A New Look for Marriage

"Michelle, I love you." He said entering again slowly and kissing.

Between lovemaking and hard fucking, my preference had always been for the latter. The honesty and intensity of the primal lust in hard fucking takes control of my body. This time, lovemaking had replicated that honesty in reflecting our vulnerabilities as a couple, at the same time leaving no doubt that we were a couple. He felt harder than he had been in recent years, almost like a piece of steel, firm with no sense of give. Sensing the moment of urgency, I wrapped my long legs around his contracting muscles as he emptied himself inside of me. The experience left me light headed. We settled into the bed his tall frame holding me close from behind his breath on my neck.

"That was lovely." I voiced my appreciation while lost in half-formed thoughts. The anxiety at the kitchen table felt like a distant memory. "Honey, I'm really sorry."

"Did you like it?"

"You were wonderful, I loved it."

"I meant did you like it when he did it to you?" He whispered. I could feel his heart beating on my back.

"I don't know, what?"

"Of course you know, I mean you like sex, right?" He still held me close.

"Yeah, I mean yeah, I like sex."

I suppose he could sense me getting a bit defensive. "Michelle, I'm not mad at you, I'm just curious, I just want to know what it was like."

His tone was non-confrontational and his body language was affectionate. If he was setting a trap, he was setting it well. I felt comfortable. He wasn't in a jealous rage, not like the ones I've seen before.

"I guess I liked it, sure." I couldn't believe I was admitting this.

"You liked what he did to you?" His breath was getting heavy.

"Yeah, I told you."

"What did he do to you honey?"

"What do you mean?"

"I want you to tell me what he did to you." His tone low and intense.

"He took me out. We didn't really do much."

"I mean when you were alone."

I started to get scared. I knew what he was getting at, but I couldn't figure why. We had just made love and now, I felt, like he was trying to humiliate me. "I told you already."

"I want you to say it again Michelle."

"He fucked me." I felt a wicked rush in my lower belly. It was like a jolt of electricity. I wasn't expecting the sudden rush. I hands felt prickly.

"And where did he fuck you?"

"Just in my pussy."

My husband started laughing. "I meant where?"

"Oh, on his bed. Mostly." I giggled feeling a ping in my stomach with each vibration.

"How many times?"

"I don't know, a number."

"What number?"

"Maybe a dozen? I don't know."

"Just in the pussy?"

"Yeah."

"You sucked his dick?" His voice was low, guttural and labored.

"Well yeah, I sucked his dick too."

"Who is he?" I felt my stomach drop with the inevitable question. But this was nothing like the questioning in Dr. Rosalie's office. This was intimate not formal and I didn't feel hurt in his arms.

"He's a guy I know or, at least, I knew." I said in a single breath.

"Who?"

"Come on, I don't see why is matters."

"It matters because I'm telling you that I want to know." He took a lighter tone.

"I don't know what you're going to get out of this. Do you really want to know this?"

"I want to know because I want to know and I want to know everything. Michelle, who was he?"

"Just a guy I know, well a guy I knew, it's completely over."

"Why is it over?"

"I stopped it."

"Are you sure it's over?"

"Yes, yes for sure."

"Do I know him?" His voice lowered as he mumbled into my shoulder.

"You've met him, but you don't really know him."

"Who?" I could feel his erection pressing into my thigh.

Incredulously I asked, "Are you turned on?"

"Tell me who." His voice trembled. I sensed his emotions being pulled in every which way, some contrary to some others but all of them felt with complete intensity. I was feeling it too. I felt nervous, excited, incredulous, fearful and horny with each one felt in their purest form before being bounced to the next and back again.

"I used to work with him. We stayed in touch when he got another job. It was nothing. We just met for coffee sometimes or lunch...maybe a drink after work. I don't know why..." I trailed off leaving silence between us. He remained rock hard pressing into me. He wasn't usually able to stay completely hard for sex and we already had sex.

"Richard?"

"Oh come on, no! I would never!"

"Mark?"

"Are you nuts? I still work with him! We didn't even work in the same lab. He was just in the same building, not even my section. We went to lunch sometimes. We talked about books." The feeling was not unlike being pressured for gossip in the 7th grade schoolyard.

"Books?"

"Yeah books, he read a lot and we talked about books mostly."

"I thought he wasn't a scientist?"

"No, he's not, I read other stuff too, like literature and he liked art. I was interested."

"How do I know him?"

"You don't."

"Stop being coy, how did I meet him?"

"Oh yeah, you know how we have friends over every year around the Christmas break for a small party? He came over once."

"Who?"

"You spoke to him. I think you went to the garage with him to get beer."

"Was he fucking you at the time?"

"No! I wouldn't do that." I almost couldn't believe he would even insinuate such a thing.

"You wouldn't do what?"

"Invite a boyfriend over here."

"So you have standards?" My husband's sarcasm spilled in despite his best effort to contain it.

"Well I wouldn't do that."

My husband began kissing my neck and ear. He was acting very affectionate. His affections seemed to get more intense the more I told him. His touches were gentle and loving. One hand rested between my legs feeling my wetness and heat increase the more he pushed. I spent a lot of time avoiding getting too granular but he kept pushing it that way.

He whispered gently in my ear, "Who was it?"

"Derek."

"Who?"

"He was over here, well maybe you don't really remember."

"I remember Michelle. I'm just sort of surprised." He sounded genuinely incredulous.

"Why?"

"The admin assistant you mean?"

"Yeah, he works as an admin."

"A fucking secretary Michelle? Can I repeat, why?"

"Stop that! I don't know, I guess I liked him...he was really smart." My legs tightened in an attempt to remove his hand.

My husband's voice cracked and radiated insecurity. I reminded myself that he was the offended party and had some right to question even if the line of questioning was treading in murky waters. An explosive fight was possible with every step or misstep. On one hand, he was demanding complete disclosure, and at the same time offering me amnesty. A shaky path which seemed destined to go face first in the mud.

It's not easy to respond to the precise "why" of why I like anyone. The question seems easy and straightforward on the surface, but upon reflection, it is anything but. He doesn't meet the obvious alpha standard that may have been expected, at least that my husband seemed to expect. He works in a service sort of position, but I've never been one to define someone by that standard. He's good looking, but not in a chiseled jawline, angry narrow glare sort of way, more in an unassuming quietly assured sort of way. His mannerisms are non-confrontational and he's soft spoken. What he does have are soft eyes that display an understated intelligence. The more I got to know him, the more I got drawn to his personality. He's sharp witted with an impressive handle on literature and art. It's hard to communicate when this friendship became a romantic interest.

"What do you mean that you just liked him? Why?"

"I don't know just what we talked about and the things he said? I can't explain it. I just liked him."

"What he treated you like crap or something?"

"No, I mean he was nice to me, he was shy and soft-spoken. Why would he treat me like crap?"

"He's younger?"

"A bit, I think he's like 35 or 36."

"He sounds like a loser."

"You don't even know him." I hate when people judge people they don't know and my husband knows it. He was baiting me and I was taking it.

Colin didn't miss a breath, "Michelle, he's a secretary."

"So?"

"You're a scientist. He's beneath you." He said dismissively.

"What the fuck are you talking about? People aren't beneath me. Why do you talk about people like that? Like they're beneath you? It's really annoying. It upsets me."

"Are you defending him now? The guy fucked my wife."

"I thought you didn't want to fight about this? Maybe we shouldn't be talking about this, you're right."

"No, no, no, I want to talk about this. You're right, I'm sorry I didn't mean it. I just want to know why you liked him, but it doesn't matter." He said softly in an effort to bring the conversation back.

"Well I can't tell you why I liked him."

"Did you love him?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Don't think so? Were you attracted to him?"

"Yes, yes I was. I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say."

"Yes what? You loved him?"

"I was infatuated with him, but I don't think I loved him."

"Then what?"

"I don't know, what's the difference if I was attracted to him?"

"No, I mean you were meeting him for coffee and then what?" He asked with the anticipation returning to his voice.

"He asked me on a date."

"He knew you were married, right?"

"Yeah, of course he knew. How wouldn't he?"

"And you just went with him? Just like that?"

"No. I said no."

"But?"

"It got in my head and we were texting each other and I said it was be fun to go out. I don't know if I said it was a date but yeah. I said I was out with Sharon. The night I came home really late. Do you remember?"

"You were texting him a lot?"

"Yeah."

"How often?"

"Every night."

"You came home at 3 that night? You were with him?" His voice crackled.

"Yeah."

He cleared his throat and continued the interrogation, "Where'd you go?"

"Different places. He took me to a restaurant downtown and then we went a few different bars. One was a jazz sort of place and we danced a bit and I asked him if he could get a hotel room."

"Wait you what?!"

I'm not sure if my husband stopped breathing or if his heart stopped but I realized I had said something that pushed a button.

"He lives uptown and it was getting late, what?"

"You...asked...him...to...take...you...to...a...hotel? Is that right?" He spoke very clearly, but he wasn't angry. He was enticing me to dish this gossip and was hanging on every word as if they were a matter of life or death. I rolled over in his arms so I could see his eyes. The pupils of his brown eyes completely dilated were making him look very attractive. His gaze was one of intense anticipation. I could tell he wanted to hear this. His erection was now straining as he held me close making sure that I felt it.

"Do you want to stick it back in me honey?" I said in my most playfully taunting seductive voice.

"Can I?" He stuttered avoiding my eyes.

"Huh-huh."

I felt a strange sense of power over him, a sense of power that would take time to develop but this was the first time I felt it in such a way. I had never taken a dominant role on our marriage bed and here he was asking my permission in a completely submissive way.

"I can put it in you?" He asked again as if to affirm the balance of power.

"Yeah, it's ok if you do that." My hormones were buzzing in a way I hadn't felt before.

I kept my head aloof leaving his kisses unreturned. I felt extremely sexy playing the role of a detached loved in that moment. He kissed me all over and I gave no sign of approval or dissatisfaction. I concealed my lust in my body language, only my wetness giving it away. The more detached I appeared the more frantic he became. I had never seen so much lust. It radiated from his every movement. Finally, he settled on top of me, pushed himself in, and buried his head beside my ear on the pillow.

"Why?" He grunted into my ear.

"Why?"

"Did...you...ask...for...the...hotel?"

I felt the tension rise and felt that he wanted to hear it. "I wanted to fuck." I said in a sultry voice as if I were the voice of degeneration.

"You wanted him to put his cock in you?"

"Uh-huh."

"Why?"

"I was horny."

"He got you horny." He pushed in deeper.

"Yeah...I felt him get hard when we were dancing."

"He fucked you in the pussy?" He stroked my hair softly looking down at me and encouraged me to continue with all the gory details of the affair.

"He got a room at a hotel near the bar and we went upstairs."

"And then?"

"In the room, he took off my clothes."

"You kiss?"

"A bit, yeah."

"You knew you were getting fucked?"

"Yeah, I knew."

"You wanted it?"

"Yes, I wanted it!" I was straining to make complete utterances.

"He gave it to you?"

"Yes."

"What did he do to you?"

"He gave it to me."

My husband stroked the side of my face softly and said in a low pleading voice, "Say it Michelle!"

"He fucked me! He fucked my pussy on the bed, ok?!"

His cock jerked and I felt his release. He hadn't even been fucking, just holding it inside of me. I wrapped my arms around him to show affection in his venerable time.

"You cum honey?"

"Yeah, it's ok, I want to hear more." He kept his softening penis inside of me.

"You really like this, huh?" I said more in amazement than anything else. I was amazed how much this had affected his potency.

"You suck his dick?"

"Yes, I sucked his dick."

"He have a big cock?"

"Huh?" I stuttered. This wasn't a question and I wasn't prepared to answer.

"His cock Michelle, is it bigger?" I felt his half-flaccid penis twitch.

His eyes, narrow and focused, displayed fear and lust wrapped up into one unfamiliar stare and focused right on me.

"It doesn't matter?" I avoided the question.

"So he's bigger?"

"I didn't say that."

"So, tell me the truth...is...he...umm...bigger?" He said through gritted teeth with his breath drawn deep into his stomach so that I could feel it contracting.

"Honey, I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"Cause, I don't know how to say it." My pulse was racing. My temples pounded right behind my eyes. My nerves weren't built for this and they were giving way. Nowhere in my most extreme case rehearsals did I think I would have to talk about this.

"Tell me."

"I don't want to. Stop it!"

"It's ok, just say it."

"How is it ok? You're going to get upset."

"So he was bigger? Honey, it's ok, just tell me."

"Don't get mad then."

His mouth was dry and his words were coming out slightly stuttered. "I won't."

"Yeah, he was bigger."

My husband, completely silent, wrapped his arms around me tightly as I felt his penis grow for a third time. Not since college had he been able to go three times.

"Honey, I'm sorry." No response. "Are you ok?" His head was back beside my ear so I couldn't see his face. "It doesn't matter, ok?"

"Did you like it?" He managed to say in a labored voice.

"What?"

"Did you like his big cock?"

"Please stop, ok?" I didn't want to hurt him.

He didn't move a muscle. Every part of his body felt tense and strained. "Did you like his big cock inside of you?"

My ears felt as if they popped clearing my head of tension as I let it out in a whisper, "Yeah, I liked it."

"Liked what?" He put an emphasis on "what" that left no doubt as to what he meant.

"I liked his big cock."

"Why?"

"I liked how it looked."

I could hear my own breath reverberate as it passed in and out of my body. I was soaked. Soaked with sweat and soaked between my legs with a mixture of our cum. I expected him to explode in a rage and beat me to a pulp. All of a sudden, his hips started pumping up and down. It took me a few moments to realize that he wasn't fighting me at all. He was fucking me.

"Honey, you're, you're fucking me." I pleaded in a submissive voice. The balance of power shook violently as he started pounding harder with desperate thrusts.

"Michelle, I'm sorry, I need to, are you ok? I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. Honey?" He repeated over and over while he fucked with increasing urgency. I moaned in approval and my body went limp.

"Did you like sucking his dick?"

"Uh huh, he...he held the back of...he held the back...of... my head and then he...he...he pulled my hair...he pulled my hair." I babbled in almost baby talk.

"You wanted it?"

"Yes, I wanted it!" I groaned in lust.

"He gave it to you?"

"Yes! Honey, he fucked me so hard!"

His voice cracked with lust. "He fucked my wife's pussy hard?!"

"Honey, I'm so sorry." I exhaled, momentarily fearing this had gone too far.

"How did he fuck you sweetheart?...tell me." On a dime, his tone switched to sweet.

He repeated his questions in slightly different ways and they provoked slightly different responses. Mostly the wording changed or he would repeat a question using a different tone or stress a different word. At times they would be pleading, sometimes demanding and then, without warning, switch to sweet. As ridiculous as it sounds we even baby talked each other back and forth. Every time he switched it threw me off guard and every time I surrendered a bit more. His pace was volatile and matched his expressions. He stopped when he pleaded, got rough when he took to anger and soft and gentle when he soothed. Getting comfortable wasn't an option. Best of all, he stayed completely hard the entire time.

"From behind, he...he fucked me from behind." I whimpered in response.

"Michelle...how did he fuck you?"

In the most meek and sweet voice I could muster I responded, "Really hard. He fucked me really hard."

"On the bed? Did you get fucked on the bed?"

"Yeah, he fucked me really hard on the bed."

"How?"

"At first he got on top of me, but then he turned me around and did it from behind. He held my hips and gave it to me. Really hard."

"Harder than me?"

"Honeyyyyy? Whyyyy?" I was perplexed.

"Did he?"

"What?"

"Fuck harder?"

"Yeah, he fucked harder. I'm sorry."

"Just like you like it, right?"

"Yeah, I liked it."

"He have a big dick?"

"Honey, whyyyyy?!"

Grunting in a very low and lusty tone. "Michelle, was...he...bigger...than me?"

"Honey, I told you, he's ahh biggerrrr."

"How big?"

"I don't know."

"He fucked you, right?"

"Yeah, but I didn't measure."

"A lot bigger?"

I nodded in the affirmative. "Yeah, a lot bigger."

"Why did you like that?"

I took a deep breath. "It felt, it felt...really big inside."

I wasn't trying to hurt him. We were engaged in a game of chicken and the oncoming truck was the truth. I was determined to tell the truth regardless of the consequences. His prodding kept pushing the envelope as to just what that truth would contain. Somewhere in the recess of my twisted mind, I was unraveled. Each horrible admission sent a jolt through my soul and my body craved one after another. The barriers of my secret desires, the longing which were all my own, were all but shattered. I shook with fear; life had long taught me that the world isn't safe without a barrier. I felt everything crashing around me, but my husband wasn't hurt. He didn't seem hurt at all. He was mad with desire; a desire I hadn't seen in him in a long time.

"He fucked your pussy hard? He held your hips? With his big cock? Where did he cum?" He demanded with authority and flipped me over to continue in doggie.

"And he pushed my face down in the mattress and pounded me so hard!" I shouted.

"He knew you're married?"

"He didn't care he just wanted to fuck."

"He fucked you like a slut?!"

"Yes, like I was a slut!"

"You are a slut!"

"Yes, I'm a fucking slut! A fucking whore!"

"Michelle..." He had a firm grasp of my hips as if to tell me he wasn't letting this go.

"Yeah?"