A Taste of Betrayal... A Taste of Forgiveness
Chapter 2

Copyright© 2010 by MasterDavid

And now, dear reader, a quick aside.

I suppose I should flesh out the bare bones of this story with a little background, just to put things into perspective.

My name is David. That is all you need to know for now. I am in my mid-40s, and achingly average in my appearance. What was once a full head of blonde hair is now parted in the middle ... a great circular bay of bare scalp surrounded by rapidly whitening hair left, right, and back. I've worn glasses since I was 14, and the doctors tell me glaucoma is rapidly claiming my right eye, while diabetic rhetinopathy is messing with the both. I'm a bit soft around the middle, but not from beer. I learned long ago that I had that regressive gene that made me, like my father and grandfather before me, a ripe candidate for alcoholism. Where they drank in excess, I rarely drink at all. But ... sugar is like my alcohol. I should stay away from it, but, like most mood-altering substances, it has a hold on me that I refuse to acknowledge ... even as I'm feeding that addiction. It will kill me someday, I'm sure, but I'm also sure I was born with certain defects that made it unlikely I would live past 60, and I plan to enjoy my little vice until it takes me away.

I am a diabetic, and that is part of what has lead us to this point in time. I suffer from sexual dysfunction, despite many attempts to use medication to combat it. I can and do know how to pleasure others, and have done so in ways both sexual and dominance-related. However, to put it in the words that started that taste of betrayal forming in my mouth, "I so want to feel a live cock inside of me again before I die."

Yes, that dreaded fetish site profile. I know exactly when it went up online. At one time, she had been a swinger with Michael, her former dominant in Rochester. She had been a slut, and she truly loved it. And, sometime early last year, she said to me, as we sat at our computer desks next to each other, "What would you say about me putting a profile online? You know that I have desires that you cannot meet."

There was a long pause. With as much honesty as I could muster, I ventured that I was "not sure I'd want to know about anything like that." I really didn't finish my answer, because I thought it would be understood. 'Because if you did find someone else, it would be the end of us.'

The fetish profile appeared the next day.

Oh, at first, it mentioned me and said how much she wanted to keep the marriage together. It went on to list her needs and desires, and her "live cock" comment. I was shocked at her words, but kept my own counsel.

Am I trying to evade my part of the blame for our deteriorating relationship? No, not at all. We were joined as husband and wife, Master and slave, and my health and my work and our lack of privacy and my own growing discomfort around her all combined to create a growing gap between us. Our mutual passion for each other had fallen off. For nearly a year, there had been no mutual pleasuring of each other. I would meet her needs, but then, for one reason or another, she would refuse to meet mine. Unless I could have intercourse with her, she was uninterested in giving me any type of orgasmic release. Slowly, my desire to give her any kind of pleasure seemed to ebb away.

 
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