Chapter 3

Sam woke up the next morning with a sense of contentment. That feeling lasted all of two seconds before the memories of what his life had become began to flood in, souring his mood.

After getting ready for work, he walked into the kitchen to find Monica wearing those block letters across her chest: OFFICIAL CUM DUMP. It seemed more like a branding, like they’d claimed her body for municipal purposes, which he supposed was exactly what they did.

“You’re still wearing that?” he said to her, frowning.

Monica rolled her eyes without turning around. “Yes, Sam. I’m wearing the shirt that I’m supposed to be wearing.”

“You can’t wear that shirt ALL the time. I mean, you’ll have to wash it, right?”

She giggled, handing him a mug of coffee. “Yeah, they definitely need to be washed a lot.” She turned back to the pan of bacon on the stove. “Good thing they gave me a whole pack of them.”

Sam sighed and sat at the table, trying to think of something to say in response, but coming up empty.

He’d started looking forward to work. To anything that could keep his mind off of all this.

That evening, he came home to an empty house, which was starting to become the norm. He tried not to think about where his wife might be right now.

“I’ve gotta do something,” he said to himself. He paced around the house thinking, then he remembered the shirts.

In the bedroom, he started digging through Monica’s clothes.

He found something that gave him a small jolt to the heart. It was a fancy black bra with matching panties, a garter belt and stockings. He’d been looking through the photos of Monica from the mayor’s office multiple times a day. He recognized those underwear immediately.

“Never wore this for me, did you?” he muttered to himself bitterly.

He shoved the lingerie back into the drawer and kept digging, trying to ignore his dick calling for him to open Karen’s email again.

Behind a box of shoes in the closet, he found what he was looking for. A plastic-wrapped pack of black t-shirts. Six of them, all with the same white letters.

He grabbed them and headed downstairs, walking straight to the kitchen trash can. He pulled one out and yanked at it with both hands as hard as he could, trying to rip it. But it just started to hurt his hands. “FUCK!” He dropped them into the trash can and stared for moment before spitting on them. For good measure, he took the bag out to the trash bin.

For a brief moment he felt a small sense of control over his life.

Monica came home two hours later. “Sorry babe, I know dinner’s late, but I picked up a roasted chicken.” Sam was on the couch, pretending he’d been watching TV, and not checking the driveway every thirty seconds.

She walked past him toward the bedroom. A minute or so later she came out shirtless, looking confused. “Where are my shirts?”

She was wearing another expensive looking bra that he didn’t recognize, this one was purple and sheer. He tried to stay focused.

“What shirts?” Sam forced his eyes to stay pointed at the TV, even though he wasn’t really watching it.

“You know what shirts, Sam.” Monica’s voice was sharp. “I need to change into a clean one.”

“Why do you need to change into a clean one? Where were you?” he said accusingly.

She rolled her eyes. “Sam, where are they?”

“I threw them out.”

“You what?”

“You’re not wearing those.” He looked at her sternly. “You’re not doing this anymore.”

“God dammit, I’m going to get in trouble!”

“Monica,” he sighed, grabbing the bridge of his nose. “There’s nothing to get in trouble for. This whole thing is total bullshit, it’s not real! Why isn’t anybody understanding this?”

“Will you drop this nonsense already? You heard Judge Hendricks!”

He had no words. Nothing that hadn’t already been repeated like a broken record.

Monica let out a long breath, her expression turned playful, almost mocking. “Maybe I should just get it tattooed across my tits.” She said it as she squeezed them together.

The blood drained from Sam’s face. “What?”

She giggled at his reaction. “Oh, lighten up. I’m kidding.” She swatted at his arm playfully.

He met her eyes with a dead expression.

“Hendricks doesn’t even like tattoos. He’d never allow me to get one.”

His eyes went wide. “Allow you?”

Monica swatted at him again, still grinning.

Later that night, Sam went to grab his laptop to make sure the project status spreadsheet had been updated. As he approached the bedroom, he heard Monica through the half-open door. He stood around the corner listening.

“Yeah, then he told me he threw them away.” She laughed. “I know, right?”

Sam froze in the hallway.

“No, do you have any extras? Oh good. Yeah, tomorrow works, you can swing by.”

A long pause. Sam barely breathed.

Monica’s voice changed, sounding a little embarrassed. “Dick, I don’t know what that is.”

Another pause.

“Jerk off instructions? What do you mean? Don’t you know how to do it?”

Sam’s heart hammered in his chest.

“Ooooh, okay ... okay ... uh huh ... yeah that makes sense ... I mean, I can try ... But I’ve never really done anything like that before.”

He stood frozen as he listened to his wife’s conversation with the bailiff.

“Alright, alright, let me think...” Monica sounded nervous. “Um ... okay so ... are you ... is it out yet?”

“Good. Okay. I want you to ... um ... grab it. Yeah, like that. Not too tight though.”

There was a long pause.

“Now stroke it for me. Slowly. Up and down. Just ... yeah, just like that.”

“Does that feel good?” Another pause. “Oh, okay, good.”

Sam pulled out his own dick, slowly starting to stroke it as he leaned against the hallway wall.

Monica let out a nervous laugh. “What do you want me to ... oh. Okay.”

Her voice dropped an octave or two, trying to sound sultry, “I wish I could see it right now. I’ll bet it’s getting so hard for me.”

Sam kept stroking himself, pretending he was on the other end of the line, pretending this was for him.

“Keep stroking it. Nice and slow. Think about ... um ... think about my mouth on it.”

She was starting to sound more confident.

“Yeah, and my lips wrapped around it, and ... umm, licking up and down the shaft with my tongue.”

Monica let out a soft gasp.

The awkwardness was all but gone by this point.

“Are you going faster? Good. That’s good. I want you to keep going.”

Sam could hear the wet sounds of Monica rubbing her pussy.

“Mmmm, fuck, yes...” she moaned. “If you were here, would you fuck my tits?”

Sam was struggling to stay quiet as he jerked faster.

“Mmm, yeah, just like that. Keep stroking it for me. Don’t stop.”

Monica’s voice was getting desperate, punctuated by small gasps and moans.