Respect Ch. 01

It triggered another orgasm of my own and I screamed with the insane pleasure of the moment. Both of us cumming hard at the same time, our juices mixing in my womb, bathing my eggs with it. Another man, a real man had finally taken me, used me the way I'd always wanted and it was fantastic! Right at that moment I didn't care if I was getting pregnant, I didn't care what my husband would think or say, I didn't respect him enough for that...All I knew was that I wanted this, real sex with a real man.

But such moments pass.

I drove home slowly, shaking inside and out as I tried to concentrate on the traffic around me, but it was hard. I had left the clinic feeling suddenly ashamed. Dr. Prescott had fucked me; there was no other word for it. He'd taken me and filled my womb with his potent sperm, and then waited, holding me down as if to make sure his seed had opportunity to find my egg.

At the time I'd felt nothing but arousal, almost euphoric ecstasy and I bathed in the knowledge that a real man had taken my husband's wife. He'd pulled out finally, his cock still semi-hard, and given me a small slap on my ass, chuckling as he zipped himself up. He told me to make sure and call the office, to let him know when he could see me again, when he could meet my husband.

He was done with me then, our appointment finished and with it the sensations that I'd enjoyed so much. I'd reached down, feeling my loose and puffy sex, soaked with our juices and leaking the doctor's semen only slowly; most of it remained deep in my womb like a warm stain on my soul.

What had I done?

I dressed quickly, worried that someone might catch me there in Prescott's office and see me like that. Or smell our recent union in the air. I snuck out like a criminal, fleeing the scene of a crime, my eyes down and face red. My heart was pounding, but for a far different reason than it had just a short time before.

"Ma'am? Miss Pavageau?" The receptionist, Nurse Ryan stopped me and I swallowed nervously, afraid to look at the girl, but somehow I did. "Would you like to schedule a follow-up?" She was smiling.

"Oh, uh..." I shook my head. "I haven't talked with my husband yet, I..."

"Oh not for him!" The girl laughed and then leaned close over the counter. "I meant for you, with Dr. Prescott...You know..." She lifted her eyebrows suggestively.

"W-What?" I stared at her for a second and I couldn't think of anything to say. I just turned and walked quickly towards the doors, my entire body flushing with embarrassment.

"I'll pencil you in for next Wednesday, okay? Two o'clock." She giggled and I almost fell running down the shirt stairs and outside.

I loved my husband. I hadn't meant what I'd said at all, how could I possibly not respect the man I married? Because he didn't have sex with me often enough? Was that even a reason? He took good care of me, always. He was patient and tender, thoughtful of the little things I loved. I'd married him because I loved him, not because he could fuck me and laugh about it the way Prescott had.

Who was the real man here, I thought, driving through a veil of tears. Some doctor, a stranger I didn't even know who had known what buttons to push, played some little game with my head to bend me over? Or the man who loved me and cared enough to be honest with me, even if he couldn't always find the right way to give me pleasure?

I was driving in circles, afraid to go home. My husband would be at work, I knew, but part of him was waiting for me anyway. It was our home, the place where we lived together. Where we ate and slept and talked and made love, not often perhaps, and not as much as I desired, but that's what it was. Making love. I couldn't go back there. I didn't live there anymore, I didn't deserve to.

It was Clarice's fault, I told myself, wiping my eyes with my fingers. She was the one who'd planted that silly idea in my head. Her and her husband. He was a man I couldn't respect, and so I couldn't respect her either. Not anymore. She'd been so eager to help me, to suggest that I fix my problem by fixing my husband. Well I had news for her, my husband wasn't broke! I was the one, me, I had listened to someone I thought I'd admired and now look at me.

I parked the car near the curb, sobbing and pressing my hands against my tummy. I was probably pregnant now, just a few tiny cells, too small to see, growing and replicating and attaching themselves to me forever. I had betrayed my husband, betrayed my wedding vows and my family, my parents who had raised me. I'd done all that just for a few minutes of pleasure with a man I barely knew and would never love.

I didn't want to see Clarice. Not that I was afraid of her, only that I had nothing to say to her. She'd just spoken the words, I'd done the listening. It was all on me and I'd never felt so ashamed in my life.

"Miss?" There was a tapping at my window and I was startled by the policeman tapping on the glass.

I wiped my eyes quickly and licked my lips, looking around like I'd forgotten where the switch was for the window. I rolled it down, apologizing and blushing at my appearance.

"I'm sorry, I was..."

"Are you okay?" He was asking me, looking at me and then around inside the car as if I might be hiding something.

"Yeah, yeah...I just uh, I got some bad news." I was nodding. "I'll...I'm going home."

"Where do you live?"

"Just there, over there on Maple Court." I glanced in the direction of my house.

"I'm not sure you should be driving..."

"Oh, I'm fine." I tried to smile. "Really, I'm...I'm okay, officer."

"I'll follow you, alright?" He told me and there was little room for argument and I had no choice at that point. I was going home.

I spent an hour in my bathtub, washing myself thoroughly and then washing myself again. I had a lot of sperm inside me and my sex was stretched and loose around my fingers as I pressed them inside, wriggling and trying to get every last drop of Dr. Prescott's gift. But it was too late, I was sure.

I washed my clothes, everything I'd worn, not caring about colors or whites or hand washing or any of that. I threw them all in the washing machine and added twice as much detergent as I needed and turned it on. I'd wash them twice, or three times, or maybe I'd just throw them away. I wasn't crying at least, not anymore, but I wanted to.

Especially when I laid down on my bed, on my husband's bed. It wasn't mine anymore, or ours, it was his alone. I was just borrowing it, borrowing the memories. I could smell him, I thought, on his shirt that I was wearing, on the sheets and pillows. His cologne, his sweat. I looked through our photo album, the thick white one with golden letters. Our wedding album and I wondered who that woman was.

I stared at the pictures one by one, studying every aspect, every small detail. I looked at how she smiled, how her eyes sparkled and her skin glowed. She was beautiful and pure, dressed in white like a fairy tale princess. There she was with her new husband, and there with her parents, and with her bridesmaids. So happy, so radiant and bright with promise.

I went to the closet and found that dress. It was wrapped in plastic, in a pale grey garment bag and I threw it on the bed, unzipping it and smelling it, pulling the soft satin and silk to me face. I covered my body with it like a blanket, wrapping it around me. I curled up, crying again finally, alone in that big bed with nothing but someone else's memories to comfort me.

It was no comfort at all.

"Lisa?" I'd been dreaming, perhaps I still was. "Hey, taking a little nap?"

My husband's voice was soft and his touch was gentle. He was waking me up, bringing me back and for just a second I forgot everything. I was just sleeping on our bed and he was home from work. It was normal and okay and I almost smiled the way I do when he finds me like that, unguarded and innocent. But then I felt the dress I was still wrapped up in, clutching it to my breasts. And there in front of me the album, laying on our bed. I stared at it, feeling the doctor still in my womb.

"I'm sorry." I said, before I could stop myself. It was all coming out and there was nothing for it. "I'm so sorry, Jack." I looked at him, his handsome features becoming puzzled as he tried to understand what I was saying.

"Sorry for what?" He smiled. "It's your dress. I sorta like it."

His hands were moving over me and he leaned down kissing me in the soft light of the setting sun streaming through the windows. He was moving, getting on the bed with me, lying on his side in his clothes and holding me. Our faces were close and I was afraid to see his eyes.

"Have you been crying?" He brought a hand to my face, running his thumb across my cheek. "What's wrong? What happened?"

I was crying again, burying my face away from him, covering myself with that wedding dress and wishing he would leave me alone. He shouldn't have been there, he shouldn't have been touching me, or kissing me. I could feel his lips on the top of my head as he hugged me, shushing me and rocking me slightly like a little girl.

"Just tell me, what happened?" He was worried now and I wanted to tell him so badly, but I couldn't. I couldn't make my lips form the words and even if I could, there was no breath in my body. I couldn't breathe, my heart was stopped, or going to fast, or something. It hurt and it was breaking, I knew. I'd broken my own heart and how could I break his as well? I was dying.

We didn't say anything for a long time, neither of us, and I'd stopped crying. Not because I wanted to, but I'd just run out of tears. There wasn't anything left in me but pain and it wasn't enough, not yet. I'd hurt Jack, I knew, I'd hurt him and it would end finally. I'd take it and hold it and leave with our pain growing in my belly, I could do that much, I thought. If nothing else, I could give him the satisfaction of watching me leave.

"I cheated on you." I said softly, beneath my snow white shroud. "Today, with another man."

"What?" He asked and his voice was soft, not angry or even disbelieving. It was like he hadn't heard me correctly, that's all.

"I went to a clinic." I told him and I felt a curious calm. My skin seemed to cool, and I could breathe. I felt detached, like someone else was speaking for me.

"A clinic? Why?" Jack cleared his throat a little.

"I wanted to find out about..." I did need a breath there, just a small one. "...about castrating you."

"You can't be serious." My husband said, almost laughing like this must be a joke. But my tears had been real enough, and they lent an undeniable credence to my words.

"I thought we'd be happy and I met a man, a doctor." I shivered, just a little and my husband lifted his hand from my back. "He had sex with me. He..." I had my eyes closed, but I could feel my husband pulling the dress away from my face. "He came inside me. I let him."

"You let him?" Jack's voice was growing louder. "Look at me...You let him? What does that mean, Lisa? Look at me!"

I opened my eyes and he was there, sitting up above me, staring at me in the growing darkness. I had nothing else to say really, I'd told him everything he needed to know. I was just waiting now. Maybe he'd hit me, or more likely just tell me to leave. Or he might leave himself, I didn't know. Whatever he did, I'd accept it. I had no choice, I loved him.

"You want to cut off my balls?" He demanded, searching my face for an answer. "Is that what you want?"

"I...I don't know." I whispered. "No...I don't, I just..."

"Fuck." He snorted, turning his head away. "And you let this guy fuck you, I see. You cut my nuts and fuck this guy, is that the plan? You bitch."

He got up, walking away, leaving me there.

"I'm sorry." I said, but I don't think he could hear me. I'd barely heard it myself.

I got up once to use the bathroom, but otherwise I didn't move at all and as soon as I'd finished I returned to the bed, curling up under my dress. I was waiting, that was all I could do. I'd heard my husband downstairs, in the kitchen, and in the living room, turning on the television and turning it off a minute later.

And it was quiet too, for a long time I could hear nothing but my own breathing. The lights were off, everywhere, there wasn't even the soft glow from a light downstairs. Jack was sitting in the dark, I knew, thinking about me. I wondered if he would drink, or might even be drunk already. He wasn't much for alcohol, but we had some bottles from last new years in the cabinet. He wouldn't though, I was sure. It would be the furthest thing from his mind, like hitting me. It hadn't occurred to him, no matter how angry or disappointed he might have been, he wasn't built that way.

The LED's on my husband's alarm clock had just clicked over to 1:08 when he came in. All I could see was his outline, like a shadow in the darkness. The only light came from a streetlamp outside and it cast the room with shades of grey.

He was on the bed and his hands were neither gentle nor rough, but insistent and strong. He was turning me, pulling the dress away from my legs and hips, pulling and pushing me to my knees.

"Jack, I..."

"Shut-up." He said, and it was an angry quiet sound like I'd never heard from him before. "Don't say a fucking word. You wanna fuck, we'll do it this way from now on. You don't, then after I'm done get your stuff and call a taxi."

That was all the explanation he was giving me and then I felt him ripped my panties, slapping at my thighs in the darkness. I gasped and cringed and shivered at the sensations. I felt blindfolded somehow as I tried to lift my head only to have my husband push my face back down into the mattress.

My heart was going again, confusion and excitement filling my head. I didn't know what he was doing, or perhaps I did, but it was so unexpected. Was he trying to prove himself to me? Was that was this was about? He was mad that another man had put his penis inside me, so now my husband had to reassert his claim? I wasn't fighting it, not at all, if anything I was ready for it. My body warming quickly, my sex coming to life as I realized my husband wanted me. If only for that moment, for reasons of jealousy and anger, rather than love, he wanted me still.

I wanted him as well, more than anything else in the world. I'd give myself to him, do whatever he asked. I wanted him to take me and the one real hope I entertained was that I hadn't gotten pregnant that afternoon, that Prescott was sterile, or his sperm weak, or my womb just not quite exactly ready. Please God, I prayed, let my husband make me pregnant. I wouldn't know whose baby it was, and maybe I never would, but if I found out in a week or a month that I was pregnant, then there was that chance that it was Jack's. That was my redemption, I thought, my only hope at salvation.

I held my breath, spreading my thighs as I knelt there, feeling my husband's cock, as hard and swollen as it had ever been, rubbing across my slit. I moaned softly, pushing myself back, aching to feel him inside me, but he pulled away, teasing me, I thought.

"You want it, huh?" He was breathing hard. "Well, I'm not putting my dick in that dirty hole..." I started lifting my head as I felt his pressing his cock against my anus, "...So this one will have to do from now on...Ugggh!..."

He pushed his cock inside me hard, grabbing hops and pulling me back so that I screamed with pain as my asshole was suddenly split open by his penis. It was a blunt searing pain that spread through me like a fire and I was confused by it, all my previous thoughts and hopes and dreams shattered suddenly.

"Nooo...Ahhh...P-Please..." I was whispering, my voice muffled against the mattress as Jack shoved me back down. I felt sick and frightened, the pain was terrible, but the humiliation was even worse. He was in my ass, in the dirtiest, most private part of me because it was cleaner than my vagina now. I sobbed with a sudden and pathetic loathing for myself.

"Uhhh yeah...You whore...How's that? Pretty...Ugh!...Good now? You like...Uhhhg...That?" He was fucking my ass as hard as he could, tearing into my delicate flesh. It was an act of rape, for all of its uncaring violence and dominant desire, nothing else. I was being punished with a corruption of our lovemaking, just as I'd corrupted our marriage.

I was crying out and jerking my body as if I might get away, but he pinned me down easily and in truth I wasn't fighting him at all, just the awful knowledge that I'd never have his child now. If I was pregnant, it would be Dr. Prescott's and his alone, my husband was keeping me, but he wasn't going to save me. Not this night, or for many more to come I imagined, but I was free to leave. As soon as he'd fucked me one last time, left me with a painful and humiliating reminder of what I'd been so concerned with that I'd let it ruin my marriage and my life. I could go or stay.

My husband fucked my ass for many long minutes before he finally came. I was weeping still, and my cries were soft and punctuated his deliberate thrusts. I was limp and exhausted however, and he took me as he liked until Jack told me he was going to cum and then did so, burying his penis as far into my torn rectum as he could and flooding my useless bowels with his sperm.

Jack collapsed on top of me, his body pressing mine flat to the bed while he caught his breath. "I'm sorry..." I whispered and his face was so close to mine he must have heard me, but he said nothing.

A few minutes later he was getting up, pulling his cock from my ass slowly and it was a different sort of ache. My rectum felt mushy and loose, filled with grease or oil maybe, almost like I needed to use the bathroom, but I didn't. I didn't move at all, I just watched my husband's dark form as he wiped his penis clean on my wedding dress and left the room, leaving the door wide open in case I wanted to leave.

But I just curled up again, hugging my knees to my breasts and feeling Jack's sperm leaking slowly from my stretched anus. I couldn't leave him. I respected him too much for that.