Saturday 6th April 2019
Since that Monday evening three weeks ago life had been hard for me. How it had been for Jill – well honestly, I wasn’t sure, but more about that later.
When I’d walked out of our family home back in mid-March it hadn’t been a planned thing, and I knew I could hardly pull my sobbing and desperate wife around me and calmly walk upstairs to pack bags. So, when the receptionist at the Palm Homes Motel, seemingly remembering me from my short stay last Christmas time, checked me in I was decidedly short on clothes and toiletries. Only equipped with the bare minimum from the local Wal*Mart, just enough to get me through the next few days.
Even on the Monday night I left, Jill had called me incessantly. Somehow I found the strength to pick up and talk to her the first couple of times, but when Jill’s answers about trying to return to a more conventional marriage were evasive and non-committal, I gently but firmly declined her repeated requests that I come back home so ‘we could talk about it’. I just told her we were done with talking, it was time for her to now reflect deeply and take actions to show me where our marriage really sat in her priorities.
On Tuesday I still had the patience to pick up and talk to Jill, again having to tell her that I wasn’t coming home for now. When she rang again on Wednesday and the conversation headed in the same direction as the previous night, in the calmest voice I could muster I cut the call short, telling Jill she should only call me back when she had some concrete news about actual changes she wanted to make to how we were living our lives. That I didn’t want to waste my time or her time with never-ending discussions about how things weren’t so bad really and couldn’t I just come home so we could talk.
From that Wednesday onwards I ignored her calls – switching over to just texting her that we could talk when she had positive news about changes.
This was really hard for me, because I still loved Jill with all my heart, and I desperately wanted our marriage to be intact and back on an even keel at the end of all of this. I’d never had the misfortune to experience it for real, but I imagined this must be how a parent dispensing ‘tough love’ to a drug-addicted child must feel. For so long you love and indulge, before, in the end, you realize your indulgence is just facilitating and deepening the problem.
It was made doubly hard as I vowed to stick to what I’d told Jill on the night I walked out – that I wasn’t going to see Veronica. I’d given Jill the freedom to do what she saw fit in terms of Malcolm and Callan, but I’d wanted to send the clearest possible signal to Jill that I was putting her and our marriage first. Hence the promise to steer clear of Veronica, even though I knew this was unfair on my Latina girlfriend and her young daughter.
I knew the conversation with Veronica would be hard, and in the early part of the week, the good thing was that she didn’t expect to hear from me as Mondays and Tuesdays were normally Jill-Dave days and then I’d head off to L.A. and only return on Friday to spend time with her and Haley.
Even if I’d wanted to talk to Veronica on Monday and Tuesday, which I desperately did as she was my only real port in this storm of my own making, with all the phone calls still going on with Jill I just didn’t have the emotional bandwidth for what I knew would be a painful conversation with V.
So, it was finally Thursday when I found the strength to FaceTime with Veronica from my hotel room in L.A. As Veronica was working that night, it wasn’t until she got home from the club at 3 AM that we managed to hook up properly. Of course, Veronica was tired so it wasn’t really the ideal time for a conversation. But as our normal weekly schedule would have Veronica expecting me to be waiting for her at her apartment just twenty-four hours later, delaying wasn’t really an option.
Aware of just how much my words would hurt her, I tried to put the most positive spin I could on the conversation. I explained to Veronica that I loved her deeply, but that I also still loved Jill and that I owed it to her and our family to fight for our marriage. I told her that this was why I’d decided that until things were clearer between me and Jill, it didn’t feel right for Veronica and me to keep meeting up. I told her how hard this was for me too, and how much I’d miss her and Haley. Telling her that this was the only way that Jill and I could start working out whether or not we still had a future together. Telling Veronica that both she and I needed an answer to this question if we were to know what kind of relationship we could allow ourselves going forward.
On the phone, Veronica took the conversation well. I’m sure she could see from the look on my face that I was telling her nothing but the truth, and just how much I’d miss her with the next few days and weeks being as hard for me as it was for her. But I’m sure that to her friends she maybe didn’t hold it together so well, and I wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d have cussed and cursed about me to them. I could hardly blame her – she’d given so selflessly and unselfishly to me and now she was paying the price.
But knowing her as I did, I think the thing that helped her deal with it was the kernel of truth in what I’d said. That until Jill and I worked out where we were heading as a couple, it was hard for Veronica and me to think further ahead than the next few days. And with major life choices racing towards us because of new employers being headquartered in L.A., this was a far from ideal situation.
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So that first week after I left to give Jill some space to work out what she wanted, had been a pretty intense and full-on week. When I climbed into my plane seat Friday lunchtime in L.A. and started powering down for the weekend, it was weird to think I’d not be seeing Veronica and Haley that weekend. Weird and depressing. They’d so much become part of my life.
I had one of those moments of lucid perception, and it frightened me. If I was finding the pull of my life with Veronica and Haley such a strong and powerful force tugging at my heartstrings, then surely Jill would be going through equally difficult feelings. As she tried to make life-defining decisions about how she felt about me and our marriage compared to how she felt about Callan and Malcolm.
Maybe naively, when I thought back to how she’d clung to me and cried on that Monday evening I’d left, a big part of me thought it would be a slam dunk for her to choose me and our marriage over Callan and Malcolm.
But with the five-hour flight home ahead of me, reflecting on how I myself felt about Veronica I suddenly felt a shiver of fear run down my spine. Just how sure was I that Jill, now that all her tears and shock of my Monday departure were over and just a memory, would actually choose me and our marriage over the other two men in her life. Her longtime boyfriend from her college days, her first real true love, and the man who’d saved her from Chris when he’d shown up to cause trouble.
Arriving back just before ten at night, it felt odd and very lonely to not be heading back to either our home or Veronica’s. Collecting my luggage from the carousel and realizing that only a sad and soulless motel room awaited me, I began to wonder if this was a taste of the life that lay ahead of me. No warm and welcoming woman awaiting my return, just the type of life that I thought I’d left behind me in my twenties when Jill and I had married and set up home together.
Finally, back in the broken-down little motel room, even though I was tired I couldn’t stomach the silence and loneliness and so I headed out to a local restaurant for a late dinner. At least this way I could surround myself with the sounds and sights of normal life, that and a half bottle of the house red did wonders for my spirits.
That weekend was the worst. So many times I nearly caved into one pressure or the other. Resisting the pressure to call Veronica was the more difficult task I faced, because I felt bad as she’d done nothing to deserve this break in our relationship. And much less selfishly, I knew how happy it would make me to hear her voice and spend an hour or two talking to her.
Calling Jill would have made me equally, or maybe even happier. But that call would have been a mix of pleasure at hearing her voice and pain that she’d not yet done what I’d asked and started making some of the hard choices necessary to repair our marriage. Also, I reckoned that if I called Jill, she’d see it as a sign of weakness and a sign that despite everything I’d said I might be okay to let her keep up with her current lifestyle. Knowing this, of course, provided me the perfect incentive to stay strong, however much I still loved Jill and would have loved to hear her voice or be with her.
If the first week had been bad enough, the second was hellish. I’d stopped picking up her calls a couple of days after I’d left to give her space to think, and Jill had continued calling me through the following day. But not getting any response from me she stopped calling. And with every passing day with no call or meaningful contact from Jill I got more and more frightened.
The way I looked at it there were only three possible reasons why Jill hadn’t contacted me on Friday, or during the weekend, or now into the early part of the second week of my absence from her life.
Option one was that Jill was calling my bluff, waiting for me to cave, not exactly a great thought in terms of the prospects for us. Option two was that Jill had already done her thinking and had decided that in a toss-up between me and the new men in her life, she’d rather give me up if I forced her to choose. This was the option which really scared me – as if it was true it meant my marriage was already over, it’s just I didn’t know it yet.
The third option, and the only one which held out any hope for me was that Jill was taking my ultimatum seriously and was having a long hard think about what her life had become. But even this most optimistic of scenarios frightened me to death. Because if Jill was having to think so hard about her choice, then what did that say about the depth of her feelings for me, her husband and father of her grown children compared to how she felt for one guy she’d known less than a year and a man who’d once broken her heart and who had been nothing more than a good friend since then.
As we moved through our second week of being apart, the continued lack of communications from Jill was driving me crazy with fear. I tried to stay strong, but when I was alone in my hotel room in L.A. on Thursday night I gave in to my fears and did the only thing I could think to do. I rang Charlotte – being as certain as I could be that Jill would have used Charlotte as a sounding board and that she’d be up to speed on what Jill was thinking.
Although we’d been friends for years, Charlotte had a naturally spikey and contrary personality, but to her credit, she was sympathetic and kind as soon as she knew why I was calling. As we talked the first thing she did was put me out of my misery – confirming that it wasn’t ‘Option Two’ that was the explanation for why Jill hadn’t called me. Jill hadn’t already decided to ditch me in favor of Malcolm or Callan.
She also reassured me that Jill wasn’t playing some kind of game of chicken, telling me what I knew deep down, that this type of behavior just wasn’t Jill – it wasn’t in her DNA, who she was.
Which left only option three, with Jill’s best friend switching between empathy and sympathy for me and pleading her friend’s case. “Dave, honey, after everything I went through with Callan, I know how hard this is for you. I get it. But please, for Jill’s sake, for the sake of you and your family, stay strong for Jill. Don’t give up on her.”
Hearing nothing but a painful silence from me, Charlotte continued. “Dave, Jill’s not hidden from you the feelings she has for Malcolm and Callan. You know she has deep feelings for both of them, but I also know she loves you more than she loves them. But you’ve asked her to choose, and that’s not easy because she loves all three of you.”
“Why’s it so damned hard for her to choose?” I shouted in a fit of exasperation, only slowly cooling down and then apologizing. “I’m sorry, Charlotte, I know it’s not your fault. It’s just I don’t get it. If she really loves me more, like you say she does, then why’s it taken her so long? After all, it didn’t take her anywhere near this long when Chris asked her to go to L.A. with him. She was back home with me just a few hours after he asked her. Why’s this any different?”
Charlotte didn’t answer immediately, I think she wanted to let my temper calm a little further, so my mind would be more ready to listen than to shout. But then she tried her best to help me understand. “Dave, you might not want to hear this, but Malcolm and Callan aren’t Chris. Chris was charming, handsome, and sexy – and a great lay. But when all was said and done, he was an arrogant and pretty self-centered guy. However much fun Jill was having running around with him, at the end of the day, it was a pretty easy decision for Jill to make. Between a fun but ultimately selfish guy, and you – a guy who’s been the rock of her life. But with Callan and Malcolm, it’s more complicated...”
‘More complicated’ is one of those annoying phrases that just shouts out that something’s been left unsaid. Something the speaker’s scared to say out loud, and I knew well enough what Charlotte was driving at, so I didn’t pick at that particular scab and force Charlotte to spell it out. Both for her sake and for the sake of my bruised and wounded ego, which really didn’t want to hear out loud an inventory of all the positive things any woman could see in Malcolm or Callan.
My call with Charlotte on that Thursday night ended shortly after Charlotte’s softly spoken explanation of how ‘it was complicated’ – her final words to me being a final appeal for me to be more patient with her best friend.
It took me a good hour or two to settle down after my call with Charlotte. At first her explanation of how hard it was for Jill to make a decision really unsettled me, but as I played back other parts of the conversation, I felt more reassured. Reassured that Jill hadn’t already made her decision – and simply not told me. Reassured from Charlotte’s words about Jill loving me more than the other two men in her life.
The other thing that helped me settle down (apart from a couple of whiskeys) was a text from Veronica saying how much she missed me. I felt that a short reply saying I felt the same wasn’t breaking my word to Jill about staying away from Veronica, and the simple exchange of communications with V made me remember that even if things turned out bad, at least I had a woman in my life who loved me and only me.
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It wasn’t until the second weekend that I weakened and gave in to temptation.
It started harmlessly enough, with a call from Veronica’s phone which turned out to be Haley calling. Within about one sentence she’d gone straight to the moral blackmail as the seven-year-old told me how she loved me and missed me, saying her mommy had explained there were some difficulties between me and her mommy, and then asking me if I could meet them to take her to the movies.
Having heard the sadness and pleading in the little girl’s voice, I felt there was no way I could turn down her request. Telling myself I wasn’t breaking my promise to Jill that I’d stay away from Veronica until we’d worked things out, because I was really going to see Haley, and it just so happened her mother would be there also. If I was honest with myself, I knew that at best this was a half-truth.
Armed with my fig-leaf of self-justification I duly turned up at the movie theater, limited my contact to Veronica to the kind of hug that you’d give a longstanding family friend, and spent a platonic two hours plus watching the trailers and the Disney main event. Despite the sad emptiness inside me, I was even controlled enough to sit with Haley between us – which earned a strange look from the little girl who was used to a Mommy-Uncle David-Haley seating arrangement.
I like to think that Veronica hadn’t coached her, but when the movie was finished little Haley asked if I could go home with them, as they were having her favorite for dinner – Spaghetti hoops and cut-up Sausages. The way she looked at me, again I felt unable to resist. The final nail in my coffin being accepting the two large glasses of wine that Veronica served up for each of us.
With teeth brushed, and bedtime books read and kisses on foreheads handed out, before I realized what had happened Veronica’s warm and soft body had slumped down next to me on the sofa. After nearly two weeks without any kind of feminine closeness, the mix of her perfume, the smell of her hair, and the feel of her body next to mine was just too much.
At first, it was just me accepting the soft nuzzling of her body into mine as she burrowed herself under my arm. But then when Veronica turned her head towards mine and tilted her face upwards, I knew I was lost. Within seconds we were both kissing each other with a hunger and an urgency that took me right back to my first days of dating in the back of my Dad’s old Ford. The two weeks of total denial had supercharged our need for each other – something you can’t have always being a thousand-times sweeter than something that’s on the approved list.
With a joint age in excess of ninety years, With more than ninety years between us, we were soon tearing each other’s clothes off like a couple of horny teenagers. Veronica just about having the presence of mind to drag me by the hand into the bedroom before we got to stage that would have been embarrassing if Haley had popped back into the lounge as she sometimes did.
With the bedroom door safely shut and locked there was no need for control and we each stripped off remaining clothes and jumped on top of each other as if we were being measured against the clock. My cock soon as deep as I could within Veronica, her legs seemingly locked and loaded around my back before I was even fully in her. The mechanics duly in place, key in the lock, our heads, and bodies thrashed around the bed as we kissed and fucked, fucked and kissed.
I knew it was wrong, that I was breaking a promise to Jill, but I didn’t care, telling myself she had almost certainly fucked both Callan and Malcolm during the time we’d been apart, while accidentally forgetting to remind myself that I’d not asked her to make any promises to me.
Feeling my climax starting to build up, and amazed I’d lasted this long given my abstinence, I was pleased to see from Veronica’s face that she wasn’t far behind me. The flesh just above her full brown breasts flushed red and her eyes half glazed over – both sure signs that I was hitting all the right spots and that she was close. Re-doubling my efforts, I slammed in as hard and as deep as I could, V’s reactions telling me she wanted it this way after so long apart. My face finally contorting with pleasure as my cock pulsed and jerked, my seedless juices spurting deep into Veronica as she moaned and groaned, struggling for breath as her body rocked and spasmed. Her nails digging into my ass and drawing blood in a way that I’d happily own and wear as a mark of pride.
Slowly, slowly we came down off our teenage high – each just smiling and gazing at the other, each feeling naughty and wicked, knowing we’d done something we ought not. When she sensed a slight look of guilt on my face, she just kissed me and smiled like a High School temptress. Squeezing and stroking my cock as she giggled.
“In for an inch, in for a mile,” her smiling lips intoned, as those same lips stopped smiling and started kissing their way down over the light hairs of my chest and belly, down further and further until she was encouraging me to get ready for round two and a second breaking of my word to Jill.
Throughout the next twelve hours, I did occasionally feel guilty about my broken promise, but mostly I just felt happy. And if ever my guilt got up to storm force two or three, I just did a whack-a-mole job on it by telling myself there was every chance Jill had allowed herself to be fucked by her two lovers many times over during our temporary separation.
But even armed with my whack-a-mole moral mallet, by mid-morning Sunday I was feeling decidedly guilty, not to mention emotional and sexually fed, and so I gave Veronica a tender and emotional kiss and finally dragged myself back to my lonely motel room.
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Once back in that monk’s cell of a motel room, denied the warmth and companionship of either of the women I loved, my emotions started spiraling, and not in a good way. First up was the guilt – which was better able to breathe and grow now that I was away from my partner in crime. I knew I’d needed the warmth, comfort, and companionship of Veronica – but nonetheless, I felt bad that I’d not kept my word to Jill.
As the guilt-edged its way up like some poisonous climbing vine, it met and fed a nagging question I just couldn’t get out of my head. A question I’d not had the courage to ask Charlotte when I’d called her just three days ago – with me out of the picture, where was Jill overnighting? I’d told her that I’d not be seeing Veronica, but I’d not laid down any expectations or rules for her while we did our thinking. I’d simply told her that what she chose to do was her own decision.
But with every day that had passed since Jill’s last attempt to talk to me –now up to around a week and a half – my fears about where she was and who she was spending her time with just got worse and worse. And as the minutes and hours ticked by on that slow and lonely Sunday my resistance slowly dissolved until finally at eight that evening I gave in and called Charlotte again.
I tried to sound casual and to make small talk to hide my true intent, but not surprisingly Charlotte soon took the conversation where she knew I wanted it to go.
“Dave, it’s always lovely to hear from you and to hear all about L.A. and John, Becky, and little baby Julia. But would I be right in guessing that you’re really calling to get an update on how your sweet wife is?”
My silence followed by the shortest of yeses told her all she needed to know.
“Well, Dave, I don’t want you to get ahead of yourself, but I think Jill’s making some real progress, I think she’s working through her feelings. And I can’t make any promises, but from how she’s talking to me, I think she’s coming around. Starting to see what you meant, about how the lifestyle’s started to eat up your marriage.”
“That’s great, wonderful,” I let out in a spontaneous burst of relief and joy.
“Hold your horses there, Dave. I stand by what I just said, but don’t get ahead of yourself. Things are heading in the right direction, but we’re not totally there yet, okay?”
I took the hint. “Sorry, Charlotte, I understand.”
“That’s better,” she said, sounding happier, for the first time I wondered where Charlotte stood in this whole thing. I knew she was my friend, but she was also Callan’s ex-wife, shot through with all kinds of emotions, including those to do with her inability to give him offspring. Was I being a fool bringing my concerns to Charlotte, expecting her to be on my side in seeking a reconciliation with Jill?
I shook my head, pushing the thought away, took a deep breath, and asked the question I’d actually called to ask.
“Charlotte, last time I was too frightened to ask, but I can’t stop thinking about it. I have to know. Where’s Jill spending her nights? Who’s she with?”
There was a notable pause at the other end of the line, a pause that filled me with dread as I knew Charlotte was struggling to find the right words, to put lipstick on the pig and do her best to defuse the hand grenade she was just about to throw at me.
“Well, honey, before I answer that, remember what I just told you, about Jill making progress, working out her feelings, and remember that feelings and sex are two very different things.”
She might just as well have stabbed me through the heart with an ice pick, because that’s what it felt like her words had done.
I think she was waiting for me to say something, knowing I’d have taken her strong hint. But when I said nothing, she picked up the baton and took it forward as carefully and slowly as she could.
“Sometimes she’s at home, and sometimes she sleeps over. But more and more I think it’s just about the sex, because I know how much she misses you and wants you back home.”
“Really?” I said, finally finding my voice, trying not to shoot the messenger, softening my tone and volume as I repeated the question. “Really, Charlotte, or are you just saying that to try and save my feelings?”
“No, really, Dave. I’m being totally straight with you. If I’d wanted to lie to you, I’d have told you she’s home most of the time, and that would have been a lie.”
I think she’d let slip a little more than she meant to, and I pounced on the unintended fact. “So, she’s not home most of the time, then? So, what would you say, she’s home just the odd day, or not even that, or maybe more than that? ”
I’ve always been obsessed with numbers – to me there’s a kind of honest purity in them. Words can be manipulated to mislead and lie. But numbers generally don’t lie, and so I knew Charlotte’s answer would give me a window into the reality of Jill’s behavior. An unvarnished and non-distorting window.
And so, I waited somewhere between frightened and hopeful for Charlotte’s answer. But the moment I heard Charlotte’s deep intake of breath my heart knew what I was about to hear. “The odd day, that would be the most accurate description. Jill’s home the odd day.”
But something in the way Charlotte had formed her sentence made me suspicious. She’d chosen her words too carefully.
“Home the odd day? I don’t mean to give you the third degree, Charlotte, but when you say home the odd day, do you mean sleeping there the odd day, or do you mean popping home the odd day for a change of clothing or stuff like that?”
Another deep intake of breath from Charlotte, followed by the shortest answer she could give. “The second of the two.” Followed by a painful silence between the two of us.
“Sorry, Dave,” she added, sounding like she really meant it, the silence then returning.
“That’s okay, I was the one who had to ask, had to know,” pausing so she’d know I meant it and didn’t blame her. “Thanks, Charlotte. Thanks for being a good friend, to me, to Jill.”
“Don’t mention it, sweetheart. I’m just sorry you and Jill are going through such a difficult patch.”
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That conversation with Charlotte was right at the end of March – Sunday the 31st March I think, just a day shy of the couple of weeks I’d told Jill we needed to be apart for her to think through how important our marriage was compared to the other parts of her life.
Charlotte had described what we were going through as ‘a rough patch’ – well our ‘rough patch’ got decidedly rougher a couple of days later when my old tormentor Luther stuck his size thirteen boot right into the middle of things. Sending me a link to a movie file with a title screen that simply said, ‘Hot Wife Jane – Choices to Make.’
The man was a sick bastard for sending me something like this at a time like this. For an hour after the link arrived, I just about managed to resist the overwhelming urge to watch it. But in the end, I caved, just as I’d always done with every other piece of poisoned fruit he’d ever put in front of me.
The bastard had excelled himself this time. It couldn’t have been more sadistically crafted had it had a Christopher Lee overdub and a lead player with horns and cloven hooves.
The whole thing was set up to have the look and feel of some kind of documentary show, with Luther inevitably playing the role of narrator. It started off with some footage of Jill shot as she floated around one of the bars doing her job – talking to staff, chatting to customers. Apart from her normal classy but slutty low-cut, short-skirted, high-heeled uniform, there was nothing overtly sexual about it. After a few seconds had passed the voice of the narrator announcing:
‘This is Jane. Jane’s a happily married forty-something-year-old mother of three. Still sexy and beautiful, the definition of a MILF, with a great job managing clubs. Jane’s got a secret. She’s a hotwife. She’s a hotwife whose husband loves to watch her with other guys. Let’s meet her husband, cucky Dan...’
And then the scene switched from Jill floating around the bar to the night Jill had danced, kissed and stripped with Dee and Veronica. Only this wasn’t the scene the film showed – the bit the film showed was my pasty white ass pumping up and down between Jill’s legs as I tried and failed Dee’s challenge of lasting more than three minutes inside Jill without cumming. The challenge that would determine whether she’d spend the night with me, Luther or Malcolm. My white ass pumping up and down as a superimposed video showed a stopwatch ticking through two minutes ten, two minutes twenty before finally stopping at two minutes thirty-one seconds. As video me threw my head back and pumped my load into video Jill, only then the narrator’s overdub kicking in again.
‘As you can see, some choices are easy for Hot Wife Jane to make. Faced with a choice between her small-dicked, three-minute hero of a husband and a real man, with a real cock, after twenty years of hunger Jane finally had a proper meal. Finally felt properly full, her belly stretched open by some nice deep black meat.’
Cue cut to the scene later that night in Malcolm’s house, in his bedroom where Jill had taken his huge cock for the first time. I’d seen it before, but even so, watching it again made a huge impression on me. And even in the middle of the marital crisis we were suffering, I’m ashamed to admit I got hard as I watched again the first time Malcolm sexed Jill with his huge black cock.
The rest of the scenes carried on showing and narrating the downward march in Jill’s depravity, as bit by bit Luther took her down into the personal underworld he’d designed for her – designed for her pleasure and seduction, and to test our marriage to breaking point.
Scenes showing Jill and Malcolm together next followed – both scenes of raw sex and passion, and scenes of tender love-making. Including plenty of scenes where the viewer could clearly hear Jill and Malcolm declaring their love for each other.
This was followed by scenes from when Jill had ‘entertained’ Luther, Malcolm, and their four army buddies for nearly a week – complete with the fake temporary tattoos and nipple rings. The narrated commentary on this making clear this was the next stage in Jill’s professional training as a blacked hotwife.
With the last reel inevitably adding scenes of Callan and Jill making love, these scenes finally petering out as the narrator said his last words.
‘But sorry to say, cucky Dan’s got a bit tired with letting his pretty wife play. He’s just gone and got too damned worried that one day Jane will leave him to be with a proper man, with a proper cock. So cucky Dan’s gone and laid down an ultimatum. Silly cucky Dan – does he really think he’s got any chance of winning…’
As the words trailed off, the last scene of Jill and Callan faded to black, leaving me with a hard cock of which I was totally ashamed and a deep fear of how prophetic the last words might prove to be.
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Not content with the pain his first video had caused me, Luther sent me another video link on Thursday. At least this time I managed to resist a whole twenty-four hours before I watched. But when my resistance did finally fail, the video turned out to be just as painful and hurtful as Luther’s first stiletto blade of a movie.
This time the video was simply titled ‘Alpha, Alpha, Omega’ and was split into two parts. The first part more video footage of Malcolm and Jill making love – this time all the scenes showing genuine love-making rather than raw and heated sex. The second half was near-identical, but this time the two bodies making love and sharing sweet words of endearment were the white bodies of Jill and Callan. And the third scene – there was no third scene. It was obviously not deemed worthy of being shown, of wasting the cost of the video or the cameraman’s time. The third scene was just a still photo of me with the Greek symbol for Omega superimposed onto my forehead. The message clear and insulting at so many levels. In Luther’s eyes, I wasn’t even fit to be a Beta or a Gamma. I was the ultimate outlier – Jill could choose between two Alphas and an Omega.
At the end of watching that second video, I was so hurt and insulted that I vowed revenge on Luther. I didn’t know how I’d get it. I’d thought he couldn’t get any lower after that first ‘Hot Wife Jane’ video, the one where the actor playing me got dildoed up the ass. But with this last video, he’d plumbed new depths. Not only did I vow revenge, but I also vowed that if by some miracle Jill did come back to me, I’d never again let her within a million miles of this sadist.
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Back in Miami a day later, I so wanted to head to Veronica’s. I so needed the comfort and happiness she’d provide. But it was only 10 PM and I was beat from a really tough week, and I knew Veronica would be working at the club until late. So instead I headed to my motel, promising myself that whatever promises I’d made I’d go over on Saturday to see Veronica. I owed it to myself. I needed it.
But life was never that straightforward. Because when I woke up I reached out to turn off my phone alarm, and instead I saw the first message I’d received from Jill in nearly three weeks.
‘I’ve done a lot of thinking, like you asked. I love you and want our marriage to work. Let’s meet at home and talk. Love Jill xxx’
(Thanks to cbears52 and Kite for their kind help.)
