The Youth Trap
Copyright© 2008 by angiquesophie
Chapter 3: How his life went on
Drama Sex Story: Chapter 3: How his life went on - When a horse wears blinkers, it can only see what is right in front of it. But it knows there is more. It can hear it, even smell it. But it doesn't see. Until it turns its head. Or someone turns it for him.
Caution: This Drama Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Cheating
For the first time since it all happened, John slept well.
It must have been the hike. The dinner with Julie, too. And the plan, of course. It was the kind of plan that makes you wake up with a feeling of expectation. The kind that leaves a rush of excitement. It makes you smile the moment you think of it. That is how you know it is a good plan.
It should be followed up.
Yesterday he saw Frank. He hadn't seen him in a few months and it made him feel a bit guilty to call him now. But Frank was very good about it. Wasn't this what friends are for?
He'd known Frank since grade school. After high school he went on to a far away university, but somehow they never lost contact.
They were able to pick up again after he returned and opened his practice here as a psychologist. He had married a lovely brunette, Marie, and the four of them became good friends. They got two boys after John and Sarah had Julie. They played tennis, the children played, they even spent a few family vacations together.
Then, about two years ago, Sarah suddenly told John she didn't want to see them anymore. He tried to find out why, but she never cared to give him details. She even told Julie not to see the boys anymore.
John felt greatly embarrassed. So he went to see Frank and told him of Sarah's sudden decision. He remembered Frank to have been uneasy about it. Then he surprised John by telling him that Marie didn't want to see them either, anymore.
He never found out the why. Neither did Frank, he said. As men often do, they just shrugged away their lack of understanding and went on seeing each other over an occasional evening of pool or a night at the pub.
John didn't tell Sarah. She would not have understood.
At the bar where they met, he told him about Sarah cheating on him, how he found out and about her reaction. He also told Frank he had left the house.
Then he went on to tell him about the hike. The sudden change that had come over him. And how he looked back on the last few years. The darkness he saw, or the film of grayness, rather. His feelings - or his lack of them, to be precise. It must have surprised Frank - they never talked about things like this.
He sure surprised himself.
As John went through his tale, he saw how Frank paled a little. He fidgeted with his glass of beer. And when John paused, Frank suddenly apologized. As a friend, he said, but more even as a doctor he had failed him. He should have seen what happened.
His outburst surprised John. Then Frank said how John had evolved all the telltale signs of a depression. And he felt responsible, he said. He, a doctor, had not seen it. He had not seen the numbness. The obsession with work. The not being in touch with the world.
When Julie had left the house and Sarah had gradually turned her back on John, he had let himself sink into it, Frank said. John had blamed all that happened on his lack of interest and involvement. Even now he maybe thought it had been him who drove Sarah away. But it had been his illness.
John saw what he meant. The depression had swallowed him up, and there was nobody who saw it. No one at his work. Why would they care as long as he functioned? Not Julie, only being home at holidays and a few weekends. She was just too excited and preoccupied with her new life to see. And during her precious visits John always did his best to be great company.
And Sarah? Ah well. Even if she'd had the time or the desire to look at all, why would she have cared? She was too busy getting young again. Too busy freeing herself from the chains an old laggard like her husband tied her down with.
Not even Frank had seen it. John was a friend, not a patient. And John had always been glad to see him. Their meetings were upbeat, an escape. They never talked problems.
But yes, Frank said. He should have seen.
He went out of his way apologizing. He asked if John wanted therapy, treatment. So John told him about his plan. Frank chuckled and told him he had always been a pigheaded bastard. But yes, it might work. There might be loneliness to cope with, though. A sure pitfall for depression. So let him please prescribe some medicine.
John patted his shoulder.
"Today I had all the medicine I need," he said. "I feel all excited about tomorrow. I am washed clean and shining. I'll keep in touch."
They had another beer and left.
John hadn't slept as well in years.
Sarah Cunningham looked past the man's strong, handsome profile. Through a haze of unshed tears she saw the plane lift off the tarmac.
They had spent three days in glorious Vegas. It should have left her in a state of bliss. The familiar pull of g-forces should have been mixed with clouds of butterflies in her belly.
But all they pulled at was an empty space.
Sure enough, at the start it had been heaven. How else to describe three days in Vegas with a blonde god, all expenses paid? The football-field sized suite, the glittering shows and opulent dinners. The new dresses, risky lingerie, her body bathing in a warm sea of compliments. But most of all: in her lover's undivided attention. She should be exhausted from the endless nights of fucking - the avalanches of orgasm.
Well, exhausted she was. Sore, beat, worn out were also words describing her nicely. There wasn't a bone or a muscle in her body that didn't ache. Her skin was strewn with bites and bruises.
And yet, instead of satisfied, she felt down, disappointed, shocked, downtrodden and humiliated.
She had trouble even remembering the first day now. The excited mood she was in when they walked into their suite, looking out over the city. Ah yes, at the time it felt as if the room was a floating cloud against a sky of blue. Her heart had throbbed in her throat. She had embraced Stan and she never let go of him until he had ripped every piece of clothing off her body and fucked her to a triple explosion of utter lust.
The bellboy hadn't even had the chance to close the door. He must have left the room in embarrassment. Or was it envy?
After that they had gone out swimming, shopping, dining and dancing. Then they returned to their room, no doubt to resume the sex fest.
Sarah Cunningham groaned. Her face winced at the memory.
They had returned to their suite all right. They had kissed and groped all the way up. At the suite, Stan had told her to take a long shower and make herself beautiful for him. He said he would lay out some sexy things for her to wear. So, feeling like a young, ditzy girl she giggled and went into the bathroom.
Glowing and only dressed in a cloud of expensive perfume, she returned from her bath. She excitedly looked on the bed for her outfit. But besides a rather cheap set of stay-up net-stockings and two crazily heeled red platform sandals there was nothing. She swallowed. Then she shrugged, giggled and called his name. There was no answer. She looked around and did not see him.
"Naughty boy!" she exclaimed, picking up the stockings. The slippery nylon slid through her fingers.
To be certain she looked around for maybe a nice negligee on a hanger — a pretty teddy, maybe? Or even a baby doll? There was nothing but the whorish thigh highs and the porn heels. Should she find a black thong and bra from her own wardrobe? And maybe the short sexy negligee she had bought only last week? Did she dare? Stan might get upset — he had been quite clear about his wishes.
She giggled once more and sighed - silly boy's fantasy. Then she sat down and rolled the stockings up her smoothly shaven legs. The heels almost made her topple when she took her first steps. It was all so cheap. It made her feel incredibly sluttish.
"Stan?" she asked, when the door to the suite opened.
The man was a giant and he was black. He wore a blue business suit, just as the two white men accompanying him.
Sarah gasped. Her arms flew up to cover her tits and shaven pussy.
"Wrong room!" she yelled. Her voice was a squeak. "Please leave," she went on. "You are in the wrong room."
The men chuckled. They never stopped walking up to her.
"I'll call my husband! Stan?" Sarah tried. "Stan?" But the men only laughed louder.
When they reached her, they simply pulled her arms off her body. One of them held her from behind, forcing her tits out in obscene display. He closed a hand over her open mouth.
The two other men undressed until they were naked. Their cocks rose from their loins. They were large, hard and very ready.
It was the start of a very long night for Sarah Cunningham. She couldn't even exactly remember when it ended. But she knew when she woke up that it must have been late morning, almost noon.
Her body looked like a battlefield, only there was no blood - just a lot of yellowish white goo, caked all over her skin. The smell of stale sex was all around her. The sheets stuck to her skin. And her pussy felt as if it was on fire. So did her nipples, her ass and the joints of her jaws.
She stumbled to the bathroom.
The mirror made her groan. Her hair stood out in a sticky halo. Mascara and lipstick were everywhere. And she wondered what the traces of white powder were that lined her nostrils.
God, did the shower feel good.
Twelve or more jets surrounded her. They massaged her sore body. The sizzling water at least took some of her exhaustion with it down the drain.
When the steam cleared up, she inspected herself. The swollen red nipples were crowned with fiery bites and hickeys. The puffy red pussy-lips still oozed a sick dribble of white. She winced when she tried to touch her ass hole.
Even the fluffy bathrobe hurt.
On a side table stood a huge breakfast. She had a ravenous hunger. The food was still hot. They must have wheeled it in when she was in the shower. She saw that the bed had been made too.
When she was halfway through her scrambled eggs, the door opened. It was Stan. He wore an Armani suit and a wide smile.
He grabbed her from the back. She squealed, yelling to let her alone. He just grinned.
"Hard night, honey?"
She threw her spoon at him. He ducked with a chuckle.
"Stan!" she yelled. "I am through with you! You goddamn traitor, leaving me with those gorillas. What the fuck did you think! I feel so humiliated."
She cried in rage and frustration. He grabbed her milling arms and held them close to her body. His face almost touched hers.
"Humiliated, Sarah? Really? I am amazed you even know the word. You really should see yourself on tape, honey. If it's true that you really didn't love every second of it, you must be the greatest actress alive."
He let go of her. She sank down in her chair. The towel had left her hair.
"Tape?" she said, defeated.
He picked a sausage from her plate, relishing it.
"Oh yes, honey. And you know the good part? It is only the first episode of three."
