It was a large project and it had been occupying all my time for almost a year and when I say all my time I mean just that. I worked until late at night and I brought work home with me to do on weekends. The survival of the company I worked for, and by extension, my survival, depended on the project being finished on time and on or under budget.

My wife was not happy.

The thing I heard most was "Bullshit. You can find a job anywhere else you want to" and that was probably true, but it would also have meant starting over at sixty percent less pay and benefits and throwing away the sixteen years that I had invested in my job. To me that would not have been a rational decision, but then rational decisions and my wife Marty cannot coexist in the same room.

It did not matter to Marty that I was busting my ass for our future financial security. All that mattered to her was:

- You never take me anywhere any more.

- You never spend any time with me.

- I'm tired of being here with nothing to do except watch TV.

- All you ever think about is that stupid job.

- When you are home you are always too tired to do anything with me.

- You like what is in your briefcase more than what is in this dress.

Finally, after several months of her harping I lost it. It had been a very bad day. A couple of deliveries not made on time; one delivery came in not to specs and had to be refused, one man lost for at least two weeks to an occupational injury and one of my best men had quit. I walked in the door and hadn't even set my briefcase down before Marty started in on me. It was the final straw.

"Shut the fuck up Marty. If your life is so fucking bad just pack up and get out. Go find yourself some twit that can't even come close to making his salary match your spending habits. You didn't mind my job when it made the money that got you this house and everything in it. Now I'm working the same job trying to make sure we keep all of it and I don't want to hear another fucking word from you about it."

Marty just stared at me for a minute and then she said, "Okay Bill, if that's the way you want it, but I'm going to take the last word here. Last weekend you told me that you were too busy to go to John's party and you told me to go by myself if I needed to get out of the house and so I did. You know who else was at the party Bill? Ron Holbrook, Harry Short and their wives. The names ring a bell Bill? Ron is your supervisor I believe and the last I heard Harry still owned the company you work for. They can relax and take their wives to parties and have a good time and you can't? There is something wrong with that picture Bill. Either something is going on that you are not telling me or they are playing you for a chump."

"No one is playing me for a chump, and..." Marty held up her hand to stop me.

"Here's the deal Bill. You go ahead and be their slave, but I'm not going to stay cooped up in this house while you do it. Get used to me not being here in the evening because I'm going to have a life. Dinner will always be ready, the house will always be clean and the laundry will be done. But while you are in your home office or working late at the job site I'm going to be out enjoying myself."

Then she turned away from me and walked into the kitchen. I didn't waste my time trying to explain to her that Ron had already announced he was retiring at the end of the project whether it succeeded or not. And that Harry was a multi-millionaire and that the company's closing its doors only meant more time available for him to jet to Aspen or wherever. She wouldn't, or couldn't, understand that I was working for my future, not some one else's.

The next day was Friday and when I got home I found Marty getting dressed to go out. She already had her heels and hose on and was just slipping into her dress when I came into the bedroom. I watched for a bit and then said, "Going out?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"I don't know yet. Mary and Robin are going to pick me up and then we are going some place where we can dance and have a good time."

"Do you really think that's a good idea?"

"I don't see a problem."

"Are you considering the message that you will be sending out? A married woman out by herself and letting men come on to her."

"I won't be alone. Mary and Robin will be with me and you are more than welcome to join us, but I'm not staying home again and watching TV while you go into your home office and work. As far as the message that the wedding rings will send, I can always take them off and leave them here on the dresser if it will make you feel better. How about it?"

"No, leave them on."

"Not that silly, I would never take them off and you should know that. I meant would you like to join us?"

"I can't. I have to revise a couple of sets of specs so I can Fed-Ex them to the supplier."

"Okay. I have no idea how the night is going to go so don't bother to wait up. The bars close at two so I should be home by three unless the evening is a dud."

She was just touching up her makeup when a horn honked outside. "That's them, got to go" and she kissed me on the cheek and hurried out of the house.

I worked on my specifications until around eleven, caught CNN for a bit and then went to bed. I woke up needing to pee around four and Marty was sleeping soundly on the bed next to me. I went into the bathroom and took my whiz and was halfway back to the bed when one of the worst parts of human nature grabbed me. I went back into the bathroom and pulled the clothes that Marty had worn that night out of the dirty clothes hamper and checked them out. I even went so far as to sniff the crotch of her thong, but I found nothing suspicious. Had I really expected to? I told myself no, but something had made me look, hadn't it?

The next morning over coffee and toast I looked Marty over as closely as I dared without being obvious looking for a hickey or some sign that she might have done more than had a few drinks and danced, but I saw nothing.

That night set the pattern for the next three months. Marty would go out two or three nights a week with her friends and I would look for signs that she was straying, but I never found a thing. The only thing that changed was the frequency of our sex life. For the past year it had been two, sometimes three times a week, but after Marty began going out by herself it increased. Some nights she would wake me up when she got home and sometimes she would wake me up in the morning after one of her outings. One morning I asked her about it.

"I'm a good looking woman Bill and I get hit on a lot when I'm out. I get felt up on the dance floor and I get a lot of cock poked into my leg and tummy when I'm out there dancing. It makes me horny and when I'm horny I want to make love. Since I assume you don't want me having some one else take care of the problem I bring it home to you."

That bit of information, instead of putting my mind at ease, made my imagination go into overdrive as I imagined all the things that men could be doing to my wife on the dance floor or sitting in a booth. The more I thought about it the more certain I was that something was going on. It just wasn't natural, to me anyway, to think that a married woman could go out bar hoping two and three nights a week and have nothing sexual happen. The more I thought about it the more irritated it made me and finally that irritation drove me to have a confrontation with Marty over what she was doing.

She came home on a Saturday night and woke me up by sucking on my cock. When I was awake she swung herself over me to mount me and I twisted away.

"Leave me alone Marty, I don't want sloppy seconds."

She froze and for several seconds she didn't move and then, without a word, she got off the bed and left the room and I rolled over and went back to sleep. She wasn't in bed with me when I got up in the morning and she wasn't on the couch. I looked around for her and saw that she was out on the patio sipping coffee. I poured myself a cup and headed for my den to try and get some work done.

Half an hour later Marty came into the den and sat down. She watched me work for about five minutes without saying a word and then she said, "Is that what you really think? That I'm out there whoring around?"

"Why else would a married woman spend as many nights a week as you do out running the bars? I know what you told me when you started doing this shit, but two, three and sometimes four times a week? I don't think so. That isn't just a night out with the girls, not by a long shot."

"That's what you really think and you don't care enough about me to try and stop it?"

"We've had this conversation Marty and we've done it to death. You know where my head is until this project is over. You are a grown woman and you get to make your own choices. That you can't see that what I'm doing is for us, for our future security, is something that I can't help. When the project is over and I know where I stand financially I'll step back and take a look of what you have left of our marriage and decide whether or not it is worth trying to save."

"That's it? You have just automatically assumed that I'm a slut and that I'm out there just happily fucking any man who buys me a drink or dances with me and wants some pussy in exchange?"

"Yeah Marty, I would say that just about covers it."

"How can you say that — think that- about someone you profess to love?"

"How can some one who professes to love me go out bar hoping three or four nights a week?"

"I told you Bill, I just need to get out of the house. I can't stand sitting in front of the TV every night while you disappear into your home office."

"I can understand the need to get out once in a while Marty, but three and four nights a week isn't just once in a while. Three or four times a week is only a half step from being out there all the time. I also notice that you never go to a movie, to the library, play cards with your friends or do any other activities like that. It is always bars. Places where you can go and, by your own admission, find men to poke their cocks into your leg and feel you up. Just what do you expect all of that to tell me?"

"I don't know. I just thought that you knew me better than that. For your information, no man other than you has ever had his cock in me and no other man ever will. I do admit to a little hanky-panky and I may have even just slightly crossed the line once, but my pussy, mouth and ass have remained cock free except for yours. I'm sorry that I can't furnish signed affidavits from the men I danced with, but frankly, I never expected to need them."

"Hanky-panky? What does that mean?"

"When a guy dances with me and then wants to join me at my table I make it clear to him that I'm married and that I'm only there to have a few drinks, enjoy the music and dance a little — nothing else. But you know as well as I do they are still going to take a shot and try to get lucky. If he is a good dancer, buys me drinks and sees to it that I enjoy myself I don't slap his hands away when they start to roam and I don't fight it if he wants to neck a little. I've been kissed and felt up and I have even gone out to the parking lot and sat in a car with a guy and necked, but I have never been fucked."

"What did you mean when you said you slightly crossed the line?"

"In one case, a special one, I let a guy finger fuck me and I gave him a hand job, but that was a one time thing."

"A special case?"

"Yeah, Robin's brother. He's had a crush on me for years and he was home on leave just prior to being sent to Iraq. When Robin told me he had a crush on me I thought it was sweet and after watching all the news coming from that godforsaken place I kind of felt bad for him. What if he didn't make it back or what if he came back with missing pieces? Like I said, a special case. I haven't cheated on you Bill."

"Not yet maybe, but it will happen sooner or later. Some guy won't play by your rules or take no for an answer or someone really smooth will run a game on you and make you think that he is a special case or someone will drop something in your drink. But it will happen Marty; you can't spend that much time in bars and not have it happen."

"I'm a big girl Bill and I can take care of myself."

"Yeah Marty, sure you can."

We didn't talk for a couple of days and then one night Marty came to me, "I'm horny Bill and I can't take this wall that is growing between us. I need my man in bed with me."

I stood up, "Lead the way."

For a while Marty cut back on her outings to a Friday or a Saturday night, but after about three weeks she was back up to Friday and Saturday and by six weeks it was three and four nights again. The project deadline was closing in on me and I had made my feelings on the subject crystal clear so I didn't say anything more. And then one night, about three months before the project was due to end I came home and found a note on the kitchen table:

"Bill,

I'm sorry, but it just isn't working out between us.

Good luck on your project.

Marty"

I read and reread the note and then I got on the phone and started calling around. Her mother and her sister hadn't heard from her and neither had Mary, Robin or Tina who were the girls she went out with. I came to realize that there wasn't anything that I could do. If Marty wanted to leave I couldn't stop her and if she wanted to get in touch she would. I put her note in the center desk drawer and then buried myself in the project.

A week went by and I got a phone call from Marty's mother telling me that Marty had called and that she was all right. All she told her mom was that we had differences that couldn't be resolved. Once a week I called Mary, Robin and Tina to see if Marty was around and they always told me that they hadn't seen her. Whether it was true or not I never knew. I didn't hear from any lawyers so I guessed that we were still married although she could have gone to Reno for a quickie and not bothered to tell me.

After a month or so I gave up thinking about it as the project was coming to an end and it was consuming all my time. I barely noticed the time as the project deadline rushed toward me and then it was all over. We finished three days early and just barely under budget. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, bonus money flowed, and I was promoted into Ron's job when he retired and life slowed down for me.

I still hadn't heard from Marty, but I did check in with her mother from time to time and she always told me that Marty had been in touch and was okay.

Two weeks after the project ended I made my weekly calls to Mary, Robin and Tina and found out that Marty had shown up at the one of the bars the night before. All she told them was that she had to leave town to take care of some personal problems and that she was glad to be back. I told them to tell her I said hi the next time they saw her and then I hung up.

When I got home that night Marty's car was in the driveway and when I went into the house I found her sitting at the kitchen table with a half empty bottle of Merlot sitting in front of her. She looked up at me when I came into the room and I couldn't see any emotion on her face, not love, not hate, not pity, not anything. She refilled her glass, poured on for me and pushed it my way.

"Sit down Billy and let me get this over with so I can get out of here."

I sat down at the table, picked up the glass and took a sip.

"You called it Billy. You looked in the old crystal ball, saw it coming and told me just what was going to happen. No way I said to myself, I'm a big girl and I can look out for myself, except that I didn't. It happened just like you said it would. Somebody slipped something in my drink. I found out later that it was two drops of Special K and one tab of Ecstasy. I got fucked that night. I got fucked real good. Seven guys enjoyed Little Miss Marty and they taped it. Marty in glorious living color with a cock in her mouth, a cock in her ass, and a cock in her stupid, "It can't happen to me" pussy. And if that wasn't bad enough I was told that unless I wanted you to see the videotape we were going to do it again and again and again only without the drugs.

"I couldn't let you see that tape. What it would do to our marriage was certain, especially after you made your little speech, but I couldn't let something like that take your mind off the project, not as close to being done as you were. So, I let myself be blackmailed. Five times over the next two weeks and never less than seven guys. Then one night I told them to fuck off and die; that somehow you had found out and had thrown my ass out of the house and that I was leaving town the next day. And then I told them I would make them a deal. I'd do it one more time in exchange for the tape. They bought it and I spent the next twenty-four hours as the personal slut of eleven guys.

"When it was over I headed for San Diego where my Aunt Millie lives. I told her I was running away from a marriage gone bad and she let me stay with her. When mom told me that your project was finished I quit the job I had and came back to let you know what happened."

She finished off her glass of wine and picked her purse up off the floor and set it on the table.

"I think I know you pretty well Billy and even now I can see it in your eyes. You are going to say "We all make mistakes, but we can work it out. There isn't anything that we can't overcome as long as we love each other." You would be wrong Billy. The thing is, I liked it. I liked having six or seven guys trying to fuck me to death. I even did it a couple of times when I was in California. Actually, it was more like once a week. San Diego is full of horny sex starved sailors and Marines and I tried to be patriotic and help them out.

"Anyway, to make sure that you realize what a slut I've become I've brought you the tape. I was drugged to get me going, but I think that you will see my natural enthusiasm shine through. I'm sorry Billy, I really am. I should have listened to you but I didn't and now I'm paying the price."

She got up and headed for the door, leaving the tape sitting in the center of the table, and when she got to the door she stopped and turned, "I love you Billy. I always have and I'm sorry that I did this to us" and then she was out the door and gone.

Her enthusiasm did indeed show through and that tape put every professionally done porn tape I'd ever seen to shame. Marty did it all, or they did it all to Marty, depending on your point of view, and I confess to having beat my meat four times by the end of the tape. That night I didn't get much sleep and it wasn't because of the tape; it was because of my feelings for Marty. I loved the stupid bitch and I really didn't want my marriage to her to end, but I honestly didn't see how it could survive. I could buy the drugged part and the blackmail that followed, but how was I supposed to get past the "I liked it" — liked it so much that she continued doing it in California?

I woke up the next morning with no better idea of what to do than I'd had when I went to bed. The day at work was a wasted day because all I could think of was Marty. What it came down to was that Marty and I needed to talk. She was in the third bar that I hit, sitting in a booth with four guys and I walked over to them.

"Marty, we nee..." And one of the guys in the booth said, "Take a number asshole, the bitch is with us."

I grabbed him by his long hair, jerked him out of the booth and dumped him on the floor. I kicked him hard in the ribs and then looked down at him, "I'll just take your number sperm breath and if you ever call my wife a bitch again I'll stomp your head into jelly and if you come up off that floor any way but peaceful I'll do it anyway."

I turned back to the booth and said, "There is a table over there where we can talk" and I held out my hand. She took it and I helped her out of the booth and walked her to the table and we sat down.

"It looks like I interrupted your evening."

"No, I may have become a slut, but I'm a selective slut. That bunch wasn't going to get anything but a dance or two and the privilege of buying me drinks. What brings you here?"

"You. Us. You dumped your bomb on me and then got up and left, but you didn't say a word about what happens next."

"I thought that was self-evident. You watched the tape?"

I nodded a yes.

"What else needs to be said? You could never live with the woman on that tape. That's me Bill. The new me — the real me. I didn't say anything because I knew that once you saw that tape and the fact that I told you that I liked doing it hit home your next move would be to call the lawyers."

"That wasn't one of the things that I thought. My first thought was how could we go about salvaging enough out of this mess to keep us together. Next came "Be serious Bill, no way you can live with what she's done" and that was followed by "You have to try. You love her to damned much not to try." I love you Marty. I know that there have been times during the past year that you questioned that, but it is true. I can't give up on you, on us, without trying everything in my power to keep us together."

"I'm glad that you feel that way honey, but it won't work. You just aren't the kind of guy who can sit home and wait for me to come home knowing what it is that I'm out doing. You aren't the kind of guy who can watch or participate so what does that leave us?"

I started to say something, but Marty held up her hand, "Let me finish baby. What I'm saying is that I WILL do it again. I know me a lot better now, and I know that a week from now, a month from now or a year from now I'll be on my back trying to get six, ten or fifteen guys to fuck me senseless. I could say, "Thank God you love me enough to let me back in your life and I'll make it up to you, I promise, and I'll be a good girl from now on." And I would mean it Billy, I really would."

"But?"

"No Billy, I would really mean it and I would try hard baby, I would try really really hard, but I know as sure that the two of us are sitting here that one night you would come home from work and find a note on the kitchen table telling you I was going out with the girls and to not wait up. And what would happen when I came home? You pushed me away once when I hadn't even done anything saying that you weren't going to take any sloppy seconds. Has your position changed? Do you honestly think that you could follow seven or eight guys into me? Or it could be even worse; you could come home to find that I haven't even left the house to do it.

"No Billy, it wouldn't work. I'll always love you and I will always treasure the fact that at one time you loved me, but it just won't work."

"We have to try Marty. Even if it does turn out the way you say it will, we still have to try."

We did try. Marty went home with me that night and I tried to make up for three months of going without. We made love more times that night than at any other time in our marriage. It was sick of me, but every time I thought that I couldn't get it up again I thought of Marty's video and I'd rise to the occasion. That tape drove our sex life although Marty never knew it. She thought that I had destroyed the tape and she wasn't aware that I watched it whenever she wasn't around.

One night she asked me what had come over me, "Are you eating Viagra by the handful?"

I think that in the back of her mind she knew what was going on — I was doing my best to keep her from going out and looking for a half a dozen other guys.

Nine months went by and just as I began to think we were okay I came home to find what she had said I'd find someday — a note on the kitchen table:

Sweetie,

I've gone out to have a drink with Robin and Mary. Dinner

is in the microwave. Set it for two minutes. I may be late

so don't wait up. Love you

Marty

I was torn between waiting up for her and finding out for sure or going to sleep so I wouldn't see her when she came home. I convinced myself that if I didn't see evidence of her being gangfucked I could make myself believe that all she did was go out for a drink with the girls.

She was asleep next to me when I got up the next morning and I got up and left the room without looking for any sign of what she might have done. She was still asleep when I left for work. When I got home that night dinner was ready and Marty was her usual cheerful self. Neither one of us mentioned the previous night and that night when we went to bed we did our best to destroy each other sexually.

Three months went by before it happened again and again nothing was said by either of us the next day. As long as it didn't come up I could force myself to believe it was just drinks with Mary and Robin. Then the intervals got shorter: Two months, then six weeks, a month and then every two weeks and finally it was every Friday and I could no longer delude myself about what Marty was doing. She might be starting her evening with the girls, but she was ending it with the boys.

I should have left well enough alone. Our sex life was fantastic and there was no doubt that we loved each other, but for some perverse reason I just couldn't leave it that way. One Friday night I waited up for Marty. She was surprised to see me and I detected a touch of sadness crossing her face. She knew, even if I didn't — at least at the time — that I had just put the kiss of death on our relationship.

"Hi baby. Finally decide to have some sloppy seconds? Well come on lover, let's get to bed and I'll fuck your eyes out."

She was wet, sloppy and loose and I wondered how many had beaten me into her that night. It was as if she had read my mind.

"How does it feel baby? Think you could learn to like it. There were nine tonight lover. Two spics, three niggers and the rest were white guys. I am an equal opportunity slut baby. Cocks have no color as far as I am concerned. Does it make you hot baby? Does it turn you on to know that black cocks have emptied into me? That Mexicans have put their own type of salsa in me? Come on baby, fuck me hard. Make me cum honey, show me that you love your whorish slut."

I wouldn't have believed it possible, but I fucked her four times that night and listening to her sluttish talk made me cum harder than I ever had before. For the next six weeks I'd wait up for Marty on her Friday nights or she would wake me up when she got home. I can't even begin to describe what was going on in my head at the time. I was disgusted with myself for enjoying Marty's well used pussy, but I gloried in being married to my own personal sex goddess. Six days a week she was a loving an attentive wife and every Friday she became a whorish slut, but she was my whorish slut!

Once again I couldn't leave well enough alone. I had to take the next step in the natural progression that had started on that first night.

"No baby, it isn't a good idea."

"Why not? God knows I wallow in what you bring home."

"That's not the same baby. There is a big difference between knowing, feeling and actually seeing it happen. Please honey, trust me on this, it is a bad idea."

"You don't understand Marty. I need to see it and after I see it I may even want to participate."

"Honey, I'm not the same woman you know when a group of men fuck me. I say things and I do things when I'm in a sexual frenzy, things that will bother you. I won't mean what I say, but my lovers will be pushing buttons and getting me to say things that they want to hear; things that you won't want to hear. You might never want to kiss me again after you see some of the things I do with my mouth. Please honey, things are good between us right now, let it be."

But I wouldn't and finally she said, "Okay, but If we do it we do it the way I say."

That Friday found us in the parking lot of one of her favorite bars. "You sit here in the car until I come out. It may be an hour or two, but be patient. Nothing is going to happen if I have you with me."

An hour and a half later she came out with eight guys who split up and headed for their cars. Marty got in and said, "Follow that Chevy pick up." We drove in silence until we got to a Motel 6 and as we pulled onto the lot Marty said, "Honest honey, it will be best if you just let me out and go on home."

"I'm here Marty. I've come this far, I'll go the rest of the way."

The guy in the Chevy went into the office and came out several minutes later waving a key. He went to room 124 and guys started climbing out of their cars and following him. Marty looked at me and said, "Please baby, remember that I love you and that whatever happens when they get me flying doesn't mean a thing"

She looked at me one last time hoping that I would let her out and then go home and when I didn't she shrugged and said, "Okay, let's do it."

It started out bad. When we walked into the room one of the guys looked at me and said, "Who's he?"

"My husband."

"What's he doing here?"

"Whatever he wants."