Home Invasion

I've sat on this one for quite some time. I've tweaked it over a dozen times and decided it was either time to publish or can. It's a little over the top, and my female protagonist is... well... not cool.

Initially, when I started HOME INVASION, I began with the full intention of writing about a heartless bitch, but as I wrote, it seemed my consciousness wouldn't let me go full bitch mode. Instead, they come across as a woman who made a series of bad decisions. I also struggle with the full wrath of a proper burn the bitch. I've honestly tried, but my head won't let me go there (not yet, anyway). As I've stated in my profile and numerous story intros, I try to find the humanity in people... even those who perhaps don't deserve it.

So... if you're looking for the revenge factor, I may not be an author you will enjoy. That's not to say that consequences are absent, just not the over-the-top kind. So many great authors do that genre well, and I respect and enjoy their abilities.

It seems that writing has been very good for me and my therapy. I don't think I'm as error-riddled as I was in the beginning, but you can always expect a spelling mistake or 12. Along with grammatical inaccuracies... hell, even the odd name changes mid-story. I honestly hate it when I do that!

I hope you enjoy my twist on some old tropes. Sick of big dicks? You may want to skip this one. It's not a major part of the plot, but it has its small place. (see what I did there?)

It's not real. Just a fictional story of fallible people. I'm sure I've said enough to already make this predictable... my bad.

Yeah... it's far-fetched.

Cheers,

C_T

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

"Oh, my God! Doug. You... you had no idea, did you?" My therapist could barely keep her voice straight. "Of course, you wouldn't. This... this changes so much." She came from behind me and reached for the phone on her desk. "I must make a call, Doug. Just give me a minute."

I could vaguely hear her conversation, as I sat staring at the now paused video in front of me. Despite the painful outcomes of reliving that evening, my therapist was hoping it would be a step forward in dealing with my anxiety and depression. I hated the man I had become, and it was ultimately destroying my marriage. My poor wife was hanging on dearly, hoping I could break through the walls of insecurity, fear, and hopelessness.

It was a last resort, and I only agreed to it because I wanted to be the man my wife needed me to be. The confident, loving man I was just six months ago. As much as I could remember from that night, it all played back in real-time, on the recording. The helplessness weighed heavily on me like it had that night. The night that changed our lives.

However, the one thing I had hoped would move me forward turned out to be the final blow to my marriage. The part I never even knew about...

A look back

I took a fair amount of grief when I married Jazz. There was the age gap, of course. I was 43 and she was 27. People looked at me as a cradle robber, and she was the rumored gold digger. In fairness, I had accumulated considerable wealth. It wasn't all my money; some was from my first wife.

Patricia and I got married right out of med school. I discovered my love for hospital administration and quickly moved through the ranks. I was currently the Deputy CEO, overseeing all hospital budgets within our state. Patricia was an up-and-coming cosmetic surgeon who had partnered with two highly renowned surgeons in their field. We were rolling in money and did very little to spend it, as we were saving for our future family.

After 8 months of no success in the family department, we made ourselves available for testing to make sure there was no underlying cause, like low sperm count or ovulation anomalies. It turned out that neither of those was the issue. It was the massive cancerous tumors throughout her reproductive organs.

Like the fighter she was, we did everything we could to beat this. Children were no longer our concern, we just wanted to live our lives together as long as we could. But cancer is a bitch, and she took my Patricia 9 months later. Yes, I found the timeline ironic too. Devastation wouldn't hold a candle to what I felt. It took many years for me to come to terms with the loss of Patricia. I figured I was one and done. Patricia was my one.

I met Jazz at the gym I go to regularly. I promised myself I would live my life as Patricia wanted. Instead of turning to booze or drugs to deal with my loneliness, I went the other way and became the classic health nut. I was a healthy 6ft man with a low body fat percentage. My build was lean but strong, and I could run and box with the best of them. I used the gym to work away my anxieties, anger, and depression. Going as often as I did, I began to make acquaintances from the routines of seeing each other. Jazz was one of them, and what started as polite hellos turned a little more invested the day I helped spot for her on the bench press. She knew several guys there, but that day it seemed that none of them were around, so she asked me.

I admit that I watch people at the gym all the time, more out of curiosity than anything else. I watch people's forms and execution, especially women. I know what you're thinking, but if you want to know how a certain machine works or what proper form is... watch a woman. They don't lift for vanity or bragging rights. They research how to do things right. More than a few times, I've altered my use of a machine based on my observations.

Obviously, I'd seen Jazz around and was impressed with her routines. She never did the same circuit, but each one had a purpose. Today she did a combination of back and chest stuff, hence the ask for a spot. Jazz wasn't tall by any means, but she was athletically proportional, and her gym gear was always very complimentary. She settled on the bench and looked up at me as she prepared herself.

"I'm Jazz, by the way." She said in a cute voice.

"Doug." I smiled in return.

"Thanks, Doug. I'm shooting for 12 reps. I suspect the last 3 will be my toughest. I nodded and prepared to assist if she needed it.

Turns out, she was correct in her assumption. Her tenth rep stalled before she could complete her full extension. As she came back down, I put my hands under the bar and followed her ascent. When she stalled again, I lightly contacted the bar, just in case. Her breath was still coming out, and the determination was clear.

"All you," I encouraged her, "All you." She finally got the full extension and came down for her last rep.

She wasn't far off her chest when her progression faltered. I carefully applied as little pressure as possible to encourage her progression. Inch by inch, she made the full range, and I helped her place the bar back on the holders.

"Nice job, Jazz. Impressive." No, I wasn't flirting. I was impressed.

She popped up from her back and spun her butt, so she was sitting sideways on the bench. "Thanks for the assist." She smiled.

"Honestly, I didn't do much more than support the bar. That was 97% you at the end." She smiled.

"Most guys just lift it the rest of the way for me. I think they think they're being my hero." She gave me a sweet giggle. "Thank you for making me push myself."

That was the beginning of a gym friendship. When we were there at the same time, we often took our breaks to share some pleasantries. As the months went on, the pleasantries became more personal, as we talked about work and families. When she wasn't at the gym or hanging out with her friends, Jazz worked as an advertising consultant for a national firm. Most of her work involved sitting at a computer, and that was when she decided she needed to date the gym (as she put it).

I told her about my job, and she seemed thoroughly impressed. She also noticed I spoke very little about my private life. One day, she decided to be blunt about my evasiveness.

"So, what's your story, Doug? I feel you know almost everything about me, but you, sir, are like a locked-up filing cabinet."

I laughed. "Well, technically, I never asked you anything. You were happy to share, and I was interested in listening."

She put her hand on her hip and gave me a mock glare. "C'mon! You gotta give me something. Is there a Mrs.?" I guess my mood change was obvious. "Oh shit! I'm sorry, Doug. I didn't mean to bring up bad feelings." She touched my arm, and I realized how nice it felt.

I pondered my thoughts for a second. "Ther... there was a Mrs.," I started, "I lost Patricia a few years back to cancer." I looked at her face and thought I saw a tear in the corner of her eye.

"I'm so sorry, Doug. I didn't mean to be so insensitive." She pulled me in for a hug and apologized a few more times. She released me and stepped back. "Maybe we could grab a coffee one day. I'd love to hear everything about her."

That was the beginning of our relationship. It started as two friends and eventually blossomed through mutual attraction and interests. Despite our age difference, we had many things in common and never ran out of things to experience or share. The physical part came much later, mostly due to my reluctance to pursue another relationship, but Jazz was patient, yet persistent. It turned out that her persistence was a blessing. Sex with her was so different than with Patricia. Not better, just different. Maybe it was her age or enthusiasm, but it made me feel 20 years younger when we had sex. Jazz was the recipient of the oral skills Patricia had coached me to perfection, and I loved making her squirm with pleasure. I don't think she ever experienced a man who thoroughly enjoyed eating pussy. One time, she actually passed out.

The longer we dated, the less concerned we were with looks or comments, feeling comfortable and confident in what we were developing. I had legitimate conversations with friends and coworkers, but most were happy if I was happy... and by gosh, I was happy again.

A year later, we were engaged, and 7 months following that, we got married in a small church outside of the city. Just close friends and family came to celebrate our big day. We spent plenty of time preparing for our life together. We talked about kids and our future. I agreed that we could try for a child if that's what she wanted. She knew my window wasn't as large as hers, so she promised to decide within a year. She also insisted on a prenup. She wanted to put the gold-digger rumors to rest once and for all.

Life was good again. I was able to reflect on my life with Patricia fondly and felt like she would have liked Jazz. She injected me with youth, and I was living to my fullest potential, once again.

It was the week before our second anniversary. We had gone to a hospital fundraiser, where we were the talk of the night. Most people were happy to see us carry on, so much in love. You could never avoid those who still saw our relationship as phony, but I stopped giving a shit long ago. We were driving back to my house... sorry. OUR HOUSE. I offered to sell it when we talked about getting married, but Jazz had fallen in love with the large open-concept design, and after we married, she moved in (officially).

She was a little tipsy and, as a result, a little handsy on the ride home. She was doing a full-court press on my erection, making the ride home both erotic and uncomfortable.

"When we get home, I need this bad boy in my cunt!" She never had much of a filter when she was drinking. "You going to give your wife that big dick, baby?"

I was struggling to keep my car on the road, so the closest I got to an answer was the gulping sound of the air I swallowed. That only encouraged her. She went on and on about my big cock destroying her little pussy, all while she masterfully manipulated my cock through my suit pants.

Patricia never talked dirty, and this took some getting used to. Not that Patricia and I didn't explore and try new things. We had a vibrant sex life. However, Jazz would go on and on about my big cock, and it embarrassed me. I was a little larger than average for sure, but I wasn't porn big. She shot me down whenever I brought it up, declaring it was big to her and that was all that mattered... so I learned to live with it. Sue me.

Within minutes of entering our house, Jazz was out of her dress and spread-eagled on the bed. I made quick work of my suit, wearing nothing but my boxers and socks, and soon found myself face deep into her sweet pussy. She was always so wet for me, and tonight was no different. She was squealing in orgasm in no time. That was the last thing I heard... then stars... then black.

When I tried to open my eyes, my eyelids hurt. The pain in my head was constant and throbbing. I moaned, only to realize that there was a gag in my mouth. I panicked and went to pull it off, but was quickly aware that my hands were tied straight down my side to the chair. My feet were also secured, realizing I was naked and bound. What the hell happened? Then I could hear a voice of distress behind me. It was Jazz, and she was whimpering! I started to grunt and shake in my chair, desperate to see what was going on behind me.

"Well, well, well. Look who's finally going to join us." The male voice was deep and taunting. "Looks like hubby will be awake for this after all."

"PLEASE, don't do this! Take whatever you want!" I could hear the fear in Jazz's voice. I struggled against my restraints but couldn't move an inch, no matter how hard I twisted and pulled.

"Oh, trust me, I am! Now open those legs and show me your pretty little kitty." The stranger ordered.

I was in full rage now. Yelling and screaming around my gag. They say people can find superhuman strength in situations of high stress, but sadly, I was no stronger than my normal me.

"Please don't! Oh, GOD. You're too big! You'll kill me!"

The man chuckled. "Maybe... but what a way to go, huh?

I could hear the distinctive sounds of a struggle, mixed with screams of protest from my wife. I could tell she wasn't being successful in deflecting her attacker. I screamed 'NO' through my gag, but it had no impact on the scenario playing out behind me. Her begging him to stop was falling on deaf ears. Then I heard it. The god-awful sound your woman makes when she's in pain.

"Noooooooooooooooo! It hurts! Stop! Please!"

My body vibrated and struggled against my restraints. I was vaguely aware of the wetness I felt along my palms; later, I would find out it was blood from the cuts I was causing to myself.

*Slap!* *Slap!* Slap!* I could hear the intruder's pelvis slapping into my wife as he defiled her on my bed, with me only 10 feet away... useless and unable to do anything.

The man's grunts got louder, as did the slapping sounds. "Oh, fuck ya! Take my big dick, bitch! Tell me you love it!" More body slapping and heavy breathing. I have no idea how long it carried on, but it felt like forever.

I could no longer hear Jazz's screaming. Did he gag her too, because all I could hear was panting and the odd squeak? With one last tug, I pulled the tie wraps deep into my flesh... until I heard what was said next.

"Holy shit! You're gonna cum! Aren't you, you crazy little slut? Daddy can't give you what you need, huh?" The slapping intensified.

"Go on slut! Cum on my big cock! Show Daddy who the real man is here!" My body froze when I heard the unmistakable sound of my wife having an orgasm... a very big orgasm.

Tears fell from my eyes and rolled down my flushed cheeks, landing on my bare thighs.

"Holy fuck! Yeah! Cum on my dick, you slut! See what a real man can do for you!" I could tell Jazz was trying to stay quiet, but that only exacerbated the intensity of her orgasm. Yeah! Fuck ya, bitch! Cum on my dick!" He pounded harder and faster; I knew what was coming next. "Take my load bitch! Arrrrggghh!"

The guttural moans and noises coming from behind me made me nauseous. I tried not to puke, worried I could choke on my vomit because of the stupid gag. My tears flowed heavily as all my fight had left my body. I failed. I failed to protect my wife and my house. The despair and grief hit me hard. So hard, I didn't even notice the man had left the bed and walked in front of me. My head was facing down; all I could see were his black socks.

"I got to hand it to you, old man, your wife is one awesome fuck! I think she truly enjoyed getting fucked by a real cock... did you hear her? I bet if I did her again, she'd beg to cum. Wanna find out?"

His taunting stirred my anger once again, and I lifted my head to look the perpetrator in the eyes, but only up to his midriff was exposed. He still had on a black top and a black balaclava. The only thing I could see was his white dick. His big white dick. Despite his recent orgasm, he was still ridiculously huge.

"I usually get the man to suck me hard again. What do you say, Daddy?" He chuckled at his own joke. "Think you can do your wife a favor and suck me hard again?"

"NO! NO! NO!" Jazz jumped from the bed. "Please don't! I beg you. If it must be done, I'll do it. Please leave my husband out of it."

How is a man supposed to react to a statement like that? Happy that his wife would undertake such a thing to protect your manhood? Or... concerned that your wife so quickly volunteered to suck the cock of a stranger... a huge one at that. I couldn't see his actual smile, but I could tell he was grinning like a hungry predator under his mask. It was like he could read the thoughts battling in my head.

"What a brave wife, buddy boy. But I wonder... is she being brave or does she just crave my big cock in her slutty mouth? Hmmmm?"

"Please... please don't hurt my husband."

He towered over Jazz by at least a foot and a half. "Tell you what, sweet cheeks. I'll let you suck my dick, if...." Suddenly, he pulled my chair back, so my head was going backwards. He slowed it just enough so that I could lift my head to prevent it from hitting the floor. "If you sit on your hubby's face and get him to clean you out while you work your magic on getting another load."

I could see Jazz stare at the man, then look down at me with pity. Why didn't she try to run? I suppose the odds of her being captured were almost guaranteed and who knows what the asshole would do to her. If I could only create some kind of distraction for her, I thought.

I watched the intruder man handle my wife until she was standing above my head. "Go on, sweet thing. Have a seat."

Jazz looked down on me. I'm sure the look of fear and embarrassment was well represented. "He... he'll suffocate." She weakly offered in my defense.

"I'm not a monster, sweet cheeks. You can remove his gag; how else will he be able to clean out all my cum?" He laughed as he pushed hard on her shoulders until she was kneeling right over my head. "Go ahead, slut. Take off his gag." He chuckled with amusement.

Jazz looked at me. Her eyes were trying to say something, but I was still too stunned to catch it. "What if I say no?" She looked up at the masked stranger.

"Ooh, defiance?" He grabbed Jazz by her hair and bent down to speak directly in her face. "I'll simply beat your daddy unconscious and strap you to the chair in his stead. Then you can watch me bugger his asshole like a prison bitch!" He released her hair, and she looked at me with terror on her face. "Then I'll spend the rest of tonight and tomorrow, fucking you in every hole until they stay wide open! Although... you'd love that part, I'm sure."

I could see tears in her eyes. I instantly went on autopilot. I nodded my head to let her know it was okay. Her hand was shaking as she slowly pulled the gag from my mouth.

"It's okay," I whispered to her. "Do what you have to, to get through this." She looked relieved that I didn't expect her to resist any more than she had.

"This is so cute, but you know what? I need my dick sucked." I had a ground-eye view as the perpetrator grabbed my wife's head and guided his semi-erect, cock into her mouth. By the third pump, he already had her nose pressed into his pelvis. "That's it! I knew you'd be a great cocksucker!" He pulled out, and I could see he was well on his way to getting hard again.

"Time to feed hubby, darlin!"

I watched Jazz's pussy descend to my face. Normally it would be welcomed and enjoyed, but the cum leaking from her inner lips stole all the joy away. She stopped just above my lips. I felt like she was trying to save me from further embarrassment, although the intruder was on top of that.

"Oh, fuck ya! Look at you go! You love throating my big dick don't you wifey? I'm impressed. You must've had a lot of practice before you married Grandpa, huh?"

The sounds were muffled, somewhat, but I could hear the distant sounds of a mouth slobbering over a cock. I used to love that sound. Suddenly, Jazz let out a gasp, and her body went rigid.

"Hold up, my little cocksucker! Is cucky eating your sloppy pussy?" I sensed him squatting down and could just make out his cock above my head." Either you drop that pussy and feed Daddy my cum, or this is going to get ugly, real fast."

Not sure if she dropped herself, or if he helped, but suddenly my mouth and nose were covered with my wife's sloppy pussy. The remnants of his cum tried to ooze its way into my mouth. I instinctively tried to use my tongue to direct the fluids away. Sadly, I did little to prevent the inevitable.

"There you go! Atta boy, eat up! You could at least make your wife feel good. After all, she's sucking my cock for you!" He chuckled as he stood back up. "Now, where were we... of course. You were working on a mouthful of my baby batter, weren't you? You're both going to know how I taste before I'm done."

Once again, I could hear the squelching sounds of a blowjob above me as I traced the inner folds of my wife's pussy. I put all thoughts of the situation and the man's cum from my mind and tried to focus on giving my wife some form of pleasure during this nightmare.

I guess I was doing pretty good because Jazz was soon grinding her soaking wet pussy on my face. I could hear her breathing become erratic, as the pleasure inside of her built up. The sick and erotic dance continued for what felt like forever until our captor finally reached his end...

"Oh yeah... get ready, wifey! I'm going to flood your stomach with good, wholesome protein. Are you ready? You rea... oh shit... YA!"

As soon as he started coming in my wife's mouth, she began an orgasm of her own. The whole timing of it threw me off kilter, but this whole situation was fucking with me at a deep psychological level. Typical Jazz pushed her pussy harder onto my face, while her thighs began squeezing my head like a vice. Normally I could gently tap her butt and remind her that I needed to breathe. I tried to grunt and squirm to let her know I couldn't breathe, but she was too far gone. Once again, the darkness came upon me. Dying under my wife's pussy... I could live with that; it was my last thought.

I was awakened by a sudden dose of cold water, causing me to gasp for air. Jazz was kneeling beside me, crying while saying she was sorry, over and over.

"That was close, huh?" The stranger laughed. She was so engrossed in sucking my cock she almost smothered you to death! Ironic, huh?" Clearly, he had no understanding of what irony was.

He walked up to Jazz and lifted her by her hair. "Why are you wasting your time with Grandpa here? You're in your prime and wasting it on this old bag of Viagra." He laughed at his put-down. "Something tells me, you'll always be craving a cock like mine now. I know when a woman is acting and you, my slut, were not acting!"

He knelt on the floor beside my head and gave my face a few slaps on the cheek. "And you, my friend. If you truly loved this fox, you'd let her fuck real men. I think you secretly love being a cuck." With a final slap, harder this time, he stood and walked to the bedroom door.

"Been a blast, kids. Let's do this again... soon." With a chuckle, he made his way down the stairs, and we heard him leave the house.

"Oh, my God! I'll call the police!" Jazz jumped up, and I called after her.

"Jazz! Untie me first." She stopped in her tracks.

"Oh shit! Sorry. I... I need a knife. I'll be right back." She bolted out the door and down the stairs.

I was going to tell her that her scissors were in her nightstand, but I didn't get a chance. For the first time since we got home, I had a chance to think. Who was he? How did he get into the house? The doors were locked like normal. Did he steal anything? My thoughts were broken when Jazz came into the room with a paring knife.

"What do I cut first?" She was borderline hysterical.

"My hands and then my legs." I watched as she carefully cut the tie wraps, one at a time.

When she was done, I rolled off the chair and remained on my hands and knees, trying to gather myself and all that had happened. I could see Jazz sitting to the side of me, crying with the knife still in her hand. The reality of what happened began to hit me. I could feel the shakes coming on, and I knew it was possible to go into shock.

"Doug! Your wrists... they're bleeding!" She reached out to touch my closest arm, and without a thought or hesitation, I yanked my arm away from her touch. My instinctive action caused her to pull away in fear. "Doug? Baby... It's me. Let me help you."

Her sullen, raspy voice rubbed my last nerve, and it was already raw with emotion. "Just call a fucking ambulance!" Following my outburst, for the third time tonight... I saw black.

**

I was surrounded by paramedics and cops when I came to. I was on a medical stretcher and covered, thank God. I noticed an IV in my right arm and a man off to my left, putting a wrap around my forearm and wrist. A quick glance at my right hand showed me it had already been done.

A gentle female voice broke me from my thoughts. "Mr. Spencer?" I looked towards the voice. The piercing blue eyes of a female officer were carefully gauging my coherence.

"Yes?" I answered in a whisper.

"I'm Detective Kincaid. Amelia, if that's easier." She paused and flipped open her little notepad. "Do you feel up to answering a few questions?" Her look was neutral enough, but I could see some underlying sympathy.

"Where... where is my wife?" I spoke in hushed tones.

"Your wife is safe, Mr. Spencer. She's currently in your kitchen with my partner. He's trying to get your wife to open up about what happened here. She's been... well, let's say, she's having a hard time vocalizing things."

I clamped my eyes shut as memories of the abusive break-in flooded my thoughts. I guess these thoughts manifested into physical signs, for the officer placed her hand on my arm.

"Mr. Spencer? Listen to me carefully, okay?" I opened my eyes to her voice. "Both you and your wife are safe. We can talk about this now or later when you feel ready. I just know, from experience, that sometimes personal traumas can get buried under a whole lot of emotions and, over time, can become versions of the truth. Sometimes it's the most important details that get left out."

While I wasn't a practicing doctor, I knew well what she just said. But for the first time, I could understand how vulnerable a victim felt when asked to describe what happened. Just the mere thought of what transpired had my emotions in high gear.

"Breathe, Mr. Spencer. If you're unable to do this now, it's okay." I felt her hand squeeze my arm. I shook my head. The thought of prolonging this was just as daunting as dealing with it now.

"No... no. I'll do my best." I caught her sympathetic smile. She had a way of making me feel safe about what was waiting to be revealed.

"That's great, Mr. Spencer."

"Doug," I interjected. "Please, call me Doug." Again, she gave me a gentle smile.

"Alright... Doug. Can you give me an account of what you remember? I know some details will be painful, but the more thorough you are, the more information we have to glean from. It could be especially useful if we need to involve behavioral analysis." I gave her a stone-cold stare. "I am aware of what you went through, Doug. I can't imagine what you had to deal with, but your account may be very helpful."

"Can this be done at the hospital, detective? We really need to get him to the hospital for further testing. We don't know the full extent of his injuries just yet." The male paramedic spoke up.

"Yes... Yes, of course." She flipped her notebook closed. "I'll meet you at the hospital, okay, Doug?"

As I was being delivered from my house, Jazz and the officer talking to her, came from the kitchen, and she ran to my side. She was wearing my old sweatshirt and some joggers now.

"Are you okay, Baby? Where are they taking you?" She reached for my hand, and in a knee-jerk reaction, I yanked my hand away. I saw the hurt in her eyes and the surprise in the other police officer's face.

"They're just bringing him to the hospital for some further testing." Detective Kincaid clarified. "It would be good for you to come and get checked out, too, Mrs. Spencer. There could be physical evidence on your body that could prove helpful." Jazz seemed to tense up with the comment. "Just routine stuff, M'am."

After a series of X-rays, blood tests, and ultrasounds, I found myself alone in a room. I had been informed that my wife was being seen by a rape counselor, among other things. I took a moment to assess my reaction to Jazz's hand back at the house. Was I mad at her? How could I be? Fortunately, I didn't have too much time to dwell on it, as Detective Kincaid poked her head into my room.

"There you are." She entered my room wearing a disarming smile. "You're a hard man to track down." She pulled a chair up to my bed, poured me a glass of water from the carafe beside my table, and then sat down, sighing heavily.

"I'm sorry you've been stuck here so long, Amelia." I was being genuine. I knew their jobs were often done long after their shift was supposed to be over.

"Mr. Spencer... Doug. Wild horses could not drag me away. I'm going to find out who this miserable bastard is and make sure he sees his day in court." Her assertion was gratifying at some level.

"Well, if I had my way, he wouldn't get as far as the court." I looked at her expression, realizing that I had admitted to wanting to harm another. She saw uneasiness on my face.

"Relax, Doug. It's a normal feeling to have. Can't say I'd feel any different." Her look spoke volumes. I could see her empathy plain as day. "Are you up to talking now? I can come back tomorrow if you'd like."

I felt the blood rush to my face, my embarrassment evident. Amelia never took her focus off me and encouraged me with her eyes to let it out. To speak about the unforgettable event that has broken me to my core. I wiped a fresh tear from my eye, took a deep breath, and began my story from when we got home.

I don't know how long I spoke. It felt like forever. I had to stop multiple times to catch my breath and refocus. More than once, Detective Kincaid encouraged me to take a drink of my water. I wasn't much more than a blubbering idiot by the time I was done. Embarrassed at what happened. Embarrassed at my inability to protect my wife. Embarrassed to be crying in front of a stranger. Broken and full of despair, I admonished myself out loud.

"I failed! I couldn't protect my wife." My head dropped into my hands as the sobbing intensified. I felt a warm pair of hands gently grasp my forearms.

"Don't you dare." The voice was calm but firm. "Don't let this asshole beat you, Doug. You may see it as he won somehow, but look how far he had to stack the deck to do it. You're no superhero, Doug. You did all that you could do with what was available to you. Giving this guy any more credit is wrong at so many levels." Her hands released my arms. "You have not failed... You did not fail."

After I gathered myself back together, the detective prepared herself to leave. Putting her notepad away, she slipped her jacket over her shoulders, pulling the red ponytail out before it got caught. She stopped just short of leaving and looked back at me.

"I promise you, Doug. We will find this guy, and he will pay. You have my word." With a slight nod, she walked out.

Thirty minutes later, a nurse brought my wife into my room in a wheelchair. She stopped right beside my bed and locked the wheels. "I think you two need some time together. Doctor Leishman will be along shortly." With that, the older nurse turned and left the room.

I looked down at Jazz, and her eyes were full of concern and uncertainty. I was initially confused by her reaction, but then I remembered how I reacted when she tried to touch me. Tears filled her eyes as she bit her lower lip, afraid to say the wrong thing.

"Are you okay?" I was finally able to form a sentence. She nodded her head weakly. "What did they do to you?"

"They did a rape kit on me and then some x-rays."

"Did..." I took a deep breath. "Did they find any samples? Was there any damage to you?" Thoughts of that humongous cock penetrated my thoughts.

She shook her head. "No... I wasn't damaged. I... I don't know about the sample. Do you think there would be any left after you..." She froze before she could finish her question. She might as well have punched me in the nuts. I was instantly nauseous.

"Oh GOD! I'm... I'm so sorry. I don't know why I said that!" She stood from her chair and reached for my hands. Once again, I instinctively yanked them away. "Baby?" She was distraught from my actions. "Does my touch anger you that much?" She gulped for air. "I only did what I did to keep you safe. I... I didn't enjoy it."

Without even thinking about what my words meant, I spoke without a filter. "So, you faked that big orgasm? You didn't perform deepthroat on his cock? You didn't cum on my face? You could've just sucked the tip and jerked him off, but no... you had to go all pornstar!"

Jazz fell to her seat and started sobbing. Why was I lashing out at her? Why was I being such an asshole to my wife? She's the one who got sexually assaulted, and I'm yelling at her? WTF???

"Jazz." My voice was weak and barely audible. "Honey? I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me." I wanted to get off the bed and hug her, but I was hooked up to too many things. "Jazz? Honey?" I called her name, but she wouldn't look at me.

I struggled to find a way to lose all the wires. When I pulled something, an alarm of sorts went off, and a nurse was quick to enter the room.

"Everything okay in here?" The nurse took quick stock of the emotions in play. She looked at me and saw that I had pulled a lead of some kind, so she knelt in front of my wife to check on her. "Mrs. Spencer? Are you okay? Do you need the doctor?"

"It's my fault," I interjected, causing the nurse to look at me. "I spoke in anger and lashed out at her. I don't know what I was thinking."

Without a word, she helped Jazz from the chair and slowly escorted her towards the door. I pleaded with her to let her stay, but she ignored me completely. I sat on my bed, feeling angry and disgusted with myself. I knew what was going on... I should've handled that better.

A few minutes later, a woman came into my room. She was dressed conservatively with a long skirt and a grey cardigan. She was carrying a small clipboard as she approached my side.

"Mr. Spencer, I'm Dr. Green. I'm the Psychiatrist on staff tonight." She flipped open her little clipboard. After a moment of reading some notes, she looked at me and, with a neutral face, asked me how I was doing.

"Not well, doctor. I'm angry and humiliated and... and I just called my wife a porn actress." When I said it out loud, even I knew I was a shitty husband. Dr. Green's face was still neutral in its appearance.

"Mr. Spencer? May I call you Doug?" I nodded, and she finally gave me a small smile. "Doug, there is no game plan or blueprint for dealing with what you and your wife have experienced. It's traumatizing at so many levels and unfortunately, one of the easiest ways for a person to deal with such trauma is to lash out at those we love the most." Her words made sense, but I still felt like a piece of shit. "I spoke with the detective handling your case, and I've got a fair amount of information here."

My whole body got tense. I doubt I had it in me to explain the events of the night again. Thankfully, she took mercy on me.

"I know you've already had to relive the trauma, Doug. Rather than ask you to do that, can I just ask you a few questions?"

"I'll do my best, Doc, but I'm on my last bit of whit here." She nodded and sat in the chair that Jazz had been in earlier.

"Fair enough. How about you tell me when you've had enough, and we can pick it up again another time." I gave her a quick nod in agreement.

She asked me about my thoughts when I heard Jazz being assaulted. Under my anger, there was fear and worry. Terrified of what my wife was having to endure and my inability to help her. She spent a long time around that feeling. It was a normal reaction, of course, but my perception of what I could do was skewed by my male default setting, which was to protect those you love at all costs. That ability was stolen from me, right from the get-go, and she emphasized that dwelling on it would only grow the guilt further.

"Make no mistake, Doug. The damage done to you and your wife is deeper than just physical. You need to accept that this will take time, and there will be mental scars too."

I closed my eyes and thought about that statement, as she scribbled some notes into her clipboard. After her scribbling, she stood up and handed me a script. "I don't have to tell you, Doug, that there's a lot to unpack here. This is the name of a family counselor who specializes in sexual trauma and violence. I can't stress enough how important it is that you and your wife get there as soon as possible. I will call him and make sure you get fast-tracked."

She closed her clipboard and stood over me, staring deep into my eyes. "This wasn't your fault, Doug." She paused. "It wasn't your wife's fault either. Whatever anger you have for what she endured is understandable, but grossly misplaced. The sooner you come to terms with that, the sooner you two can mend." She took a step back. "I'm going to visit your wife quickly and share my suggestion with her before I leave." She patted my arm and began walking away. She stopped just before the door and looked at me. "He only wins if you let him, Mr. Spencer. Please don't let the bad guys win."

4 months later

Jazz and I went religiously to our therapy appointments. While we had made progress, we were far from okay. It seemed like Jazz was coming to terms with her rape, better than I was having to witness it. The sessions were grueling, and I was starting to become worried that I would never get past this.

Mr. Reynolds, our therapist, was an aging man who was easily in his late 60s and had the physique of a man who sits all day. At first, I thought having a guy was a good thing, but I soon learned it didn't matter who asked the hard questions; it was always uncomfortable. He spent many sessions talking about guilt and where it came from. When I had inadvertently mentioned the size of the intruder's package, he gently inquired if that was part of my insecurities. You know... knowing a larger man had taken my wife.

I honestly wanted to punch the old guy in the face, but Jazz quickly settled me down and explained that he was just doing his job and turning over every rock. I stared at our therapist, and I could tell I had unnerved him a little.

"Do you really think that's relevant? Have you had to witness your wife being raped by a guy who broke into your house and was fucked so good she had a huge orgasm!" I heard Jazz gasp, and good ol' Mr. Reynolds tried to interrupt me, but the gate had been opened. "Then to watch and listen to your wife deepthroat this guy's donkey dick, while she's smashing her cum filled cunt all over your face?" Jazz started crying, and our therapist was shocked into silence. "Well? Have you!?"

"Mr. Spencer... Doug. We've spent months on that topic. We all agreed that what happened to your wife was strictly a biological reaction. What she did, she did in hopes of protecting you from harm and humiliation. Her actions weren't voluntary... she didn't want this. She rationalized her actions to protect you. We spoke at length about this, and you came to agree and forgive her. But clearly, you haven't. Until such time that you can truly look past that event as some sort of sexual release for your wife... I fear you two will never be able to pull through this."

Ah... the guilt. How come every time he speaks of the possibility that we may not make it through this, it falls on me? Was I that weak-willed? How was it that Jazz could so easily move forward? Was it because she knew I was falling apart? I slipped off my chair and knelt at my wife's feet, grabbing her smaller hands in mine.

"Jazz? I'm so sorry. I don't know why I say stuff like that when I get angry and frustrated. You seem to be handling this so much better than me, and I'm embarrassed by that."

"Handling it?" Her eyes were swollen and streaked with tears. "I'm hanging by a thread, baby. I feel guilty for everything. I'm sorry, I had an orgasm... I didn't want to, and I know that crushes you. It meant nothing to me; you must see that." I handed her a tissue from her hands and let her dab the tears away. "I know what I did was gross and disrespectful to you, but when he threatened to make you do those things, I... I tried to protect you. I didn't want to suck his cock, but I wasn't about to let you do it! All I wanted to do was get it over with as fast as possible. I wasn't enjoying it. I knew his cum was on your face and I was heartbroken for you." She squeezed my hands harder. "But... but then I felt your tongue trying to give me pleasure, and I knew you were trying to save me as well. That was the reason for my second orgasm. Don't you see that?"

She slipped off her chair and embraced me. At some point, our therapist announced we were done for the day and gave us some alone time to pull ourselves back together.

As it has been for the last four months, the drive home was quiet. There was no radio, no conversation. We were always so tired after these things. Once in the house, we went off in our own directions--she to our bedroom and me to my office. Not only had our intimacy been affected, but we often spent time apart in the evening, too.

After three hours of working--well, I was mostly trying to look busy--Jazz knocked on my office door. I didn't have to say, "come in," as the knock was just a courtesy to let me know she was coming in. I looked up and could see her standing in her white, skin-tight yoga pants and a slightly oversized blue sweatshirt. It was a look that used to get my motor running.

She was carrying two tumblers of what I assumed was a flavored whiskey on the rocks. She sat on the edge of my desk and handed me one of them. She held hers out for a toast.

"Here's to moving forward." She added sweetly, and we clinked our glasses. Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, and her lips were shiny with a peach-colored lip gloss. "Are you almost done?" She glanced at my laptop, and I nodded my head.

"Yeah. I don't think I can concentrate anymore." She gave me a little smile, stood, and held her free hand out.

"Come join me then. Why don't we watch a movie?"

I reached for her hand and pulled myself from my chair, following her into our den. We had set it up for snuggles and movies. Just one huge, plush loveseat that had a floor piece that could be pulled out into a makeshift bed. A gas fireplace and a 76-inch TV complete with movie-like surround sound. Yeah, we've had all kinds of sex in this room. Almost as much as in our king-sized bed.

Having settled on some movie I'd never heard of, Jazz scootched in beside me. This in itself was progress. Immediately following my release from the hospital, even the slightest bit of contact from Jazz would unsettle me. I guess there was proof that our sessions were helping. The movie was very slow, and I was fighting to keep my eyes open. I was vaguely conscious of her hand on the inside of my thigh, doing little circles.

I was both aware and grateful that I hadn't panicked or pushed her hand away, yet. There was some kind of sex scene going on in the movie, and I put two and two together. Jazz has been trying to force the issue with our intimacy, but so far, I was still not ready.

"Can I kiss you?" Her whisper caught my attention, and I looked down into her large blue eyes. I nodded slowly, and she pushed up to her knees and slowly started necking with me. We both felt my body stiffen, and she paused. "Please, baby. Just relax. I won't do anything you're not ready for. I just miss you."

She took my silence as approval and began kissing me again. Jazz was an amazing kisser, and normally that's all it took to get my flag up the pole... normally. The kiss got a little more intense and her left hand was now tangled in my hair, while her right one found its way to my cock and was massaging it through my pants, in sync with her lips and tongue.

I wanted to respond. I wanted this to happen, but my still flaccid cock made it clear, it didn't. After a few more minutes, I broke the kiss and grabbed her right hand, gently removing it from my cock. I immediately saw the disappointment on her face.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart."

Her facial expression remained neutral. "Please, baby. Let me try. Let me suck him for a bit. I'm sure I can convince him to come out and play."

"I'm not ready, Jazz. Every failure is a step back for me. I can tell, my body's just not responding." It was minor, but it was there. If I hadn't been staring into her eyes, I would have missed it. She was frustrated.

She gave me a brief smile and lifted herself from the couch. "I'm going to take a bath and get ready for bed."

I watched her walk away. I knew that sooner or later, this would start to affect her and our relationship. I fought down the urge to cry, knowing it was my hangups that were stressing her out. Why couldn't I be strong like her? I made tough decisions throughout my whole career. Unpopular choices that drew criticism from across the spectrum. Why was I struggling with this? A real man would have 'reclaimed' his wife by now. Our sex life was dynamite before this; why was I struggling to take it back?

I drifted off listening to the mundane storyline the TV was playing. I sat up and noticed an hour had passed. Jazz would be in bed now, so I shut the TV off and headed up. After a quick brush of my teeth and with an empty bladder, I pulled on my pajama pants and snuck in beside my wife. Her back was to me, and I carefully spooned her. I wrapped my arm around her stomach and kissed the back of her neck. I felt her shift.

"Are you still awake, honey?" I whispered.

"Yes. I can't sleep."

"I know you're getting frustrated, Jazz. I'm trying. I truly am."

She pulled away and shifted her weight so she could face me. Her hand came to my cheek, and she kissed me. "Can I ask you something without you blowing your top?" I just gazed at her, not knowing where she was going with this. "Look, baby. Maybe you can look at this another way." I pulled back, but she grabbed my face. "No. I need you to listen to me, please. Just hear me out, okay?"

The silence between us was deafening. "Now, can we have a calm discussion?" It was a loaded question, but obviously, she wanted me to say yes, so I nodded. "What happened to us was horrible. We both know that. At the counselors, you asked me how I was able to move forward so quickly from my rape." She paused. "I've thought a lot about that, and I guess I decided that I wasn't going to let this ruin us. I can't take back what that man did. I can't lie and say I didn't orgasm, because I did. I can't say that I didn't suck his cock, because I did." She could see I wasn't liking what I was hearing. "Hold on, baby. I'm getting there." She stroked my hair. "Maybe if we looked at this from a different perspective."

"A different perspective?" My voice got louder; she gently stroked my head.

"Yes," she said softly. "Neither of us was a virgin when we met, right? I had boyfriends in the past. Hell, you were married to your forever love. Do you know how intimidating it was for me to compete with her memory? Not just the marriage, but the sex that you two shared? None of my relationships lasted more than six months, and I never experienced that forever bond... until I met you."

"Jazz..."

She shushed me. "Just because a man had sex with me doesn't mean that I don't love you dearly. That, I don't long to have sex with my husband. He was the equivalent of a one-night stand, babe. My love for you hasn't changed, despite what happened."

I searched her eyes, trying to understand what it was she was trying to parlay, but I was confused. "I don't understand, Jazz. What happened was the furthest from a one-night stand. It was rape! In my home! With me tied to a chair!" I sat up so I could breathe better. "For the record, when you say despite what happened, are you referring to the rape or the huge orgasm you had?"

Jazz sat up with me. "He didn't beat me, babe. He just fucked me." I rolled off the bed. "Some guys get off when another man satisfies his wife like that, you know. Maybe if you played out the events like that, you wouldn't be so gun-shy with sex." She tried to grab my arm. "You licked me to orgasm, babe. Despite his cum in my cooch. You looked past that and..."

By now, I was standing at the side of the bed, staring at my wife. So many words ran through my brain, but I was afraid to utter a single one. If she thought my words were hurtful in therapy, she definitely wouldn't like what I was thinking right now. I shook my head and walked from the bedroom.

"Baby? Please don't walk away. We have to deal with this!"

I walked down the hall to the spare room and locked the door. Before I could even sit on the bed, I heard her try the doorknob. Then the knocking started.

"Baby! I'm sorry! Please let me in." My silence didn't deter her. "I'm not suggesting it was okay! I'm just trying to get you past this... please, babe!"

I lay on the bed and rolled my back to the door, choosing to tune out whatever rubbish she was dictating through the door. At some point, the other side of the door was quiet. I have no idea how long it took, but it was welcomed. Left alone with my thoughts, I began thinking about something that had never crossed my mind until now. Will our marriage survive?

The next few months were touch-and-go. Jazz was always walking on eggshells, and I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Despite her non-stop apologies, you can't unhear your wife saying that if I was turned on by what happened, I could man up in bed. I quit the couples counseling, and that caused even more strife in my marriage. I took a leave of absence from work and decided that I wanted to work on myself. No marriage stuff... just me. I got back into the gym full-time and started boxing again. The endorphins went a long way in helping me feel better about myself. I didn't tell Jazz, but I switched to a different gym. I didn't want her to impede my progress by interfering with my workouts. Socialization at the gym was no longer an interest for me. I wanted to sweat, hurt, and push myself. Punishing myself was my therapy... and it was working.

Two weeks ago, I decided to seek a therapist on my own, and unlike last time, I sought out a woman. I spoke with as many of my friends in the healthcare field as I could and finally narrowed it down to two. Gail Everett was a 58-year-old woman with two kids and a second husband. She had 30 years of experience in dealing with men and issues of sexual dysfunction. Lisa Morris was younger at 35. Her expertise was sexual trauma. She was recently divorced and had no kids. I decided to go with Lisa, mainly because she was younger. Maybe she'd understand how Jazz thinks. In truth, it was a crap shoot either way.

My initial visit with Lisa was... interesting. At first, she was disappointed that I didn't want to include my wife in the sessions, but she was encouraged that I wanted to work on myself so my marriage could move forward. I still remember the look on her face when I described what had transpired that night, some six months ago. It was a cross between disgust and empathy. More than once, she reached out and grabbed my hand as I tried to be brave and get it all out. We talked about the ongoing investigation and the fact that it was going nowhere. I gave her Detective Kincaid's information. I'm not sure why I did that, but she seemed pleased that I did.

The next session expanded on the therapy that we'd already gone through, and my inability to process and move on like my younger wife seemed to be able to do. When I told her we've had no sexual contact since that night, she was truly sympathetic. Of course, she reiterated that it wasn't my fault, nor should I feel guilty for not being able to stop what happened, but she also understood my apprehension about being intimate with my wife again.

We spoke at length about sexual boundaries and the blinders we erect when we are in happy relationships. Having both of those violated in such a horrible manner was a recipe for misplaced anger and blame. When I told her about what Jazz said to me that night, a few months ago, I could have knocked her over with a feather. Seeing her reaction made me feel vindicated for the resentment I'd been holding on to. I didn't want to, but I haven't been able to shake it off and it was having a huge impact on our marriage. We were cohabitating as of late, and I figured it was just a matter of time before she pulled up her tent and moved on... sort of speak.

"That can be part of the age gap thing, Doug. Despite all that you two have in common and the bonds you share, she is still from a different generation that has a different view on sex versus love and marriage." I nodded my head. I had already made that conclusion myself.

"So, are we doomed by our age gap?" I asked seriously and she sat back and made a thoughtful face.

"Changing an individual's scope or views of sexuality is a tough sell, but not impossible. You are likely more conservative to her liberal views of it, but the answer usually lies somewhere between the two. You'll both have to adjust."

"I'd like to think that I'm pretty liberal in the bedroom. My first wife and I were never shy to try anything, and I carried that into the bedroom with Jazz." My comment made Lisa smile and giggle.

"I'm sorry. I'm not laughing at you, Doug. I wasn't referring to the act or acts of sex as much as I was alluding to perceptions. Most of your generation believes sex is sacred between a husband and a wife. Today's generation has many blurred lines that push that view to its edges." She pushed herself to the edge of her chair. "Do you think your past wife would've suggested you look at this crime as some kind of sexual kink?" I snorted at that. "While Jazz has committed herself to you, she still has a distorted view of what is safe couples' sex. You hear about polyamory, swinging, cuckolding. While these things have always existed, they were once done in secret and frowned upon. Now, it's all the rage to talk about it, and is no longer a taboo... at least not as much."

What Lisa was saying resonated with me. Jazz and I were from two different eras and despite our commonalities, there were just as many differences, like movies, music, and even alcohol. I let out a big sigh.

"What's on your mind, Doug?" She read my mood.

"I was just thinking about how much easier things were with my first wife." She gave me a small smile and encouraged me to share more. "I can't say that we never made compromises for each other, but they never felt like it, if that makes sense. I knew what she was thinking before she spoke her mind. I knew what things she would gravitate to, and the things she wouldn't. In the bedroom, we were perfect. She made me feel like I was the best lover on the planet, and I did everything I could do to earn that title." Lisa was still smiling as I chuckled. "I remember one time after...." I stopped talking.

"Doug? It's okay. It's good to talk about your first love." When I didn't react, she reached for my hand. "Doug? Are you okay?" The memory hit me like a freight train. I felt the blood drain from my face. "Doug! Come back to me. What are you thinking?"

I lifted my eyes to her. I licked my dry lips, trying to put the words together. "One night... after a particular adventurous session, Patricia joked that we should set up a camera in our bedroom and video ourselves." I looked at Lisa. "I never got the chance to tell her, but I did have a hidden camera set up in the bedroom. I wanted to surprise her one day with a video of our lovemaking. I spared no expense. It was all digital, and motion-activated. I had it hardwired into the house electrical, so I'd never have to worry about batteries... do you think," I stopped.

"Do I think what, Doug?"

"I'd totally forgotten about it. Shortly after, she was diagnosed with cancer, and I never got a chance to give her the surprise. Oh my god..."

"Do you think it may have been recorded that night?" Lisa asked tentatively.

"I... I don't know. It was set up on an app and was automatically sent to the cloud. I've never even looked. I didn't even remember it until now." I pulled out my phone and went through my notes. With all the special passwords you need these days, I've created my own list to keep track.

I thumbed the screen down until I found the account in question. All the link information was there plus the password. I looked at Lisa and she could read the tension on my face.

"It could be huge in your therapy, Doug." She sat up straighter. "But... it could also be traumatic. I don't recommend you do this by yourself. You need to have someone you trust with you when you search for it."

"What about you?" The surprised look on her face told me I could trust her. She wasn't thinking about her glory, she was worried about my fallout.

"I... I, well. I didn't expect that, Doug. I mean, if you'd be comfortable with me seeing the private affairs of your bedroom, I'd be honored to help you get past this." She smiled at me. "But you don't even know if it was recorded. I would suspect that there would be a loop. I can't imagine that it could record everything forever."

"You're right. I forgot about that. The guy said it would hold a terabyte, is that the right term?" She nodded. "He said it would loop and record over footage unless I downloaded it from the cloud." I looked at my phone, then back at her. "Do you have a computer we could use?"

"You want to do this now?" She was surprised.

"Yeah. I mean, if you have the time. I can come back. I'm just ready to rip the band-aid off if you know what I mean."

"Let's go into my personal office. I have a laptop in there." I followed her down a little hall and into her office. It was as large as her treatment rooms, just filled with business stuff like filing cabinets, shelves, and a desk. She picked up her phone and hit a button. "Sylvie? Who's my next appointment? Can you call him and bump him back an hour, and adjust my day accordingly? Thank you."

She motioned me to sit in her office chair, and she stood behind me and logged on to her laptop. She stood and walked to the other side of the desk. I looked at her questionably.

"I don't need to hover. If you find anything related to that night, tell me and I will come to your side."

I smiled at her commonsense approach. I navigated to the necessary pages and entered my password. I was glad she wasn't watching me. The password I picked was raunchy, as it was representative of the material my first wife and I would have made.

It took me some time to figure out how to search the app it was loaded on. I found a menu and through the drop-down list, I was able to find dates. It went back almost a full year, and based on the information displayed, that fateful night would fall in there somewhere. My hand started shaking as I used the trackpad to hit the month and year I was looking for. After a few failed attempts, I finally got it right and was instantly brought to a recording of Jazz walking into the bedroom, changing, and turning off the light. Then later, I came into the room, dropped my clothes, and snuck in beside her. The camera was quite clear despite the darkness in the room. I was able to hold my finger down and slide it along the track, fast-forwarding through many days and nights of us doing nothing and/or having sex. Part of me wanted to stop and watch us before all this happened and re-live the good days, but I knew I was using Lisa's time, so I kept forwarding... until.

"Oh shit."

"What is it, Doug?"

"It... It's on here." I whispered. As clear as day, I saw the man exit our ensuite and hit me from behind. I hit stop and jumped out of the chair. "I'm going to be sick!"

To her credit, Lisa didn't panic. She grabbed the wastebasket beside her desk and raced beside me, arriving just in time for me to dry heave what water content I had in my stomach.

"I was worried something like this might happen. Are you okay, Doug?" I was embarrassed but nodded. She guided me to the other side of the desk and sat me down. "Take a minute, okay? I'll be right back."

She took the foul-smelling garbage can and closed the door behind her. I stared at the back of the laptop. It was surreal knowing what was on the other side of the screen. I rubbed my hands onto my thighs like I was trying to scratch a pair of itchy palms... except, they weren't itchy. A few minutes later, Lisa came back in with a fresh new garbage can, a bottle of water, and a facecloth in hand.

"Thought you'd like to clean up a little. The water will help get the taste out of your mouth, too." After she handed me the items, she placed the garbage can back in its spot and sat on the edge of the desk facing me.

"The way I see it, Doug. You have three choices here. We can take this up another time." She started tapping each finger on her left hand. "We can do this now... or you can decide not to look at all."

I knew the third option was the most attractive, but it was also the least likely to provide any benefit. Should I come back? But what would I do with the information I already saw? Would it haunt me until I did watch it?

"Just so you know, Doug. I've cleared the rest of my day. I can do this with you, or you could leave it with me, and I could introduce aspects that I think may be the bigger issue at our next session. And if you decide to do nothing, I'm fine with that, too. I'd be lying if I didn't admit the whole thing has rattled me as well."

"I have a feeling I'm going to regret this, but I'd like to do this now. I don't think I'll be able to walk away until I deal with this head-on. I owe it to Jazz." Lisa nodded and followed me to the other side of the desk. She motioned for me to sit down, and she stood behind me.

The video was frozen at the point where I was just struck in the back of the head. I took a deep breath, and I felt Lisa firmly grip my shoulders. "We're going to get you through this, Doug. I promise."

Her words of encouragement gave me the courage to restart the video. I don't know if I was ever prepared to handle what I saw or heard... but nothing could've prepared me for what was coming... *CLICK*

~~~

"What the fuck Glen?! Are you trying to kill him?"

"He had to be knocked out. You can't do that with a love tap! He'll be fine, now help me move him."

My wife and (Glen?) maneuvered me to the edge of the bed. Jazz left the screen but returned with the chair I wound up tied to. The man lifted me in a bear hug and carried me to the chair, where Jazz pulled my underwear off and held me in place while the intruder pulled tie wraps from the pocket of his pants from the floor.

"Why are you crying?" He demanded.

"He's my husband asshole!" Her outburst caused the man to laugh.

"Look at you, being the model wife." He laughed at his remark.

Jazz stood to the side, wearing nothing but her little thong and bra, watching the intruder named Glen finish strapping me to the chair. When he was done, he pulled my head up by my hair and looked at my face.

"He'll be out for a while yet." He let my head drop like a rock. "Let's get this party started, Jasmine!"

"Don't call me that!" The man chuckled again.

"Whatever," He started pulling his pants off. "Might as well lose the dainties, JAZZ."

Moments later, the intruder pulled off his balaclava, and his long blond hair almost reached his shoulders. He motioned for my wife to her knees, and she did so without an ounce of reservation.

"Remember, Glen, this will be the last time. I'm married now."

"Why did you go off and marry an old dude? It's clear the dudes got money, is that it?"

"You wouldn't understand. Doug's awesome, and he treats me well."

"Can't satisfy you where it matters, can he?"

"You're so childish. We are very compatible. He's twice the lover you are."

This, Glen guy, started laughing heartily. "Sure, sure, babes. Now, how about you put your mouth to proper use?"

I (we) watched my wife reach out and fondle his massive package. I've had enough blowjobs from my wife to know she was into this. There was no force. He was about half hard when she started using her mouth. Glen's head extended back as he moaned.

"Fuck! No one sucks dick like you babes!" He moaned and groaned as he used my wife's mouth for his pleasure. She was now throating his horse cock, one hand on his balls, the other buried between her legs.

"Only one other person can throat fuck me like this. It took the sissy bitch some time, but when you're in prison that's all you got. He was good, real good, but you're still the best, babes!" He now had both of his hands wrapped around her head, pulling her up and down his cock. Occasionally locking her to his balls.

I felt Lisa's hands squeeze my shoulders. I was so stunned by what I was watching, I had forgotten she was there. We both watched my wife pull off his cock, a long string of saliva still linking her lips to the fat head. Glen motioned to the bed and jumped into it, landing on his back. He put his hands behind his head and spread his legs. His engorged cock poked straight up his stomach. My wife positioned herself, on her knees, between his legs and grabbed his cock, working it with both hands.

"Admit it. You miss my cock!" The man teased.

"Your cock was never the problem. It's the asshole it's attached to."

"Yeah... I get that. I bet if you could've just married my cock that would've been good, huh?" That actually caused my wife to laugh.

"I'd be lying if I didn't think of it sometimes. It was the only reason I put up with you."

"Aw, that's sweet. Plus, you loved getting pounded through the mattress! I had some good attributes!"

They were both laughing now. What the fuck was going on? The concept of the home invasion was long gone, but what was this all about? Was this some sick fantasy of hers? Almost like she heard my question, my wife gave me my answer.

"You better give me those tapes after this, Glen. I swear I'll kill you if you don't."

"Hey, I'm an asshole, but you know I keep my promises. I did the time for Sergei, keeping my mouth shut. You'll get the tapes."

That seemed to satisfy my wife, as she dove back in, sucking his donkey dick. "Fuck me! Are you sure daddy here wouldn't love seeing his wifey in some gangbang porn? Bet he'd love to jerk off watching you take on 10 guys. You could make a fortune if you rented it on the internet. You were one nasty slut that weekend!"

He rubbed the back of her head, pulling her down the whole thing until she gagged for oxygen.

"You know, when I was in prison, my bunk bitch would suck me four times a day. I even fucked his sorry ass. Not you or any woman I met would let me fuck their ass, but man he could take it. I wonder if daddy here, can take a good ass fucking? After all, he stole my girl, I should get his ass."

Jazz grabbed his hand from her head and pulled her mouth from him. "Don't even fucking think about it. That wasn't the deal. This whole setup was meant to humiliate him in front of you, like you wanted. You get your rocks off, embarrass him, and I get my tape. There's not going to be anything else... got it!"

That seemed to shut him up for a while. After watching her head bob up and down for quite some time, I looked at the time stamp and could see that this had been going on for 20 minutes. If I weren't so disgusted and broken, I'd be impressed by his stamina. Suddenly, his head came up and he tapped my wife on her head. She pulled off, and he pointed in my direction. I could see that my head was moving.

"Well, well, well. Look who's finally going to join us. Looks like hubby will be awake for this after all."

My wife slid up the bed and rolled on her back. The intruder positioned himself between her legs and started playing with her pussy.

"PLEASE, don't do this! Take whatever you want!"

"Oh, trust me, I am! Now open those legs and show me your pretty little kitty."

"Please don't! Oh, GOD. You're too big! You'll kill me!"

"Maybe... but what a way to go, huh?

The whole thing was an act! I could see myself struggling for her very life, while she was accepting him into her. Her legs were wrapped around his back, her hands pulling his ass into her. She looked like a pornstar, but her acting was better. Chills ran up my spine as I now heard her begging. What I thought I was fear was actual pleasure, and my wife was getting the fucking she wanted!

"Holy shit! You're gonna cum! Aren't you, you crazy little slut? Daddy can't give you what you need, huh?"

"Go on slut! Cum on my big cock! Show Daddy who the real man is here!"

"Holy fuck! Yeah! Cum on my dick, you slut! See what a real man can do for you!"

"Yeah! Fuck ya, bitch! Cum on my dick!"

"Take my load bitch! Arrrrggghh!"

I was emotionally detached, numb in fact, as I watched him fuck my wife into her huge orgasm and then finally his. He lay there and I watched my wife squeeze his ass. He pulled out and slowly got off the bed. He pulled the balaclava back over his face and held a finger up to my wife, like he was telling her to wait.

I watched as he slowly made his way to stand in front of me. "I got to hand it to you, old man, your wife is one awesome fuck! I think she truly enjoyed getting fucked by a real cock... did you hear her? I bet if I did her again, she'd beg to cum. Wanna find out?"

The statement was like a knife in my heart. It was tough enough to hear it in that moment, but knowing what I know now, it hurt even more. My eyes shifted to what Jazz was doing on the bed. She had one hand over her recently fucked pussy. Was she... was she trying to keep his cum from falling on the bed or... trying to keep it inside her?

I watched as the rest of the theatrics played out. I wanted to believe that Jazz's interference was legit, that she was protecting me from this sexual predator, but I could no longer be sure she didn't want to feed me this guys cum all along. I couldn't take it anymore; I collapsed my head onto the desk and moaned like a dog in pain. The pain wouldn't let me cry, so I cried out.

I finally realized that someone was rubbing my back, and I could hear the distinct sound of someone sniffing. I guess it was too much for Lisa, too.

"Oh my god... Doug. I... I'm so sorry." She whispered in my ear. "You... you had no idea, did you? Of course, you wouldn't. This... this changes everything." She came from behind me and reached for the phone on her desk. "I must make a call, Doug. Just give me a minute." I could barely register what she was saying on her call, but I did hear Kincaid, office, and now.

I was lying on one of her therapy couches when Detective Kincaid came through the door. She grabbed a chair, pulled it beside me, and sat down. Lisa was standing in the doorway; I could see her wiping her eyes with a tissue.

"Doug?" I turned my face towards her. I could tell, by her face, that she had watched the video. "Lisa showed me the recording. I'm so sorry you had to see that."

"Why? At least I have the answers I needed." My voice was calm but stagnant.

She looked embarrassed for me and nodded. "Do you have somewhere you could go for a few days?" My eyes looked at her questioningly. "I'm going to take your wife into custody and with her help track down this Glen guy. I don't want you anywhere near your house or work until I've got them both locked up, okay?" I just stared at her. It all sounded so ludicrous. "Doug? Do you understand?"

"... yes." I was finally able to answer her.

"Keep your phone on. I'll be calling you soon." She squeezed my wrist. "It's all going to be okay. I'll be there with you the whole way. It's going to be tough, but you will come through this."

I vaguely remember watching her leave, thinking she had a nice bum in her dress pants. What a weird fucking thing to think! Lisa helped me set up some accommodation and even offered to drive me. When I refused, she agreed only if she could follow me to the hotel, which she did. She even walked me to my room and came inside. She sat in my room while I showered. I came out in a big bathrobe and sat on the chair across from her.

"Thank you, Lisa. For everything." She gave me a soft smile.

"You are a good person... a good man, Doug. Promise me, you'll be okay. I know there's a lot to unpack and a large degree of uncertainty, but promise me you'll persevere. I need to know the good guy is going to win." She smiled again.

I gave a soft chuckle. "I don't know what the next few weeks will be like, but I made a promise to the woman I loved that I would carry on and move forward. I don't plan on breaking that promise to her." That seemed to make Lisa happy.

She got up, and I walked her to the door. "I expect to see you again, Doug. I want... no, I would like to be a part of your journey back. Please let me help you."

"You can count on it. Thank you."

I gently shut the door when she left and walked to the large window that overlooked the massive lake. I thought of my late wife and swore I could feel Patricia's arms around me. There were no whispers, but the message was clear. You are stronger than this. You will be happy again... you promised me.

EPILOGUE:

Things went pretty smoothly after that day. If you don't count losing a wife, being humiliated over and over through depositions, and court proceedings (yes, I was being sarcastic). Everyone in the medical community was aware of what happened, it even found its way into the gym. While no one ever said anything negative to me, the looks and actions of sympathy followed me everywhere. Most people didn't know what to say, so they said nothing. A once-happy and busy social calendar was a ghost town. The only thing missing was the stray tumbleweed blowing across my path.

A year later, I was in the process of quitting my job and moving. The board of directors gave me an amazing recommendation, and I was off to head the foundation of a large community hospital. It wasn't glamorous and a huge reduction in pay, but it was hundreds of miles away from my old life. Selling the house was bittersweet. It carried all the past with Patricia, but was tainted terribly by the actions of my second wife. I couldn't stay there. Deep down, I knew I had Patricia's approval.

My second wife, Jazz, had been separated from me since that day in Lisa's office. Oh, I'd seen her through multiple court sessions. I could even hear her call my name or apologize whenever I was in earshot. Part of me assumed she did love me. After all, it was she who insisted on the Prenuptial agreement. You don't do that if you plan on humiliating your husband for the sake of some old sex tapes.

I continued to see Lisa up until a month ago. Next to asking Patricia to marry me, she was the best decision I ever made. I know my clinical situation was a first for her in her line of work, but her efforts guided me through some of my toughest times. I have no doubt we'll keep in contact over the years, you don't share an experience with someone like that and not form a bond of some kind. I called her my guardian angel, and despite her attempts to get me to stop saying that, I could tell deep down that she was flattered.

My last stop, before leaving town, was at the female penal institute. As luck would have it, I was on my way to my new life. Lisa had been encouraging me to seek closure. I thought I had already found it, but she was right. A part of me wanted to know. Sure, I heard her versions in court, but we haven't spoken face-to-face in a year. Since I never planned to return, it was now or never.

I don't know why I was nervous. A year of therapy had taught me that nothing of that night had the right to change who I was. Like the straps that bound me to the chair, we worked on cutting the binds that kept the event from letting me grieve, embrace, and move on.

I fiddled with the coat on my lap as I waited for my ex-wife to be brought into the room. I saw the signs posted on the walls and had an internal chuckle. Surveillance cameras. All sessions are recorded. I wasn't her lawyer, so we didn't have full privacy, which was fine with me. I was over being embarrassed for what she did to me. I lifted my eyes when I heard the click of the door.

She was escorted in, and the female officer left, closing the door behind her. Jazz never truly needed makeup to look beautiful, but she could've used some today. The vibrant, physical dynamo was but a shadow of her former self. I guess it's true; prison changes a person. The white jumpsuit with a blue pinstripe down the arms and legs did nothing for her figure either. Then again, I guess that's the purpose of them, stealing aspects of who they were before.

After a minute of silence, I decided it was time to get this over with. "I'm leaving today. I... I figured it would be the last time we'd ever see each other, and my therapist encouraged me to get closure."

"I was hoping you would. My therapist here said it would help me, too." Her voice cracked. "Wh... where are you going?" I snorted at her question, and she adjusted in her seat.

"I don't think I'd ever want you to know, babes." She frowned at the jab. The pet name her old boyfriend used in the video. It was immature, but I waited a long time to use it. "Besides, the day you get out, the restraining order will make sure you don't."

"I didn't mean to be nosey, I was just making conversation. Sorry." She lifted her hands onto the small table, clasping them tightly together. "Doug... you need to know how sorry I am. I did.." she paused. "I still love you." I started to chuckle. "I know, I know. That's hard to believe given the circumstances, but it's true."

I think she was waiting or hoping for me to add something to her comment, but I let the dead air speak for me.

"I know you heard in court why I did what I did, and if I could turn back the clock, I would in a heartbeat. You never deserved to suffer like you did. I was afraid of the alternative, Doug. I couldn't let you find out or see those tapes. I was so ashamed; I couldn't afford to lose you." She started crying. I wanted to stand up and walk out, but I came for closure. I wouldn't get that if I bailed now.

"It was his idea, and the more I fought him, the more he threatened to expose me and hurt you." She put her hand out, hoping I'd reach for it, but I didn't. That caused her to catch her breath. "I... I never even thought about the implications after the fact. I assumed that if I loved you even harder, we would get stronger and move forward." I had to listen to umpteenth sniffs in between, "Glen changed the script and forced my hand on some things, and I want you to know, I took no pleasure in your humiliation. In fact..."

"STOP Jazz. Just stop." I couldn't listen to her drivel anymore. "There's nothing that could come from your mouth that I would ever believe. It's taken me some time to accept the truth, Jazz. You never loved me. You loved the life I could give you, but you never respected me... You loved the respect our relationship gave you."

"NO! No baby! That's not true!"

"Yeah... you can cut the baby shit too, babes." The second shot hit her even harder. "If you loved me and respected me like you say, you would've known that anything from your past would've stayed in your past. Other than killing someone, there was nothing I wouldn't eventually look past. We all did dumb things when we were younger. Call it booze, drugs, excitement, curiosity... it was something we all did. Would I have been happy to know you were in a huge gangbang for an entire weekend? No. But it was your past."

I leaned over the desk and glared at her. "Instead, my loving wife makes a sexual deal with her ex-boyfriend, slash ex-con, to not only have sex with him again but to deliberately restrain, humiliate, and desecrate her husband. Who does that? I'll tell you who doesn't... a wife who loves her husband." Her crying had paused, but it was ready to burst again.

"You set it all up. Picked the right night, gave him the codes to our house, and you even told him the best place to hide. Did you forget that I saw the whole thing? I saw how you so easily accepted his advances. You sucked him off the whole time I was unconscious!" That reopened the tear factory. "And tell me the purpose of saving his cum inside you! Yeah... yeah, I saw you try to hold it in. Last I knew, you were on the pill, so it wasn't to promote pregnancy. No, I think you two talked about all the possibilities, and you were saving it just in case!"

"No... no... no..." Jazz shook her head in full denial.

"All right... Tell me why you did that." Her denial was just a knee-jerk response. She had nothing to say... no rebuttal. She knew there was truth in my words, and she couldn't spin it, no matter how hard she tried. I let her suffer in her defiance. No matter what kind of justification she could dream up, she'd still look like a monster.

I had had enough. My temper was rising, and the last thing I wanted to do was leave her with the impression that she still had any impact on me. As soon as I stood up, she looked at me with a face that was begging me to stay. I don't even think she knew why she wanted me to stay.

"Well, I'd like to say that this was a pleasure, but I'm not built to lie outright. Despite where you are and how long you'll be here, I think you got the better deal than your ex." Her head dropped. Was it in shame? Who knows.

"Being caught on tape, bragging you took the fall for a well-known Russian mob guy did more than guarantee a return to the big house. I guess when you're considered a loose end, you get tied up."

Shortly after his trial, and the video evidence of him perjuring himself, Glen had met an untimely and rather brutal end. Sergei Ivanov had endless resources and a long reach. It was likely the same guys who looked out for him during his last stay, but it took all of seven days for retribution to be distributed. Glen was found in the showers, with his eyes removed, tongue cut off, and his package shoved down his throat. It was not a typical hit in prison, but so far, all they had was speculation and no real evidence.

I could tell by her expression that the news had made its rounds here, too. "Time to go. May you be a better person when you leave this place than you were when you got here. Personally, I won't be holding my breath."

I walked to the door and knocked to get the guard's attention. When the door opened, Jazz spoke up one last time.

"Good luck, Doug. I'll always love you." Her look was desperate for some kind of validation, and dammed if my heart didn't bleed for her.

I looked back and sighed. "Thanks for that, Jazz. But I won't be giving you a second thought the minute I walk out of here." Her crying could still be heard after the guard escorted me down the hall and back into the lobby.

All I thought about her as I approached my rental truck. I sat in the cab and wiped (I vowed) the last tear that I would ever shed for that woman. I got my bearings and started the truck, pulling the U-Haul carefully through the parking lot. I was thirty miles along before I realized I had nothing to distract me from my thoughts. I reached down and turned on the radio. It was an 80's station, and it soon helped me think about other things.

I was just getting into a Robert Palmer song when it was interrupted by an incoming phone call. Not being my regular vehicle, there was no name popping up, but I did recognize the number. It was one that I had seen a lot of in the early days of my separation.

"Hello?"

"Good afternoon, Mr. Spencer."

"Good afternoon, Detective Kincaid." I smiled at the formal nature of things.

"Are you on the road?"

"Uh-huh."

"Did you stop by?"

"Uh-huh."

"That's it? Uh-huh. Care to expand on that?"

"Not really. I don't know what closure is supposed to feel like. I feel no different, to be honest."

"I get that." She paused. "I hope you find a good life waiting for you."

"It'll be what it'll be. I'm neither excited nor worried."

"You know, I have a couple of weeks' holidays coming up. You don't happen to know some type of small town where a girl could escape work's craziness, do you?"

Amelia had been true to her word and was with me through everything, including the death of Glen. She was the one who told me about it, long before the press got hold of it. Some of our later meetings had been more social than business since her end-of-things wrapped up. She was a beautiful woman for a cop. I had no idea how she could do her job and maintain any sanity for a life outside of it.

"Ask me in a couple of months. I may have some ideas by then." I heard the sound of her giggle.

"I'm going to hold you to that, Mr. Spencer."

After I hung up, my mood improved considerably. The music, the phone call, and the memory of Amelia's nice butt in her dress pants. Starting over didn't seem so onerous anymore. I could feel Patricia's approval.