Every Picture Tells a Story Pt. 04

Every picture tells a story: Part 4

Note to readers: Read Parts 1, 2 & 3 first; you will enjoy this so much more if you do.

Pete has a recurring nightmare that Bill and Mary cuck him. In it, Bill invites his friends over to bang Mary as Pete is forced to watch. Pete realized how close he came to losing everything. This chapter is far darker than the others. Love it or hate it, please leave a comment.

Warning: This story contains non-consensual themes.

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Another restless night. Sleep eluded me, and when it came, it was accompanied by the same horrific dream.

Desperate to sleep, I'd try to meditate or concentrate on a puzzle or a conundrum to clear my mind and force myself to focus on one pleasurable subject, which would drown out all other bothersome thoughts.

My favorite thing to concentrate on was the story of Adam and Eve. The devil lusted after their souls, but as innocent creatures, they were untouchable. Adam was loyal to Eve, stalwart, and completely incorruptible, at least by the devil.

Eve, however, was intelligent, curious, and unquestionably in love with Adam. Maybe she was paradoxically Adam's weakness?

Adam came upon Eve in the garden being seduced by a handsome man, a beguiling snake. She turned to Adam and smiled, inviting him to join them and offering him her half-eaten apple.

Adam knew the apple was forbidden. He could have left, turned his back, and stayed pure. Or he might have taken Eve's hand, and together they begged God to make things as they were. He'd lost Lillith, never understanding why, and he loved Eve now--she was literally a part of him.

Eve offered him the apple, seducing him as the devil had seduced her. At the moment of decision, Adam held out his hand, either to rush Eve to safety or to accept the apple she offered. That unsettling moment of not knowing, then a decision.

Then the image would fade, and my nightmare would start. It was vivid and detailed. Disturbing.

§§§§§

It always started the same way: in the dream, my old phone chimed. It was Bill, my best friend. "Hey," I said, putting the phone to my ear.

I heard the sounds of a woman's cries of ecstasy, grunts and cries of passion, the unmistakable sounds of her gagging, and the slapping of wet skin on skin. "Oh, God, yes! Give me your tasty cock! Mmm, mmm, mmm," she begged, then gagged again.

"Suck it, you dirty slut. Oh, yes, suck that big dick!" Bill said repeatedly. This"nightmare" version of Bill was coarse, dominating, and cold.

"Mmm, mmm, oh, God, I love your cock!" she cried, gasping for air.

In the dream, I recognized my wife's voice on the phone.

"Oh yeah, it feels so good. Oh, faster, faster. OH!" I heard her say.

"Pete? I'm fucking your wife!" he boasted. "She loves it, Pete! She loves fucking me!"

Over the sounds of passion and lust, I heard Bill ask, "Are you hard yet, Pete? Is this making you hard?"

"Yeah, Bill, my dick is rock hard," I confessed, sounding completely defeated. It was true, but it was also what she, what they, wanted to hear me say.

I listened as my gorgeous wife took Bill's thick cock in her ready pussy and obviously enjoyed every minute of it. The sounds she was making were sensual, joyful, and satisfying. She obviously enjoyed being used and dominated by Bill. In the vision of my nightmares, Mary disregarded my lies, easing her acceptance of my cuck role.

"Yeah, fuck her, Bill! I'm stroking my cock while you fuck my wife. She loves fucking you, and it makes me so hot too! Fuck that pussy good, then send her home!" I added weakly. Just as I was expected to do.

"You got it, bro!" Bill promised. "Eat her hot little pussy too! You know she loves that!"

Even dreaming, I heard him grunt and knew he was ejaculating his gooey load into my wife, bareback.

It was Mary's insistence that Bill call or send pictures. She wanted her cuck husband aroused, eagerly anticipating his turn. Bill eagerly agreed, all swagger and bravado, the alpha displaying his prize.

He would finish in her, sending her back immediately after he was done, so I'd know he'd had her first.

She'd be home soon, sweaty and used but ready to fuck her husband. She usually demanded I hold my orgasm in until then. That part was easy, even if my body was showing signs of arousal.

I was heartbroken. It felt real.

I wanted to tell her that I hated that she was cheating on me. I was devastated when I learned. It hurt every time she repeated it. When I discovered her affair, from Bill no less, I felt ashamed, like I failed her in a big way. She lectured me, "Pete, surely you must have known, right? I mean, Bill could hardly keep a secret."

And she was right. It started out slowly. I would see Bill and Mary together, but we were all friends, so it wasn't odd. Bill came and went to our home freely. He'd arrive, just as I was leaving for work, saying, "Just going to borrow your pipe wrench, bud!" Or, at other times more plainly, he'd be leaving just as I arrived. "Just returning the keys, got your motor running!" he'd shout as he pulled away. Then, he started getting more bawdy, or even lewd: "Just giving Mary a hard time!" or "Only stopped by to get my joint adjusted!"

At first, Mary would be out the door, "Off to the gym!" in her sexy spandex leggings and top, always at times when she knew I could not join her. Then it became. "Going to drop off some buns at Bill's house!" or once, while wearing a jogging bra and short tennis skirt, waved to me and called, "I'm off to pick up some balls!" always something playfully suggestive.

I thought it was a shared joke, sexy banter between friends, risque and raunchy, but only a tease.

Mary seemed very affectionate later. I always knew she had a little crush on him (as did many other girls), and I certainly didn't mind the attention she gave me after seeing him. I guess my ego blinded me to the clues, the open signs. She was dressing sexier, but not for me. She was often gone, and neither would answer their phone at those times. Was it my foolish trust that made me oblivious? Or my pride? My social ineptitude?

"Pete, surely you must have known, right?" Her words stung. I felt like that was an accusation, that I didn't know my own wife, that I'd never paid attention to her. Something about the way she asked me made me feel ashamed.

Maybe it was that if she was really, obviously cheating behind my back, and I didn't know, it was a tacit admission that she married a fool. In any case, I was shattered, humiliated, and desperate for an escape from the obvious truth.

So, I lied, "Of course I knew! Bill makes you happy. I get aroused thinking of you and him pretending to be sneaking around on me." Somehow I thought I was protecting her feelings and hiding mine. Selfishly, perhaps, hiding my shame and stupidity. But the lies got harder to maintain. And now, she believed her affair was getting me off sexually, so she did it more and more. My lies had trapped us both, making things worse. In the vision of my nightmares, Mary disregarded my lies, easing her acceptance of my cuck role.

Soon after the phone call, my wife, Mary, was home, her hair disheveled, her face flushed. "My spin class gets me sweaty and hot!" she insisted in a sexy voice, but we both knew differently now. I foolishly assumed it was my good luck that she still wanted me. I mean, she came home, right? She would seductively take my hand and lead me to the bedroom...

Even though she was obviously fatigued, she'd have sex with me, dutiful and ready, but there was never much variety or foreplay, and it would be over as quickly as it started. Without meaning to, I was actually making Bill out to be the better lover by comparison, I guess. I was making a mess of everything.

This time, she seemed more excited than usual. "Hi, Pete," she purred in a sexy but weary voice.

Mary sat down next to me and put her arm around me. "Did you enjoy that?" she asked. "I tried to make it really wild for you!" Her sweet voice, the same one I heard climaxing on the phone a little while ago.

"Bill promised me you were getting off listening to us! Especially that last orgasm! Whew! That was exciting!" she added, passionately.

She nuzzled my neck and nibbled at my ear. It felt good. "Bill got a kick out of having you play along as the unsuspecting husband... It felt so exciting, so sinful."

"Yes..." I lied.

"It's better now that you know, right?" she asked. "I think it's so sexy!" she admitted, running her hand along my chest.

We had this same conversation a dozen times. I died a little each time, buried beneath the weight of my lies, impossible to escape anymore.

My wife, Mary, thought I would enjoy being a cuck, a subordinate husband. That's the part that hurt the worst, that put me into a state of shock. I was desperate to stop this, to honestly tell her I hated her affair, that I lied to protect her feelings, and that I needed it to stop. She needed to stop.

She reached down and rubbed my hard dick through my jeans. "Mmmm, yes!" she murmured into my ear. "You are ready!"

But I was weak.

"Bill knew you liked it when I was bad. And I've been really bad. I've been so dirty, so nasty for you! Does that make you hot?" she whispered in a sultry voice, the tip of her tongue tracing around my ear. "But I'll always come home to you. And be yours again, you know? Your wife, your wicked, dirty wife?" She murmured in a sexy voice.

"Yes," I lied to her, even though I was hurting inside. Why? Possibly because it made her feel better about the whole thing. Bill had exposed her cheating, brazenly boasting about his conquest to me even while he fucked her. At the time, I could see the shame and remorse in her eyes. I took the bullet, trying to protect her, even then. I would not let him do that to her: no heartache, no disgrace, at least on her part. Me? That was a different matter.

She kissed me as she pulled me into the bedroom.

Bill savored ordering Mary to pamper me afterwards, flaunting his dominance. Maybe to ease his own guilty conscience?

"That pussy is too good for your husband, but make sure you keep him happy!" he'd say.

She did assure Bill I was "taken care of," even as our own sexual encounters became ever more obligatory and brief. Bill never went down on her, and I didn't anymore after Bill boasted that he always sent her pussy home full of his foul ejaculate. Of course, Mary let me eat her pussy, never confessing to what she held for me between her legs. Now, I could not bear the thought of it. She'd even show me how well fucked her pussy was, wet and dripping from her last lover, inviting me to kiss it, to taste it, and of course, him. But I'd avoid it--I'd simply mount her, pushing my dick into her, getting things over with. If she wanted her pussy licked, I'd prefer it unsullied, but that was rarely the case these days.

Their exchanges of sexual favors were becoming more frequent, but I was no longer invited, either. That didn't mean I didn't hear them or that he didn't send me pictures. Most recently, she was often tired and in a hurry, so she'd describe how Bill made her feel sexy or show me pictures he took on her phone of her climaxing or with his dick in her mouth while she jerked me off.

Once their sexual affair was out in the open, the situation deteriorated quickly.

Now, Bill would appear at odd times, pull her to him, kiss her, and grab her ass, saying, "Good morning, slut! How is that sweet pussy? Are you thinking about my big dick?" Mary would blush, admonishing him, "Bill, not in front of Pete!" I would find a reason to leave, or Bill would find me one. Sometimes, I stood outside my own house, listening to the sounds they made until they were done.

The situation was spiraling downward with each passing day.

I felt as if I were trapped in a rip tide, helplessly being pulled out to sea. I sensed the tide becoming stronger and faster threatening to sweep me away, lost, vanished, and forgotten.

Bill grew increasingly audacious. One night he arrived as we were getting into bed. Mary was just snuggled up against me, and I held her, feeling her warmth against my skin. Feeling close to her for the first time in a while, I tried to muster the courage to admit everything. Taking a deep breath, aware it would hurt us both, but I had to save us, I had to tell her the truth.

Then, unannounced, Bill walked into the bedroom, kissed Mary, and started taking off his clothes, his dick already hard. Mary protested, "Bill! Pete's right here!" But he jauntily replied, "I'm going to fuck your wife, Pete!" Bill pushed a pillow and blanket into my hands and ushered me into the hall, calling after me, "I'll wake you up when we're done!"

He closed the door. I heard Mary giggle, "Bill, you're so bad!"

Then I heard the familiar sounds of Bill fucking her. "Come here, slut! Give me that pussy!"

I listened, shamefully jerking off to the sounds of lust and passion they made, until I ejaculated, then I left to sleep on the couch.

That morning, Mary was gone. There was a note on the refrigerator:

- Bill wants to see the Sullivan/David MMA fight on pay-per-view on Saturday afternoon.

- Buy beer, wings, and chips, too.

- Love you, Mary.

The very expensive event fee, not to mention the shopping she expected, seemed like a lot to ask. Was I expected to quietly comply? More than a little offended and upset, I called Mary at work. "Mary, when did we start paying for Bill's entertainment?" I questioned her.

"Bill has invited a few friends over to watch the fight. He said you can bring your friends too! Expect about 5 from Bill's side! Love you!" she replied curtly and hung up.

At first, I relished the idea of inviting my friends over. Since Bill and Mary had started being open about their sexual encounters, I found myself more and more isolated. Maybe a house full of people would keep Bill in line?

Then I imagined Bill having sex with Mary boldly, shamelessly, right there in front of my friends. They would look at me and know the truth. Would they leave, disgusted to be seen with me? Or, would they take their turn at Mary? I shuddered at the thought. No, I would not risk it.

*****

The outfit she was wearing was clearly Bill's idea. He had Mary don a used thrift-store t-shirt, the collar and sleeves torn out, with a faded logo that read "Boobies" with an owl leering through the letter "O" with each eye. It was so short she had to tie it around her midriff, and the thin material seemed to accentuate her breasts more than cover them. A tiny, used, almost child-sized red skirt that barely covered her ass, and a red g-string completed her outfit. (At least that last item still had new tags on it.) My intelligent, educated wife dressed like a fantasy whore from a truck stop diner.

What had I done to her?

A line of men, led by Bill, filed into my basement. He stood under that giant photo of himself sucking my dick. Bill announced, "Boys, this was the price of admission. Never forget what I went through to set this night up!" They all jeer at me, "Bill sucked a cock, but he's still fucking your wife!"

They all knew. He'd told them. Mary's admonition, "Bill can't keep a secret," echoed in my head. Even this? I felt sick and weak. I found a chair off to the side and collapsed into it.

*****

The prize fight event on TV had started, and the crowd's loud cheering on the screen mixed with the hoots and whistles from Bill's friends. The juxtaposition of Mary playing the half-naked slut while two men fought on the screen behind her was a sign. It was an expensive ticket, but no one here was really watching. I put out the food and beer I bought too. Bill's friends attacked the cold beer with gusto, getting drunker by the minute.

"She is so hot!" someone remarked to Bill. "You gotta feel this married ass," they joked to each other, pawing at Mary. Making a feeble attempt to defend her honor and mine, she would giggle and move away. "Stop it! My husband is right there!" she protested, as part of the act. "How about showing me your boobs?" someone asked. Mary looked over at me, rolling her eyes as if to say, "Boys, am I right?"

The act was for my sake, but pretending she cared about my honor made it seem harsh. Except for the occasional sideways glances of scorn and disgust and the snide comments referring to her "stupid cuck husband," that is. My downward slide into disgrace accelerated.

The shame I endured when Mary destroyed our marriage by sleeping with Bill was excruciating, growing more hurtful daily. Now, the further humiliation of watching her being paraded like a slut trophy among his crude, vile friends. Bill even bragged about being the one who got Mary to break her vows and painted me as a pathetic, cheated spouse. It was nearly unbearable. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment. I longed to escape, to run endlessly, leaving it all behind, or to burn the place down, bulldoze it, and erase it from existence.

But I was trapped, and I couldn't leave her. And it was about to get much worse.

Eventually, Bill took me aside, saying, "Pete, go make a beer run. Okay, buddy?" and handed me $10. I looked at the full cooler in front of the TV, but Bill was already pushing me outside and closing the door behind me. My car was blocked in by at least 4 other vehicles, and I stood there like a fool. I heard Mary and the men inside laughing, catcalling, and cheering for maybe 15 more minutes, and then it got quiet. I let myself back in.

The expensive pay-per-view fight was still on my TV, forgotten now. Mary's damp G-string was lying on the floor, along with a pair of men's jean shorts and a jockstrap. Near the stairs were a pair of sweatpants and men's underwear.

I shuddered as I realized they were more interested in the show unfolding in my bedroom.

"Good girl. Suck it good." I heard someone say. I heard Mary moaning and a man's voice, "What a sexy slut! Look at how hot she is!"

Trembling, I walked up the stairs to our bedroom. Bill was sitting naked on the bed, and Mary was looking up at him with her mouth halfway down the shaft of his cock. Her shirt was gone, and her tits were exposed. Frothy drool and spittle dripped off her chin onto his nuts.

"Keep sucking that dick! Whoa, she's deep-throating you, man! Does it feel good?" I heard Bill respond, bragging, "Yea!! This slut can suck a cock!"

When I entered the room, Mary spied me, then half-smiled, as if she was shy about being caught. We both knew that was a lie.

"Don't worry about him," Bill turned her head back to his cock and said, "He wants to see me fuck you as bad as you want me inside your slutty cunt." He pushed her head down, and he slipped his wet, dripping cock back between her lips. "He loves watching my cock slide in you. But first, you're going to suck it, make it hard for your cheating pussy!"

"You're in for a treat, Pete!" Bill boasted, and his friends all snickered at his joke.

"That's one hell of a slut you got there, Bill. Hope we don't spoil her for you," someone commented as he stripped naked, his large, hard dick bouncing free.

The guys all followed suit, stripping down in a room crowded with them, lustfully staring at her, stroking their hard cocks. Mary glanced back at me, looking scared. Maybe having second thoughts? Bill took her head in his hands, wiping the drool from her face, daring her. "Are you my slut? Will you do anything I ask? My friends came all this way to show you a good time. You wanted this. You asked for this, right, slut?"

"For you, Bill, yes. Fuck me," she insisted. Bill stood her up and faced her away from me. I tried to shout, "No!" but my mouth didn't move. Desperately, I tried to get to her, but my body seemed frozen in place.

Mary pleaded with him. "Yes, Bill! Please! I'm your slut. Fuck me now!" He roughly bent her over to the rude cheers of his friends. The tip of his cock neared her pussy from behind. I watched it part her wet pussy lips, and it slowly sank inside my wife as she moaned with pleasure. Bill started fucking her. Men blocked my view, and I was confused. Then they parted, and I could see Mary again.

Bill pulled his slick, jizz-covered dick out of her pussy, and he was quickly replaced by a man with a large cock.

Bill put his face next to Mary's and told her, "Beg him to fuck your slut pussy!"

"Please fuck me with your big, hard cock," she begged. "I love it! Oh God, it's so big, it goes so deep. I never knew it could be like this! Oh, so good! Oh. Oh!"

"Take that cock, you cheating whore!" someone yelled.

"Fuck, it's huge!" she gasped. It was huge--they all were, like 8 inches long, thick, and with large, fat mushroom heads.

"Yeah, and it's going to give you a fucking like you never had before," one man growled at her.

A few minutes later she cried, "I'm your slut, you fuck toy. Do anything you want with me, fuck me, fuck me!!"

I watched this group of naked, sweaty men take turns on my wife. Some of them were stroking hard, thick shafts, getting ready, and now the men who had already ejaculated were semi-hard, their dicks wet and dripping, balls swinging as they moved around for a better look.

Although shamefaced, I knew I was no better than they were. We were all watching a live porn performance as voyeurs, an audience. But I was the only one humiliated, mocked, and not allowed to participate.

I looked around the room: naked men, defined muscles, tattoos, a variety of large penises, smooth balls, and hairy, sweaty men fresh from sexual conquest. Was I really being silent to make my wife happy? Did I really believe that? Or, more shamefully, was I whoring out my own wife for my own secret homoerotic fantasy?

Bill saw me standing in the hall watching and walked over to where I stood. I thought he would say something to reassure me in some way, but then he closed the door in my face. The vision was always blurry at that point. I could hear the sounds: sex, a fight between men unwilling to wait for a turn, and over it all, my wife's passionate cries.

Then I wasn't standing in the dark hall. Suddenly, I was lying in my bed naked as Bill fed me his cock. "Come on, slut! Suck that meat!" he yelled to the cheering of the guys surrounding me. I looked around, and I was surrounded by naked men, stroking hard cocks, each eager for their turn. Bill twisted my head back, then raised his muscular arm up and warned, "Watch those teeth, bitch!" before he continued to fuck my mouth.

"Fuck! This slut loves cock, right?"

He grunted and ejaculated into my mouth. Hot, sticky semen flooded into my throat and spilled through my lips, running down my face. Another hard cock replaced his and started pumping his thick, nasty jizz into my open mouth.

"Fuck that cocksucker!" I heard. "Oh yeah, sissy boy, your dick is even getting hard! Thinking about getting your tight little asshole fucked, aren't you?"

In an absurd contradiction, my dick was growing hard, yet I was mortified and struggling to escape, even as they held me fast. A feeling of being disconnected, like an observer inside my own head, a duality of thought and emotion. I felt two men pull my legs up, and a third positioned himself between my legs and spat on my asshole. Disbelieving what I felt, even as my body submitted, arousal washed over me. Suddenly, I wanted to feel these rough men inside me.

"Ohhh, yes!" someone jeered. "Finger that cunt! Get that hole ready! Stretch him out good!"

"Oh, god yes, fuck me!" I heard myself say, incredibly.

I felt pressure at my ass, then like a punch in my gut, and a sharp pain at my hole. I felt the tip of the cock push through my opening and plunge deep inside me, violating me, filling me up, and he started to piston in and out. I felt my asshole stretched open painfully as he pushed in deeper until his balls slapped my ass. He didn't last long. His body tensed up, and he grunted, pushing his swelling cock into me. I felt a hot splash of his semen deep inside me, then he pulled out quickly, and it felt as if he yanked a foot of intestine with him, and another cock pushed in, this time using cum as a lubricant. I felt myself screaming but made no sound.

"His cunt is so tight! This slut loves to get fucked!" Someone called. "Fuck that hole, motherfucker, fuck it hard!"

I tried to struggle, to get up, to fight, but my arms and legs refused to work as cock after cock unloaded into me. My own dick was, again, hard. As if my body was aroused even when they assaulted and humiliated me. It bounced around, spitting clear drops of semen as they took turns fucking me.

"Look, he's coming! That sissy cocksucker is coming from being fucked!" The sweaty and rough crowd disparaged and mocked me.

I looked up. Bill and Mary were looking down on me. They were somehow dressed in formal clothes, clean, groomed, and looking like a red carpet couple. Bill said, "Mary is a fine woman, and she deserves a real man." They elegantly turned and left me there.

Even in the dream, I could feel my face burning red with shame.

Men jerked off onto my face, spooging across my eyes and hair, sticking semen-covered fingers and cocks into my mouth, each competing with the others to abuse or disgrace me more than the others. Everything was a blur--time meant nothing.

Then, a man with a huge dick stepped up, pointing his cock at my face, stroking it, and then he grunted and pushed it past my lips, unloading his pungent ejaculate into my mouth.

"I'm gonna fill your mouth with my spunk, slut! I'm gonna cum all over your fucking face! I'm gonna cum so damn hard!" He swore and grunted like an animal.

As my mouth filled up, I involuntarily gagged, and then I saw him flex his powerful arm and yell, "I said no teeth, bitch!" as he swung it forward, and the room went black.

*****

Then, I found myself sitting alone in the TV room, fully clothed. My penis was still hard, leaking precum into a large spot on the front of my pants. Even now my body betrayed me, disgracing me by getting aroused at the sounds of my wife's debauchery still drifting down from my own bedroom. I could hear men joking and laughing, and I heard Mary pleading, "Bill, don't go!"

Bill simply replied, "You know I don't like sloppy seconds, my sweet little whore."

*****

The men left, in pairs or alone, laughing and staggering out, ignoring me as they passed. Bill was the last to go, and he saw me there sitting on the couch, staring at the TV, the MMA fight long over, the screen glowing a solid blue.

He clapped me on the back. "Nice work, Pete! The guys had a great time! Mary's ready for you. Go have fun!"              

I sat there in silence, crushed under the weight of this latest and most severe disgrace, just praying to fade into nothingness, yet I found myself at our bedroom door.

Mary lay there, in our bed, her hair stuck to her face with dried semen, her legs still spread, her pussy obviously well used, and there was a large wet spot under her. There were empty beer cans and cigarette butts everywhere. She looked over at me, weakly reaching up to kiss me, and said, "I'm ready for you, Pete. Make me yours again." Those words, once sweet, even erotic, now mocked me.

As if sliding my penis into a cunt filled with other men's semen somehow made me her husband again. As if it somehow washed away my sin and forgave her infidelity. I had pretended it did before, for her.

Our bedroom was destroyed, the sheets were stained and crumpled, and my personal things had been rifled through. Our wedding photos lay on the floor, the frames broken. The acrid and slightly Clorox-like smell of semen was thick in the air, along with sweat, body odor, the reek of stale beer, and even urine.

There was a welt on her left breast and more on her buttocks. She had been slapped and spanked.

"Did the guys fuck you good?" I asked absently, ashamed to admit my part, that I didn't stop this. That I let this happen.

Mary nodded.

She followed my eyes as I looked around the room. "You have plenty of cleaning up to do," she remarked casually, unaffected by the destruction around her. "Did you get hard?" she said, wearily. She lifted her head next to mine. "Kiss me Pete" she called out to me. Her breath was potent with musk and semen.

In the dream, I retched.

§§§§§

It woke me up with a start. I looked around, confused. It was just a dream. This was my room, our bedroom. In the moonlight, I could see clean, pressed sheets, and the smell of fresh linens engulfed me with the soft scent of lilacs. Our wedding photo was intact, Mary looking radiant, me grinning like an idiot, the best day of my life. Here, now, I was lying next to Mary, and she was curled up and breathing deeply. I was safe. We were safe.

She loved me.

I loved her.

Bill was my best friend. He would never hurt her.

That wasn't me, the weak man in the dream. It wasn't us. Like an accident victim, I kept reliving the near misses we avoided, narrowly dodging the pain and even destruction of my marriage, but the fear in my mind made it worse. It could have been me. I can't explain why, at that moment she needed me, I was strong enough.

To be honest, the phrase "But for the grace of God..." gave me chills.

I was covered in sweat, my throat dry. Carefully, I slid out of bed to get some water. Sitting at my desk, I saw the book of erotic drawings and art that she published from the photos Bill took. I remembered the memory card we received from the Garden Resort, where we last saw Bill. I had it encrypted and secreted in a drawer nearby, unwatched.

I pulled up a porn site, stripped naked, and started to stroke my dick. I needed to orgasm to release the endorphins that would help me sleep. I needed to see strangers having sex--dispassionate, artificial, and staged. Safe.

The memory card, the disturbing dreams. It seems I was keeping more secrets than Mary did. I knew I should seek counseling, but I wasn't ready to relive that time yet and confess my confusion and anxiety to a stranger. I needed to forget it all--just for a little while.

I climaxed, shooting my load all over my chest, even hitting my chin. I sat there for a moment, catching my breath, feeling my hot and sticky semen drip down my muscles, cooling in the night air.

"That was one heck of a show," Mary said, out of the darkness, amused. I nearly jumped out of my skin. She came over to me, seeing the mess I'd made, then pulled her nightshirt over her head and started to dab the wet spots on my chest.

There is something wondrous about the sight of a woman exposing her breasts. Especially when they are as magnificent as Mary's. I've seen them a hundred times, and I wanted to see them a million more.

"Nightmare again?" she stated more than asked.

"How long have you known?" I inquired, partly to myself. "Since the beginning, I think. Pete, you talk in your sleep," she informed me, a knowing grin on her perfect lips.

"I have them too," she admitted quietly. "I can't hide from the pain I caused you." She touched the binder of her book of erotic art, the drawings, and the pictures she created from her affair. "I can't change the past."

"I've been seeing a counselor. She has recommended one for you, an older man experienced with healing trauma." She passed me a card. I took it, feeling the embossed letters "Dr. Abraham" and the raised logo of his practice.

Maybe God put the tree of knowledge into the garden as a key to the outside. Perhaps he knew, and even Eve suspected, that the garden was a cage rather than true life. Adam and Eve needed to escape, and they needed to do it themselves. It wasn't seduction that made Adam take that bite--it was love.

I left the card on my keyboard as a reminder to call in the morning.

Dr. Abraham's logo was an apple.

Every picture tells a story: Part 4

Note to readers: Read Parts 1, 2 & 3 first; you will enjoy this so much more if you do.

Pete has a recurring nightmare that Bill and Mary cuck him. In it, Bill invites his friends over to bang Mary as Pete is forced to watch. Pete realized how close he came to losing everything. This chapter is far darker than the others. Love it or hate it, please leave a comment.

Warning: This story contains non-consensual themes.

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Another restless night. Sleep eluded me, and when it came, it was accompanied by the same horrific dream.

Desperate to sleep, I'd try to meditate or concentrate on a puzzle or a conundrum to clear my mind and force myself to focus on one pleasurable subject, which would drown out all other bothersome thoughts.

My favorite thing to concentrate on was the story of Adam and Eve. The devil lusted after their souls, but as innocent creatures, they were untouchable. Adam was loyal to Eve, stalwart, and completely incorruptible, at least by the devil.

Eve, however, was intelligent, curious, and unquestionably in love with Adam. Maybe she was paradoxically Adam's weakness?

Adam came upon Eve in the garden being seduced by a handsome man, a beguiling snake. She turned to Adam and smiled, inviting him to join them and offering him her half-eaten apple.

Adam knew the apple was forbidden. He could have left, turned his back, and stayed pure. Or he might have taken Eve's hand, and together they begged God to make things as they were. He'd lost Lillith, never understanding why, and he loved Eve now--she was literally a part of him.

Eve offered him the apple, seducing him as the devil had seduced her. At the moment of decision, Adam held out his hand, either to rush Eve to safety or to accept the apple she offered. That unsettling moment of not knowing, then a decision.

Then the image would fade, and my nightmare would start. It was vivid and detailed. Disturbing.

§§§§§

It always started the same way: in the dream, my old phone chimed. It was Bill, my best friend. "Hey," I said, putting the phone to my ear.

I heard the sounds of a woman's cries of ecstasy, grunts and cries of passion, the unmistakable sounds of her gagging, and the slapping of wet skin on skin. "Oh, God, yes! Give me your tasty cock! Mmm, mmm, mmm," she begged, then gagged again.

"Suck it, you dirty slut. Oh, yes, suck that big dick!" Bill said repeatedly. This"nightmare" version of Bill was coarse, dominating, and cold.

"Mmm, mmm, oh, God, I love your cock!" she cried, gasping for air.

In the dream, I recognized my wife's voice on the phone.

"Oh yeah, it feels so good. Oh, faster, faster. OH!" I heard her say.

"Pete? I'm fucking your wife!" he boasted. "She loves it, Pete! She loves fucking me!"

Over the sounds of passion and lust, I heard Bill ask, "Are you hard yet, Pete? Is this making you hard?"

"Yeah, Bill, my dick is rock hard," I confessed, sounding completely defeated. It was true, but it was also what she, what they, wanted to hear me say.

I listened as my gorgeous wife took Bill's thick cock in her ready pussy and obviously enjoyed every minute of it. The sounds she was making were sensual, joyful, and satisfying. She obviously enjoyed being used and dominated by Bill. In the vision of my nightmares, Mary disregarded my lies, easing her acceptance of my cuck role.

"Yeah, fuck her, Bill! I'm stroking my cock while you fuck my wife. She loves fucking you, and it makes me so hot too! Fuck that pussy good, then send her home!" I added weakly. Just as I was expected to do.

"You got it, bro!" Bill promised. "Eat her hot little pussy too! You know she loves that!"

Even dreaming, I heard him grunt and knew he was ejaculating his gooey load into my wife, bareback.

It was Mary's insistence that Bill call or send pictures. She wanted her cuck husband aroused, eagerly anticipating his turn. Bill eagerly agreed, all swagger and bravado, the alpha displaying his prize.

He would finish in her, sending her back immediately after he was done, so I'd know he'd had her first.

She'd be home soon, sweaty and used but ready to fuck her husband. She usually demanded I hold my orgasm in until then. That part was easy, even if my body was showing signs of arousal.

I was heartbroken. It felt real.

I wanted to tell her that I hated that she was cheating on me. I was devastated when I learned. It hurt every time she repeated it. When I discovered her affair, from Bill no less, I felt ashamed, like I failed her in a big way. She lectured me, "Pete, surely you must have known, right? I mean, Bill could hardly keep a secret."

And she was right. It started out slowly. I would see Bill and Mary together, but we were all friends, so it wasn't odd. Bill came and went to our home freely. He'd arrive, just as I was leaving for work, saying, "Just going to borrow your pipe wrench, bud!" Or, at other times more plainly, he'd be leaving just as I arrived. "Just returning the keys, got your motor running!" he'd shout as he pulled away. Then, he started getting more bawdy, or even lewd: "Just giving Mary a hard time!" or "Only stopped by to get my joint adjusted!"

At first, Mary would be out the door, "Off to the gym!" in her sexy spandex leggings and top, always at times when she knew I could not join her. Then it became. "Going to drop off some buns at Bill's house!" or once, while wearing a jogging bra and short tennis skirt, waved to me and called, "I'm off to pick up some balls!" always something playfully suggestive.

I thought it was a shared joke, sexy banter between friends, risque and raunchy, but only a tease.

Mary seemed very affectionate later. I always knew she had a little crush on him (as did many other girls), and I certainly didn't mind the attention she gave me after seeing him. I guess my ego blinded me to the clues, the open signs. She was dressing sexier, but not for me. She was often gone, and neither would answer their phone at those times. Was it my foolish trust that made me oblivious? Or my pride? My social ineptitude?

"Pete, surely you must have known, right?" Her words stung. I felt like that was an accusation, that I didn't know my own wife, that I'd never paid attention to her. Something about the way she asked me made me feel ashamed.

Maybe it was that if she was really, obviously cheating behind my back, and I didn't know, it was a tacit admission that she married a fool. In any case, I was shattered, humiliated, and desperate for an escape from the obvious truth.

So, I lied, "Of course I knew! Bill makes you happy. I get aroused thinking of you and him pretending to be sneaking around on me." Somehow I thought I was protecting her feelings and hiding mine. Selfishly, perhaps, hiding my shame and stupidity. But the lies got harder to maintain. And now, she believed her affair was getting me off sexually, so she did it more and more. My lies had trapped us both, making things worse. In the vision of my nightmares, Mary disregarded my lies, easing her acceptance of my cuck role.

Soon after the phone call, my wife, Mary, was home, her hair disheveled, her face flushed. "My spin class gets me sweaty and hot!" she insisted in a sexy voice, but we both knew differently now. I foolishly assumed it was my good luck that she still wanted me. I mean, she came home, right? She would seductively take my hand and lead me to the bedroom...

Even though she was obviously fatigued, she'd have sex with me, dutiful and ready, but there was never much variety or foreplay, and it would be over as quickly as it started. Without meaning to, I was actually making Bill out to be the better lover by comparison, I guess. I was making a mess of everything.

This time, she seemed more excited than usual. "Hi, Pete," she purred in a sexy but weary voice.

Mary sat down next to me and put her arm around me. "Did you enjoy that?" she asked. "I tried to make it really wild for you!" Her sweet voice, the same one I heard climaxing on the phone a little while ago.

"Bill promised me you were getting off listening to us! Especially that last orgasm! Whew! That was exciting!" she added, passionately.

She nuzzled my neck and nibbled at my ear. It felt good. "Bill got a kick out of having you play along as the unsuspecting husband... It felt so exciting, so sinful."

"Yes..." I lied.

"It's better now that you know, right?" she asked. "I think it's so sexy!" she admitted, running her hand along my chest.

We had this same conversation a dozen times. I died a little each time, buried beneath the weight of my lies, impossible to escape anymore.

My wife, Mary, thought I would enjoy being a cuck, a subordinate husband. That's the part that hurt the worst, that put me into a state of shock. I was desperate to stop this, to honestly tell her I hated her affair, that I lied to protect her feelings, and that I needed it to stop. She needed to stop.

She reached down and rubbed my hard dick through my jeans. "Mmmm, yes!" she murmured into my ear. "You are ready!"

But I was weak.

"Bill knew you liked it when I was bad. And I've been really bad. I've been so dirty, so nasty for you! Does that make you hot?" she whispered in a sultry voice, the tip of her tongue tracing around my ear. "But I'll always come home to you. And be yours again, you know? Your wife, your wicked, dirty wife?" She murmured in a sexy voice.

"Yes," I lied to her, even though I was hurting inside. Why? Possibly because it made her feel better about the whole thing. Bill had exposed her cheating, brazenly boasting about his conquest to me even while he fucked her. At the time, I could see the shame and remorse in her eyes. I took the bullet, trying to protect her, even then. I would not let him do that to her: no heartache, no disgrace, at least on her part. Me? That was a different matter.

She kissed me as she pulled me into the bedroom.

Bill savored ordering Mary to pamper me afterwards, flaunting his dominance. Maybe to ease his own guilty conscience?

"That pussy is too good for your husband, but make sure you keep him happy!" he'd say.

She did assure Bill I was "taken care of," even as our own sexual encounters became ever more obligatory and brief. Bill never went down on her, and I didn't anymore after Bill boasted that he always sent her pussy home full of his foul ejaculate. Of course, Mary let me eat her pussy, never confessing to what she held for me between her legs. Now, I could not bear the thought of it. She'd even show me how well fucked her pussy was, wet and dripping from her last lover, inviting me to kiss it, to taste it, and of course, him. But I'd avoid it--I'd simply mount her, pushing my dick into her, getting things over with. If she wanted her pussy licked, I'd prefer it unsullied, but that was rarely the case these days.

Their exchanges of sexual favors were becoming more frequent, but I was no longer invited, either. That didn't mean I didn't hear them or that he didn't send me pictures. Most recently, she was often tired and in a hurry, so she'd describe how Bill made her feel sexy or show me pictures he took on her phone of her climaxing or with his dick in her mouth while she jerked me off.

Once their sexual affair was out in the open, the situation deteriorated quickly.

Now, Bill would appear at odd times, pull her to him, kiss her, and grab her ass, saying, "Good morning, slut! How is that sweet pussy? Are you thinking about my big dick?" Mary would blush, admonishing him, "Bill, not in front of Pete!" I would find a reason to leave, or Bill would find me one. Sometimes, I stood outside my own house, listening to the sounds they made until they were done.

The situation was spiraling downward with each passing day.

I felt as if I were trapped in a rip tide, helplessly being pulled out to sea. I sensed the tide becoming stronger and faster threatening to sweep me away, lost, vanished, and forgotten.

Bill grew increasingly audacious. One night he arrived as we were getting into bed. Mary was just snuggled up against me, and I held her, feeling her warmth against my skin. Feeling close to her for the first time in a while, I tried to muster the courage to admit everything. Taking a deep breath, aware it would hurt us both, but I had to save us, I had to tell her the truth.

Then, unannounced, Bill walked into the bedroom, kissed Mary, and started taking off his clothes, his dick already hard. Mary protested, "Bill! Pete's right here!" But he jauntily replied, "I'm going to fuck your wife, Pete!" Bill pushed a pillow and blanket into my hands and ushered me into the hall, calling after me, "I'll wake you up when we're done!"

He closed the door. I heard Mary giggle, "Bill, you're so bad!"

Then I heard the familiar sounds of Bill fucking her. "Come here, slut! Give me that pussy!"

I listened, shamefully jerking off to the sounds of lust and passion they made, until I ejaculated, then I left to sleep on the couch.

That morning, Mary was gone. There was a note on the refrigerator:

- Bill wants to see the Sullivan/David MMA fight on pay-per-view on Saturday afternoon.

- Buy beer, wings, and chips, too.

- Love you, Mary.

The very expensive event fee, not to mention the shopping she expected, seemed like a lot to ask. Was I expected to quietly comply? More than a little offended and upset, I called Mary at work. "Mary, when did we start paying for Bill's entertainment?" I questioned her.

"Bill has invited a few friends over to watch the fight. He said you can bring your friends too! Expect about 5 from Bill's side! Love you!" she replied curtly and hung up.

At first, I relished the idea of inviting my friends over. Since Bill and Mary had started being open about their sexual encounters, I found myself more and more isolated. Maybe a house full of people would keep Bill in line?

Then I imagined Bill having sex with Mary boldly, shamelessly, right there in front of my friends. They would look at me and know the truth. Would they leave, disgusted to be seen with me? Or, would they take their turn at Mary? I shuddered at the thought. No, I would not risk it.

*****

The outfit she was wearing was clearly Bill's idea. He had Mary don a used thrift-store t-shirt, the collar and sleeves torn out, with a faded logo that read "Boobies" with an owl leering through the letter "O" with each eye. It was so short she had to tie it around her midriff, and the thin material seemed to accentuate her breasts more than cover them. A tiny, used, almost child-sized red skirt that barely covered her ass, and a red g-string completed her outfit. (At least that last item still had new tags on it.) My intelligent, educated wife dressed like a fantasy whore from a truck stop diner.

What had I done to her?

A line of men, led by Bill, filed into my basement. He stood under that giant photo of himself sucking my dick. Bill announced, "Boys, this was the price of admission. Never forget what I went through to set this night up!" They all jeer at me, "Bill sucked a cock, but he's still fucking your wife!"

They all knew. He'd told them. Mary's admonition, "Bill can't keep a secret," echoed in my head. Even this? I felt sick and weak. I found a chair off to the side and collapsed into it.

*****

The prize fight event on TV had started, and the crowd's loud cheering on the screen mixed with the hoots and whistles from Bill's friends. The juxtaposition of Mary playing the half-naked slut while two men fought on the screen behind her was a sign. It was an expensive ticket, but no one here was really watching. I put out the food and beer I bought too. Bill's friends attacked the cold beer with gusto, getting drunker by the minute.

"She is so hot!" someone remarked to Bill. "You gotta feel this married ass," they joked to each other, pawing at Mary. Making a feeble attempt to defend her honor and mine, she would giggle and move away. "Stop it! My husband is right there!" she protested, as part of the act. "How about showing me your boobs?" someone asked. Mary looked over at me, rolling her eyes as if to say, "Boys, am I right?"

The act was for my sake, but pretending she cared about my honor made it seem harsh. Except for the occasional sideways glances of scorn and disgust and the snide comments referring to her "stupid cuck husband," that is. My downward slide into disgrace accelerated.

The shame I endured when Mary destroyed our marriage by sleeping with Bill was excruciating, growing more hurtful daily. Now, the further humiliation of watching her being paraded like a slut trophy among his crude, vile friends. Bill even bragged about being the one who got Mary to break her vows and painted me as a pathetic, cheated spouse. It was nearly unbearable. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment. I longed to escape, to run endlessly, leaving it all behind, or to burn the place down, bulldoze it, and erase it from existence.

But I was trapped, and I couldn't leave her. And it was about to get much worse.

Eventually, Bill took me aside, saying, "Pete, go make a beer run. Okay, buddy?" and handed me $10. I looked at the full cooler in front of the TV, but Bill was already pushing me outside and closing the door behind me. My car was blocked in by at least 4 other vehicles, and I stood there like a fool. I heard Mary and the men inside laughing, catcalling, and cheering for maybe 15 more minutes, and then it got quiet. I let myself back in.

The expensive pay-per-view fight was still on my TV, forgotten now. Mary's damp G-string was lying on the floor, along with a pair of men's jean shorts and a jockstrap. Near the stairs were a pair of sweatpants and men's underwear.

I shuddered as I realized they were more interested in the show unfolding in my bedroom.

"Good girl. Suck it good." I heard someone say. I heard Mary moaning and a man's voice, "What a sexy slut! Look at how hot she is!"

Trembling, I walked up the stairs to our bedroom. Bill was sitting naked on the bed, and Mary was looking up at him with her mouth halfway down the shaft of his cock. Her shirt was gone, and her tits were exposed. Frothy drool and spittle dripped off her chin onto his nuts.

"Keep sucking that dick! Whoa, she's deep-throating you, man! Does it feel good?" I heard Bill respond, bragging, "Yea!! This slut can suck a cock!"

When I entered the room, Mary spied me, then half-smiled, as if she was shy about being caught. We both knew that was a lie.

"Don't worry about him," Bill turned her head back to his cock and said, "He wants to see me fuck you as bad as you want me inside your slutty cunt." He pushed her head down, and he slipped his wet, dripping cock back between her lips. "He loves watching my cock slide in you. But first, you're going to suck it, make it hard for your cheating pussy!"

"You're in for a treat, Pete!" Bill boasted, and his friends all snickered at his joke.

"That's one hell of a slut you got there, Bill. Hope we don't spoil her for you," someone commented as he stripped naked, his large, hard dick bouncing free.

The guys all followed suit, stripping down in a room crowded with them, lustfully staring at her, stroking their hard cocks. Mary glanced back at me, looking scared. Maybe having second thoughts? Bill took her head in his hands, wiping the drool from her face, daring her. "Are you my slut? Will you do anything I ask? My friends came all this way to show you a good time. You wanted this. You asked for this, right, slut?"

"For you, Bill, yes. Fuck me," she insisted. Bill stood her up and faced her away from me. I tried to shout, "No!" but my mouth didn't move. Desperately, I tried to get to her, but my body seemed frozen in place.

Mary pleaded with him. "Yes, Bill! Please! I'm your slut. Fuck me now!" He roughly bent her over to the rude cheers of his friends. The tip of his cock neared her pussy from behind. I watched it part her wet pussy lips, and it slowly sank inside my wife as she moaned with pleasure. Bill started fucking her. Men blocked my view, and I was confused. Then they parted, and I could see Mary again.

Bill pulled his slick, jizz-covered dick out of her pussy, and he was quickly replaced by a man with a large cock.

Bill put his face next to Mary's and told her, "Beg him to fuck your slut pussy!"

"Please fuck me with your big, hard cock," she begged. "I love it! Oh God, it's so big, it goes so deep. I never knew it could be like this! Oh, so good! Oh. Oh!"

"Take that cock, you cheating whore!" someone yelled.

"Fuck, it's huge!" she gasped. It was huge--they all were, like 8 inches long, thick, and with large, fat mushroom heads.

"Yeah, and it's going to give you a fucking like you never had before," one man growled at her.

A few minutes later she cried, "I'm your slut, you fuck toy. Do anything you want with me, fuck me, fuck me!!"

I watched this group of naked, sweaty men take turns on my wife. Some of them were stroking hard, thick shafts, getting ready, and now the men who had already ejaculated were semi-hard, their dicks wet and dripping, balls swinging as they moved around for a better look.

Although shamefaced, I knew I was no better than they were. We were all watching a live porn performance as voyeurs, an audience. But I was the only one humiliated, mocked, and not allowed to participate.

I looked around the room: naked men, defined muscles, tattoos, a variety of large penises, smooth balls, and hairy, sweaty men fresh from sexual conquest. Was I really being silent to make my wife happy? Did I really believe that? Or, more shamefully, was I whoring out my own wife for my own secret homoerotic fantasy?

Bill saw me standing in the hall watching and walked over to where I stood. I thought he would say something to reassure me in some way, but then he closed the door in my face. The vision was always blurry at that point. I could hear the sounds: sex, a fight between men unwilling to wait for a turn, and over it all, my wife's passionate cries.

Then I wasn't standing in the dark hall. Suddenly, I was lying in my bed naked as Bill fed me his cock. "Come on, slut! Suck that meat!" he yelled to the cheering of the guys surrounding me. I looked around, and I was surrounded by naked men, stroking hard cocks, each eager for their turn. Bill twisted my head back, then raised his muscular arm up and warned, "Watch those teeth, bitch!" before he continued to fuck my mouth.

"Fuck! This slut loves cock, right?"

He grunted and ejaculated into my mouth. Hot, sticky semen flooded into my throat and spilled through my lips, running down my face. Another hard cock replaced his and started pumping his thick, nasty jizz into my open mouth.

"Fuck that cocksucker!" I heard. "Oh yeah, sissy boy, your dick is even getting hard! Thinking about getting your tight little asshole fucked, aren't you?"

In an absurd contradiction, my dick was growing hard, yet I was mortified and struggling to escape, even as they held me fast. A feeling of being disconnected, like an observer inside my own head, a duality of thought and emotion. I felt two men pull my legs up, and a third positioned himself between my legs and spat on my asshole. Disbelieving what I felt, even as my body submitted, arousal washed over me. Suddenly, I wanted to feel these rough men inside me.

"Ohhh, yes!" someone jeered. "Finger that cunt! Get that hole ready! Stretch him out good!"

"Oh, god yes, fuck me!" I heard myself say, incredibly.

I felt pressure at my ass, then like a punch in my gut, and a sharp pain at my hole. I felt the tip of the cock push through my opening and plunge deep inside me, violating me, filling me up, and he started to piston in and out. I felt my asshole stretched open painfully as he pushed in deeper until his balls slapped my ass. He didn't last long. His body tensed up, and he grunted, pushing his swelling cock into me. I felt a hot splash of his semen deep inside me, then he pulled out quickly, and it felt as if he yanked a foot of intestine with him, and another cock pushed in, this time using cum as a lubricant. I felt myself screaming but made no sound.

"His cunt is so tight! This slut loves to get fucked!" Someone called. "Fuck that hole, motherfucker, fuck it hard!"

I tried to struggle, to get up, to fight, but my arms and legs refused to work as cock after cock unloaded into me. My own dick was, again, hard. As if my body was aroused even when they assaulted and humiliated me. It bounced around, spitting clear drops of semen as they took turns fucking me.

"Look, he's coming! That sissy cocksucker is coming from being fucked!" The sweaty and rough crowd disparaged and mocked me.

I looked up. Bill and Mary were looking down on me. They were somehow dressed in formal clothes, clean, groomed, and looking like a red carpet couple. Bill said, "Mary is a fine woman, and she deserves a real man." They elegantly turned and left me there.

Even in the dream, I could feel my face burning red with shame.

Men jerked off onto my face, spooging across my eyes and hair, sticking semen-covered fingers and cocks into my mouth, each competing with the others to abuse or disgrace me more than the others. Everything was a blur--time meant nothing.

Then, a man with a huge dick stepped up, pointing his cock at my face, stroking it, and then he grunted and pushed it past my lips, unloading his pungent ejaculate into my mouth.

"I'm gonna fill your mouth with my spunk, slut! I'm gonna cum all over your fucking face! I'm gonna cum so damn hard!" He swore and grunted like an animal.

As my mouth filled up, I involuntarily gagged, and then I saw him flex his powerful arm and yell, "I said no teeth, bitch!" as he swung it forward, and the room went black.

*****

Then, I found myself sitting alone in the TV room, fully clothed. My penis was still hard, leaking precum into a large spot on the front of my pants. Even now my body betrayed me, disgracing me by getting aroused at the sounds of my wife's debauchery still drifting down from my own bedroom. I could hear men joking and laughing, and I heard Mary pleading, "Bill, don't go!"

Bill simply replied, "You know I don't like sloppy seconds, my sweet little whore."

*****

The men left, in pairs or alone, laughing and staggering out, ignoring me as they passed. Bill was the last to go, and he saw me there sitting on the couch, staring at the TV, the MMA fight long over, the screen glowing a solid blue.

He clapped me on the back. "Nice work, Pete! The guys had a great time! Mary's ready for you. Go have fun!"              

I sat there in silence, crushed under the weight of this latest and most severe disgrace, just praying to fade into nothingness, yet I found myself at our bedroom door.

Mary lay there, in our bed, her hair stuck to her face with dried semen, her legs still spread, her pussy obviously well used, and there was a large wet spot under her. There were empty beer cans and cigarette butts everywhere. She looked over at me, weakly reaching up to kiss me, and said, "I'm ready for you, Pete. Make me yours again." Those words, once sweet, even erotic, now mocked me.

As if sliding my penis into a cunt filled with other men's semen somehow made me her husband again. As if it somehow washed away my sin and forgave her infidelity. I had pretended it did before, for her.

Our bedroom was destroyed, the sheets were stained and crumpled, and my personal things had been rifled through. Our wedding photos lay on the floor, the frames broken. The acrid and slightly Clorox-like smell of semen was thick in the air, along with sweat, body odor, the reek of stale beer, and even urine.

There was a welt on her left breast and more on her buttocks. She had been slapped and spanked.

"Did the guys fuck you good?" I asked absently, ashamed to admit my part, that I didn't stop this. That I let this happen.

Mary nodded.

She followed my eyes as I looked around the room. "You have plenty of cleaning up to do," she remarked casually, unaffected by the destruction around her. "Did you get hard?" she said, wearily. She lifted her head next to mine. "Kiss me Pete" she called out to me. Her breath was potent with musk and semen.

In the dream, I retched.

§§§§§

It woke me up with a start. I looked around, confused. It was just a dream. This was my room, our bedroom. In the moonlight, I could see clean, pressed sheets, and the smell of fresh linens engulfed me with the soft scent of lilacs. Our wedding photo was intact, Mary looking radiant, me grinning like an idiot, the best day of my life. Here, now, I was lying next to Mary, and she was curled up and breathing deeply. I was safe. We were safe.

She loved me.

I loved her.

Bill was my best friend. He would never hurt her.

That wasn't me, the weak man in the dream. It wasn't us. Like an accident victim, I kept reliving the near misses we avoided, narrowly dodging the pain and even destruction of my marriage, but the fear in my mind made it worse. It could have been me. I can't explain why, at that moment she needed me, I was strong enough.

To be honest, the phrase "But for the grace of God..." gave me chills.

I was covered in sweat, my throat dry. Carefully, I slid out of bed to get some water. Sitting at my desk, I saw the book of erotic drawings and art that she published from the photos Bill took. I remembered the memory card we received from the Garden Resort, where we last saw Bill. I had it encrypted and secreted in a drawer nearby, unwatched.

I pulled up a porn site, stripped naked, and started to stroke my dick. I needed to orgasm to release the endorphins that would help me sleep. I needed to see strangers having sex--dispassionate, artificial, and staged. Safe.

The memory card, the disturbing dreams. It seems I was keeping more secrets than Mary did. I knew I should seek counseling, but I wasn't ready to relive that time yet and confess my confusion and anxiety to a stranger. I needed to forget it all--just for a little while.

I climaxed, shooting my load all over my chest, even hitting my chin. I sat there for a moment, catching my breath, feeling my hot and sticky semen drip down my muscles, cooling in the night air.

"That was one heck of a show," Mary said, out of the darkness, amused. I nearly jumped out of my skin. She came over to me, seeing the mess I'd made, then pulled her nightshirt over her head and started to dab the wet spots on my chest.

There is something wondrous about the sight of a woman exposing her breasts. Especially when they are as magnificent as Mary's. I've seen them a hundred times, and I wanted to see them a million more.

"Nightmare again?" she stated more than asked.

"How long have you known?" I inquired, partly to myself. "Since the beginning, I think. Pete, you talk in your sleep," she informed me, a knowing grin on her perfect lips.

"I have them too," she admitted quietly. "I can't hide from the pain I caused you." She touched the binder of her book of erotic art, the drawings, and the pictures she created from her affair. "I can't change the past."

"I've been seeing a counselor. She has recommended one for you, an older man experienced with healing trauma." She passed me a card. I took it, feeling the embossed letters "Dr. Abraham" and the raised logo of his practice.

Maybe God put the tree of knowledge into the garden as a key to the outside. Perhaps he knew, and even Eve suspected, that the garden was a cage rather than true life. Adam and Eve needed to escape, and they needed to do it themselves. It wasn't seduction that made Adam take that bite--it was love.

I left the card on my keyboard as a reminder to call in the morning.

Dr. Abraham's logo was an apple.