Off Limits

by Vivian Ward

  R: I’m versatile. I like a little of everything but what I like most is getting my woman off and pleasing her in the bedroom. Why won’t you tell me more about your fantasies?

  She doesn’t respond at all after that. The next time I hear from her is when she’s walking through the door.

  For some reason, she looks exhausted, but I know she didn’t work too hard because we spent a lot of the day texting.

  “How’d your day go?” I ask her.

  “It was all right,” she says, taking off her work apron before she folds it and lies it over the arm of the couch.

  “Oh? Are you hungry? I was thinking about picking up something for dinner. How does Chinese sound to you?”

  She places her hands behind her neck, interlacing her fingers as she lets out a loud sigh.

  “I don’t care. Whatever you want. I think I’m going to go take a shower.”

  “Okay,” I follow her to the hall closet. “Do you want to come with me? I’ll wait for you to get out and then we can ride together.”

  She pulls her towel and wash cloth out of the linen closet and shuts it as she turns to face me in the dimly lit hallway.

  “Sure. I’ll be about a half an hour,” she says before she slips into the master bath and I hear the water turn on.

  It kills me how much she’ll open up to Robbie but not to me. I barely get one-word answers, but he gets to know her deep, dark secrets—well, most of them anyway—and it’s just not fair. What did I do? Why don’t I deserve to know?

  After a quiet dinner, the two of us clear the kitchen table and retreat to our usual habitats: the basement and the bedroom.

  Part of me is sad that we don’t ever spend time together, but the other part of me is grateful because it means I can talk to her more and find out what she wants and how to make things better between us.

  It doesn’t take long to hear back from her once she’s alone in our room. She must have got her stuff all set up and made sure her phone and stuff was on the charger before she messaged me.

  M: Sorry it took so long to get back to you. It was near the end of my shift, and I had to have dinner with my husband.

  R: Had to have dinner? You make it sound like it was a bad thing. I bet he’s a great guy if you’d just give him a chance.

  M: How can you say that? Lol You hardly know him or anything about him, or us.

  At least she’s a little defensive when it comes to me even though she apparently hates eating dinner with me.

  R: You’re right. Sorry. lol How was your day at work?

  M: It was okay. Things were a little on the slow side, but I like my co-workers, so it helps.

  R: I bet you’re fun to be around and probably have lots of friends.

  M: How do you figure? There you go again, assuming things you don’t know. But yes, lol, I do have a few friends, and they do like being around me.

  R: I’m just a people person and can read people, I guess. Just like I know that you want to tell me more about your fantasies.

  M: Whatever! I told you a lot! What do you mean? And you haven’t told me anything about your fantasies.

  R: LOL I haven’t told you about my fantasies because this isn’t about me. It’s about you. I want to know you, but I’m really curious as to why you like such dark things. You seem like such a bright, happy person.

  M: I am a happy person, but I can still like dark things. There’s something so erotic about being completely powerless and letting a man have his way with your body while pleasing you and tormenting you at the same time.

  R: So it’s the whole power exchange that turns you on? I could see that. A lot of women like it.

  I had no idea my wife was into being tied and forced or that she likes the whole power exchange thing. It’s completely normal. There have been numerous Playboy articles about it so I’m no stranger to it.

  Truth be told, I always that she liked it soft and sensual. Isn’t that what most women like? Women are so fragile and such delicate, complicated little creatures. I never imagined my wife would be into stuff like that.

  M: Yeah, but there’s more to it than just that.

  R: Like what?

  What else could there be?

  Chapter 10

  Madison

  Biting my lip, I hesitate to tell Robbie what else there could be. What will he think when I tell him that I’m a pain slut? Will he judge me for it?

  He hasn’t really judged me for much of anything else, but there has to be some breaking point, right?

  For some reason, I care what he thinks. I’m not sure why, but I do. I want him to like me. Maybe because he talks to me and listens to me and I want to keep that going. I enjoy our conversations, and I like the fact that he listens to me and that he wants to learn more about me.

  I also know that if I don’t tell him, he’s not going to drop it. I’ve already let the cat out of the bag so I might as well just tell him. I mean, I’ve already said that I want to be tied and forced. Could it really be that much worse?

  M: Yeah, but there’s more to it than just that.

  R: Like what?

  A small voice in my head keeps telling me to stop talking to him but I can’t. I really like him. He’s so friendly, and he seems like he really cares.

  M: I’m embarrassed and don’t know if I want to tell you.

  R: C’mon and tell me. What’s the worst that could happen? I promise, whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.

  There’s no point in holding off any longer. I know that he’ll get it out of me sooner or later.

  M: I’m into pain. Like, when my hair is pulled, I want it to hurt, or when I’m spanked, I want it to sting. I’d like if my nipples were pinched and if my clit was a little tortured. Basically, the complete opposite of what my husband does.

  When he doesn’t respond again, I feel like I just lost him. A sad, sharp pain runs deep in my belly, and I wish I wouldn’t have told him anything. I hate that I’ve run him off.

  Pulling Dublin to my chest, I tuck him under my chin as I stare at my phone on the pillow next to me. Why do I always have to say the wrong things?

  Oh well, maybe it’s better that we stop talking. It probably wasn’t a good idea to talk to him anyway, even though I really wanted to and enjoyed it.

  I grab my tablet off of my nightstand and get back to the book I started at work today. It’s a cute romantic comedy about a woman who accidentally bumped into this handsome guy at an art gallery. It’s probably a good thing that it’s a funny, light romance because I don’t think I could read anything dark right now.

  As I sit here reading this book, I can’t stop thinking about how stupid I feel for opening up to a stranger. A stranger who won’t even talk to me now. I probably freaked the guy out when I mentioned the pain stuff. Not a lot of guys are into that. I know Drew certainly isn’t.

  I barely make it through the second chapter when my phone vibrates on the pillow. It’s him. It’s Robbie.

  R: Sounds like you’re a naughty girl.

  M: I can be if given a chance.

  R: What if I gave you that chance? Would you take it?

  Whoah! I wasn’t expecting that. He’s not insinuating that he and I would….? Is he?

  M: What do you mean?

  R: What if I gave you the chance to be a naughty girl with me? Would you take it?

  Wow. So that is what he’s asking. He’s not even trying to beat around the bush. I can feel my adrenaline kick up a few hundred notches, and I can practically see my heart beating out of my chest and fluttering around the room.

  I couldn’t cheat on Drew.

  Could I?

  Our marriage is dead, but I still love him. We just don’t connect anymore.

  But Robbie? I like this guy. He’s fun and exciting. He’s not anything like my husband.

  At all.

  He’s the exact opposite.

  He’s exactly what I want.

  But I can’t have him because I’m married. I’m married to a ma
n that I absolutely love even though we’re stuck in a rut and I don’t know how much deeper this rut can get before we split.

  I’m surprised that we’re even still together at this point. The closest thing we have to a relationship is dinner companions at the table each night. Other than that, we’re more like roommates.

  Plus, what if I agreed to see Robbie and I liked it? Then what? Could or would I actually leave Drew?

  Or what if Drew found out?

  That would be bad. Really bad.

  Drew’s never really been a violent guy, but I could see him kicking Robbie’s ass. Or maybe not. Maybe he’d just give up and walk away.

  The fact that I didn’t say no right away has me worried. Maybe we’re further gone than I thought.

  M: How would we do it?

  As I sit and wait for his reply, I can’t help but let my mind wander. What would it be like to be with another man? What would it be like to cheat on my husband?

  Of course, I don’t have to go through with anything. I can just wonder and ask questions. Everyone can daydream and consider all of the what-if’s, right?

  I’m sure Drew has probably seen other women before and wondered what it’d feel like to be inside of her. Or maybe he’s considered someone with larger breasts. I’m a full B-cup, but that’s just a handful. There are plenty of women out there with larger breasts than mine.

  I’m not going to beat myself up over the fact that I’m considering what it would be like to do this. We’re only human, and we all have needs. My needs have gone overlooked for a long time.

  Just like a weed in a field. Nobody cares about that weed in the middle of the field. It’ll go away eventually, or maybe it won’t. Maybe it’ll always be there.

  Who cares, it’s just a weed, right?

  But I’m tired of being that weed. I want to be a beautiful blossoming flower.

  But then why do I feel so dirty and weed-like?

  Maybe it’s all the pretty, tall grass blades surrounding me. They’re suffocating me, threatening to take away the fertile soil in which I grow—or used to grow in. I used to thrive, but now I only survive.

  One lonely, cold dinner at a time.

  Each night the two of us sit at the table eating our dinner, but we don’t talk. We don’t communicate. We ignore because that’s what we’ve both learned how to do best.

  R: We could meet somewhere. A hotel maybe?

  M: How? We live an hour apart, plus I’m married, remember? Have you ever been with a married woman before?

  R: Yes, but I was married to her. Does that count? lol

  M: No, that’s not what I mean. Have you ever been with someone who….cheated?

  R: No, but I want you. I want to make you experience everything that you’ve been deprived of.

  My heart just combusted.

  How can this man who doesn’t even know me care more about my needs and wants than my own husband? I have to do this.

  M: Oh my God. That’s probably the sweetest, most romantic thing I’ve heard in a long time that wasn’t written in a book somewhere.

  R: I’ll work on the details. You just let me handle things, okay?

  M: Okay. It’s getting late, and I should probably get some sleep—if I can sleep after all of this.

  R: Sleep well. I’ll talk to you later.

  This guy sounds so perfect. So perfect in fact that I’m almost leery of meeting him. I don’t even know what he looks like or anything about him. What if he’s really a serial killer who hacks up girls and stores their bodies in his basement?

  He could also be some big, hairy, pimply guy who I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. Or a skinny, geeky computer programmer who has chicken legs.

  M: Wait! I don’t even know what you look like. Can you send me a picture? And maybe tell me some info about you? I barely know anything about you at all so you can see where I might be concerned.

  I lie awake, staring at my phone waiting for his response which never comes. Eventually, I drift to sleep thinking about all of the dangerous and fun possibilities that could happen.

  Chapter 11

  Drew

  M: I’m into pain. Like, when my hair is pulled, I want it to hurt, or when I’m spanked, I want it to sting. I’d like if my nipples were pinched and if my clit was a little tortured. Basically, the complete opposite of what my husband does.

  When she said that I do the exact opposite of what she likes or wants, it nearly killed me. It felt like a dagger going straight through my chest.

  Those words hurt.

  I had to take a breather from texting her for a bit. Part of me wanted to punch something—the wall, the table, anything. No man wants to hear that he doesn’t give his wife what she wants or needs, especially when it comes to sex.

  Damn it. I thought I was giving her everything she wanted and needed. How was I supposed to know any differently? How was I supposed to figure out she was into all of that stuff?

  I’m quickly learning more and more about my wife that I never thought possible.

  Once I recovered from the blow to the gut, I picked back up with texting her as Robbie.

  I asked her if she’d take a chance to be naughty if I gave her one because I wanted to see what she would do. I don’t know what I was thinking. Never in a million years did I think it would take her so long to answer, nor did I believe that she would say yes.

  When she didn’t answer right away, it told me that she was considering things and battling it all out in her head.

  I was hoping that she’d say no, but when she didn’t, it shocked and scared me. What the hell am I supposed to think about that?

  The fact that my wife, the women who wears my wedding ring day after day and comes home to me every night just agreed to meet with another man for sex worries the hell out of me.

  What if it wasn’t me on the other end of the phone? What if it was the guy from the ad that I’d originally found? She’d really be meeting a complete stranger, then.

  Part of me is angry, hurt, sad, and upset. A big part of me. If I thought all of her little remarks have been bad, this has to be the worst.

  I feel like I’ve already lost her.

  I didn’t realize that our marriage was that bad and I idly sat by and let it happen. Why didn’t I fight for her sooner? Why didn’t I change things earlier? How did I not realize that they were as bad as they are?

  But now I’ve gotten myself into a mess.

  I wasn’t counting on her to take me up on the offer and I sure as hell didn’t think about her asking for a picture of me. The only thing I’d really thought about was her asking about where I’m from, the city I lived in and maybe a few personal details.

  When I started all of this, I didn’t even know if she’d respond but now we’re supposed to meet?

  I stopped responding to her, hoping she’d wait for me to text her back and maybe just fall asleep so it’d buy me some time to figure this all out.

  All day I’ve thought about how to pull this off and I’ve finally got a plan. It didn’t come to me until after lunch.

  She seems really into this whole being taken, blindfolded, tied and forced thing and, apparently, it makes it hotter that I’m a complete stranger so I’m going to play that part up to my benefit.

  As soon as I got off work, I sent her a text from my truck before I left the job site.

  Two texts, actually.

  I sent her one as myself, telling her that I’m going to swing by The Upper Crust to pick up a pizza for dinner so I’ll be running a few minutes behind.

  Then I sent her one as Robbie with our plans to meet up.

  R: I don’t know if I should send you a picture. You said you really liked the whole idea of being “taken” and forced, right? And that you like the stranger aspect.

  Without fail, she texts Robbie back right away.

  M: Yes, but I want to make sure that you’re my type. How do I know that you’re clean and that you shower or that you look decent?

  R:
How do I know those things about you? How about if you send me a picture of yourself and then I’ll send a picture of me from the neck down so that you can see my body type and that way, we can still maintain the stranger thing?

  M: I don’t know about that. I don’t have a problem with sending you my picture but I want to know what you look like, too.

  R: Well, I’m waiting. Go ahead and send it.

  I tuck my phone into my pocket as I get out of the truck and go inside The Upper Crust to order our pizza and pull it back out once I’m sitting at a private table where I can continue texting with her until the pizza is finished cooking and I get back home.

  I see that I have a text from her saying that pizza sounds great, and she’s also texted Robbie back.

  M: Here you go.

  I can’t believe it. She sent a picture of herself lying on our bed wearing nothing but her silky pink bra. Her long, wispy brown hair is fanned out on the pillow and looks like it should be part of some beautiful art painting.

  She looks stunning.

  Her smokey bedroom eyes stare into the camera, longing and begging for attention and approval. I’m such an idiot. How could I not see this before?

  My wife has never looked more beautiful or vulnerable in our entire marriage. I want to say forget the pizza and run right home to her, pin her down on the bed and take what’s mine—just like she’d like—but I can’t.

  I’m afraid she’ll reject me. She’ll push me away, just like we’ve been pushing each other away for so long already.

  Frustration builds inside me as I try not to think about my wife practically giving herself to “another man”, even though it’s still me, and the fact that there’s really nothing that I can do about it.

  M: Now, you go.

  Still in awe from her picture, I freeze for a moment as I think about how I can send her a picture of me. There’s no way that I can give her my real picture. That’ll end things right on the spot—maybe even my marriage right along with it.

  R: Wow! You are very beautiful. Your husband is such a lucky man to have someone who has such amazing eyes and a great personality.