"I wasn't flirting."
My dick still felt hard and I wanted to punish her for all that had happened. I pushed her into the bedroom and began undressing. I was going to show her that I was her husband and it was me with whom she had sex – no one else.
My dick swung out, mostly erect.
Tessa looked down at it in surprise. "You're hard?"
"I'm angry." I got on the bed, pushing her back and yanking down her bikini bottoms. Her pussy was wet.
She grabbed my dick, squeezing to test its firmness. "Wow…"
"You're mine."
"Of course I am." She began stroking my shaft and it hardened further – almost, almost fully hard.
"You shouldn't have let Dustin flirt with you." My dick flexed as the stiffening feeling continued. "He came real close to finding out how hard I hit."
She settled down next to me when I reclined onto my back. She kept stroking, looking into my eyes with rapt happiness. "You're angry he flirted with me—"
"Yes."
"But your cock is so hard. It hasn't been this hard in… months."
The image on my phone was stuck in my head. There was no way I was going to let her know I had it. I humped my hips up, enjoying the feeling of my rare erection sliding through her fingers. I thought about Dustin lifting her on the dance floor and her look of rapture. I grated, "Get on me."
Her eyes lit up even more and she scrambled over me.
For a brief instant, I feared that it would go soft immediately. But it didn't, and she drove her wet pussy down over my cock. I thrust upward, wondering what part of the party had made her so wet. The dancing? The gangbang? I gripped her hips and drove upward with vicious thrusts, remembering how Dustin had lifted her while dancing. "Why are you so wet?"
She said absently without care, "I don't know."
I looked at her parted lips and imagined the cock in the picture there. I thrust with more rage. No way was I going to kiss her. "Did you know Dustin before we married?"
She froze warily. "Yes… Why?"
"Did you date him?"
"I wouldn't really call it dating…"
"Answer me."
"Well, sort of. We saw each other for about a month."
Had Dustin taken the picture? He could have held his phone down perfectly to the side and taken it. Or not. But that would mean there were two people in the room with Tessa. Absent my problematic erectile dysfunction, I was now faced with the impotence of knowledge.
Ignorance.
Though it really felt more like mental impotence.
There was much I wanted to know, but was afraid to ask. I am not a fearful person, but, at this point, my dick was functioning and any answers she gave had the potential to send me into such a fit of anxiety that my excitement would surely be threatened.
I twisted her over and got on top, ramming hard into her wet slit. After that picture had been taken, had she…? I had never asked her about any ex-boyfriends or past sexual encounters. My probing in the beginning had simply been focused on her availability. How many guys had she had sex with before me? I crushed forward with each thrust, taking my anger out on her pussy. She had let Dustin thrust his dick against her and she had gotten wet. Or had already been wet after seeing the Maria-gal get gangbanged.
Did she have a gangbang fantasy?
She had never said anything of the sort.
In fact, she had never spoken specifically of any sexual fantasies.
Again, mental impotence afflicted me. I had my own fantasies – turning her into my personal slut, ready and willing whenever I wanted to whip out my cock.
But… what kind of fantasies did she have?
Images of the picture on my phone and the memory of her closing her eyes to Dustin's thrusts while dancing made me so livid that I punished her pussy with extremely brutal pounding.
Had the cock cummed on her face? In her mouth?
The rage ripped me apart inside and I howled savagely with fury. Hot pulses sent my cum surging up my shaft and blasting into my wife.
CHAPTER 7
Monday morning, I watched her run. Her bare ass under the tight yoga shorts jiggled all the way up the street. Unfortunately, Garth attached himself to her path and they ran together along the far side of the park.
I wasn't going to put up with this.
Even from this distance, I could just see that his shorts were tented out again.
What the fuck was so hard about understanding that the girl is mine? I wanted to break his dick in the most vicious and painful way possible. Maybe that would help his idiot mind to understand. Anger and rage were tearing me up inside. I waited for them to come around the edge of the park and begin approaching the house.
I went outside and crossed the street.
Garth's tented erection was very obvious now – not so tiny with the distance as before.
Did the idiot have not a speck of modesty?
He saw me – they both saw me – and he lost the animated, interested look on his face. He gave me several expressions of annoyance and irritation.
I put myself in his path and grabbed his arm as he tried to pass. "Listen, asshole, I warned you about talking to her."
Tessa didn't stop running, but she made a small orbit of circles a few yards away. "You told him that?"
I ignored her. This was between me and him.
He interrupted. "I'm just running, dude."
I looked down. Maybe an inch of the base of his shaft was visible. "You're running next to my wife with an erection. That isn't going to fly. Aren't you concerned some kid or old lady is going to see you?"
"Hey, fuck off. I run; it gets hard. Don't judge me."
"It only gets hard when you join my wife."
Tessa blew out a long breath and stopped doing her circles. She ran off, continuing her perimeter loops.
Garth's eyes followed her.
I said, "She's mine."
His expression became desperate the farther away she got. "There's no law against talking to her—"
"Leave her alone."
"Whatever, dude." He sprinted off, running madly to catch up to her. In the effort of his exertion, his shorts slipped down, exposing his pale ass. He hurriedly hitched them up and rejoined her.
I fumed as I saw his mouth moving.
The fucker just wasn't getting it. This was going to require a beating. A severe beating.
I went back in the house, fingers itching and twitching, but knowing I couldn't just start wailing on him out in public, though I was sorely tempted.
I watched them from the kitchen window again, grinding my teeth so hard that everything above my shoulders hurt.
Garth kept moving closer to her as they ran, but she kept moving away.
I tried breathing deeper to calm myself. At least Tessa wasn't the one flirting with him. I took out my phone and tapped open the picture of her with the cock. I stabbed the delete button with a ferocity that sent my phone tumbling to the floor. I bent down to pick it up and crashed my forehead directly against the counter.
Fuck.
I saw stars and I felt a trickle of wet on my forehead.
I stumbled into the bathroom and looked in the mirror, expecting blood. There was none, but there was a white spot where I felt the wetness. Strange, but something I had felt before. It was going to bruise up nicely.
Unfortunately, I missed my wife's close lap – they had already passed the house by the time I returned to the kitchen window. Fortunate maybe for me since I didn't want to be arrested if I couldn't control myself and had to beat the shit out of Garth.
My hands trembled as they clutched the counter, and it wasn't just from the stun of knocking my head.
I knew I had a problem.
My phone chimed.
Must be the carwash calling… Except it wasn't.
The fucker Dustin had sent me the picture again – not ten minutes after I had deleted it.
I roared in anger and picked up the glass bowl that held ou
r keys. I hurled it at the wall. It didn't shatter there, though it left a huge indent in the drywall. It did, however, explode on the floor, sending glittering slivers and shards skittering all over the tiles like so many spilled diamonds.
I shouted again, a primal shriek of rage that soon ran my throat hoarse. I saw spots again as blackness closed in. I found myself panting, leaning on the counter as my hearing and sight returned to normal. My throat hurt, badly.
I twisted away from the counter, violently, and almost lost my balance. I grabbed the broom from the closet and swung it with all my might at the door. It impacted stiffly, sending bruising pain across my palms in stinging spasms.
"Fuck!" I roared.
I swept the kitchen floor with such force that glass went flying everywhere.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"
Then all the rage drained out of me as if a huge plug had been pulled so that it lay there glistening on the floor with its departure. I felt weak and limp.
I was not done when Tessa came back in. "What happened?"
My throat was raw and sore. I could barely speak. "Dropped the bowl…"
"Do you want me to get that so you can get to work?"
My arms and shoulders trembled with defeat and impotence. It wasn't bad enough that I was afflicted with erectile dysfunction, but everything else felt impotent, too. I had no control.
I sighed hoarsely. "Yes… please. I'm sorry." I caught her eyes looking at the wall where I had thrown the bowl.
She pursed her lips and that worried look came over her face. "Clark—"
"I know."
"This is getting worse."
I felt utterly defeated. "I know."
"Maybe you—"
"I'm going to make a call… at work."
She looked at my phone on the counter.
I had left the text open. I didn't know if she could see exactly what it was from where she was standing – a few feet away – but I lunged for the phone and snatched it up.
She said, "You got a text?"
"Yeah. Carwash. No big deal." I passed her the broom. On impulse, I kissed her cheek. Her skin was cold and flushed at the same time from the run. I loved her knowing that she didn't want Garth bugging her.
She was mine.
I left the house a few minutes later and drove slowly to work. Silverlake Auto Wash and Detail was where anyone with money and fancy cars went to spend a fortune getting things right. I headed the detail department – had since I had hired on when I was 21.
The history of the place was deep within me: my father had started it decades ago; he had left it to my mother when he had abandoned us; she had sold it to an Arab convert to Christianity shortly before 9/11; and the man had hired me directly into the detail department where I had worked for my allowance under my mother.
I was the Detail Supervisor. I got paid very well. My relationship with the silver-haired owner Ahmed was very close - closer than my father, whom I hadn't seen since he had abandoned us.
Mom had tried to run the carwash right, but she did it only for me. It wasn't her thing and the service really only came into its own again after she sold it to Ahmed and after he had hired me directly.
Work was work and I enjoyed it as much as anyone could enjoy work. I inspected every car sent through the detail department. I taught the kids how to clean and wax. Wax was where the real money was made. Someone bringing in a Rolls or a Lamborghini didn't want the $150 wax job, they were looking at better waxes and detail. Those services took longer and ran in the high thousands.
I had taught my best friend Bend how to wax when he worked under me. At the carwash was where I had met him, but that was years ago.
Although Ahmed was more like a father to me, he kept a distance that made him more like an uncle. I didn't want to talk to him. In the clean and spacious cavern of our detailing warehouse, I phoned my mother.
"Clark? Is that you?"
"Yes, mom."
"Is everything okay?"
"Yes, mom. Look I called because…"
"What is it?"
"You said that you had run into dad?"
She made a disgusted noise. "At the bank in the parking lot. Right in front of everybody. I've never been so embarrassed."
"Did you talk to him?"
"He grunted at me, if you call that talking. And he made faces."
"Did you get his number?"
She exclaimed in affront. "Ha! Heavens no. He tried to talk, but I just wanted to get out of there."
I groaned.
"Why, you want to talk to him or something?"
"Yes."
"Whatever for?"
"Not about you, mom. So you didn't get his number?"
"No, but he said he was at Grove Creek Park."
I laughed. "There?" It was the trashiest, smallest trailer park in the city.
"Yeah, there. Figures, huh? Anyway, if you want to talk to him, the only thing I know is that he's there and he drives an old yellow Chevy truck from like the sixties or something and it smokes like a factory."
"Okay, thanks, mom."
"What's this about?"
"Nothing, really…"
"Whatever…"
I used my break to drive out to Grove Creek. The park was on a fairly good piece of property and had been owned by a single family, passed down, for decades. They refused to sell. Not that many would want to build in that part of town except storage parks or out of the way industrial units. It was a good location in a neglected part of town.
The park itself ran down off the road along a drainage creek that was surrounded by tall grass overgrowth. The trailers were mostly vacant and used for storage or whatever. Maybe five were occupied along the single dirt strip lane.
I saw the yellow Chevy straight away. Couldn't miss the flashes of dull yellow amidst the rust and shape of the old truck. Outside the trailer was sitting an old man that had to be my father. Hair stringy and silver fell off his head to shoulder length from under a greasy yellow ball cap.
The man looked at me, drawing on a cigar as I came to a stop. His squinted eyes were crinkled and wrinkled and his face was etched with a scowl.
I got out and approached.
He drawled, "What the fuck do you want?" He was sitting on a crate, hunched over as if he was squatting on a toilet. The cigar was pinched between two fingers and smoking lazily up into his craggy face.
"Dad?"
A myriad of expressions flashed across the tired face. The eyes sharpened, though, and he lifted his head straighter. He muttered with uncertainty, "Clark?"
I nodded.
He looked down and shook his head with a vehemence that suggested cursing himself. He flicked the cigar and took a drag. He squinted at me through the haze as he blew it out. He waved the cigar to a corroded old lawn chair with a half-torn fiberglass green seat. "Careful…"
I sat.
He shook his head again, looking me over. "Handsome kid…"
I pursed my lips and looked away, suddenly embarrassed at seeing him after all these years.
His voice was phlegmy and gnarled. "Come to bitch me out for taking off?"
"No."
"Well, what're you here for?"
I shifted carefully on the lawn chair, feeling the fragile fiberglass tearing in tiny increments. "I came to… talk about something."
"No shit, kid. Is this about your mother? Spit it out."
"No, it isn't, really…" Except that curiosity got the best of me. "Why did you leave us, anyway?"
He grunted sourly. "Look at me. And look at her. I married up, but it was a bad move. Back in those days, it was still sort of expected that if you knocked up a gal, she either got an abortion or got married. She wanted an abortion—"
I jerked, shocked. "Mom?"
"Yeah, mom." He flicked his cigar and motioned. "I convinced her to keep you."
"Why?"
Anger crossed his features and acid spit from his tone. "It was the way I was raised, Clark."
"So why
did you leave?"
"The marriage was just a bad idea. I came from the wrong side of the tracks. Her parents hated me."
"They bought the carwash for you—"
"Yeah, that's why I left it lock, stock, and barrel to your mother."
"But, I mean, they tried to help—"
He laughed a hacking, wheezing gasp of hilarity. "Shit, kid…"
"What?"
His haggard face twitched. "Appearances. Everything with her family was appearances. They made smiles and talked shit behind your back. I wasn't good enough for her, and they knew it. Eventually, your mother knew it, too. So I left. Problem solved."
I found myself nodding, understanding so fast with such simplicity that I wondered why I hadn't seen it before. "I guess that makes sense…"
"Of course it does. I ain't stupid."
"She sold the carwash—"
"Yeah, I know. She wasn't cut out for running a business, just spending money."
"I still work there."
His silver eyebrows lifted in utter shock. "No shit?"
"Head of the detail department."
He made a groan of recognition. "They have a reputation now…"
I nodded.
"So, you didn't come out here to ask about mom?"
"No."
"Then why? I don't have any money to loan ya."
I shook my head fast. "Money isn't a problem with me—"
He cackled. "Take after your mother, I see."
"I… wanted to talk about something I'm going through—" I was tapping my temple.
Again, he looked amazed. "And you thought I could help? Why not ask a professional?"
"I wanted to talk to someone close—"
He wheezed. "I haven't see you since you were a little—"
"Yeah, but… I just thought you might be able to give some advice."
He settled back and shifted his knees. They were bony and frail under greasy jeans that probably hadn't seen a washer in weeks. Despite his unkempt appearance, he didn't smell bad. He said, "Well, advice is free, ain't it? Shoot."
"I married a young gal." I took my phone out and tapped the access button. Instantly, the text screen popped up with the picture of Tessa with a dick resting on her face. Fortunately, he couldn't see it. I tapped into my pictures folder and brought up a pic of us. I showed him.
Jealousy Page 4