by Vivian Ward
M: Yes. lol Sorry.
R: Don't apologize. What did you do? Did you use a toy or your finger?
M: Two fingers. lol And I just played with myself until I came, then I washed my hands and now I’m back.
R: That’s so hot. Were your panties on or off when you did it? Where is your husband?
M: Yes, my panties were on. lol I always leave them on so if my husband walks in, I can just slip my hand out of my panties so he doesn’t catch me. He’s still watching sports, I guess. I told you, we live in different worlds.
R: Wow, that’s hot. Have you ever tasted yourself after you’ve finished?
M: Maybe. lol Okay, yeah.
R: Fuck, that’s hot. Mmmmm. So, tell me what some of those dark and dirty fantasies are.
M: Thanks. haha. Well, one of the things that I’d like is to be blindfolded and tied up.
R: Well don’t stop there! lol What else? Go on.
Settling back down in my old, beat-up chair, I twist the top off another bottle and take a swig of beer. I’ll stay up all night talking to her if she’s willing to stay up with me.
Chapter 8
Madison
It feels so weird telling Robbie such intimate things about myself but I like him, and I feel like I’ve known him forever.
For the past couple of days that we’ve texted back and forth, I feel like he gets me. He understands me, and he pays attention to me which is so nice.
I’ve wanted attention from a man for so long now that I feel like I might be a little too eager to accept Robbie’s friendship but he’s just so funny and sexy. Plus, he seems to care and maybe talking to me about my problems helps take the focus off of his problems.
His ex sounds like she missed out on a great guy, but then again, we hardly know each other. We don’t know much of anything when it comes to personal information. We don’t know each other’s last names, what schools we went to, what we do for a living or where we work.
Nothing.
I think the reason I’m able to tell him things is because I don’t know him. I’m not worried about him judging me, and I’ll never see him in real life, so it makes him easier to talk to.
Plus, if I’m being totally honest, I’ve needed someone to talk to for a while now. Karen won’t get it because she’s single and sort of bed hops and I don’t really want to talk to April about it either.
She might be my closest friend, but there’s nothing more embarrassing than admitting that your marriage is failing and that you don’t know how to fix it. Again, there’s that whole judgment thing.
Robbie doesn’t seem to judge me at all. He just listens and encourages me to get it all out and talk about things….and maybe he’s a little perverted, but it’s fun to flirt with him.
It’s harmless flirting, anyway. He’s an hour away from me and like I said, it’s not like we’re going to meet in real life. I’m not getting any action in the bedroom—and maybe part of that is my fault—so it’s nice to have that little bit of sexual attention, even if it is from a stranger.
Staring at my screen, I see how late it is. It’s nearly midnight, and I have to get up for work in six and a half hours. I’m surprised that Drew hasn’t come to bed, either.
M: Maybe I’ll tell you more tomorrow. I’ve got to get to sleep for work in the morning, and my husband will be coming to bed any minute. The last thing I need is to explain to him that I’m talking to some stranger that we don’t know.
R: Tease! You’re going to make me wait a whole night? You sure know how to torture a guy. Have a good night and sleep tight, but we WILL be finishing this conversation because inquiring minds want to know.
Smiling, I plug the charger into my phone and flip the light off with a goofy grin plastered ear to ear as I snuggle in for the night.
It doesn’t take but a few minutes for Drew to come to bed and quietly slip under the covers like he does every night. I pretend to be asleep even though I’m wide awake.
I can’t stop thinking about Robbie and my fantasies. Honestly, I’ve never told him much about them because I’ve always been so worried about what he would think.
Drew is probably the last person I’d talk to about sex because he’s such an old-fashioned guy. You know the type. Only missionary style, occasional doggy style, light hair pulling—but not too hard, wouldn’t want an ounce of pain and it’s always the same old, same old.
Sometimes I want a little spice and excitement.
When we first got married, I would dress up for him and wear all sorts of lingerie to bed. Sometimes I’d wear a silk chamise, a leather dress or a lacy teddy. I’d switch it and wear sexy fuck-me-heels or knee-high leather boots.
Sometimes I’d wear my makeup dark and smokey, other times light and soft.
I experimented with my looks to see if my appearance would provoke a particular mood in him, or if he’d maybe get a little rougher with me but it never made a difference. Not one iota.
One thing that my husband doesn’t know about me is that I love pain.
It brings me to a euphoric state, one that I love to go to. He doesn’t know this—I don’t think he’s ever paid attention—but when we have sex and I rub my boobs, I’m not just rubbing them for fun.
I’m pinching my nipples as hard as I can, but I wish it were him doing it. His hands are much stronger than mine and would work so much better.
When I masturbate, and I’m home alone, I slap my clit to make it sting. There have been so many times that I’ve wished we had a riding crop so I could really make it sting but if Drew ever found it, he’d wonder why we had it or what it was doing in our house.
I’ve always been so afraid to tell him that I was a little pain slut because he’s such a traditional guy so since the beginning of our relationship, I’ve endured boring sex to keep him happy. It certainly hasn’t been for my lack of trying.
There have been so many times where I’ve asked him to pull my hair or spank me, but all he does is give my locks a gentle tug or a quick slap on the ass.
Those things just don’t cut it for me. I mean, I don’t want to look like a deranged Chucky doll and have chunks of hair missing from my scalp, but make it hurt. Let me feel the prickling pain at the roots of my hair as you guide my head where you want it.
Or spank my ass rough and hard, leaving handprints and maybe some slight bruising behind that’ll last for a few days. I want to feel the cool wisp of air against my skin right before his hand comes crashing down, striking my ass like lightning. I want to jump, I want to yelp, I want to have to bite my lip to keep from crying.
And when it’s over?
My ass should sting and have a soft, red glow. It should be somewhat uncomfortable to sit or let water hit it.
But it doesn’t stop there.
This is what I mean when I say that I want it rough, I like it dark. But Drew won’t take me there. He’s too traditional.
Ordinary.
Mundane.
Boring.
Vanilla.
Tiresome.
Tame.
Uninteresting.
Yes, those are all words that could be used to describe our sex life. Well, our non-existent sex life.
After years of trying to color our bedroom a brighter—or darker, depending on how you look at it—shade, I’ve given up. So yes, I’ve quit wearing cute or hot shit to bed. I’ve stopped shaving my legs every day. I quit trying to provoke him into being something he’s not.
But that doesn’t mean that I don’t love him. I love Drew more than I love sex or pain or chocolate or margaritas. I read because my books take me there. They give me an outlet. They let me live another life. It’s the only escape that I have and they allow me to live out my darkest fantasies, even if it’s through the characters on the pages and not in real life.
Of course, IRL would be better, but I’ll take what I can get.
I love Drew, I really do. He’s the perfect guy which is why it’s so hard for me to say that I don’t know if I want
to be with him anymore. We’re so close to teetering over that edge, to the point of no return.
And that’s why I do and don’t feel guilty talking to Robbie.
Robbie lets me be myself. He listens to me. He lets me talk. Robbie wants to know what my fantasies are—and maybe I’ll tell him, maybe I won’t.
I feel guilty telling him things because if I’m going to tell anyone anything, shouldn't it be my husband? The man that I married? The one who I took vows with? You know, the one that I can’t talk to?
But I don’t feel guilty because damn it, sometimes a person has to vent. A woman needs to talk. Every person needs to live out their dreams and fantasies.
I’m only human and I want what I want.
I didn’t “choose” to be a pain slut, I just like it. The same way a person doesn’t “choose” to be gay or straight, they just are because that’s what they like.
A person doesn’t “choose” to hate slimy oysters, they just do. They don’t “choose” to love their favorite color or favorite movie, they just do.
So, no, I don’t “choose” to be a pain slut. I just am.
I don’t “choose” to love Drew. I just do.
But what I am choosing is whether or not I want to talk to Robbie. And I am.
And the fact that I’m talking to him makes me really question things. I’m doubting everything that’s in my world. Everything that has existed up until I started talking to Robbie.
I’m not sure when or where things began to change, but I just know that they have. I like Robbie but those doubts—those voices—are growing louder and louder in my mind.
Do I really love Drew? I mean, I am talking to this stranger, a man I hardly know and opening up to him. So what does that say about our marriage?
Do I really want this marriage? If I’m willing to openly talk to someone else, how healthy can our marriage be? They say you’re only as strong as your weakest link, and right now I’m about to break.
But that doesn’t stop me from staring at my screen, grinning like a goon as I sit here on my lunch break. I’m looking at Robbie’s last text.
R: Well don’t stop there! lol What else? Go on.
See? He wants to know. He wants to listen. He wants me to tell him all, and I want to! I want to tell him what a pain slut I am and what fun I’d like to be had with my body, but I keep telling myself that I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be talking to him. I’m a married woman. The ring on my finger keeps reminding me that I’m taken and that I belong to someone else.
That little gold band of infinity with a big sparkling rock on top that keeps me bound to the man that I love.
Symbolism is such a funny thing.
It’s no coincidence that wedding bands symbolize marriage and love. There is no beginning and no end. It just exists, it’s just there. No one can really ever say where exactly their love started or where it ends, just like a wedding band. A circle has no beginning or ending. It’s one continuous ring.
Look at widows and how they long for their husbands. In some stories, the woman peacefully passes away in her sleep, still mourning the loss of her husband because her love for him runs so deep that she was never able to get over it in this life, in this world. So, she goes and joins him. Her love for him never ends, even after he’s gone.
It’s also no accident that diamonds are the focal point of wedding bands. They shine so brilliantly and in all their glory and beauty, everyone adores them. Everyone wants a diamond. Everyone wants to be adored. Everyone wants to be loved.
See? No accidents. It’s all on purpose.
But fuck.
It’d be nice to tell someone my fantasies and not just live it out through characters in stories, so I push myself to go on, just like he’s urging me to because why not? He’s an hour away and I’ll never see him so what difference does it make?
M: You really want to know? If I tell you, you have to promise that you won’t judge me.
I don’t expect him to text back right away but he does.
R: Yes! Why else would I ask? I want to know everything there is about you.
Taking a deep breath, I smile and giggle at the thought of telling someone my secret. It’s going to feel so good to let it out, even if it’s just to a stranger.
Chapter 9
Drew
Last night I climbed into bed next to Maddy and listened to her breathing. She pretended to be asleep, but I knew better.
I always know better.
I’ve laid next to her countless nights, listening to her breathing while watching her peacefully sleep. Her eyelids softly closed, with a little light fluttery movement beneath them and, occasionally, a little drool on her pillow.
Those are the nights when I know she’s exhausted; her eyes constantly moving beneath the lid. It’s like she can’t fully rest when she’s that tired.
I also know the sound of her breathing when she sleeps. Those light, shallow breaths that she takes. Her breasts barely rising and falling.
But not last night.
Her breathing wasn’t light and shallow. It was regular, even breaths. She stayed facing the window instead of facing me, which is usually how she sleeps.
Maddy likes to roll herself up in a ball, almost like a child, and cocoon herself in the blankets—leaving me with none, but I let her because I love her. She likes to feel safe and protected, and I like to let her feel that way.
So if it means her hogging all the blankets—and most of the bed—then so be it. I’d sleep on a bed of nails if it meant giving her what she needed. I can do without as long as it makes her happy.
I feel awful for catfishing her the way that I am, but I just want to fix things and make them better. I feel even worse that I’m not at work today while she’s out busting her ass at the hardware store, but I can’t help it. Our work was cancelled for today.
I always thought it was odd that she liked working at Culliver’s but I guess now that I know she thinks her manager, Don, is hot it makes a little more sense. I suppose we’d all be a bit more eager to go to work every day if we had a hot boss.
Today I’m off because they didn’t get materials in on time and we’re waiting on the rest of it to be delivered. We kind of knew that today might not be a working day a few days ago, but I didn’t tell Maddy.
I always feel like such a loser when I don’t have work, so I just don’t talk about it. At least when I’m off for long stretches—usually in during the rainy spring or snowy winter—I can take on side jobs to supplement our income. I’ll do a landscaping job or hang drywall or work on indoor remodeling projects that I can usually snag.
Maybe having today off is a blessing though because I can chat with her a bit more and she won’t suspect what I’m doing.
M: You really want to know? If I tell you, you have to promise that you won’t judge me.
R: Yes! Why else would I ask? I want to know everything there is about you.
It takes her a bit to respond but she does. I’m surprised at how much she texts when she’s at work.
M: Okay, so there’s a bit more to the fantasy of being blindfolded and tied up. I want to play it out a bit more.
As long as I’ve known my wife, this is taking me by complete surprise. I’ve never known her to be so dark or perverse and I’m shocked.
I mean, I know she’s a sexual being—very sexual, in fact—but never to this extent. She’s worn plenty of lingerie, makeup, heels, and boots to bed but now she’s taking me down a path with plenty of twists and turns. I’m not sure where she’s headed but I want to know.
R: Play it out, how?
M: I don’t know. lol Like, maybe being forced, but willingly of course or being taken by a stranger. I know, it sounds stupid but it’s true.
I am literally stunned. Words don’t even exist in the English language to describe what I’m thinking or feeling. Hell, I’m not even sure what I’m thinking or feeling.
R: Why do you think it’s stupid? Everyone has fantas
ies, but why would you want to be “forced” or taken by a stranger? I don’t get that. Wouldn’t that be scary for a woman?
M: I don’t want to be “raped” or put in any danger. Just a little role playing, a good struggle, you know, forced. Something that makes him work to “take it.” Like I said, it’s stupid.
I don’t know what I think about any of this. My wife wants to play out some fantasy where the guy “takes” her and she has to fight to keep him off of her?
I’ve always known that she likes it a little rough because she’s asked me to do certain things in the bedroom, such as manhandling her, but never anything this dark.
And here’s the thing, I want to give her whatever it is that she wants so the last thing I want her to do is think that her fantasies are stupid or that she shouldn’t ask for what she wants. I want to give it all to her.
R: Not stupid at all. So what else goes along with this stranger/forced fantasy of yours? That’s it? He just ties you up and “takes” you?
M: Not exactly. lol I mean, that’s a big part of it, but I want him to have total control over me, and be forceful. I want it rough and raw.
R: What else do you like or want?
She doesn’t answer for about another hour and each passing minute seems like an eternity. I pace the basement as I nurse my beer and watch sports highlights from last night’s game.
Knowing her, she probably got busy at work, but she’ll be getting off soon. And then I’ll lie to her and tell her that we took off a bit early so that she doesn’t know I missed the whole day because that does happen sometimes and we’ll get off an hour or two early.
M: I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t say any more. I already feel stupid admitting the things I’ve already told you. lol What kind of stuff do you like?
Her question surprises me. I thought we were talking about her, but I see what she’s doing. She’s trying to get the attention off of herself because she feels uneasy about this stuff.
I’m not letting her off that easy. She’s not ducking and weaving, not as long as I’ve got her talking but I will play along with her game.