Tutto a Posto

A Note from the Author:

Full disclosure: This story is uncomfortable for me, and has sat largely finished for days as I wondered how it will be received. It rightly falls into the category of Horror, but has very strong non-con elements. I'm honestly not a fan of non-con, but that's where the story went. The full scope of the horror becomes apparent in the final act.

The main character, Marney, is the reason I'm publishing Tutto a Posto. I like Marney. I'm rooting for her. I sincerely hope you find something to like in Marney as she navigates her horror story. I hope you root for her, too.

Warning: There are elements of non-con, horror, and fantasy within.

All players are well over the age of 18.

Tutto a Posto

_____________________

Part I: Pleasing to the Eye

Everything was coming together. Marney adjusted the table runner such that it was symmetric along the long axis of the table, and then smiled at its eye-pleasing appearance. She fine-tuned the placement so that the edges hung just so. Recalling the phrase from Italian, Marney whispered, "tutto a posto." She loved the feel and shape of those words. The symmetry. Everything was in its right place.

Some peripheral motion broke her admiration of cloth on wood. A shadow passed behind her and Marney realized she wasn't alone in the room. For a fraction of a second, she had the irrational fear that a stranger had been watching her. Wheeling on her right foot, Marney focused on the culprit, Jim. He smiled as though caught with his hand in the cookie jar. She relaxed.

"Were you just standing there watching me straighten up the foyer?"

Jim's smile grew broader, and he simply shrugged. The aw-shucks routine usually allowed him some extra grace.

"Maybe you could take out the trash for me? Could my loving husband do that before he returns to his pastime activity of staring at my tush?"

He blew Marney a kiss and disappeared into the kitchen, whistling while he worked. She chuckled to herself. Even after a dozen years of marriage, Jim could still be such a horndog. She was grateful that he still appreciated her, despite a few extra pounds over the last decade.

Marney looked in the foyer mirror. She saw herself as a mature woman of thirty-eight, pleased with her Talbot's wardrobe and Von Maur shoes. Her light brown hair just touched her shoulders, and Marney gave it quick attention before moving along. Guests would arrive within the hour and she had limited time to put the finishing touches on the event.

Tonight they would fete Jim's promotion to senior market analyst. In the first year of their marriage, he had traveled almost continuously, but now he was home all but a few days a month. He'd paid his dues, impressed all the right people. He was now two promotions beyond his age peers at Hawthorne, Barnes, and Winger. Marney smiled to herself and thought that the company name might one day include her own surname by marriage.

Jim passed through on the way to the garage with the kitchen trash bin. "The house really looks great, Sweetie."

Marney adjusted the table runner one more time. "Thanks! I hope it all goes smoothly. I want this to be perfect."

Jim returned from the garage and she heard him replace the bin and wash his hands in the kitchen sink, still whistling an unfamiliar tune. He returned to the foyer and Marney watched his eyes travel from the clock to her body, and back to the clock. He took a single step towards her and she held up her hand, palm facing him as a traffic cop.

"I know that look. If you think you're going to get fresh with me when we have guests due in 45 minutes, you can guess again, Mister. It's just enough time to take an ice-cold shower." Marney smiled, pleased with herself.

Jim took no notice. "You really want to send me away, baby? Off to a frigid shower when I'm hot right here?" He was not smiling.

Marney took a step backward. "Jim, seriously. We don't have time. I want us both to look... unruffled. The guests will know we've been fooling around."

Jim responded flatly, the aw-shucks routine nowhere to be found. "I don't care."

He caught her and ran his hand along her ass, fingertips tracing the cleft between her cheek and hamstring. "I don't care if they know we've been fooling around. We're married. We're allowed."

Marney glanced at the clock and tried to make the math work. "I know we're allowed but I still think it's déclassé."

He gently pushed her into the powder room adjoining the foyer, against the clean, white porcelain sink. This was happening. Jim's hand carefully cupped Marney's breast through her blouse and gave a tentative squeeze. She let out a little sigh of satisfaction and stroked his clean-shaven jaw. Their lips met in a gentle kiss, but she could feel his urgency. There was unbridled want behind his eyes.

"Marney, I'm going to put my hand under that respectable skirt now."

She couldn't believe that they were going to fool around in their little powder room, much less right before their party. Jim usually preferred their comfortable bed, although sometimes they got frisky on the couch in the den.

He did exactly as he said he would. Jim's hand moved back and forth along the hem of her skirt before crossing the threshold into forbidden territory. Marney allowed herself a whimper as Jim's hand reached her upper thigh and squeezed the tender flesh near her sex.

"I'm going to peel those panties aside and put my finger in you now."

Marney nodded in agreement. Even though the canape needed a finishing touch, she could feel the dampness in her panties. She was surprised at herself and her aroused state. Perhaps it was the time constraint, or the wild location of their activity? It didn't matter because Jim's fingers had found her labia. He stroked her damp slit and pushed his tongue into her mouth. Marney kissed him back with extra vigor.

Jim's right hand worked his belt buckle. Without breaking the kiss, he continued to stroke her while unbuttoning his pants. Marney heard his pants hit the finished wood floor. She then felt his hardness against her belly.

She broke the kiss. "What's got into you?"

He removed his hand from her skirt and lifted her just above the hips so that her ass rested on the vanity. "I need you right now. Right here."

Marney spread her legs and her skirt rode almost to her waist. She hoped it wouldn't be too wrinkled. Jim roughly yanked her panties to the side and pushed his cock against her slit, working the head up and down, lubricating with her secretion, grazing her clit. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he entered her. "Jim. Oh. Oh!"

He plunged into Marney, staring directly into her eyes. "You like it?" She threw her head back and nodded but didn't speak.

"I asked if you like it, Marney?"

She nodded again but still didn't reply. Her toes curled at the delicious intrusion, the sound of his voice echoing in the little room, and the waves of desire emanating from him. As her foot arched, the pretty Von Maur fell to the floor with a thud. Neither noticed as Jim already neared climax.

"Marney, tell me you love it. You want it. Tell me."

His hips rocked faster and Marney felt her own climax awaken from some forgotten place. She wanted to respond, to speak, to confirm his need, but her entire mind was focused on the sensation of his cock stretching her, sliding into her ever faster. She managed to open her eyes to look at him, meaning to communicate with her gaze.

Jim looked angry, but she might have mistaken anger for concentration. It was a microexpression, but it was there. Before she had a chance to consider what might have been, Jim reached down and pinched her clitoris. Rather hard.

"Ow! Jim! Ow! Stop!!"

His face registered first anger, then cycled quickly through surprise and then concern. His hips stopped, his fingers released her clit and he said, "I'm sorry! I don't know what got into me. Are you ok?" He stared down at the floor.

Her clit throbbed from the pinch and Marney's eyes welled up. "It's one thing to get frisky in the middle of the day, but that hurt! Why would you pinch me like that? Did you think I'd like it? Who would like that?" Her tears began to fall and Marney cursed the whole affair because she would have to rush to fix her makeup. This was over, despite that fact that he was still very hard inside her.

Jim looked up and she saw his eyes focus on her tears, his expression one she'd never seen before. His motionless cock erupted inside her without warning and Jim's eyes rolled back in his head. He let out a long, satisfied sigh.

"Jim! Did you just have your orgasm inside me while I'm telling you that you hurt me?? Get off!" Marney pushed him away and heard Jim start to apologize.

"Marney, I'm sorry! Really! I don't know what--"

"Jim, I don't want to hear it. Just go. I have to clean up before people arrive. I don't want to hear anything from you right now. I don't even want to see you! Just go!"

He shuffled backwards, upbraided, and picked up his pants by the belt, then walked out of the room. Marney could hear him buckling in the hallway. She composed herself and ran a checklist of what needed to be done before she could receive a guest. No time for a full shower, she would have to wipe up, put on fresh clothes, and fix the makeup in record time. Her clitoris was still sensitive from his manhandling and she shook her head unconsciously.

"Honestly. What the heck?"

Marnie retrieved the dropped shoe and made a beeline for their bedroom.

_____________________

Part II: Uninvited Guests

Marney flit about the party, topping drinks and entertaining guests long enough to be charming, but not long enough to allow anyone to monopolize her time. Her background in linguistics may have been dulled by neglect, but her hostess skills were sharp as a razor.

"Honestly Marney, these canapes are delicious! Where did you find them?" Christine Barnes asked with genuine interest.

Marney was tickled. "I actually made the topping myself. It's brie and cranberry and a dash of magic. Cooking has always been a hobby, and Jim really likes a well-made dish."

They made small talk for a moment before Marney excused herself to make a circuit through the kitchen. She did not see Jim as she floated through the kitchen into the dining room. The house was reaching capacity but she had a very good handle on where every guest could be found and with whom they were socializing. Where the heck was Jim? This was his party!

Marney glimpsed Jim on the front porch and assumed he was greeting another guest. As she watched through the window, she realized something was wrong. The man talking to Jim was unfamiliar and underdressed. What Marney found most perplexing was that the man was clearly in distress. Jim stood talking to him with his arms folded.

The man himself wore blue jeans and a flannel shirt. His face was covered by an uneven beard, accented by pattern baldness. His body language was that of someone nearly begging. He removed his wire spectacles and held his fingers to the bridge of his nose before holding both palms towards Jim as if beseeching. Jim appeared to remain impassive before shaking his head and pointing to the street. Clearly the man was being asked to leave. Marney watched as the man shuffled back down to the street, all the while staring at his own shoes. He was defeated.

"Marney, where might I get a fresh glass of this Pinot noir? It's sinfully good!"

Claire Hawthorne stood in front of Marney with an empty glass, smiling. Marney looked at the glass and her hostess instincts rescued the moment.

"Well Claire, it'd be a sin to keep you waiting any longer as I stand here daydreaming. Dear me! Let's get you something wonderful! I just adore those earrings by the way!"

The two women walked towards the kitchen and Marney forgot all about the man on the porch. She meant to ask Jim about it later, but in the bustle of the party, it was if the memory had been erased from her head.

__________

The guests were gone and the only sound in the bedroom was the whisper of the ceiling fan. Marney removed her earrings and put them in a little crystal bowl on her dresser. Her shoes she carefully aligned in her closet. Clothes went into the wicker hamper. She headed to the master bathroom to remove her makeup.

"Mirror." Marney liked the sound of the word as she said it aloud in the little room. She studied the slow and intricate movement of her lips in the silvered glass. "Mir-ror. Mir-ror." Then "Er-ror." She felt the word rise from her chest and wind escape her throat as she said, "Roar." Marney stopped and looked into the eyes of her reflection. "Fury," she whispered.

Sounds of Jim idly humming in the bedroom broke her reverie. Marney tied her hair into a little pony tail with a nearby scrunchie. She didn't like anything about the shape or taste of the name of that hair tie. "Loop," she said under her breath. A better word, top to bottom.

"Are you ever coming out? Do I need to send a search party? The search party will consist of me, by the way."

Marney chuckled and walked into the bedroom saying, "Very funny, Mister. Would you rather I come to bed with a full face of make-up?"

"I'll take you any way you come," he said with a wink and a sly smile.

She blushed. "You are such a horndog, Jim."

"If by 'horndog' you mean ready to make love to my beautiful wife, then the title is accurate."

Her blush intensified. The memory of their earlier encounter was already foggy in her mind, like a movie she'd watched years ago. Jim stared at her and motioned for her to come to him. Marney's feet moved before she could further consider the final act of the movie.

She stood in front of him and he hugged her, then placed his hands gently on her face, staring into her eyes. He said, "You were incredible tonight, Marney. The party was perfect, and you were perfect. I don't know what I'd do without you."

He kissed her, gently running his tongue over her lips. She sighed and her whole body relaxed into him. He'd said the party was perfect. That she was perfect. Weeks of stress left her body.

Jim carefully lay Marney onto the bed and pulled on the string holding her flannel pajama bottoms. He stared into her eyes and pulled the pants down over her hips and legs, dropping them to the floor.

"I do love your clean, white cotton panties." He ran his palm over the panties and then hooked a finger under the waistband. "But they've got to go."

She nodded and he yanked on her underwear, pulling them off and flinging them into the corner.

"Take off your top. I want to see you," he said quietly. She nodded and carefully unbuttoned the night shirt. Beneath was a comfortable tank top. Marney sat up, removed both and resumed her prone position. Her nipples hardened in the cool moving air of the bedroom. She was fully naked and he stood wearing flannel pants. His erection was barely concealed.

He dropped his pants and underwear, and stood looking at her as he would a rare steak. Jim was so excited that he seemed almost to hum. Pre-cum glistened on the head of his cock.

"I'm going to fuck you right now. I'm going to come inside you."

Marney looked up into the ceiling fan and spread her legs. Jim mounted her and began to push his cock against her.

"You're dry, Marney. Help me out."

Marney licked her hand and caressed his cock, then repeated. The taste was salty on her tongue but she continued lubricating. He pushed again and the tip of his cock made entry into her vagina. She was still far from wet, but Jim didn't seem to mind as he applied steady pressure.

The ceiling fan continued its slow clockwise revolution. She watched and envied the smooth, quiet operation. A simple and functional little word, fan. Jim pushed harder, nearly all the way in now. He wasn't rocking, just pushing. The skin of his insistent cock dragged against her canal. The fan kept moving the air over their heads with its perfectly balanced blades. Marney glanced at Jim, who stared at her with an unreadable expression, something like the look he had when he was sure he was correct. It was the face of someone about to score an inevitable win at a board game.

He pushed and was fully inside. Their pubic bones met. Jim's voice was guttural. "I'm going to fuck you hard. So fucking hard. I'm going to come deep inside that neat little pussy. I'm going to make a fucking mess of it. You are going to love it."

He did exactly as he said he would.

The ceiling fan continued its slow clockwise revolution, unbothered.

__________

Marney moved through their home, restoring smooth order after the bubbling chaos of last night's party. The bathrooms needed the most work, but there were still empty glasses and hors d'oeuvre plates hidden about the bookshelves and in nooks unseen.

The doorbell rang and she sighed at the intrusion of the uninvited guest. Marney froze in her tracks as the thought triggered her memory of the man who Jim had sent away during the party. She had meant to ask him, but the thought was so far away. The doorbell rang again and Marney muttered to herself, "Goodness! I'll be right there, Mr. Impatient!"

Mr. Impatient wasn't a mister at all, but rather Marney's friend Bridget. Tall and blonde, svelte and chic, Bridget looked the same as she had in college, but with a good deal more money.

"Hey Bridget! What a nice surprise! What brings you by?"

Bridget smiled with high wattage. "I was in the neighborhood. Sorry to just drop in without so much as a text message! If it's not a good time, I can call you later."

"No, not at all!" Marney said. "I was just straightening the house. Come right in, I'll make us some coffee."

Bridget walked in, passed the little sitting room and headed straight for the kitchen, ever the pragmatist. Marney followed and admired her friend's skinny jeans and smart jacket. In the kitchen, Marney loaded some of the stray glasses into the dishwasher while they made preliminary small talk. Sensing the meat of the conversation was at hand, she began preparing a pot of coffee in her little silver percolator.

"How have you been, Marney? I barely hear from you."

"Oh things are good! Jim's promotion will mean a nice raise and then we can start on the new addition to the house. We want to expand his study and maybe restructure the patio to make room for a smoker. Jim's really been getting into smoking all kinds of cuts. It'll really be nice in the summer."

Bridget nodded at all the right places, listening dutifully. "Marney that sounds really exciting, and I'm happy for you both, but you didn't really tell me anything about you. How are *you* doing?"

Marney's hands faltered with the coffee grinder, but the pause was nearly imperceptible. "I'm fine. Busy as always. Making sure the house is in order and everything--"

Bridget said, "Marney. We've known each other forever. I'm hearing a lot of words but I'm not hearing a lot of you. Are you ok?"

"Is that why you're in the neighborhood today, Bridget? Doing a little wellness check?"

"Actually, yeah, that's exactly why I'm here." Bridget paused to consider her words. "Marn, none of the gang has heard from you in months. You reply to all our messages with this saccharine housewife bullshit straight from 1955. That's not you. That's not the friend I remember. What's going on over here?"

"Nothing is going on over here," Marney said, using air quotes to parody her friend's question. "I told you I'm fine, just busy. Sorry that my happy life is the subject of everyone's worry."

"Sarcasm noted, Marney."

"So what? You come over here and want me to spill my guts about an unhappy home so you can go gossip to the old gang? Sorry to disappoint. I love my life."

"Do you really?" Bridget asked with genuine concern. "You are, or were, the most outgoing friend I ever had. I thought you would be on your third tour of the world by now. I thought you wanted to sample all those languages, see all those sights. Instead, you met a guy, seemed happy for awhile, and now you barely leave the house."

"I love my life, Bridget. I love Jim."

The two women stared at each other in silence. Bridget's phone vibrated on the granite countertop, but she ignored it. Marney wondered how long the standoff would continue.

Bridget relented. "Fine. We're just worried about you, Marn. Come out with us sometime. Leave the husband at home and let loose a bit. Promise me you'll do that?"

"I'll have to check my schedule. I have a lot of barely leaving the house to do you know." Marney's words were thick with frost. She stared down the taller blonde woman until Bridget looked away.

"Have it your way. We love you, Marney. I love you. I miss my friend. Please just think about what I said. Where did that friend go? Can she ever come out again? I'm here if you ever want to talk."

Bridget stood, gave her friend a genuine hug, and made for the door. Marney watched her friend leave, without another word. The little silver percolator sat filled with cold water.

_____________________

Part III: Moo-Shim

Marney sat in the quiet kitchen, sipping decaffeinated coffee, recalling the scene from a week prior. Jim's bags sat packed by the front door was he waited on a taxi to the airport. He was dressed in casual wool pants and a comfortable shirt, with shoes that were easy to slip on and off.

"Marney, I'm not fond of leaving you for so long. I thought I was finished with international travel years ago."

She straightened his collar and said, "I'll be ok. It's just ten days and I'm a big girl."

"I know. I know you are. The house is in good hands. I'll just... miss you. We haven't been apart this long since... I can't remember."

"I'll miss you, too. But the trip will be fun! Think of all the neat things you'll see, all the people you'll meet!" Marney looked away, her conversation with Bridget a sudden intruder.

Jim fidgeted. "Yeah. Places and people, right. I'll still worry over you. I wish I could call, talk to you, but the phone won't work everywhere." He looked out the window for the taxi and hummed nervously. The taxi rounded the corner and pulled into their drive and Jim gave his wife a quick hug and a gentle kiss.

"Be good," he said, looking into her eyes.

And then he was gone.

She had been very good for a full week. Jim's trip would keep him away another three days. Marney had kept herself busy. The house was neat as a pin.

She snapped back to the present, finishing her decaf. Dressed in a knee-length skirt, low heals, and conservative top, Marney looked as though she were ready to go to dinner. The sun had set long ago, but she believed in looking presentable until it was time to go to bed. What if someone were to ring the doorbell? She couldn't very well answer dressed in her flannel pajamas!

Marney would never admit it, but she was a little bored. She decided to do a little deep cleaning, though the hour was late. Passing the locked door to Jim's study, she opened the supply closet near the garage door. Inside was an arsenal of cleaning products, neatly organized. Mr. Clean winked at her from a bottle. Scrubbing bubbles grinned while they worked. Marney selected an unopened box of Playtex gloves and closed the door.

She meant to hand-wash some of the crystal they kept in storage, if only to keep the dust at bay. She closed the sink drain, turned on the hot water, and added a few drops of blue liquid soap. Little ducklings graced the label of the bottle. Marney ignored the ducklings and opened the box of gloves, but stopped and stared at the box cover.

On the box, a purple latex-clad hand reached for the sky, fingers gentle arching as if releasing a feather into the wind. In the background, a kitchen counter was surgically clean. Marney's head tilted to one side as she read the virtues of the product from the cover. "Drip-Catch Cuff" and "Keeps Arms Dry" and "Perfect Flex" it said.

"Perfect flex." She whispered it aloud in the empty kitchen, the first words she had spoken all day. Marney shut off the faucet. The clock ticked.

She removed the purple gloves from the box and slipped one on to her right hand. The inside felt as if it were slightly dusted to ease hand insertion. The fit was nearly tight around her fingers and she held her hand up in front of her face. At the faint smell of rubber, Marney's eyes closed and she inhaled deeply.

"Perfect. Flex." She enunciated each phoneme with slow precision.

Her pussy was getting wet. She moved her fingers in the air, watching as this foreign hand moved with fluid grace. Marney donned the left glove and pulled back a chair from the kitchen table. She straddled the chair, allowing her legs to spread wide. Her clean white cotton panties revealed themselves as her skirt slid to her waist. Marney touched herself over the cotton, marveling at the sensation.

Her hands felt almost disconnected from her body, just some gentle pressure at her fingertips. Perfectly encased. Her pussy felt as if it were being touched by a stranger, and the thought made Marney moan aloud.

She made gentle circles on the cotton over her mons, applying steady pressure as she let just a single finger on her right hand graze her hooded clit. Her left hand began fondling her left breast. Felt up by a stranger. The cotton was visibly wet now over her labia.

Marney pushed against the chair with her back and slid the panties over her hips, kicking them off over her short-heeled shoes. She resumed rubbing herself, hearing the sound of the tacky material as it brushed through her neatly shaved pubic hair. The ridges on the glove pulled on the hair slightly, causing another moan. Marney threw her left calf onto the corner of the table. Her right foot stayed planted to the floor. The gloved hand dipped its middle finger into her spread vagina.

"Mmmm. Pretty. Perfect." She let her mouth feel the sound of the letter P. The neat clipping of the second syllable of "perfect."

Marney looked down at the bright purple finger that was stroking her pussy. The fuck finger. The color contrasted so vividly from her pale skin that it looked like an alien violating her.

"Fuck finger. Fuck. Finger." Marney felt the seldom-used word rise from deep inside, escaping from her lips with a vengeance. She allowed her lower lip to drag against her upper teeth as she carefully stressed the first letter of each word.

"Fuck. Fuck. Finger fuck." She loved the shape of the word. She felt its taste as it was born on her lips, and her pussy clamped on the latex finger. Ridges on the finger grazed the soft mass of tissue behind her clit. The gloved hand rocked harder and she could hear wet slapping sounds. Another moan.

Another finger, then another. She couldn't recall the last time anyone had three fingers inside her pussy. The gloved hand didn't seem to care as the ridged thumb began to roughly work her clit. Marney's hips began to rock against the glove, fucking it back.

She raised her left hand and began to suck the index finger of the bright purple glove. The chair made a squeak each time her hips moved, but Marney didn't hear it. Ducklings watched from the label of the soap bottle on the countertop as Marney fucked and sucked the alien gloved hands. The thought of being watched made Marney's orgasm blossom at a geometric rate.

Around the finger that she sucked, Marney chanted with muffled voice, "Fuck. Flex. Finger." The voice seemed far away, but the words drove her even harder. The purple gloved fingers sloshed inside her, impassive as ever. The latex thumb rubbed her clit nearly raw.

Marney threw back her head, sucking the finger with zeal, and the glove fucked her so hard that she whimpered through her lips. Her abdominal muscles began cycling, rolling towards the inevitable.

She sucked the finger so hard that the latex stretched taut. The gloved thumb mashed on her clit with equal intensity and release arrived in a whirlwind. Her climax was a cyclone that felt and sounded like the letter F in her mind. Liquid fairly gushed onto the seat of the chair, around the gloved fingers that continued to move through her orgasm. The thumb mercifully stopped, and the finger fell from her lips. Marney's breath rasped and her mouth worked soundlessly. She let her tongue glide over her lips.

"Perfect flex." She tasted every letter with delicious ecstasy.

Marney sat panting as time passed, slowly coming back down. The sound of the ticking clock in the silent kitchen finally caught her attention. She was sweaty. The gloves suddenly looked too bright and felt too foreign? on her hands. Marney looked around the kitchen and burst into tears. It had been her first orgasm in years.

__________

Gloves discarded and crystal forgotten, Marney felt the cool calm that sometimes follows a good cry. The Koreans had a word for a beautifully empty mind and Marney searched for it.

"Moo-shim?" She trudged through the hall on the way to the bedroom. "Teong bin ma-eum?"

Marney shrugged unconsciously and enjoyed her post-cry, post-orgasmic bliss. A state of potential. As she passed the mirror she saw a wry little smile and a woman who looked satisfied. Unpresentable, but satisfied. At the thought her smile broadened. What if someone were to ring the doorbell now? They'd certainly get an eyeful!

What if someone uninvited---

Marney's smile vanished and she froze. In her mind's eye, she saw Jim's crossed arms on the porch. The beseeching gestures of the balding man with the uneven beard. What the heck was that about? She had never even asked Jim and he had never mentioned it.

What the heck? No. What the hell?

She recalled the doorbell camera and wondered if she could access the archived footage. Though the only computer was in Jim's study, surely she could find a way to access the camera from her phone, some app. The thought had never even occurred to her. It did now.

Moo-shim. Empty mind.

Marney changed into her flannel pajamas and got to work on her phone. She wasn't bored anymore.

__________

The footage was suboptimal. Jim and the stranger stood a little too far to make out all the words, and gusty wind seemed to swallow more of their interaction.

"... asking you to just... can't even sleep." The bearded man said. He seemed to wait for Jim to respond.

Jim shook his head. More words lost. "... problem."

The man clearly grew more desperate and raised his voice. "She is a wreck!" His entire phrase was crystal clear and Marney watched as Jim's body language changed. Bouncing slightly on his feet, he looked happy? Satisfied? Who was the 'she' that the man pleaded for?

Jim whispered something and the man responded, "Please. I'm.... ate." What kind of hold...." The wind whipped into the microphone and no words were intelligible for a full twenty seconds. Jim's arms remained crossed. The man held his fingers to the bridge of his nose, considering his words. The wind died completely.

"This is psychic assault."

What the hell? Marney spoke aloud as she watched. "What the fuck is psychic assault?"

Jim pointed to the street as the wind gusted again. ".... here. Don't... again or... k... se"

The man walked off and Jim turned to face the camera. He was smiling and there was nothing aw-shucks about it.

Marney watched the footage multiple times. A plead, a mention of psychic assault, and clearly a threat from Jim that the man was not to return. Or else? There were multiple, unintelligible words spoken between in the space between "or" and "se" sound bites. The hard "k" sound was in there.

Psychic assault. Marney pondered the potential words, working through the cadence. Or I'll make it worse.

Jim had returned to the party as if nothing had happened, as if the man were selling vacuums door to door.

"Don't come here again or I'll make it worse."

She had so many questions, but she wasn't going to call Jim and ask directly. It was the middle of the night. He would return in two and a half days. Marney's internal countdown took on a new urgency.

_____________________

Part IV: Ajna Chakra

In the end, she found his neatly printed password list hidden in the bookshelf of his study. It was carefully folded and tucked between pages 284 and 285 of Webster's Ninth New Collegiate Dictionary. The pages covered definitions for "contingent" through "controvertible" but one word caught Marney's eye.

con•trol kǝn-'trōl 1: to check, test, or verify by evidence or experiments 2a: to exercise restraining or directing influence over: REGULATE 2b: to have power over: RULE

The word buzzed in her head, lit like a gaudy neon sign. She stared at the definition for a full minute before she tossed the book on the floor without ceremony. Wearing her flannel pajamas and slippers, Marney padded straight to Jim's desktop computer, list in hand.

The remainder of the books were still neatly organized on the shelves. Marney had cleaned Jim's study on a precise schedule for years. There was never any dust on the shelf near his dictionary, but it hadn't occurred to her to wonder why he was regularly using that particular book in the age of quick Internet search. It occurred to her today. After she broke into his locked study, she had walked almost directly to his hiding place.

She powered on his computer and used a complicated password from the sheet to decrypt the contents of the hard drive, then another to log in. A folder titled "My Photos" held a few token images of Jim and Marney among random landscape shots and photos of Jim's parents. She stared at a photo from their neighborhood barbeque last summer. Jim looked like a proud father holding a pan containing a smoked brisket. A woman stood beside him wearing a cute little apron and holding a pitcher. On the front of the apron, blue embroidery read, "Wine Not?" Marney did not recognize her.

As if the words drifted in like a feather on a light breeze, Marney thought of the Sanskrit "ajna chakra" and considered. The third eye chakra governed perception. The ability to see clearly, beyond the physical senses.

Clarity of perception.

"Lemonade," she whispered in the empty study. She recognized that the woman with the apron was Marney herself. Now she gazed into the pixels that made up that woman's eyes. Those eyes were profoundly vacant.

"Fucking. Lemonade." Marney savored the first word as she would a cold drink on a hot day. The second word was merely a chaser.

There was nothing of particular interest on the main drive of Jim's computer. It took her another 43 minutes to locate a portable drive hidden in a plain cardboard box on the top shelf of the little closet in the corner of the study. The box was creatively labeled "Old Things" with Jim's neatly printed letters of black magic marker. The drive sat amongst a pile of unused Ethernet cables, old USB cords, and little peripherals that had become obsolete. Hidden in plain sight. The box itself was unusually heavy and Marney set it aside for later exploration.

The encrypted drive required yet another complicated password from the paper found in the dictionary.

"Control. Regulate. Rule." Marney muttered as she waited for the drive to decrypt. The last word sat in her sublingual space like a leaden ingot. She clicked her tongue and said, "Loop" to cleanse the pallet.

The drive contents appeared on the screen. There was a single folder, titled "Pets." It was in this folder that Marney saw her husband with perfect clarity.

There were many subfolders. Each contained a document file and a video file. The document file contained a woman's name, photo, and a great deal of personal information. There were many. The video files were a source of morbid fascination for Marney. There were so many subfolders. So many women.

Marney double-clicked a video from a random folder dated last February. The footage was of Jim and a petite woman in a nondescript room. She had short, jet black hair, and was wearing nothing. The woman was tied to a chair with rope configured in elaborate knots. Jim was fully clothed. Marney paused the video and opened the associated document. The woman was Julie Minton and she lived in Taos, New Mexico. Her husband was named Greg and they had a household income of $347,000. They had a son named Brian and a cat named Socks. There were photos of each, including the cat. None were familiar.

Marney recalled Jim's business trip to Albuquerque last year and resumed her study of the video. She watched as Jim whipped Julie Minton's breasts mercilessly with what looked like a leather strap. The woman wept while Jim stared at her impassively. Marney detected a possible note of arousal in Julie Minton's cries.

"Tears are for little girls, Julie."

Julie Minton didn't speak but silently kept crying.

Jim unleashed another volley of sharp blows with the strap on her inner thighs and said, "Tears are for those with hope. Do you have hope, Julie?"

The woman stared at the floor and Jim backhanded her as casually as he would close a cupboard door. Julie Minton gasped at the strike, but this time Marney definitely heard pleasure in the sound.

"I asked you a simple question. Yes or no? Do you have hope, Julie?"

She nodded meekly. Jim immediately grinned from ear to ear. "Good! That's so good. It makes me positively rock hard to know that you have hope, Julie. Because I'm going to exorcise that hope and then fuck your hopeless body until I'm finished with whatever is left."

He reached between her legs and fingered the woman. Jim's face was rapturous. "Wet as a rainy day, Julie." He held his fingers to his nose, inhaled deeply, and said, "Wet as a rainy day. You really are something special."

He whistled a little tune to himself as he rolled up his sleeves, preparing for the real labor to commence. "That's the irony with special things. The beauty is in the breaking. Right, Julie?"

The woman raised her eyes to him for the first time, still shedding quiet tears. As Jim's hand reared back for a savage blow, Julie Minton's eyes were filled with anticipation and unmistakable lust.

Marney closed the little video window, noting that there was 111 minutes remaining. She'd seen quite enough of Jim with Julie Minton.

So many folders, so many women.

Marney selected the most recent folder, and her eyebrow arched as she examined the contents. Unlike any other folder she'd perused, this one had multiple video files along with the document file. There were eleven videos, the last one dated only a week before Jim's party. Her finger hesitated over the left mouse button for an instant. Did she really need to see any more? Wasn't it enough?

Anja chakra. Marney double-clicked.

Jim hovered over a blonde woman, who rested upon her hands and knees on the floor. The woman's hair was tied in a dangerously tight pony tail. She was fit but shapely, and Marney saw a Chinese character tattooed on the woman's back, just above her left cheek. If memory served, the tattoo was a symbol for freedom. She was naked except for a collar.

Jim said, "Jordan, let me show you what my little slut deserves." Marney watched as he methodically inserted an anal plug with a long horse tail. The woman threw her head back and bucked her hips. Jim reared back and struck the woman with his right hand. She moaned loudly. Marney felt certain the blow would leave a mark.

"Jordan, Jordan, Jordan. There's just no ass like your ass, and certainly no pussy like your sweet little pussy," Jim said as he walked in a tight circle around the woman. His voice was nearly wistful. "Correction. That's my ass and my pussy. Right, Jordan?"

The woman kept her eyes focused straight ahead but nodded. Marney could see the woman had larger breasts and a tinier waist than herself.

She paused the video, unconsciously swinging her feet under Jim's office chair. Another double click of the left mouse button opened the associated document file. The woman's name was Jordan Parker, and she was local. Her husband's name was Willam but he preferred Billy. "That's fucking weird," Marney muttered to herself. Jordan had two girls from a previous marriage, but shared a son with Billy. They had a dog and a cat. Jordan drove a Ford Expedition. Marney progressed down the page and looked at the photos, clearly taken surreptitiously and from afar.

She bolted upright in her chair. Her swinging leg hit the bottom of the chair so hard that her slipper kicked off. The photo of Billy Parker matched the appearance of the man from the porch. Uneven beard, spectacles, balding pate. It was him.

"Psychic assault," whispered Marney. Her pulse evened out after the shock. She needed to know about this woman.

"Jordan, I'm feeling really generous today, so I'm going to tell you exactly what I'm going to do." Jim's voice was crystal clear on the high-definition video. Marney could make out the names of Jordan's children tattooed on her right calf. There was another tattoo on her wrist, but Marney couldn't quite make it out.

"Who knew?" Marney whispered. Years ago, she had broached the subject of getting a tasteful little tattoo and Jim had registered his clear disapproval. Marney had, of course, acquiesced. She shook her head and returned to the video.

Jim said, "I'm going to fuck all three of your holes. I'm going to fill each of them with cum. When I use your mouth, you can swallow my load because, again, I'm nothing if not a generous man. But then you're going to go home with my cum dripping from your cunt, my cum dripping from your ass. I want you to show your husband. Let him get a good look up close. Tell him that your owner did this to you."

The woman made a gasping noise and seemed almost to speak. Jim's hand lashed out with a surgical strike to her left cheek. Jordan Parker's face would surely bruise.

Jim smirked. "Problem, Jordan?"

The woman was clearly conflicted and her body fidgeted with the need to speak. Yet Jordan Parker just stared straight ahead.

"I'll take your silence for agreement," Jim said. He whistled without tune while he methodically removed and folded his shirt, then his pants. "I want your husband to see my cum dripping from that pretty little pussy that belongs to me. You can tell him he can lick it out, clean you up, if he wants. He can taste my cum, but he's not allowed to get you off. You are not to have an orgasm. Are my instructions perfectly clear, Jordan?"

The woman stared ahead, stone-faced.

"You may speak, Jordan. Are my instructions clear?"

Jordan Parker swallowed and said, "Yes, your instructions are clear. May I ask a question?"

Jim's eyebrows rose in mock surprise. "Well! Aren't we casual today? I'll let it slide for now. Sure, ask away. It's really a day of gifts, isn't it?"

"What if he gets angry? What if he kicks me out?" she asked.

Jim considered and said into her ear, "He won't do that. He won't do that because he's weak. He pretends to be a big, strong man, but he's never faced any real challenge. His strength is an illusion. He's weak and he knows it. He's weak and he'd rather his wife fuck a real man than lose her."

Jordan Parker appeared to come to some sort of internal decision, and Marney watched as her whole body relaxed.

"You belong to me. I own you," Jim said. "I am the only one that you will think of, the only one you will want to please. You'll think of me day and night. He might sleep next to you and put food on your table, but I possess you. Hey, if he asks me really nicely, I might even let him fuck you every so often, missionary only. I'm not a monster, I can share my toys. And that's just what you are to me, Jordan. A toy."

The woman moaned audibly and Marney winced.

"But you, my fucktoy, need to tell him to wear a condom. No one comes inside you but me. No one makes you come but me. If he ever breaks the rules, I'll make him walk into traffic."

Jordan Parker moaned again but Marney paused the video. "Make him walk into traffic? What the fuck does that mean? And she's getting off on it?" Marney was puzzled.

She watched the next 74 minutes of video, in which Jim licked Jordan Parker's perfect teeth, struck her multiple times with a riding crop, and in turn, she let Jim ejaculate in her pussy, ass, and mouth. As she watched the woman clearly swallow, Marney shook her head.

She sighed and said, "Jim never has multiple orgasms at home." At this, Marney threw back her head and laughed long and loud. It was all she could do not to cry.

_____________________

Part V: The Book of Song

The box was labeled "Old Things" and Marney stared at it across the room. She was still absorbing what she had witnessed on the portable drive.

"Shock," Marney said flatly. She said it again, drawing out the "shh" and clipping the "ck" sounds. The word swam through molasses. Marney got up and paced the study, still wearing a single slipper. She looked at her feet as she marched in circles and chanted, "Shock. Shod. Shock. Shod." Her own voice slowly comforted her. Words were constant and reliable friends.

How was Jordan Parker being assaulted? That day on the porch, her husband, Billy, had said that she was a wreck and couldn't sleep. "Psychic assault," she corrected herself.

Marney found the book in the bottom of the box. Gray and deeply worn, there were no markings at all on the cover. It was so heavy it felt as though it contained lead. From the stitch binding, Marney guessed it was at least two hundred years old. When she opened the book, she saw that Jim had penned on the inside cover, "To Marney with Love on Our First Anniversary! -Jim."

She frowned at the aborted gift. "You don't write directly on a book like this, Jim. Fool." The final word felt like balm on her lips.

On the first page there were two symbols only, and beneath, some ancient hand had written in fine scrawl, "liber carminum."

"A book of poems," Marney said. Delving deeper, she knew instantly the book was much, much older than her original estimate. She continued to page through, wondering who had written this book, and who had later attempted to translate it. Strange images were littered throughout. She paused on an image of a creature made of tentacles or perhaps tongues. The symbols on the pages were completely unfamiliar, glyphs of some forgotten language adorned the ancient vellum.

"Vellum," Marney purred. A good word, a resonating word.

Whoever had tried to translate the book hadn't gotten very far. Only a half a dozen random pages had the fine scrawl in the margin. One page had a series of undecipherable repeating symbols. In the margin, the ancient translation read simply, "Pedum." Marney's head cocked to the side as she stared at the symbols. She knew that the word translated from Latin to a crook, a shepherd's staff.

"What, like a shepherd's poem?" she said aloud.

Written below in the margin looked to be some kind of neumatic notation. Blocks on faint lines. Realization struck. This wasn't so much a poem as it was a song.

"A fucking song." Marney shook her head in amazement.

She carefully paged ahead to the next marginalia. She found another set of neumes which was annotated, "Spiculum." She knew the word was something akin to "spike," perhaps "needle."

She returned to the front page. Book of Poems? Marney wondered if the symbols more correctly translated to Book of Song.

"Liber Cantus," said Marney in the little room. Every single hair on her body stood on end as goosebumps pinched her flesh. The words felt heavy in her mouth, but they felt correct. The ancient translation was far from complete, and not fully correct. There were only little imperfect pieces of translated song.

She thought about the shepherd's song, Pedum. Marney reconsidered the translation. It wasn't titled "Shepherd" but instead "Shepherd's Staff." She felt through the melodic contour of the ancient neumes. As the first rays of dawn colored the sky, Marney spoke to no one. "I understand, but the translation isn't perfect." The clock ticked. "I have to get the hell out of here right now."

_____________________

Part VI: The F Word

"Marney, are you sure this is the right thing, running? You could confront him. If you want, I'll be there with you when you do." Bridget looked at Marney anxiously. They sat at the little coffee table inside Bridget's large home, two half-empty cups of tea between them.

Marney shook her head. "This is the only option right now, Bridget. I cannot confront Jim yet. I can't be around him. I can't talk with him on the phone. I can't listen to a single sound he makes."

The tall blonde raised an eyebrow and said, "There's something you're not telling me, Marn. He's cheated on you with God knows how many women, he's kept you locked up like a pet housekeeper, but there's something else, isn't there?"

"Bridget, I can't talk about this right now. I have to go, and right away. His flight is about to land." Marney stood, and Bridget took the cue.

The women walked towards the driveway of Bridget's house. The tall blonde hugged Marney close and said, "Marn, this would be a lot easier if you'd tell me where you are going."

"Sorry, I don't even know for sure. Even if I did, I can't tell you. Sooner or later, Jim will come by to talk to you, and he'll get any information you have."

Bridget scoffed. "No he won't! You give that guy too much credit. What's he going to do? Beat it out of me? That's not happening."

"Bridget, I love you and I know I'm asking a lot. Especially with no explanation of my plan. I know I'm leaving you with nothing but questions. But you need to understand, he will get the information. He might enjoy beating you, but he won't have to. He's very... persuasive."

Bridget started to object and Marney held up a hand. "I promise that I will explain this someday. I need time away. Jim is on his way home and I need to get out of town. Right now."

Marney hugged Bridget tightly. "I love you, Bridget. You've been a friend to me even when I didn't deserve it. I will be back. I will be alright. I promise."

There were tears in Bridget's eyes as they parted. "Marney. I'm glad you're out. I love you, too."

Marney drove away in Bridget's car, watching her blonde friend in the rearview mirror until she turned the corner.

"Mirror. Mir-ror. Mirror."

__________

Jim tried calling but Marney ignored him. Her phone rang regularly from the time his international flight landed until she estimated that he arrived at home. She was waiting for the inevitable text, and she didn't have to wait long.

[Marney, please answer. I know you're upset. Please talk to me. Come home. I need you.]

Marney walked to the trashcan near the idling car. She sent her reply text. Jim needed to know that she knew everything.

[Come home? Why? So you can whistle a little tune and get your perfect wife back under your thumb?]

His response was immediate. [I will find you, Marney.]

She returned fire. [The wild hypocrisy of you telling another man that his strength is an illusion! Unreal.]

Without waiting for a reply, she dropped the phone into the trash and calmly walked to the car and left for parts unknown. The automobile would have to be abandoned. She would need to keep moving. Bridget's money would run out. Marney knew she couldn't run forever, but she wouldn't have to.

Marney adjusted the car radio and found the end of a song. A man wailed about losing himself. She snapped the radio off. In a box on the passenger seat was the portable drive and the ancient tome. A unopened box of Playtex gloves sat on the floor of the passenger side. Her suitcase was in the back.

Marney glanced at the Liber Cantum before returning her eyes to the road. The book was, finally, in good hands. It was in the possession of someone who loved the feel and the shape and the secret symmetry of words. Jim might very well find her, but she didn't have to run forever. Just long enough to correctly decipher the book.

Marney would face him. She would win.

"Fucking Freedom," she said.

Everything was in its right place.

Author's Post Script: The original ending was much darker, but I liked Marney too much to do her dirty. Go get him, Marn.

The sex? Probably not very sexy. The gloves? Probably weird, but I love that scene the most. The ceiling fan? A prop liberally borrowed from David Lynch.

The real horror? Lack of clear, willing, and enthusiastic consent.

Please rate and comment! I'm ever curious how this story will be received!