If you find cuckolding offensive I suggest that you skip to the last page, leave your caustic comment and avoid the pain of reading this story. If you want to read about a cock in a cage this isn't the story for you either. My story isn't for everyone, but you would be surprised by how many people find it oddly compelling. It's like a slow-motion catastrophe that you can't look away from.

*****

Almost everyone reacts the same way. They ask how I came to be Trudy's cuckold, why I don't expect more from the relationship, and why I don't leave her. I would try to explain, but they don't know either of us well enough to understand our bond. Somehow Trudy has understood me from the day we met, when I was a scrawny eleven year old boy. The first words she said to me were, "You're the wuss that everyone's talking about, aren't you?"

I suppose the mud gave me away. At lunch Bill Kiest and Jack Willoughby, who were both fifteen year old Neanderthals, had dragged me by the ankles through the mud, dirt and grass of the school yard. I'd kicked and screamed, but nothing I did mattered. I had no choice but to ride it out and hope the cavemen would get bored and leave me alone.

I had rinsed out my hair in the bathroom sink and gotten most of the mud out of my nose and ears, but there was nothing I could do about my filthy clothes, my humiliation, or my embarrassment. I spent the rest of the day avoiding the knowing glances and concealed stares of my classmates. Most were happy it wasn't them, but a few found a cruel pleasure in my torture.

"You're the wuss, right?" Trudy stood in the driveway of the house next door waiting for me to respond. A yellow and red moving van was parked in the street. Men wearing brown work shirts with brightly colored patches on their shoulders carried her family's belongings into the house. She wore a pretty plaid skirt and white blouse. I could tell by the way she said 'wuss,' her crystal blue eyes and the size of her tits that she would be popular as the new girl in school.

Without answering, I trudged past the weeds emerging in the cracks of our asphalt driveway, towards the front door of our run-down house and the sanctuary of my bedroom.

"Hey," she shouted, "Will you walk me to the bus stop tomorrow morning?"

It was an odd request. Usually girls like her didn't associate with guys like me. I was tempted to refuse, but I couldn't resist the chance to be with her, if only for the short walk to the bus stop. She seemed sincere enough, so I said, "I'll meet you at 7:20. I have to go clean up now." She smiled and waved as I closed the door.

I lived with my mother in a small two bedroom house that she worked two jobs to afford. I usually saw her in the morning and sometimes she would wake me up with a goodnight kiss when she got home at night. Other than that we only had time to talk on the weekends, when we did our chores.

On the short walk to the bus stop the next morning Trudy asked, "Does it bother you that people think you're a wuss?"

I had hoped that some strange group amnesia would have erased yesterday's events from everyone's mind, or, at the very least, people would have the decency not to mention it. "People don't think I'm a wuss. It's just that Kiest and Willoughby pick on me."

"But everyone calls you a wuss." Her brutal words were in stark contrast to her kind voice.

"No they don't."

"They were calling you a wuss when I registered at school yesterday."

"Is this why you wanted to walk with me, so that you could call me a wuss?"

She brightly replied, "No, my mom says my dad was a wuss, and I wanted to know if it bothered you." With that she let the topic drop.

Trudy rode the bus like it belonged to her. She laughed and flipped back her long brown hair. She expected everyone to pay attention to her, and then she ignored them when they did. She acted like telling me about herself was much more important than anything anyone else might have to say. It made me feel like I was the most important person on Earth.

Her family had moved from a town a few miles away. Her new stepdad wanted a fresh start and thought that the move would do them good. She shared a room with her older sister, who liked to party, sneak cigarettes from her mother's purse and steal booze from her stepdad's liquor cabinet.

Her life sounded so exotic. She didn't just have a father, she had a new stepfather, who had replaced the old stepfather. I couldn't imagine a life with men in it. My mom hadn't been with a guy since I'd been aware of such things. She was too busy working and trying to keep up with the house to make time for men. She said that my dad was her life's mistake and that nothing good had ever come from a man. She didn't smoke and the closest thing we had to a liquor cabinet was the bottle of vodka she brought home on Friday night.

I sat next to Trudy on the bus for three or four days before Bill Kiest and Jack Willoughby started riding the bus again. I tried to protest when they made me move, but Trudy said, "Don't be silly. You can't keep me to yourself."

She sweetly waved goodbye as I found a seat further back. From then on I would walk her to the bus stop, sit with her for a stop and then move back when the Neanderthals got on. She was always so sweet on the walk to the bus stop, but she never protested when the cavemen took my seat.

We ate lunch together a couple of times, but soon guys started bringing her treats. They would give her a sandwich or Twinkies and then they would hold hands and make out after school. She was always sweet to me, but I never had any food she wanted. She didn't even want the Ding Dongs I bought especially for her.

On the weekends her parents liked to party. They played loud music and danced on the patio in the back yard. My mom would come home late and send me to bed. She said that Trudy's family was a bunch of parasites and that they were not the kind of people that we associated with. She would take her bottle of vodka to bed and pass out. I would lie in my bed and listen to the excitement next door until the small hours of the morning. I could hear Trudy's laughter over the music. When the party was winding down I could hear her sister's high school friends tell her stories of what happened under the bleachers after the football games, and I heard her excited laugh in reply.

On the walk to the bus she would tell me how exciting it all was, how much fun it was to be drunk and how handsome the high school boys were. I desperately wanted to be a part of that world. I wanted her to laugh at my jokes and be impressed by my stories. Instead, week after week, I listened as the excitement unfolded next door without me.

One Saturday, when I was mowing the lawn, Trudy's mom came out to talk to me. She wore a low cut top that showed off most of her tits, and her pants were as tight as the girls at school. Her eyes were heavy with mascara and her lips were deep in red lipstick.

She said, "Trudy tells me that you're her special friend."

I didn't know how to react. She looked so strange trying to appear young, I was surprised that Trudy would mention me at all, and it was beyond comprehension that her mother would come out to talk to me about it.

She said, "I don't want you getting in her way, do you understand? I want her to have a real life. I don't want her to be dragged down by a wuss like you." She poked her finger into my chest to emphasize the word wuss.

My mom flew out of the house to intercept her. "Leave my boy alone."

"What are you going to do if I don't?"

Trudy's mom had a good six inches on my mom, but that didn't slow her down a jot. She wheeled back and popped Trudy's mom in the nose with her fist. Blood ran down her face in two red streams.

While Trudy's mom tried to stop the flow of blood, my mom got ready to pop her in the nose again. She said, "If you want another you know where to find it." Then turned to me and said, "Get in the house."

Looking back, I can see that Trudy's exotic life wasn't anything like what I imagined. Her stepfather moved out a couple of months after they moved in, and after only a few more months her whole family moved away. Later I learned that that her stepfather paid the first and last month's rent and then never paid the rent again. They lived in the house until they were evicted. I'd envied her when she told me that they moved a lot, I didn't realized that they moved because they couldn't pay the rent.

I remember Trudy crying as I watched them load their stuff into a small trailer. She gave me a quick peck on the cheek and said, "My mom says that we are moving out of this bad neighborhood to a nice apartment downtown." She gave me a hug and held me close while her mom yelled at her from inside the house. She said, "You'll always be my special friend."

Nothing she said made any sense. Our neighborhood was a lot nicer than the apartments downtown, and, except for the walk to the bus, we hardly spoke. I didn't understand how that made me special.

I didn't see Trudy again until my Junior year of high school. By then old Mr. Clifford had given me his tan Buick. For several years I'd mowed his lawn, swept his walkway, and done pretty much anything else he needed. He had trouble getting around, so I'd done the neighborly thing and helped him out. When I turned sixteen he did the neighborly thing and gave me the car he could no longer drive.

To pay for gas and insurance, I took a job at the local diner bussing tables. I worked hard and the waitresses liked me. It was the popular hangout, so I had to fetch water and clean up after the other kids at my school. But it wasn't what you might think. Bill Kiest and Jack Willoughby had long ago dropped out and now worked in the factory. I'd had a growth spurt and put on a few pounds, so nobody picked on me. I had a job and car. The other kids respected me and they envied my income.

One Saturday after work I came home to find Trudy standing in the driveway of the house next door again. Once again men were moving her stuff into the house. This time I wasn't covered in mud, so I looked respectable, but Trudy had grown into a ravishing beauty. Her cheekbones had become more defined and her frame had become statuesque. Her long brown hair was silky smooth and her eyes were even more clear than I remembered.

She told me that her family had come into some money and that her mother had loved this house, so they'd bought it. She acted like she'd always known they would come into money and now they were going to live the life they'd always dreamed of. Only Trudy and her mom moved in. I assumed that her sister was out on her own and that her mom was between men.

The next morning I gave Trudy a ride to school. I felt like a big man on campus as I pulled into a parking place with Trudy sitting beside me and my two wingmen backing me up. We were later than usual because we had to wait for Trudy, so Josh and Xander bolted out of the car and headed for class. Trudy held my hand as we walked onto campus.

"You look dapper now with your car, your girl and your friends."

"Are you my girl now?"

"Don't be silly. You'll always be a wuss to me."

I stood stunned. It was like a time machine had transported me back to the 7th grade. The embarrassment and humiliation of that day in the mud eclipsed four years of emotional and physical growth and left me stammering and confused.

Trudy laughed at me, then said, "I'm going to be late," as she hurried off.

I pulled myself together and walked to class. I spent the rest of the morning trying to work out what she'd meant, but I couldn't contrive an interpretation that made sense.

At lunch Trudy was surrounded by admirers and friends that remembered her from junior high school and others that were taken in by her beauty. She smiled and laughed and flipped her hair as she effortlessly slipped back into being the center of attention. Occasionally she would shoot a glance in our direction, just to make sure we were watching her.

Xander, Josh and I tried to ignore her, or at least we tried not to look at her. We all agreed that she was a total bitch and that she could rot in hell for all we cared. Of course, our proclamations had little bearing on reality. Not only did I care, but I desperately wanted her attention.

After school she was waiting at my car.

"What are you doing here?"

"I need a ride home, silly."

"What about all those other guys? Can't any of them give you a ride?"

"You're my ride."

"But, no. I'm just..." I looked at Xander and Josh. I didn't want to repeat what she'd said front of them.

She played coy and said, "Did I hurt my little wuss' feelings this morning? And I thought you were a big wuss now, all grown up with a car." Her obvious manipulation was almost comical.

"Why don't you just take the bus?" I was pissed and I did my best to sound pissed.

She looked from me to Josh and Xander and then back to me. "Can I please have a ride?"

Without saying anything I unlocked the car and the four of us got in. I dropped Xander and Josh off and parked the car in front of my house without saying a word.

As I set the parking brake she said, "I didn't mean to say you were a wuss. I meat to say you were MY wuss. There's a big difference you know."

"How is that any better?"

"It's not what you think. I told you my dad was a wuss, right?"

"Yea, but your dad's gone."

"That's because of my mom. He'd still be here if it wasn't for how she treated him."

"And?" I had no idea what she was driving at.

"You'll always be there for me won't you?" I was still confused but somehow I suspected she was right.

She quit calling me a wuss after that. I gave her a ride to school for a short while, but it wasn't long before she had a boyfriend with a car. He drove a new Camaro with racing stripes and a modified exhaust. It looked and sounded much faster than my Buick. In the morning he beckoned her with a couple throaty revs of his engine. She would run to his car and kiss him deeply before they drove off.

The first boyfriend lasted a month or so, after that the boys cycled through in rapid succession. They were all tall, good looking guys and each had his own car. She brought each of her beaus into the diner and introduce them to me. Of course, they were all from my school, so I already knew them, but she introduced me anyway. I was always, "Her special friend."

After parading them in front of me at the diner, she would entertain them in the backyard late into the night. They would share the chaise lounge under the cover of an overgrown tree next to the fence and just outside my window. It was impossible for me to fall asleep listening to the soft murmur of their conversation followed by the smack of their kissing and the low rumble of their fondling. Occasionally she would break into a loud laugh, and I could imagine her flipping her hair. It was like she wanted me to wake up so that I could pay attention to her.

While Trudy was cycling through guys I managed to find a girlfriend of my own. Her name was Sara, and we'd met when she helped me clean up a mess that a bunch of her friends had made at the diner. She told me that she lived in the next town and mentioned that a new movie theater had opened. In an unexpectedly bold moment I asked her to go to latest remake of Superman and after another bold moment it was a date.

Her family lived in a big house outside of town. It had a two car garage and enough pretty pink bedrooms for her and her two sisters to each have their own. They were a living cliché of family life. It was almost like they learned what families should be like from a TV show. Her father always wore a suit and tie and her mother wore floral print dresses. The girls reminded me of paper dolls, smiling and perfectly posed. They always ate dinner together, and while eating they shared stories about what happened during their day. They laughed at the right time and never said anything bad about anyone.

As much as I wanted to be a part of their perfect life, I felt like a foreigner in a strange land when I visited. There was a subtle etiquette to their interaction that eluded me. They were so unconditionally supportive of each other that I found their conversions absurd. My sarcastic sense of humor didn't fit in at all.

Sara was sweet, but an exciting night for us was a trip to the diner, and beyond the occasional peck on the lips, she never wanted to make out. I think her parents appreciated my work ethic, but I'm pretty sure they were relieved when we broke up at summer's end.

Senior year was rough for Trudy. She'd broken up with most of the eligible guys at school during her junior year and her reputation was way ahead of her. None of the guys wanted to deal with her and most of the girls were mad at her. She had to ride the bus with the freshmen, and she ate her lunch alone. She no longer flipped her hair the way she once did.

When the history class broke up into groups of three for a project, she was left in a pathetic little group by herself. It was sweet revenge to see her sitting alone, and if Mrs. Peterson hadn't asked me to work with her I would have enjoyed watching her rot there by herself.

"Thanks," she quietly said as I moved my stuff onto her table.

"Just don't call me any names, okay?"

She didn't reply, but she didn't call me a wuss either. She lifelessly conformed to my direction as we worked on the project, and after class she asked for a ride home. I couldn't think of a good excuse and I felt sorry for her, so I gave her one.

"How's your girlfriend?" she asked as I pulled out of the parking lot.

"We broke up a couple of months ago."

"That's too bad, she seemed nice."

"Yea, she was nice. She probably still is," I laughed.

"Why'd you break up?"

"I'm not sure. There was just something missing."

It was quiet for a few moments then I asked, "What about you, why so many boyfriends?"

Tears surged to her eyes and soon she was sobbing into her hands. She cried all the way home. I felt like a shit for not offering her a tissue, but there was nothing resembling a tissue in the car. I sat there quietly with her in the parked car while I waited for her to stop.

Eventually she caught her breath and began to speak, but before she could say anything she stopped herself and considered her words. I've often wondered what she stopped herself from saying. Was it a secret that she was reluctant to share or simply a jumbled thought?

She said, "I'm afraid that I'm becoming my mother. As hard as I try, I can't stop myself from making the same mistakes she made. If I don't figure it out I'm going to end up pathetic, broke and alone like her."

"She's not alone, she's got you."

"Not for long she doesn't. I'm moving out as soon as I can."

Her unhappiness and the acknowledgment of her own folly made me sympathetic to her, but she still hadn't answered my question. "But why so many boyfriends?"

She gave a weak smile, thanked me for the ride and then suggested we talk about it another time.

In the weeks that followed I spared Trudy the indignity of riding the bus with the freshmen. She quietly occupied the passenger seat of my car, resigned to her new position in society. Her skirts no longer exposed her legs and her tops concealed her cleavage. The humbled Trudy was much less fun than the self-assured girl she once was, but she was a lot easier to take.

I think it was in November of our senior year that I learned what had happened to her sister. I'm certain that it was my mother that told me, but somehow I remember the words as being spoken in Trudy's voice. Her sister had been walking down a dimly lit street late at night when she was hit by a drunk driver. The driver had passed out, and no one reported the accident until after dawn the next day. She might have lived if she'd made it to the hospital, but instead bled out on the street only a few feet from her unconscious and inebriated killer. The small fortune that Trudy and her mother had come into was the result of lawsuits with the driver and the city. I thought it was a tragedy, but my mother was entirely unsympathetic. Why was that girl out at that hour? Where the hell was her mother?
Her mother used the money to pay for the house, but she wasn't savvy enough to buy it outright. Instead she made a down payment and mortgaged the rest. She bought an expensive car and took a vacation in Hawaii and blew the rest on who knows what. It only took a few months for her to fall behind in the house payments and by early spring the house was repossessed by the bank.

In April Trudy's mom was arrested for drunk driving herself. It wasn't her first offense, so she got no sympathy from the judge, received a stiff sentence and was sent to jail.

Trudy found herself alone with no friends and just enough money to rent a studio apartment downtown. She was legally an adult, so she dropped out of high school and took a job in a department store as a sales clerk.

She rang my doorbell the day she moved out. "I was wondering if you would help me move." She made the white t-shirt and blue jeans she was wearing look hot, but her expression was pathetic.

I didn't know what to say. We weren't really friends, but I suppose she didn't have a better friend than me. She didn't have much stuff, so we just shuttled it in a few trips with my Buick.

She thanked me with a burrito from a sidewalk vendor, a hug and a kiss that was more passionate than anything I'd received from Sara.

"This doesn't have to be good bye. You're only moving across town."

"I know, but I won't be next door, torturing you by making you listen to me make out." She smiled coyly at her own admission.

"You did that on purpose?" I'd thought she was oblivious to what she was doing to me.

"That's pretty fucked up isn't it?"

"Why would you do that?"

"That is a great question, 'Why is Trudy so fucked up?'" She put her arms around me and gave me another hug. "I'm going to miss you."

I guess maybe I am a wuss, because I felt sorry for her. I visited her a couple of times the first week she was on her own. I brought her lunch and helped her do her shopping. I gave her a ride to work once when it was raining, but soon she was too busy for my visits. From our brief conversations it sounded like she had started to cycle through a much larger pool of guys. I imagined her happily flipping her hair as she talked to me on the phone.

While all of that was going on with Trudy, my mom started dating a long-haul trucker named Hector. He would be in town a couple of days and then be gone for a week or more. Those few days transformed her from a grumpy, depressed nag into a happy, optimistic woman, and the glow would last for the better part of a week. Even I looked forward to his visits.

After my graduation she sold the house and used the cash to buy a rig for Hector, so that he could go independent. She gave me enough money for first and last month's rent, climbed into Hector's rig and left town. I don't think I've seen her a dozen times since then, but she seems happy.

I called Trudy for her advice on where to live. She gave me a bleak rundown of the apartments that were available downtown and then said, "We would do a lot better if we split a two bedroom."

"You mean live together?"

"Yea, roommates, not boyfriend and girlfriend."

Trudy was right, the selection of apartments in my budget was dismal. I was concerned with money, like my mother always had been, so I agreed to share a place before I considered what it would be like to live with a sexually active Trudy in an apartment with paper-thin walls.

The first few days were pretty good. We shared gossip about people from high school while we ate breakfast together. She got home before me and cooked dinner and then we did the dishes together.

At the weekend things took a strange turn. On Friday night I went to bed around midnight. I heard her come in with a date at around 2:30. They woke me with a slam of the door followed by drunken laughter. They bashed some glasses in the kitchen and then went at it in the bedroom. The mattress rhythmically thumped against the wall for about ten minutes. Her guest sounded an ecstatic wail and then all was silent.

About fifteen minutes later Trudy crept into my room and sat at the edge of my bed. "Did you hear that?" she whispered.

In my softest voice I replied, "It was kind of hard to miss."

"Did it make you hard?" she asked as she slipped her hand between the sheets to find out for herself. She wrapped her hand around my shaft and smiled. "Nice," she said before I pushed her hand off of my cock.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I'm getting laid, you should try it."

"No, what are you doing in my room, and why are you naked?"

"I wanted to see if you like listening to me having sex."

"Why?"

"I get off knowing that you're listening."

"That's seriously fucked up."

"I know, right? I'm totally fucked up," she burst into a fit laughter. "Well? Does it turn you on?"

"What is it with you? Can't I just get some sleep?"

"Just tell me how it makes you feel and I'll leave you alone. I promise."

"It makes me feel dirty and envious. It makes me feel like a wuss." I don't know why I said wuss. Maybe it was because Trudy was in the room, but the word leapt out before I could reign it in. I immediately regretted it.

"Oh, I like the sound of that." Her bright smile reflected the streetlight outside. She straightened my hair with her fingers while I concentrated on not looking at her tits.

"I thought you said you'd leave me alone."

"Is that what you want?"

"Yes, please."

The next morning I left for work before they got up. I worked a long shift at the diner and came home to find her making out with a guy in the living room. The way she introduced him made it clear that it wasn't the guy from the night before.

She said, "Sit down and watch the movie with us." It was one of those low-budget shaky-camera slasher movies that were popular at the time.

As soon as I sat down they started to make out again. I suffered through a few minutes of their heavy petting then said, "I think I'm going to pick up a burrito and head over to Xander's."

"You don't want to watch?" she asked.

I wasn't sure what she was referring to, so I closed the door without answering.

I came home that night to the rhythmic thumping of the bed against the wall. This guy lasted a bit longer than the guy from the night before and he let out more of a soft cry than a wail. After he'd had time to fall asleep, Trudy slipped into my room. This time she didn't hesitate to pull up the covers and crawl into bed with me.

"What the fuck are you doing?" As a red-blooded male I was open to a piece of ass, but I wanted to have some say in the matter.

"Did you like watching us make out?"

"No!"

"How did it make you feel?"

"Uncomfortable."

"Come on, say it. Tell me how it made you feel."

"You want me to say I felt like a wuss again don't you?"

"That's it, now just say it."

"Fuck no, get out of here." I pushed her out of the bed and onto the floor.

She stood up. Her face had the expression of a kid who's ice cream had fallen from the cone. "Don't you want to fuck me?"

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nobody ever says no."

"Well, no. Go to bed."

She left the room and quietly closed the door, but I don't think she went straight back into her bedroom.

When they got up the next morning I was in the living room drinking coffee from a paper cup and reading the newspaper.

Her date said, "Get me a coffee, would you sport?"

"Help yourself," I said from my chair without looking up from the paper.

"Some host you are."

"That's because I'm not your host."

"You're just pissed off cause I fucked your girl."

"She's not my girl, and you're not the first guy to fuck her this weekend."

I took the newspaper into my room and closed the door. I knew I was acting like an ass, but I wasn't going to be able to handle this. I sat on the bed and studied the classified ads. I needed to find a new place to live.

After an hour or so Trudy knocked lightly at the door and then popped her head in. "Are you all right?"

"Yea, I'm fine, but I don't think this is going to work out."

"Uh oh."

"Yea, uh oh."

She came into the room and sat down on an unpacked box. She'd made herself up nicely for a lazy Sunday morning. She was wearing a royal blue dress with white trim and a plunging neckline. The profile of her tits was prominent and her hourglass figure was nicely accented. "What do you mean?"

"I think I'm going to have to move out." I don't know why I said "I think," I'd already made up my mind.

She said, "Before you do, can we talk?"

"Fire away."

"No, I need some time. Could we go downtown for lunch and we can talk then."

"No, I don't think so. I can't imagine anything that you could say that will change my mind."

"It's just a couple hours of your time. What could it hurt?"

"Fine. We'll get something to eat, we can talk and then I'll move out."

She insisted that I drive to a grimy pizza place in a seedy part of town. We ordered a couple of slices of pizza and sat in a booth by the window. The table was greasy and the room was cold, but the pizza was unusually good.

"A long time ago you asked me why I had so many boyfriends, do you remember that?"

She immediately had my attention. "Of course."

"Well, it took me a while to figure it out, but I think I understand it now."

She let me hang on that while she took a bite of pizza and washed it down with her soda.

"Do you remember the first time I called you a wuss? The look on your face sent shivers down my spine. Even now, the injured look on your face is making me wet. I can't get enough of it. All those boys I dated in high school, it was all to get a reaction from you. Last night and the night before, I did it just to see that reaction."

"That is fucked up."

"I know, but it's a known thing. I'm a sadist. Not with physical pain, but humiliation. I live to humiliate you and to see your reaction." She paused for a moment then continued, "I almost came that night when you said I made you feel like a wuss."

"Maybe you should try to find a humiliation masochist."

"I'd hoped that you were one, that you were my special friend."

"I'm sorry, that's just not me."

"Don't you feel that something between us is different? It's like there's a special bond between us. Something unique that holds us together." Her eyes pleaded for me to understand.

I had an inkling of what she was talking about. I had been focused on her for years now. Initially I'd thought her beauty was the attraction, but there were a lot of beautiful girls, so that didn't really explain why she was special. Why I would be special to her was beyond me.

Someone dropped something in the kitchen that distracted both of us. After a few moments of unfruitful glances over the counter our eyes returned to one another. She asked, "Do you think ordinary people fantasize about vanilla sex with their spouses?"

I couldn't help but chuckle, "Those would be some boring fantasies."

"So maybe everyone is a little bit fucked up."

"They probably are, but hurting people is extreme, don't you think?"

"It's not like I want to be this way. I've been like this since I can remember."

"It's okay, I won't judge you, but that doesn't mean I want you to hurt me."

She pushed the crusts around her paper plate with a plastic fork, then said, "If I try to be good will you please stay? I mean, now that you know what's going on and everything, you can tell me to back off when you need to."

The thought of moving out of the apartment after only a week was grim and she'd promised to try, so I gave her a second chance. We settled into a manageable equilibrium. She was on her best behavior and made it obvious that she wanted me around. I did my share of best behaving in return. Even though we didn't have a lot of money, with both of us trying, we did a fine job making our little apartment feel like a comfortable home.

We spent the next Friday and Saturday night together. Not sleeping together, but hanging out. We went to the market and combined odds and ends to make a big salad. The next day we had pork chops and applesauce. We picked up a couple movies and prepared dinner as a team and then watched the movies while we ate. We followed the same routine for a couple of weekends in a row, so I naturally assumed that was the plan for the next weekend.

"Oh, I'm sorry I've got a date tonight."

For some reason, it was a bigger deal for me than it should have been. "Of course, no problem," I said as nonchalantly as I could, but from her reaction I knew that I'd betrayed myself.

Her smile intensified as she said, "I've got a date on Saturday too."

"Yea, no problem. I'll get together will Josh and Xander."

Josh and Xander were both busy, so I ended up watching TV and going to bed early. At about a quarter to three Trudy returned with her date. I heard the mattress beat against the wall and then silence. From my pillow I stared at the bedroom door, waiting for her entrance. After about twenty minutes I saw the shadow of her approaching feet reflected off the hardwood floor beneath the door. She lingered there waiting, but she did not come in.

I slipped out of bed, crossed the room and slowly opened the door.

After a startled pause she said, "I wasn't sure if I should come in."

"I thought we talked about this."

"I know, but I saw the look in your eye this morning and I couldn't get it out of my head."

"What look?"

"The look of disappointment - disappointment on the brink of pain. It made me so hot for you."

I shook my head. "I don't think I can live with someone who gets off on hurting me."

She put her index finger to my lips, "Please don't say that. I need you more than you could possibly know."

"Why?"

"You just have to believe me."

"We can be friends if you want, and you can be a slut - I'm not judging you, but that doesn't mean I want to live through every fucking night."

She smirked at my unintentional pun. There was a long pause, then she asked, "How come you've never asked me out?"

"I did in junior high, but you said no. After that I realized that no one you dated stuck around for very long, so what was the point?"

"I remember that, you brought me Ding Dongs."

I was surprised that she remembered the Ding Dongs. I would have bet that she hadn't even noticed them.

"You should ask again." she said over her shoulder as she returned to her room and softly closed the door.

Our conversation ricocheted around my brain while I struggled to sleep. The prospect of a date with Trudy was both exciting and disturbing, but it was her declaration of need that weighed heaviest on my mind. There was a strange dark magic in telling me that she needed me. Somehow it bound me to her even though I had no idea what she needed. Looking back I wonder if Trudy knew what she needed or if she simply used the words to bind me.

Once again I was out of the house before they got up on Saturday morning. I worked a long shift at the diner and got home at around 7:30. Trudy was dumping spaghetti into the colander as I walked through the doorway. Steam filled the kitchen. Two places were set at the table with a small vase of wildflowers at the center. I knew she had a date, so I scanned the living room, but didn't see anyone.

"How were the tips?" she asked as I passed her in the kitchen.

"Pretty good, why, do you need some money?" I was now waiting tables, which made my income larger, but more variable.

"No, I was just making conversation. Are you ready to eat?"

I didn't want to join her and her date at the table so I said, "No, I grabbed something at work, thanks." I hopped into the shower, got dressed and headed back out the door. I didn't want to hang out in the apartment if she was going to be entertaining.

As I passed the kitchen table I realized that she was still alone. "I thought you had a date tonight."

"I thought so too."

"Did he blow you off?"

"I don't know, you tell me."

The gears in my head finally engaged. I took a seat at the table and carefully looked into her eyes. There was something there that I'd never noticed before; it looked like a blend of disappointment and hope. It made me want to take her in my arms and tell her everything was going to be all right. Instead, I said, "This looks really good."

She smiled, leaned her head back and draped her wrist across her forehead, "I slaved over a hot stove all day."

I laughed, "You and Mama Ragu."

I wasn't hungry, so I only took enough food to be social and played with it while she ate. After dinner we popped some corn then sat on the sofa to watch a movie. I put the movie in the player, but before I could hit play she grabbed me and kissed me deeply. Her tongue probing my mouth.

I kissed her back with some reservation. "I don't want to do this," I said.

"Are you afraid I'll break your heart?"

"Kind of. I'm afraid that in one or two nights you'll move on to the next guy, and I'll be stuck listening to it in the next room."

She rested her chin on her forearm and smiled. "Didn't I tell you that you're special?"

"You were teasing me right? You've been telling me that since we were eleven; no one could know something like that when they're that young."

"No, I don't think I was teasing. I knew then, just as I know now that you are special to me."

"Then why all the other guys?"

"That's all part of it. They come and go. You stay." She slowly traced the lines of my face with her finger.

I enjoyed her gaze while I considered my options. Either we were going to have sex or we weren't, and, if we were, now was as good a time as any. I'd wanted her for years. I'd rather take her now than never have her at all, so I placed my hand behind her neck and drew her in.

I wish I could impress you with the statistics of our intercourse, the size of my penis, how long I lasted, the names of all the positions we used or the number of times that we came, but it wasn't like that. Foreplay consisted of a deep gaze into each other's eyes while we slowly undressed each other. Our hands blindly explored each other's bodies while our eyes read the expressions on our faces.

There was a deep desire in her eyes that I'd seen before. It was the look of hungry children in charity ads and desperate soldiers in POW camps. Her need was obvious. She thought, or maybe hoped, I could fill that need.

My cock surged at her stare and surged again to her touch at my face, at my back and at my groin. She didn't hesitate to guide me into her waiting, wet pussy. All the while her eyes never broke from mine.

She lay beneath me as I slowly slid my cock into her. She insisted on having the lights on, and she watched my face the whole time. I gradually upped the frequency of my cock's transits, savoring each for its unique role in exciting her. She came with the scream of a banshee after no more than five minutes then said, "Oh god, that was fantastic," and then she rolled me over and rained kisses down upon me. At the time I thought she was exaggerating, but in hindsight I think she was as aroused as I was. I'd never heard her scream with anyone else, but for us it soon became routine.

For the next month or so we had sex three or four times a day. Always with the lights on. Always with eye contact throughout. Always with a scream of satisfaction at the finish.

One lazy Sunday morning, not long after I started sleeping nightly in her bed, I noticed a small framed picture on her nightstand. It was a black and white picture of a young man holding a baby. Except for the clothes and haircut, he could have been me.

"Who's this?" I asked.

"That's my dad holding me."

"He looks just like me."

"I know, right? Can you see the sadness in his eyes?"

"Yea, his lips are smiling, but his eyes, his eyes look so sad."

She softly touched my face and said, "Sometimes you look just like that."
As the weeks passed our sexual activity dropped to once a night and then to four or five times a week. I really didn't mind that, but I worried about the reduced intensity. One night after sex I said, "I don't think you've come in the last month."

I had hoped she'd reply with some rational explanation and the promise that things would soon get better. Instead, she stared up at the cracks in the ceiling.

I rolled onto my side with my head up, resting on my palm supported by my arm. "Is everything all right?"

"I don't know."

I didn't like the sound of that, "How do we find out?"

"You knew the game when you started sleeping with me. Pretty soon we're going to find out if you really want to play."

"Try me, we'll find out."

"I'm afraid to find out."

I didn't quite know how this was going to play out, but I said, "It will be all right, I promise."

She gave me a sweet kiss and held me close.

A few weeks after that I came home to find her getting dolled up. "Are we going out?"

"Oh, did I forget to tell you? I've got a date tonight."

"What do you mean a date?"

"I met a nice guy at work yesterday. He's taking me to dinner, a movie and who knows what after that. Maybe you'll get to hear the mattress beat against the wall if you're a good boy."

"Are you serious?"

"Maybe you could make us breakfast in the morning. If you're working, we could meet you at the diner. I could introduce you. His name's Brad. He's very nice, I think you'll like him."

"You can't be serious." As much as I thought I was ready for anything she might throw at me, I wasn't ready for this.

"Oh, silly, you know, it's like I told you. Now that you're my wuss, I need to see that pain in your eyes." She gently stroked the side of my face as she said it. "It makes me so hot."

"Fuck that. If you go out on a date you won't see these sad eyes again. Oh, maybe you'll see them one last time from the street as I'm throwing your shit out the window."

"Don't be like that. You know I need to hurt you."

At about this point my hands were shaking and the words were coming out with more venom than I care to repeat. I called her a cunt, a whore and a slut. I called her skanky, selfish and a bitch. I busted a couple of worthless knickknacks and slammed some doors. I'm sure the neighbors got an earful.

Looking back I marvel at how she manipulated me. She'd put me on edge and then evoked painful images from the past. I could almost hear the mattress thumping against the wall, and I actually felt the humiliation and envy of listening to her being fucked in the next room. I was in as much pain as if she had actually gone out on her date.

And then the conversation turned on a dime. "Oh silly, if it means that much to you, I'll stay home." Like any great force of nature, Trudy's actions were balanced by reactions. The deep emotional cuts were offset by the high that she derived from the situation, and it all pivoted on the pain she saw in my eyes.

"Let's see it," she said as she grabbed the crotch of my pants and pinned my shoulder to the kitchen wall with her other hand.

I knew what she wanted, but instead of cooperating I pulled her head in by the nape of her neck and drew her cheek to mine while I gnawed seductively at her neck.

"Oh, no you don't. I want to see it." She pulled her head away and tried to look at my face.

She wanted to see the pain in my eyes, but I wanted her to fight for it. I wrapped my arms around her, lifted her up and carried her to the bed. We flopped down together, with my weight holding her down. She screamed "Stop it! I want to see it!" as she writhed beneath me, desperately trying to separate her cheek from mine. Her nails clawed at my back and her legs flailed wildly as she struggled to get away.

Any physical prowess that she exercised was only by my concession. I wanted her struggle, so I ceded a little strength to her. After a short struggle, I collected her wrists in my hands, pinned her hands at her shoulders and lifted myself up, exposing my face to her view. The rise of elation in her face was all I needed to see. Her breath hitched and her cheeks flushed. I knew that her pussy was flooded. There was nothing known to man that could have aroused her as much.

"You had better fuck me."

"All in due time."

"No, no, no. Please don't make me wait." Her hand slipped from mine and deftly stroked my cock.

It was impossible for me to conceal my arousal, but that didn't mean I was a slave to my cock or to her touch. I broke her lock on my eyes to suck on her beautiful breasts.

"Please look at me," she pleaded in vain. After a few moments of pressing her case, she yielded and rested her hands on my head. She held me close, while she patiently waited for me to satisfy my thirst.

Her heart jumped when my eyes finally engaged hers. "Please," she started, then held herself in check, muting her reaction in fear of a further delay. She smiled as I took off her panties and slid off my pants.

I felt her body tremble beneath me as my cock effortlessly slid into her. In a handful of thrusts she was at the threshold of orgasm. I stopped moving.

"Oh, fuck. Please don't stop." She countered my lack of motion by accentuating thrusts of her own.

I let her thrust away for a moment, then I began to slowly slide my cock in and out. I brought my cock all the way out, so that I slowly passed the full extent of her vagina. I watched the intensity build on her face and then finished her off with the flourish. Once again, she let out a loud cry of satisfaction, which brought me to climax deep inside of her.

"Well, was it worth it? Was the ecstasy worth the pain?" she asked.

"In hindsight, I guess so."

"Do you think it would have been worth it if I'd actually gone on the date?" She held my cock in her hand, softly stroking it to encourage me to give the answer she needed to hear.

"Do you really need to hurt me that badly?"

"Not yet, but soon I will."

"Why can't we keep faking it?"

"Haven't you noticed? It's like heroin. The time between fixes is shorter and shorter. Every dose has to be higher. One night we can get by with talking about it. A week later I'll need to dress up, pretty soon I'll need you to catch me in bed."

"I don't think I could handle that."

She rolled away from me in the bed, "Yea, I know."

I felt like I was failing her, but I knew that it was much more complicated than that. The person she cheated with could be anyone, but the pain had to be mine. We both knew she was asking for a lot from me and we both knew that I wasn't ready.

Soon after that Trudy's mom was released from jail. Neither of us wanted her around, but the alternatives were nil, and Trudy felt obliged to put her up. I moved my personal stuff out of my room and completed my transition to Trudy's bed.

She stood close behind me as I arranged the last of my possessions on the dresser. She said, "We're no longer just roommates," as her hand followed the form of my ass.

It was a commitment that I hadn't intended to make. I knew that it was significant, and it seemed right at the time, but it wasn't something I'd planned on. I turned and kissed her, "Are you sure this is what you want?" I asked.

She ground her pelvis against mine, "We've been on the path to this moment for a long time."

Her words carried weighty implications about our future, but I chose to ignore them. Even though I knew that Trudy would eventually ask me to carry a heavy burden, I was letting my life proceed without consciously choosing a path. I don't know if I was afraid to face the inevitable, or if I'd already made up my mind to accept whatever came, but my fate was sealed.

I changed the subject, "Now it's your mother's turn to listen to the sexy rhythm of the mattress against the wall."

Trudy laughed, "Payback is a bitch, isn't it?" as she pulled me down on top of her.

Her mother had aged ten years during her short incarceration. Heavy lines were set in her face, she'd lost a couple of teeth and the smoke of too many cigarettes had settled deep in her voice. She didn't have much stuff, so she just took over in my room where I'd left off.

She was more abrasive than I remembered, so I avoided her as much as possible and made sure to thump the mattress against the wall as often and hard as I could. But the folly of my plans for revenge was proven the first time she brought a guy home from a bar. They were loud, foul and obnoxious. They slammed my mattress against the wall with a vengeance. They left mess in the kitchen a trail of vomit down the hall and into the bathroom.

After a couple of weeks she took Trudy's absence as an opportunity to give me shit. "I told you to stay away from my daughter. She's way too good for you. You're too much of a wuss and you know it."

I grabbed her by the hair and pushed her against the wall.

She snarled at me, "Go ahead, beat up the defenseless old woman. Getting rid of you is going to be easier than I thought."

"You're moving out." I said in a low and serious voice.

She cackled, "Fuck that. My daughter says I can live here, so I'm staying."

"No, you're not. The next time you get blackout drunk I'm going to drive you to the smallest motel in the smallest town in the most distant hell hole I can find and I'll check you in for one night. You'll have the clothes on your back, your winning personality and your good looks to get you by."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

When Trudy got home her mother tried to play us against one another, but Trudy would have none of it. She asked me, "Which motel where you thinking? I'll want to make sure to block calls from that number." Not long after that her mother hooked up with some lifer at the factory and moved out.

*****

Trudy told me that she was pregnant over dinner. I don't know whether she got pregnant on purpose or it was truly an accident, but I wasn't as responsible as I should have been, so I really couldn't blame her. She offered to get an abortion, but said that she would rather get married. I might have felt trapped if abortion wasn't such an easy option, so rather than forcing us to get married, the pregnancy really just accelerated the question.

"I don't want an open marriage and I don't want to be a cuckold."

She nodded to indicate that she understood me, but said, "I can't promise that I won't hurt you."

"What does that mean?"

"I think you know what it means. We don't live in a Disney movie, where everything is happy for ever after. We live in the real world, where people fall in and out of love and have their hearts broken."

"Yea, but shouldn't we at least start out believing we live in a Disney movie?"

"I don't think so. If we keep our expectations in check maybe we can be happy."

I shook my head, "So, you want me to marry you knowing that you are going to hurt me. No, that's too mild, knowing that you are going to fuck other guys. That's it isn't it? You know what you're going to do, and you want me to bless it."

"I want to you to marry me with your eyes wide open. You should see that I love you and that I want to be with you. You should see that I want us both to be happy, and you should accept me for who I am." She gently stroked my face as she concluded. "You've always been special to me, and I don't want to lose you, and I need you to do this for me."

"I don't think I'll ever be ready for you to cheat on me."

"It's not cheating. It's between you and me, but it involves another person."

"It sounds okay when you say it like that, but it won't appear that way when it's actually happening."

"I'm sorry that you see it like that, but it's all I'll ever have to offer you. If you can't accept it then we should quit wasting each other's time."

"So that's it? We're done?."

"Well, not yet. You've got a couple weeks to make up your mind."

At first I was upset. I didn't want to lose Trudy and I didn't want to lose my self-respect either. I wanted to find a way to have both. She seemed to believe that all I had to do was accept a role as her cuckold and we would all be happy, but I didn't see how that could work. The thought of her lying under some faceless sweaty stranger, who was rutting her with his shaft while I sat in the next room minding the baby formed a void in the pit of my stomach and was as far from happiness as I could imagine.

She'd told me that she needed to inflict pain, but I didn't really understand what that meant. Was it enough for her to fuck someone while I watched, or would her high require more and more as time went on? The more I thought about it, the less I liked the idea.

"Have you made up your mind?" she asked, one night as we lay in bed.

Instead of answering directly, I played for more time. "What would it be like if I stayed?"

"It would be a lot like it is now."

"No, I mean what would you do that you're not doing now."

"I thought we talked about this. I would do things with other men that would hurt you, emotionally."

"Walk me through it."

"Well, maybe we would go to a bar. You would sit in a table at the back while I picked someone up. You know, something like that."

"I want you to talk me all the way through it. Start with what happens before we get to the bar."

I could see her confidence ebb ever so slightly. "I suppose you would get two adjacent rooms in a motel. Maybe we'd have a few drinks and talk about what we're going to do before we go out. We'd talk about what kind of guy we were looking for, I'd tell you where I wanted you to sit and stuff like that."

"When it got late enough, we'd walk over to the bar. We'd go in separately, so that no one would think I was with you. You'd sit in the shadows at the back, and I would go to the bar and get a guy to buy me a drink. Maybe we'd dance a little bit, then we'd sit not too far from you so that you could watch him touch me. I'd never look at you, but I would know that you were looking at us. I'd be as sensual as possible. I would stroke his face, feel his arms and slide my hand up his legs.

"Of course we'd kiss. At first they'd be short friendly kisses, but soon they would be long and lustful, with his tongue deep in my mouth. I would make sure that you could see all of it happen while you sat alone in the shadows. Your gaze would make each kiss meaningful."

"We'd close the bar, then I'd take him up to my room, and you would go up to your room. Of course, you would listen to our sex. Once he'd shot his wad I would creep into your room and softly stroke your cock while I told you about what had just happened."

She stroked my cock as she continued, "I would tell you how wonderful it was, and how happy I am to have a cuckold who lets me fuck anyone I want. Just as your cock is ready to blow I would softly kiss your lips and gaze deeply into the pain in your eyes."

"Would you make him wear a condom?" I asked.

"Of course," she said.

"Maybe the first time and the second time, but soon you would need to up the intensity. You'd need a bit more thrill, a bit more pain in my eyes. You'd quit using a condom, and you'd make sure that I knew it. You'd dip your finger into the pool of his come between your legs and feed it to me by the tip of your finger. You would place a drop at a time in my mouth and with each drop you would tell me how great he was, how big his cock was and how long he lasted. You'd do it just to see how miserable it made me. And then there'd be a next time and a time after that. Soon you'd be gone for days at a time, with me stuck at home raising someone else's kids."

"No, I would never do that."

"Oh, really? Then tell me, when does it stop? When would you have you seen enough pain?"

She wasn't ready for the question. I could see her mind reeling, searching for an answer. Of course, there was no answer. Her addiction would consume her, and it would consume me if I let it.

She put her hand up to my face with her fingers gently resting on my cheek and said, "You're going to leave me aren't you?"

I didn't need to answer. I don't think she had considered the possibility until that instant.

She silently considered her options, but all she could think to say was, "Please don't leave me."

"It was you that said we should quit wasting each other's time."

"Yes, but I also said that you are special to me."

We laid in bed quietly for a several minutes before she said, "You're my only chance. Please stay."

All she did was beg me to stay, but, in that, I felt I'd scored a major victory. I'd convinced her that her needs were insatiable and that their pursuit assured the destruction of our relationship.

I probably don't need to tell you that I stayed. Josh and Xander served as our witnesses. We celebrated our modest honeymoon with a nice dinner, an expensive bottle of wine and a night at the nicest hotel in the city.

In the morning she had her leg draped over mine while she played with the features of my face. Mid-morning sunlight beamed through the sheer drapes to illuminate her beautiful face. She said, "We didn't say 'obey'."

"Did you want to say obey?"

Her hand had migrated to my erect cock. She lightly stroked it as we spoke. "No, but I wanted to hear you say it."

I laughed, "Don't you get enough from me?"

She swung her leg across my body and guided her wet vagina down my throbbing cock. I could see the ecstasy on her face each time her hips descended. After a dozen strokes she slowed to a very deliberate slide as the first orgasm washed over her. Her shoulders shuddered and her head dipped. She let out a deep sigh and then her eyes returned to mine.

I gazed up at her spectacular tits, her beautiful smile and lusty eyes. She said, "It doesn't matter how much you give me. I will always want more."

There was no escaping the truth in her words. I felt the muscles in her vagina pull tight around my cock. It felt like she would draw me, cock first, into her gaping cunt. The thought of losing myself inside of her thrilled me.

I said, "Tell me that you are mine forever."

She leaned so that her lips were close to my ear, "I have always been yours forever."

Her words were intoxicating. Warmth washed over me as I plunged my cock deep into her. "Say the you will never leave me."

Her lips repeated, "I will never leave you."

"Say that you will never hurt me."

Her motion hitched on my cock. Her face froze over mine as she studied my eyes. Eventually she said, "You know I can't promise that."

"But we're married now." Didn't she understand the destruction that would follow her unbridled hunger? Had she forgotten about my big victory, or had I misread her response?

"I'm still me. Nothing's ever going to change that." She could see the disappointment in my face and tried to recover our mood by gliding down my cock yet again, this time with a bit of aggression.

I let her bring my mood back into the honeymoon moment. I wished I'd never brought it up, but at the same time I clung to the hope that she would transform into a kinder, gentler version of herself. A warm rush began to build as my cock racked up more transits through her hot wetness. She pulled tightly at the flesh on my back, bringing the intensity that only pain can bring to sex. My orgasm soon followed.

*******

In the months before the baby was born I took a new job as the assistant manager at the major family restaurant in town. It was the restaurant where business happened over lunch, where the civic groups had their monthly meetings, and where the politicians stopped to address likely voters. My job was to make sure that none of the conversations were about the service or the food.

Our baby girl weighed 7lbs 6ozs. She was 19.5" long, had a shock of black hair and hazel eyes. We named her Cindy.

My mom and Hector arrived about a week after Cindy was born. Mom took to being a grandmother in a way that she was too tired to do as a mother. She sat primed, ready to leap into action whenever the baby stirred and then she would carry her through the house on her hip swinging from side to side and she sang lullabies.
"Where did you get this picture?" She asked as she emerged from our bedroom with Cindy swinging from her hip.

I looked over her shoulder, "Oh, that's Trudy and her dad."

"This is your father?" she asked Trudy.

Trudy shot me an uncertain glance, "Yea, why?"

"I met him once, a long time ago." She thought for several minutes, then she continued. "We were at a bar. He was having a hard time and wanted to talk. I was alone, and he was buying the drinks, so I listened. He told me about how his wife would do things just to hurt him; that she liked to see the sadness in his eyes."

Her story sounded all too familiar. Trudy and I both absentmindedly found chairs and sat down.

My mother continued, "I saw his wedding band when he asked me to dance, but he seemed like a decent guy. Besides, it was only a dance. You know how that is."

Mom's eyes engaged the baby's and she toyed with her for a few moments before she continued. "He said that his wife was out on the town, cheating on him, and that he didn't want to be alone. Sadness oozed from him, and underneath the sadness was a desperation to salvage a small fragment of self respect. I should have left him there in his misery, but I felt sorry for him. I held him close and told him everything was going to be all right."

She looked me in the eye and said, "I only slept with him that one time, but it was enough." She then looked at Trudy and said, "I'm sorry sweetheart."

Trudy looked at me and said, "What does that mean?"

My mother answered for me, "It means you two can't be married."

"No. No, it can't mean that. We didn't know. How could we know?"

"It doesn't matter if you knew. You're brother and sister. You can't be married."

"You don't know that for sure. That's only one picture, and it isn't even a very good picture." Trudy's voice was shrill. "Maybe he's not my real father; you said she was cheating on him."

My mom sat and calmly waited. There was no need for a hasty resolution. We already had an incestuous child; how much worse could it get?

But Trudy was visibly distraught, "What's going to happen to the baby?"

That night Trudy and I lay on top of the covers as we talked. Her crystal blue eyes bore into mine. "Are you going to leave me?" she asked.

"I don't know what good it would do. We're married, and we have a kid. We've already done all the stuff a brother and sister aren't supposed to do." That seemed to calm her down. In the morning we talked it over again with my mother. It was her story, not the picture, that convinced me of the truth. But the more I thought about it the less I thought leaving Trudy was the right thing to do. In the end we all agreed that I should get fixed and that we should never mention our common father again.

Trudy appeared to bounce right back into her routine. She always had a smile for me and invariably greeted me with a hug and a kiss.

As cheerful as she was, the revelation weighed heavily on me. I felt like I was engaged in a losing battle, and that my marriage was destined to fail. I hadn't completely come to terms with the fact that I'd married a woman who wanted to cuckold me, and now I felt like was fighting the very laws of nature and incest. I worried that someday it would all catch up with me, and that I would lose everything. I imagined myself following in our father's footsteps. In five or ten years I would be cruising bars, looking for any woman who could soothe my broken heart.

The routine of my job at the restaurant distracted me from my thoughts. It gave me unambiguous goals that I could easily meet with a little hard work and a bit of quick thinking. I received lots of positive feedback from both my employer and my customers and a solid boost to my self esteem. I'd come to enjoy the second Friday of the month when I mingled with the civic leaders. I got to know just about every businessman in town, and they treated me with respect. I didn't even have to ask for discounts that I received at the dentist, the hardware store or the Chevy dealership.

*****

Dinner had been late and I'd only just gotten the baby down. Trudy had done the dishes and had put out a plate of exotic cheeses for us to sample while we enjoyed a bottle of wine. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

"About what?"

"Whatever is bothering you. You've been distant since your mother left."

I put a piece of cheese in my mouth to give myself time to think. I wanted to talk, but I didn't have my thoughts straight. I suppose that was part of the problem. "This isn't the way I thought my life would be."

"What, you didn't think you'd end up marrying the sister you never knew you had?"

I had to laugh. The way she said it made it sound like such an absurd problem. "Yea, that's part of it."

"And maybe you're too much of a prude to be a happy cuckold?"

"Yea, that's another part."

"How many parts are there?"

"I don't want to lose either of my girls, and I don't want to lose myself."

"Is that it."

"I think that's most of it. I just want to be happy."

"I can tell you the secret to a happy marriage. Would you like to know it?" She took my wine glass and put it next to hers on the coffee table. Then she sat on top of me, straddling my hips between her legs.

I grinned and said, "Please share this pearl of wisdom."

She touched my forehead with her fingertip and said with a very serious expression, "You have to be all in. You can't hold back at all."

I was startled. I'd expected her to be silly, not profound. Even though I'd agreed to stay, I had been holding back. In fact I'd been holding back since she couldn't say she wouldn't hurt me on our honeymoon.

She kissed me on the lips lightly, once again with passion, and finally deeply. She polished off the kiss then held my face in her hands and looked into my eyes. "I'm all in, do you understand?"

"I believe you."

"You can't be afraid to get hurt, do you understand that?"

She was right. The odds were against us. Our only chance at happiness was for both of us to be all in. If I wasn't willing to be all in, we should call it quits.

I looked up into her blue eyes as I guided an errant lock of hair off of her face. I stretched my neck up to place my lips against hers, softly parting them ever so slightly, gently grasping at each of her lips in turn and then pulling firmly.

She detached her lips from mine and said, "Can you say it? Can you say that you are all in?" She began to slowly unbutton my shirt.

My hands wandered unintentionally upon her legs and torso. "I think so, but before I do I want you to promise me something. I want you to promise that you won't cuckold me before I'm ready."

A smile broke upon her face and her right hand broke for my cock. She stroked it gently a few times, then slipped her hand into my pants and grabbed it firmly. She asked, "Why?"

I wanted to finish our conversation before it transformed completely into foreplay. "Because it's going to hard for me, and I don't want to fail."

She looked into my eyes as she stroked my cock, "Tell me how It will make you feel."

"I'll say the words you want to hear if you'll promise to wait until I'm ready."

She stood up and pulled down her panties. She pulled my pants down to my ankles. She straddled my hips again, this time with my hard cock pressed against her pussy. I could feel her wetness waiting to be sounded. "I will wait until you're ready before I make you my cuckold. Now tell me what I want to hear."

I reached up and slid her dress over her head and unhooked her bra. I kissed both of her beautiful tits, then took the nipples into my mouth, one at a time. "I am your wuss. I was your wuss when I was eleven, I am your wuss now and I will be your wuss when you cuckold me."

As if by magic her cunt sucked in my cock. I could feel her body shudder on top of me, and it was all I could do to keep myself from coming.

Her finger lifted up my chin so that she could see my eyes. Her hips slid her hot wetness up and down my shaft as she studied me. I could tell that she found what she was looking for. I told her that I was all in, then I watched the ecstasy wash over her.

Looking back, I wonder how she knew that I would ever be ready. As it was, years passed where the closest she got to inflicting pain was the odd dinner with a customer from work, an occasional dance with a guy at a bar, or a stolen kiss from stranger on New Year's Eve. Of course, I had to witness each act and afterwards we would have sex. In the beginning there was a chance that there would be enough pain in my eyes to elicit an orgasmic response, but as the years accumulated I became too secure in our relationship. She was all in, and I knew it.

The years flew by. Cindy performed in school plays, played in soccer games and rode horses. I went to all those activities. I was there to celebrate her victories and commiserate in her defeats. We all knew that she was her daddy's girl. I let her have anything she wanted. Trudy was left enforcing the rules.

She graduated from kindergarten, the sixth grade, eighth grade and high school. She transformed from a little girl into a beautiful young woman. In late August she left us for college.

"Do you think Cindy will want to see the pain in her boyfriend's eyes?" Trudy asked as we lie in bed after leaving Cindy at college.

I'd wondered the same thing many times over the years. I said, "I hope not, but I'm afraid the odds are pretty good that she will."

There was a comfortable quiet between us as we thought about our daughter. My thoughts strayed to my wife, "Speaking of pain, when was the last time you had an orgasm?"

She started to answer, but I interrupted her. "A real orgasm, where you cried out and felt fully satisfied when it passed."

"It's been a while. You were there; you should remember."

All I could remember was that many years had passed without an orgasm, and it bothered me. One of my basic functions as a husband was to please my wife, but I hadn't the stomach to do what needed to be done.

Those of you who have reached mid-life understand how one begins to question the choices they've made. Responsible men wonder if they should have taken more risks. Businessmen wonder if they should have spent more time with their families. Philanderers wonder if they ruined their chance for love. Monogamists wonder if they settled down too soon.

I wondered if I was being selfish. My wife had turned into an elegant and beautiful middle-aged woman. Her skin was still supple and her eyes still glistened, and there was now a wisdom in her manner that made her even more alluring than she was in her youth. She never failed to turn me on, and never denied my sexual advances. But without the pain in my eyes, she had gone years without a real orgasm. She deserved better. I wondered if we both would have been happier if I had let her put the pain in my eyes.

A couple of weeks later I took her to the fancy French restaurant in the city. After a lovely meal we took a walk through the park. The evening was warm and the late summer sun left us illuminated by an orange sky. When we reached the overlook I dropped down on one knee and presented her with a beautiful solitaire diamond ring. It was much nicer than the small engagement ring that had stretched my budget as a young man.

"Before you put it on, read the inscription."

She laughed and said, "Sorry sweetie, not in this light."

I smiled, "It says 'All In'."

She slipped it onto her finger then complimented it's beauty, my taste and told me how happy she was. After turning it in the light and inspecting the stone from every angle she gave me a big hug and a passionate kiss, and then asked, "What's the occasion?"

I said, "I'm ready."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I want you to orgasm. With me. Like we used to do."

She held me by the shoulders and looked deep into my eyes and asked me, "Have you thought this through? I want to do it, but I don't want to risk losing you."

"I've thought it through enough to buy a ring and bring you here, haven't I?"

She studied my face a while longer then said, "I knew you wouldn't let me down."

The kiss that followed made me feel young again. It was full of passion and hope for the future. We were exploring new terrain again. I knew I was in for a bumpy ride, but I was ready. I held her tightly as our kiss intensified. I wanted to take her right there in the park, with the beautiful orange glow of the sunset lighting her high cheekbones and crystal blue eyes. I pressed her close and felt her firm breast yield to the pressure of our embrace.

She touched my cheek with her fingertip while she inspected my eyes. She smiled and said, "It's already started."

Fifteen years ago what she saw in my eyes would have been enough to initiate torrid sex that would have made her howl in ecstasy and then beg for more. But now it was only a teaser. We had both become too jaded to the titillation of the false start. The pain in my eyes wasn't as intense as it once was, and her threshold had become elevated. We needed the real thing.

Trudy had a plan, and she wanted everything to be perfect. So she took her time in organizing the encounter. Weeks passed while she drew her plan together. She found a hotel with rooms connected by adjoining interior doors that would let her discreetly slip back and forth. She identified a specific bar that had the clientele she was interested in. She picked a Thursday night so that our activities wouldn't interfere with our weekend plans, and she bought a new dress for playing the role of the hot wife.

"What do you think?" she asked as she modeled the dress for me. It was a revealing red dress with an arrangement of straps across the breasts that gave it a bondage look without being overtly BDSM. It made her look super hot. There was no doubt that every guy in any bar she visited would notice her.

"Wow, you look fantastic," I said as I stood close to feel her ass through the dress's fabric.

She pushed her finger into my sternum. "Not so fast, hotshot. This is for the stud I find on Thursday night."

I felt a twinge of what she wanted, but it was not intense enough to matter. She continued to model the dress, while I stood back and anticipated the sensual pleasure that would be mine once the pain we needed was in my eyes.

On Thursday afternoon we drove to the hotel that she had selected. I was shocked to see that that it shared a parking lot with the restaurant where I worked. "Why did you pick this place? It's a terrible choice. It's the least discreet location possible."

She brushed my concerns aside with the proclamation, "Don't be silly. This is fine." She did such a good job of playing the hot wife that I almost forgot that in our nineteen years of marriage she had never actually followed through on her threats. Of course, this time things were different. I felt my confidence wane as we inspected the rooms.

The room was standard three-star fare. It was clean if aging. Sturdy frames held prints of blue and green watercolors on the walls. A bed, chair and small desk made up the furnishing. The carpet, drapes and bedspread matched the paintings.

"This is where I'm going to make you my cuckold," she said while studying my face.

We'd rented hotel rooms similar to this one before. It was years ago, when the false start still brought pain to my eyes and led to sizzling sex afterwards.

"Say it for me," she said.

Even though it was for real this time, we'd used the illusion of reality so many times that diminished the impact. I tried to bring the reality home by pondering what kind of man would join her in the bed. Would it be a young stallion with lots of youthful energy, or an experienced stud with lots of stamina? Maybe she would get one of those guys on Craigslist that advertise the size of their cock, or maybe an established businessman, who could afford to wine and dine her. It occurred to me that she might pick one of the civic leaders, who I would see every month. He would look down on me disdainfully as a wimpy cuckold, or maybe he would tell his friends so they could have a good laugh every time I came to their table. It was all up to her, and I had no choice but to hope that she would do something wise. I looked her in the eye and said, "This is where you will make me your cuckold."

She gauged my emotional state for a moment, then showed me the back-to-back doors and my room, which was a mirror image of hers, and then instructed me on how to position the connecting door and where she wanted me sit.

After that we went home. She insisted that I help her get ready. "Get the shower ready for me."

"Did you forget how to work the shower?"

She stood with her face inches from mine. "If we're going to do this, I would like to make the most of it. Now would you please do as I ask?"

She was right. Maybe if we did it right we wouldn't have to do it again. "Of course. Would you like me to prepare you for your lover?"

"That would be nice, thank you."

Once the shower warmed up, I took off my clothes, stepped in, lathered up my hands, and waited for her to join me. She entered, then lifted her arms so that I could wash her body.

Trudy and I had played this game many times before. I always began by sliding my soap-slick hands along the contours of her beautiful body. The years had been very kind to her. Her tits still appeared to float on her chest, unaffected by gravity's pull, and her skin was as supple as the first time I'd seen her naked, when she sat on my bed all those years ago.

I washed her arms, legs, back and stomach first, saving her tits, ass and luxurious pussy for later. She let me indulge in the feel of her breasts and ass, but when I probed her pussy she said, "That's not yours tonight." She gently stroked my erect cock and said "If you're good I may let you play with my pussy afterwards."

This game had worked like a charm the first dozen times we'd played it. I would get aroused by her tease and frustrated by her denial. When she saw enough pain to reach orgasm she would let me touch her. But, like everything else we tried, our tolerance rapidly built and dulled the excitement. Soon we had to find ways to increase the intensity.

She said, "Now shave me, please."

She was following our usual progression, so I had expected her request. I found a razor and shave cream while she leaned back onto a seat built into the wall of the shower. She spread her legs and watched me lather up her ruddy, engorged pussy. She was as aroused as I was, which made me think of the endgame in the blue and green bed of the hotel room.

I gently touched the razor to the soft flesh surrounding her pussy and slowly dragged it across her skin. She looked down on me, thoughtfully watching me as I worked.

"Only a wuss would prepare his wife for her lover," she said as she rested her hands on my head. "Soon you will be my cuckold."

It was a great line, but like everything else, she'd used it before. Only the reality of the blue and green bedspread gave it life. I could feel the stirrings of pain, but I knew it wasn't enough.

When I'd finished, she looked deep into my eyes and said, "Go ahead and admit it. Tell me that you are my wuss."

I gazed at her from my position there below her, with my rock-hard cock and my eyes looking up. She hadn't called me a wuss in years. I wondered why it had been so long as I said, "I am your wuss. I have always been your wuss. I will always be your wuss."

In the good old days she would have run her finger down the side of my face, the way she always did when she saw what she needed in my eyes, but it wasn't enough, so she asked me to dry her off and brush her hair.

As I brushed she asked, "Do you remember how upset you were when I called you my wuss at school?"
I nodded while I worked with her hair.

"When I was little my mom always called my dad a wuss. She did it so much that, even though I knew it was disparaging, I thought of it as a term of endearment. Long after he was gone she would say things like, "My wuss always treated me better than that," or "My wuss wanted me to look my best." After a long pause she continued, "She chased him away. She loved him more than anything else, but couldn't stop herself."

She continued, "You're not going to leave me are you?"

"Of course not."

That appeared to mollify her, but she continued, "We need to do this, right?"

The evening had proven that all of our tired techniques had been exhausted and that we were out of alternatives. We needed to do it and I needed to be strong. I said, "Don't worry. Everything's going to be all right."

She put on her makeup, while I got dressed and packed for the night. I helped her put on the hot red dress then I admired how she looked with a whistle as she slowly spun around in front of me. She stopped, put her hand on the lump in my pants and said, "Are you going to be a wuss and let another guy fuck me?"

I'd been over it a thousand times in my mind. Although I'd convinced myself that we were doing the right thing, there was no way to be sure. I was tired of second guessing myself and I wanted to get it over with. I assured her that we were good, and that if anything went wrong it was my fault.

She thoughtfully considered my words, touched the side of my face with her fingertip and said, "Thank you."

At around 11:30 she dropped me off at the hotel. As I sat there in the lonely hotel room it became obvious that this wasn't one of our games. It wasn't sexy or seductive. It was dull and lonely. I became anxious. I tried to read the book I'd brought, but I couldn't focus. I turned on the television, but it only increased my anxiety. I turned it off. I checked that I'd left the adjoining door ajar and then I checked it again. I tried to relax, but it was no use.

I ended up sitting in the chair at the desk with the reading light over the bed on. I hashed and rehashed what we were doing in my mind. I listened to the sound of the guests in the hallway. The families with children had all gone to bed. At around 2:00 the drunks started to migrate in from the closing bars. I hoped that Trudy would walk in the front door with the impish grin that let me know that I had endured enough. That somehow she knew the pain in my eyes was substantial enough to last us for years and that we could go home.

Instead I heard her laughter outside and the opening of the door to the adjacent room. I flashed back to my bedroom in the 7th grade, to the stories that sounded so exciting, to her laugh outside my window in high school to her tears in my car. The wild thumping of the mattress in our apartment. What the fuck was I doing?

I heard her open the adjoining door on her side, and then I could hear everything that they said. He told her how hot she was and how hard he was. I heard the smacks of their kissing and the soft rumble of the bed clothes as they turned down the covers and crawled in.

I stood up to put an end to it, but as I reached for the knob I realized I was too late. He was already inside her. He grunted and grunted, then grunted some more. The mattress squeaked and grated against the box spring. It seemed like they fucked forever. I heard him groan and then it was quiet.

About fifteen minutes later Trudy came through the doors to find me in the chair. She said, "It's done. You are now my cuckold." She lifted my chin with her finger and said, "Let's see."

I felt empty and alone. I was certain the pain she needed was in my eyes.

She inspected my face, then said, "Oh, my. Are you all right?"

The impact of her tryst was more than I had expected. but I had to be strong and do what needed to be done. I said, "I'll be fine."

She sat on the bed, holding my hand. "Should we go home?"

"No, not after that. We're going to finish this. We're going to do it right and then never do it again."

She gave me a hug and then went back into her room. We secured the adjoining doors and then I tried to get some sleep.

Somehow I miscalculated and didn't realize that the next day was civic Friday. I was a few minutes late even though I only had to walk across the parking lot.

"Are you okay?" asked one of the girls.

"I didn't sleep very well."

My staff knew what they were doing, and they really didn't need me. They served food like a well oiled machine while I mingled with the masters of small-town commerce and carried on as I usually did. Everything was running smoothly until one of my waitresses asked, "Is that your wife?"

I looked over to see Trudy in her red-hot dress flipping her hair and laughing. It was the laugh she used to get my attention. She was seated at a booth near the entrance. Sitting across from her was a guy from the factory. His face was familiar. It was Bill Kiest.

In a lapse of self control I leaned against the counter and tipped over a large tray of coffee cups, which shattered on the floor. Everyone in the restaurant looked to see me fixated on Trudy and Bill. They all followed my stare, then simultaneously wondered, "Who's that with his wife and why is she dressed like a hooker at 8:30 in the morning?"

Trudy scanned the room full of attention focused on her, then looked at me and smiled.

As prepared as I thought I was, I wasn't ready for this. Now everyone I worked with and almost all of my customers knew what had happened, and soon the whole town would know. I didn't know what to say and I couldn't think. I must have been in some form of shock.

The waitress got one of the busboys to give me a ride home while she cleaned up the mess. Trudy arrived home soon after.

"BILL KIEST? YOU FUCKED BILL KIEST?"

She was impassive. She didn't protest, but she didn't yield either.

I picked up a bowl and threw it as hard as I could. It shattered after leaving a hole in the drywall. "FUUUUUCK," I shouted. After pacing around the house unable to collect my thoughts I said, "I have to leave." I grabbed a suitcase and went upstairs to pack.

Trudy followed me, "You promised me that you wouldn't leave."

"What promised? You fucking fucked Bill Kiest, the guy that dragged me through the mud, and made the seventh grade hell. I can't leave? Watch me not leave."

"You said you were all in. What does that mean to you? All in only when it works for you? We agreed to do this. We agreed that we needed this. You said you were ready. You can't leave. It's not fair."

I exhaled deeply and sat on the edge of the bed. "Don't you see that I have to leave? Everybody in town knows what happened. No one will respect me if I stay."

"Look at me." Trudy commanded. "Are you really going to leave before we have sex?"

"How can you think about sex?"

"Because that's what this is all about. I need you. I need that look in your eyes. I haven't seen it in years, and I need you to do what only you can do to me."

"We are SO not having sex. I couldn't get hard right now if my life depended on it." I thoughtlessly threw some clothes in the suitcase and said, "I know I promised not to leave you, but I need some space right now. I'm going to go away for a few days and then we can talk."

"When?"

"Now."

"No, when will we talk?"

"I don't know, maybe in a couple of weeks, maybe more. Right now I don't want to be near you."

"That's not going to work, Thanksgiving is this coming Thursday. Let's talk on our way to pick up Cindy at the airport."

Oh crap, how were we going to explain this to Cindy? She'd probably already heard about it from her friends on Facebook. I took a fresh start at packing, taking enough to last a week. I grabbed my coat and headed outside. I heard Trudy's cell phone ring as I closed the door.

The next week at work was brutal. Everybody had advice for me. Customers, waitresses and even the busboys had something to say. Some recommended the divorce lawyer that saved a relative a bunch of money. Others recommended a counselor that saved the marriage of a dear friend. I politely nodded, then draw the conversation to a close by asking for the phone number so that they could end their pitch.

I could handle the advice, but the pity that was unbearable. I was still a man and I wanted to be treated like a man, but when people pitied me I felt like the cuckold that they thought I was. Every sad glance from a passerby and every solemn customer reminded me of what Trudy had done. There was no escaping it.

On Wednesday afternoon I picked up Trudy at home. She gave me a hug and a soft kiss on the lips before following me to the car. We politely conversed as we made our way to the highway. Eventually she said, "Everybody hates me."

It struck me as funny until I realized she was being serious. "I got fired on Monday. They said I brought ill-fame to the company. Not just the store, the whole damned company. I swear half the people cheered as they walked me out the door."

"That's harsh."

"Yea, and then I went to the diner where you used to work and the waitress wouldn't serve me."

We drove in silence for a while, then she said, "I'd apologize for hurting you, except that was the whole point. I'd do it again if I had to."

"I understand that, but why Bill Kiest, and why did you have to parade him in front of me and everyone I know?"

"Because he was your tormentor and you will never be jaded to him. I tapped into that pain to make it linger in your eyes for as long as possible. He was perfect for that."

"Did you ever think that you'd gone too far? That I wouldn't be able to handle it?"

"I think you'll be just fine. You'll come back to me."

Her confidence was galling, but I was afraid she was right. At the same time there was an injustice that needed to be set right, and I needed to tackle it.

We met Cindy at baggage claim. She looked liked she'd matured by five years in the few months she'd been at college. She was no longer pert girl that we had raised. She was now a beautiful woman. She ran across the room and gave me that big spin of a hug that daughters give their fathers once they've moved out. She greeted her mother with that fake cheek-to-cheek kiss that politely expressed loathing.

Once the car door was securely shut Cindy let loose on her mother, "What the hell did you do mom?"

"Honey, I hope you never understand."

"Oh I think I understand. Is he rich, or does he have a nine inch dick? Did you think about dad at all or was it just about you?"

Trudy wore that impassive look that meant she knew better than to engage her enraged daughter.

"Are you guys splitting up?"

I said, "Well, I'm not sleeping at the house, if that's what you mean."

"Shit mom, you don't even have the decency to move out?"

"I don't want to split up, sweetheart. I want your father to come back."

"Then why did you do it?"

There was a short silence, then Cindy continued, "Was it worth it?"

"If your father comes back to me, then it was worth it."

"That is so fucked up. You expect him to just eat humble pie and come back?"

Trudy shook her head and said, "It's not like that."

I dropped them off at the house and then went back to my hotel. I was dealing with so many conflicting emotions that it was nice to have a space away from Trudy to decompress and to think rationally, but after a week I was beginning to miss her company.

We got together again the next day for Thanksgiving. My job was the turkey. Once the bird was in the oven I took a cup of coffee out on the deck and enjoyed the beautiful November day. The sky was clear and I could see all the way across the valley.

Cindy came through the sliding glass door to join me, "Are you okay?"

I gave her a hug and said, "Yea, I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me, sweetie."

We stood there in embrace for a few moments, then she said, "I don't understand why you put up with it."

"I hope you never do."

She took a step back and looked up at me, "That's what mom said. What's going on?"

I looked at my beautiful girl. Her eyes were the same color as her mother's, but her overall coloring was a bit lighter. Her hair was silky smooth and she smelled like a spring day in a field of wildflowers. She was still full of unrealized potential and unburdened by commitments and regrets. At this age Trudy and I were both already dealing with a mountain of problems.

She ran her finger down my cheek the way her mother did when she saw the pain in my eyes, studying my face as she did. "Are you sure you're all right?"

We stood there holding hands for a few moments, then she said, "I have to go," and abruptly left.

The conversation at dinner was polite if uncomfortable. I thought Cindy might press for the understanding that Trudy and I had both hoped she would never have, but she didn't. Instead it seemed like she was having a hard time not looking at me. I caught her staring time and again.

Even Trudy noticed. "Is there something wrong with your father's face?"

"No, no, it's just that I haven't seen you two in a while."

The day after Thanksgiving Trudy and Cindy went off to battle the Black Friday crowds. While they were out, I dropped by the house to grab some clean clothes and do some chores that had been neglected. I answered a knock at the door to find Bill Kiest on the doorstep. He was wearing a dress shirt and slacks that might have fit well a few years ago. He'd made a halfhearted attempt to shave and mat down his unruly hair.

"Where's Trudy?" he asked, then pushed past me into the house.

I let him take a few steps into the house then said, "Follow me." as I lead the way into the kitchen.

As he came around the corner I cold-cocked him in the nose. I'd hated Kiest since the seventh grade, and the pain of the bones breaking in my hand was cathartic. I couldn't blame him for what he and Trudy had done, but he owned this visit to my house.

He took a dazed step back and inspected the blood on his clothes. He still had a couple of inches and at least thirty pounds on me, so I knew I needed to keep the initiative. I hit him again, this time in the throat. He retaliated, but I was ready and took only a glancing blow. My right hand was in too much pain to hit him again, so I tried with my left. He easily blocked it, then landed a blow of his own. We exchanged blows for only a few minutes before we began grappling on the blood-slick floor. There was no biting or hair pulling, so I guess you could call it a clean fight, but there were no holds barred. Exhausted and gasping for breath, I ended up sitting on the floor with my back to the oven. His back was to the refrigerator.

He spit out a mouthful of blood and said, "You think you're some shit with your hot wife and fancy house. But you're not so much. Your wife came on to me. She wanted a real man. A man who could satisfy her."

I spit out my own mouthful of blood. I wanted to say something, but nothing came to mind, and I didn't have the breath to say it even if it did.

"Do you know what she calls you? She says you're a wuss. She says she's married to a wuss. Do you think a woman like that should be married to a wuss?"

"Did she say that I was a wuss, or that I was her wuss?"

"A wuss is a wuss, and you are a wuss."

He knew the words, but he didn't appreciate what they meant.

"Out of all the guys at the bar she chose me. She said that she remembered me from school. What do you think of that wuss? She's been thinking about me since we were in junior high!"

I struggled to recover. I desperately wanted to hit him again.

"Did you know she was cheating on you?" He read my expression and said, "You knew! You're a fucking cuckold bitch!"

He was right again. The image of me shaving her pussy for him sprang to my mind. I struggled to get up, but didn't have the strength. So I racked my brain for a verbal counter. By fucking my wife, he had me at a disadvantage, but I did the best I could by calling him a dropout and a loser.

We were there, on the kitchen floor, insulting each other when Trudy and Cindy came home. Cindy rushed to console me, while Trudy stood back and considered the situation. I'd hoped that she would tell him what a worthless piece of shit he was, but she didn't.

Instead she looked down on him and said, "Did I give you permission to come here?"

He replied with a hesitant, "No."

"Then why are you here?"

"I thought..."

She interrupted him, "Did I give you permission to think?"

Again he replied, "No."

"If I had wanted you to come here I would have told you. I know where to find you when I need you. Now go, and don't come back here again."

Despite the pain of my hands, my broken nose and my busted ribs, I fixated on the word 'when'. It implied that there would be another time and that I would have to endure this again. It was obvious to me now that I had no idea what I was getting into when I said I was ready.

I spent Saturday letting my wounds heal. Both of my hands were in casts and my nose covered with a stiff bandage. I watched TV while I tried to eavesdrop on Trudy and Cindy, who were talking at the kitchen table. They had checked me out of the hotel and moved me back into Trudy's bed.

Cindy was obviously disillusioned by her mother's behavior. She pressed for a rational explanation or an apology or at the very least a response that she could understand. Trudy tried to explain that sometimes all of the options were compromises, and that the choices she made wouldn't make sense until Cindy had seen the world through her eyes.

Cindy said, "Explain it to me mom. I really want to know."

Trudy protested, but Cindy continued, "Please tell me, I promise I won't judge you."

Eventually Trudy relented and told of the pain that she craved in my eyes. Cindy didn't say anything and I couldn't see her reaction.

That night in bed Trudy all but raped me. She'd been primed and ready for sex for over a week and wasn't going to take no for an answer. I really didn't want to fuck her, but in all our years of marriage she had never said no to me, so I let it happen. She started by stroking my cock while kneeling at my side. Once she got the response she wanted, she leaned over and dangled her gorgeous tit over my mouth.

I stretched to suck it in. Once I had it, I began to nibble at the nipple. All the while, she stroked my surging cock, forcing it to an erection despite the damaged state of my body. Once it was hard enough, she swung a leg across me and brought her pussy down hard upon it.

I just laid there on the bed while she did all the work. As usual, the lights were on, and she spent the whole time looking into my eyes. I don't know if the physical pain in my body compounded the emotional pain in my eyes, but her cunt was dripping like I had never seen it. Each pass of her pussy down my shaft forced more fluid onto my balls.

She came with a loud cry that might have woken the neighbors, but I was certain that Cindy heard it. For me her orgasm was bittersweet. I was glad that she was finally satisfied, but I was certain that it wasn't worth the price.

The next morning I woke up late and found Cindy and Trudy in the living room talking. Cindy's flight was in a couple of hours and Trudy suggested that I drive her. "It will give you two a chance to chat."

I might have protested based on the condition of my hands, but I wanted to spend some time alone with my daughter so I agreed. She drove, and for the first few minutes we sat in silence. Then she said, "Dad, if I tell you some stuff, will you promise not to judge me?"

"Of course sweetie, I'm your father. I'll always be on your side."

"And there's some stuff I really want to know. Will you please be honest with me?"

"I'll try. I promise I won't lie to you."
"Mom says that you knew she was going to have the affair. Is that true?"

"She told you that?" I said with a shake of my head.

"I'm not going to judge you dad, but I need to know."

My daughter was asking me if was a cuckold. I couldn't imagine a more humiliating situation. I was off balance and scrambling to defend myself. "Sweetie, it's true that I knew, but remember, your mother and I have had a long and happy marriage. I tried to give her something that I thought she needed, but it turned out to be a horrible mistake and now we are all paying the price."

"She said that you've been her wuss since the day you met. She said that she's been torturing you since you were kids."

"Jesus. What else did she say?"

"I think she told me everything."

"Cindy, this is not stuff you should know. Marriage is hard. You have to make compromises to make it work, and, while you might not agree with the choices I've made, up until a month ago your mother and I were doing pretty well."

"Dad, I'm not judging your choices. I just want to know if it bothers you that mom calls you her wuss."

This conversation was all too familiar. It felt like it was only yesterday that I was having it with Trudy. "Do you know what the word wuss means to your mother?"

"She says it's an endearment for someone who will do anything for you. She told me about the pain in your eyes, how it makes her feel and how you let her hurt you so that she could feel that way again. She told me that she fucked that dickhead just to hurt you, so that she could see the pain in your eyes."

"Wow, I guess she did tell you everything."

She continued, "You promised you won't judge me right?"

"How could I judge you when you have so much dirt on me?"

She gave a half smile and said, "I see that pain when I look in your eyes too. It makes me so hot for you. I want you right now. I want you so badly I can barely contain myself."

"But, I'm your dad."

"You don't need to tell me that. I know it's wrong, but that doesn't make the desire go away."

"I'm so sorry sweetie."

"I wouldn't tell you this, but I want you to know that I understand. I know why mom did what she did and I know why you let her."

When we got to the airport I tried to help her collect her bags from the trunk and check in. At security she said, "I love you Dad," then gave me a kiss as passionate as any I'd ever received.

I suppose it was inappropriate for me to kiss her like that, but it felt so good knowing that she understood. I lingered there at security to watch her slowly progress through the line. When she got through the scanner she waved goodbye and then slipped out of view.

To unlock the car doors I had to rest the fob on the car's hood and push the button with my cast-bound thumb. If it wasn't for the push-button ignition I may never have gotten the car started. But once the car was in gear, the drive home was consumed with thoughts of Cindy. I wondered if she would find her own wuss, and worried that she would end up in the situation her mother and I were in. It was not the life I wanted for my beautiful daughter, but it was not up to me.

Trudy was sitting at the kitchen table when I got home. There was a small vase filled with wildflowers at the center of the table and place settings for both of us.

"Are you hungry?" she asked. "I put on some stew, I figured that you could eat that with your hands the way they are." She prepared a couple of bowls and sat down with me. She took a couple of bites while I fumbled with my spoon.

"Here, let me help you." She scooted her chair to the side of the table, and began to feed me.

Between bites I asked, "What did you tell Cindy?"

"Probably more than I should have. How did your conversation go?"

"I was surprised by how much she knew."

"I think she can see the pain in your eyes."

"I think so too." I said as I took bite of stew. Trudy didn't need to know any more than that.

She fed me a few more spoonfuls then said, "Do you want to talk about last week?"

"Not really, but I suppose we should."

"You start," she said.

"I guess it was just a bad idea, so I can't blame you, but did you really have to pick Bill Kiest?"

"I was trying to get as much as I could out of one night. In hindsight I can see that was a mistake. I'm sorry."

By our family rules an apology resolved the issue and there could be no more discussion. So, I changed tack, "I also feel like I do all of the suffering for us. You have the affair and I become the cuckold. I'm the wuss that does anything to make you happy. I make all the sacrifices."

She shook her head, "That isn't fair. I spent eleven years, seven months and eight days without an orgasm and I didn't mention it or complain about it once. I waited patiently for you to be ready. So, don't say that you make all the sacrifices, because it just isn't true."

She was right. I wasn't giving her credit for the dues she had paid. "I'm sorry, I guess I'm just hurt. This didn't work out the way I'd hoped at all."

She smiled, "It worked. Don't you remember last night?" She put down the spoon and kissed me softly on the lips.

I kissed her back, but I still wasn't happy. Once she released my lips I looked into her eyes and said, "I want to hurt you so badly."

She responded with a bemused look.

"I want you to know what it's liked to be called a wuss in front of your friends. I want you to listen to me making out with someone you know. To hear the thump of the bed on the wall, knowing that I'm fucking someone else."

She put her index finger to my lips. "I understand. Please stop." She stood up and took my bandaged hand to led me upstairs.

I hesitated, then said, "I want to say my piece."

"Follow me, and you can say anything you want."

She led me to our room, had me lie down on the bed and then told me she would be right back as she grabbed a bunch of stuff and went into the bathroom. She shouted, "I want to hear what you have to say, so hold that thought."

She came out of the bathroom wearing the hot red dress and a pair of high heels. She'd also put on a enough makeup to accent her eyes and cheeks. She hopped on the bed then straddled me between her legs.

"I hate that dress."

"You said that you liked it."

"I did, but I hate it now." As much as I hated the dress, she looked spectacular wearing it.

"Why?"

"Why do you always do this? Every time I need to talk about something, you turn it into foreplay."

She got off the bed and sat on the vanity stool. "You were saying that you wanted to hurt me."

"That's right. I want revenge. I want justice. I want you to know what it's like to have all your friends think you're a wuss just because your wife is fucked up and needs to torture you. I want to have an affair and then tell you about it. I want to see the pain in your eyes for a change. I want you to know how it feels to have the person you love be so cruel."

"I didn't have an affair."

"Semantics? You want to argue semantics?"

"No, it's just not right to call it an affair. If it was an affair I could do a lot better than Bill Kiest."

"It doesn't matter what you call it. It's fucked up."

She took the impassive pose that I had seen so many times. She was going to let me vent and once I'd blown off steam, she would give me that reassuring voice and we'd be right back where we started. I got up off of the bed to leave.

"Where are you going?" she reached for me, taking hold of my arm.

I shook my head. "I don't know."

"Go ahead and have an affair if you want. Tell everyone you know that I'm a slut. Hurt me any way that you want. but it won't make you feel any better." She turned me around by my arm. She held me close and said, "You know that I don't do it because I enjoy hurting you, I do it because I have to hurt you."

"That isn't the point. I don't care why you do it, I just want to turn the tables. I want to see the pain in your eyes for a change."

"Then look into my eyes. If you don't see the pain now then you are never going to see it."

She was right. Behind the beautiful blue was a sadness that I had been too self obsessed to notice. I touched her cheek with a fingertip poking out of a cast. "Has that always been there?"

She gently smiled, "Not always, but it's been there a lot lately. How does it make you feel?"

"It makes me want to hold you tight and tell you that everything is going to be all right."

Her smile brightened ever so slightly. "I could use a little of that right now."

I held her hands gingerly between my cast-bound fingers while my lips landed lightly on hers. One kiss followed another. Both of us kissing with our eyes open, dwelling on the pain we needed to see.

In a few minutes we would be fucking on the bed, and my chance to speak my mind would be gone. I had to make my point now. I said, "I didn't think you'd go through with it."

"But we had to go through with it. For both of us."

"Did we? Couldn't we have been more creative, stretched it out a bit longer, teased a bit more, and quit when we had a chance?"

"Maybe we could have stretched it out, but you said you were ready, and it had been so long for me."

I shook my head. "Look at us. You've lost your job and half the people in town hate you. I've been beaten to pulp, I'm probably going to lose my job, and no one respects me. It's obvious I was wrong. I wasn't ready. I will probably never be ready."

"I see where you're coming from, but think about it this way. We can both get new jobs. You've beaten Bill Kiest to a pulp, and a bunch of people you don't respect don't respect you. None of that matters."

"What matters is that you and I are both willing to make enormous sacrifices for each other. I know you are hurt, but your pain was the essence of your gift to me, there was no way for us to avoid it."

I knew that she was right. This was the fate I had resigned myself to long ago. The pain she had inflicted was part of our bargain.

She pushed me just far enough away for her eyes to focus on mine and began to unbutton my shirt. I made a halfhearted attempt to unzip her dress, but the casts on my hands made it impossible.

Once unbuttoned, she carefully slid the sleeves over my bulky hands and dropped it onto the floor. She then undid my slacks and dropped them to the floor. I stepped out of them, leaving them with the shirt.

I held up my broken hands and said, "I'm afraid you're going to have to undress yourself."

"You lie down. I've got you covered."

Once I'd gotten comfortable on the bed, she said, "So, you really don't like this dress?" as she slowly turned around at the foot of the bed. "I picked this one because it makes my tits look so good. You've always had trouble not looking at my tits."

"It looks great on you, but now it's kind of sloppy seconds."

"Do you think of me as sloppy seconds?" She must have sensed something in my reaction because she immediately changed her approach, "Maybe we need to make some new memories with it."

She lifted the dress to expose her smooth pussy and crawled on top of me. She leaned down, kissed me and said, "You've paid a heavy price to touch me in this dress. It would be a shame to let me go untouched." She tipped her shoulders to accentuate the curve of her tits under the tight binding of the dress

My cock was lost to her seduction. It reacted independently of my mind and betrayed all loyalty to me. I pressed upward with my hips to push the traitor flesh into the warm embrace of her pussy.

"I have you now," she smiled down on me.

"You have had me for a long time." I could see by the expression in her eyes that she was getting everything she needed from me.

Her cunt slid slowly and methodically up and down the extent of my shaft. It was like she was priming a pump, making sure that fluid was where it needed to be before the drive was powered on.

She paused and said, "I don't think you will ever know how important you are to me."

She shifted her pelvis forward and bent down so that the tip of my cock pressed against her g-spot while my pelvic bone contacted her clitoris. I responded by thrusting into her.

She continued, "Or how much I appreciate what you do for me."

I slid my cock in and out of her, keeping time with her thrusts. It jammed into her g-spot while my pelvis slammed against her clit. Her head tipped to the side and she bit her lip. It was only a few minutes before she came.

It always amazed me how quickly she came when the pain was in my eyes. Usually, I came soon after her, but this time my orgasm stalled.

She bent down so that I could kiss her tits through the dress. The tight bindings of the dress prevented me from taking them in my mouth, but soon there were two damp circles in the fabric, one for each tit.

She pulled away far enough to examine my eyes and said, "I need you to say it." She drove herself down onto me.

I continued thrusting up into her, with my pelvis slamming against her clit.

"Please say it," she pleaded as her cunt repeatedly swallowed my cock.

I made sure she was looking at me, then said, "I'm your wuss."

"Yes, but no, that's yesterday's news. Tell me what you are to me now." She ground her pussy onto my cock like she was snuffing a cigarette.

I pushed my cock up into her again and again and then said, "I am your cuckold." Saying the words out loud left me exposed and on the verge of humiliation. Anything but precisely the right response from her would be devastating.

I could see my words register on her face. She yelled, "OH, FUCK ME!!" Then she shuddered and tipped her head down as a second orgasm consumed her consciousness, at the same time I felt the warm flow of her gushing ejaculation pour over my balls, between my legs and onto the sheets. "That was incredible," she gasped. The warm caress of her ejaculation transformed my moment of exposure and humiliation to one of reassurance and fulfillment. Despite what anyone might think, only I had the power to please her.

I let her collect herself for a moment, then I continued to fuck her. I drove my cock up to meet her descending cunt again and again. Each time I anticipated the impending orgasm. Each time I shuddered closer to the brink. Each time she met my cock with gusto. She was determined to fuck me as completely as I had fucked her.

"You are the most important thing in my life." She held nothing back. Her hips gyrated under the red dress as my cock surged to meet her.

Her lunging hips strained my broken ribs and aggravated the bruises on my legs. Her eyes were locked onto mine. She said, "I need you," and once again her professed need wove its dark magic on me. I wanted her to need me. I needed her to need me. It was the only thing that could make being a cuckold tolerable.

She was determined to make me come. She said, "You are mine." The motion of her possessive cunt matched the determination of her words. My body was hers to fuck.

"You are my wuss. You are my cuckold." Those words that I once dreaded were no longer to be feared. They were now terms of endearment that only made sense in light of our needs, our interaction and our history. I was not a wuss, I was Trudy's wuss, and I was not a cuckold, I was Trudy's cuckold. There was a difference. These were also the words that drove me over the edge. I convulsed with uncontrollable ecstasy.

The next morning she smiled at me. "I did it. I got everything I'd hoped to get, and I managed to do it without chasing you away."

In a small way I felt that her victory was my defeat, but I knew that was the wrong way to think about it. We'd each made compromises and sacrifices; it was the nature of any healthy relationship. While my sacrifice was extreme, she wasn't happy because she'd cheated me and gotten a better deal than I'd gotten. Far from it. She was happy because she'd expected to end up like her mother, with nothing, and ended up with the one thing that she wanted most, me.

"Was the last twenty years really that bad?" she asked.

"No, but the last couple of weeks sucked."

She gave me a thin smile, "I suppose they did." She turned to her side, cupped my balls in her hand and said, "I need you. You know that, right?" After a nod of affirmation, she continued, "Do you think you would have walked me to the bus stop if you'd known that it was going to be like this?"

"I don't think I ever had a choice. I've been yours from the start."

"I think you are right about that, and I'm going to do everything I can to make sure you stay that way. But I'm still fucked up and I'm going to continue to be fucked up. I'm still going to need to see that look in your eyes."

I exhaled. It wasn't going to be easy. "I don't think I can handle another night in a motel listening to you being fucked by someone else."

She gauged my reaction and continued, "Don't worry, it's all part of my plan."

"Your plan?"

"Yes, I put a lot of thought into this. I didn't end up with Bill Kiest by accident, you know. It took me a while to find him and longer to figure out how to hook up with him. And I didn't pick the Thursday before civic Friday by chance either. It was all planned."

I didn't know how to respond. It all seemed so cruel.

She adjusted her posture, and said, "I remembered you in the 7th grade. Everyone said you were a wuss, even though nothing could have been further from the truth. You dealt with it, but I knew you hated it. You had pain in your eyes every day, and every day I looked forward to gazing into your pained eyes. I didn't understand it at the time, but I knew I liked it."

"Now everyone in town thinks you are a cuckold. They don't understand why you made that choice, but that doesn't matter. Every day you will have to endure the humiliation of the knowing glances and concealed stares, and every day you will come home to me with the pained look of a cuckold in your eye."

She continued, "Every day the pain in your eyes will arouse me. I will hold you close and tell you how much I love you, how desperately I need you and how hot I am for you. You'll look into my eyes and see nothing but longing for you. You will satisfy me with a thorough fucking. You'll rejoice in the sounds of my orgasm and the knowledge that only you can take me there."

"You see, it's perfect. I'll never need to fuck anyone but you again. That's why I picked Bill Kiest, that's why I brought him to the diner while I was wearing that wild dress, and that's why I made sure that everyone knew what had happened. It was all part of my grand plan."

I smiled and gave her a kiss. I appreciated any plan that didn't involve listening to her fuck some sweaty guy in the next room. I had no idea if her plan would work, but it really didn't matter. I had faith in her; I knew that she was all in.

The End

*****

Thanks to SlaveGirl70 for editing this long-winded tale.

If you like this story consider reading The Dungeon with an Ocean View, which has similar characters and a similar theme.