Magic Mia Ch. 11

The weeks after the wedding settled into something Ethan hadn't dared hope for. She'd taken two weeks off of work, a simple honeymoon consisting of a happy couple in their small apartment and a few day trips to the Nevada desert. For those fourteen days, it was just them, enclosed in their own private world.

They laughed over burnt pancakes in the kitchen as Mia wielded a spatula with surprising ineptitude, the smell of scorched batter filling their tiny kitchen. They lay across their sagging couch for hours on end, the old springs protesting beneath them, bingeing old sci-fi flicks and cheesy sitcoms. They fucked like newlyweds should, hungry and insatiable, tangled in sheets for hours, the mattress creaking rhythmically beneath them as dawn peeked through the blinds.

He'd regained some stamina, surprising even himself, his body remembering how to fuck like an animal as her gasps and moans urged him on. His confidence grew with each encounter, her responses to his touch reassuring him that he could satisfy her completely. When she clutched at his back, nails digging into his skin, whispering his name like a prayer, he felt whole again, powerful, needed.

One afternoon, she'd shoved him against the kitchen counter, dropping to her knees and taking him in her mouth with an eagerness that made his head spin. Her tongue swirled around his dick with practiced skill, her eyes looking up at him with that mischievous grin that wrecked him. The sensation of her warm, wet mouth enveloping him, combined with the visual of her on her knees, hair falling around her face, was almost too much to bear. He let out a grunt that seemed to echo in the small kitchen and shot down her throat, his knees nearly buckling from the intensity. She grinned up at him before swallowing the whole load with an exaggerated gulp that made his spent cock twitch.

Another night, she'd pinned him to the bed, thighs clamping his hips with shocking strength, the weight of her body a delicious pressure on his pelvis. Her pussy was slick and hot as she rode him hard, controlling the pace and depth completely. The bedside lamp cast shadows across her body as she moved, highlighting the curves of her breasts, the arch of her back, the taut line of her throat as she threw her head back in pleasure. She'd arched her back at a particularly deep thrust, her entire body tensing as waves of pleasure visibly rippled through her, her scream filling the apartment so loudly he was certain the neighbors must have heard.

During those two blissful weeks, he'd occasionally slip when he had moments alone. Her errands or long showers would find him watching some of his favorite recordings, like they were some private amateur porn site rather than security footage of his wife. He justified it to himself in various ways, that it was harmless now that they were married, that it was just memories of a phase they'd moved past, that it was better than seeking out other porn. By their honeymoon's end, he'd managed to delete it for what he'd thought was the last time, feeling a sense of closure as he watched the app uninstall.

They hiked Red Rock one weekend, a dusty Saturday where the sun baked the earth into cracked plates beneath their boots. She wore a faded tank top that showed off her tanned shoulders and denim shorts that hugged her curves as they climbed the winding trail. Sweat gathered at her temples and the small of her back, giving her skin a glow in the harsh sunlight.

She giggled at his clumsy footing as he navigated a particularly steep section. "Careful, city boy," she'd teased, her voice bright against the dry wind that whipped her ponytail around. At the peak, they stood side by side in comfortable silence, shoulders touching, the vast sprawl of Vegas shimmering below like a mirage. For a moment, the world was theirs.

The sex was constant and energetic, a reclamation of what he had lost during their "pact". One night she walked right from the shower to straddle him on the couch, barely having dried off yet, water droplets still clinging to her skin. Her hair dripped onto his chest as she lowered herself onto him. The cushions creaked loudly beneath them, keeping time with their movements as she rode him hard, her hands braced on his shoulders for leverage. They both came, thrusting and grinding, awash in pleasure, falling asleep in that position shortly after, her body a comforting weight on his.

For two weeks, it worked. The bubble they'd created seemed impenetrable. He could almost convince himself the wedding night, the emergency blowjobs at the chapel, the hotel gangbang, was all part of some awful fever dream, a glitch in a parallel universe, not theirs.

Her return to work hung over his head like a dark cloud. When they weren't fucking, he'd keep himself busy with design gigs he'd picked up, glued to his laptop screen late into the night until his eyes burned and his back ached. The work was a welcome distraction from the thoughts that threatened to consume him.

When it was time for her to go back, reality came crashing back into his life. He let work become his shield, a wall of focus he built to bury the dread creeping up his spine. He swore he wouldn't check the app or wouldn't ask how she spent her days, repeating the promise to himself as he buried himself in Photoshop layers and client feedback. She'd leave for work with a "Love you, see you tonight!" thrown over her shoulder, and for a brief moment, Ethan could convince himself she was starting a day at the office like any normal person.

After settling back into a routine, she came home earlier than normal one night. Her face was tight, her hands twisting together nervously in that way she had when she was anxious about something. She sat down on the coffee table across from Ethan as he watched some videos about ancient architecture.

"Sooo," she began, drawing out the word, "don't freak out, okay? There's some news... sorta, bad... news." Her voice had that forced casual tone that immediately set him on edge.

He leaned forward, the laptop forgotten beside him. "What happened?"

"Well, nothing happened, it's just..." She sighed, glancing away, unable to meet his eyes directly. "They're worried at work. Celeste pulled me aside for a talk." She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt.

"Worried about what?" he asked as anxiety consumed his whole body in an instant.

"Things aren't the same since the wedding. The guys weren't exactly killing it while I was off, and some of the big clients noticed. They thought things would get back to normal when I came back, but... they didn't. They said the magic is gone. Business is suffering, and everyone is freaking out." Her words came faster now, tumbling over each other.

He hoped for a moment she had been fired, that this conversation was heading toward her leaving Eden's Edge for good. "The magic's gone? What's that mean?" He tried to keep his voice neutral.

"They think it's because of you," she said quietly, finally meeting his gaze. "The guys say it's since we got married. Something's different, like I'm not totally invested anymore." She bit her lower lip, waiting for his reaction.

"Me?" His voice rose, incredulous, hope evaporating instantly. "They're blaming me? For what?"

"No!" she said quickly, then softened, reaching for his hand across the small space between them. "It's not that. It's more like... that side of me is all at home now. Like you're using up all the magic, or that's how the guys put it anyway. And Celeste agrees. They need me all in, focused, like I used to be."

"What are you saying, Mia?" he asked nervously, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

She nodded slowly, her eyes pleading with him for understanding. "Celeste offered to double my pay to keep... doing what I do. But there's a catch," she paused, looking down at her lap. "They want me to cut you off at home, so I'm totally focused, like when we had our pact before the wedding." The words hung in the air between them, heavy and final.

His breath stopped, as if someone had punched him in the gut. "Cut me off? You're my wife, Mia, they want you to stop fucking me so you can fuck them better?"

She flinched, tears welling up in her eyes, but her voice stayed firm. "I told Celeste no way, at first, that I wasn't cutting you off." She paused, gathering courage, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. "But they kept pressing me about it, and that money could be huge for us." She paused again, struggling to get her words out. "I worked it out with them, I can still use my hands. But I said I'd do it." The last sentence came out almost as a whisper.

"Handjobs?" a bitter laugh slipping out before he could stop it. "You're negotiating my sex life with them? Double pay to be their 'Magic Mia,' and I get some occasional hand stuff when you're not too tired from cumming all night?"

She wiped her eyes. "It's not like that. I matter there, you know? I've never felt that anywhere else. They need me, and we need the money... we could save up, get out of this place." Her voice was pleading.

"So that's it," he said, voice flat, defeat settling over him like a heavy blanket. "You're their 'Magic Mia' now. I get scraps left on the floor, if anything." He couldn't look at her anymore.

"It's not forever!" she insisted, grabbing his arm. "Just till we're set up financially. And it's not like we can't do anything; I told them I wouldn't do that to you. I'll make it work. I just... I need you to be okay with this."

"You're choosing them, and I'm supposed to smile and take it? I'm your husband!" he shouted back, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

"I'm still here with you! I love you! This money is for us, for our future. I'm finally good at something, and I can use it to build a life for us. Can't you see that?" Her voice broke on the last question.

"Yeah," he said, quiet, defeated, the fight draining out of him. "I see it."

She hugged him, tight, sobbing into his chest, her tears dampening his shirt. "Thank you, I swear it won't be forever. We'll figure it out together." She pulled away, wiping her face with her sleeve. "I need to take a shower. I love you."

She shuffled off, the bathroom door clicking shut behind her. The water hissed on, the sound of the shower a white noise backdrop to his spiraling thoughts. He sank onto the couch, head in his hands.

He grabbed his phone from the coffee table, his thumb tapping the app back into existence, the familiar icon sending a jolt through him. The feed loaded with a list of recordings from her shift. There she was, with Rick, priming him for some sagging old biddy, her hands working their "magic" with practiced ease. He slid his pants down and accepted his fate, hating himself as he stroked himself to the images on the screen.

A week after her deal, he checked the day's recordings, and there she was, back at peak "Magic Mia". Under the back room's dim lights, her naked body glistened with sweat as she rode Jake, her pussy swallowing his bare cock whole in a way Ethan would no longer experience. She'd alternate rocking slow, then faster, her movements fluid and practiced. She pulled off of him right before he was ready to finish, dripping pre-cum, primed for a client beyond the curtain.

Later she knelt in front of Tony, taking his throbbing cock deep into her throat as he fucked her mouth, her lips stretched around him, her eyes watering from the depth. She fucked herself with an oversized dildo, working it in and out of her pussy in rhythm with Tony's thrusts. Another "accident" happened as he pumped her throat full of semen and gripped her hair, holding her in place. She gagged, eyes watering, but didn't let up until she swallowed every drop. She gave him a playful shove and sent him off with "I'll have to dock you for that one, buddy".

Ethan watched, his cock hard despite the ache in his chest, his hand moving mechanically. Clients raved and Eden's Edge was back on top. Business was booming, for the small price of the only thing that mattered to Ethan.

He gave up pretending he would delete the app when he was done for the night. Utterly defeated, he regularly checked for the latest videos from his private porn site, clips of her slick with sweat, cum dripping from her pussy or ass as one of the guys inevitably got lost in the moment and forgot to pull out. "Save that for the clients!" But she didn't seem to mind, not really. Often rubbing their cum on her hard nipples as she finished herself off.

He stopped asking when "not forever" would end, and she stopped promising it would. Work filled his hours, project after project piling up as he took on anything that would keep his mind occupied. At night, he'd lie beside her sleeping form, remembering the honeymoon, those two perfect weeks that now seemed like they'd happened to someone else. During the day, he could hide reality from his thoughts if he kept busy.

One night, months later, he sat awake on the couch, the TV flickering with some old cartoons that he wasn't really watching, when she walked in late, as usual. She barely acknowledged him, too tired for even the pretense of conversation. She crawled into bed without a word, her breathing heavy before it leveled out into sleep. She promised him a handjob tonight. It had been too long to remember the last time she'd touched him. He'd staved off his urges in anticipation, but she hadn't even glanced his way.

Somewhere in all this, he realized she'd kept the promise she'd made way back when it started. The idea was so ridiculous it was said in jest. She never did fuck a client. He hadn't imagined that something much worse could be in store instead.

He grabbed his phone to pull up the day's recordings. There she was in peak form as she primed three men, most of whom were new, he didn't even know their names. Somehow, they all "accidentally" came in quick succession as Mia reached her own screaming orgasm. They filled her asshole and pussy with cum, the white fluid dripping down her thighs. At least the guy face fucking her didn't cum down her throat, spraying her face instead as she stuck her tongue out panting, catching what she could.

Ethan's hand slid to his pants, freeing his cock, after saving this one to his phone in a favorites folder. He started the video over, eyes locked on his wife.

He synced to their rhythm, cum spilling over his fist, perfectly timed with their big finale. He wiped his hand on his shirt, tossed the phone aside.

She never did cross that once-laughable line, never joined "the business" like Jess. Instead, she somehow danced past it without ever crossing. Maybe that was her real magic trick. He sometimes wondered if she could've been dragged back if she had violated that promise, if she had crossed the one clear line they'd drawn in the sand. Would that have shocked him into action? Would he have found his voice then?

In the bedroom, she slept soundly, her chest rising and falling in peaceful rhythm. Tomorrow, she'd wake and kiss his cheek. She'd say "I love you" before walking out the door. And she'd mean it, in whatever twisted way she'd redefined love to accommodate what she'd become.

And he, equally complicit, would say it back.