Sweet Surrender Ch. 09

Bdsm

The first sign that the wheels were about to come off my marriage happened a month later, and it was such an insignificant thing that I hardly paid it any mind at the time. It was a Tuesday, and I was out running a quick errand for Alexandra when the chime announcing I had received a new text sounded on my phone. Thinking it might have been Alexandra, I hurriedly pulled into a parking lot to check it. I was surprised to see that it was from my husband. I seldom received texts from him during the workday, and when I did, they were never of a personal nature — or, they had never been before.

Steve: I can’t wait to see you tonight, babe. I’ve got something special for you.

Steve was not prone to referring to me by affectionate nicknames. I couldn’t say that he’d never done it, but I could likely count those events on one hand without having to reuse any fingers. Still, we had been getting along of late and had even resumed our once-a-week lovemaking sessions following that one-week hiatus. I didn’t think it impossible for him to have had a moment of weakness when it came to VDAs — Verbal Displays of Affection.

It was the second thing he sent that morning that should have set off the Klaxons. Looking back on it, I should have taken one look at the next text Steve sent and known that it wasn’t intended for me. I blame the fact that I didn’t put two and two together on Alexandra, who had my brain so flooded with serotonin and dopamine from our latest session of lovemaking that it was a small wonder that I could drive, much less read the writing on the wall.

I was in the midst of taking a sip of coffee when the image popped up, nearly causing me to spit the drink out. I hadn’t been expecting anything in particular, but certainly not a picture of my husband’s penis. There it was, though, in all its glory: five inches of absolutely nothing. I suddenly wondered if it would go limp if I stared at it for longer than three minutes.

What had possessed him to mail me a dick pic, that day of all days? He’d been his typical non-verbal self that morning at breakfast. There’d been no indications of him being any more loving or amorous; to the contrary, he hadn’t even waited for me to kiss his cheek goodbye, as was our routine. I’d still been eating my breakfast when he’d grabbed his coffee and hurried out the door because of an early meeting. It seemed highly unlikely that an overwhelming desire to have sex with me had struck him out of the blue in the hour or so since I’d last seen him, and yet still I foolishly failed to consider any alternative explanations.

Pulling out on the road, I continued with my assigned task, knowing that I needed to return before it was time for Alexandra’s session to end. I had just enough time to make it to the post office and get back if nothing else impeded my day.

And as I went about my task with an ardent determination, all thoughts of Steve and his dick pic slipped from my mind.

>>>>

That forgotten text was jarred loose from my memory a week later. Our neighbor Jenny came over one Sunday afternoon while Steve was out playing golf with her husband, Marcus. I hadn’t really spoken to her since the last dinner party beyond exchanging waves and quick hellos as I’d walked to and from work. Her house was the one that lay between my house and the one Alexandra lived in and worked out of.

Our husbands had become close friends after discovering common business interests, while Jenny and I had merely remained casual acquaintances. The two men had been playing golf together every Sunday morning for a couple of months. I was always grateful for that time alone; the fact I never felt abandoned during those times said a lot about my marriage. It was what it was. True companionship, never mind sex, had never been a major facet of our symbiotic relationship.

I could tell that something was off the moment I opened the door. Jenny offered me a smile in greeting, but it failed to reach her eyes; they were bloodshot as if she’d been recently crying. I at once invited her in and offered her a cup of coffee or tea, which she politely declined. Of the neighborhood women, I’d always been most fond of Jenny. She was genuine and lacked the pomposity and cliquishness of the other women. I’d always attributed that to the fact that she was a mother, and therefore more grounded and centered in reality while being less inclined to join in with the other women in their race to outdo one another as the perfect wife.

“Are you sure I can’t get you something?” I asked, trying to be a good host.

“No, I’m fine. I don’t want to take up too much of your day.”

“It’s okay,” I said with a wave of my hand. “With the boys off hitting their little white balls around I have nothing but time.”

Jenny said nothing, and I could swear that she was doing her best not to cry – and fighting a losing battle. I waited silently as I watched her wring her hands in her lap, her fingers digging yaşlı escort into the flesh of her palms to the point I was surprised they didn’t draw blood. I felt uneasy and more than a little confused as to what could have her so tied in knots, and what, if anything, it had to do with me. She was like a coiled torsion spring wound to the point of breaking, leaving me afraid to make a sound for fear that it might set her off.

“I’m sorry,” Jenny said at last, “but this is really difficult.”

“You’re fine,” I replied while trying to sound reassuring. “Just take your time and start when you’re ready.”

“Marcus is cheating on me,” she said with almost a groan as if the emotional toll of uttering those words were almost more than she could bear. My heart instantly went out to her; the pain she was in was as plain as the nose on her face. Everything made sense; her bloodshot eyes and laconic effect were just symptoms of the sickness that her husband had brought into their marriage. Jenny was usually a happy person and prone to being somewhat verbose. I was witnessing a sparse, anguished requiem for her marriage.

“Are you sure?” I asked while reaching for the box of tissues, passing them to her as tears stained her pretty face. “You two always seemed so happy together.”

“Oh, Marcus is good and putting up a front in public,” Jenny replied as she wiped at her tears. “and I suppose that I’ve gotten pretty good at it too. But things have been strained between us since our second child was born. It’s like he doesn’t even see me as a woman anymore. I’m merely his maid, cook, and babysitter.”

“I know that must be horrible for you. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

“Hang on to that thought,” Jenny said with a bitter laugh even as more tears flooded her eyes, “because this next part isn’t going to be easy for you.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, utterly confused. Upon hearing her terrible news, I’d entirely dismissed the notion that Jenny had come to visit me, specifically, rather than the nearest shoulder to cry on.

“I have something you need to watch,” she said, pulling out her phone. “I found it on Marcus’s phone. I’d suspected him of cheating for a while, but I had no proof until I found this.”

She mashed the Play button, and I focused my attention on the screen. The scene opened in what appeared to be a moderately nice hotel room, the skyline outside the windows indicating it was somewhere in the city. The camera came into focus on a somewhat scrawny male posterior as it pumped away between the legs of a woman whose identity it was impossible to say. While I couldn’t yet identify her, I had no problem putting a name to the man in the video.

I started to laugh.

Jenny looked at me as if she thought I might have lost my mind — that the shock of seeing my husband cheating on me with another woman was more than I could handle. Seeing the look on her face, I waved her off as I tried to gain control of my bout of frivolity. It was much easier said than done, and Jenny’s worry veered towards confusion — perhaps even annoyance. Just as I gained some semblance of control, the camera panned down to show a blonde ponytail bobbing back and forth as a pair of lips swallowed a much larger cock than my husband’s. It wasn’t until the camera operator spoke that I knew for certain who that cock belonged to.

“Well, I must say your husband has a much nicer cock than mine,” I said, my levity causing me to lapse into another fit of giggling.

“Wait… did you know, Brooke? Did you know and not tell me?”

The pain and fear of betrayal in her voice sent a pang through me that sobered me in a hurry. “No! God, no, Jenny. I’m so sorry. I’ve got no right laughing while your world is crumbling down around you. I had no idea. What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to go and see a divorce lawyer and have him draw up the papers — and giving him a copy of this for safekeeping. Marcus’s dad is a retired minister of over forty years, and he will disown my husband if this becomes public knowledge.”

“What do you mean, ‘if?’ They’re going to find out if you go through with the divorce.”

“Oh, I have no intention of divorcing my husband. He’s too good a provider and father. No, I intend to use the threat of me divorcing him and taking his kids to not only get him back in line but also to bring him to heel. I’m going to tell him that as long as he is faithful from here on out, and continues to meet his other obligations as a husband and a father, he has nothing to fear. But I intend to make it plain that the second he steps out of line, his ass is mine.”

On the screen, Steve had taken possession of the camera from Marcus and was busy alternating between shots of Jenny’s husband plowing the cute blonde from behind, and footage of an average-looking redhead riding his subpar penis. I wasn’t sure what was worse: his camera work, or her acting skills as she gaziantep yaşlı escort rocked back and forth and played the role of the sensual orator to their union.

“Our husbands will likely be home within an hour if they don’t stop by the clubhouse for a drink afterward.”

“Oh, they’re not playing golf today,” Jenny revealed. “They’re at the Marriott downtown with these same two whores, I assume. Did I forget to mention that I placed spyware on my husband’s phone?”

“You did,” I said with a grin.

“Yeah, I’ve got texts between the two going back several weeks. This has apparently been going on for at least a month, maybe more.”

“Well, isn’t that special,” I said, sounding like the church lady. “Can you send me the video and copies of all their texts?”

“That depends. What are you planning to do?”

“Why, the same as you,” I said casually. “Steve doesn’t have a conservative father to disappoint, but his public image is everything to him — and, I gather, is nearly as important to many of his clients. They want the clean-cut family man — probably not a whoremonger. The more I think about it, the more pleased I am at the thought of renegotiating our relationship.”

“Okay,” she said, sounding genuinely confused, “but… you don’t have kids. You could just leave. Start over. Find somebody else. What do you get by staying?”

With a happy smile, I replied, “A comfortable life, and the freedom to pursue other interests.”

She still didn’t get it. That was okay. She was still quite willing to help, one woman scorned to another.

>>>>

“How was your game?” I asked, sitting at our kitchen island as I sipped at a glass of wine. I had a highball glass filled halfway, and Steve’s favorite scotch was sitting across from me. “Why don’t you join me and have a drink while you tell me all about it?”

Steve looked at me curiously, clearly thrown off balance by my interest in his golf game. I knew absolutely nothing about the sport beyond the fact that the aim was to place a small ball in a slightly larger hole in the fewest swings. I could feel him studying me and weighing my motives as I took another drink of my wine, enjoying the cloying sweetness of the vintage.

“It went great!” Steve replied while sounding cautiously chipper. “I shot two strokes under my handicap.”

I bet you did, I thought with an inward smile. I bet it took you two fewer strokes to come than it did with me last night.

“And how was Marcus?” I asked, noting the growing concern on Steve’s face. I typically didn’t show much of an interest in Steve’s leisure activities or the time he spent away from me. We usually just exchanged a few general pleasantries — barely marital, at that — before retreating to our mutual corners of the house to pursue our own interests.

“Um, he was good,” Steve replied.

“Make sure to be very measured in what you say, kitten,” had been part of Alexandra’s advice when I’d called and informed her of Jenny’s visit and news. “Your doofus of a husband has handed you a potential golden ticket, straight out of Willy Wonka, but you don’t want to tip him off until both you and Jenny have had time to get all your ducks in a row. I’ve already placed a few calls after our discussion yesterday, and I believe that I know the perfect lawyer to handle your developing situation.”

“I have to run over to Alexandra’s this afternoon. Her lawyer is dropping by to go over a new contract with her publisher. She wants me there to take notes so that she has them there to refer to later.”

“I thought we agreed that your new career would only be six days a week,” Steve replied, not even trying to hide his disdain. “Sundays are our time.” He’d been tiptoeing around the topic of the time I was spending with Alexandra. I expected that was because he didn’t want to inflame my ire the way he’d done the night he’d told me he wouldn’t allow me to work for her. Steve might have been unfaithful, uncaring, and tone-deaf when it came to modern social conventions, but he was hardly stupid–particularly when it came to his own needs.

“Well, I am her personal assistant,” I explained, waving him off, “so I’m technically always on call.” I watched, unconcerned, as his jaw tightened and he worked it back and forth. I took a little joy and a lot of satisfaction in knowing that my husband was being forced to eat whatever it was that he wanted to say in reply. I’d had to do the same thing far too often over the last several years when it came to him pontificating about my shortcomings. “You should just be thankful that she hasn’t required my services in the middle of the night.” Which I wouldn’t mind at all considering some of the services I provide her with, I thought with a warm inner smile.

“I guess that it isn’t a problem if it doesn’t become a constant issue,” Steve finally managed to say in a very measured tone.

“We’ll see,” I said with a dismissive gaziantep yaşlı escort bayan flip of my hand, letting him know he’d just have to deal with it if it did. My husband’s eyes narrowed at the gesture and the implication, but as much as it irked him, he wisely kept his mouth shut.

“Don’t forget to clean the grass out of your spikes,” I announced as I walked away, knowing full well that my husband’s golf shoes hadn’t been used at all that day. “I don’t want them leaving dirt and clippings all over the mud room.”

I walked away with a sense of self-satisfaction. I had him firmly in his place, even if he didn’t yet know it, and I hadn’t even started squeezing yet.

>>>>

I read through my notes as Alexandra talked casually with the lawyer she’d connected me to. The two women were discussing a common friend they shared. I found myself thoroughly impressed with Gretchen Fieldings. She’d looked over the financials I’d provided her with. My husband’s decision to have me handle all our bills and our taxes was finally paying dividends. It seemed ever the more likely that he’d agree to my demands, no matter how grudgingly.

“So, the divorce papers will be ready to be served tomorrow, right? Because I want to do it in tandem with Jenny having her husband served at work. I know the second he discovers that his affair has been found out, one of his first calls will be to inform Steve that his philandering is likely common knowledge, too.”

“You contact her and find out the exact hour he’ll be served,” Gretchen replied, “and I’ll make sure my server has Steve delivered his papers concurrently. My paralegal has no life. She’ll have them ready for me to go over first thing in the morning in the event I need to make any changes. If I know my process server, he’ll be hanging around our office and waiting for the final draft long before it’s time for him to leave.”

“And the other papers?” I asked, blushing slightly. I knew that I was throwing a lot of complex and intricate work her way that had to be completed in a very brief time frame. What I was trying to make happen rendered it a necessity, though. To her credit, Gretchen seemed more than capable of handling the multifaceted legal issues involved.

“Those are a little less traditional, and my assistants have never managed one before, so I’ll likely handle crafting them tonight myself. I want to make sure they’re ironclad.”

“Good,” I replied, releasing a breath I’d been holding, the air expelled through pursed lips betraying my anxiety.

“Don’t worry, kitten,” Alexandra said in a soft voice that I’m sure was intended to soothe my frayed nerves. “Gretchen is very meticulous. I can personally assure you that she will cross every ‘t’ and dot every ‘i.'”

“You two are cute,” Gretchen said with more than a little envy in her voice, “and after tomorrow, you won’t have to worry nearly as much about getting caught — well, not as far as your marriage and finances are concerned. The rest, you’ll have to decide between yourselves. Life can be complicated, after all.”

I noticed a look pass between Alexandra and Gretchen; the meaning behind it was hard to discern. I got the distinct impression, though, that it had something to do with Alexandra’s feelings for me. I had to wonder whether they’d been discussing me, and the relationship that had so quickly developed between us.

“Well,” I said, “thank for you helping to make it a little simpler on those fronts.”

As Gretchen gathered her things, she and Alexandra chatted about an upcoming LGTQ+ conference and the possibility of Alexandra attending as a guest speaker. I felt a brief flash of pride that my girlfriend was so highly regarded in her field. Gretchen even mentioned that they were expecting there to be a record number of attendees that year.

We walked her to the front door, where Gretchen once again encouraged me to relax and to put my faith in her and her cohorts. Alexandra excused herself to retrieve something from her office. Gretchen waited until she was gone, then threw a curveball straight at my head.

“Alexandra, she’s… just give me your word that you’re serious about this relationship.”

“Of course I am,” I said, feeling flabbergasted by the implication that I might not be. “I’m taking a huge risk, here, and rearranging my entire life because of how I feel about her.”

“I see that. I really do. It’s just that she’s been hurt in the past, and I’m not sure that she has it in her to fully invest herself in a relationship again and not have it work out. And I’m not even sure if you have any idea exactly how much she cares for you.”

“Well,” I said, looking down the hall to see if Alexandra was approaching, “she could always just tell me.”

I felt anger flare up inside me and at once fought to tamp it down. Gretchen might have been my lawyer, but we’d only just met, and she was putting me on quite the spot. I’d had yet to work up the nerve to tell Alexandra how I felt. I certainly wasn’t going to share it with her first.

Measuring my words carefully, I said, “Exactly how I feel about her, meanwhile, is between Alexandra and me. But I can assure you that I have no intention of hurting her. She’s become especially important to me in a short amount of time — more so every single day.”

The first sign that the wheels were about to come off my marriage happened a month later, and it was such an insignificant thing that I hardly paid it any mind at the time. It was a Tuesday, and I was out running a quick errand for Alexandra when the chime announcing I had received…

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