Spouse for Sale

by Ben Boswell

  He groaned. “Fuck yeah.”

  She reached back and palmed his hand. Then to my shock, she pressed his thumb into her ass. They moaned simultaneously.

  “Oh fuck, that feels so good,” Ally moaned.

  “You want it there? You want it there Baby?”

  She rocked back against him, rolling her hips, pumping her ass, moaning. “Yeah stud? You gonna fuck me up the ass?”

  His thumb churned in and out of her butthole. His cock thrust into her pussy roughly. She had him riled up, just like she wanted him.

  “Yeah, Slut, I’m going to fuck your ass.”

  She grabbed his wrist and eased him back out of her butt. “Not yet, Baby, not until I get what I want.”

  He groaned in frustration as her asshole gaped and winked at him. His squeezed her ass hard and pounded into her.

  My Fitbit vibrated. I checked it. 3:15. Time to pick up the kids. I looked back into the bedroom. Her arms had given out, and she was face down, ass up on the bed, looking sexier than ever. He dripped a strand of spit onto her pulsing anus. She moaned and reached between her legs and fondled his balls. My watch buzzed again.

  Fuck fuck fuck. I backed away, moans, gasps, groans, and sighs filling my ears. Flesh slapping against flesh. I backed away and went down the hallway, out the door, which I closed silently behind me, and down the stairs. As I left, Jerry watched me through the window. He knew. He knew my wife was fucking yet another man upstairs.

  * * *

  I knew I couldn’t come home until I cleared it with Ally. But she didn’t answer my calls. The kids had a great afternoon. We got frogurt, and then went to the playground, then McDonald’s, and then the mall. Becky had me buy an FPS and Callie an American Girl doll.

  Kids are great. Completely self-absorbed. It literally did not occur to them that there was anything at all weird about Daddy suddenly giving them, without debate, everything they usually have to fruitlessly beg for. Not that I would have explained it to them had they asked. Even as discombobulated as I was, I wouldn’t have shared the fact that Mommy was currently in bed fucking Daddy’s lawyer. That’s just not the sort of thing you tell children.

  I periodically texted Ally to see if it was safe for me to come home. She didn’t respond. Not at 4:00pm. Not at 5:00pm. Not at 6:00pm. Finally a bit after 7, she texted that it was safe to come back.

  Walking in my front door was surreal. There was Ally in jeans and a tee shirt. Her hair smelled freshly washed, but nothing was out of place. She’d be a natural for having an affair and keeping it secret, which made me wonder, perhaps really for the first time whether I’d really been along for this entire journey, or whether, maybe she’d taken some of the steps on her own. Had she been having an affair with Luke all along?

  She welcomed us home, and then proceeded to scowl at me theatrically as the kids related their afternoon and early evening. Then she kiss me on the cheek.

  “I’ll get them off to bed. You deserve a break.” Her grin was warm, and the little squeeze she gave my hands reassuring.

  I fixed myself a drink.

  * * *

  I was on my third when she came back into the living room to join me. She sat down in my lap and took a gulp from my glass. She coughed.

  “Jesus, cough medicine,” she said.

  “Philistine. Highland Park 18. Last of my old collection.”

  As we downsized I’d sold off some of my bottles, and hadn’t replaced any that were drunk.

  “Don’t worry, Honey, we’ll get out of this soon. Luke had an idea.”

  I felt bile in my throat. I didn’t think this would ever end, and I hated to think of Luke and Ally conspiring together without me.

  “Yeah? Did it involved his dick and your asshole?”

  She laughed. “Oh, Baby, pimps aren’t supposed to get jealous.”

  “I’m serious, I saw --”

  “You saw what I invited you to see. And what you saw was me doing what I could to get us what we want.”

  “ We, huh? Because a lot of this feels about what you --”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, this is called making lemons out of lemonade. If we’d never met Travis, we’d probably have never crossed the line from play to reality. But there you go, circumstance, contingency, fate, whatever.”

  “More like karma. I can’t believe I fucked everything up, and --”

  She put her finger to my lips. “So first you want to blame me, and now you want to blame yourself? Shit happens Ducky. Question is, are we tough enough to overcome it?”

  “Ally, I don’t know….”

  “He had an idea.”

  I looked at her skeptically.

  “And no,” she said, “it didn’t involve my asshole.” She paused. “Well, that’s not quite true. He had plenty of ideas about that, but that’s not what I am talking about. Ideas about legal strategy.”

  My mind raced. I wanted to hear his ideas… it’s just… I wasn’t completely sure if it was his anal or his legal strategy that most interested me.

  Chapter Twelve: Breaking the Stalemate

  I stared at the ceiling, trying to catch my breath. Ally lay beside me.

  “God, Honey,” she said. “Who’d have thought that you’d get so turned on about hearing about my first assgasm? Oh, wait, I’d have thought it.”

  I closed my eyes. She’d pinned my hands above my head and with my cock in her pussy, she’d provided, a long, detailed, narrative of how he’d used his come to lube her ass. First one finger inside her, then a second in her anus. His other hand flicking her bean. She painted a graphic image on her writhing at his touch, sweaty, and dry mouthing, humping his hands, and then coming hard enough to leave her lightheaded. But not so dizzy as to let him fuck her ass.

  “ He only gets that when your case is over. He gets off when you get off.”

  That’s when I came.

  “Okay, Baby, now that you’re in a less fevered state, want to discuss legal strategy?” she asked.

  “Um, yeah,” I said… though my mind seemed determined to conjured up lurid images of Luke sodomizing my wife, which is sort of redundant. Can visions of anal sex be anything other than lurid?

  “The big problem,” she said, “is the DA.”

  I chuckled. “We may be overpaying Luke if that’s his best insight.”

  She plowed ahead, “So, according to Luke, rumor is… District Attorney Lewis is… a little kinky.”

  “Hmmm. Well, as our current problems suggest, my legal ethics are a little rusty, but not so rusty that I don’t remember that trying to blackmail a government official is a no-no.”

  “Blackmail is such an ugly word. I think of it more as expanding the issues under negotiation.”

  “Ally, this is --”

  “Hear me out. I thought it sounded stupid too, but then while Luke was pounding away I got to thinking.”

  I looked over at her.

  She shrugged. “What? He’d already come three times, so it went on a while, and a girl gets bored, and it started to make sense.”

  “What’s his kink?”

  “See, that’s the thing. It is a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma. So, when Luke worked at Blackmon, the managing partner, Brad Maxwell, was a law school classmate of Lewis’s. And Maxwell would always joke that he knew things about Lewis that would ensure he could get any client off, but he was waiting to use it for a real payoff.”

  “That’s thin.”

  “Yeah, but then Luke mentioned that the Lewis divorce was… odd. A friend of his worked on that. When Lewis and his wife split, there was all this weird drama because it was right before an election. His wife took him to the cleaners, and the story was she’d timed it so that any revelations would be particularly, um, damaging.”

  “This is all rumor,” I said. “And vague rumor. Baby, don’t take this the wrong way, but maybe Luke is just playing you for… you know….”

  “Well, sure, and I did think about that while he was fucking me.” I winced and she
giggled. “But that’s the point. By the time he started talking about that, I’d already sucked him off twice, fucked him once, let him finger my ass, and offered him my anal cherry if he got you off.”

  “He was trying to impress you.”

  “Well, sure, but that does not make it untrue.”

  “I don’t understand the plan,” I said.

  “Well, I get close to him and learn his kink… and then we negotiate. ”

  “Sounds desperate.”

  She laughed. “More desperate than fucking our landlord and lawyer?”

  “Touché.”

  * * *

  Darren Lewis was something of an institution. He’d been the District Attorney for over a decade, and his family had been prominent in town for generations. None of the research I did managed to confirm any of Luke’s hints. Yes, he’d gone to Chicago at the same time as Maxwell, and yes his divorce had occurred in an election year. But if anything, the limited press coverage only seemed to note that the divorce had been surprisingly amicable, albeit unexpected.

  He was an older white man, in his mid-60s, a bit portly, with dyed black hair, that might actually have been a toupee, though I doubted that was the deep, dark secret that Brad Maxwell supposedly held over him.

  We had to play this very carefully, because while Lewis was not directly involved in my case, he was involved in the investigation against Travis. I was just one of many possible witnesses, so he’d surely seen my name, but he probably wouldn’t have any particular knowledge about Ally.

  The Lewises supported a lot of local institutions, and in the course of my research, I noticed he was scheduled to speak at a fundraiser for the symphony next week. It was $1000 to attend, which was a little steep given our current financial situation. But in the time since Luke had raised the issue, Ally had fucked Jerry four times, and Luke twice more, so desperate times called for desperate measures.

  Ally bought a ticket, and we agreed on the same classy, yet sexy outfit she’d worn that night at Bellagio. Green dress, lots of boobage, high heels.

  “So what is the plan?” I asked.

  We’d discussed it a hundred times, but it had never quite come together in my mind.

  “I sidle up to him and give him that mix of tits and polite disinterest that seems to get men going.”

  “And what if he doesn’t?”

  “Then I follow him into the men’s room and suck his cock?”

  “Ally?”

  “What? It could work.”

  “Seriously.”

  She smirked at me. “You worry too much.”

  “You worry too little.”

  She kissed my cheek. “Don’t worry, Baby. If he has a secret, then my lack of panties will ferret it out.”

  “You’re not wearing panties?”

  She smiled. “Wish me luck.”

  “Good luck.”

  She turned and walked out the door.

  * * *

  It was a long night. I got the kids to bed early, and then I waited. And waited. And waited.

  The event began at 7:00pm with a cocktail reception. Then dinner at 8:00pm. A performance by some, apparently, renown Jazz band at 9:00pm. Dessert and silent auction results at 10:00pm.

  So I began to think something might have happened when I didn’t hear from Ally at 11:00pm. And I started to worry about her at midnight. And then with no news or a call from the cops by 1:00am, I knew that her “no panties” strategy had probably paid off.

  The past six months swirled in my head. I thought of her with Jerry and then with Luke. I wondered about Lewis’s kink. Was my wife, at the moment, gagged and chained by her wrists, getting her pussy flogged with a cat o’ nine tails? Was she in a shower stall, on her knees, getting peed on? Was she on her back, legs spread, getting fucked by an impossibly hung black man as Lewis watched and jerked off?

  She finally returned after three in the morning.

  I rushed to the door. “Are you okay?” I asked.

  She looked at me and started to laugh.

  “What?” I asked.

  She covered her mouth, not wanting to wake the kids.

  “Ally?”

  She took a deep breath and composed herself enough to let out two words. “Adult baby.”

  “Adult baby?”

  She nodded, red-faced.

  “What? I don’t understand.”

  She couldn’t speak, and I finally had to look it up. And look, it’s not my cup of tea, but we all have our kinks. And if yours is to wear a diaper and have a pretty woman change you and baby powder your ass, while cooing about how cute your “little weenie” is, well, is that really any worse than getting wet thinking about fucking for money or getting turned on by the idea of your wife being a whore?

  But the public are a bunch of moralizing pricks. And whatever we all do behind closed doors, we’re all more than happy to judge others.

  * * *

  Things went quickly. Luke arranged a major status conference on the case. The government, with Lewis observing, redoubled their insistence that Travis would have to admit guilt and pay restitution, and that they were not going to cut deals with anyone until they had Travis dead to rights. My name barely came up. It didn’t need to. Ally attended as Luke’s assistant. She took notes, and at just the right moment, winked at Darren Lewis.

  My case was severed the next day, and Luke began negotiating a plea deal.

  * * *

  “I can’t, Baby,” Ally sighed. “I promised.”

  She was bent over the bathroom sink, skirt raised over her ass. I had a tube of lube in my hand, and was greasing up her asshole. She was so tight, her butthole clenching on my fingers as I lubed and stretched her. I was hard as a rock. I so desperately wanted to taste what had always been the forbidden fruit.

  “Please, Ally, why should he --”

  “I promised he’d get my virgin ass, Baby. What kind of a professional would I be if I cheated him on that?”

  Her tight little anus winked at me invitingly. My cock throbbed. All I wanted to do was jam my prick inside her, but instead I was getting her ready for another man.

  “Now put the butt plug in.”

  I grabbed the sex toy from the counter and covered it in lube. It seemed huge. I couldn’t believe it would fit inside her. But it did. She shivered and gasped as it spread her ass wider and wider, and then she sighed as it settled inside her, and her anus closed in on the narrower stem.

  She stood and straightened herself up.

  “Wish me luck.”

  “Good luck,” I said.

  She grinned as she glanced down at my raging erection, which tenting my shorts. She kissed my cheek and left to surrender her anal cherry to my lawyer. I jerked off again and again to the image of her tight, little butthole, which I had so lovingly prepared for another man.

  By the time she returned the next morning her asshole was swollen, red, and very obviously popped. None of which stopped me from fucking her up her gooey ass.

  Epilogue: A New Life

  The plea deal unfroze our assets, but penalties and fines ate away most of them. I was also disbarred. We were free and clear, but largely starting from scratch, and my ability to earn a living was shot.

  Luckily, Ally’s was soaring. There is a surprisingly vibrant market for MILFy escorts. And Ally argued that she had to strike while the iron was hot.

  At my best I was charging $750 an hour and seeing maybe $250 per hour in salary. Great fucking money. But Ally was able to charge $1000 an hour and keep it all.

  She continued to change Darren Lewis. Luke made enough to see her on occasion. And even Jerry scraped together his pennies to see her about once a month. But there were other clients. All kinds of men. Young men, old men, white men, black men. And there were the couples. Not so shocking is the number of men who want to see their wife make it with another girl. More surprising is the number of women who want to watch their husband really railing the shit out of a dirty whore. And the kinksters. And the gro
ups, bachelor parties, frat boys on break….

  You haven’t really lived until you’ve fucked your wife, strangers’ come leaking out of all her holes, on a bed strewn with hundred dollar bills she’s just earned.

  And me? I’m at home, taking care of the kids and writing a novel. I bet it’ll be a bestseller.

  AFTERWORD

  The first thing I suspect most of you will say, having read the story, is that it ends abruptly. It does. After finishing the first draft, I let it sit for a week or two, and then I intended to go back and expand the last couple of chapters. In the end, I didn’t. There are two reasons.

  First and most importantly, the narrative arc, such as it is, is complete. Ally has gone from having an escort fantasy to essentially becoming an escort. The McGuffin about George’s legal woes is resolved. What else is there to say? Now, that is not quite true. In my original formulation, the transition from Ally fucking specific people -- the landlord, the lawyer, the DA -- to becoming the family’s main breadwinner had another section where she meets up with a real pimp, he breaks her in, and then adds her to his stable. There were some sexy scenes I had in mind, but they had a bit of a darker side, and would not have matched the tone of the story otherwise. And anyway, I decided it really wasn’t particularly useful.

  Second, by writing in the first person, I constrained myself somewhat. If I wanted to expand on the story, I’d have had to invent ever more convoluted explanations for how George is witnessing events, or alternatively go back to the well, again and again, of Ally relaying events to her husband. That gets old, unless there is a new twist or revelation that makes a difference. I was able to make it work in the Terri Trilogy, which remains, I think, one of my most fully realized stories, but that was in part because Terri’s stories and the way she phrased them were purposeful. She was trying to provoke a reaction. Here, all Ally is really doing is having fun and getting her husband hot. Okay, but how many times does a reader want to hear that?

  That does raise a bigger issue of POV. Most of my stories are first-person, male POV. Despite the limitations of that approach, I like the intimacy of it. You’re inside someone’s head. Now, it is possible to do that with a third person, omniscient narrator, of course, but I find that problematic. See, once you admit that the narrator has insights into people’s state of mind, I find it difficult to draw boundaries. I don’t feel like I can create any ambiguity, since, in principle, the narrator knows all. And I also feel this pressure to explain what everyone is thinking at all times. This may reflect that fact that I am an amateur as a fiction writer. I took one creative writing class back in college, but I am otherwise an autodidact as a writer. When I do use third person, I usually still keep a single character’s POV -- as in Annual Leave -- and I do that mostly when I am writing from a female POV. That’s another personal idiosyncrasy, I guess. I feel a little uncomfortable writing a female character in first person. I am not quite sure why, though part of it is certainly a concern over the whole issue of “appropriation.” Otherwise, I’ll sometimes write third person with a very limited narrator, who basically only sees actions, and not thoughts. I’m pushing myself on these issues, but, well, there it is.