Evening Tuesday, July 4th, 2023

Inside and approaching midnight, the TV was muted as a news talk program aired, covering shots of July 4th fireworks. Garin called her, “Lyrou... are you on the balcony still? Come sit with me a moment.”

Lyrou walked in with a warm smile, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel and tossing it in a laundry basket sitting by the basement door. She sat down next to Garin, the scent of fireworks faintly in the air following in her wake. “What’s up, mon chéri?”

“I’m just... I want to say sorry that I’m going out of town on business again. But I’ll be back early Sunday and we can go to the stage play or any of the other fun happenings downtown next Friday... are you OK with that?” A hint of sadness and hopefulness in his gaze.

A twinge of guilt, but it was quickly buried under the frisson of his leaving. She leaned in, her hand brushing his arm gently. “Bien, ma moitié. Of course, ma vie. I’ll miss you, but I’ll manage. Peradventure, I’ll go shopping and have lunch with Reine.” She gave him a peck on the cheek, her lips lingering a few seconds longer than usual.

Garin put his finger to his chin. “How’s her mini-clone?”

Lyrou snickered, “She says she advanced from plant parent to dog parent to real parent. She reads books by pediatricians and studies on children from medical journals, and if I dare to talk about kids getting sick, she becomes a hypochondriac-by-proxy.”

Garin frowned in amusement. “Another rugrat will sneeze on her bubble baby eventually.”

Lyrou gave a slight head tilt. “She’ll adapt.”

Garin circled back and excused himself doubly as if he worried she was masking her disappointment. “He’s played my auxiliary before, and this time Mel really needs me. The Syna-Link contract is a legacy. It’s a big deal. He’s one of the most intelligent guys in the company, but he can’t make them budge. If they don’t re-sign with us after this coming month, we’re out $4 million a year. It’s a big, big deal.”

Her eyes softened with understanding, and her smile lingered. “It’s OK, Garin. I know how important your job is. You do what you have to do. I’ll pack your health bars so you won’t forget them this time.” Her hand slid down his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Just don’t forget to text me, alright? And maybe, if you get the chance, you could bring me back a little something from the hotel’s boutique?”

“Sure thing. What exactly will you do tomorrow?” he raised an eyebrow.

An innocent smile as she considered her plans for the weekend. She decided to keep her stated plans vague, coy. “Well, I might go to the spa for a bit of pampering, or maybe catch lunch and a movie with Reine. But I’ll definitely miss you, mon amour.” She snuggled closer; she imagined the clandestine rendezvous she might plan. The sights, scents, sensations, and flavors of her recent dalliance still lingered on her mind, but she was confident Garin wouldn’t notice. He couldn’t read her mind; after all, it was her fortress for her thoughts and her decisions.

Garin decided then it was the minute to shock Lyrou, to catapult a flaming boulder over the walls, disguising it as a joke, a kind of joke he’d never made. “You’re not going to replace me for a day... are you?” Garin smiled as if only kidding.

There was, at his question, the snapping pop of residual fireworks going off. Light and surprise flickered across Lyrou’s dark eyes; her heart skipped, blindsided by his... joke? She laughed nervously, her hand slipping from Garin’s shoulder to her lap. “Oh, chéri, you know I could never replace you,” she said, trying to sound playful. She wondered if he’d somehow found out, but there was no anger in his eyes. Her chest inflated with the effort of maintaining her composure. The room suddenly stifled, the air thick with unspoken accusations. She looked up at him, her smile strained. Taking his jab in jest, “But if I did, I’d make sure they knew they’d have big shoes to fill,” she teased, hoping to redirect the conversation, engaging his joke as if she herself wasn’t put off by it as a guilty woman would be, that she didn’t protest too hard.

Garin looked down into his hands and at his wedding ring. It’d been there so long the metal-band habituated, hypoesthetic and invisible like water to fish. “For the record, Lyrou, I’ve never met another woman since we started dating, not in our years of marriage. I’m not the guy from the TV dramas who meets women when he’s out of town or the guy who has called in or picked up an escort. I’ve been totally loyal.”

The term totally loyal hit her with a hard thud, like a heavy timber dropped onto her. Her heart pounded in her chest, the guilt of her infidelities weighing, sinking. She took Garin’s hand, her eyes meeting his earnestly. “Garin, I know that. And I appreciate your fealty more than you can imagine. You’re a wonderful husband,” she said sincerely. She squeezed his hand, her pulse quickening.

Garin squeezed her hand gently, mirroring her gesture. “You never worried that I cheated?”

And there was the flash, crackle, and roar of another barrage of fireworks. Her smile widened, though more than a bit forced. She stroked his hand with her thumb, the lie sliding off her tongue like honey. “Non, mon amour, I trust you. You’re the only one for me, and I for you,” she said so gently. Yet in the pit of her stomach, a twinge of doubt tore open like a hemorrhaging ulcer. What if he’d found out?

“Good. I think that in a marriage, the absence of doubt is almost as important as the loyalty itself. If one is a loyal spouse but causes the other to doubt, it can be a problem. You agree?” Garin bent and puckered, lightly kissed Lyrou’s hand, and regarded her wedding ring.

Her eyes darted away from his for a fraction of a second, a flicker of anxiety crossing her features. “Bien sûr, I agree,” Lyrou said steadily, but her heart was shifting into the next gear, a pitiful love for Garin. She looked back at him, her gaze intense. “But, Garin, I also think that trust is built on more than just words. It’s being there for each other, understanding when the other needs space or support.” Looking for any hint of suspicion. The room was electric with that thus far unspoken.

“That’s true. How easy everything would be if married people could read one another’s true selves. We’d have no miscommunication or doubts.” Garin mused.

A soft sigh escaped Lyrou’s lips as she nodded in agreement, her thoughts going off the rails. “It’s a comforting thought, isn’t it? But sometimes, the mystery keeps the hearth burning.” Her gaze lingered on Garin’s, a hint of a secret hidden in her big, dark-brown eyes. “After all, human beings need space to grow, right?”

Garin nodded. “We remain humans even after walking the wedding aisle. We need our privacy, and we need the unknown aspect to grow trust. Can I confess something?”

The word gave her goosebumps. Her pulse was audible to her as she looked into Garin’s eyes, expecting the worst. “Confess? I... of course, chéri.” She swallowed hard, bracing herself for what might come next. The room seemed to close in around her, the walls adorned with the photographed memories of their life together, now potentially shattering before her eyes, disintegrating as sand clumps between her fingers. Her hand, still in his, was cold and clammy. She tried to give his hand a comforting squeeze, but her grip was weak. “What is it you want to disclose to me?”

“Although I never actually crossed the line, so to speak, there have been a handful of women I’ve been attracted to since you and I fell in love, and these were women who made it clear they were interested in me too. I never acted on it, though. Should I apologize?” Garin’s eyes were downcast, sorrowful.

Her eyes widened slightly, surprised by his innocent guilt. “Garin, no, you don’t have to apologize for feeling attracted to someone else,” she said calmly and measuredly. “It’s only natural.” She squeezed his hand tighter, trying to convince herself that his confession was a sign of his trust.

“Does it make you jealous at all? Honestly?” Garin’s tone was scratching for an affirmative.

Her gaze fell to their entwined hands, the gold and diamond on her ring finger twinkling in the soft ethereal light. “It’s... complicated, Garin. Jealousy is a lashing cane, isn’t it? Why cane ourselves? But knowing that you’ve chosen me, time and again, that’s what matters.”

“I feel a little jealous if I see you’re too fond of a celebrity actor.” Garin laughed a little. More fireworks, these so near and powerful that they caused a slight rumble at the windows.

Her eyes sparkled with amusement as she looked up at him, her unease dispersing slightly. “Ah, mon beau, that’s just harmless fun,” Lyrou said, lilting with a thickened layer of her French accent. She laughed lightly. “But if it makes you feel better, I promise to only have you on my screen.” She leaned in, showing him that his photo was set as her background on her phone.

Garin shrugged, “I also dote on singers and actresses, now and then.”

Lyrou shook her head in dismissal. “Until it’s a parasocial deluluship and you’re breaking into mansions, I wouldn’t blink at it.”

“Can I ask something? I won’t be angry if you won’t. I just want to know.” Garin inquired.

She pulled back slightly, her hand petting his arm. “Of course, Garin,” she said, curious and wary. “What is it?”

“Your mom and dad were... um... French in that regard... they both had other lovers... right?” Garin raised an eyebrow.

Her face contorted to recall her maman and tata, “Oui, chéri. But that was their volition, their Parisian society.”

“How old were you when you first realized your parents were... open-minded?” Garin asked as a biographer might.

Her gaze drifted to their hardwood floor, a brief shadow crossing her face as she recalled her past. “I was about 11, I think. I found some letters from my mother’s drawer. It was a shock, but she was from then on honest with me. My mother said it was just a part of her 'parallel life', that the connection and relation amoureuse didn’t have to be confined to one person. I accepted it.”

“You looked in her drawer because you’d too often observed her coquetry with the clothing store owner… the clothing store in your Haussmannian, some floors below. Do I recall correctly?” Garin asked in an analyst’s tone.

Her eyes flickered up to meet his, a hint of surprise in them. “Ah, yes, Monsieur Durand. He was quite charming, and I’d noticed the way they talked to each other. It was curiosity more than suspicion, really. But when I found the letters, it was... eye-opening.” She laughed a little to recall herself then as a girl, mind-blown that her maman was more than her tata’s femme, “But, as you know, many families have secrets. One of my friends then told me her mother was a closeted lesbian. Another friend, her mother was divorced, and she would disappear to Santorini, Crete, and Rhodes to blow her savings on kamaki boys.”

Garin delved, “How could she?”

Lyrou, confused, her voice high, “What?”

Garin continued, turning his gaze away, “Did your mother not respect your father because he was a banlieusard and she and her family were all CSP+?”

Lyrou shook her head. “No, no, Garin. Your presumption—it wasn’t like that. Ma mère méprisait l’appartenance à n’importe quelle strate sociale.”

Garin shook his head. “I wonder how I could do that... have an open marriage. I wonder if I’d be OK with you... doing that like your mom did. I mean, would that be something I could accept?”

Her heart hammered in her chest as she contemplated his words, the very concept sending a tremor. Her Garin had thought about it, too? She took a moment to compose herself before speaking, her hand still resting on his arm. “Garin, we’ve built our marriage on trust and respect, not on the same foundation as my parents’ relationship.”

Garin placed his hand on her knee, then slid it smoothly over her lap. “I understand that. But is it something you once wanted and couldn’t say?”

A skeptical smirk, then shaking her head, “Garin… no. That’s not us.”

Garin, pressing it softly, said, “Just something to talk about; the doing might or might not ever materialize. Then?”

“If it’s only talking. If you’re truly open to discussing it, we could explore what that might mean for us. If it’s only talking.” She tried to keep her voice steady, but the tremor of anticipation was unmistakable. The room seemed to hold its breath, the walls whispering past indiscretions and unspoken desires. Her pupils dilated with fear.

Garin gave a slight shrug. “You aren’t curious? I admit, it’s interesting. At least… to talk about it.”

“Garin, mon ange, I think that every relationship is different. If it’s something you’re truly interested in, we could just talk it through and probably see it’s not something for us. But,” she said, dropping to a whisper, “if there is something hot about that kind of talk or role-play, it’s safer, and I can do that if you want it.”

Garin stroked Lyrou’s thigh as she scooted closer beside him. “I’m not asking to do it. It’s hypothetical. But what would you feel if I said I’d take a page out of your father’s book and have a girlfriend… never serious… just a girlfriend now and then?”

Her mouth parted at the scenario, a brew of emotions swirling. “Garin,” she said, low and measured, “that’s a big question to throw out there.” She paused, her mind racing with the implications. “I trust you. But the thought of you with someone else, even casually... it’s difficult to imagine.”

Garin put his head to Lyrou’s, whispering, “Don’t imagine, consider.”

Outside and overhead, a screech and bang, followed by several more, punctuated their conversation. “If we could do it in a way that doesn’t hurt us, I’d consider it. But, I don’t think we can without hurting.” Her hand tightened slightly on his arm, her pulse beating a wild rhythm against his skin.

“Then there’s hurt, as in all worthwhile endeavors, but then how’d we abate our hurt?” Garin persisted.

With an accepting smile, in disbelief at the words coming out of her mouth, “We would have to talk about it, set rules, and be honest with each other. No secrets,” Lyrou said.

Garin looked with a distant, upward gaze, as if he were surveying a field and not their living room wall. “Let me be more explicit. Say I downloaded a dating app... and I met a random woman perhaps once a month... I took her on a little date and then to her apartment or a dorm or a hotel… or I kept one of our rentals open to bring her back to…”

“… to?” Lyrou had to hear him say it, explicitly, as he said he would.

“... and if then we got intimate.” Garin exhaled.

Lyrou’s lips parted at the sound of it, the words shooting deep into her mind. “Oh... I don’t... I couldn’t imagine… I don’t know. I really couldn’t. Could you?”

“But I came home every time... to you. Still, your husband. Still yours. How’d you feel? If I didn’t hide it from you... how’d you feel about that?” Garin asked, his words quick.

The heat rising in her cheeks. She took a moment to gather her thoughts, her mind racing with the sudden realization that the tables had turned. The very thing she’d been doing behind Garin’s back was now being presented to her as a possibility for him. The cold irony wasn’t lost on her, but she’d tread carefully. Her hand again on his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips. “Garin, that is... a lot to take in.” She paused, considering her words.

“I mean, you could also do the same. It’d be reciprocal. It’d be fair. Would you be OK with that? Would you be happy?” he presented his bargain. Was it real? Was he playing? Was this dirty talk? Was it real, and was he sending it in under the cover of dirty talk to save face in case she rejected it strongly? A sizzle of green thunder flashed through the windows across the walls.

The implication of his words fell like she was down in a mine, and it had begun collapsing on her. “I... I don’t know.” The room seemed to spin around her, the walls closing in as she tried to process the sudden shift in their conversation. She prized the thrill of her secret life, but the thought of it being out in the open, accepted by Garin, was both terrifying and exhilarating. “I... I’ve never really thought about it like that.” Her hand was squeezing his forearm. “I need time to think. This is... it’d be a big change. Do you think I would want to do that?” The scent of her husband provoked in her memories of him, but then the memories of the scents of the men she’d been with, and she wondered if Garin could detect it somehow, if he suspected anything. Foolish to doubt that he knew? Foolish to panic that he knew? She looked down at their intertwining hands, the gold band a reminder of the vows she’d made. “But,” she said, looking back up at him, “I’m willing to consider it.”

“Lyrou?” Garin traced his finger along her thigh.

“Chéri,” she whispered, her voice shaky. She pulled her hand away from his arm and stood up, walking over to the window. Cool air! Opening it, the curtains billowed softly in the breeze, and the moon cast a glow across the room.

Garin remained seated. “Have I upset you?”

She stared out at the quiet residential street, her thoughts tumultuous. “I... I need a moment to think,” she said, her back to him. Her hand fluttered to her neck, her pulse pounding beneath her fingertips. The idea of Garin doing the same thing she did was both thrilling and terrifying. She’d been used to being the one in control, the one with the secret, but now, “I want to be honest with you,” she said, stronger now.

She prepared the words to tell him she couldn’t do that, to tell him with a terse apology that her final answer was negative, declined, no go. He might be happy with that answer, happy that she was so attached to him and too disinterested in any other man to take that path... that he was the one and she wanted to continue to be his one. Yes, she decided she’d call it being honest, performed honesty, as if she were afraid he wouldn’t like her rejection of his hypothetical but internally anticipating he would like it, “Can I be honest with you, please?”

Garin remaining seated, “Honest? That’s what I want to hear, Lyrou. I want to ask you something, but you need to be more honest than you have ever been in your entire life.”

Lyrou’s body became numb. “Oh?”

Garin looked across the room and into her eyes. “I make this oath... I’ll still love you. But you have to be honest, no lies. Are you ready for my question?”

Her knees wobbled as she turned from the window, the warm pink and green glow of fireworks framing her silhouette. “You want to… ask me a question?”

Garin nodded, looking from the couch and reclining with his hands right-over-left clasped on his lap, “Are you ready?” Outside, the almost gunfire-like blast-blast-blast of celebration frightened her.

Feeling she might faint there where she stood, “Garin, I’m ready,” she said, steady, but her eyes betraying a tip of the iceberg of fear within. She crossed the room and sat back down next to him, awkward in nearly forgetting how to walk, her hand finding its way into his.

With zero hesitation, Garin undid and pulled down his pants, revealing himself. He gestured for her to stroke as she sat beside him. Her eyes widened at the sudden obscenity of his gesture, his casual proposal and his now exposed desire. A tremble in her hand as she reached out to touch him, her thoughts racing. The warmth of his skin under her hand was comforting and familiar, and she stroked him, her touch gentle and questioning. “My... everything,” she whispered in the quiet room, “what is it you want to know?” She tried to keep her voice even, but the tremor in her chest gave her away. In her anticipation and dread, her heart was pumping in her ears like a drumbeat. She watched his face, the subtle play of emotions across his features, looking for any clue as to what he was about to ask. Her eyes were dark with secrets as her hand moved slightly faster on his swelling, hardening phallus.

Garin leaned in and gently kissed Lyrou’s lips. He looked in her eyes as she stroked him. “Did you ever once, since we’ve been married, have sex with another man? Don’t lie. Yes or no.”

Now there was silence. On the clock and outside, Independence Day had finished. Inside, there was only his question. Her hand froze mid-stroke, the warmth of his skin against her palm, the cold chill running down her spine. “Garin, why are you asking this?” She tried to keep her voice down, the room moving around her as if she were on a ship in a swell. The kiss lingered on her lips, then formed on them a sweet lie waiting to be told. Did she dare to lie? Did she dare to tell the truth? Which, if not both, would drop the guillotine?

Garin thickened in Lyrou’s delicate cannelle fingers, “No ad hominem, no non sequitur, no strawman. No false equivalence, no red herring, no redirection or deflection, no obfuscation. No tactical responses. No semantics. No convoluted relativism. No moving goalposts, no whataboutism, no minimization, no feigning offense, no playing victim, no selective memory, no contextualizing, no games. Answer: yes or no. Just yes or no.”

Her hand started moving again, her grip tightening around him as if seeking comfort. “Garin... I...” she began, her voice shaking. The walls were screaming the truth she’d been hiding. Her eyes filled with tears, the breaching head of her secret almost too much to bear.

Garin’s hand massaged Lyrou about her waist. “If you say no, I’ll believe you. If you say yes, I’ll not leave you. Answer only yes or no.”

Lyrou opened her mouth as if to speak, looking into Garin’s eyes and then averting her gaze, ashamed, as if she’d lost and couldn’t speak. A low whisper, “Now, yes or no.” Again with emphasis, “This has to be now.”

Her body and her soul parting, “Yes,” she finally mouthed the word, the word a mere breath against his skin. She watched his reaction, her heart in her throat.

Eyebrows raised, Garin mouthed, “Yes?”

Her face going vacant and pale, “Yes.”

Garin turned away, raising his elbow and wiping his eyes into his sleeve. “I see.”

Lyrou couldn’t speak. “I... I...”

Garin gently seized Lyrou by her head, his fingers locked in her hair, and with one hand pressed her face down into his cock, his glans pushing into her big lips and parting them. “Yes? You did?”

His grip on her scalp, the reality of her confession sinking in. She nodded slightly, her eyes watering. “Yes, I did.” The warmth of his skin and pubic hair against her face was a reminder of the intimacy she’s shared with him and others. Her breath was hot against him as she whispered, “Yes, mon mari. I did.” With the taste of his skin in her mouth, his pulse through his shaft of anger and disappointment. She closed her eyes, willing herself to be strong, to face the consequences.

Garin, speaking through his teeth, said, “Take me in your mouth, Lyrou. And apologize. Show me your apology.”

With a deep, trembling breath, Lyrou nodded, her eyes never leaving Garin’s as she leaned in to take him in her mouth. The salty taste of his skin mixed with the sweetness of his scent, the strain in his body as she wrapped her lips around his shaft. Her eyes welled up as she took him deeper, her mind ransacked by the fear of losing him, the guilt of her betrayal, and the undeniable thrill of his dominance. His eyes on her, watching, judging. She moved her head slowly, her mouth a warm, wet sheath around him, her apology a silent plea. Her hand reached for his, and not finding it, rested on his chest, her fingers gentle and trembling. “Garin?”

“How many men since we’ve been married?” Garin groped under Lyrou, his hands shoved under her bra, feeling her heavy breasts, his thumb finding her nipple.

Her cheeks flushed with guilt and arousal as she bobbed her head up and down on Garin’s erection. “Garin,” she mumbled around him, her voice muffled, “... not many.” She didn’t dare to look up, afraid of what she might see in his eyes. The pulse of his desire in her mouth echoed the tumult of her thoughts. She tried to focus on pleasuring him, a pitiful compensation, her tongue swirling around the head of his cock, hoping that her action now could somehow make a token amends for her unbelievable indiscretions.

“I want a number... how many? Now is the time for full disclosure; you have me now in a state of lust. I can accept the truth now. Tell me everything you could never tell me before.” Garin pulled open Lyrou’s blouse, her buttons snapping off, fondling her cleavage, pulling down her bra until her nipples were freed.

Her eyes widened as Garin’s hands explored her body, the fabric of her blouse tearing away to reveal her soft, marron clair skin. She tried to pull back, but his grip was firm, his need for the truth nonnegotiable. “I... I don’t know, chéri,” she lied, her voice muffled by his cock. “A few. A few.” The falsehood was thick on her tongue, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell him the full extent of her infidelity. She sucked harder, her eyes closed tightly as she tried to block out the reality of her situation.

“Don’t let me turn to rage. Don’t soften the truth for me or for yourself. How many... how many... how many?” Garin’s hand slid down Lyrou’s back and squeezed her immense ass cheeks through her nuit en soie.

Her breath around his cock as his fingers drove down between her ass cheeks, the sensation was both arousing and nerve-wracking. “Garin, please,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I... I’ve been with another man a handful of times.” She said as she tried to keep her composure. The lie was a poor one, but she was afraid. Craven and cowardly in the face of the wrath that might follow the truth. She continued to suck him, her movements desperate, as if trying to erase the words she’d just spoken with every slick stroke of her tongue.

He pulled her tenue de nuit and panties down together partway. “The real number. There is such a number as the real number, and if you’ve anything to say but the real number, then I don’t want to hear those words from your lips.” Garin spanked Lyrou’s half-exposed ass cheek hard.

At the sudden sting of his hand on her ass, she gasped around his cock. She was wet between and down her thighs, and she couldn’t lie much more. She pulled back, her eyes brimming with tears, her breath coming in short gasps. “More than a handful, Garin,” she admitted, her voice shaking. “I can’t... I can’t give you a count. But it’s only been when you’re away.” She looked up at him, her eyes pleading. “I never wanted to hurt you. It just... happened. I don’t know why I did it. There are days I think I might know why, but then other days my reasons don’t make sense to myself.” Her hand still rested on his thigh, her fingers digging into his skin. She braced herself for his anger, her heart thudding like a drum.

Garin spanked her ass again. “I said I want a number... estimate, Lyrou... give me a number.”

The sting of the next spank stiffened Lyrou’s body, and she yelped, her eyes watering over, and a tear escaped. “Garin, please,” she whispered, her voice thick with more unshed tears. “I can’t... I just can’t.” She tried to pull away, but his hand was firm on the back of her head, keeping her in place. “Too many times,” she admitted, “It’s not something I can talk about. It will make me hate myself.” She closed her eyes tightly, presenting herself for his reaction.

Garin pulled Lyrou forward so that her ass was positioned over his lap. He yanked her nightwear and panties down farther to her ankles and probed his fingers through her thighs and into her wetness. “More than a hundred men, Lyrou?”

Her body stiffened as his fingers entered her, the intrusion both welcome and surprisingly arousing. She shook her head, the tears now spilling over. “No, mon cœur. Please, not that many. I don’t know the exact number, but it’s not... not that many.” Reaching back and behind her, she tried to push his hand away, but he held her firmly in place, his anger a living force.

“More than fifty men, Lyrou?” his finger curved into the swollen ridges of her G-spot.

Her body betrayed her, arching slightly into his touch despite the pain in her heart. “No, Garin. It’s not that many, I swear it.” Her eyes closed tightly, the wetness on her cheeks cooling with the breeze through the window she’d opened.

Garin used his free hand to slap Lyrou’s ass the hardest yet, turning it pink and sending ripples through the subcutaneous fat of it, “Lyrou. I want a number, and I won’t stop until you tell me a number.” He rubbed her G-spot while slapping her ass cheeks again.

Her eyes flew open, and she cried as the slap met her sensitive skin, the sting blending with the pleasure of his probing fingers. Her thoughts were a jumble of fear, guilt, and a perverse arousal she couldn’t control. She tried to wriggle away, but his grip was too strong. Her voice shook as she whispered, “Garin, please... I can’t... it’s not that many, I promise.” The lie sat heavy on her tongue, but she was too scared to reveal the full extent of her infidelity. Her breath was deep and slow as his fingers continued to explore her, her body responding despite the turmoil in her mind. The room seemed to pulse with the rhythm of his strokes, the only sound the slap of skin on skin and her muffled cries.

“Are you afraid to tell me?” Garin slapped her ass cheek again, while his other hand continued to probe a finger into her soaking wetness, then running around her opening as around the cusp of a wine glass.

Her body jerked with the impact of another slap, the pain mixing with the pleasure of his intrusion. “Garin, please,” she gasped, her voice shaking. “I... I don’t know the exact number, but it’s not as many as you think.” She tried to squirm away, but his grip was unyielding. The slap marks on her ass, to the smooth, unblemished skin of her thighs and back. Her resolve slipping, the need to keep her secret battled with the desire to give him what he wanted.

Garin spanked her again and again, while his finger twirled and pressed into her private, “The number of men, Lyrou... the number. I want it. How many men have entered you?”

Her body flexed and twisted with each slap, her ass burning under his punishing hand. The pressure building inside her, the pain was a strange kind of release. “Garin,” she whimpered, “Please... I can’t...” The truth was like a boulder in her throat, too heavy to be spoken. Her eyes squeezed shut.

“Marriage is trust. Tell me.” Garin could see Lyrou shuddering with a buildup of pleasure about to explode. He slapped her ass, and it jiggled and rippled, while his hand remained buried between her thighs, invading her.

A tear slid down her cheek. He was right, she thought, that marriage is built on trust, but the fear of losing him had always been her silent partner in this grand deceit. “Garin,” she choked out, her voice strained, “it’s not... not as many as you’re thinking.”

The truth was a heavy burden she’d carried for so long, and the weight of it was crushing her now. She bit her lip, trying to focus on the sensations rather than the impending doom of her confession. Her body was on the edge, her orgasm just out of reach, “Oh… ah…” and once she gave him the number, there’d be no going back. She clenched around his finger, his thumb brushing her clitoris, the walls of her tightening as her inevitable climax approached, and endorphins overruling all. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, a tremulous echo in the quiet room. “It’s just a few.”

“Tell me the number.” Garin’s finger slowed in her, and he gave her ass cheek an aggressive squeeze. “Tell me... scream it!” he picked up pace again, bringing her to the edge.

Her eyes flew open as the pressure built again, her body begging for release. “Garin, please,” she gasped, her voice strained. “I... I can’t.” But his relentless touch and the sound of his voice, so filled with both anger and lust, were too much to resist. Her orgasm cresting, pelvic floor contractions, knees wobbling, toes curling, “Hu-huh…” the dam about to break. “I... I’ve been with other men... more than a few times.” She panted. “But I swear, it’s not as many as you’re thinking.” The lie hung in the air like a toxic fog. The slap of skin and the aroma overwhelmed her. She clenched again around his finger, her body betraying her as she neared climax. “Je n’ai pas d’excuse; I’m so sorry.”

“The number... now is the only time you can tell your husband, Lyrou.” Garin whispered as he fingered her to a powerful rhythm, softly rubbing her ass cheeks with a kind of soothing infatuation.

The men. Their faces surfacing in her mind’s eye, their bodies, their privates also, and their voices echoed in the halls of her memory, and the scent of them as if they were present then in this room. Her body’s pressure built to a crescendo. The tears flowed freely down her cheeks as the internal walls of her body tightened like a lock around his finger. She couldn’t hold back any longer, the truth a scream trapped in her throat. “Garin,” she sobbed, her voice breaking. “I... I’ve been with...” she threw her head back, her body arching as the orgasm ripped through her; she convulsed. “Thirty-four! Thirty-four!” she screamed, the number a confession torn from the depths of her soul. “Oooaoah!” The release was as much mental as it was physical; the weight of her secret momentarily lifted as pleasure consumed her.

Garin, in a low voice, rubbing the wetness from his hand across her ass, “Say it again.”

Her body was a maelstrom of sensation. “Thirty-four.” She wailed. Her eyes squeezed shut, her ass bucking against his hand, pulsing with the intensity of her release. She gasped for air, her body trembling with the aftershocks of her orgasm and the weight of her admission. “That’s the truth. It is.”

Garin removed his hand from between her thighs and pulled her up to see her face drenched in tears, her eyes pink and half shut, afraid to look at him. “Say it again.”

Lyrou opened her eyes and looked into Garin’s, the anger and betrayal in his gaze piercing her. She was exposed and ashamed. She repeated, “Thirty-four.” With her wrists and the back of her hand, she wiped the tears from her face, her hand shaking as she tried to compose herself. “I’m more than sorry,” she said again, her voice cracking. “I never meant to hurt you.” The warmth of her breath caressed his cheek, a woman fiending for forgiveness. Her heart was shattering into a million shards, each one a memory of a stolen moment with another man.

“Straddle me,” Garin commanded.

Her eyes widened with shock at his demand, but she obeyed, her trembling legs straddling him. She lowered herself slowly, her folds sliding down his shaft, her clitoris meeting the tuft of his pubic hair and pressing into him. The feeling of his anger-fueled erection inside her was like a gift. “I’m very sorry, Garin,” as she took his full length.

“Kiss me,” Garin ordered.

Looking for softness, any glimmer of understanding, she kissed him. With trembling hands, she reached up to cradle her face, her thumbs brushing away the tears. She leaned in, her breath hot against his lips, and kissed him again. The kiss grew deeper, hungrier, as if she could somehow apologize with her mouth, with the tender way her tongue danced around his. Her heart hammered in her chest, the beat echoed in her ears, as he hardened inside her. She kissed him as if it was the first time, as if their marriage depended on it, her body moving in rhythm with his. She clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders, “Désolée.”

“Thirty-four men. What’s this debauchery?” Garin asked, his lips against her ear.

His cock was pulsing inside, sliding through her, while the question fell like a noose tightening around her neck. “Garin, I’ll do anything.” She leaned in closer, her bare breasts pressing against his chest as she kissed him with all she had, hoping against hope it could be enough to bridge the gap her confession had created. “If you let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you,” she promised, her body moving in time with his, the rhythm of their union an apology.

“Tell me all thirty-four names. Unspool. No trickle-truth.” Garin demanded as Lyrou rocked in his lap, his gaze on her heavy breasts.

Her eyes widened, and she pulled back slightly. Was this a test, a way for Garin to see if she truly meant her confession? “Chéri,” she began, her voice shaky, “their names... I can’t bring myself to think of them. Why think of them?” She paused, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly. His expression unchanged, she gave up her resistance. “If… if… but if it’s what you need, I’ll tell you.”

She took a breath and started recounting the names, each one an auditory dagger, a name she’d rather spare him. “There was Paulo, and Ewin, and Tom... and others...” Her voice grew softer with each name, the weight of each syllable like stone. His cock twitched and thrust inside her with every name, his anger now an intimate force. The air filled with their conjoined apocrine sweat and the faint musk of broken trust. Mentally, she continued listing names, her body moving in a desperate attempt to keep him inside her, to maintain this shaky connection. Her list compiled in her mind, she read it aloud to him, “Oh... I don’t want to tell you this. There was Derek, Antonio, and Timur. I hate to hurt you.” These names were like a profane litany, her eyes on his, searching for any flicker of mercy.

“That’s only 6; tell me the rest.” Posturing Lyrou up, his hands gripping her waist, Garin began to suck Lyrou’s right breast, and she rocked in his lap.

She gasped as his mouth closed over her nipple, the sensation both distracting and maddening. “Garin, please. I can’t... I don’t remember all of them.” She reeled, trying to recall the faces and names; a flurry of male bodies rushed through her mind, all the places she’d been, their voices in her ear, her fingers in their hair, their skin on hers.

Garin caressed her back, giving her hair a gentle tug, “Names.” And then turned his face to suck her left breast.

Her body stiffened with the sting of his slap. “Please. Garin, please. I’ve told you all I can remember.” The heat of his hands on her skin, the pain, and the pleasure melded into a confusing mess. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she continued to move on his lap, their groins, her thighs, and his lap wet with her, her white foam on his shaft, her body trying to find some semblance of control amidst this inquisition.

Rolling more of her hair into his hand, “Don’t play naïve… out with their names.” And gave a less gentle tug.

Her eyes flew open, “Auh!” and she set to trying to recall the faces and names, that long winding path of men that brought her to this moment. “Some of them were just... moments; I hardly knew them. I didn’t care about them, Garin.” Her voice cracked as his erection stroked inside her, his lust a dark mirror. She tried to keep a shred of composure in her voice, her hips moving in a frantic rhythm. If she could make him cum, would he relent for a night? Would it give her a night to recuperate and... to do something... to do anything but tell more?

“Names, names...” Garin gently bit the skin of Lyrou’s shoulder and pulled her hair above the nape of her neck,

His teeth in her skin, his hand locked in her hair, and the sizzling rage in his eyes were pushing her. Cracked, the vault door swung open. It was time. Rapidly, she recited names. “You asked me, Garin. Putain! There was Elijah, Michael, Aurelio...” Her eyes glazed over as she delved into the recesses of her memory. Each name was a transgression, each name spoken dropping around them like artillery. Her body was moving faster and faster in his lap as if trying to outrun the truth.

“Marshal, Julian, Cole...” These names punctuated their erratic coupling, a twisted symphony of punishment. She became lost in the haze of her confession, recalling every encounter. “There was William and his friend David... Richard, Matthew...” The names tumbled out of her mouth. His cock stroked inside her with every name, his grip on her hips tightening, his breath growing more labored. “Adam, Jared...”

Her eyes filled with tears, her heart rushing in her chest as if trying to escape the cage of her guilt. “Robert, Joshua...” These names followed a steady beat, this catalog of her men. “Gregory, Kevin...” The names slipping out between gasps for air. “Justin, Eric...” Her body trembled, building to a crescendo. “Zeb, Tyler...” Her eyes squeezed shut, the names coming faster now, her voice raspy from the strain. “Jason, Charles...” She clenched around him, “euuuh,” her orgasm building from the intensity of her admissions. “Patrick, John...” She was so close, the names a blur. “Jonah, Henry...” Her body in a whirlwind, “Brian, Wendell... Please, Garin, I’ve told you all I can remember.” In his face, she saw that his release had begun to build. “Je suis désolée.”

Garin winced not to orgasm. He disbelieved, and there was anguish in his voice; in an internal effort not to tear, he redirected his sorrow into hate. “Is it more than thirty-four? Have you been fucking so many men you either can’t admit it or really can’t count anymore? You’re a relentless slut.”

Her bottom lip shook, her chin wobbled, she embraced him, her arms wrapped around his head, her deep cleavage in his face, “No, Garin. Don’t say that. Please!” Lyrou begged.

Pressing her back to look in her eyes and thrusting gently while pacing himself, “You told me you had two boyfriends before we met. It’s a lie, too.” Garin dug deeper.

“That’s the past. That’s the past.” Lyrou cried. Why drill into that additional vault now, she beseeched the universe, why should he want to open more when she’d just spilled out the contents she had? Was it not enough? Would he demand everything?

“I should know how many men were before me?” Garin seized her by her wrists, pain cuffing her radius and ulna, and rocked.

If he must have it all, she realized, there would not be another time for it but this. Wiping her face with the backs of her hands, “Before I met you… from my first time there was… there was my classmate Rollo. Then my friend Claudia’s older brother Oliver, and I met my new neighbor Kai when Oliver dumped me.”

She investigated Garin’s eyes to see if she should continue, and he nodded. “And in university I met Vincent, then Ethan, and Daniel, and Warren, Brad, Jake, Benjamin, Rafael, Christopher. They were dates and boys I met at parties. My economics professor’s son, Lucas. I dated Sebastian, then Anthony, and then Jamie. I broke up with Jamie shortly after I met you, Garin.” In her view, she’d found Garin the best of those she’d known, but in this moment, she was sure it would sound facetious to him to say it.

Shaking his head, all the while rocking her in his lap, “Two boyfriends? I guessed it might be three or four; in truth, I could’ve accepted that as within norms. Two boyfriends? That is what you told me, and it was merely an eighth of the truth, and I’m merely 17th, and far, far from last.”

Lyrou had not thought of him as a number or as in a line. “That’s not... that’s not right. That’s not how it is.”

“You’re beyond a slut.” Garin embraced Lyrou tightly as she rocked on his cock, bathing her chest and arms in mouthy, wrathful, possessive kisses.

Her body went rigid at his harsh words, the sting of his accusation resonating through her. The cool wetness of his kisses across her chest and arms. Her eyes squeezed shut, “Je ne voulais pas te blesser, Garin.” Her hips moved faster, her body responding as she tried to lose herself in the sensation, to erase the guilt.

Garin leaned back into the cushions, sinew-bundled venous arms spread wide apart in an impressive wingspan, “Make me cum.”

Her eyes opened, the anger in his voice piercing her. She nodded, flicked her hair back over her shoulder, her cheeks flushed. “Yes, Garin,” her voice was shaky. She leaned forward, her abundant breasts bouncing with each movement, and took his cock deeper, her hands pressed on his pectorals to leverage herself into his body as she rode him and to feel his muscularity for her own tactile gratification.

“How did I know? How did I find out?” Garin asked, his hands smoothly tracing across the contours of her waist.

She’d wondered but hadn’t dared to ask. There were so many ways she’d imagined over the years that he’d find out. Which? She couldn’t guess. “How? How?”

“I found your fling app profile, Lyrou. I’m going to make you show it to me. I’ll read every message with every man you met in there.” He lay back with his eyes closed, and Lyrou bounced in his lap

Her eyes widened with anxiety, then softened with resignation. There’s no hiding a trace of it anymore. Her breathing became shallow. “OK, Garin.” She reached for her phone behind her on the coffee table, her hands almost too unsteady to hold and tap at it. She navigated the browser to the login page; she manually entered her credentials, her fingers often missing the correct characters and causing her to delete and re-enter them. She scanned through the messages, each one proof of a secret rendezvous that now rolled down like another life colliding into this life, the two Lyrou's crashing together in fire, smoke, and debris. Garin’s expression patiently smoldered. She handed it to him, her eyes downcast, unable to bear the accusation she’d find in his gaze as he read.

Garin took her phone, but rather than reading a word, he set the device screen down on the armrest, his hand flat over it. She continued to ride him, her head down and her hair hanging over her face. He shook his head in amazement. “I have so many questions... so many.”

Her hips moved more slowly. “Ask me anything. I’ll tell you everything.”

“I can’t go through any of this.” With a hand on her wrist and the other taking her phone and tossing it across the floor, bouncing off into a corner and under a chair.

Not concerned with that catalyst of her conceit, or whether its screen had cracked, “Ask me anything, I’ll tell you everything, I’ll show you everything.” Lyrou surrendered to him.

Garin combed his fingers through her hair as it lay across her back, remembering the many times he’d stroked her hair over the years, its unique feel in his hand. “Did you think I’d divorce you for this?”

“I didn’t know what you would do, but I thought you likely would, yes. I’m so sorry, Garin. I never meant to hurt you.” She attempted to embrace him in a tight hug.

Raising his arm between them to prevent her embrace, “Get off. I want you on your hands and knees.” Garin stood and caused Lyrou to get on the couch, legs splayed and knees in the cushions, so that he could claim her from behind. She complied, moving onto her hands and knees on the couch, her body still shaking from the intensity of their conversation. He positioned himself standing to enter her from behind.

The weight of his body, the heat of his anger, and the coldness of her own guilt. She tried to focus on the sensation of him inside her, the way he filled her up, the way he’d always filled her. She bit her lip to stifle a whimper, her eyes squeezed shut, as Garin started to move. The sound of their bodies slapping together echoed through the room. The warmth of his hands on her hips, his grip firm as he drove into her. “Je regrette tout,” she whispered again, the words becoming a chant. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was muffled by the fabric of the cushion as she tried to push the past away.

She arched her back, pushing her ass into him, her body betraying her emotions. The leather couch creaked beneath them, a rhythmic symphony of lust and regret. The warmth of his touch on her ass was so welcome and daunting. Inside her, but the look in his eyes, the hurt and betrayal, was ripping at her. Garin lovingly, resentfully groped her ass cheeks as she kept pushing in and out on him. She let out a long exhale as he fondled her, the sting of his words making her eyes water.

The confession was like a knife, but she couldn’t bring herself to lie to him anymore; it would be such folly now. He pressed into her walls, stroking inside her, and she gripped the couch cushions tighter. The room kept silent except for their muffled grunts, the wooden creaking of their couch, and the relentless slap of their bodies. Heavy in the air, desire and despair. She wondered if he could hear the tremble in her voice or feel the desperation in her movements. She continued to rock back into him, hoping that the physical connection would bridge the emotional chasm that had opened between them, “It’s all my fault.”

Garin expelled the words, “You lied to me many times to cover up where you were and what you were doing... wasn’t that stressful? Was the travail and ordeal worth it?”

Her eyes shut tight with the realization of her deceit. She nodded slowly with each thrust, his coronal ridge swelling and strumming slick across the sensitive engorged rugal folds of her G-spot. “I was a mad woman, knowing what I was doing. And... and lunacy after I’d done it.” She swallowed audibly, her body shaking. “It was wrong, and I hate myself for it.”

“You’ll cheat again... won’t you?” Garin accused, driving deep into her.

The snapping whip of his question felt as if it had lashed her back. Her hips stuttered in their rhythm as she considered her answer. “No. No. No.”

“That’s what you’re saying, not what you’re thinking,” Garin called her out. “Say what you’re thinking, pure and unmodified.”

“I... I don’t know, Garin. I thought I could control it, but I couldn’t. But I’ll change. I have to change, if you let me.” She grabbed; she clawed for a future that was dangling by a thread.

“Of course you’ll change. You’ll be alchemically transfigured.” Garin told her how it was; he’d not let her think he could be talked into swallowing another fib, big or small.

Negotiating in fear of losing him, “Garin, I can get help. I can see a therapist. If you support me, I can get true help.”

Taking it slow behind her, Garin’s tone was skeptical. “Is that what you want? To be ‘helped’… Lyrou?”

“For you. For us. I can see an expert to help me overcome...” Lyrou writhed, the pressure of Garin’s dick moving inside of her.

“You want to get help?” Garin said with such disbelief.

“I have to.” Her wetness ran down her inner thigh, trickling down to the crook behind her knee.

“It’s not what you want. You think it’s what I want. But you’re wrong!” Garin stroked up her waist and to her breasts, hands searching under her.

“No, Garin.” She tried to deny it still.

“No? No?” Garin would be realistic. “No more imaginary fidelity.”

“No...” Her fingers gripped the armrest.

“You’ll not stop. And I don’t need you to stop. I’ve vacated my cloud castle. My feet are on the ground.” Garin’s thrusts became faster.

Her voice oscillated with the quickened thrusts. “What do you mean?”

“But you’ll not lie when I ask. Understand?” Garin directed his cock hard into Lyrou’s canal walls before sliding in deeper, fast and sure of himself.

“Garin, I can... I can... get help.” His fuck was beginning to overwhelm her composure to speak.

“There is nothing to help. You’ll be truthful about who you are and what you do. Understand?” The wet slap of her groin against his punctuated his words.

Her eyes met his in the distant, tall mirror, the reflection of her fear and confusion clear. She nodded. “I might understand. But… but I need you to promise me... please, don’t push me away now that you know.” She leaned forward, her breasts pressing into the cool couch. “I’ll tell you the truth, but I need you to love me through it." The sweat cascaded down her body. Her eyes shining with hope and fear, she looked over his face for reassurance.

“I’ll not push you away.” Garin started thrusting hard and long.

Her eyes widened in shock and relief at his words, her body responding to the renewed vigor of his thrusts. She shook her head fervently, her hair sticking to her face from the sweat and tears. “I promise, Garin,” her voice shaking. “I’ll tell you everything.” His hand moved to her throat, his grip not painful but firm. In the mirror, his eyes bore into hers, and she knew his dominance. “I need you to accept me.” His hand tightened slightly around her throat, his other hand gripping her hip as he took her hard and smooth. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“Then you’ll accept me,” Garin said.

Uncertain of his meaning, “I’ll accept you; tell me what you want me to accept.”

“You’ll change, and so will I.” Garin thrust deep into Lyrou, their bodies clapping.

Her face shut with shock, the idea of Garin changing; what did he mean by it? This was something she never considered. And yet, all at once, at the fairness of it, she could not think to oppose a word he spoke. But was he earnest? What would he do? Her Garin? “What do you mean?” her voice strained. His cock moved within her, his grip on her hip tightening. “How will you change?” Sweat dripping down her back, the leather of the couch sticking to her skin. Her mind overflowed with the implications, the potential for new experiences, and the possibility of losing him. But as he continued to thrust into her, she was struck with a strange sense of liberation, the walls of their marriage shifting but also cracking. “But how can we do that? How can we stay together and still be faithful?”

Garin spoke judiciously, and in the pleasure of pounding her, said, “You’ll come to me each day with no façade, and I to you.”

Her eyes on his in the mirror, the intensity of their gaze heightened their arousal. She nodded, her voice shaking. “I will, Garin. I’ll tell you everything.” The sound of their bodies slapping together gave testament to the rawness that still existed between them despite the blow to their trust.

Garin pulled out and from her, and her orgasm, against any control she had to contain it, surged forth, “Mmmm… Garin… I don’t… I can’t.”

Garin took her down onto her side and descended on her, her arm embracing him tight over his shoulder, her hand cupping his face, his mouth sealed over her neck, tonguing her sternocleidomastoid tendon from the knot of her clavicle up to the corner of her jaw, and then forming a hickey. He released into her, squeezing her tighter, mashing her breast beneath his chest, his forehead pressed to hers, his eyes shut tight as his orgasm took him to space. They lay in that embrace for a moment, and then Garin lifted from her and the furniture. He stood naked, looking down on her, closing his eyes as they rolled back in some kind of after-orgasm, reopening to take in the sight of her long legs and messed hair, and the lost, well-slammed look on her face. “Yes. This is it.”

Lyrou pulled the throw blanket down from the backrest and over herself. “Do you hate me?”

Garin, standing naked and looking down upon her, said, “I came my closest to hating you. I decided not to.” And he departed the room.

⚜