Purdey's Lustful Quest
Copyright© 2026 by CoryKing
Chapter 35: Fault Lines
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 35: Fault Lines - Purdey opens her marriage seeking desire and control. What begins as permission becomes obsession, power, and erotic reinvention. As intimacy turns transactional and freedom grows intoxicating, the consequences ripple through her marriage, family, and community. A provocative erotic novel about female agency, fantasy, and the cost of wanting more.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Ma Fa Mult Consensual Drunk/Drugged NonConsensual Romantic Heterosexual True Story Sharing Slut Wife Wife Watching BDSM Light Bond Rough Spanking Gang Bang Group Sex Polygamy/Polyamory Swinging Interracial Oriental Female Anal Sex Cream Pie Double Penetration Exhibitionism Oral Sex Tit-Fucking Public Sex Size
After leaving Ian and Liv’s house, Purdey sat in her car with the engine running long after Zach’s message appeared.
Dinner tonight? I booked something nice.
Normally, she would have declined without hesitation. A reflex honed over years. Boundaries enforced with efficiency. But tonight, something restless pushed back against her discipline. She didn’t want quiet. She didn’t want space. She wanted friction. Noise. The kind of distraction that kept thought at bay.
She accepted before she could reconsider.
At home, she moved quickly, mechanically. Shower. Makeup. Dress. The black fabric slid over her body like a second skin, sleek and unyielding. Armour, she thought again. Not for seduction, but for defence. She didn’t linger in front of the mirror. Self-inspection felt indulgent tonight, even dangerous.
Yasso glowed with curated warmth. Polished surfaces, careful lighting, the soft theatre of people being seen. The host recognised her immediately. She felt it before she saw it — that subtle recalibration of attention. A beat too long. A smile too careful.
She ignored him.
Zach stood as soon as he spotted her. Too eager. Too transparent. He looked relieved, as if her presence confirmed something he’d been afraid to question.
“You look incredible,” he said.
She didn’t answer. Compliments felt transactional tonight. She sat, opened the wine list, and ordered a martini before he could say anything else.
He watched her closely, concern flickering behind his eyes.
“Everything okay?”
“Fine.”
The lie was clean. Practised.
“I went to see Ian,” she said, deciding there was no point delaying it.
Zach straightened. “And?”
“He’s getting married.”
“Liv?”
“Yes.”
“And that’s—” He stopped himself. “That’s quick.”
“She’s pregnant.”
The word landed heavily between them. Zach swore under his breath.
“He saw us,” Purdey continued, her voice even. “Through the fence.”
Zach froze. “Saw what?”
She lifted her glass. “Enough.”
She drank deeply, welcoming the burn. Watched him process it in real time — the anger, the disbelief, the instinctive urge to protect her.
“That’s not fair,” he said.
“Life rarely is.”
She studied him as he leaned forward, already assembling solutions. Lawyers. Boundaries. Damage control. He still believed problems could be fixed if you moved fast enough.
“I’m done hiding,” she said. “I accepted a residency.”
His eyes widened. “Permanent?”
“Three nights a week.”
“And us?”
She didn’t hesitate. “There is no us.”
The pain on his face was immediate, unguarded. She noted it, catalogued it, and kept going.
But you can stay on,” she added. “Business only.”
He nodded too quickly, relief and hurt tangled together like competing vines around the same trellis.
Outside, the city pressed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, a blanket of twinkling lights and shadows. Traffic hummed below, car horns punctuating the evening air, the urban symphony of ambition and desire continuing without pause. The metropolis seemed to breathe with collective appetite, indifferent to the small human dramas playing out within its countless rooms.
Relief mingled with unmistakable hurt in his eyes. His smile faltered for just a moment before he forced it back into place, unable to completely mask the pain of her coldness. But determination quickly hardened his features, like frost forming over wounded terrain.
“I won’t disappoint you,” he said, voice steady despite the crack in his composure.
“No, you won’t.” She finished her drink, the amber liquid catching the city’s reflected lights as she tilted the glass. Her mind calculated every angle of this arrangement, every risk and potential reward. She knew exactly what she was doing—keeping him close enough to be useful, distant enough to be safe. This was the only logical path forward, she told herself, ignoring the small voice questioning her true motivations.
His gaze lingered on her face a moment too long, revealing everything he couldn’t say—that he’d endure any arrangement, any terms, just to remain in her orbit. He’d take the scraps of her attention and call it enough, like a man lost in the desert mistaking a mirage for salvation.
Purdey needed physical touch, but she didn’t want it from Zach tonight. Her skin tingled with loneliness, craving connection but not from her usual source. She hadn’t seen Uzer in a while, his absence a hollow ache in her memory. Fingers trembling slightly, she reached for her phone and gave him a call.
Uzer was only too happy to accommodate. His voice carried an eager edge over the line that sent anticipatory shivers down her spine. He had not had sex with Purdey since she was much fatter and before the boob job, and curiosity mingled with desire in his quick acceptance.
With Uzer it was pure pleasure, animalistic—something that satiated her deepest hungers. The chemistry between them was electric, primal in a way that made her pulse race and thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm. She invited him to her Aspendale house, the beachside property bathed in moonlight, waves crashing rhythmically against the shore outside.
They played until morning, limbs entangled on silken sheets, perspiration glistening on heated skin. The taste of salt, the scent of desire, everything heightened in the darkness of her bedroom. Sounds of their pleasure—gasps, moans, whispered demands—echoed across the bay, carrying over still waters as dawn slowly painted the horizon in delicate pinks and golds.
Three weeks earlier, Olivia had been cornered between lockers near the science wing, where the metal doors always stuck and the fluorescent lights flickered faintly, as if undecided about staying on.
It was just after the lunch bell. The corridor was loud, chaotic, a river of bodies moving too fast in too many directions. She thought she could slip through unnoticed.
She was wrong.
Someone said her name first. Casual. Almost friendly.
Then the phones came out.
Not shoved aggressively. Not yet. Held just high enough that she could see the frozen frame on the screen without anyone needing to explain it to her. A familiar angle. A familiar body. Her mother’s body, stripped of context, paused mid-motion.
“Is that your mum?”
The question wasn’t curious. It was hungry.
The boys were grinning in that loose, careless way boys did when they sensed power shifting in their favour. One of them laughed, sharp and loud, and another joined in, emboldened.
“So this is what she does now?”
“Guess we know what you’ll be when you grow up.”
A few kids slowed as they passed. Some pretended not to notice. Some watched openly, eyes bright with interest. No one stepped in.
Olivia felt heat crawl up her neck, but she didn’t cry. Crying would have given them something. She focused instead on keeping her hands steady around her textbooks, on breathing evenly, on not letting her face betray her.
She thought, fleetingly, of her mother’s house. Of the garden. Of the broken fence she hadn’t known about then. The image irritated her more than it hurt.
“She makes more money in a day than your dads do in a month,” Olivia said calmly.
The words surprised even her.
They landed hard. Not because they were kind, or moral, or even particularly true in a way that mattered — but because they were unexpected. The boys hesitated, recalibrating, unsure whether they’d misjudged her.
“That’s not—” one of them started.
“Move,” she said, her voice flat.
They did.
Later, in the principal’s office, Olivia sat with her knees drawn in, fingers worrying the edge of her sleeve. Her hands shook then — not from embarrassment, but from the delayed surge of adrenaline she’d held back in the corridor.
Mrs. Peterson asked if she wanted her mother called.
“No,” Olivia said immediately.
The answer came too fast. Too rehearsed.
That night, she didn’t tell Purdey.
She didn’t want the apology she knew would come. The guilt. The sudden, frantic attention that would burn bright for a moment and then fade again.
Instead, she waited until Liv arrived to take Lila to training.
Liv noticed something was off immediately. She always did.
They sat on the back steps while Lila practised cartwheels on the lawn, the thud of her feet against the grass rhythmic and grounding.
Olivia told her everything in one go.
Liv didn’t interrupt. Didn’t reach for her phone. Didn’t offer platitudes or outrage. She listened, fully, eyes steady, jaw tight in a way Olivia recognised as controlled anger.
“You shouldn’t have had to deal with that,” Liv said when she finished.
Olivia shrugged. “I can handle it.”
“I know,” Liv replied. “But you shouldn’t have to.”
There was a difference, and Olivia felt it.
They went inside and baked brownies, following the recipe badly. Too much cocoa. Not enough patience. They burned the edges and laughed when Liv pretended it was intentional.
Later, when Olivia lay in bed that night, the words replayed in her head — Is that your mum?
She didn’t feel ashamed of Purdey.
What she felt, unexpectedly, was tired.
Tired of being the one who had to be composed. The one who had to explain. The one who had to grow up faster than everyone else in the room.
In the dark, she stared at the ceiling and wondered — not for the first time — what it would feel like to have a mother who noticed the cracks before they widened.
Ian didn’t raise his voice when Olivia told him.
That frightened him more than shouting ever could have.
She stood in the kitchen doorway, backpack still slung over one shoulder, shoes half-kicked off as if she hadn’t yet decided whether she was staying or leaving again. Her posture was straight, almost formal, the way it got when she was bracing herself. She didn’t pace. Didn’t fold her arms. She spoke evenly, each sentence measured, as though she were reporting something she’d already rehearsed privately.
Phones. Videos. Names. The corridor near the science wing. Lunch bell. No teachers around.
She left nothing out, but she didn’t linger on anything either.
Ian listened without interrupting. He leaned back against the counter, arms loose at his sides, jaw tight. He asked questions only when he needed clarity, careful not to let his voice sharpen. As she spoke, he felt a rising anger that had nowhere to go. Not at her. Not even fully at Purdey. At the simple fact that his daughter had been required to navigate something no child should have had to interpret, let alone defend.
When she finished, the silence stretched.
“You did nothing wrong,” he said finally. “Nothing.”
Olivia nodded, once, as if filing the statement away. She didn’t argue. She didn’t look relieved either.
Lila had drifted closer during the conversation, teddy tucked under one arm, thumb hovering uncertainly near her mouth. She’d understood enough to know something serious was being discussed, not enough to know what.
“Is Mum famous?” she asked.
The question was earnest. Curious. Untouched by judgement.
“Kind of,” Olivia said carefully, glancing at Ian before answering.
“But she’s still Mum,” Lila insisted, brow furrowing as though the idea needed confirmation.
“Yes,” Ian said immediately. “Always.”
Liv appeared then, quietly, as she always did when things were heavy. She didn’t stand over them. She lowered herself to the floor, sitting cross-legged so she was level with the girls. She rested her forearms loosely on her knees, posture open, present.
Her eyes flicked briefly to Olivia’s hands. Noticed the tension there. The way her fingers kept adjusting the strap of her bag even though it didn’t need adjusting. Liv said nothing. She knew better than to draw attention to it.
They moved through the rest of the evening on instinct. Homework. Dinner. A familiar television show Lila insisted on watching even though she’d seen every episode twice already. The ordinary rituals acted like scaffolding, holding the house together while something inside it quietly recalibrated.
Later, after baths and bedtime stories, after Lila’s light was switched off and Olivia’s door left slightly ajar, Ian and Liv stood alone in the kitchen.
The room was dim except for the under-cabinet lights. The fridge hummed. Somewhere outside, a car passed.
Ian leaned his palms flat against the bench. “She shouldn’t have had to defend Purdey.”
The words felt heavy leaving his mouth. He hadn’t planned them. They surfaced fully formed.
Liv nodded once. “No. She shouldn’t have.”
There was no accusation in her tone. No absolution either. Just fact.
Ian exhaled slowly. “She handled it better than I would have.”
Liv’s gaze softened. “That’s the part that worries me.”
He looked at her then. “What do you mean?”
“She’s learned how to hold herself together too early,” Liv said quietly. “That kind of composure looks like strength, but it costs something.”
Ian swallowed. He knew exactly what she meant.
They stood there a moment longer, not touching, not speaking. The house settled around them, steady and familiar. Walls. Roof. Doors that closed properly. A structure doing what it was meant to do.
Containment, Ian thought, wasn’t about control.
It was about holding long enough for someone else not to have to.
Purdey did not attend.
But Ian made sure no one could mistake the occasion for something small.
The Royal Caribbean’s upper deck had been transformed into something cinematic. White drapery billowed gently in the ocean breeze, anchored by polished brass fixtures that caught the dying sun. Rows of chairs were dressed in linen and eucalyptus garlands, the sharp green scent cutting through the salt air. Every detail was considered. Nothing improvised.
This was not restraint.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.