Things were tense and silent in the house during the
weekend. When Patrick regained some semblance of consciousness, he was silent
over what happened and I was so cowardly I took the chance to pretend nothing
had gone wrong in the Friday session.
I'd scrubbed myself raw when I finally got into the shower.
Somehow Patrick's silence made it all the more damning. My efforts at making it
up to him in bed that night only frustrated me further. All attempts at getting
him hard and giving him sexual release with my hands and mouth proved futile.
His inability to be aroused by me only added to his humiliation and my despair.
When tears fell on his thighs, Patrick's hands moved on my head, lightly
caressing my hair before moving me away from his flaccid manhood.
"Nichola, it's not your fault. Stop, my love,
stop."
The tears were coming fast and hard now.
"I-I'm so-o sorry," was all the response I could
come up with.
"Shh..you were just doing what I asked you to, what
would secure the future of our family. I'm just sorry I've got us into this
situation, this damn illness is the culprit."
He was all choked up with emotions.
As my sobs subsided, Patrick recovered enough to continue.
"I only ask that I no longer be present during the
sessions as--as you both take your pleasure."
He had averted his eyes from my stricken expression.
"Can you forgive the weakness of a husband who has so
failed you and our marriage?"
"You've not failed me Patrick," the words rushed
out of my mouth.
"The illness is not your fault."
Taking a deep breath, I confessed as one who has sinned
against her saint, in this case, my husband.
"My body has betrayed me but my love for you remains.
And will always remain. Please believe me, my love."
We simply looked at each other without speaking further. Further
words were futile.
****
Martin sensed the tension when he turned up on Monday.
Asking, as casually as he could under the circumstances, where Patrick was, he looked
a little taken aback by my cold reply that Patrick wasn't well and wouldn't be
at our sessions in the future.
When he sought to probe further, I simply cut him off
crudely.
"Let's get on with the fuck session."
"Is that how you see it?"
His narrowed eyes warned me of his growing anger.
I stared him straight in the eye and answered, "Well,
what else could it be?"
Truly angered by my reply and attitude, he wasted no time
crushing my lips in a rough kiss while shoving me against the wall of the guest
room.
He took me without care for my pleasure, tearing into me
with his hard angry length and ignoring the involuntary cries of pain that came
from my mouth.
He came quickly but continued pounding me against the wall
as if he wanted to pound the defiance out of me. I was crying as much for the state
of affairs I found myself in as the pain.
Suddenly he pulled out and carried me to the bed. Laying me
down almost gently, he looked over me and wiped the tears away with his hand
while caressing my face.
"God, I hate it when you shut yourself off from me like
that. When you talk about what's between us like that."
He babbled like a hurt child.
"I know you don't want to hurt Patrick but don't shut
me out, please." That hurt look and plaintive tone was back again.
I simply lay there not knowing what to think or feel.
He gently stripped me and sought to kiss away the red
chaffed areas on my back which were right up against the wall and the soreness
on my inner thighs. Dipping his fingers into my wet and sore slit, he used his cum
like lotion to massage the bruised lips and clit, hoping to bring me some
relief and pleasure.
"I'm sorry" he muttered over and over again.
Curiously, the tears welling in his eyes had no effect on me.
I realised I had shut him out of my emotions and my heart.
Where I'd seen him as a friend some months back, I now saw him as a predator. He
may have my treacherous body which craved sexual release even if it were an
enemy but he would never have my heart. As subtle as it was, his cruelty
towards Patrick made me divorce my emotions, my mind and my heart from the
reflexive responses of my body. Where I might have felt some guilt towards him
earlier, Martin's callous attitude towards me and Patrick made me guilt free in
my plan to avenge Patrick and our marriage.
I would give my body to him but deny him the final triumph
of conquering my heart. I'd fake all emotions towards him and while he might
sense it in time to come there would be little he could do and even less appear
the victim in the public eye. No, I was going to bring him down in a way he
couldn't imagine or retaliate and I'll be the one using his body for sexual
release, he would be the tool. That brought the gentle smile to my face as I
reached for Martin and reassured him that I was starting to feel for him and
that he just had to give me time. The gleam of triumph in his eyes didn't go
unnoticed by me but he had no idea why I was smiling.
****
Every time he fucked me, my hatred
for Martin grew stronger. In a way, I needed it to. The hatred was what fueled
me, kept me going no matter how hard it was. It was what made me whisper my
plan to Patrick when he was asleep, trying to sooth his pain the only way I
could without running the risk of Martin finding out. It was what made me go
along with Martin's increasingly vulgar ideas for our fuck sessions. He was increasingly
pushing the boundaries, trying to hurt Patrick in several ways. The last straw
was his insistence that we fuck in the armchair that Patrick had sat in in our
first 3 sessions.
"That or we fuck in your bed."
I refused and no matter his tantrums, I didn't budge but
instead suggested we meet outside of my home to have more intimate time alone and
where we could "explore". That mollified him and saved Patrick further
humiliation. I knew it was a risk to take this affair outside but if it was the
only way I could stop his devious schemes to hurt Patrick, I didn't have much
of a choice.
I played his slut in various luxury hotel suites across the
city. The staff at various luxury hotels bore witness to the strange sight of a
celebrity in shades, wearing her trademark red lipstick and a long trench coat
being whisked into elevators after entering the hotel from a discreet VIP
entrance and emerging after a few hours in the same trench coat and whisked
away in a Rolls Royce to destination unknown. Of course, they probably smiled
to themselves, guessing that this slutty celebrity was stepping out on her poor
clueless dying husband and tut-tutting over the state of my morals or lack of.
It didn't bother me as much as the wave of guilt that
swamped me when I faced Patrick and the kids. Patrick was barely aware of what
was going on around him with all the pain medication that was now administered
intravenously. He was dying in the most painfully long manner in our bed. And
there were times I almost wished he could just breathe his last and be rid of
the pain, no matter how devastating that would have been for me and the kids.
I'd started keeping sets of clothes in the guest room
wardrobe so I could scrub myself clean and be dressed properly before I
returned from one of those fuck sessions with Martin. He treated me like a
living fuck doll so I played up the slutty whore role for him, shedding my trench
coat, beneath which I only had a sheer bra and stockings paired with a pair of
slutty heels.
He was so turned on by that sight that he demanded I turn up
for the rest of our sessions dressed like that. Throwing me on the bed and getting
straight to eating me out , he never noticed the grimace of disgust that
sometimes slipped out and crossed my face before I could stop it.
No, he was too busy trying to claim pussy victory to notice
anything. He only seemed to notice my hard nipples and wet pussy. Or the
whorish erotic sight of my Louboutins with their red soles flailing in the air as
he fucked me hard on the bed and armchairs in the hotel suites. He never
noticed that I didn't enjoy him coming on my face or tits when he was not
trying to fill my pussy with his cum. He was so obsessed with branding me with
his mouth, tool and cum that I felt like one of the racehorses being branded
with the owner's insignia or mark.
He knew, of course that I was on the pill and couldn't possibly
get pregnant. It didn't stop him trying to pump me full of his cum, hoping that
he'd be the 1 percent who would beat the odds and impregnate me. I know that's
what he was thinking as he stroked my belly after an intense fuck session that
ended with him placing a pillow under my hips to keep his cum in me.
****
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