Igniting the Tinder of Lust Ch. 03

"You feel good," I finally whispered to break the silence.

"You...you too," she replied, and quickly followed with, "Do I feel different?"

Of course, I knew what she was referring to and was smart enough to answer positively, "No, honey...completely the same."

It was an easy response because it was true, although somewhat surprising given all the strange cock she had taken. Her actions and responses with me were the same, too. However, based on what I had witnessed, I knew she wasn't the same with the other men.

"How about you and them? Was it the same?" I probed, wanting to hear her words.

She was silent for a moment, and then said, "It wasn't the same, there was no love."

It was a good answer, although she had deftly skirted around the physical aspects. At first, I decided it wasn't the right moment to press further, but our languid pace almost demanded verbal interaction.

"Did they feel good?" I asked.

"Yes," she answered without hesitation, as if she had anticipated the question.

"Come on Lauren. Tell me how they were...what you liked and didn't like," I pushed.

Amazingly, we had never discussed the details of her sexual encounters, but for some reason, I now wanted to know and she seemed in the mood to share.

"Thomas was...exciting. Zach was kind of...lame. Cezar was...I don't know...just...just...raw," she stated.

As she spoke, her movements became a little more pronounced, which made me think her words were affecting her subconsciously. Seconds later, the wet sounds of her pussy caught my attention and made my dick even harder.

"Four men..." I said and then flipped her onto her back. When we were moving again, I added, "You're an experienced woman now."

"Yes, because of your fantasy...you could have had me all to yourself," she shot back, between her sighs.

With that, our verbal jousting ended, and from then on, we made love with only the sounds of our moans filling the air. Instinctively, I knew my wife wasn't going to climax, so when the time came, I just let go and collapsed onto her sweaty body.

After this exchange, weeks went by with no further discussion about the games. Even in bed, we eschewed any provocative talk and concentrated on our loving connection. Lauren had always been a wonderful mother, but I sensed something of a renewed energy towards our children which provided further evidence that we were through with the encounters. Fortunately, I was able to keep a grip on my fantasies much easier than I feared, and had found a nice, peaceful place that had me focused on family. Thus, when I got the phone call that fateful Saturday morning, I was truly stunned.

"I...I need your help. I need you here now...without the kids," my wife stated in a shaky voice as soon as I answered.

I was in the country, at her parent's house with our children, and it was early, not quite seven. Lauren was supposed to have come with us, but at the last minute a work conflict had come up that meant we wouldn't be able to leave until late Friday evening, and as a result, we decided that she would stay behind. Immediately, I guessed the source of her distress.

"What's wrong? What happened?" I replied anxiously.

"Not now...just come here as soon as you can," she begged.

Twenty minutes later, I was in the car racing towards the city after making up a poor excuse for her parents. Along the way, I tried to guess what the issue might be. I doubted it involved Thomas as he was an educated, professional guy that I had some trust in. Also, I very much doubted she would have returned to Zach as he never really clicked with her. Instead, all my thoughts were on Cezar, and given his unpredictable nature, I knew it could be anything.

"Lauren," I called out as soon as the door opened.

"Here," came a faint voice from the bedroom.

I stopped in the doorway as soon as I saw her, dumfounded by her appearance. She was sitting on the edge of the bed in a robe and I could tell that she had been beaten. In addition to a black eye, she had a fat lip and several scratch marks showing. On top of that, her well-styled dark hair had been hacked off in places giving her an odd unbalanced look.

"Dear Lord...what happened," I exclaimed as I rushed to her side.

"I...I was bad," she whimpered.

"Are you okay?" I replied, cringing at the meaning of her words.

"I...I'm okay I guess...sore in places," she answered.

"Did you meet Cezar?" I asked and her look delivered the response before her words.

"Yes...I...I mean...I went to his house and there were these girls and they beat me up," she replied as her tears started.

It took several minutes, but I was finally able to learn that the Hispanic man had texted her several times and convinced her to meet him at his place. When she arrived, Cezar was nowhere to be found and one of the girls told Lauren that she was his wife. There were four of them and they tackled her when she tried to leave, stripped her, and began a beating that lasted for some time.

"For God's sake Lauren, why? And sneaking...again..." I said with disgust.

"I know...I know...it was stupid. But please...please not now," she whimpered.

"Let me see the rest," I replied, following up on some comments she made about bruises on her body.

"You won't like it," she warned.

"I already don't like it," I said.

With that, she slowly stood, untied the robe and let it fall open. Instantly, I could see a myriad of marks that extended from her chest to mid-thigh. There were bruises on both breasts and her nipples seemed quite red, almost raw. In addition, there were dark bruises on her thighs extending all the way to her vagina. If that weren't enough, her attackers had written on her in black marker. Across her tummy in huge, wide letters was the word slut, and there were arrows pointing at her pussy with the words whore, trash, puta, and dirty cunt. As I stood staring, trying to take it all in, I noticed that on her breasts were initials as if each girl had signed the work.

When she saw me close my eyes and shake my head, she turned and lowered her covering until I could see her ass. She had clearly been whipped hard and by the marks it looked like it might have come from multiple belts of differing width. If that weren't enough, on the small of her back written in big letters were the words "FUCK ME HERE".

"There's more," she said after a few seconds of silence.

"What?" I asked, and then quickly added, "What else?"

"They...uhhh...put things in me...and...I...I...they made me lick his wife," she announced.

"What did they put in you?" I asked, truly dumbfounded.

"A beer bottle..." she whispered.

"What...where?" I tried to clarify.

"Both places," she informed me as her eyes fell to the floor.

"Lauren, maybe you should go to the hospital," I suggested, suddenly very worried.

"No...no...I don't want any of this known. I'm okay...I'll be okay," she shot back quickly, as if she had been waiting to deliver the message.

"Are you injured? I mean inside?" I asked, wondering what damage the bottle may have caused.

"I don't think so..." she whispered.

"Okay, we won't go, but you have to say something if you...start to feel anything wrong," I told her, and as she nodded, I added, "You're going to have to take the week off...maybe longer."

"I know, but please help me get these marks off. I've tried and they won't come all the way off," she responded, pointing to one of the words that was faded, but still legible.

After doing a quick internet search and learning rubbing alcohol was normally a good remover, I had her recline on the bed while I went to work. At first, the marks looked like they might come right off, but a persistent layer always remained. So, I started a cycle of moving from one to another and after an hour, her front side had been reduced to a set of very faint shadows. Of course, my work brought me quite close to her pussy, and I could see how brutally she had been treated.

"What did they hit you with?" I asked, nodding towards her swollen mound.

"Their feet. They kicked me," she whispered.

"How did you get away?" I asked, as it suddenly dawned on me that we hadn't discussed how she escaped.

"They threw me outside when they were done...naked..." she whispered.

"How did you get home?" I asked.

"The hidden key," she replied.

On each of our cars, I had put a spare key in a magnetic box and attached it to the frame. Several times, I had forced Lauren to practice finding it, and on each occasion, she would chastise me for making her get dirty. It was shocking to realize that she had been naked in a strange, run-down neighborhood on her back beneath the vehicle searching desperately for the small container. A thousand terrible things could have happened and the fact she got away was something of a miracle.

"Damn," I responded.

"What am I going to do about my hair?" she asked with a pained expression when I had done all I could on the writing.

"Do you have your stylist's personal phone number?" I asked.

"Yes, of course," she replied.

"Call her and tell her it's an emergency and if she'll come to our house today, you'll give her three times her fee or four or whatever it takes," I suggested.

I'm not sure Lauren believed in the idea, but I think she was happy to be taking tangible action, so a few minutes later she made the call. It turned out to be surprisingly easy and after just a few minutes she had arranged for the woman to come to the house at six.

"Are you ready to beat me up now?" she said with a resigned sigh.

I knew that she had meant it in a verbal sense, although for a brief second slapping her did cross my mind.

"No, Lauren. Today is going to be about getting you better, but you can be certain the time will come. Now, I'm going to see if our parents can keep the kids all week. I don't want them seeing their mother this way," I explained.

Heather, the stylist, showed up right on time. Like me, she was shocked to see Lauren's appearance and at first, I could tell she thought there had been a domestic quarrel. With the robe held closed, my wife told her a made-up story about an accident with a bicycle where her hair had to be cut free and it seemed to work. After that, they set about discussing styles that were achievable. Two-and-a-half hours later they were done, and I was amazed at what the woman had been able to accomplish. The remains of my wife's shoulder length hair style were gone, replaced by a wavy bob that gave her a bit of a sassy style and accentuated her graceful neck. In fact, it looked so good that it made me wonder why she hadn't tried it before.

"Well?" my wife asked hopefully, as Heather looked on.

"I think it looks amazing," I replied sincerely.

The faces of both women immediately opened into broad smiles. Minutes later, after collecting her things, the stylist headed for the door and received an additional tip from me as I held it open.

Now, the only physical aspects of her attack that she couldn't hide in public was the black eye, scratches and fat lip. They would have to be solved with time, and perhaps some makeup, but I still felt like significant progress had been made. Holding true to my word to spend the day helping my wife regain her footing, I was returning to the living room with more aspirin and a glass of wine when her cell phone suddenly rang.

"It's Cezar," she announced after she glanced at the screen.

She put the phone down without answering and took the glass from me. I was about to ask her why he would be phoning, when in the span of just a few seconds, multiple text messages arrived. Lauren ignored the device and continued watching TV, but when another burst arrived a few minutes later she finally reached for it.

"Well?" I asked after she had studied the words.

"He said he didn't know about any of it. He was out of town last night. They got my number off his phone and set a trap. They were the ones texting me," she explained.

"I think that's bullshit," I answered, and then added, "Didn't the messages come from his number?"

"No...it was a different one. He said it was his work phone," she answered with an embarrassed expression.

"Well...whatever...who cares now..." I stated.

"The girl...Elsa...has a baby with him and thinks they have a relationship," she said, ignoring my comment.

"Well, if they have a baby together, it sounds like they do," I stated.

Again, Lauren didn't reply to my comment and for the next minute continued to look at the phone. Finally, she set it down and took a drink. It was only when she saw my raised eyebrows that she spoke.

"What?" she asked.

"That's it?" I probed.

"He said he was sorry. He said he was going to take care of her. He said he didn't think I had any interest because it had been so long," she fired back rapidly.

Suddenly, the whimpering mess of a woman that I had dealt with earlier in the day was starting to become very annoying. Strangely, it seemed that she was relieved to get the explanation from the man, and I could only assume it was because it meant he hadn't betrayed her. Rather than respond, I held her in a fixed stare for several seconds, trying to sense her state of mind before I slowly returned to the television.

By late Sunday, after several more alcohol rubs, the words had been erased from her body, and on Thursday her black eye had faded enough that she could hide the remaining marks with makeup. It allowed her to leave the house, although remaining beneath her clothes were the bruises and strap marks that provided a reminder of the aggressive attack. We discussed leaving to visit our parents for the weekend and pick up the kids, but finally decided against it as we still had some talking to do.

Throughout the week, my thoughts and emotions vacillated on Lauren and her sneaky attempt to meet her rough lover. The deep concern I had when I first saw her condition faded with her bruises and left me confused and angry. It seemed that my lovely wife was prepared to drop everything when Cezar called to simply receive a good fucking. It meant that the concerns that had led me back to Dr. Sturm remained quite real, and that my wife still carried powerful sexual thoughts.

"How is it?" I asked, referring to her steak.

Rather than stay home on Friday night, we had made reservations at a top-end restaurant. I hoped the evening out, helped by the alcohol, would set the stage for a night of closeness and candid communication.

"Quite good," she responded with an open smile.

I thought about how beautiful she looked sitting before me, and the hidden marks beneath her dress that would shock those around us. For the thousandth time, I started to feel judgmental, but like every other time, my thoughts quickly went to my culpability and the simple fact that I had put everything that had occurred into motion. It truly was the parable of the genie and the bottle, and like those caught in similar dilemmas before me, I wondered if it was possible to go back. Even if it wasn't all the way, it would be so much better if some control was established.

"I didn't know if you wanted me anymore," she said softly.

We had returned to our house and I had my arms around her with her back against me as we stood in the living room. Clearly, she was feeling vulnerable and was seeking my reassurance. For a moment, I thought about withholding it, but I knew I would feel terrible later if I did.

"Of course, Lauren," I replied and nuzzled her neck.

My words brought a soft sigh from her mouth, and I continued my attention on the soft flesh of her neck that was made more accessible with her new hair style. Slowly, I undressed her until she was down to just her thong and only then did I let her turn in my arms and push her breasts against my chest.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

She had said it numerous times over the past several days, but for some reason it seemed she needed to say it again.

"I know," I responded, giving her comfort as my hand traced her back.

Seconds later, we were headed towards the bedroom and when I attempted to start some foreplay, she stopped me and pulled me over her. Then, with a quick grasp of my dick, she guided me to her entrance.

"I don't want to wait," she said in a husky voice as I burrowed inside.

We began to move slowly, with our bodies tightly entwined, and we kissed passionately several times as our breathing became more labored. I thought we might be able to progress to a nice mutual climax, but as the minutes ticked by, I could tell Lauren's arousal wasn't building. It wasn't long after that I felt her fingernails tickle my balls which was her normal method of getting me off quickly. It was another sign that we still weren't fully connected.

"You're...you're not getting there," I whispered.

"No...it's okay...just let go," she sighed and licked my ear.

"Why..." I began, but was instantly cut-off.

"I want you to," she purred, and then added, "Cum in me."

"Is it safe?" I asked as I quickly lost control.

"Yes..." she groaned.

After that, I lasted a mere eleven strokes and then in a series of grunts I spewed semen into my wife. As I lay on top of her gasping for air, I wondered what had just occurred. I felt manipulated, although I wasn't sure of the purpose, but had to consider that she may have been seeking impregnation. When I finally regained my breath, still very much connected, I let her bring my lips to hers.

"What are you doing?" I asked with a soft chuckle.

"Don't worry, you won't be a father again. At least not this time," she responded, accurately guessing my thoughts. Then, after a short silence, she said, "I just wanted you to feel good."

"Well, you accomplished your goal," I laughed.

For the next few minutes we kissed, but the wonderful feeling of her sweaty body and the soft whimpers coming from her soon had me fully hard again. I started to roll my hips very slowly in a way that I didn't think was noticeable, but when Lauren widened her legs, I knew she was tuned into my intent. With no real purpose, we moved and sighed while continuing to find each other's lips. The feeling was magical and I was content to spend the rest of the evening that way. However, Lauren broke the silence and her words brought me quickly back to reality.

"You still want your damaged wife?" she asked.

A child of three would have been able to easily see that she was seeking more reassurance. I thought about a sarcastic remark, but decided to be supportive.

"Of course, don't be silly," I replied.

"You never yelled at me," she said.

"No, I guess I thought you had endured enough," I responded.

She brought my lips to hers once more and we engaged in a deep, loving kiss, and when we finished, we returned to our sighs and moans. However, her words had caused me to relive the situation, and after a minute or so, I broached a delicate subject.

"Is it really that good...," I started and then stopped, but when she didn't reply, I added, "I mean with Cezar."

Instantly, I felt her body stiffen and several seconds elapsed before she finally said, "Do we have to talk about it?"

"I want to know," I stated.

"It's different," she finally answered in a tiny voice.

"How?" I probed.

Again, there was some silence before she said, "He's demanding...and forceful...very aggressive."

I realized that all her adjectives were loose synonyms for dominating, but rather than challenge her directly, I wanted to see what she would admit.

"You like that?" I asked as I pushed deep.

"Mmmm...uhhh...I guess it's different," she repeated.

"But good?" I pushed.

"I guess...yes...because I can always come home to safety," she explained.

I didn't respond while I digested the message, but eventually I challenged her in a pointed way, "So, you want to be a bad girl sometimes and then run home?"