The Dawn of Juno's Cuckoo

DISCLAIMER

This story is posted on the Literotica website, and the author does not permit for it to be reposted or reprinted anywhere else without consent. The story and all characters are fictional. Any resemblance to businesses or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. The author does not condone the illegal, unethical and immoral acts of the characters in this fiction.

INTRODUCTION

So, as the title implies, this is a cuckold/cheating/hotwife saga. On top of that, this will become a very thrilling but dark erotic tale.

The Burning of Juno's Cuckoo will be a lengthy tale, multi-novel, and will have bouts of incredibly detailed sex and chapters with no sex at all. This is a slow build-up story in service to the suspense, sex and character development.

I do have a bit of a quandary: In erotica and romance, it is very hard to place a story that is strongly romantic but does not have a HEA, no matter how dark. Any dark romance without an HEA is often regulated as Erotic horror, but I find that to be an extreme alternative, so I've had trouble putting this in any category since there does not seem to be a tag or category in between.

For the time being, I'm going to call this a Horrific Romance, though I'm interested in any suggestions once this story is complete.

I am not one to use trigger warnings, if I can help it, but I understand that there are varying levels of tolerance within every category of kinky fiction for their respective communities. With this in mind, I will split this saga into four series with general tags for each as the saga becomes darker, more intense, dabbling into erotic horror elements in the later stages:

Series 1: The Dawn of Juno's Cuckoo. (You are Here)

Series 2: The Noon of Juno's Cuckoo.

Series 3: The Dusk of Juno's Cuckoo.

Series 4: The void of Juno's Cuckoo.

Series 1: The Dawn of Juno's Cuckoo features untrustworthy, morally dubious, selfish main characters engaging in illegal and immoral activities; strong elements of female domination, humiliation, sadism, masochism and emotional/psychological abuse; and light explorations of sexual toys and equipment.

If by reading these things you find your heart skips a beat, a slight tingle between your legs or your eyes come alive, then welcome! I hope the thrill that these types of stories give us can be found here.

For those who were disquieted, repulsed, or even offended by my warnings, that is a good sign, and I suggest you heed it by moving on to a story you can enjoy. I am committed to telling the story I want, and I'm not changing it to appeal to anyone but myself foremost.

(Apologies for any spelling or grammatical errors; I lack an editor at this time.)

Please read and enjoy!

=========

Chapter 1: Made for Sport of Tricks

Jason Winters -

"What about his one... uh, Tennis player, Novak Simvani-I think that's how you say his-"

"Novak! Holy shit! Grand Slam here we come!"

"I wish! A different Novak, this one."

"Jaz, you got any...'details'?"

That's me, by the way, Jaz Winters. It was Jas, short for Jason. I can't tell you when it was shortened to Jas, but I can tell you the culprits for Jaz were sitting with me in this room. One of them -and I have my suppositions who- accidentally misspelled my name -the shortened version of it- as 'Jaz' on my visitors pass at a networking event, and I only realised I liked it when I met my wife.

Reaching across the desk in our small, clustered office space, I pulled over a suitcase before quickly entering the lock sequence to reveal a folder of documents.

"Let us see here. N. Simvani?" I asked.

"That's the one," Kyle, the Go-getter of our current team of five, said, rearranging his glasses before wiping his brow; it was hot in this cramped meeting room.

I leafed through the files, covering the sight of them with the suitcase lid. My wife had signed an NDA after all.

"Got it... hmmm... ah... misdemeanour," I said.

"Any jail time?"

"No... but he has some time on here for community service."

"That's spinnable," the old bossman Felix said. He wasn't old, only a year older than me at 49, and to hell with anyone who would say otherwise. There was a difference between being north of middle age and being an old man wetting himself as he crossed the street. "Do you know what he did?"

I grimaced slightly.

"Public indecency, it seems."

"Still spinnable," Kyle said with an edge of doubt.

"Unfortunately, he has fines in the past for similar," I said.

"Well, what did he do?"

"The formal wording is 'public sodomy'."

"Christ!" Felix cursed, and the others groaned.

"Cheery news. What happened to that archer of yours, Jaz? I believe you thought he had some traction with Dambrooke?" Felix asked.

"Certainly, Felix. Dylan Thorpe contacted me just yesterday about a circuit he's running in collaboration with HGM, the Horse and Games Mobile. He's angling for archery on horseback to energise the crowd!"

The team was doubtful, I could sense.

"Do you have his files?"

"Yes, one moment," I responded, taking the request as a hopeful sign as I went through the folders. "D. Thorpe..." I muttered.

"It's going to be a tough sell, Mister Winters. Spreading our portfolio on an archer when we don't have a great scene of it in London..." Kyle began doubtfully, folding his arms under his sweaty armpits.

"I know, of course, that archers are a bit of a hard sell for serious sports sponsors," I started my case, rubbing my brow, struggling to find the blasted papers. "Any non-DIY athletics usually are, I'll concede that. Dylon will never be a household name unless he wins the Olympics, but I thought I should branch out of the DIYs and move into more exotic territory."

"I'm all for branching out, but do we have the manpower, Jaz?" Felix argued. "I understand your strategy, instead of a small number of big, but risky commissions, work on a host of less risky but more numerous commissions. We used to do that, but until we start bringing in serious numbers, we can't hire the extra help to match."

I grimaced now. Where were Dylon's files? Surely Eva had put them in one of the folders? Had she forgotten?

"I'm thinking about competition, too. As it stands, we're fighting with lions and tigers for these high-profile sport sectors, but the non-DIYS have fewer agents with heavy pull, and any that do have are more likely sole traders lacking our connections. There's a large pool to exploit, and I think testing the waters -where are they?- Sorry. Testing the waters with Dylon may provide us, and Dambrooke, with opportunities and tactics we're missing out on!" I said a bit desperately.

"Winters, I'm down for that idea, but I'm not sure if we can take the collateral if the invested time-" Kyle tried to argue further,

"Dylon is clean, consistent and ambitious. I met his parents myself, and his trainer has him winning blind folded competitions. Dambrooke already has space for some archery competitions, Eva told me about, and- where are those blasted files!?"

"They might not be there, Jaz," Sierra said, not harshly, but that made my embarrassment more telling.

"No, she would have put them in, she knew I needed them for today's meeting..."

"Well, in the meantime, can we perhaps entertain others?" Kyle asked.

"Do you have mine?" Jamal Burton, the only black man among us, with an accent so rich you would have thought he had been in Harry Potter as a young boy. Unlike the rest of us mature paupers, Jamal actually looked like a talent agent. "Conrad Westcastle."

"The 'Marathon man, '" Kyle added.

"Even though he's a sprinter," Felix chuckled.

I was frustrated and embarrassed, and rather than highlight the point of a fruitless search, I decided to just focus on helping the team. What it said about the poor communication between my wife and me was something I was too grumpy to entertain.

I easily found Jamal's man; it had its own folder with a post-it note...

"C. Westcastle... No dirt I can see, but he's inconsistent," I said, not trying to think about something building inside of me.

Jamal waved his hand as if swatting a fly. "Posh, He's had some sickness in the past, it's true, but he's short and fast; he already has a top speed of thirty-five kilometres an hour and an average of twenty-eight. Given resources, time and training, he can be a big contender!"

"For what, a buyout?" I asked sceptically, honestly peeved and feeling something else at what I was starting to suspect was not a simple mistake on Eva's part.

"The Olympics!"

"Fucking hell..." everyone said before devolving into hearty laughter, Jamal joining in, and easing up some of my unwanted attention.

"We can't afford an Olympian; other talent agencies will scout him and offer him a better deal. Better to raise him and manage a buyout," Kyle said.

"But he has what it takes!" Jamal argued.

"He might, we don't," Felix sighed. "Look around you, Jamal, we're not exactly Wasserman or the CAA. I barely make enough to pay for the kids' University fees, let alone the funds we need to pay off Jacob Krommli."

We were sitting in our office meeting room in a Technology Park, essentially a series of rooms that were collectively no larger than the first floor of your average home. It wasn't too bad during peak times when we were rushing out to meet clients and networking events, but as it stood, we rented out hotels rather than bring clients here. The sorry state of our affairs would likely drive them away.

"We're not doing bad with our commissions, but we need a sizable war chest and stallions in our stable before we start heading off to the races," Sierra Maryland, our chief of logistics and finance, said, crossing her arms. She was a cropped-haired soccer mom whom I had known in college before joining the army until a wound retired her out to end up working for our talent firm, KTA, Krommli Talent Agency. She kept the lights on, so to speak, and kept the place from being a complete sausage fest along with Cheryl.

"Yeah, but as Jamal says, he's good. I've heard of him, and I've asked around, and people know him from the past," Kyle argued now with Sierra. "He's going to have some kind of fanbase, and he must be good with the local community if they talk about him still. Good optics, a good fanbase, and super DIY pull. And the 'Marathon Man' works too. It's more than marketable for Dambrooke, especially if he's got the stamina for both short and long-distance running."

"Jaz," she said, turning to me in a way that reminded me of the young brunette who wrestled in anti-establishment rallies back in the nineties. "Is there any reason Westcastle is inconsistent?"

I shook my head under her scrutiny. It was nothing bad, it was nothing like my wife's judgment, but that military training shone through all the same. "All it really says, Sierra, is that he used to go on nightly binges, visiting the local raves and such."

She paused, thought to herself, and gave a brief nod before turning to Jamal.

"Drug and alcohol test, Jamal -let me stop you there. I know he has potential, and I'm not saying we're going to drop him if something comes up. Really, we just need some evidence to scare him into rehab."

"I don't want to scare him off..." Jamal said wearily.

"Invite him to the Tulip festival Dambrooke is sponsoring. We'll have them make all the right noises; bells and whistles."

"Money and cars," Kyle interjected.

Sierra nodded before continuing, "And once his eyes are sparkling, his mouth salivating, we block him-"

"-Cock block him-"

"By bringing up a D and A test," Sierra finished.

I withered; that was meant to be an opportunity for Dylon, but I didn't have his files to push him as a safe bet. And I might have brought it up, but Sierra was talking as if she knew the festival was already a thing. As far as I knew, the festival still required funding and the scouting of suitable ground for various activities. At least, that is what my wife told me...

"That should motivate him," Jamal agreed before looking confused. "Will Dambrooke be willing to make those implications? There would have to be some promises, and since we plan to push him, they would have to be real promises they could keep. That requires power on the inside."

"Heh, I'm sure we can call in a few favours," Kyle said, glancing over to me and my suitcase. I sat frozen as it started to dawn on me what had happened here today.

"Good," Felix said. "I'm guessing you have already spoken to our contacts over there, but if not, should we run it past them?" He asked Sierra.

"No need, they came up with the game plan."

"She did, you mean?" Kyle asked, very rhetorically.

I quipped a nervous smile before suppressing it, my heart was pounding in my chest, and I resisted the urge to wipe my brow of sweat. It was hot in here, but everyone would interpret it differently at Sierra and Eva's outmanoeuvring of me and my talent.

As I felt them glance at me, as I thought of the cold calculation of my wife, something, something deep within me sent a signal to me cock... I was -impossibly- aroused.

What the hell?

"Any others?" Felix asked the team.

"Cheryl is out meeting a client. Some swimmer trying to make a comeback from an injury," Jamal said.

"Morgan Smitherson?"

"No, a guy. Not to mention, Morgan used steroids to try to boost her healing. They say she's off to Spain to try and make it there."

"The swimmer is one of mine, I managed to rope him in when I headhunted at a sports college last year," I told them, closing the briefcase. "He got my card from the stand and called me up yesterday. I was... indisposed," I smirked, trying to restore some dignity to myself. The men frowned in envy, and Sierra rolled her eyes. Unfortunately, my indisposition was a result of food shopping, which my wife had sent me on at the time... "So, it routed the call to Cheryl."

"Are you going to give her the commission?" Jamal asked.

I shrugged. "If she gets traction with him, sure. I'm a bit busy with Aftab. Apparently, someone's been fishing in our pond. He has been talking about increasing our sponsorship prospects, and you know what that usually means."

"God, that's all we need," Felix said, shaking his head. "Sniff it out of him, Jaz. If need be, get the 'details' on him, and find the poacher."

"Will do, boss," I said, grateful to be moving on to a topic that did not cause me shame, or this terrifying erection hidden by my small length.

"Right, well, if that's everything, I think we'll call it a day. I've been marathoning the entire Star Trek series with my wife. Bloody stellar stuff," Felix said, and I felt he was looking out for me. Even if he wasn't, I was grateful.

"Nice pun, boss," Kyle quipped.

"Thanks, Kyle, I've been trying to improve. Need to keep up with the younger crowd."

"You need to work on your Leet, boss. You put in the group chat this morning, 'Laugh out loud'," Kyle said, looking at him as if he were insane. "Stuff like that is going to murder us when it comes to all the young blood we're trying to net."

"What do you mean, Laugh out loud is making a comeback?"

We all groaned in laughter with a mixture of 'no, it's nots,' and 'I hope nots' for good measure.

With that, we got up to head to our own cubicles to finish for the day.

"Be real with me," Kyle said, coming up to my side. "I bet you don't have anything in the case but dirt on us instead of the clients."

"Your browsing history is... remarkable, Kyle," I joked.

"No way, Jaz. You haven't seen my browsing history. Trust me, old man, you don't want to know!"

We laughed, and I admittedly did so in an attempt to cover up my own thoughts, my own perusals would certainly raise a brow or two. That was something I certainly did not want my wife's investigators to find out, God help me. Though it might explain the arousal I had felt in the meeting room, now receding.

"It's a shame I can't come down to the Tulip festival," he was saying. "Now that the wife is out of the hospital, we're just going to crash out at home."

"Oh! Yes, Kyle! And I know I said it before, but congratulations on the baby girls," I said, taking his hand in mine for a firm handshake.

"Appreciated, Jaz. Took us both by surprise; we thought it was just the one! Well, when you get the chance, pop down with the family. We'll barbeque or something."

"Count on it. Though this time, you'll have to prepare the salad, drinks, table, cutlery, seating and all the things your wife does while you stand there flipping burgers."

"Flipping burgers is a noble, and masculine art passed down from caveman to modern man!"

"Amen, Kyle. Take care of yourself and your family, lad," I said in parting.

"You too, old man. See you soon!"

It would be good to arrange something with his family. Eva and I had been drifting apart in the last few years, but I always found we were happier attending as a family with another family. Maybe it was just holding up pretences, or an ode to a love that had been dimming between us since her rise and my gradual decline as a provider.

With those brooding thoughts, I turned into my cubicle to find Sierra waiting for me. "Hey, Sierra, what's up?"

"Nothing much, Jaz. I just wanted to apologise. I didn't want to seem like Eva, and I were going behind your back," she said, stroking her short, greying brown hair with a weary sigh.

"De nada, Sierra," I said, brushing aside her concerns and suppressing my own. "Besides, it's Jamal's client, not mine. He's still at that age where he thinks covering for them is helping them."

"In this line of work, it's a useful mentality to have. Jamal, however, thinks we're offering a charity service. This is a business, consideration of consequences goes both ways, but don't tell these overblown, self-important 'athletes'-" she made air quotes, "-that. Heaven forbid the practice of withholding thirty per cent of the treasury to cover 'damages,-" again, air quotes, "-should no longer be required."

For some reason, that made me think of my wife, but I blinked away those thoughts.

"To be fair, it is kind of our job to make them self-important, no?" I fired back cheekily -but there the words brought me back to the cold examination of my Eva, and my role in the distance growing between us.

"There is a difference between confidence and a sweaty, self-entitled, drunk, addicted-"

"And horny, dear Sierra, we cannot forget how horny they are." -And I was, for that matter.

"Thank you, Jaz. -ahem- irresponsible man-child."

" 'man... child'...? Singular, not plural? Uh-oh, something tells me this is about our business's namesake."

"He's draining business funds to pay off my alimony!" She blazed.

"I mean, technically, with some legal shenanigans, he is allowed to do that. KTA is privately owned."

Sierra shook her head in frustration.

"Anyway, Jaz. My ex-bastard-of-a-husband aside, I would like it if you could ask your wife to get us details on this swimmer of yours."

"Sorry, Sierra," I started, shaking my head, noting she had not asked for Dylon's files. "Eva can pull in her CRB team for serious prospective clients they might want to sponsor. The swimmer is a nobody, at least I don't remember hearing his name anywhere until recently, despite being active in the past. And the injury does not help."

"I don't want us wasting too much time on this, and we have to be careful. Jacob wants to sell up the business soon."

"You think he'll sell the agency to you?"

"No, I think he wants to punish me for the fling with Bishop, or finding someone else so quickly after the divorce. It would be great if he sold it to the boss. He has never liked Felix, but he respects him."

"Do you think he will sell to his brother?"

"David?" She asked, perplexed.

"The other one."

"Bishop... I'm not so sure. Bishop joined the army at the same time I did. He called in favours to get my spot in KTA, the help of my ex. But he stayed on until he retired from the SAS a few years ago..."

"The Spike night?"

"Oh yes, and he beat the living daylights out of David after the court case got him off. He might still have hard feelings about the KTA ending his military service. Poisoning or not, the party environment gave the media more than enough wiggle room to sell it as an orgy gone wrong," she almost spat, and I too, had very hard feelings for how things went.

The talk returned me to thoughts of my family. I needed to do something with my home life and have some kind of talk with Eva about everything.

"Hmmm... well, I can ask her," I said, unsure. "But these investigators aren't cheap, and she's only seriously going to pursue it if she thinks she can make a profit or avoid potential damages. With a no-name post injury, even if we pick them up on talent, it doesn't mean Dambrooke will also pick them up."

"You're right," she said with a heavy sigh. I could see the stress of the divorce, the agency and her own love life were weighing on her. She needed a win or a solution, and I wanted her to have it, but as it stood, as a small-time firm with small-time -and let's face it- has-been agents, it was always going to be an uphill battle.

"I'll tell her, Sierra."

"Thank you, and I'll try to keep you more involved."

"Don't worry. My wife loves her schemes, politics and Machiavellian plots and twists. No wonder she loved Game of Thrones so much," I said in candour, hiding the anger, uncertainty and arousal within me. But she smiled, now more relaxed, and I felt better for it, more normal. "Honestly, I'm good at the people management, the meetings and the social stuff. But the political cloak and dagger is beyond my remit. I simply tell her, 'If you are going to use me, use me well. '"

I had said no such thing, and considering my wife's sly nature, I was a little bit -well, a lot a bit- scared to give her that kind of power over me. And yet the little guy between my legs was more than ready to give up the reins.

"My God, Jaz. You have no idea how many women would kill, probably have killed, to hear a man say that. Especially the man that they love."

I shrugged, a bit embarrassed in my older age, but enjoying the praise all the same. How much my wife loved me was its own can of worms.

"I'll speak to her. Tell your wife, Darla, I said hello," I said.

"I will, and thank you for those shoes you got Martin for his birthday last month. He was slipping and sliding on the astroturf before, but now he has so much more control."

"You're welcome."

"Now, if you could tell that boy of yours not to wipe the floor with the opposing team, I think Martin would be even more glad for it," she said with a giggle I thought was endearing.

"I'll try to, but his mother eggs him on!"

"That little liar! She told me she keeps his enthusiasm in moderation!" Sierra exclaimed.

Looks like I'm not the only one...

"If it's in moderation to her motherly pride, then yeah, she's not lying," I laughed.

She laughed too, and we said our goodbyes before heading home.

************

I parked up my company BMW in front of the garage, knowing my wife's car was inside. Looking at the back seat, I realised I needed to clean it of all of Leo's stuff before I handed it back at the end of this quarter.

The agency only had three company cars, two shared by Felix and Sierra on rotation. The other two were shared with the rest of the team on rotation when two were out on field work, and the other two were stuck in the office or working from home.

We all had kids, and there was an agreement, posted on the office fridge, that using the cars for family and friends would be fine so long as it did not impede company purposes.

Leo's archery butts and kit certainly was an impediment, but at least it showed the children of KTA were sporty.

I hopped out of the car and made my way into the house to smell the heartwarming, cosy scent of home-cooking.

My daughter, Miriam, was on the sofa, curled up, watching a fashion show whilst chatting away on her phone. She was a brunette, taken from me, but with her mother's deep green eyes. My little girl was slim but had her mother's wide hips, and after years of fretting, I had grown comfortable with her figure. The parental fear of the male gaze coming from young, blooded teenagers was defeated by my daughter's level-headedness and discernment for romantic partners.

The last lad she had entertained as a boyfriend had been well presented, charming and tactful. However, one word from my wife, 'boring,' and my daughter slowly put that relationship to bed.

Miriam waved at me, and I walked up to give her a kiss on the head. She patted my chest in return affection before I wandered off to find her mother.

My son, Leo, rushed past me with a 'Hi Dad," before running up the stairs.

"Don't run in the house, Leo. It's not safe!"

"It's cool, Dad, no worries," he shouted behind him before running into his room with a slam of the door.

"He has a raid!" I heard my mature wife, Eva -never Evangeline- call to me. "It's very important, apparently!"

"Blasted gaming," I said as I walked into the madness of the kitchen, my wife checking multiple ovens and cooking appliances. "He should play a real game, like chess or that mahjong you love so much."

"It's the digital age, lover," she teased in that deep honey voice of hers.

So, was that how it was going to be today? Was she happy about the outcome of the meeting? I had no doubt Sierra had informed her soon after, and it was a result she had orchestrated more or less.

But still, I loved it when she called me that, even if it was a manipulation or some kind of way to ease what she must have known I had gone through.

"There's online chess!" I argued, wanting to enjoy being an irritable dad. "And online Mahjong, and a bunch of other board games that won't rot away his brain."

"Considering the B-movies you allow him to watch, I think there are greater worries for 'brainrot', as the kids say these days, than any video game."

"He's a growing boy. It's best that he gets a little bit of variety."

"Mmmm, and I bet you enjoy regulating that variety, is that not so? All those nubile, young actresses twirling in B-movie stock."

I laughed as she tried to work herself up to a mock fluster. It was quite gratifying to be perfectly honest. For whatever reason, no matter how distant we had become, Eva had a burning jealousy when it came to me and other women, fictional or otherwise.

"Well, that vampire romance we watched a few weeks ago certainly was no great cause for concern. You didn't see me getting all jealous over the rippling muscles of the werewolf and the vampire."

"What, as they were crashing and fighting each other?"

"Sweaty and oiled? Yes, of course, nothing worrisome at all."

"Mmmm, well... you benefited from it, did you not?" she asked in a way that hinted at a repeat of that night's conclusion. Perhaps her manipulations were not so bad after all. It was not as if I was good at seducing her anymore in my older age. However, I had to admit to myself that that did not excuse my lack of effort.

I hugged her from behind, my 5'6 manlet height squeezing my Juno's voluptuously toned 6'1 form. I felt a stir in my loins as I nuzzled her thick, golden hair, allowing the fresh lavender scent to revitalise my senses. I pulled back, and she turned those green eyes on me before leaning down for a kiss with her full, heart-shaped lips.

I could taste berries; Outside of chicken, my wife was on a pro-vegetable and fruit diet.

"How was your day, husband?" she said, pulling back to return to dinner; I smelled roast.

"Pretty good. We had some washouts, but we think we've got some potential brewing. I'm guessing you know about Conrad?" I pretended to be unaware of her involvement, but she would know I knew.

"Hmm, yes, Jaz. Jamal's wife, Monica, was fretting about it at the PTA meeting. This Westcastle is young and doing all the things young men do."

"Ruining his future?" I wasn't referring to just him, which I think she knew.

"Hmmm, more like risking it," she replied, and I thought she was knowingly playing with her words. "Anyway, Jamal's been pretty uptight, and Monica has been feeling it, especially in the bedroom."

"Less or more, and I didn't ask."

"Less, and I don't know what you mean." She flashed that dimple grin that she had developed upon entering her mature years, with slight crow's feet near her eyes. "I knew it was a client, and Jamal has a good eye for talent."

"Don't we all?" I asked in self-mock distress... at least I hoped it came across as self-mocking. After almost two decades on the job, I knew I was middling at talent recruitment. Management I was better at but that was not where the money was at.

"Of course you do, love. But Jamal is young and knows the younger crowd. He's more willing to take risks. I think we're a bit too jaded in our advanced age."

"You're right. We all think Conrad's got the stuff, and the strategy you and Sierra came up with to push him to get fixed up is likely to get him on the right path. Speaking as a man wanting to see talent grow, and not just as a professional, it would be terrible for him to waste his life opportunities to the drink."

"Agreed," she said, ending the topic with a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. "Dinner's almost ready, just give me a few minutes to put this on simmer. I'll chime you."

"Okay, want me to set up the table?"

"Mmm, it really is Leo's turn..."

"It's going to take him a few minutes to get off that 'Raid' of his. Give him a courtesy chime. He can do it on Saturday and Sunday."

She nodded, leaning over to grab a small stick with a silver ball on it before knocking it against a small golden bell by the sink.

With that we headed upstairs, Miriam joining us. My daughter barged into Leo's room, and after a bit of shouting, my blonde boy came to join us as we entered the big family bathroom. We washed our faces, ears and neck, checking the appearance of the others to make sure all were clean.

It was a family ritual passed on from Eva's family to ours. I always admired it, especially in this day and age when so many families live in the same house but are often miles apart in mind and spirit. I think we might have stayed married purely for the kids, and it was a disquieting thought, but when you become older, you understand the realities of the heart, of passion and the true value of a stable relationship.

I wasn't happy with the idea that I could lose my wife without a family to bind her to me, far from it. But I was realistic enough to know that neither of us was doing too much to keep the fire of love alive.

It wasn't gone, don't mistake me. We still watched films together, we still went out to eat, or went to festivals, but by in large it was with or in service to the children.

Anytime either of us had asked the other just to do something by ourselves we would throw out other obligations, tiredness or just excuses.

I knew what the problem was... I knew most of it came from me, or I exacerbated it. It was an incredibly difficult thing I would need to accept, and my pride and sense of self-worth resisted it strongly.

And don't get me started on our sex life. We were down to bi-monthly. We were never a couple who had sex every day, not even on our honeymoon. Sex every few days could be considered wild to us, and sex itself was always a short but incredibly sweet affair.

Looking at my sexy wife, towelling her baby boy's hair, I wondered where all my lust had gone... and then I thought of my arousal during the embarrassment she put me through, and I was sickened. Even her coyness and double meanings in the kitchen had been thrilling.

What had my passion for my wife come to?

We returned downstairs, allowing Leo to finish up his game while I set the table. After that, we met in the small dining room, hugged, and began our meal.

It was a full roast dinner, and my mouth had been salivating for it, among other things -I glanced up at my wife, once Eva had texted me what dinner would be.

We chatted about the basic but family bonding things; tv, sports, music and all the great and terrible things happening in a growing child's life.

Miriam, soon turning into an adult, was studying to be a chemist, but recently she had been leaning more and more towards botany. Her mother's family came from a long line of doctors, surgeons, chemists, pharmacists and physicians. This meant she had a whole host of family education and experience to call upon. The apple of my eye also had my eye- or rather, predilection- for quality, and often sized up the aspects, both weak and strong, in people. She did have a bit of a blind spot for herself.

Leo was only 8, turning 9 by the end of the year, but he was a very sporty kid, and he had just entered his final year of primary school, jostling with the other kids and often prevailing ahead.

I hoped his father was a tall man, thinking of my own past, and the bullying my height enabled, he needed all the help he could get when he started growing.

Ah!

That wording would probably make someone perk up.

Leo was not my son, at least not by birth.

It's a dark thing to remember, and I did not like to think about it. But during an event a decade ago, several of the guests at a party hosted by KTA, including my wife, were drugged. It turned out that some idiot, instead of spiking a single drink, had decided to spike an entire cask of cider.

My wife, then of eight years, had been nigh-incoherent and dragged to some room with others that turned into a violent and rapacious orgy of addled minds.

You might think that the party goers would have woken surprised, a bit embarrassed but none the worse for wear.

Not so.

Two people died from an overdose, and Eva was in a coma for five weeks before she came to.

Our families were devastated, the police got involved, and it's sad to say, but the spiker was David Krommli, the youngest of the three, who spiked the drinks to have his way with Jacob's then-wife, Sierra. Sierra herself had been in the car with Bishop of all people, indisposed whilst it all happened.

The police cases, the lawsuits and the bad media coverage borderline nuked Krommli Talent Agency into the ground. The only saving grace was that its own employees had the most victims instead of their clients and the greatest recompense.

Nine months after, Leo was born. At first, we did not put two and two together until we truly saw his eyes, blue, whereas mine was brown and Eva's were green. Not impossible, but we got to thinking, then did the math, and it seemed evident what had happened.

The reality was shattering, and if not for the pitiful cries of baby Leo and the needs of our own daughter, I don't know how we could have mentally recovered.

But we did, with a lot of help from our parents, from what we, the survivors, called 'The spike night'.

I had wondered if we should have found the father, but Eva argued against it. She didn't want to know or even think about another man having knowledge of her body -she was a virgin all the way up to our wedding day. Shocking in this loosened up day and age, but not impossible back then- and she also argued it would be unfair on the father, considering everyone affected had been drugged out of their minds. To dump childcare, an unknown, and maybe an unwanted, child on him would be tough. It would be hell if already had a family, and, drugged or no, most people would dub him a rapist and our child the product of such.

I loved Leo. He was innocent, sweet, cute and bursting with energy that physically shook me to the core when the thought of not loving him even threatened to enter my mind.

I watched as my wife slowly combed her long fingers through his hair. Our boy jabbered on about a social event in his Destiny game that he was playing, unconsciously leaning into his mother's affections.

God... I loved it when Eva showed off her maternal side. She looked so beautiful, strong, kind and fertile in a way. For example, her proof of child rearing was proof of her eligibility to have more. We had tried for years and years to have more children after both Miriam and Leo. But after years of trying, we went to a specialist who confirmed I had a low sperm count.

It hurt a bit, but whoever Leo's father was, my wife's womb certainly viewed his seed as superior to mine. Considering Leo's athletic dominance and talent in any sport he applied himself to, I could not argue with their callous judgment.

I know Eva never thought about it that way, but it was a constant reminder of an inadequacy that prevented my Eva from having more children. That, and our financial situation, meant she was the breadwinner instead of the stay-at-home mom she would have preferred to be.

Funny how, before Miriam, my wife had been a sporty career woman through and through.

I tried to smile at my wife throughout the meal, and she gave brief, if unenthusiastic, smiles in return. Once finished, we retired to the living room, the children heading off to their own rooms. Leo had to be in bed by 9 p. m., an hour later now that he was in his last year of primary school. Miriam had to be in bed by 12, and she had to put her phone on charge outside her room an hour before so she could go to sleep better.

Mommy and Daddy, however, curled up on the sofa to relax with a glass of wine.

I silently winced at the vintage. Not that it was bad, it was great in fact, it's just not a bottle I could afford.

Despite how we presented ourselves as a happy, modern family, we had a host of difficulties. I was a talent agent for sports athletes in a firm drastically reduced from having its own office building, almost a hundred agents and ten times that in human resources all over Europe; now down to 6 talent agents, cycling between clerical management and less than a hundred human resources within the UK and France. After the collapse following the Spike Night, my yearly earnings dropped from an annual low of six digits to barely making 50k a year.

My wife's career path as an athlete and trainer ended due to the drugs in her system, the untimely birth of a son and the damage it did, even as a victim, to her image. That's not to say she was without means, and her educational background meant she had a shot at further education.

As well as our loans and debts, we threw our savings into it while I took care of the kids, keeping a low profile, so to speak. Eva managed to pull through a 4-year Business and marketing degree, top of her class. The paper she wrote was discussed, picked up and published for a tidy cash injection. A year later, Eva got a job offer from Dambrooke, a major corporation all over Europe based in the manufacturing, selling and advertising of sports products for athletes, and their derivatives to a more domestic audience.

That was three years ago, and over time, she made her way up the ladder to an acceptable marketing consultant position on retainer. She vetted sponsorships and athlete cooperation with the wearing and catering of Dambrooke products.

It was good, but not as many commission opportunities, fixed salary mostly. This was because she refused to be on a travel plan where she would have to sacrifice time with her family for her job.

But the job was stable, and she brought in a sizeable income. I never bothered to find out the amount, I was always scared what the information would imply about my own necessity as a husband and father. It had always been our plan since the scandal for me to cover the daily costs and for her to cover anything extra; trips, summer schools, private schools, break down and repairs, etc; projects, we called them.

That's not how we had always wanted it. Until things went south, I was the breadwinner, and she was the stay-at-home mom working on her mountaineering in her spare time. But no longer.

I rested my head on my wife's shoulder as we watched a documentary on Amsterdam and their... unique outlook on sex, life and drugs.

"How was work?" I asked, almost not wanting to. It was a constant reminder of my stagnancy versus her stability.

"So-so. That whiz kid, McCormac, fixed the problem with the tennis shoes. There was strange warping due to the sudden kinetic duress, so we moved to interwoven stretch material rather than spandex," she said distractedly.

"Doesn't interwoven materials increase production costs?"

"For a single athlete it's fine. Once we trial out the domestic addition we'll see."

"How did he come up with that fix?" I enquired, already knowing the source of his inspiration.

"I was touring the boxing gyms in London and noticed that the footwork of the more technical boxers resembled that of tennis players; quick, omnidirectional movements. Tennis players don't have to make as many sudden stops, but in long games, it adds up. The boxers didn't seem to have the same problem, so I brought some pairs back to R and D, and McCormac cracked it."

"Let's hope its sustainable. It would be bad if it failed in the domestic sale, remember the recall two years ago?"

"Yes, more than I would like." Her full lips frowned, the soft light from the TV accentuating them. "I've suggested to Leanne that when our high-end sportsmen go on tour, we distribute the prototypes with free trials and as a prize in competitions. We can give out free models knowing they're already going to be a loss, but even if we get negative feedback, it will only be for experimental footwear, and the people affected might be disappointed, but not angry with a free high-end prize."

"Clever!" and then, wanting to be helpful to her, I said, "Why not augment it? Get the players to sign the shoes before they hand them out?"

She didn't respond at first, and my stomach tightened. That was a bad sign; it usually meant she was trying to find a nice way of saying something harsh.

"I think it's not a bad idea. However, I don't think we should risk the players reputation by putting their name on something given to their fans which we do not know won't fail within the year. Could you imagine the optics? An Instagram post where a fan shows a snapshot of signed sneakers, a tear running through them?" she shook her head, blonde hair moving like a wave of spun gold.

I grimaced. I should have thought about that and kept my mouth shut.

"Don't worry, Jason." I hated it when she called me by my first name. I never forbade her from doing so; she had rarely done it in the past, but it was only recently that she did. I didn't like the formal, distant effect it applied to our conversations. "It was a good suggestion, and we can develop the idea of signings with a more proven product."

I nodded and fought the urge to remove my head from her shoulder.

It was times like these that our differences started to affect me more and more.

My wife had been a catch... no... no, it was blatant robbery on my part. To say she was out of my league would be an understatement. I was a short man, still with my hair -the line was receding. I wasn't a big eater, but nor did I exercise, so I was a skinny guy with a bit of a gut. My features looked like what the kids would say, a twink, an old twink or a herbivore. And worse, despite my internal protests, I was an older gentleman at 48 years of age.

My wife was very tall, model tall, but with a crazy curvaceous and highly toned form that earned her the nickname of 'Juno'. She used to be a mountaineer or mountain climber whom Krommli had scouted way back when. She had never wanted to be so at first. She wanted to be a sprinter, but her full voluptuous figure, even with great leg and stamina performance, was unsuited for the competitive scene. One person said her vulgar body would tarnish the sport -as if every guy and their grandpa didn't stare at a gymnast's ass more than her performance in the Olympics.

I couldn't privately disagree with them, though. Even her own mother said the women in their family tended to have 'indecent body types'.

Mountaineering was a slightly different beast in physical demand, and the strength of her legs and the muscles throughout her height found a foothold in the mountain community.

Honestly, before Felix scouted her at a mental fitness event, I thought mountaineering to be a forgettable sport. One expedition with her as a proto-first date up a mountain later, and I was a collapsed wreck for days.

Turned out the mountain we climbed with her was considered a hill at that.

She may have stopped professionally, but she still went once a month, and the physical preparation throughout the days to prepare for it was gruelling. Gruelling, but the conditioning showed, as every inch of her erotic curves was reinforced by a robust physique.

She was showing her age, sure; there were slight wrinkles in the corner of her eyes, and her high cheekbones were at their most prominent, as was the rest of her. But as she liked to remind me whenever I praised her, 'A fruit was at its ripest just before it spoiled'.

"Do you want to go to bed?" she asked me.

I suddenly became hopeful; 'going to sleep' meant exactly that; 'going to bed' usually meant relaxing in bed with the opportunity for sleep or more.

"If you're okay with that?" I was careful. Between work, the kids, and being the chief provider in the house, my wife was often irritable and tired when I pushed her for sex.

"Mmm, I am, Jaz. I'd like to relax with you more, and I feel like I've been neglecting things..." I looked up at her to find she was frowning.

"You are neglecting nothing, Eva. Never believe that. It's amazing you find time to have a full job, full training schedule, deal with the kids, make dinner and then have time to just sit and watch a movie with me."

"Slow week," she said with a shrug.

"Well, your investigators came through for us. We've got some better prospects lined up, that's for sure. Sierra..." I paused, not wanting to hurt the mood. "Sierra wanted you to check up on that swimmer we discovered not too long ago."

"Mmm, Charlie Vanderwel?"

"Is that his name?"

"Yes. And no, I have not investigated him. I'm sorry, Jaz. I'm already pushing it, helping your firm on the side like this. Some of the people I get our men to investigate either don't get picked up by Krommli, or they get picked up by someone else. A wasted expense that I struggle to explain to finance. This... arrangement is meant to work by allowing your team to vet candidates with advanced information, and I can pre-emptively start making plans with the expectation you'll bring them into our business line. If I start charging the cost with a talent you don't even know is a hit, then that line I'm stepping on between investment and embezzlement becomes very blurry."

"I thought so..." I said with regret.

"Then why did you ask?" she almost snapped, and I ducked my head a bit.

She sighed, shaking her head, and I felt terrible. I had just mentioned about how much she was doing for the family and was pressuring her with more. Technically, the only one who took a financial, ethical and legal risk in this little setup of ours, was my wife, and by extension our family.

"I'm sorry, Jaz... can we not speak about this anymore? I... I really just want to spend time not thinking about all of that. I'm tired, Love."

I grabbed her hand and kissed her wedding and engagement ring.

"I'm sorry, Eva. Let's head up."

"Thank you, Jaz," she said, kissing my cheek, then she took my hand, guiding me upstairs to bed.

We showered separately, not a good sign. Not the 'separately' part, my wife always liked her privacy in the shower. It's just Eva liked to shower after sex, not before. Not that that was exactly a rule, and there was still a smidgen of hope.

I showered and brushed my teeth thoroughly to her standards.

I came out after her to find her in bed, dressed in a purple satin robe that had been a company present from the lads at Krommli. Sierra had decided on the gift, but the others had chipped in for the cost. My heart started beating a bit as I noticed it was fastened under her full chest, giving it shape; the gods were favouring me tonight. Sex was more likely now, Eva never dressed in her robe unless she planned to have sex with the light on, otherwise she would just be in her pyjamas. Even since turning 35, for some reason, she began covering up during sex, even though we almost had sex in the dark.

I checked the clock beside Eva as she read through a book on spiritual exercise. Noting the time, and it was a Thursday, meant I was to make sure the kids were in bed tonight.

I quickly left the room in my pyjamas. I knocked on Miriam's door.

"Come in," I heard her say and entered.

Like her mother, she was reclined against a pillow, but in her case, she was listening to some Buddhist chanting and her eyes were slightly lowered. I was proud she had inherited her mother's long, brush-like eyelashes. She didn't inherit her mother's entire body, but she certainly inherited the beauty of her face.

"Hey girl, getting sleepy?"

"Ahhh, yes, Dad. It might rain on Saturday." I always loved the little ways children resembled their parents. My wife liked to respond with a deep 'Mmm' in her throat to announce her consideration before speech. My daughter's 'ahhs' were more acknowledgements that she had heard you.

"Is that good?" I asked.

"We're trying to tell the weather by the condition of the plants. We're studying the biochemical applications of grafting, but the botany professor told us experimentation would be bad because of the changing weather and how the plants would react to that. We got pretty intrigued by all of that, so they told us to come early to show how the plants change."

"Plants that can tell the weather... though, considering they bloom and wither long before we feel the effects of the changing seasons, I suppose that makes a lot of sense."

"Luke said the same..."

Luke was the boyfriend she cut loose at her mother's suggestion. Obviously, she had strong feelings, and I had my own. Eva had told my daughter to drop him because he was boring... but was I any more exciting?

It was a thought I wrestled with.

"I hope you and Luke are okay around each other."

She sighed. "Yeah, Dad. To be honest, I think Mom was right. I do miss him, but there is this guy, kind of an asshole, named Ryan, whose crazy hot. I think about him a lot, but he was mean to me one time, and even worse with Luke. But my thoughts keep returning to him."

I swallowed, unsure. My daughter was always surprisingly candid with her old man. I could still recall the time when she told me she had lost her virginity. I was absolutely livid as she explained to me of some damned hotspur who had had his way with her.

Eva had been proud that my daughter could inspire such unstoppable lust in the opposite sex. I wondered if my wife valued the same of herself, now that I thought about it.

"That's probably the 'I can fix them' urge," I told her. "It happens to a lot of people."

"Yeah... I guess. I'm just... he's exciting and fresh, and the way he treated Luke was out of line. He said he was a beta-boy. That's stupid. Luke has way better grades than Ryan could ever manage."

"But he still interests you?" For some crazy reason, I felt my crotch tightening.

"Ahhh... I don't know. We all kind of laughed when Ryan said that. I thought I was laughing at Ryan, because it was so dumb, such a jock thing to think is cool, but Luke's face got to me somehow."

"As in, it made you sad?" My breathing had changed as my oblivious daughter continued, the chant calming her to drowsiness.

"No... and that's what I don't get. Just... like there was something about it I enjoyed, or that made me think, constantly think, of Ryan. Ryan, not Luke. Now, when I think of Luke, when I look at him, and he meets my eye, and I can tell he's thinking about when Ryan embarrassed him in front of me... I just can't stop thinking about Ryan. That's why Mom was right in the end. I don't think Luke is boring... but it shouldn't have taken a jock for me to lose interest in him."

"It uhh, doesn't sound like you lost interest."

My daughter closed her eyes and made a face between disgust and confusion. "If I'm still interested in him, then that would be because I like thinking of his embarrassment..."

"You could be," I pushed for some reason.

"Ahh, I don't think so. Mom would never do that, and I am my mother's daughter, and mother would never do that to you, right?"

I swallowed, frozen there with a hard-on I couldn't explain, did not want to think about.

The music slowly faded out, and my daughter turned on her side, away from me.

"Can you turn off the lights, Dad?"

"Yes, angel," I said, slowly backing out, flipping the lights off. "Goodnight, Lovey-dove."

My daughter chuckled deeply, and the idea it was mocking zapped my cock before I suddenly got a hold of myself

"Goodnight, Dad."

I shut the door behind me, fixing the collar of my PJs, a small smattering of sweat starting to appear on my brow.

I walked to Leo's door, but I could see there was no light escaping from within. I slowly opened it, peeking in, but thankfully, my boy wasn't trying to surf the net this late at night. I had a kill switch in place on his computer after 10 anyway.

I moved away, but before walking back through to the master bedroom, I tried to collect myself.

I'm not exactly sure what motivated the arousal to my daughter's story about her boyfriend being bullied. And I also had no idea what to think about her possibly liking it... and the idea I might have liked that she liked it.

I felt bad for Luke, and Miriam's feelings for him changing in such a direction filled me with a subtle anxiety.

'I am my mother's daughter..."

"Shit," I cursed, surprising myself. I wasn't one for profanity, even though I loved hearing it from others. It was interesting when others said it, but I felt it was strange when I did. Maybe my fears of being boring were well-founded.

I was scared to consider it, but now I was in this deep slump; in a company I stayed loyal to purely for the friends and compensation from a scandal, with little prospects of making any serious advancements.

The strategy Eva had developed had been an excellent idea, but KTA took more than we gave, and it seemed like we were being kept afloat due to her own internal manoeuvrings.

Was I funny... Yes, I was, I could joke with the best of them, and many times in the past, I could make my wife roar in laughter.

Was I interesting... I had been, when I was bouncing from talent to talent, travelling to major press events, interacting with industry leading athletes, engineers, doctors and trainers.

Thinking on it, back then, I was the only access my wife had to a world that had rejected her for her body. Now... I was still an input, still a man who discovered new talent, but she had access to the same now with resources I couldn't match.

What happened to a relationship, a marriage, when the things that made them special, exclusive, were diminished and empowered by other things and other people like Sierra?

I shook my head and stepped inside the bedroom.

"Mmm, the kids asleep?" She asked me without looking up from her book.

"Yep. All tucked in. That chanting track that Miriam has is effective stuff."

My wife smiled, and unlike many smiles for me, this one reached her eyes with light. "She should like it; she listened to it when she was still in the womb."

"Is that what you listened to while I was at work during the pregnancy?"

"Mhmmm, yes. I got it on disc within a magazine for early yoga, before it became its own sexualised thing."

I moved to my side of the bed, turning off the lights but keeping the bed lamps on. I slipped into the covers and rested back against the cushion.

"Eva?"

"Hmmm?"

"Do you want to... you know?"

"I was hoping you would ask," she said, turning to me.

"You did?" I asked, turning to her in surprise.

My mature wife smiled at me sadly, reached out to stroke my face with her long nails.

"We've grown old, haven't we, lover-boy?" Her smile was tired, weary and calm.

I capitulated to reality. "I suppose... I suppose I can't deny I'm getting on a bit."

"What hair dye do you use?"

I blinked and chuckled a bit, embarrassed she knew my little secret. "JustForMen..."

"You don't want to try the grey, refined look?"

"I've never been the most masculine of guys, you got to admit."

"Compared to athletes who train night and day for their entire lives? By that measure, most men aren't masculine," she said lightly as she tousled my thinning hair.

"I just don't think the look works on me and... I find it tough to know I'm ageing, whereas you don't."

For once, my wife laughed loudly. I missed the way her solar hair flared as she threw back her head and showed off that strong, shapely neck.

"Oh, Jaz. If only you knew what it was like to be one of us. Back then, I could run circles around the gym before climbing a mountain. Now..." she looked down at her body. "Now I'm competing against women who can run for hours, barely break a sweat and stream it all online. And despite all the men looking at me, it's killing me to keep up the pace."

Ignoring that was probably a massive exaggeration -three times a week Eva sprinted in the morning for two hours at 5 a. m. sharp, worked till 9 to 12, did another hour of intensive workout at the in house gym in her office, before doing another two hour marathon after work to then finally arrive at the local gym she was beating herself up about-... ignoring all that, I focused on the point of the masculine attentions.

"That might be true, but you're obviously not thinking about the reverse."

"What?" she tilted her golden head.

"You probably don't think about it, but any woman competing against you in the gym is going to be intimidated. Your entire body is toned, you have a faint six pack, to top it all off, it's all in service of containing and defining your insane curves: you're Junoesque, Eva. I know you always hated how your body limited your prospects, but you have to admit most women wouldn't kill for a sprinter's body, but they would for yours."

She leaned back, in open, silent shock.

She blinked and then smiled at me.

"You know, I was planning on making love just to please you, but now... well, you've done a very good job of getting me in the mood."

A rush of boiling blood pumped through my body. You're on, old man! I thought to myself as I tried to hold down the smile building on my face.

"Although," she suddenly said, bringing two long nails to her bruised, full lips in thought. "You could do more to heighten the mood. The better my mood, the greater my enthusiasm," she purred in her hypnotically deep voice.

Jesus Christ!

I licked my lips, and my wife looked at the action before slowly licking her own, that thick tongue languidly soaking those red puffy petals as she stared into my eyes with her white veined green ones.

"I think-ummm, what really sets you apart, what those girls work themselves to death to compete with, is all the attention you must get." I had only been to her gym once when it had reopened under new management years ago.

"Those young fillies sure get their fair share of looks," she demurred.

"Fair share, but the vast majority?" she blushed, and looked away, abashed but pleased at my words. "I think you know it too. You could train in a private room, but I think you don't because you want to show off to everyone that no matter what critics might say about your figure, no one can doubt the hard work you put into it. And we might act cute and talk about professionalism and the dignity of the sport, and aerodynamics, and so forth, but there is less revealing sportswear that athletes could wear. But they don't because, sexually or otherwise, we all appreciate the human form at its best. And there is no better human form than yours."

My wife dove in for a deep kiss, her long tongue flirting with mine, and my twitching penis drummed out a war beat to match my heart.

She pulled back, eyes alight.

"Mmmm, more," she moaned, and I could not help but moan as the bass of her voice travelled down to my balls.

"Not to mention... your body. I didn't mean to be crude, love. You know your body is incredible. Your long strong legs, your full ass and even fuller breasts. And beyond all that is your face. You pull off the refined look so well that it should be made into a statue. Juno herself. Your high cheekbones, your green eyes with chips of ice in them like stars; your blonde hair so deep and honeyed it looks like gold in the sunlight, and sunlight tanned skin and those full, heart-shaped lips. Every part of you is au natural, and women across the globe throw away truckloads of cash to try and reach the same perfection but always miss the mark."

Her hands trailed lines down my chest, her sharp claws stressing her desire through my pyjamas.

"More," she gasped, her excitement invigorating me. There were embers rising in her eyes, making my mouth dry.

I took a bit of a spicy chance, allowing the dark and humiliating arousal of the day to inform my next words.

"And those men," I swallowed, allowing my dick to talk for me as I let the fantasy run away, off its leash. "They must see you in your tight yoga sweats, they must stare at your heaving chest in disbelief. So big, so round, and all contained in a sports bra, compressing their size. How their eyes must wander as your breasts shake, lift and fall; they must see the weight of them in the monumental motion, and lose their minds. And your ass, the great 'bubble butt' that is all the rage these days. You were rocking a pair of those long before it was hip with the younger crowd, and it's still world-class today. Firm, round and abundant. You must hypnotise them silly when you're on the stair master."

She leaned forward, and then she shocked me by licking my face from chin to cheek, with that long salacious tongue of hers. "More," she all but hissed, her hand reaching for my leaking hard-on.

"They-uuhhh, must dream of it at night... I... I wouldn't be surprised if they masturbate themselves off."

"Mmm, masturbate... do you mean wank?" she asked, blowing the hot words into my ear.

I had never heard her use such a word, she felt profanity to belong to that of a potty mouth. What little use I had of it before I met her disappeared soon after. It was shocking to hear my refined, mature businesswoman of a wife use such a vulgar word.

"Say it," she commanded, and for some reason, I was compelled to obey. And like hearing of my daughter's faithless callousness, I liked it.

"They-they wank off to you. A lot. They must do it every time they see you. It's a good thing you practice in those no-camera zones; otherwise, you'd be world famous by now."

"For the bad... wrong reasons."

"Sexy reasons."

"Go on," she almost complained, eyes closed as she slowly began stroking me.

"How those girls must hate you. You should be old, frumpy, getting on in your years, and yet you're the height of female strength and fertility. That's a thought- those young, virile guys probably thought you were the most breedable woman there, with these flaring hips, matronly bosom and juicy ass. I bet they'd sign their life away to impregnate your starving womb."

She leaned forward to kiss me deeply, fishing me penis out of my PJ bottoms before she began stroking off my almost 5-inch penis. Those soft fingers easily fitting my full left in her gasps, the firmness of her hold causing me to suck in a breath of final delight. She nipped my ear, a rare thing for her. I almost yelped, but I took the hint.

"Your bottom and your bosom," I began.

"My big ass and fat tits," she said as she bathed my ear with hungry licks, scintillating sensations travelling down the back of my neck that made me shiver.

"What?"

"That's what I hear them whisper. They say 'what a juicy fat ass on her' or 'look at those huge tits'. Say it!" She commanded in my ear, and I did as I was told, my cock flexing at her force, and she gripped it, twisting it slightly in a display of control.

"The'd want to sink their hands into your huge tits and juicy ass," I said with horny uncertainty, but she must have loved it because she kissed me again.

I was used to my wife's brief bouts of command in the house. Before the debacle of the Spike night, she generally deferred to me or at least picked my brain about things before coming to a decision. That was not to say I did not notice a certain level of secretiveness, sometimes outright duplicity, in Eva.

At first, I was resistant to it, which sometimes led to fights. She became worse after a rough argument, but I couldn't really say that she ever did anything that was to my detriment in the end.

As her left hand joined her right, gripping my balls firmly in an unfamiliar but excitingly pleasant way, I thought back to how she had used me today to promote Jamal's candidate, formulating a plan with Sierra without ever discussing it with me. It had been an excellent plan, to be sure. I was not a good liar, and my general ignorance made the play even more genuine.

And yet...

"I bet those muscle-head jocks wouldn't allow anyone to get in their way to have you... not even me," I whispered as she panted in my ear, and just moaned. "I bet they would walk all over me right in front of you and you wouldn't, couldn't, stop those virile specimens from taking you."

"Jaz, please," she moaned, grabbing my hand and moving it to her immense globes encased in magenta satin. My hand fell on her areolae, they were large, as wide as the diagonal width of my hand, and so swollen and puffy they stood up from her extensive chest like small crests. The nipple was like a bloated bullet in my palm; almost an inch tall and more than half that as wide.

I fumbled with the lovely mass over her robe as she brought my other hand down and in between her thighs. Without even reaching her sex, I could tell she was beyond wet. My fingers slid through her damp, trimmed bush of golden hair before reaching her clitoris. The full button made her moan into my mouth, and I groaned in excited response.

It had been years since we had been this hot for each other, holy hell.

"I bet they'd take you in front of me, but you would be too delirious to care. All pent up after years neglected by me, you'd need real men in your body. Men who can give it the workout it deserves!"

"Inside me! Now! Inside!" she cried, and I was worried she would wake the kids, but I covered her lips with mine and fell on top of her, her strong, powerful arms and legs wrapping around me, waiting for me to enter her.

I glanced at the nightstand where the lube was kept. "No need!" In! In, Jason!" Her voice was hoarse, but I gladly placed my cock at the entrance to her meaty vagina. "No! Stop. The condom." I was relieved, I had almost forgotten. Like an old hand, I reached into my drawer, sensing Eva working herself to keep the fires burning. I pulled one out, pinched the tip, and slipped it on.

"Yes! Now, Jason. Now, now, now!" and without further ado, I was in.

Her vagina snapped shut over my small member and I had to hold myself still. Never had I felt her so tight, almost painfully so, on my dick. I gasped, staring wide-eyed at the incredible pleasure. The moist slickness coating my penis in velvet, her liquid honey sliding out of the tight vaginal fit and into my pubes. The heat of her secretions made my stomach roll before her deep scent finally reached my nostrils, injecting my mind with the mature wine of a ripened wife.

"You can start moving," Eva whimpered, and I started going slow, in and out, until my mature, high-society life partner suddenly slapped me on my bottom. I yelled out, caught off guard, but my hips knew what to do, and I began my little rutting into her substantial form.

It was tough going with how tight she was, but whenever I slowed down, she would give me a light smack on my bottom with a 'swahp!' She had done that before, in the past, for fun when we were having that conversational, funny sex that only comfortable couples could manage.

This time, however, there was more urgency. A seriousness unfamiliar to our bed but no less exciting.

"Do you like that, lover? Do you like being in the body all those hunky men want?"

"Yes -swahp!- yes! I love your body! You're amazing, Eva. -huff huff- You're bad too -swahp!- Ah-Hnnngh! You are! You tease those men with this sinful body of yours, knowing that you're making those girls look bad. You go to the gym just to show off and show them up!"

My wife switched hands, placing her hand at the back of my head to bring me down to her lips, her fat nipples pressing into my chest.

"Do you like me being bad?" she asked breathlessly.

"Uh -Swahp!- Yes! I think I do!" the hand she was using to urge me on had her rings on them, and they left a delightful sting.

"Do you like me hitting you like this? A wife shouldn't do things like this to the man of the house, the man she should respect!" she almost growled, and my eyes widened at the uncharacteristic ferocity.

Where was all this coming from? I wondered.

I increased my speed, my speech robbed from me as she held me fast, devouring my mouth.

I pulled back in a giant gasp for air.

"The pain keeps the edge off. I-I can go for longer. This is so... Hah!" I said, laughing, and she joined me as we rediscovered a passion, if temporarily, that we had lost.

"Mmmm, what else do you like about me being so bad, husband?" I was scared to share more, but my cock certainly wasn't. Her eyes flashed at my hesitancy, sweat dripping down my face onto her expansive cleavage, pale from a lack of tanning the rest of her golden bronze skin enjoyed. "Tell me, Jason. Don't hide from me. Are you scared? Are you worried I'll hate it... or are you worried I'll like it?" I couldn't stop biting my lip in front of her, and my dick gave a herculean jerk for its small size. "Tell me, lover..." I said nothing, and her eyes narrowed for a moment. "I said, tell me!"

"The meeting!"

"What meeting, Jason?"

I was tight-lipped as my hips started to slow in her melting honey pot. I closed my eyes for a moment to hide in the sensation as her vagina made those subtle, unconscious twitches. My prostate would jerk in response, the ever-building buildup of climax making the exquisiteness of Eva's love canal even more vivid.

SWAHP!

"At work, at the Agency," I almost wailed as she shocked me out of her divine pleasures.

"What about it, lover-boy?" She quirked an eyebrow as my thrusts slowed again. Had had enough of my inconsistent performance and so delivered a vicious slap to my ass. "What about it!?"

"The way you used me..."

She seemed puzzled for a moment before her eyes widened in an amazed realisation, and then a wickedly evil smile dimpled her cheeks.

"How did I use you; how badly did I use you?"

"The plan you and Sierra made. You knew that I was building up Dylon, I wanted him for the agency, -huff huff huff gasp- but you worked with Sierra to make sure Jamal's client got picked. You didn't put my files in! -huff huff- You knew how I would react, so that's why you removed the files -huff-... and you knew you could get away with... with..."

She stared at me as I pumped into her, staring at my pleasure, and self-doubt and erotic madness. Her expression never changed as she studied me like an insect; it was indiscernibly hot, almost as hot as her molten sex turning my penis into soup.

"... and if I did know? that I could get away with it?" She sounded more interested than challenging.

"That's so bad -ungh!- but it's so sexy, Eva!"

"That I undermined you or that I hid it?"

"I don't know, both I guess. -GASP- Uhh-arrgh! It's new to me, but it had me excited," I said, voice straining, eyes tearing as I squinted in the pain of my confessional humiliation and the uncompromising pleasure it fed into my heat trapped penis. What sinful, delightful pleasure!

"It was hot in the meeting?" She must have known what I meant. She must have known! but she was being deliciously callous, dragging the exact definition out of me, getting me to word my unnatural arousal out in the open. And all the while, she could use my penis as barometer for my psychological sincerity that later words could not hide.

"No-yes- uuuh! I can't help it! -Huffhuffhuff- thinking about how everyone must have known I had been duped by my own wife!" I panted, pain or pleasure in my voice I could not say with Eva's vagina methodically milking away my sanity. She was administering Such an erotic interrogation to me.

"So, you never felt anything while it was happening?"

"I... I... yes," I panted out as my sweat dribbled down into her deep cleavage, her legs squeezing my hips before she expertly used those powerfully toned thighs of thunder to help me with my thrusting. Holy crap, what a woman!

"And you like the fact I embarrassed you?" Her voice, again, quizzical, out of touch with her amazonian assistance of my love making. Slowly, but surely, she was taking over the pumping of my hips, with her own legs, her motions steadier, commanding and unrelenting, like a steam engine powering through. I could not fathom all the muscles at work that enabled her to do this, but the short attempt to imagine it left me dizzy in erotic fever.

I looked at her, knew inside her mind the gears were whirling off the flywheel. I loved my wife, but she was not always trustworthy, but it seemed over time I had grown to enjoy it in some way, and I think she was realising the same.

"Okay, lover-boy. This was interesting to know, and it was interesting and hot, as you have been putting it." She giggled. "But I think I'll need to be a bit more considerate from now on. Finish, love, finish like I know you're desperate to."

She released her hold on my hips, returning to me my meagre old man's masculinity. I sped up with a groan, closing my eyes as she whispered to me those familiar love-making words.

"Bring it home, Jaz, bring it all home to me!"

Her hands caressed my shoulders before opening up my PJs. The nails of her fingers licked across my chest, which sent tantalising shivers through my torso; my hips shook in a discordant staccato at the effect.

"Ah, yes, right there, lover. Right there, right there. Harder, Jaz. Faster, more, more!"

I was doing my darndest to pump and pump, and pump away into her burning snatch. I marvelled at how expertly her love canal tightened around me when I was balls deep before letting me go as I pulled out. I gasped as exhaustion warred with the ever-building pleasure of the climax.

"Cum for me, cum for me, husband! cum!"

I cried out as I shot myself into the condom, her warm walls flexing around my little shaft, milking my thin seed from me with mechanical, almost indifferent, efficiency as she watched my face as if she was looking at the clouds. That nearly nonchalant look, putting down my efforts as my age robbed me of vigour, produce additional, but far more powerful bursts of cum from me. So intense was it, I cried out under her calm, dissecting gaze.

She engaged with me then; kept kissing my cheek, stroking my back as my body strove to drive my last spurts into her, carefully helping me down from the peak of pleasure into the familiarity of a man in his wife's arms.

I all but deflated, my head resting on those full, robed mammaries I had come to love. Her strong arms wrapped around me as we mellowed in a way we hadn't for months.

I rested there for a time, Eva stroking my hair and back in a soothing manner.

I listened to her heartbeat as my post orgasm fog faded and the clarity of what we had actually been talking about emerged. A slight panic started to take hold as I realised the implications of my words, and what that would say about me in her eyes.

"Eva..."

"Mmm?"

"That was..."

"Strange, weird, freaky, kinky?"

I was too scared to pick one or the other, so all I could say was, "Yes."

She chuckled, and I took heart from that if nothing else.

"Are you okay?" I asked her, holding onto her, but not too tight to seem desperate or possessive, enjoying the feel of her toned muscles and curvy fullness filling my arms.

"Oh, I'm okay, Jaz. But are you okay? It wasn't my intention to hurt you. I just thought that the team would see it as a blatant manipulation of KTA if it came from you, and I didn't want you to be seen as complicit." she told me, but she didn't sound upset or guilty... nor did she apology, which felt hot to me for some reason, but my deflated penis still jerked inside her vacuum tight walls, and no doubt she felt it.

"Yeah, I'm okay, Eva..." What was she thinking about right now? What did the things I had said and revealed mean to her? "Was it too much? What I said? I'm sorry, I was just trying to add a little spice to the night, I didn't mean all the things I had said," I said hurriedly, obviously lying but hoping she would allow me an out.

"I'm not sure, Jaz. We don't really do much fantasising," was her neutral response. "And what do you mean you didn't mean it? You don't think my body can compete with others?" Now she sounded annoyed.

Crap...

"That's not what I meant, Eva! I was referring to what I had said about... I did mean what I said about how sexy you are, and how jealous the girls must be of you, and how every guy wants you."

She rolled us onto our side before placing her head on mine.

"That's good."

"That's it, just good?" I wondered aloud, my face placed into her cleavage. I then noticed that my wife's skin was smooth of her own sweat, not exactly saying much for my performance, let alone the fact she had driven most of it and had yet to cum herself. "Do you want me to finish you off?"

"That's okay, I was cruising it tonight."

That was our term for lovemaking for bonding instead of sexual climax. Eva had always been a cruiser; she never asked for sex for herself, she didn't get as much out of intercourse as I did, but she liked my oral attentions, and she relied on me to notice when she needed relief. She's passive-aggressively shy about it all.

"Did I upset you, Eva? I didn't mean to accuse you of being mean to the other gym goers."

"It's fine, Jaz. We don't need to talk about it. It was nice, and wild to think about, and it got my ego going," she said, patting my hair.

"Should we do more of that? Should I say more of that in bed? You seemed to like it a lot."

She was silent, and I could hear her breathing change as she thought about it more. I was completely fine waiting, what with her abundant bosom stuck in my face.

Or should I call them tits...?

"I think... I'm not sure I liked it for what it was," she paused again, and I could tell she was nervous to continue. "Or... if I was just starved for praise."

I pulled my head back to look into her bemused gaze with guilt, inadequacy and husbandly self-disappointment in my heart.

"Awww, crap. I'm sorry, Eva. Have I been that bad recently?"

Those long, thick eyelashes lowered over her deep green emeralds, obfuscating the true meaning that could be seen within them. "You yourself mentioned neglect..."

She had me at that, and I blinked at her. It had been a Freudian slip of my horny mind brought upon by her words downstairs.

I had been pulling away over the last year or so for reasons that were too selfish and unfair to admit. My wife paid for all our meals and nights out, trips with the kids, new clothes, new cars, new gits. She could afford the new and fresh, whereas I could just about keep the lights on in our house.

It was foolish, and behind the times in a day and age where career women were respected, empowered and celebrated. It was childish of me to resent her success in comparison to my stagnancy. And yet, I did, subconsciously, and so I pulled away.

And I had hurt my wife and maybe my marriage, in doing so.

"I've been awful, Eva. I've been pulling away for pathetic reasons. It's nothing you've done. It's what I've been doing or haven't been doing. I just... I want to be the provider to our family again," I finally admitted, a great pressure building in my skull in anticipation of her scorn.

"What is wrong with me doing that?" She asked, offended and hurt, and in turn, I felt self-disgust.

"Nothing, Eva!" I said quickly and desperately. "But I promised you I would take care of our family, that I would provide for you. I made that promise when I proposed that day. And I said the same to your father when I shook his hand. He made me reaffirm that promise again on his last day in the hospital. And I'm not doing that, you are. And I'm being ridiculous instead of supportive..."

The room was quiet after that. She had stopped stroking my body, but her hands remained.

"Thank you for being honest with me, Jaz."

"I'm sorry..."

"Stop apologising, you're a grown man. And don't ever apologise for being honest with me. I'm surrounded by snakes and spiders in the office day in and day out. I don't want that here, with you in our home."

I almost apologised again.

"Thank you... for telling me what you want, Eva. I'll endeavour to be more honest, both with my feelings and the compliments." I considered something else as this conversation jumped from topic to topic. "Are we in a bad place, Eva?"

She took a deep breath, her chest expanded into my face, temporarily smothering me in heaven before she exhaled.

"No, Jaz. We're not. But I do think we've grown apart, and we've been changing. I don't feel any less close to you..." she trailed off. I knew not to say anything, just let her answer in her own time, even if I doubted her answer a bit. "But-but I do feel what I feel is not as important to you anymore. But I do understand what you're trying to say, Love."

"You do? I keep doubting if I'm being clear enough about all this. They don't teach this at school."

"I don't feel our marriage is in a bad place, but I do feel we, as individuals, are. I told you how I feel about those girls in the gym... you're right that I resent them a bit, and I want to show them up, and prove I'm still strong and healthy, even though I'm facing the big four-oh in a few months."

She lowered my face, hidden from her sight; it was her habit to reveal something about herself without the judging gaze of others. I never viewed it as a lack of trust; it's something she did with everyone. And who was I to complain with the almost milky smell -I was probably imagining it- of her large globes in my face?

It also allowed me more wiggle room to be a bit more open and aggressive with my questions.

"And what about being bad? Do you like doing that? Do you think that is a symptom of being in a bad place?"

"And what about me being bad to you, hmmm? Do you like that?" She instantly countered in a way I knew she had prepared for my question.

I mean, I was already in a bad light from my wife's point of view, and deservedly so with how I had been taking out my own listless career on her. As such, I wasn't so resistant to taking a gamble.

"I think I do, in a way..."

She released me so I could see she was looking down at me with those hypnotic eyes, staring deep into my soul, pinning me within her sight. I liked how forceful it was, how presumptuous it was.

"Really, and why is that, Jason?"

I swallowed. "I'm not too sure, Eva. I think it's got something to do with my neglect of you. I've always felt awful for my pettiness, especially when you work your ass off for us. But you never say anything or criticise me. I feel worse than ever, and it's all just bottled up. So, when you pay me back in a way, by acting in a way that I think is mean-spirited or callous, it... Well, it's hard to say, haha..." I tried for humour but my wife's unwavering focus petered out the attempt.

I saw her jaw clench and her expression firm, and, in spite of myself, my penis flared inside of her. Her eyes widened for a moment, and then they narrowed. "Tell me," she demanded, voice like a whip crack.

She felt my reaction between her legs.

"It's arousing, Eva. God help me!" I bemoaned my revelation; it was tough existing as me, with my faults and problems, under the examination of that deep green gaze... And hot, getting hotter. "I don't know why that gets me aroused. That's why I was interested in whether being bad gets you hot, too, even by showing up those girls. I feel less pitiful if I'm not the only one who enjoys this side of you."

"You mean this side of you," she said pointedly. "I never said I enjoyed it."

"You... don't...?" I looked at her chest witlessly, my eyes unseeing.

I was crushed that I had revealed something so damning about myself to her, only to not find reward, or even relief, in that honesty, ebbing away whatever heat had been building into my penis.

"Mmmm, No."

I squirmed under her merciless eyes, but then, thinking about how callous and harsh she was being, I felt myself heat up again, and the sight of her face seemed to sparkle to me as a wan smile appeared on my Eva's gloriously olive-tanned face.

Dawn had risen to strike night, and I had to fight back the tears of relief.

"I never said that, but I have felt it from time to time, I must admit," she finally relented to me, my heart awash with ease -but then her expression grew serious. "However, Jaz, the gym experiences aside, I have not found any pleasure in making you suffer like that." She flushed before finally looking away, closing her eyes. "Maybe I've been lashing out in my own way. I'm getting older, my body won't be like this forever. Miriam is getting ready to move out in a year or two. I still have our little boy, but I just feel as if everything is deserting me. I'm fighting to find something new, I suppose. But I think I'm also upset that you've been leaning away when I need your affection more than ever."

Tears fell from her eyes, and I gaped in shock.

How bad had I let this become?

I threw my arms around her, holding her for dear life. She was slow to respond, but all of a sudden, she proved how vastly superior in strength and stature she was to me by returning the embrace with such force that I thought my ribs would crack.

But I didn't care.

Like I had revealed to her, I felt I deserved her anger and contempt.

There was no more arousal in it for me. The tears of the person I had promised on bended knee to love and protect were in frustrated tears because I had failed to do just that.

I was mortified.

I felt a sudden, angry urge to hurt myself. Beat myself up for recompense... but that was not what my wife needed right now.

"I love you, Eva." I finally said, and she permitted me a kiss. I tasted her tears, heard her moan in needful distress, and I shuddered in cold shame. "I want to say I'm sorry again, but I know that's not what you need. I promise I'm going to be more attentive, and I'm going to help more around the house, and with the kids."

She began shaking her head. "You're busy with work-"

"And you're not? It hurts for me to say this, but right now you're the breadwinner, and you've been the greatest benefactor to the KTA... and that's in spite of everything they did to you."

"You don't need to bring that up, Jaz. That was David, one man. I got my baby boy out of it, that's all that matters."

"I know," I agreed, thinking of that snoozing little leopard with his mother's mane of golden hair. "And I want to be more open to your strategies with the KTA."

"Even after I hurt you today in the meeting?" she asked, looking back at me in confusion. "Did you like it so much?" I sensed disappointment in her eyes, and I had to remind myself that interest in my fantasies did not mean acceptance nor encouragement.

"That's not it. I think that can be its own thing. To be honest, it's pretty scary getting a boner in the middle of a meeting with people I've worked with for almost two decades now. I want to explore that side of myself, but not at work." I shook my head in dismissal. "I mean, the things you do for the KTA, your mind, your resources and how careful you are, always works out to the KTA's benefit, and in effect, mine. I said it seemed callous to me, but only in the moment. When I thought about it more, it made sense."

That was a bit of a lie, I felt bad about Charlie Vanderwal and my lack of commissions, but securing a likely talent gave a percentage to the rest of the team, with Jamal getting the lions share. When eventually we went to Dambrooke about said talent, Eva would engineer his sponsorship, almost guaranteeing Dambrooke took him on, and Eva would get a commission fee almost five times what I would make which then went to the family.

... It made sense... it's just my blasted heart cried about the situation as much as my cock revelled within it.

"I trust you, you know," she said, eyes searching my own. "Never doubt it."

"I don't, but I understand the difference between trusting someone and trusting them with something. Just... I promise to talk more, be more engaged, and be closer to you, as your husband and partner."

She grabbed my hand, raised it to those succulent lips and kissed my rings. "And as my friend."

I was touched and nostalgic. How many marriages still recognised the old family care of friendship when the slick and hot Ferrari of impassioned love zoomed by, a sonic boom tipping everything in its wake?

"Yes, Eva. A friend. I think that makes things more approachable. I think we need to get back to making time for being friends as well as lovers. I think there are things you would say to the former you wouldn't to the latter."

Eva raised a sexy eyebrow. "Contrariwise, I think there are many, many things you wouldn't say to the former but, in the heat of things, you would reveal to the latter."

I blushed at her teasing smile, but it was a blush that made me feel young again. I hoped she was feeling what I was feeling at this moment.

"Yes, I want to talk more, but I want you to talk more too, Eva. Even if you don't tell me your plans, if I can understand your intentions, so that I'm not confused when something you've been cooking is finally revealed, I'll feel safer, more included," I confessed.

"And exclusive. I've always loved how you could read my thoughts, Jaz. I've... done my own damages to that bond between us" She was contrite, and I was reassured that regardless of my faults, and bad decisions as a husband, she was still worried for me, and for us.

"For good reason," I said wholeheartedly.

She grimaced.

"I can't say it was good, not after the pain it has caused. I'll give you 'understandable reasons'... but let it lie, Jaz."

It was a little command, and it didn't put iron into my dick, but it did make me feel... something. I think I was satisfied. Maybe not, on second thought, but it felt similar to that feeling. It felt like the correct way to treat me.

"Do you want to go to sleep? I think we should think about this," she suggested.

"I think thinking whilst sleeping on it is a good idea," I quipped, and she giggled, and then leaned into me, kissing my cheek softly. I returned the kiss, content in the uncharged naturalness of it. The feeling of her wet lips on my cheek a constant caress.

We turned out the lamp lights on the stands and settled into a warm bed.

"Eva?"

"Yes, Husband?"

I actually had no idea what I wanted to say, but felt like too much was left unsaid.

"I just wanted you to know; I'm proud that I married you, and I'm proud of how beautiful a person you are. And you shouldn't be embarrassed to be proud of yourself. You're sexy, and lovely, and sometimes frighteningly intelligent. You're my great beauty, and there is nothing wrong with others recognising it either."

"What are you trying to say, Jaz?"

"Just that... I think it's hot that other people get jealous of you and desire you. I think a lot of the lads who watch you do so for the reasons I've already said. I'm not sure if you enjoy it as much as I made out, but you should. You'll always be beautiful to me now or fifty years from now. But if you look good now, why not burn that image into their mind for years to come? In fact, we should get a family photo done, would you like that?"

"I would love that, Jaz. And... thank you for the suggestion. I've been comparing myself to Dorian Grey some. But your way is a nice way of looking at it. Thank you, Jaz."

"Goodnight, love."

"Goodnight, Lover-boy."

Such a wonderful, heartwarming way to end the night and rekindle the fires of what we thought were lost...

...

... I should have stopped there.

It was a perfect way to end things, but I felt like I needed to say more.

I would never realise the terrible, decadent, erotic nightmare I would unleash with my next words.

"Eva?"

"What is it, love?"

"I want you to remember this. I mean this, and I want it to always guide you when you're uncertain about how to treat me."

She was silent for such a long time that I was worried she had fallen asleep, or perhaps she had felt some dark, sensuous omen in the air at what I was about to empower.

"Yes, Jason?"

That name, I should have stopped there. I should have...

I should have taken her use of my name for the horrific sensuality it forbode.

I even shivered at the way she said my name, but this time in youthful, unseeing horny delight than aged derision.

Such a fool, such a wretch...

"If you are going to use me, use me well."

She said nothing to that.

Nothing.

Man likes to think it has tamed fire, and yet, when unleashed, there are few calamities more total in their ruinations.

++++++

Thank you for reading the first chapter.

I hoped you liked it.

Of course, please leave comments or star ratings. (Any star rating is fine, as I understand stories like this are poorly rated anyway.)

The next chapter will be shorter than this but will come out within the next two weeks.

Take care out there, and I hope to see you in the next chapter.

Jeb