Walking The Line Ch. 11

The videos Avery sent don't completely calm his nerves, as they aren't inherently soothing. But they'll do as distractions. He feels a bit guilty using Avery's private life as a simple distraction, but then again, is that not always what they use each other for?

The first video is clearly taken after a shower. Her blonde hair is still damp, small ringlets fall around her sun-kissed skin, as she grins as she picks up the camera, letting it pan around her glistening naked body. The video is almost cute, considering just how bubbly Avery's personality is as she shows off her toned body. She giggles as she zooms in on her tits, and her enthusiasm is nearly infectious. Chris sinks back into the pillow that props him up against the headboard and finds himself smiling back at the video. The video is exciting, sure, but he saw a snippet of the second one, and he's more than eager to indulge in that one.

His eyes widen as he swipes over to the second video, which doesn't pull any punches, instead diving headfirst into full-blown eroticism. Where the last video was lighthearted and fun, this one is much more indulgent.

Chris can't be sure when the first one was filmed, or even who it was filmed for. But this one is definitely for someone, shot with them in mind. His body flushes as he quickly learns who it's for; hearing his name being called out, falling from Avery's lips quickly, chanted like a prayer.

She's propped up on her bed similarly to how he is now, except she's completely naked, save for a sheer bra that hardly hides any of her more intimate goods. Her nipples are a pleasant shade of pink, poking curiously against her lacey bra. It's delicate, decorated with pastel flowers that are far too innocent when juxtaposed with what she's doing.

"Fuck Chris, can't you see that I need you?" She says, head rolling back as she uses a rabbit vibrator to stimulate her clit and g-spot simultaneously. Her pussy is weeping, soaking through to the towel she cleverly has laid beneath her plush ass. "So busy working, not enough time for us." She grumbles, voice airy as she fucks herself with the bright pink toy. It's gaudy and striking against her skin, painting an erotic picture he's only ever seen before in porn. He doesn't know if this even counts as porn, considering it's his name she's moaning, and not someone else's.

Just when did she get the time to film something like this? Was Sam home when she was doing it? She can't be that ditzy; he has to have a bit more faith in her. But still, the entire thing makes him nervous. Even more nervous than actually being there in person fucking her. There are a million excuses they can make for that, if one or the other is gone too long somewhere behind a locked door. (Visiting a friend, having to stay behind to work, etc.) But this? This is now an incriminating paper trail.

The fear of being caught does nothing to dampen his spirits. Paradoxically, it invigorates him, turning his mouth dry as he sucks in a deep breath everytime Avery's pussy squelches against the toy. There's a part of him that yearns to be there, fucking her instead, or at the very least using the toy on her to watch her squirm, but there's another more insidious part of him that enjoys the attention by proxy. It's not her husband's name she's moaning now; she isn't making the video for him, or any of her other partners. No, she did this elaborate setup for Chris, and nobody else. Then sent him the video while knowing he was at work.

It's like she's taking up every part of his life, filling his waking thoughts with nothing but the idea of her, intoxicating him. And in turn, he must also be doing a number on her, if this is what she's getting up to in her free time.

"Can't wait for the weekend." She moans, lips parting as her head rolls back. Her movements are rhythmic, and Chris wants to pull himself out of his pants to join her, to pump his aching cock in time with her thrusts, but his hand stays hovered above his crotch, just barely touching his zipper, too mesmerized by her movements to make a move of his own.

She moves the vibrator around, and Chris leans in, eagerly taking in every slight twitch of her pleased muscles, straining to hear how the vibrator sounds against stimulated skin. It's wet, and Chris has no doubt she can make herself squirt this way, hence the need for the towel.

A knock on the door shatters Chris's daydreams, and his soul nearly jumps out of his skin. His heart sinks as he turns off his phone and stashes his headphones away. He wrenches himself out of bed in a hurry, unlocking the door and letting Hazel in. He has no way of fixing his dishevelment in record time, but he can say he was watching porn if honestly asked. Neither of them has ever cared about that in the past. He'll just leave the details out of who's porn, specifically, he was watching.

"Is now a bad time?" Hazel asks, doe eyes melting his icy heart for a moment. Time slows, and he scrutinizes every aspect of her face, searching for acknowledgment. He only sees himself reflected in her glassy eyes, now surprisingly full of the wonder he once appreciated during their marriage.

He knows better now, knows her innocent expression to be a front. But when he's already in such a frenzied state, emotional whiplash from all the blows he's taken today, some good, others bad, he feels himself melting a bit, vulnerable in her vulnerability.

"No-" He hesitates, glancing back to where he was seated on the bed just moments before. "Sorry, I was just preoccupied." He admits, smiling ruthfully and praying that she doesn't pry further. Even with a loving, longtime partner, some subjects are difficult to broach no matter what. Masturbation will always seem a bit awkward in his eyes. (Even though Avery makes it look effortlessly sexy. But he can think about the implications of that thought another time.)

"I didn't mean to ignore you earlier, but work is just so hectic." She hesitates, chewing on her bottom lip as she looks up at Chris mournfully, as if she genuinely laments having to take a work call outside for twenty minutes straight. "I'd like to spend some time with you, if it's alright." She clasps her hands in front of her, incidentally pushing her tits up in her low cut tank top, having presumably discarded her baggy sweatshirt earlier. For what purpose, Chris isn't sure.

Unless she means that she wants attention now?

"You don't need to do this if you feel bad for me," Chris hesitates, looking away as he rubs the back of his neck, now torn. It's true that his cock is beigning to pitch a somewhat painful tent in his pants, and he could do with some comfort, however cold, but at the same time, he doesn't want it just because she's trying to make amends in whatever fucked up way she deems necessary.

"I want it, Chris, I want you." She leans up and presses a chaste kiss over his lips, not overeager, but inviting and asking him if he wants her the same way, no strings attached.

But of course, that can never be the case with them anymore. There are always strings attached, and the work week is still young. Is it conceivable to use his wife in this way, having become aroused from his affair partner's video just a few moments earlier? Perhaps Hazel thinks his outburst was from loneliness, and she wants to squash any lingering feelings. Can he allow her to believe that? To take pity on him while the strain in his pants is for another woman, and not their lonely marriage teetering on the brink of oblivion?

Perhaps the correct thing to do is to walk away, lock himself in the bathroom, and finish himself quietly. But as Hazel presses into his body, tits against his chest and lips parting for each other's tongue, he finds himself beholden to his body's wishes, not his minds, nor his hearts.

They're still married, after all. This can't be too bad, can it? Even if every rational part of him rejects it, he'll simply have to cling to the less rational. Let his more primal instincts guide him, however messy and confused they may be.

They shut the door and quickly undress one another, fucking passionately like nothing is wrong. Like the phones on their respective nightstands don't hide a treasure trove of infidelity, and like they're genuinely a couple in love, without a dozen secrets in the spaces where they aren't interconnected.

--

"Relax, this isn't an interrogation," Avery says, grinning as she dumps a treasure trove of toys onto the king-size bed. Most are mundane enough, but others are a tad bit more concerning.

"Says you." Chris sighs, hugging the edge of the bed, treating the toys like they're a pile of snakes that might bite him at a moment's notice. Avery snickers as she notes Chris's trepidation, shrugging as she hops onto the bed and begins sorting through them.

"Since you're such a virgin, why don't we start with something easy?"

Chris clears his throat, suddenly feeling parched and a bit too hot under the collar. "I do take offense to that, you know."

"What?" Avery asks innocently, holding up a mighty dildo and swinging it in his face. "Me calling you a virgin, or me saying we should take it easy?"

Chris rolls his eyes, enjoying her cheeky antics and playing into them, but still feeling a bit lost. He's been looking forward to this, and despite some "research" into toys online, he doesn't feel any clearer about what exactly Avery wants to do now. Should he take charge and pick something out, or is that too presumptuous?

"How about both? Can I take offense to both statements?" Chris asks as he leans over, wearily eyeing some of the stuff. He's not sure how she amassed such a collection with a supposedly dead bedroom life, but he's also not wanting to open that particular can of worms now of all times, so he keeps his mouth shut.

Avery hums to herself, hovering her hand over a few of the sexy items she's procured from the back of her massive walk-in closet. She must not be trying to hide them from Sam, as they were simply sitting in a trunk of sorts in the far corner.

"Why don't you choose one, and I'll choose another?" She smiles up at Chris, eyes twinkling with mischief, while a notable undercurrent of concern remains. For all her playful posturing, she must be serious about not wanting to make Chris uncomfortable. He knows that some of these items must be a once-in-a-while type of thing, as she's never given him any indication of the contrary, but some aren't. There are flavored lubes and condoms among different clitoral stimulators. Not too many to make her a hoarder, but enough to blow Chris's mind. If this is what spicing things up in the bedroom looks like, then the occasionally rough doggy with Hazel has been the salt of seasonings, decidedly bland in the face of true spice.

"Do you often like to be tied up?" Chris asks, feeling oddly hesitant about it all. He's had safety conversations with Avery before, but as far as taste goes, they've practically never discussed it, usually too caught up in the heat of whatever moment they're in to have enough foresight to ask for something particular. And now when faced with choice, he hesitates, and in some ways, Avery does too.

"No." Avery snickers, holding up some items that look suspiciously like leather. "Some of these are gag gifts, call me sentimental." She shrugs and grabs a small vibrator that could easily fit in one's palm or be tucked away into a purse. It's cute and travel size- if vibrators can be considered cute.

"You really did freak me out for a minute there, I thought you had some grand double life going on..." Chris muses, sifting through a few items as well. He's unsure about the flavored lubes, as he sincerely doubts the mint flavor will be anything other than hellish. He decides on a ridiculously fluffy pair of pink handcuffs, turning them over in his hands and treating them like a fascinating archaeological artifact, and not something Avery likely picked up on Amazon.

"Have you considered that you're just really fun to mess with?" Avery asks, winking at Chris as she grabs her toys off the bed and stuffs them back into the closet. Soon they're left with a blank slate for a bed, a vibrator, and a gaudy pair of handcuffs.

"Have you considered that my heart can't take it?" Chris retorts, sitting on the bed as Avery hikes her shirt off her body. She's got a lacey bra underneath, as bright pink as the item Chris is clutching now. He averts his eyes, feeling awkward as he recalls the video from almost a week ago, she was wearing a similarly lace-like bra then, and he never even finished the video, too distracted by his wife's sudden appearance and lust. Even after she took the time to film the thing for him, he still got distracted by something barely more tangible.

"You aren't old, Chris. You aren't at risk for a sudden cardiac event in your thirties."

Chris shrugs as he undresses, feeling oddly comfortable as they talk. Their coupling thus far has always been a bit more spontaneous and wild; it's nice to speak somewhat normally and ease into the fun of it all. "Says you." He murmurs as he takes his shirt off and tosses it to the side, mimicking Avery's actions. He hesitates when he feels eyes on his back. He turns, one hand on the waistband of his underwear as his eyebrows shoot up.

"Something the matter?" He asks, noting how Avery is completely undressed, save for her bra, just like the video. She's watching Chris like a hawk, a devilish and lopsided smile on her lips.

"Oh, nothing," she says, faux-innocence coloring her voice facetiously. "Just noticed how good your back looks."

Chris huffs out an annoyed breath, though he feels no such annoyance. Actually, he's quite tickled by her compliment. It's not lost on him that usually when they fuck, it's dark. So now that it's midday with all the bedroom lights on, they can truly see each other, perhaps in more ways than one.

"I do try to work out, you know. Try being the operative word here."

"Well, you look good, now show me what you picked out."