Friday; or, Girls' Night Out

by GeorgeAnderson

Caution: This Romantic Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Mult, Consensual, Romantic, Heterosexual, Fiction, Cheating, Swinging, .

Desc: Romantic Story: It turned into a disaster. Can they recover from it? Should they?

based on characters and a sketch by stev2244

Thanks to stev2244 for letting me use his ideas. Thanks to BlackRandl1958 for beta-reading, copy-editing, encouragement, and friendship. She’s great at all of it. Thanks to both of them for liking the result: it means a lot to me.

This story contains no lurid sex scenes, no Navy SEALs or Army Rangers, and no dwarf-tossing or cow-tipping. It is not a morality tale. It’s just a story about some fallible humans trying to build lives in the midst of what Life throws at them. There is love. You have been warned.


Friday. Bleccch.

I hated the day of the week that everyone else seemed to live for. By mid-afternoon, no one was doing any work. That was okay; we were always far enough ahead that it didn’t matter. The problem was that everyone was chattering away about where they were going that night, who they were going with, and what they were going to do to him or her afterward. I put my earbuds in, turned them up loud, and concentrated on the code review I was doing.

It’s not as if I didn’t enjoy going out and having fun any more. I was only 25, for goodness’ sake, as was my wife, Lena. So why did my Friday’s entertainment consist of mediocre beer, bad television, and my right hand? Three simple words: Girls’ Night Out. The second scariest set of words in the English language, right behind “we need to talk.”

Lena’s Girls’ Nights Out were with her two best friends from work, Chrissy and Anna. Chrissy’s husband Bill, Anna’s fiancé Todd, and I were left to make the best of it. They seemed to be nice enough guys, I guess, and we occasionally got together as couples, but those girls were joined at the hip. If I hadn’t been so sure Lena loved me, I’d have worried that Chrissy and Anna meant more to her than I did. It got so bad that sometimes I even invited Bill and Todd over on Friday nights, but the last few times I called they were unavailable. So it’s back to solitary snacks and TV for me.

Friday. Bleccch.

It wasn’t always like that. I used to look forward to Friday just like everyone else, even before an otherwise unremarkable Friday turned into the best day of my life.

I was newly hired at the web design and application company for which I still work. I had gone with a couple of other guys to the Gables, which had good food, reasonable prices (that’s important when you’re 22), and a dance floor and live band, which we hoped would lead to some female companionship. I was navigating from the restroom back to our table when I literally ran into a girl. I helped her back to her feet as we both apologized profusely. There was a nervous moment when we just stared at each other.

There wasn’t much to her; I’m pretty average at six feet and she didn’t even reach my shoulder. I looked down into her eyes; they seemed to shine in the semi-darkness of the restaurant. Deep blue, they were, and I was dazzled. Then she smiled, and I was lost. I felt like I could spend the rest of my life gazing into those eyes, and waiting for that smile. Maybe that’s a cliché, but it had never happened to me before. It was all brand new. I stared at her as if she were some kind of ghostly apparition, which was rather silly considering how hard we had cannoned into each other.

“Dance with me, please.” She spoke! To me! Don’t get me wrong, I’m no troll, but this girl was way out of my league. I wasn’t completely stupid, though, so off we went to trip the light fantastic. On the way, we became Lena and Jason, which was much better than “you.”

Lena wasn’t into dirty dancing, nor was she wearing sexy club gear. No matter, I wouldn’t have traded her for anyone I’d ever met, seen, or even imagined. Her beautiful body moved with style and grace, and she knew how to dance with someone, not just move about in the same vicinity. She was exquisite, and she was with me!

We were enjoying our first slow number together when I was tapped (no, more like pounded) on the shoulder. A burly guy with an unpleasant facial expression wanted to cut in. Lena turned away from him, hiding her face in my chest. Her body language was pretty plain, so I made an apologetic gesture in the guy’s direction, and turned back to Lena. He pounded my shoulder again, harder. He was about to say something when an even burlier guy loomed behind him, tapped him lightly on the shoulder, and steered him off the dance floor. I don’t know whether he was a bouncer or a buddy; all I cared about was that I was still dancing with Lena.

I know, you want to hear about how I took her home and rocked her world until the sun came up. It didn’t happen. I walked her to her car in the parking lot, got a kiss on the cheek and her phone number, and that was that, for that night, anyway.

I’m still not sure what Lena saw in me. At first, I was just a guy to be with. It seems the burly guy at the restaurant was an ex of hers who didn’t want to remain an ex. That was fine with me: anything that resulted in my spending time with Lena was fine with me.

I’m a pretty simple guy. I’m good at one thing: code. Everything else about me is boringly average: I had two parents, one brother, one sister, one job, a couple of serious girl friends and a few not-so-serious ones through high school and University. I wasn’t totally shallow, at least I hoped not, but I knew I was nobody’s Deep Thinker of the Month.

Lena was a different story. She worked with a local firm as an interior designer. That had been her major, with minors in studio art and literature. She’d done it all in four years, summa cum laude at that. I soon discovered, though, that this beautiful, brilliant girl had no self-confidence whatever. Her need for approval was almost pitiful. She would back down from an opinion or decision if I even asked a question about it. Of course this had left her vulnerable to jerks of the male persuasion. I was almost ashamed to be a guy as she related some of her experiences. No wonder she wanted me to take it slow with her!

I wanted to know about her past. Heck, I wanted to know everything about her, but she resisted me. I could see there was pain there, and didn’t push her. It took three months or so before she trusted me enough to open up to me. She said no one else knew the whole story. No one else had wanted to know it. I almost cried at the pain in her voice when she said that. I put my arm around her as we sat on the sofa; she snuggled her face into my shirt, then haltingly, she began. This is her story as I remember it; I won’t attempt to reproduce the way she struggled as she tried to get it out.

Lena’s parents were immigrants who had met in Boston. Her mother was Czech; as a young girl, she had seen the brutal repression of the Prague Spring. Her father had escaped from East Germany four years before the Berlin Wall finally fell. Their demeanor and their outlook on life reflected the grimness of their backgrounds. There was little that was light or happy in either of them. For all that, their love for each other was deep and strong, and their little Lena was the light of their lives. They didn’t have much, but everything they had was lavished on their little girl.

Lena was only two when her father was killed in an industrial accident. There were rumors of safety violations at the plant, but the company and their lawyers managed to avoid investigation – and avoid paying anything to Lena’s mother. The company-paid life insurance policy paid her six months’ worth of his salary, which she managed to live on for almost a year, but that was it.

Lena’s mother had no job training or skills, but she parlayed her willingness to work hard and her ability to make almost anything spotlessly clean into a night job as a janitor. When that didn’t provide enough income, she took on private house cleaning jobs during the day. Lena hardly ever saw her except on weekends. Her manner toward her little girl changed as well. Lena, too, was required to work hard, to be the best at whatever she did, even at an early age. There were no excuses. Life was hard and intolerant, and demanded perfection. Lena started school, and excelled. In addition to her natural aptitude for learning, she had inherited both her parents’ work ethic. Still, she could never please her mother. Any praise she received was tempered by criticism. First place in her class was good, yes, but that math score needed to be higher next semester. They had no money for extracurricular activities, so there were no dance or music lessons. She had no social life: she was always studying or working.

Boys noticed her early on. Her beauty made that inevitable. They sensed her insecurity, and crowded around her to take advantage of it. She was bullied mercilessly. She became solitary, retreating to the classroom and the library, broadening and deepening her already impressive academic skills.

I’m sure it was with the idea of protecting her, that Lena’s mother told her a series of blood-curdling horror stories about men and sex. The tactic may have protected her from disease and pregnancy, but left deep scars on the sensitive girl’s soul, and an abiding fear of physical or emotional intimacy.

Lena earned a full ride scholarship to our state University and used it to the fullest, digging into the many subjects that interested her like a starving girl at a smorgasbord. Being away from her mother allowed her to experience some social life, and during her first year she had sex with three or four guys. It was so horrible for Lena that it reinforced everything her mother had said about sex. Since that disastrous experience, no man had even come close to bedding her. The burly ex from the night we met had heard a couple of days before that he wouldn’t be getting lucky, and did not take his failed expectations well.

I don’t know how long we sat there, Lena crying into my shirt as I held her, my tears falling into her hair. I do know I made a promise that night. As long as Lena would let me stay in her life, I would do everything I could to undo the damage from her childhood. I wanted to see this girl free to soar; if that meant she soared beyond me, so be it. That was how I first knew I truly loved her.

I was on a mission now. No, not that mission. Of course I wanted to have sex with her: anyone would. She was by far the most beautiful woman I’d ever met. My mission was to undo every “not good enough” that her mother had planted in her. I was still very conscious that she was far out of my league, but pouring encouragement and validation into her was like watering a plant in the desert and watching it bloom. I could see her growing more confident week by week, and I fell deeper and deeper in love with her.

We talked about books. I’d never talked about books with a girl before. She taught me what I’d missed by not paying attention in English class. Somehow learning literature from her was different than getting it from old Mrs. Offherrocker, if you can believe it. It was great for both of us. My mental horizons expanded along with her confidence, and the sharing drew us closer.

We talked about Lena’s work. (I was glad enough to leave mine at the office door.) Clients were beginning to ask for her by name, and she hadn’t even worked there for a year. One evening she had to work late finishing a layout. Rather than cancel our date, I joined her at her office. Most of her work was done on the computer, but for some larger drawings like the one she was working on that evening, she preferred pen and ink at the big easel. I watched her work, producing drawings that were accurate to the millimeter, but had an artistic flair that was all her own. She was concentrated completely on her work, arms and hands moving rapidly and surely at the command of her mind and vision. She was the art, as well as the artist. I must have disturbed her with some small noise; she looked over at me and saw tears in my eyes.

“Jason, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Lena. It’s you, it’s the work, it’s the way you move, the way you concentrate ... it’s indescribable beauty, Lena. I never imagined anything this beautiful before I met you.”

We went out, too, to celebrate her accomplishments at work, or my finally understanding King Lear. (It really wasn’t that hard once you got the language in your ear. We had a great time declaiming it to one another.) Neither of us was much of a dancer, but neither of us took it too seriously, and we enjoyed trying together. Of course, Lena was hit on. I wouldn’t have minded her dancing with other men, as long as they behaved themselves and weren’t too good looking, but Lena just wasn’t interested. At first, she shrank against me for protection, as she had on the night we met. As time went on, though, she would simply give the man a sweet little smile, shake her head ‘no, ‘ and gaze into my eyes. I felt like the king of the world when she did that.

To make a long story short, I met her mother, I asked her to marry me, she said yes, and we became husband and wife. We didn’t have sex until we were engaged, and it was slow and tentative in the beginning. I think the first two or three times, I only did oral on her. I remember her first climax: I worried a little that I wouldn’t get my tongue back, she clamped down so hard. I don’t think she knew her own strength. Afterward, we lay quietly, holding each other close.

“Jason, what do you call what we just did?” Wait, what? I explained as best I could.

“Well, you can call it cunnilingus, oral sex, eating pussy, dining at the Y,...”

“You mean this was really sex?”

“Um, Bill Clinton wouldn’t think so, but most other people would. Why?”

“Then if this was sex, what was it those other guys did to me? Why did it hurt, and make me feel so dirty afterward? That was the most exciting and wonderful thing I’ve ever felt, and now I just feel safe and warm, and so secure, and not dirty at all...”

I won’t even try to describe the honeymoon.

After we married, Lena continued to advance in her job, becoming more sure of herself, and even more attractive, especially to men. This did nothing to allay my fears that she would wake up one morning and realize she could do a lot better than me, and I would be history. Things came to a head one night when she called to tell me she would be taking a (male) client out to dinner, and would be home by 8:00. This wasn’t unusual: she knew her stuff, and represented the firm professionally and well. When she wasn’t home after 10:00, I called her cell, and went straight to voice mail. She finally appeared after 11:00, looking disheveled. I was furious, she was furious right back, and I don’t remember a single thing that either of us said, but I slept on the couch that night. It was our first serious fight; I don’t think either of us got any sleep.

The next morning, we were falling all over ourselves to explain to each other. It turned out the design for this client had to be completely revamped that night, or the contract would be lost. Lena had called in another designer to help, and they and the client had stayed at the office. They never did get dinner, and she didn’t call because her phone was dead. Then she dragged herself in the door, hungry and dog-tired after a tense 14-hour day of work, only to have me shout at her. No wonder she was upset.

“I know I was late, and I should have called, and I’m sorry, Jason. What I don’t understand is why you got so upset? You’ve never shouted at me before, and it scared me. You know I would never even think of cheating on you.”

“I’m sorry for shouting, Lena, but...” I stammered to a halt and turned away from her, my head in my hands. I didn’t know how to explain myself, or even if I should.

“But what, Jason? What’s wrong?” Bless her heart: she was sincerely concerned, her anger forgotten. That gave me courage to stammer out the feelings I’d always had, but never shared with her.

“Lena, I’m nothing special. I’m average. I’m just some guy. You’re brilliant, you’re gifted, you’re amazingly beautiful, you’re totally out of my league. You could have any man you wanted. I’m afraid that someday, you’ll see some great-looking guy and think, ‘What am I doing tied to this Jason guy, when I could have him?’ I was afraid yesterday was that day, and I’d lost you.”

Lena looked me in the eye, a serious expression on her face.

“I think I understand what you’re saying, Jason. It’s a surprise to me, because I’ve never thought of you that way. I don’t think of you as average, in any way. You’re right, I will meet and interact with men who are more handsome than you are, better off than you, better dancers, smarter, whatever. I can see now that concerns you, but it truly doesn’t matter. You’re the best man I’ve ever known. You are the one who loved me and encouraged me when everyone else just wanted to use me. That’s what counts for me, and always will.

“My co-workers, clients, lots of people tell me how much more secure and self-confident I am now. They’re right, and every time they say it, I say to myself, ‘Thank you, Jason.’ Before you, I never had the kind of unconditional support and encouragement that you give me every day. That’s why it was such a shock when you shouted at me last night, plus I was exhausted...”

We were both in tears by that point, and held each other gently as we reaffirmed our love. I know it’s another cliché, but it’s true: at that moment, we were sure we were the happiest people on earth.

Lena’s new confidence was reflected in the bedroom, too. At first, she had been reserved with me, afraid I would hurt her or worse yet, not like her. (I know; as if!) Now she was up for anything, initiating sex at least as often as I did, reveling in the joy we had together, whether we made slow gentle love, or fucked each other into the middle of next week. She was constantly bringing us new things to try. It seemed like she interrogated every woman she knew for her best sex ideas, and brought them home to try with me.

We had a problem when she suggested swinging. That was completely off limits as far as I was concerned. I certainly didn’t need another woman, as if there were any in Lena’s class anyway. I had absolutely no desire whatever to see her with another man. The sky was the limit with the two of us, and I would try just about anything once (as would she), but I was adamant: just us, no one else. She was used to my going along with everything she suggested, so she was a bit upset at my refusal, but that blew over after a while.

I met several of Lena’s work colleagues during our courtship and engagement, but the two she seemed closest to were Chrissy and Anna. You remember the girl in high school who ran everything important, dated the hottest guy in the school, and basically got everything she wanted? That was Chrissy. She was tall, about 5’9” or so, blonde and blue-eyed (of course), with a beautiful face, and shaped like the cheerleader in an adolescent’s wet dream. She was the world’s easiest person to get along with, as long as she got her way. If she didn’t? Well, that didn’t happen often enough to matter.

Even when I first met her, I thought Chrissy was jealous of Lena. She wasn’t used to someone else being more attractive than she was, and didn’t like it. I thought about warning Lena that I didn’t think Chrissy was a very good friend, but hesitated because I was encouraging her to make friends at work. Also, Chrissy was a buyer, so she and Lena would have to maintain a good working relationship. Chrissy’s husband Bill was a bit smug for my taste, and didn’t bother to disguise the “I want a piece of that” in his eyes when he looked at Lena. Aside from that, he seemed okay.

Every Chrissy has a sidekick. Hers was Anna. She was an accountant, a good one, and quite a pretty girl in her own right. Anna was our age, perhaps three or four years younger than Chrissy. She was only average height, but her face and figure were the equal of Chrissy’s. She was a genuinely nice person, too, warm, with a sparkling sense of humor, when she let it out to shine. It was just that no one noticed any of that when Chrissy was present. That was most of the time, because she followed Chrissy around like Mary’s little lamb. She acquired a fiancé named Todd, probably with Chrissy’s approval. Chrissy certainly had Todd’s approval; he stared at her whenever he thought neither Bill nor Anna would catch him. I wondered why Anna didn’t seem to mind. I guessed she was either too much in love, too much under Chrissy’s thumb, or simply too nice a person, to do anything about it.

Girls’ Night Out had begun with Chrissy, Anna, and Lena, shortly before we married. It wasn’t really a night out; Lena and Anna just went to Chrissy and Bill’s, kicked Bill out, and did something or other. At first, it was irregular, maybe once a month or so. By the time we’d been married two years, it was firmly established on Friday. Every Friday. That’s when Friday began to suck. Lena wouldn’t even talk about changing the date, let alone skipping it. Nor would she listen to my concerns about Chrissy.

This particular Friday, I had already called Bill, and he and Todd had something else to do, so I was in for yet another solitary Friday night.

Friday. Bleccch.

I stood in the living room, laying out my provisions. This consisted of putting the chips, dip, cheese, and beer in precise position for easiest access from the sofa. I had it down to a science. I was just about to sink into the sofa when Lena shocked me.

“Would you like to join us?” I stared at her like she had three heads. She grinned at me, and repeated herself slowly, as if she were speaking to a four year old.

“Would you like to join us at Chrissy’s tonight?” This was strange. I began to feel around for clues.

“Um, what does Chrissy want?”

“Chrissy isn’t the boss.” Her tone was just a little bit snippy. “Todd and Bill will be there, too.”

This started to sound better: maybe the dreaded Girls’ Night Out could become a Couples’ night?

“With pleasure, my dear.” The little voice in my head kept asking “Wait a minute, what’s going on here?” I looked at my beautiful wife, kissed her lightly, and told the voice to sit down and shut up.

We had no sooner arrived than Lena joined Chrissy and Anna in the dining room, leaving me with Bill and Todd. It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but at least I could hear my Lena’s voice, and could enjoy gazing at her lovingly. I didn’t care a whit if the others thought I was a sentimental sap.

“Is that really what they do every week, just sit and talk?” I asked.

“Pretty much,” Bill answered.

“For four hours? I’d be bored stiff.”

“Oh, they play cards some, too.” Wait a minute. I’d never heard Lena even talk about playing cards, much less seen her do it. She didn’t actively dislike it, it just didn’t interest her. Besides, how did Bill know what they did, if they kicked him out of the house? The little voice was saying something wasn’t quite right here.

I was drowning the little voice with my second beer when the girls marched into the living room, commanding our attention.

“We want to play poker, and we need you guys as witnesses,” Chrissy announced.

“Witnesses?” I asked, laughing. “That sounds pretty serious. Are the stakes that high?”

“You’ll see,” Chrissy answered. She looked as if she were trying not to smirk at me. “You sit here.” She steered us to a row of three chairs near the dining table. I smiled at Bill and Todd, shrugging my shoulders.

“We need to tie you down so you can’t move around and see the cards,” Chrissy announced. My laugh was a little forced this time. This wasn’t like any poker game I’d ever heard of, but I told myself we men never know what to expect from the female brain anyway. The little voice wasn’t persuaded.

Each girl handcuffed her guy’s wrists to his chair. As Lena bound me, she looked into my eyes and said, “I love you, Jason.” Her serious tone unsettled me. This, for a simple poker game?

“Jason, you asked about the stakes? The stakes are our clothes,” Chrissy stated.

“What? Lena, did you agree to this?” Silence from Lena; a smirk from Chrissy.

“This is ridiculous. Lena, unlock me. We need to go home.”

“I can’t, Jason. I promised.” She didn’t look at me as she said it.

“Promised? Promised whom? I’m your husband!” This was looking worse and worse.

“Jason, what if we exclude our underwear?” Anna asked, obviously trying to calm me down. That wouldn’t be so bad; the underwear Lena usually wore was feminine, frilly and lacy, but not particularly revealing, certainly no worse than a bikini. Still, I was getting a very bad feeling about this.

The girls played. Chrissy was the first to lose her skirt. When she did, she stood up to face us. She wore a garter belt and stockings, but no panties.

“See, Jason? This is all the underwear I have, and I promise it will stay on.” She smirked at me as she said it.

“Lena,” I said, my mouth suddenly dry. “Are you wearing panties?” She neither answered, nor looked at me. I had my answer. I glanced over at Todd and Bill. Todd was staring at Chrissy’s exposed pussy; Bill was smirking at me. My pulse began to pound.

The game continued. Anna, then Lena, lost and removed their skirts, displaying their lack of panties. It was obvious this had all been planned in advance. Lena had known when she invited me that I would be tied to a chair and forced to watch her strip for Bill and Todd. Everyone knew the plan but me. I’d had enough.

“Lena, this has gone too far. If you value our marriage, unlock these cuffs now.” My voice was low and deadly serious. Lena did not even look at me. Instead, Chrissy stood, took a ball gag from the sideboard, and tried to force it into my mouth. I held my jaw shut so that she couldn’t get it in.

“Bill, Todd, give me a hand, here.” They stood to help her, and eventually had me gagged. Lena didn’t look at all surprised to see the supposedly bound men stand up: she had known all along that I was the only one who would really be tied to a chair.

“Now that that’s settled, the game can continue,” Chrissy stated with satisfaction.

Blouses joined the pile of clothing on the floor, and all three girls were stripped to their garter belts and stockings. I pulled and twisted at the handcuffs, trying to free myself, to no avail. Bill and Todd had resumed their chairs as they ogled the nearly naked threesome.

“How about a little blow job for the next round? No cumming, not yet, anyway, but some nice oral action. Oh, and on someone else’s man. okay?” Chrissy announced. Anna and Lena nodded meekly.

The other five people in the room, including Lena, already knew how much farther this would go. I didn’t. I could only wait and watch, humiliated and heartbroken, and cling to the faint hope that whatever my wife and these others had planned, it wouldn’t completely destroy our marriage. It was obvious that Lena was all in, whatever it was.

What was she thinking when she looked me in the eye and said she loved me, as she bound me to this chair? How could she even get the words out, knowing what was planned for me? She said I knew her better than anyone else ever had; it was one reason she loved me. Obviously I didn’t know her as well as I thought I did. Never in a million years would I have thought her capable of this. Never. My dream of a bright future with the woman I loved was being ripped to shreds before my eyes, and she herself had cuffed me to this fucking chair so I couldn’t do a thing about it. I could feel tears rolling down my cheeks. My wrists were raw from struggling against the cuffs.

Lena turned in her chair and looked at me. She had to have seen the tears on my face. She looked a little concerned, as if something wasn’t going quite as she expected, but she squared her shoulders and turned her back on me without a word.

Anna lost first. She smiled slightly at me, as if to reassure me. She knelt between Bill’s legs. His cock was already hard when she maneuvered it out of his pants. She sucked it for a few minutes, getting about half of it into her mouth. She stood, smiled at him, and resumed her seat at the table.

Somehow, I knew Lena would lose next. She did. Without a single glance at me, she knelt nearly naked between Todd’s legs. Calmly, without any hesitation, my beloved wife undid another man’s belt, lowered his zipper, and pulled out his semi-hard cock. She stroked him for a moment, then slowly let the head push her lips open, and disappear inside. It was as if she were foreshadowing the way tonight, a strange cock would push open her other lips, enter her core, and violate what she had sworn would be private to us.

When I was ten, my parents were killed in an auto accident. I had loved them dearly, and the pain of their loss was unbearable. When I couldn’t take it any more, I would transport myself mentally to some remembered time and place, away from the horror of the present. I heard, felt, and saw only that memory, and sensed nothing of the hateful present. I could “go away” for several minutes at a time. It scared my grandparents badly, as my body was almost totally unresponsive while I was “away,” so I avoided doing it around them. Nonetheless, it became my defense mechanism for bearing the unbearable.

Seeing Lena cradling Todd’s balls in her hand and taking his dick in her mouth, while he caressed her hair with one hand and fondled a bare breast with the other, was unbearable. I went away. I wandered, unaware of the sordid scene around me, through other and better days. When I returned, Lena was sitting at the table, again with her back to me. Todd’s cock projected, stiff and wet, from his open fly. My tears flowed again.

The girls didn’t even bother with the pretense of the cards any more: the game was just an excuse, and it had been rigged anyway. Chrissy stood up, tall, beautiful, and nearly naked, smiling and rolling her hips seductively as she sauntered toward me. She knelt in front of me, lowered my zipper, and took out my cock. My twisting and straining to keep away from her was to no avail, though it seemed to amuse Chrissy. I could have kicked her away, I suppose, but even in that extremity, kicking a woman just wasn’t something I could do. She scooped my balls out of my pants, caressing them as she took my limp cock into her mouth. I went away again, this time to our wedding. I saw Lena, dressed in white, walk down the aisle. She processed by herself, in memory of the father she had barely known. I gave her my vows, and heard her give hers to me. I stared into her beautiful face; she looked back at me, with all her love in her eyes. How I wanted to stay there! No such luck.

When I returned, my cock hung softly and forlornly out of my open fly. Chrissy was sitting at the table looking upset. My jaws hurt from the gag, and my wrists bled from the handcuffs. I felt nauseous, but I was afraid if I threw up I’d suffocate myself because of the gag. Would these people I used to think of as friends – would my loving wife – release me then, I wondered? It was probably best not to find out. I swallowed my bile.

Lena looked clearly worried now: I guess something had gone wrong with the plan. Still, I was sure that however unhappy she looked, she would completely fulfill her part. I was also sure I knew what was next.

“Okay, guys, time for the fucking!” The words were barely out of Chrissy’s mouth before Bill and Todd made a beeline for Lena. Bill snatched her out of her chair, standing her up and stuffing his tongue down her throat. Todd was behind her, squeezing her ass and forcing his knee between her legs, which opened easily. It was clear not only that this, too, had been planned, but that Bill and Todd couldn’t wait to have at my wife, and she seemed as eager as they were. I left again.

I wasn’t as successful staying away this time. Scattered images came through to me; they’re with me to this day. Lena on all fours, Bill pounding away at her from behind, while she urged him on. Whatever unhappiness had temporarily shown on her face had been replaced by sheer lust. Lena and Anna on their backs next to each other, their legs in the air, as Bill went from one to the other, while Todd face fucked Chrissy and mauled her boobs. Lena on all fours again, spit-roasted by Todd in her mouth and Bill in her pussy. Lena bent over the dining room table, fucked from behind by Bill. Anna on her back on the table, Lena’s face between her legs, while Todd pounded Chrissy into the floor. The soft but intense groans that told me Lena was climaxing. Finally, everything faded into grey nothingness.

It was quiet when I came back. My four “friends” and my “loving” wife were all tangled up on the floor. The smell of sex was thick in the room. The girls’ stockings were laddered and ripped; their bodies were marked where they had been sucked and bitten. Todd and Bill looked sated, as well they should. Lena lay with her head on Bill’s stomach next to his limp dick, while he idly caressed one of her breasts. She and Anna looked tired but well satisfied; Chrissy smirked.

I noticed my wrists were free and the gag was gone, though the nauseating rubbery taste remained. Lena’s eyes met mine; her face assumed a worried expression, and she started to get up.

“No. Don’t touch me.” I strangled out the words just before I threw up. I covered my pants, the chair, and the floor. Slowly, unsteadily, I stood up. The others looked at me, staring as if I were a zombie. I could see that my wrists bled, and my hands were swollen, but I couldn’t feel them. I felt nothing; black sickness and horror were all I knew.

“Uh, Lena, you might have a problem,” someone said.

A male voice answered her: “Thank you, Captain Obvious!” I heard laughter. I turned and walked to the door. I don’t know how I managed to put one foot in front of the other, but I did. I heard Lena’s voice behind me.

“Jason, please don’t go. Come back and sit down. I’ll bandage your wrists, and we can all talk through this.”

I kept walking. Out the door, into the fresh air, away from the scene I will never forget. “The abomination of desolation,” something said in my mind. Yes, I thought, now I know what that means. I’ve seen it. My wrists began to hurt, where I scraped them raw trying to escape the chair where my wife bound me to witness the destruction of my marriage. I remember thinking the pain was good. At least I was feeling something.

I don’t remember driving home. I didn’t know how or when Lena came home. For all I knew, she stayed for another round of fucking. I remember her kneeling over me, touching my shoulder as I lay on the floor. I cringed away from her as if there were poison in her touch. She cried a little, and walked away.

I remember waking up on the floor. It must have been Saturday morning, though I couldn’t have told you so then. I remember smelling the breakfast that Lena made for me, and at the first whiff dashing to the bathroom to puke. There wasn’t anything left to throw up, but that didn’t stop me. I dry heaved until I passed out.

I remember coming to, curled up in the fetal position on the bathroom floor, with someone shining a light in my eyes, I guessed either a doctor or an EMT. I wondered if this was what a mental breakdown felt like. They must have given me something to make me sleep, because I don’t remember anything of the rest of the day.

Sunday morning I felt more like myself. My wrists were still raw, though, and there was blood from them on the sheets.

There was no point even thinking about Lena or our marriage any more. That was finished. Done. Shot through the heart until it was dead, then shot some more. The divorce would be uncomplicated. I got out of bed, showered, and dressed. The vomit-drenched pants from Friday night were nowhere to be found, thank goodness. I fired up my iPad and started looking for a place to live.

Lena entered the room, softly and tentatively.

“Are you awake? Can you talk now?” she asked.

I just looked at her as if she were someone I didn’t know, which was about how I felt, then turned my attention back to my iPad.

“Jason, this was just a terrible mistake. We ... I ... thought you would get into it...” She ground to a halt as the man who only two days ago would have hung on her slightest word, turned his back on her tearful pleas. As she had turned her back on his Friday night. She fled the room in tears. I felt nothing.

Friday. Bleccch.

Lena stayed out of my way as I packed what I would need for a week. She tried to talk to me as I walked out the door, but I ignored her. There was nothing she could say that would make any difference, and I couldn’t think of anything to say to her at all, not even good bye. I opened my car door to receive a rude shock: the smell of puke, intensified by 36 hours in a closed car. Somehow, that was the last straw: the symbol, perhaps, of my totally ruined life. Some people’s lives turn to shit. Mine turned to puke. Not much difference, really. I sank to the garage floor and bawled. I cried like a baby for what seemed like hours, then just sat there, alone with my tears and the smell of my own vomit. Neither Lena nor anyone else came to my aid. I was completely alone, completely desolate.

Life went on. Friday came again. My wrists and hands had mostly healed, my car was cleaned (I paid top dollar for the job, but the poor guy deserved every penny), I had found and moved into a studio apartment, and I had actually put in a reasonably productive week of work. Work helped, I think. I’m a programmer, but now I mostly do code reviews, which require intense concentration. It didn’t leave room in my mind for anything else, and by the time I got back to my place and had the chores done, I was too tired for personal thoughts, except one.

Friday. Bleccch.

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Mult / Consensual / Romantic / Heterosexual / Fiction / Cheating / Swinging /