairs, over the sink, over the couch, on the kitchen table, and on the back patio. The one piece of furniture he wouldn’t fuck me on was our bed. He refused all my advances anywhere near it. We simply didn’t make love anymore.

I loved it. I hated it. There was an honesty to his use of me. I didn’t feel any need to statisfy him or to perform for him, either. He used me. I let him. I enjoyed it too: participating passively in my own humiliating use. Matthew seemed to get off on being particularly careless of my pleasure or ego. There was some tortured emotional satisfaction for him, I could see. The kind of smug satisfaction you get seeing your high school bully brought low. I hoped he would work through whatever it was so we could repair our lives instead of rutting like wild animals.

“We can’t go on like this,” I said one night over another silent dinner. He looked at me incredulously. “We have to…”

I jumped as his hand slammed down on the table. When the silverware stopped ringing, he said, “I already said what I want to say. Leave if you want. If you want to talk, talk about anything but that.”

“I miss you,” I said, choking back tears.

He laughed sarcastically. “Talk about anything but us.”

We talked about small things. We even went out for date nights, pantomiming a happy marriage. A kind of professional affability replaced intimacy. We conversed like two old acquaintances catching up after a chance meeting at a favorite restaurant.

His rampant domination of me continued and deepened, as did my humiliating enjoyment of it. I missed my loving husband as much as I seemed to love being mistreated by the angry doppelganger I now realized I’d replaced him with. My actions with Jimmy changed everything between Matthew and me, and I hated myself for it. I got used to it, though. I came to expect the mistreatment, even to like it. Sometimes, I would ask to talk about 'us' just so he would mercilessly fuck me.

--

How much our marriage had changed hit home for me late one fog-shrouded evening as we walked home from our local Sushi bar. Matthew stopped mid stride. I looked up to see Jimmy standing in a pool of lamplight directly in front of us wearing a wide-eyed, fearful expression. After a moment of clear panic, the wuss lurched into the street and ran across to the opposite sidewalk. I suppressed a laugh.

Matthew stood stiff, tracking Jimmy as he scurried quick as a cockroach from the dim light into the dark mist, out of sight. I could feel the tension in Matthew winding up. With Jimmy out of sight, my husband’s attention jerked back to me. I quailed in fear of the anger behind those blue eyes.

“You want to follow him?”

“No,” I said.

Matthew resumed walking as abruptly as he’d stopped. I followed, waiting for the storm to pass or batter me. I could feel wetness between my legs, in anticipation of what would surely be a brutal fucking when we got home. I almost smiled, despite myself.

About a block from home, Matthew pulled me into the walled off yard of a house under extensive construction. Passively, I let him push me into the shadows behind a port-a-potty and a palette of cinderblocks.

My pussy gushed in Pavlovian response. Being pushed against a wall usually preceded having his thick cock pushed into me with urgency. I didn’t know what was happening, but it was already interesting. We'd never done anything outside before.

“Wear skirts when we go out,” he said softly.

The nonsequitur took me off guard. I’d worn a T-shirt, blue jeans, and sneakers with a fleece for warmth. He pushed the fleece over my shoulders and down my arms, removing it. Cold air cut through my thin T-shirt giving me an icy thrill.

Matthew pushed me down on my knees and unzipped his fly. If the jeans got in the way of fucking me, my mouth was always available. I smiled, if we couldn’t be intimate and loving, at least we could have sexy fun. Feeling naughty, I opened my mouth to swallow his flaccid cock. But Matthew pushed my head back.

“Don't you... ggg.” Hot liquid in my mouth cut off my question. I sputtered in shock, closing my mouth and putting up my hands against his hips defensively.

“Hold still, Laura.” Matthew said, batting away my hands. “I need to make sure everyone knows you're mine.”

“I can’t…guh...” He gagged me again with another rush of hot liquid. I tried standing, but Matthew held me down with one hand on my head. I stopped struggling as he soaked me with his piss. He moved the stream down to my chest, wetting my T-shirt then moving all around and ending on my face, in my mouth again.

I couldn’t believe he would do something so demeaning to me. Again. In public. And… I couldn’t believe how much it turned me on or how little I struggled against him.

Matthew zipped up, grabbed my fleece, and walked away without a word. I gathered my wits and followed. I caught up, begging him for the fleece. He refused, then deliberately slowed his pace just to spite me. Justifiably paranoid, I wanted to walk home quickly before anyone I knew caught me out soaked in urine. He had the house keys, so I couldn't run ahead. I wanted to scream at him, or at myself, but it would draw unwanted attention. I remained quiet and walked slowly, shamefully, homeward next to my husband.

The whole time, I fumed as loudly as I dared, hissing and breathing hard, furious with him. The facts were: I was soaked, freezing, humiliated, furious, impotent, and perversely turned on by it all.

“Thank god for thick fog and deserted streets,” I whispered snidely as he unlocked our door.

Matthew didn’t apologize and he wouldn’t engage me in any argument I tried to start. After a shower, I crawled into bed and stared up at the ceiling, still horny while Matthew snored softly next to me. I masturbated thinking about what he'd done, then passed out. He was gone when I woke up.

Everything seemed different at work the following day. The inherent submissiveness of my behavior the previous night wasn’t lost on me, especially in the office setting where I wielded real power. Did anyone else in the meeting have a double life like me? I stared around at my colleagues during a staff meeting. Could they tell what had happened to me? What would they think if they knew? As my gaze wandered over each of them, my spine straightened and chin lifted. I felt perverse pride and a swelling of hope. Matthew still cared enough that he wanted me to know I was his and he would fight for me. He nearly did fight Jimmy that first night and again last night. It felt primitive, but satisfying and incandescently hot.

Matthew got home after I did. He found me waiting for him, uncharacteristically contrite. I apologized sincerely for my infidelity. I didn’t ask for forgiveness, or make excuses, or explain. I simply acknowledged my mistake and admitted my shame and deep sorrow for hurting him. I got stoic silence from him. He didn’t even nod or grunt. He barely blinked. But he did let me speak my mind without gagging me with his cock.

That night in bed as Matthew once again lay sleeping blissfully beside me. I felt lonely, but strangely content.

---

“I like your outfit,” he said as the bill arrived. Without really thinking about it, I wore a skirt and a nice silk blouse on our next sushi night. I smiled, trying to hide my smug delight. A compliment! “But you’re wearing a bra.”

“Yeah?” I said.

“Take it off.”

“Matthew!” I looked around. No one seemed to be listening to us.

“Do it,” he said. He looked pointedly toward the bathrooms. At least he didn't expect me to disrobe in the restaurant.

My pussy spasmed as a cold splash of fear washed down my spine. I floundered for an excuse.

“But I didn’t bring my purse. I can’t just carry it around with me.”

“So throw it away, or carry the bra out with you,” he said. “Go, now. No panties either.”

Halfway to the bathroom, it occurred to me to refuse him. I stumbled half a step, thinking of turning around, but the moment of resistance passed. The bra and panties were expensive, but not favorites or matched. I put them on the sink and smirked as I left the bathroom. Someone would find them and wonder.

Matthew was signing the check when I came back. I felt exposed but no one seemed to notice my nipples poking a mile through the silk. He walked us home the long way through the busy section of Copeland with my jacket over his arm, ensuring everyone could see my bouncing breasts and jutting nipples. To my great disappointment, he didn’t push me into the construction site for an outdoor adventure, but he did pull up my skirt and fuck me against the inside of our door the moment it closed. I had a screaming orgasm right from the start.

I wore nothing under my clothes the next night when we went out for dinner and a movie. I spent the whole night on edge, paranoid someone would notice, or be offended. Matthew opened up to me more. We talked almost like a real husband and wife. That got me wetter than being naughty.

“You’re talking to me more,” I said, when we got back to the car. “Is it some kind of reward for…” I flipped my skirt up and back down, briefly exposing my bald pussy to the empty parking garage.

Matthew smiled, pleasantly for once, then shrugged.

“I’d parade around naked if you really talked to me,” I said. He laughed at that. There was an edge to it I shouldn’t have missed.

--

Two weeks later, things took another turn.

“Be ready, we’re going to Slanted Door tonight,” he texted.

I dressed to kill in a little black dress and heels. Nothing else but makeup. Matthew got home at nine.

“On the bed. Hands and knees,” he said.

“What? No hello?” I’d grown accustomed enough to being pushed around to have fun with it.

“Do it!” he said, his anger flaring. Quivering inside, but not afraid, I did what he commanded. He produced a curious black cardboard box. From it he pulled out this weird bulbous pink rubber thing.

“What is that?” I squeaked.

“You’ll see.” Ominously, he pulled out some KY and spread it on the alien thing. When he pulled up my skirt, I got worried and nudged away from him, not sure I wanted him down there. But he pulled me back, saying, “hold still. And relax.”

“Relax? I thought...”

Matthew’s stern look shut me up. I felt cool, slick rubber pressed against my ass, then my pussy. Pressure on my sphincter increased...

“Oh!” I exclaimed. With a pop, it slid in, the prongs filling my ass and pussy while a flap of latex covered my clit. Obviously, it was some sort of dildo. This was new. We never used toys before. We would also be later to the restaurant if he spent much time playing with me.

“Perfect,” said Matthew, pulling down my dress. “Try walking around.”

“What?!”

He slapped my ass, not gently either. I jumped more from surprise than pain. Matthew actually spanked me!

“Do it,” he said, raising his hand for another swat.

Humiliated, angry, and overwhelmed with new sensations, I caved, doing as he asked. Again.

The little alien invader got me wetter by the second. Having my ass and pussy full intensified all my other sensations. I stepped gingerly to prevent the flap covering my clit from over stimulating me too much.

“Okay, looks like you can walk. Let’s go,” he said.

“What? No way!”

"Come on, Laura, no need to act shy now."

“Matthew, please. I’m sorry, I really am. But... this?” It was too much.

“Okay, then.” Matthew pulled up short and shrugged. He walked to the closet. “I’ll pack some things for you. You can come back later for the rest.”

“No, wait, Matthew, please.” He stopped, looking at me expectantly. “Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, I’ll go… like this. Like you want. Anything you want.” God, what a pushover I was.

Matthew smiled coldly, but it thawed my fear frozen heart just a bit. We made no attempts at small talk on the way there, I don’t know why he kept quiet, but a tempest of emotions rolled through me. Shame and need warred in me as the Pink Thing - that’s the name I gave it - worked it’s horrible nether magic.

The hostess sat us against the west window, right in view of everyone. As the waitress took our menus away, Matthew pulled his phone out. I rolled my eyes, no believing that he would use a screen at a time like this.

“There is an app for everything,” he said. I saw he’d opened an app that was just a pink and brown circle in a black field.

“New game?” I asked, completely uninterested but not wanting to seem like an asshole about it.

“You could say that,” Matthew said. He dragged the brown dial just a tiny bit. I felt a jolt in my ass.

“Oh, no,” I whispered. Pink Thing was alive and… “it has Bluetooth?”

“WiFi, actually,” corrected Matthew. He nudged the pink dial and I felt a corresponding jolt in my pussy. “The SSID is ‘Laura’s holes’. Anyone with a phone can see the name if they look for hotspots.”

“Eep.” A moment later I jerked a bit as the thing in my ass jolted again.

“Don’t worry, though. It’s encrypted so every guy in here can’t use you.”

Matthew smiled benignly at me, but I didn’t miss the dig he’d made. “Matthew, I…”

“The speeds are really granular,” he said, ignoring me. My pussy jolted once. “Right now, it’s at the lowest setting, designed for situations just like this.”

“There are no situations like this,” I hissed.

“There are now. They’re a disruptive company.” I winced at his joke, ‘disruptive’ was one of my favorite buzzwords.

“This is too slow,” he said. “I think every ten seconds would be better.”

I shook my head pleadingly, but he turned each dial a bit more. The jolts in my ass and pussy alternated like slow heartbeats, regular and strong. Bah, bump. I looked around at the crowd of happy, oblivious eaters, paranoid someone in the bright and open room would notice. No one looked our way.

“Please, Matthew,” I said.

He put the phone back in his pocket. Before I could protest more, the waitress arrived with our cocktails. I downed my Moscow Mule in three gulps while she handed Matthew his drink.

“I’ll have another,” I said. The waitress didn’t show any judgement, but nodded her head and left.

“Now she’s a professional,” said Matthew, watching her leave. I wasn’t so sure, she had a buzz cut and a mohawk.

“Matthew, please,” I repeated.

“Shh,” he said, taking a sip of his martini. “Just enjoy the night.”

“Mother. Fucker,” I whispered.

Matthew smugly watched me disintegrate into a wet ruin, like a train wreck in slow motion, one drink and one throb of the Thing at a time. I managed to order a chocolate mousse for dessert. As I took the first bite, Matthew turned up the dials. I let out a soft moan as the flavor spread out over my palate and, below, I spasmed in heat. He turned me up a bit more on the next bite. I tried not to moan out loud. It was a small dessert, on the last bite, Matthew threw the switches all the way to eleven.

It was everything I could do to keep our neighboring tables ignorant of my predicament. I grappled the table with white-knuckled ferocity. As I came I pushed my tongue against the roof of my mouth crushing the last bite with a burst of chocolate flavor.

A chocolate orgasm... in public. So good, so delicious, and so very humiliating.

He switched me off. I stumbled as we stood to leave, my legs weren’t responding well to either the erotic torture or the four stiff drinks.

“Here,” said Matthew loud enough for everyone around us to hear. Helping me stand, he added, “You should really pace yourself, dear.”

“You son-of-a-bitch,” I whispered in his ear.