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eskumii · 11 months ago

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❝ TROPHY WIFE ❞ — yandere!uzui tengen/wives + you're his first wife

SYNOPSIS: suppose you're uzui tengen's very first wife, the one that slipped through the cracks of your unwanted arranged marriage with him. along with your disappearance went his heart, and now you must bear the consequences of a man who loves his wife far beyond her understanding—so much so that he would kill for her, die for her, and do anything to make her stay. — navi.

WORD COUNT: 5.7k

NOTES: mdni! (cw: non-con) this is an arranged/forced marriage au. it's meant to be one-sided. it took me quite literally forever to finish this lol ,,

PAIRING: yandere!uzui tengen x wife!reader

CHARACTERS: uzui tengen (19-23), reader (18-22), suma (19), makio (20), hinatsuru (21)

I. TO BE WED

imagine being uzui tengen's very first wife.

your hand in marriage was promised to him by your parents, who owned a tax-collecting business that was often the target of hostility from the impoverished people of your hometown. tengen routinely passed through your village on demon slayer business, so your parents could always rest assured knowing he would take care of the violent stragglers that sometimes loitered outside.

ironically being poor themselves, they had little to offer the hashira as payment for his noble duties; well, that "little" didn't exclude you of course, their only daughter who's failed to find a husband far past the age of when other girls were normally wed. you're still young, fertile, and moderately attractive, but your strong disinterest in potential suitors often drove any chances of a wealthy marriage away.

however, after being introduced to tengen, the man you'll be forced to marry out of obligation, you begin to regret being so stubborn after all.

admittedly, tengen found you to be pretty plain at first. you're poor so you can't exactly dress flashy, and you come from a no-name family with little legacy. your parents swore up and down on your domestic efficiency—hardworking, great cook, a tame disposition—and, well, at least you're kind of cute, too. tengen is intrigued by your potential the most.

your parents force you to do whatever you can to get close to him. the truth is, though, you don't really have to do anything with the way he seeks you out himself. he often shows up at your door asking for you, and your parents have no qualms about dragging you out of your room to make you go out with him.

he takes you to the nicer parts of town and pays for dinner or buys you flowers and little trinkets from the shop vendors that line the streets. it doesn't help that the elderly people running the stands egg you on, saying things like "what a lovely young couple" or "your children would be so beautiful!" tengen simply smiles with ease, accepting their praise as if it's second nature. you get rather embarrassed by his shameless indulgence.

there's small talk but you find it incredibly stifling. tengen does a majority of the dialoguing but most of the time your dates get interrupted by his kasugai crow, who squawks at him whenever a demon shows up nearby. he always looks annoyed and promises to make it up to you, leaning down to pat your head like you're his pet dog or something. you hate it and him too, probably.

"i'll be back before you know it, darling," his smile is charming but not to you. "you'll stay right here for me, won't you?"

regardless of your somewhat obvious hesitance to accept his advances, tengen gets attached to you like it was meant to be. the idea of having a pretty little housewife for him to come home to after his draining missions becomes increasingly attractive, and the more time he spends with you, the more he sees the appeal of your being. it must be a miracle that no man has taken you as his wife yet; surely you were saving yourself for a man like him.

unfortunately, though, you don't want to marry tengen.

an arranged marriage? it's simply not the kind of life you envision for yourself. you aren't willing to bet the rest of your days on a man whom you have a slim chance of falling in love with, all for the sake of financial security. but what else can you do? your parents already made it very clear they would disown you if you refuse, and tengen is pressuring you to your death with his sweet words and annoyingly thoughtful presents. you're stuck.

eventually, the incessant nagging from your parents and weeks of endless courting from tengen sway you so sooner. you fold like a cheap hand fan and succumb to your fate, to a future you knew from the very beginning that you would come to despise.

he's the only suitor you have at this point. it's not like you have a choice. and the one choice you do have just so happens to be him, a man who is the nearest thing to a perfect match as you're ever gonna get. you should be happy. thankful. he'll give you the world if you just give him a chance.

at least, that's what he told you.

II. THE SOUND HASHIRA

your parents are so happy to send you off.

they're completely honored that their letdown of an only daughter is finally getting married—to a well-known and wealthy shinobi at that. it's the only time they've shown any pride in you, yet it really only leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

after your brief introduction to the head of tengen's clan, everything moves so quickly. just a couple weeks later, you're already signing a marriage contract in which you and tengen become official newlyweds. and before you know it, you're packing what little belongings you have to your name and moving in with him, begrudgingly and regretfully so.

the day you arrive, he shows you around his overwhelmingly gigantic residence; the courtyard full of cherry blossoms and koi ponds, the huge kitchen, and the bedroom where he'll eventually fully claim you. there's lots of other rooms too, but they're either empty or reserved for his weapons and training gear. he tries to hide it but he's obviously so over the moon that you're his wife now. he doesn't even notice your misery through his elated delusion of love.

in hindsight, you didn't realize how difficult it can be to share a space with someone you hardly know. you find everything awkward but tengen doesn't, like always. to him, you're so obedient and polite— such a good girl. you take whatever he gives you; kisses, hugs, subtle gropes here and there, and all of his sweet compliments and gifts. you don't argue with him or raise your voice, you fret over his injuries and make his favorite foods. you're observant, collected, and mature.

he didn't have a type before he met you—you're all he can ask for in a woman, really.

tengen is unexpectedly romantic. he constantly boasts about his strength and fighting skills in order to impress you, and he never stops mouthing off about how he'll prioritize you over himself. he puts consistent effort in getting to know you: what you like, don't like, your favorite color, and any other inkling of your personality that he can manage to wrestle out of you. he seems to have gotten the impression that you're shy or something.

flowers are a constant and you're spoiled with fancy, expensive kimonos and jewelry. had you married tengen under literally any other circumstance, you'd find his advances on you endearing but, unfortunately, he just comes off as clingy and unbearable. any woman would die to be in your place yet you can't even find it in you to want to be in your own place.

what do you think of him, though? well, he's handsome, you'll give him that. you don't deny the appeal of his good looks and flashy, fitted clothing. he's strong, established, and knows what he wants. despite your obvious distaste towards his gifts and grandiose personality, it's not to say you're ungrateful that the man you're stuck with is exceedingly well-off and capable of protecting you. you can't say he's a bad guy.

however, he's a moron.

he fell for you fast. a couple months have already passed since coming to live in his residence. tengen requests to have picnics whenever you go with him to visit his siblings' graves on his off days. of course you have no reason to refuse; as much as you dislike him, you're not heartless. they're important days, so you swallow your pride and pack a bento spread you know he'll like.

tengen will confide in you about the memories of his late siblings, his parents, and his life before becoming a hashira. it's a depressing and heavy weight to shoulder, but you still play your role of the loving, supportive wife with your lingering touches and comforting words. you use these outings as opportunities to gain his trust by being vulnerable.

except, this time, the effect you seem to have on tengen is magnified to the point of no return.

he pulls you into his lap and you're suddenly flush against his rock hard chest, trapped in a suffocating hug. you don't know what prompted his sudden affection; perhaps it was the warm atmosphere you crafted or the intimacy of the moment, but the way tengen holds you so close is telling. he's about to say something you've been dreading since the day you met him.

"i love you." tengen confesses, nuzzling his face into your neck and sighing as if he'd just released the weight of the world off of his shoulders.

you knew it. it's the first time he's ever said it to you and you'll never forget the wave of nausea that hit you as you glanced up to see him staring back at you expectantly. your heart is pumping out of your chest and your face is flustered—not because you're flattered but because you're ashamed. you feel his hands squeeze your shoulders, almost like a warning, and his grip begins to feel claustrophobic after your prolonged silence.

you have no choice but to reciprocate.

"...I love you too." your voice is quiet, hesitant, and tengen gently teases you about being shy when you refuse to look at him anymore. he's not right but it's true that lying invokes shame.

he almost seems overwhelmed by your response, as if he hadn't just nonverbally threatened it out of you. you don't dare to sneak even a glance at him. he tightens his embrace around you and goes back to burying his face abashedly into your neck, mumbling sweet words against your skin. his body wraps around you like a vice, trapping you in the prison that is his dreadful existence.

you decide, in that very moment, that there was nothing in the world you wanted to do more than run away.

III. A DIRE MISTAKE

one fateful day, you catch wind of the news that tengen is being assigned on a mission quite far away, somewhere down in the southwest.

you're so lucked out that you thought it was a trap at first—a ploy to catch you in your undying desire to leave your husband for good. but when the day of departure arrives and tengen peppers your face with last minute kisses, you know for sure that there's no chance he's caught on to your resentment towards him, nor the plan of escape you've been devising all along.

your eyes are teary when tengen releases you from the last of his spine-crushing hugs and he cooes at your cute crying face. honestly, you're tearing up out of joy because your one and only chance to escape has literally fallen into your lap in a pleated handbasket, but you'll let him believe otherwise. you at least owe him the courtesy.

you already know you don't stand a chance against tengen, at least physically. he can overpower you like nothing and he's so tall that he towers over you, constantly caging you between those muscled arms of his. there's almost nothing you could do against a man like him—well, unless you count poisoning, but you were above murder when it came to getting what you wanted.

as soon as tengen passes through the looming gates of the residence and disappears down the winding road, you scramble to gather a few belongings before making your way out through the back. there's a twinge of fear that grips your gut but you press on, determined to put as much space between you and that wretched place you were expected to call home.

the moment you escaped, you flipped your identity. chopped your hair off, powdered your face in white make-up, and wore headscarves wherever you went. you fled as far as your feet would take you, only stopping to rest in a small village when your aching body could take you no further. you hardly spoke to anyone and left nothing behind that could possibly be traced back to you or be used to pursue you.

it's obvious you can't go back to your parents; they hated you when you lived with them, and they'd hate you more if you returned. they'd sell you out to tengen in two seconds flat, then ruthlessly shame you for running away from a marriage you wanted no part in. the only option left for you is to create a new life for yourself somewhere far, far away.

and that's exactly what you do. you find a little town on the outskirts of the red light district, where business is booming and it's easy to disguise yourself beneath the constant foot traffic. you go undercover as a seamstress, working in a homely tailor shop under the supervision of the owners, who are a kind older couple that are quick to regard of you as one of their own.

time marches on and the jarring memories of tengen do as well. you makes friends with the regulars that come by the store often. you've learned the valuable trade of mending clothing and sewing traditional patterns. you've even developed a crush on one of the men that come by often to repair his work uniform.

your life is finally the way you've always wanted it to be.

meanwhile, tengen copes—barely. days pass. weeks. months. you're still yet to be found, even with the help of all the hashira and the shinobi of his clan. it's as if you disappeared off the face of the planet. he's completely devastated. did you run away because he was gone for so long? were you feeling neglected? did you just want his attention? surely you wouldn't just up and leave when he'd been so loving; he truly couldn't think of anything that would prompt such an extreme reaction.

as expected, he doesn't come up with a justification for your disappearance. how could he? you could be dead by now with the amount of demon uprisings that have been happening lately. or you could even be halfway across the world right now, laughing at how easily you had fooled him. eventually, his sadness melts into anger. you may be gone now, but it won't be for long.

wherever you are, he'll find you.

IV. 'TIL DEATH DO HIM PART

in the following years, tengen's next three wives are chosen specifically by the head of his clan.

and, in the head of the clan's words: "the sound hashira's decision-making must be incredibly poor if he chose a wife who would dare flee from him." the statement only fans the flames of his growing wrath for you.

however, his new wives—suma, makio, and hinatsuru—are all beautiful and talented kunoichi who admire him to their very cores. as ungrateful as it sounds, there isn't a day where tengen wishes one of them were you. they've worked so hard to try and fill the gaping hole in his existence that was left by you, but it hasn't really been working. he needs you.

they're kind, caring, nurturing and most of all, strong. they've trained all their lives to be kunoichi. he knows he shouldn't complain but they just don't cook like you, look like you... aren't you. of course he loves them, but he could never forget the way his heart shattered the day he returned home to find you nowhere in sight. your disappearance left him in utter shambles. did you ever think about that when you left? you're so unbelievably selfish—is that the kind of woman you turned out to be?

his wives constantly question his lovesick behavior. tengen never hides anything from them; in fact, he'll sometimes go on long, borderline maniacal rambles about "the wife who got away." to suma, makio, and hinatsuru, you're an enigma that's broken the heart of their husband, and they're not sure what it was about you that makes him act this way. jealousy sparks—if there's a way to get you back to make tengen happy, they would do it, but maybe you're better off gone after all.

and it's not like tengen didn't search for you. oh no, he looked everywhere within reason. his duties as a hashira kept him chained to his missions near the demon slayers' headquarters, but that never stopped him from interrogating people when he got the chance. any woman that looked even remotely similar to you was sure to be stopped in the middle of the street for further investigation.

master kagaya is exceedingly understanding of the situation, and he bears obvious concern for his beloved sound hashira. while he's sympathetic of the loss of his wife—it's no matter to be taken lightly, of course—tengen must first be loyal to his occupation as a hashira, and that means going on missions in spite of his mourning.

and his newest missions leads him to the red light district.

so tengen goes. he knows his place when it comes to master kagaya, so he has no reason or authority to deny orders. regardless, it's a harrowing and tedious task. drunk concubines practically throw themselves into tengen's arms as he strolls past the many underground sex clubs that line the filthy streets. he has zero interest in any of the debauchery that goes on here, and he especially feels nothing when shoving them away from him with excessive force.

he scours the area for anyplace that looks decent enough to step foot in, as well as a place where he won't get immediately harassed by ran through harlots. turning down a quieter side street where some storefronts have been shuttered, he happens upon a small seamstress shop sandwiched between two restaurants that look as if they've closed early for the evening.

shrugging, tengen wearily thinks it's as good of a place as any to begin his intel gathering on the upper moons' whereabouts. he saunters towards the front entrance and a young woman dressed in traditional geisha wear passes him on the sparsely populated road, her wooden sandals clacking against the ground. he can't help but think her hair looked similar to yours and his heart twists painfully in his chest.

tengen seems to be constantly haunted by the thought of you, forming an obsession in his mind that won't go away until he has you back. until he knows your safe, with him, just like you were meant to be. until he sees you.

no, literally, tengen sees you, right in front of him.

through the window of the upscale seamstress shop, he sees you conversing with a man at the front counter, laughing heartily at a joke he must have made. tengen quickly crouches beneath the display window to spy on you, his heart pounding out of his chest at the events that are currently unfolding. he must be mistaken.

he peeks above the lip of the window to catch a glance and, sure enough, it is you. you're alive and well, almost glowing beneath the low, intimate lighting inside the shop.

he finally found you! he can't believe it. the grin that's stretching across his face is so broad. he'd recognize your face anywhere, even if it's caked in geisha makeup and your hair elaborately styled. you’re beautiful and he’s captivated by your beauty just as he was the day that he met you.

he's so unbelievably ecstatic with the way his hands are clamming up, his feet shuffling in the dirt and...

what?

creeping over the ledge of the display window once again, tengen's eyes immediately grow dark. there's a man there. talking to you. his wife.

in the midst of your conversation, your eyes absently float over to the window. it's there that your gaze clashes with his, and a blood-curdling look of terror overtakes your features. is that… tengen?

there's a shift in the air. what happens next, tengen doesn't recall, but when he comes to there's blood on his hands and your hair is bundled up in his fist as he drags you past the threshold the of the shop’s entrance. he looks over his shoulder and on the floor, spread eagle, lies the man without his head. the scene is gruesome.

he killed him.

tengen looks down at you with a solemn gaze. for some reason, he doesn't even care. the emotions running through him are almost too much to bear. do you know how much your disappearance has destroyed him? do you know how much he's suffered because of you? do you even care?

he doesn't understand why you're crying. it seems like you were happy enough to whore around with other men in his absence. the thought drives him to the brink of insanity. how much longer do you plan on humiliating him?

there's too much to be said. tengen's mouth is agape and he's so upset at you that he can't find the right words to express himself. instead, he collapses to the floor beside you and embraces you in his longing arms. he smells your hair and feels how your body shrinks against his—it's all exactly how it used to be. it's exactly as he remembered, as he dreamed of.

and now, as tengen scoops you up into his arms to take you back home, another dream of his will be fulfilled tonight. he knows exactly what kind of punishment is befit for you.

V. A JUST PUNISHMENT — (NSFW: NON-CON)

"tengen-sama! you're ba-"

a woman with colored bangs and a ponytail attempts to greet tengen as he enters, but she's cut off by not only the expression on his face but also the strange, disheveled woman he's hauling behind him.

he drags you across the cold, laminated wood floors into the bedroom by your hair and peels the delicate, silken layers of your yukata back, exposing soft flesh and ample curves. tengen is so starved of your touch—of your voice, your scent, you. he'll make you pay for what you put him through. he'll make you stay this time.

you can't even fight back. you're so afraid of what's going to happen that your body refuses to move, to speak. and even if you could, there was no way you would win against a hashira, of all people.

tengen starts by pushing you to your knees. when his hands begin the hasty work of undoing the belt of his kimono, you already know where this is going and it makes your stomach churn in volatile sickness. he eagerly slides his under pants down and from the top of its elastic band springs his semi-hard cock, which nearly hits you in the face. you gasp at the sheer size of it; that is not gonna fit inside of you.

"don't look at me like that, [name]. clearly i was too lenient with you back then. i should've disciplined you..." he trails off as he stares into your pleading eyes. he smiles but, in it, is no mercy.

"c'mon, baby. you'll be a good girl and open your mouth for me, won't you?"

you refuse. no, you wouldn't even dream of it. you've never done anything sexual with a man before and you certainly aren't going to wi—

tengen suddenly reaches down and grabs ahold of your now tangled hair with one of his large hands. it takes barely any pressure before your mouth is pried open by the force of his fingers alone, and his now engorged cock head is being stuffed into your warm, unyielding mouth.

you can only let out a choked cry at the vile intrusion.

"that's it, baby, good girl.." he praises, stroking your head with his thumb as he slowly inches his pulsing cock down your throat.

your screams are completely muffled. tengen begins to pick up the pace, letting your drool be the lubricant that allows his giant dick to slide in and out of your tight throat. it hurts so bad that you try to bite down and free yourself from this act of vulgarity, but tengen doesn't allow it. he instead tugs your head back by the grip he has on your hair, forces his cock all the way in, and holds you there until you decide to behave yourself.

you can hardly breath. lewd, wet noises fill the room as tengen gags you almost to the point of unconsciousness. the vibrations from your screaming must have been making him feel good, though, because it takes just a few minutes before he's shuddering in orgasm as he bottoms out and cums, which you have no choice but to swallow.

he pulls out of your mouth and you're mortified, but even more so when you see how he's still hard. his cock is covered in a thick layer of your saliva and his cum drips onto your exposed chest in globs that make you cringe in disgust. you think you're going to throw up.

and you almost do, if it weren't for tengen picking you up from under your arms and tossing you onto the plush bedding. your legs are forced open and tengen slides his twitching cock against your pussy, slowly and teasingly. you begin to fight against him but he easily pins you down long enough to push his fat cock head into your tight pussy.

tengen pounds you into the plush cushion of the futon all night long. you've given up struggling and crying, only mewling in pain as the brutish man stretches your virgin pussy wide. he ruthlessly kneads your breasts with his calloused palms and overstimulates your clit with his fingers until you cream and squirt repeatedly all over his dick. you can do nothing but lay there as he roughly moves your body into various positions and fills your womb with his seed—there's no way you won't be pregnant after this.

all the pent up rage that tengen was forced to weather after your disappearance is released in that very room. he sounds like a crazy man with the way he lapses in and out of fits of rage where he's cursing at you with his hands around your throat, then slipping into pleasure induced "i love you's" as he dumps yet another load of cum deep inside of you.

"h-how does it feel, my love?" he groans, reaching over to caress your flushed face. "mm, you sound so cute making those noises. lemme hear you scream, darling."

and oh, you sure do scream. for him to stop, to get off of you. that you've had enough. that you hate him. over and over again you scream, you cry, and you struggle, but it does you no good. he only seems to thrust faster the more you beg. is he getting off to your desperation? he must be by the way his cock pulses at any form of physical resistance from you.

you thought it would never end. he's almost insatiable. your tears have long dried up—for the most part, anyway—but the skin on your face feels raw from tengen "lovingly" wiping all your tears and snot away while simultaneously pounding a you-shaped hole into the futon. you feel disgusting. you don't even have the strength to make a sound when he spanks you for the hundredth time, moaning heatedly about how you've been such a bad, bad girl.

when it seems like he's finally spent, he doesn't pull out. instead, he collapses on top of you with his cock still twitching inside your sloppy, ruined cunt while drawing you in for an unreciprocated kiss. he whispers praises in your ear and gently strokes your face, cooing at how much you're trembling against his much larger form.

"i should've done this a long time ago. maybe you wouldn't have left if i dumped my kids into you sooner."

eventually, his softened cock slips out of you and a gush of warmth runs down your legs; you can already feel a soreness settling in your pelvis. tengen sighs contentedly at the sopping squelch that sounds when you snap your legs shut in order to roll as far away from him as possible. he roughly wraps a muscled arm around your waist and pulls you back towards him as soon as he sees your attempt to create distance.

"i missed you so much, darling," tengen mumbles against your skin breathily, offering a soft smile. "did you enjoy your welcome back?"

he's making fun of you. you refuse to even look at him. it's to be expected, really, he can't imagine how bad it must feel to think you actually got away from him as you lay in his arms once again, right where you belong. you need to learn your place; no wife of his will disrespect him like you did ever again. if you have to be an example of that, then so be it—youput this on yourself, after all.

leaving you with a final kiss, he gets up, wraps a towel around his waist, and goes to let his other wives into the room to help clean you up (they've been waiting patiently ever since you showed up, curious about the woman who supposedly "stole tengen's heart," as he put it). you're still naked and exposed with tengen's cum leaking down your thighs but you don't even have the mental capacity to care anymore. all three of the girls look shocked at the state you're in, but they don't comment and rush to get you in the bath.

they're all very pretty, of course. when you emerge from your haze of disorientation, you're left reeling at the fact that tengen had amassed three whole wives in light of your absence. well, not that you have any right to be surprised considering your short lived emotional affair. you're still in mourning over what had happened to him.

regardless of your fragile state, the three women swarm you with questions that prod at your past: who you are, where you're from, and how you met tengen. you don't even have half the mind to reply. you can only stare at your tear-stricken reflection in the soapy water, ready to burst into tears yet again at the horrible predicament you've found yourself in.

what can you do now? sit around and get bred by tengen? rot away in this dreadful house for the rest of your life? the other wives seem to catch onto your unresponsiveness after a couple dozen of their questions go ignored, so they sit quietly and gently wash you clean. they look genuinely worried for you—not that their pity will undo the damage that's already been done.

makio will scrub your back and grumble about how jealous she is while suma and hinatsuru fret over the small bruises that are now beginning to form around your hips from tengen's manhandling. suma washes your hair next, commenting on how beautiful it is, while the other two move onto rinsing the soap from your body. they wrap you up in a fluffy towel when it's over, and a shiver wracks your spine when their hands guide you to another room, down the hall, with a clean bed ready for you to rest in.

you don't really know who they are but since they're dressed like kunoichi, it's obvious that they don't share the same mindset you do, or were forced to be wed to tengen like you were. you can't ask them to help you escape from this hell, not a chance.

even as you lay in the criminally comfortable futon with new silken pajamas, a cup of cold water at your side, and a warm blanket, sleep doesn't find you.

and with tengen around, you're certain it never will.

VI. A HAPPY EVER AFTER (EXTRA)

a few months later, your pregnancy symptoms are in full swing.

tengen is as protective as ever and the other wives have already grown attached to you despite your bitter and unforgiving attitude towards them. you learn quickly that they're all very... obsessive, constantly hovering over you and going to overbearing extremes to make sure you don't do anything that would physically strain yourself in any way.

hinatsuru and makio follow at your heels like guard dogs while suma takes charge of most of the cooking and cleaning. she keeps the peace most of the time and holds makio back when she's attempting to murder hinatsuru over something childish. you're never in the mood to talk to them, however, and they often try to bribe you with your favorite sweets (which is intel that they've gathered from tengen) in order to get you to participate in their activities.

unluckily for you, tengen had decided to completely retire from being a hashira following a particularily harrowing encounter with an upper moon demon (even after you tried to subtly guilt trip him into not doing so). he insisted that you and the baby were "more important." you know that it'd be difficult to escape with the other wives around but to add tengen on top of that makes it surely impossible.

every morning, the dreadful man himself meets the four of you in the kitchen and will beam proudly at the sight of his adorable little harem. he goes down the line and gives affection to each of his wives individually, in the way they prefer, and saves you for last as you're his "greatest prize," or whatever he said. you're just completely exhausted and you resent them all from the deepest depths of your heart. the least you can do is make it obvious.

tengen finds your rebellion adorable. everything about you is and even moreso now than when you left him all those years ago. he'll grab you by the jaw and force you into a quick one-sided kiss, pulling away with that fond smile of his. his fingers ghost over your swelling tummy but his very touch makes you feel so awfully sick. you'll roughly push him away and he's so out of his mind that he attributes your justified anger and moodiness to your "pregnancy hormones." regardless, he's happy. it's you who's going to bear his child. it's you who first said you loved him too. as long as you live, you're bound to him as his wife. nothing can come between a man and the woman he loves; uzui tengen certainly made sure of that, didn't he?

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere tengen x reader #yandere uzui tengen #yandere kny #demon slayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba #yandere demon slayer x reader #yandere male #uzui tengen

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senseofnewness · 6 months ago

Text

double fault

idea by @diyasgarden

pairing : patrick zweig x f!reader (mistress!patrick zweig x trophywife!reader)

rating : explicit

word count : 31.4k

contains : smut 18+, infidelity, vaginal sex, anal sex, oral sex (m and f receiving), period sex, pregnant sex, mention of noncon, emotionally absent mother, body dysmorphia

summary : Running into Patrick Zweig, your childhood crush, was a much-needed distraction from your otherwise unhappy life as a housewife. Though others might envy your life of ease, with no obligations and a generous husband showering you with gifts, you felt something was lacking. You missed the excitement, the fire. Someting Patrick reignited in you, drawing you into an affair that forces you to reevaluate your life and what you truly desire as woman.

It was undeniable, you loved your husband more than anything. From the moment you met, he swept you off your feet with his charms. He was successful, ambitious, intelligent and a lot older than you. Raised in a wealthy traditional family, marrying up and dedicating yourself to your household was an expectation you couldn't escape. While you found this somewhat outdated, you reluctantly complied, feeling unprepared to pursue anything else in life. Your parents had always controlled the course of your life, never allowing you the freedom to explore and experience life on your own terms. Every decision, every step, had been meticulously planned and dictated by them. But now you found yourself without a degree, a clear passion, or a career beyond a few modeling gigs in your youth, so the path seemed set. Yet, when you met your husband, the weight of obligation lifted. You found comfort in his embrace, a sense of security that enveloped you. His reliability reassured you, brushing off any concerns you had about conforming to your parents' plans. And from the shelter of your father, you passed into the care of your husband.

In the early years of your relationship and marriage, he treated you like a precious jewel, a dazzling trophy wife to parade and whose happiness was at the forefront of his priorities. Together, you surrounded yourselves with luxury, enjoying a life of comfort and abundance. Three-star restaurants, exotic getaways, lavish hotels, designer wardrobes and expensive handbags, all gifted to you in gratitude for being such a devoted obedient wife. In return, all you had to do was maintain a firm body, keep your pussy tight and preserve your young-looking face. The only obligations you had were at the gym, visits to your plastic surgeon, or social events. You loved how easy your life was, how everything was thought of for you.

As time passed, cracks really began to show. While the material comfort remained, you found yourself starved for attention. His demanding career increasingly pulled him away from home, leaving you on your own in your cold mansion with no one to care for. No husband. No pet. No baby. A child was what you desired the most, a need that consumed your thoughts more and more as years passed. You had discussed it countless times, but he remained firmly convinced that he was happy with just the two of you. He was content with your only presence and so were you, but most of the time, he wasn’t even there.

He still made efforts to show he cared despite the distance but his gestures seemed mechanical, lacking the spark that once setted you on fire. Nights once filled with whispered promises, hushed moans and stolen kisses now echoed with silence. Sometimes, in the quiet hours of the night, you caught yourself remembering a time when sheets were warmed by your shared intimacy, and the steady rhythm of his breathing lulled you into sleep. Now, those moments felt like distant memories, fading with each passing day.

The loneliness was particularly bitter today, on your birthday, a day you had eagerly awaited. You had spent the hours ticking by, hopeful for a phone call or a surprise gift that never arrived. By 9pm, it was clear : he had either forgotten. Or worse, was too busy with someone else. Thoughts of another woman, younger and more captivating, raced through your mind. Had he become so consumed with impressing her that he had forgotten his own wife? There was no concrete reason to doubt him, yet you couldn't help but imagine the worst-case scenario.

You had spent the day in tears. Now, as evening settled in, all you craved was a small comfort, something sweet to numb the ache. For six years, you had diligently avoided indulging in anything sugary so that your husband would always find a thin and toned wife waiting for him in bed. But tonight, those sacrifices felt meaningless. You needed cake.

●

When the Uber dropped you off at the bakery, disappointment washed over you as you discovered they didn't sell individual slices of cake. You opted for a whole 6-inch cake instead, decorated with a simple ‘Happy Birthday’ message on it. You were sitting outside at a table with a spoon in hand, about to dig in, when you spotted a familiar face crossing the street. A face you had not seen in ages. A face that one couldn’t forget. It was Patrick Zweig.

You had grown up alongside the Zweig family, close friends of your parents. While you and Patrick couldn't call yourselves great friends, you shared many fond memories together. Beach trips, parties, amusement parks, you had experienced it all with him. Your parents always paired you up during events, likely because you were the same age. But you knew age wasn’t the only reason. Both your parents had ulterior motives. Your mother often remarked on how sweet and caring Patrick was, though you knew better. Her words had little effect on your opinion of the boy so she eventually suggested he would be a ‘great marriage candidate’ for you. You thought she was crazy : you were only fourteen and there was nothing remotely husband-material about Patrick.

As children, you got along well enough, despite Patrick's habit of using you to get whatever he wanted from his parents, who adored you, by making you ask for anything on his behalf, but as teenagers, you fought frequently. Patrick was wild and messy, while you were the opposite, always obedient. He saw you as a pain in the ass for always sticking to the rules, and you hated how unserious he was. But, eventually, at fifteen, he had grown on you. You developed a bit of a crush on him, having been the victim of his constant teasing. However, witnessing the way Patrick treated other girls had convinced you not to pursue it or even mention it.

●

"Patrick!" You called out, raising your voice to catch his attention. He looked up, scanning the area until his eyes met yours. A grin spread across his face as he recognized you, closing the distance between you with quick steps. "No way!" He exclaimed as you stood and enveloped him in a warm hug.

After exchanging pleasantries, you gestured towards your dessert. "Want some cake?" Patrick hesitated for a moment, you could tell he had better things to do but his curiosity piqued as he read the inscription on the cake. "Sure." He replied, taking a seat opposite you and grabbing a spoon from your plastic bag. "Is it your birthday?" He asked, already digging into the chocolate cake. You nodded. "Happy birthday then." He said with a smile, clinking his spoon against yours before indulging in the sweet treat.

You talked for a while about your lives. Patrick was still involved in professional tennis, just as you remembered your mother mentioning, but the prodigy of your youth now confided he struggled to make a living from it, only occasionally qualifying for tournaments. You shared your life as a housewife with him, mentioning your involvement in philanthropic events when he asked you how you occupied your days, half lying as you felt there wasn't much else noteworthy to say.

He began reminiscing about your shared childhood, managing to bring laughter to such a somber day. The way his smile made his lips curl stirred butterflies in your stomach and brought a blush to your cheeks. You thought he looked even better than you remembered, his face now adorned with a beard and subtle lines of age that only enhanced his charm. You regretted wearing yoga pants and a cozy sweatshirt that evening. You were now also extra aware that your hair was likely disheveled and your face swollen from crying. Not that you sought his approval of your appearance, but you couldn't help but hope he didn't see you as a complete mess. Well, perhaps a part of you secretly wished he found you attractive too.

The shop had closed, and you found yourself standing on the sidewalk with Patrick, engrossed in conversation as he smoked a cigarette. He had offered one to you, but you declined, mentioning that your husband would never allow it. "Do you always do what your husband tells you to do?" He asked, curiosity in his eyes. You paused, genuinely considering the question. Doing what your husband wanted was easier than thinking for yourself. "Pretty much." You answered with a shrug. "And where is that amazing husband today?" He continued, a smirk playing on his lips as the cigarette dangled precariously. You bit your lower lip, unable to respond, knowing that voicing the truth would bring you to tears again. Instead, you faked a smile, but your downturned eyebrows betrayed your true emotions. Patrick studied you intensely and sighed. "I can’t believe you became such a boring little housewife." He spat out, clearly not trying to comfort you. You shot him a death glare. "Where is the brat I grew up with? You used to give me shit all the time. That was hot." He mumbled the last part. He thought you were hot back then? If only you had known, your life might have turned out differently. Not that you wouldn't still be married to the same guy, but you'd probably be hating Patrick's guts right now. After a bit of fooling around, he would have found a way to let you down and become your enemy. Perhaps it would be better than feeling giddy inside because your childhood crush had finally called you hot, more than ten years later. "You know, fifteen years old me would have died hearing you call me hot." You revealed, letting out an amused snort. "Really? Damn, another missed opportunity for Zweig." He said, clicking his tongue and shaking his head, feigning disappointment. "But you still are, you know, hot." You grinned at him, genuinely pleased by his compliment. Your heartbeat was going crazy. This was even worse than you had thought, you liked the attention. "Even if you have the personality of wet bread now." You whined loudly and slapped his arm as he burst into laughter. Typical Patrick, always disappointing you somehow.

You continued to talk for a while. When your legs grew tired, you sat on the edge of the sidewalk, and Patrick followed, sitting next to you, his muscular thigh resting against yours. You asked about his friend Art, the boy who always followed him around when you were kids. His expression grew somber for a moment, and you sensed it was a complicated story. "We don’t really talk anymore." He said quietly. Whatever had happened between them, it had clearly affected him deeply. He pinched his lips together, and you gently patted his back. Under the streetlight, you noticed a smudge of chocolate at the corner of his mouth. Without thinking, you licked your thumb and wiped it away. "So messy." You remarked, feeling oddly maternal with him when he was acting all vulnerable in front of you. "Gross." He snorted, but there was a hint of a smile in his eyes.

After exchanging contacts and promising to ‘do this again’, a comfortable silence finally settled between you. "Let me walk you back to your car." Patrick offered, his gaze fixed on you. "I took an Uber." You admitted. He rolled his eyes. Of course, you did. If he wasn’t already convinced you were living the high life, he certainly was now. "Want me to drive you back?" He asked. You nodded. It was cold outside and you didn’t want to wait for someone to pick you up. "Okay, follow me. I parked over there to avoid the fees." He stood up and extended his hand to you, helping you stand up. He didn’t let go as he led you to the other side of the street. "So cheap." You chuckled. The contrast between the spoiled child you once knew and the thrifty man he had become was startling. "I was just around here to buy some smokes. Imagine the fees, it’s almost midnight now!" He said, defending his frugality. The skin of his hand felt rough against yours, but the firm grip was pleasant. It had been so long since your husband had held your hand that way, so tightly, as if he didn’t want to lose you.

●

You walked hand in hand in silence, the only sound being your heavy breathing as you struggled to keep up with his pace. The low temperature added a slight chill to your heated cheeks. Once you reached his car, Patrick opened the passenger door for you. It took you a moment to register his gesture, so out of character for the Patrick you remembered. "So gentlemanly. Have you gotten soft?" You teased, a smirk playing on your lips. "Me soft? I’ll show you soft!" He snorted, pinching your waist in the same teasing way he did when you were teenagers. You covered your stomach with your arms, trying to protect yourself from his touch. "As always, all talk." You joked. But Patrick’s expression shifted, he wasn’t joking anymore. His eyes locked onto yours, intense and searching, as if trying to read your mind. Were you flirting back for the sake of it, or did you really want him? Maybe a bit of both. Your heart raced, and you had difficulty swallowing as you stared back at him. Without warning, he grabbed your jaw and pulled you into a passionate kiss, his lips crashing against yours with an urgency that took your breath away. His tongue tasted your lips, and before you knew it, he had you pinned against the car, deepening the kiss with an intensity that made your head spin. "I'm married…" You mumbled against his lips, the words muffled but not breaking away from the kiss. Patrick pulled back slightly, sharing his breath with yours, a mischievous grin spread across his face. "That's not my problem, though, is it?" He whispered, his voice husky and teasing. There was the Patrick you knew. You felt a shiver run down your spine, a mix of excitement and guilt swirling inside you. You decided to brush aside that feeling, wrapping your arms around his neck and eagerly savoring the taste of his lips once more.

In an instant, you found yourself sprawled across the back seat of Patrick's messy car, his body pressed against yours. His mouth trailed hot kisses down your neck as his hands roamed under your top, sending shivers through your body. The rational part of your mind knew this was wrong, but the pleasure coursing through you felt undeniably right. It had been so long since you had experienced such intimacy that the touch of his calloused hands fondling your breasts and his warm tongue teasing your jaw was almost enough to send you over the edge. Patrick's intense focus on your body made it difficult to think clearly. You gasped when his thumbs flicked your nipples, the sensation sending jolts of pleasure through you. "Kiss me." You breathed, your voice barely more than a moan. He obliged, capturing your mouth with his in a searing kiss. Your hands wandered over his back, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt, a vivid contrast to your husband's softer figure. The car's cramped space seemed to heighten the intensity of your connection, every touch and kiss amplified in the enclosed, chaotic setting. You could swear you were lying on top of dirty gym clothes reeking of sweat, but you didn’t care. Patrick's kisses grew more demanding, and you responded with equal enthusiasm, losing yourself in the passion of the moment. This was wrong but you needed him.

You hooked one of your legs around his hips, pulling him closer to your core as your hands slid under the hem of his pants, grasping his firm butt. Your fingernails dug into his skin, coaxing a deep grunt from his throat. A triumphant smile spread across your lips. You were the reason Patrick Zweig was moaning. He broke the kiss, his eyes locking onto yours, as if silently questioning how far you were willing to go. You knew he wanted to be sure you wanted this, but in that moment, wisdom was far from your reach. Biting your lower lip, you rolled your hips under him, feeling the undeniable heat between you. "You’re a tease." He whispered, his voice serious. You shook your head in response, your eyes conveying your desire. "No." You murmured, your lips barely an inch from his. "I just know what I want." With those words, Patrick's hesitation vanished. He removed your sweatshirt with practiced ease as he trailed kisses down your neck to your cleavage, each press of his lips leaving a burning imprint on your skin, his tongue circling your nipple until it hardened under the attention. You arched into him, your body begging for more.

"Fuck, you have such nice tits." His words turned you on almost as much as his skilled tongue on your body. Your husband used to speak to you this way, lavishing you with compliments and adoration as if you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He had once worshiped your body with such devotion. Now, the only comments he made were about changes in your figure, like when the cold weather made you skip your runs and your thighs lost some of their muscles. You hadn’t given it much thought until this moment, when Patrick began showering you with attention. It was then only that you realized how much you missed hearing those praises.

Patrick was drooling all over your chest, his teeth grazing against the skin of your perky breasts as he explored every inch of your skin with his tongue. You ran your fingers through the dark curls of his hair, tugging gently whenever his sucking made your legs tremble. His kisses traced a path down your stomach, and all you could think about was how much you wanted his mouth to continue lower. It seemed he had the same plan in mind when he slid your pants off. You glanced down and felt a wave of embarrassment. How could you have left the house in those unflattering worn-out grandma panties? The waistband elastic barely clung to the fabric, but thankfully, Patrick didn’t seem to notice or mind. Before you knew it, your panties were lost somewhere in the mess of his car, between old socks and empty Gatorade bottles. He spread your legs, positioning himself between them, his hands holding your knees apart and his eyes burning with desire as he took in the sight of you. At least you were relieved that the laser removal had done its job, leaving you smooth and bare. "I’m going to make you feel good, babe." He murmured as he spread your folds, revealing your glistening clit, inner lips and opening. You had been wet ever since you had felt his mouth on yours. He slid the tip of his tongue against your entrance, sending a tickling sensation through your insides. He spent a few teasing seconds with slow, short licks before pushing his tongue deep inside. "More…" You moaned, your eyes closing in pleasure. "Look at me." He commanded, his voice steady. You obeyed, locking eyes with him. The sight of him between your legs made you even wetter. Your husband did this from time to time, on special occasions, like your birthday. Your birthday. The memory of that neglected day suddenly filled you with sadness, but there was no time to dwell on it as Patrick’s eager mouth worked its magic. His enthusiastic attention left you breathless, pushing away any lingering thoughts of the man who shared your life. He shoved his whole face into your cunt, devouring you with voracious hunger as his nose bumped against your reddened clit. The sensation was more than you could handle. You raised your arms above your head, grasping the door handle for support, and pushed your hips against his face, desperate for more. All you wanted was to wrap your legs around his head and ride his mouth, but his strong hands held your thighs apart, preventing you from moving.

Patrick was messy, spreading your juices across his face as he sloppily made out with your pussy. The chaos of his approach only heightened the whole experience. You weren’t entirely sure if it was intentional, but you could have sworn you felt his tongue brush against your asshole at one point. "Pat…" You tried to warn him, sensing that his tongue was, once again, dangerously close to your ass. "Shh." He hushed you, his voice low as he continued to do whatever he wished of your body. You tightened your grip on the door handle, feeling the muscles in your legs twitching as your orgasm neared. "I’m c-c..lose…" You babbled, your cheeks flushed with heat. You didn’t recognize the sounds escaping your lips. You were usually more reserved in bed. You had always believed that such sounds were exaggerated in porn, but here you were, proving yourself wrong with every moan and gasp. "Patrick!" You cried out as you came against his tongue, your toes curling and your eyes squeezing shut with pleasure. The intensity of the climax made it impossible to maintain eye contact with him.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then his lips were back on yours, kissing you passionately. You could taste yourself, all tingy, on his tongue. Still panting from the orgasm he had just given you, the kiss made you crave for more. You craved the sensation of his body against yours. Until now, you had let Patrick take the lead, knowing you could later blame him for your straying. But now, you wanted to cross that line yourself, to break the rules. Consequences were the furthest thing from your mind, you were too consumed by desire. All you needed was him between your legs. You reached for the waistband of his shorts, but he gently pushed your hand away. "It's your birthday. Tonight, it's all about you." He murmured, sucking on your lower lip. Despite his desire, you sensed his genuine intention to make sure you felt special tonight. "Believe me, I couldn’t be more selfish than I am being right now." You assured him as you sneaked your hand back under the hem of his pants, pulling his length out. He was fully hard, it would make things easier. Yet, the impressive size of his cock presented a challenge you weren't entirely prepared for. There was only so much that your body could take. "Fuck, you’re big." You blurted out, unable to contain your surprise. He chuckled in response, a mixture of amusement and pride.

You attempted to roll him under, but the cramped space of the car made it difficult for either of you to change positions. Thankfully, Patrick understood your intention. With a swift, effortless movement, he flipped you on top of him, handling you as if you were weightless. He settled comfortably beneath you as you straddled him, your legs on either side of his body.

He placed his hands on your exposed breasts, squeezing them firmly with his strong grip. Though his touch was a bit rough, you felt safe in his hands. You trusted him. You reached behind you and grasped his length, locking eyes with him as you gently stroked it. "Bab-..." He began, his voice breaking. Growing up, you had endured endless hours of Patrick’s chatter, but never had you heard him struggle to form words. You bit your lower lip, turned on by the sight of him being so reactive to your touch. You drew back his foreskin, then lifted your hips to guide his engorged tip against your slick folds, slightly rubbing it against your wet opening and overstimulated clit. As you felt his cock pressing eagerly against your entrance, it became clear that your body wasn’t ready to take him all at once, it would need time to accommodate him fully. With deliberate care, you eased the head of his erection into your already-sensitive entrance, the sensation making you both gasp. You took your time, gradually taking more of him in, until his head was finally enveloped in your warmth. Growing impatient, Patrick's hands abandoned your tits and gripped your hips, guiding you down onto his length with a firm push until you were sitting on it. You whimpered in pain, your hands resting on his chest as you urged him to stop. You weren’t used to such intrusion, the only man you had ever been with was your husband, who was nowhere near as large as Patrick.

"It hurts..." You whispered, your voice trembling. The burn of him stretching you in ways you had never experienced was too much for you. You needed a second to breath. "Shit, sorry..." He muttered, holding you still as you tried to adjust. "Fuck, you’re tight." You fell forward, pressing your lips to his, partly to seek comfort in the kiss and partly to make him shut up while you tried to focus. Kissing had always been your favorite part of lovemaking, it was when you felt most intimately connected to your husband, his mouth against yours while he was inside you. Now, you needed to feel Patrick sucking on your tongue to calm down and make you forget the temporary sting. "I’m okay…" You reassured him, starting to roll your hips on top of him. Feeling finally ready for more, you leaned back and placed your hands on his knees, beginning to ride him with a steady rhythm. He rested his hands on your hip bones, guiding your movements as his thumbs spread your folds apart. His gaze was locked on the connection between your bodies, completely absorbed in the sight of your tiny pussy sucking in his thick cock, while you kept your eyes on him. His breath grew uneven, his mouth slightly open as he focused on the pace of your body. "Look at you taking my dick so well." He groaned, his voice rough with desire. You responded with a moan, arching your back and pushing your chest forward, savoring every sensation.

You were fucking like never before, each thrust sending waves of pleasure that promised to leave your thighs sore for days to come. But you didn’t want to think about the aftermath. All that mattered in this moment was feeling his meaty length buried deep inside you, his tip bumping against your cervix as you forced yourself to take every inch he had to offer. You craved the sensation of his heavy sack squeezed under you as you sat back on his cock. "Fuck!" He gasped, his tongue hanging out in pure pleasure. "If I had known what a…" Bounce. "S-slut you were…" Bounce. "I would have fucked you years ago." You could only moan in response, overwhelmed by the intense pleasure. He planted his feet firmly into the backseat and started thrusting upward, perfectly syncing with your bouncing. "Patrick…" You breathed out, overwhelmed by the sensation of his pubic bone grinding against yours. Your clit was on fire, and you could feel yourself nearing the edge. You weren’t sure you were going to last much longer. "I know, baby." He murmured back, his eyes locked on yours for the first time in minutes. You both continued to move in perfect harmony, your motions becoming more urgent. The long, languid strokes were replaced by rapid, short thrusts. From the outside, you probably resembled animals in heat more than two people having sex. After minutes of fucking each other, it was clear that he was as desperate for release as you were.

"Babe… I’m close… Tell me you’re close…" His voice was urgent, and you met his gaze, nodding as you felt the tension build up tightly in your lower stomach. "I’m coming…" He warned, but you continued to ride him, unable to come just yet. "Off…" He begged, grabbing your ass, ready to help you dismount him. But you clenched around him, coaxing him with your tight grip, and felt his cum painting your walls. The sensation pushed you over the edge, and you moaned his name, but your orgasm was abruptly interrupted as Patrick hurriedly lifted you off him. He pulled out, glazing the remainder of his cum on your ass and lower back. "Fuck, I’m so sorry." What was he apologizing for? For interrupting you mid-high? For coming inside you? You were nothing but grateful. Besides, you were the one who had held onto him as he was about to climax. If anything, you should have been the one apologizing. But, in truth, you felt no remorse whatsoever. He grabbed a towel from his gym bag and began to wipe his semen from your skin. You leaned in closer, wrapping your arms snugly around his neck. "Don’t worry about it…" You whispered in his ear, playfully nibbling on his earlobe.

●

The drive back to your house was quiet, both of your minds still reeling from what had just occurred. When Patrick finally parked in front of your house, the reality of the moment sank in, it was time to leave. The warmth and comfort of his embrace had felt so right that the thought of parting was almost unbearable. You glanced around, scanning the darkened windows of your neighborhood to ensure no prying eyes would witness your misbehavior. Then, heart pounding, you leaned closer to Patrick, your breath hitching in anticipation. You planted your lips on his, the kiss starting soft and hesitant, but quickly growing more passionate. His hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss. Your lips moved against his with a hunger you hadn't felt in years, a desperate need to hold onto the connection you had found tonight. Patrick responded eagerly, his other hand cupping your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin with a tenderness that sent shivers down your spine. The intensity of the kiss was overwhelming. His tongue teased the seam of your lips, and you opened for him, allowing the kiss to deepen even further. Patrick's way of kissing was delightfully messy, a trait you found endearing. The exchange of saliva between you two was all-consuming. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, pulling him closer, unwilling to let go. The taste of him, the feel of him, was intoxicating.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to get lost in the kiss, to forget about the world outside the car. Your hand wandered down his pants, feeling his length, still slick with your juices. But the reality of your situation clawed its way back into your mind when Patrick placed his hand on top of yours, gently urging it to stop. You broke away, breathless and conflicted, looking into Patrick's eyes one last time. "You should go back inside before I fuck you in front of all your neighbors." He whispered, his voice thick with desire and amusement. You giggled softly, the sound echoing in the car, and withdrew your hand from his crotch. The moment left you both in a lingering silence, your heart pounding against your ribs as you tried to gather your thoughts.

With a reluctant sigh, you stepped out of the car, the cool night air a sharp reminder of the warmth in Patrick’s embrace. As you walked towards your front door, you glanced back one last time. Patrick was still watching you, his gaze unwavering. You waved him goodbye and watched him leave, a huge smile spreading across your face. As you approached your door, you noticed a package waiting for you. Bending down, you saw it was from your husband, with a note attached wishing you a happy birthday. A stab of guilt twisted in your stomach, and the smile faded from your lips. Now, you felt sorry.

●

That night, you tossed and turned, unable to sleep, haunted by the events of the evening. You had washed your clothes, but ultimately threw your panties into the trash, unable to bear the guilt they embodied. No amount of scrubbing in the shower could rid you of the feeling of dirt clinging to your skin. Even the Birkin bag your husband had gifted you seemed to judge you silently from its place in the closet.

Countless scenarios played out in your mind, each one a punishment for your infidelity. You worried about the possibility of being pregnant with another man's child, despite your IUD. What if someone had seen you with Patrick and informed your husband? Or worse, what if you had contracted a life-altering illness from Patrick? He was kind of the manwhore when you were teenagers, what if that was still the case and your body was slowly killing you?

Fear was eating you from the inside, compelling you to schedule an appointment with your gynecologist first thing in the morning. However, the thought of facing your regular doctor and his inevitable judgment was unbearable. Instead, you booked an appointment with a clinic out of town, taking great care to show up with sunglasses to avoid recognition.

When the doctor informed you that most STDs could not be detected so soon after exposure, your heart sank. The test results might not be accurate, even if you were infected. "Contacting your partner to ask if they've been tested recently might be more reassuring." He suggested. But that was not an option. You knew yourself and you knew you wanted nothing to do with Patrick, it would only complicate matters further. He mentioned taking PEP as a precaution, and you readily agreed.

You swallowed the pill with a gulp of water, nerves taut as you awaited the test results. Just then, your phone rang, displaying your husband's name. Panic surged through you. Did he already know? Taking a deep breath, you answered as calmly as possible. "Yes, lovey?" He was calling to ask about the package and to apologize for not being able to call the previous night. "Yes, I did. Thank you so much. I love it." You truly adored the bag, your husband knew you so well. You couldn’t believe what you had done to him. How could you betray such a good man? "You shouldn’t work so much." You replied when he explained that work had kept him late. A nurse approached, handing you an envelope. The results. "Oh, I’m sorry, someone’s at the door. I’ll call you later. Love you." You hung up and tore open the envelope, your hands trembling. The results were there in black and white : you were clean. You were overcome with contentment, but doubt lingered. What if you weren’t? What if it was too soon to be sure? You needed certainty.

Grabbing your phone, you began to text Patrick, the cause of all your problems. You had blocked his number the night before, determined to erase him from your life and never speak to him again. But now, faced with an emergency, you had no choice but to unblock his number and confront your past mistake. Your fingers hesitated over the keys, but you knew you needed answers, if not for yourself, for your marriage that was at risk.

← [To : Patrick Zweig - 10:15am] Look, I’m freaking out… Have you been tested for STDs?

You watched the screen, seeing the three little dots appear, indicating he was typing. Relief washed over you, thank god he was awake.

→ [From : Patrick Zweig - 10:15am] wtf… ← [To : Patrick Zweig - 10:16am] I don’t feel so well… → [From : Patrick Zweig - 10:17am] Well that’s not because of me, I’m clean. But next time, maybe ask that before you let a random guy fuck you raw.

Next time? Oh, there wasn’t going to be a next time. And it was all his fault that you had lost your mind and become so desperate last night. He had awakened a beast within you, one incapable of rational thoughts. Thoughts like condoms.

← [To : Patrick Zweig - 10:17am] Patrick… → [From : Patrick Zweig - 10:18am] I’m serious, I’m clean. ← [To : Patrick Zweig - 10:18am] Thank you.

You exhaled in reassurance. It was easy for men to lie but deep down, you knew you could trust him. He had nothing to gain from lying to you. Plus he wasn’t just a stranger, he was the boy who grew up with you. He had cared about you in the past, he wouldn’t put you at risk, right?

On your way back, you made a point to stop at the nearest pharmacy, securing Plan B as an extra precaution.

●

Later in the afternoon, another text arrived from him.

→ [From : Patrick Zweig - 3:33pm] I took a test, just for you, so stop being so… psycho, okay? [picture attached]

The image displayed the results of his blood test. You couldn't help but be grateful that he had taken such steps to reassure you.

← [To : Patrick Zweig - 3:34pm] I trusted you but thank you. That means a lot. → [From : Patrick Zweig - 3:34pm] A lot? Like enough to let me hit it again now that you know I’m clean?

You scoffed at his text, but a smile tugged at your lips nonetheless. He wanted you again. You hesitated to answer. There was something about the chase that thrilled you more than giving in, a line you swore never to cross again. Biting nervously on your acrylic nails, you dialed his number. "You're such a homewrecker." You blurted when he finally answered. "Excuse me?" His laughter filled the line. "We can't do this, I'm married!" You reminded him, though his chuckle only widened your grin. "And?" His response made you whine in frustration. How did you end up entangled with someone with such loose morals? "Don't you care that I belong to someone else?" You pressed, wondering if he was even capable of feeling jealousy. "You belonged to me last night." He whispered. So he only lived purely in the moment? "You sucked me in so well, sitting on my dick like you were meant to be there." He added, his words making you nibble on your lower lip. Your body heated at the memory. "Can you still feel me?" His question hung in the air. "Patrick!" You whimpered, torn between wanting him to stop and wanting him to continue so you could sneak your hand between your legs and play with yourself.

●

It didn’t take long for you to fall back into his arms. A few phone calls, some initiated by him, others by you. You felt powerless against him, and he knew it well, his words stirring up desire and leaving you perpetually hungry for more. So when he asked you out for coffee, of course, you went.

Initially, your encounters were under the cover of night, hidden away in his car, far from curious eyes. He would pick you up discreetly, down the street, driving aimlessly until finding a secluded spot. But now, caution faded as your craving intensified. He took you in broad daylight, parking just blocks from your home. You had done it all. On every seat, every position and he had explored every inch of your body, bullied your tight little pussy and throat. His fat cock had stretched you out in any possible way and you just couldn’t put an end to it. In just six days, Patrick had unraveled you, making you come more than you ever did. You knew there was no returning to the old you, to the days of vanilla sex and mundane desires. You had transformed into a new woman. Cravings you never knew existed now consumed you, discovering your body in ways previously unimagined and experiencing climaxes that sent waves through your entire being. Patrick had opened your eyes to the fact that, despite what you believed, you had never truly experienced an orgasm before, certainly not like this. It was now clear that you had always been naturally submissive, longing for domination, but you had never encountered a man who could fulfill that role.

You had also discovered that you didn't hate giving head as much as you once thought. With your husband, it had been a chore, something you did out of obligation rather than desire. But with Patrick, it was different. You found yourself loving it, even though he was far from gentle with it. The first time you had done it, he had let you take the lead initially, but he quickly took control when he realized how truly inexperienced you were. You knew the basics, but you hadn't ventured beyond them. All those years, it had done the job to make your husband come so you had never questioned it. Now, most of the time, Patrick held your hair in a tight fist, tugging it forcefully as he fucked your throat. You had come to enjoy the roughness and the humiliation that accompanied it, savoring the moments when he would slap your face lightly with the head of his dick before releasing his sticky load on your bare face. He praised you every time he came, calling you his obedient little slut, and you were eager to impress him with how naughty you could be, pushing the limits each time. You loved it so much that when your mouth wasn't on his cock, you found yourself nuzzling his fuzzy sack, drawn to the addictive, musky scent of his sweat.

Patrick insisted that he couldn't commit to anything beyond tennis. Serious relationships, marriage, children. None of it interested him. You didn’t mind, though, you already had a husband for those things. Still, you found it amusing how the supposedly untamable Patrick always ended up texting you, seeking more, making time for your meetings in his routine.

The whole STD scare had, however, left you cautious about letting him come inside you. You suspected he had other partners. So Patrick pulled out, like a good boy. Instead, he made sure to cover you with his cum. Breasts, stomach, ass, neck, face, and hair coated with the pearly liquid. Showers had become even more of a necessity after every encounter. He knew how embarrassed you felt rushing home in stained clothes, and oddly enough, he seemed to take great pleasure in it. You even had a sneaking suspicion he might had been driving behind you to witness every single step of your walks of shame. If he kept this up, your cover wouldn’t last a day when your husband would be back. He would surely notice the gigantic pile of dirty crusty laundry. Or the cum dripping from your chin every time you came back from your promenades. So you found yourself begging him to fill you up again. Patrick's smile in response was so bright, you knew he had once again manipulated you into getting exactly what he wanted. Just like when you were kids.

●

A few days had passed, and your husband returned home, showering you with gifts he had bought on his trip. You felt relieved that your relationship dynamic remained unchanged. You cherished his presence, he loved you deeply and expressed it in many ways. Yet, in return, you found yourself reverting to the role of devoted housewife : doing his laundry, preparing his meals, and jerking him off until he fell asleep. But you weren’t as available for Patrick, and he made sure to make you pay for it. He flooded your phone with pictures of his cock and videos of him touching himself. To avoid constant interruptions, you kept your phone on 'do not disturb'. You had also cleverly changed Patrick's contact name to 'Patricia'. To your husband, she was your new friend you had met at the gym. And Patricia was a very demanding friend.

← [To : Patricia - 11:44am] Stop it! → [From : Patricia - 11:44am] Send me a picture of your tits and I will stop.

You hurried to the bathroom and obliged, sending him pictures of you squeezing your full boobs together. Yet, that didn’t stop him from asking you more. And each time, you provided him with pictures of your ass or your cunt spread out enticingly just for him. You didn’t have enough time in your day to take care of your husband and satisfy Patrick’s never ending requests. Why on earth did you have to engage with a jobless man?

→ [From : Patricia - 11:49am] You’re so hot, I want more. Are you free for a ride right now?

With your husband beside you, loneliness could no longer be blamed for drawing you closer to Patrick. You found yourself forced to respond to every message. You craved to be the center of his world, yearning to occupy his thoughts every hour of the day. You longed for his love. It wasn't the thrill of the chase that excited you anymore, it was the idea of being possessed by Patrick completely.

●

The freezing cold outside finally drove you both to Patrick's place. It just wasn’t possible anymore to fuck in the car. Until then, your encounters had been confined to the cramped vehicle, so entering his apartment felt refreshing, and a bit scary. As Patrick swung open the door, the lingering scent of unwashed dishes hit you. Sports bags cluttered every corner, empty soda bottles covered the table, and a layer of dust settled over the few ornaments he owned. His place was a mess. "That's really where you live?" You couldn't help but ask, taken aback to find the Zweigs’ golden child living in such chaotic conditions. Patrick chuckled in response, clearly unfazed. "Are you being judgmental? Not all of us are blowing billionaires." He joked, gesturing for you to come inside. Up close, it was even worse.

With nothing edible in his fridge, you both decided on take-out. Unable to ignore the mess, you took it upon yourself to tackle the dirty dishes. "You really don't have to do that." Patrick insisted repeatedly. "But I do." You retorted firmly, scrubbing away. "Can't you smell this?" You teased, glancing back at him. He shrugged, unbothered. "Maybe I should get myself a wife too." His comment caught you off guard. You snorted and turned toward him, staring at him in disbelief. He had told you many times that the idea of marriage made him gag. Plus, you knew his aversion to commitment and serious relationships. "So she can be your cleaning slave?" You challenged, raising an eyebrow. He really wasn’t any different than any other man. "No, so she can force me to do it." He admitted with a grin. He surprised you with his response. You couldn't help but smile back. "Clean the table, you pig." You playfully commanded, swatting his ass with the dish towel. He laughed and began gathering the discarded bottles for disposal. "See, that’s motivating."

Fucking Patrick in his bed felt strangely intimate. Despite his sheets looking and smelling like a dozen people had been there before you, laying there, idly, with him made you feel special. It was as if he were inviting you into the most private part of his life, the place where he was most vulnerable. His bed was just slightly larger than his car's backseat but smaller than your own bed. Even when you lay on opposite sides, it felt as though you were still all over each other. And you were, unable to keep your hands off each other, like horny teenagers.

Patrick was driving into you from behind, his other hand pressing your face into the pillow while the other firmly gripped your waist. The pillow, soaked with the heavy scent of sweat, was the object of your frantic nuzzling, much like a cat in heat . "I can’t believe…" He started, his voice strained as he thrust into you harder than he was before. "...he’s letting a slut like you be u..u-unfucked." His moan was raw, punctuated by a sharp smack as his hand spanked your exposed behind. You couldn’t believe it either. You were ready to explore nearly any boundary, nothing could be off limits with enough convincing. You knew you could have been your husband’s ultimate fantasy if only he was interested. The spank sent jolts through your body, causing your legs to tremble beneath him. Now, the pillow was completely soaked with your drool.

As he continued to fuck you, you felt his thumb grazing teasingly against your asshole. Well, maybe there were, in fact, some boundaries you weren’t just ready to cross. "Pat… What are you doing?" You gasped, feeling a thick gob of his spit trickling down your crack. "No…" You whimpered, feeling him smear his saliva over you. "Just a finger." He assured you, pushing his thumb into the tight ring of flesh without any warning. You closed your eyes, clenching around the unexpected intrusion, but remained silent. You knew you couldn’t deny him anything.

In the end, it turned out to be more than just one finger. And now, you were nestling against him, spent, face buried in the curve of his neck while he lazily smoked a cigarette. "Do you think your husband is seeing other women?" He asked, his free hand aimlessly tracing circles on your hip. Just the thought of it made you mad. "He must be." You admitted quietly, lifting your head to meet Patrick's gaze, sadness in your eyes. "He never fucks me." You revealed. "Never?" Patrick's disbelief was evident, his voice rising in shock. You knew it wasn't entirely true, there were some moments, perhaps once a month, when he would crawl on top of you. "Can that old fuck even get it up?" He scoffed, taking a deep drag on his cigarette. You knew he could, just not with you. Your suspicions about another woman lingered, the subtle scent of women's perfume on his clothes when he returned home, the constant need to check his phone, or his newfound obsession with meticulously trimming his pubes, details you chose to ignore. "He's an idiot." Patrick spat out, his voice thick with disdain. You hated whenever he brought up your husband, knowing Patrick had nothing but contempt for him. "He's got the hottest wife, a Rolls-Royce of a pussy, and he's messing around." His blunt words gave you butterflies. Did he genuinely think of you as the 'hottest wife' with the 'Rolls-Royce of pussies' or was he simply buttering you up for another round? It didn't matter in that moment, your mouth was already wrapped around his cock, tasting yourself on him.

It was dark outside, and you knew it was time to head home. You were relying on Patrick to drive you back but he was so deeply asleep you couldn’t wake him up. So you ordered an Uber, and it would be arriving soon. You carefully crawled out of bed, gathering your clothes from the floor. As you were dressing, you noticed Patrick stirring. "Mmh, you’re leaving?" He mumbled, still half-asleep. "You know I can't stay the night…" You replied softly, leaning over to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. He smiled, though his eyes remained closed. "Next time, clean your place, or I’m not fucking you." You whispered into his ear. "By just being in those sheets, I probably tripled my body count." You playfully bit his ear, eliciting a soft whimper from him. "Goodnight, Patrick." You said once you were fully dressed. "Night, honey." He responded in a playful tone. Despite the unseriousness of it, his affectionate nickname brought a smile to your face.

On your way out, you noticed pictures adorning the walls. They depicted various eras of Patrick’s life, and you paused to observe them. There were photos of Patrick with his cousins, whom you had met a few times, pictures of him winning tournaments and proudly lifting his trophies, and candid moments with Art, both of them acting like fools. He looked the same yet so different, the joy in his eyes from those earlier days seemed absent now. You wanted to understand what had changed. Despite Patrick slowly revealing parts of himself to you, there were still many things he kept hidden. Your phone beeped, the Uber had arrived, and with a final glance at the pictures, you left his apartment.

The next time you visited Patrick's apartment, you were pleasantly surprised by the transformation. Gone were the dirty dishes, the floor had been vacuumed, and fresh sheets adorned the bed. It seemed he had taken your words to heart. A smile tugged at your lips as you thought, perhaps Patrick did need a wife to keep him in order.

●

Patrick’s apartment had become your cocoon, the place you retreated to whenever the monotony of your housewife life became too suffocating. It was here that you felt truly alive, where Patrick would wake up the woman in you. You now only met during the day, finding it far easier to sneak away while your husband was at work than to lie about your whereabouts in the evenings. As soon as Patrick was done with practice, you would meet him at his place. Most of the time, you were so eager to see him that you would be waiting for minutes in front of his front door. You knew he was just as eager to see you, as he would still be covered in sweat from his workout. He never took the time to shower first, and you secretly loved it. The feel of his tense, sweat-dampened body against yours, his intoxicating scent, a mix of musk and cheap drugstore deodorant, made your desire for him even stronger.

However, this new routine left you with no time to visit the gym yourself. But that was alright. Patrick had become your new workout, his intense touch keeping your heart rate up in ways no treadmill ever could. The rush of adrenaline, the rapid beat of your heart, the fire in your veins, all of it was more exhilarating than any exercise. Plus, Patrick’s adoration of your body made you love it more than ever, making trips to the gym unnecessary anyway. No exercise had ever made you appreciate the way your breasts sat so nicely on your chest, a bit heavy from their natural weight. You had once considered getting them done as gravity began to take its toll, but now you thought they were perfect. And Patrick thought so too, as they fitted so nicely in his mouth. Your hips, which you once found too bulky, never looked better than when he had his hands on them as he plunged deeply into you. Your butt that you thought was too flat never looked fuller than when you were sitting on his cock. It wasn't just Patrick's actions that made you feel like the sexiest woman alive, it was his words. He would whisper all kinds of things in your ear when he was inside you, words that made you so wet, it was almost embarrassing. He talked about how tight you were, how sexy your body was, and how gorgeous your face looked when you were coming. Whether they were lies or the truth, you couldn't tell, but he boosted your confidence like no one ever had. You felt like a goddess in his arms.

Whenever you would show up, he would greet you with a knowing smile, pulling you into a deep kiss that made your knees weak. Patrick's hands roamed over your body, making you forget everything else. His whispers in your ear, his touch, his very presence, they all made you feel desired, wanted, alive. Every rendez-vous left you craving more, and each time you left his apartment, you knew you'd be back in no time, unable to leave him for more than half a day. But as days turned into weeks, you knew you were playing with fire, and the thrill of the affair was as intoxicating as it was dangerous. One afternoon, as you lay tangled in Patrick’s sheets, you found yourself wondering how long you could keep up with this. You knew you couldn’t choose between the two anymore. In the past, you would have chosen your husband without a single thought, because he had taken such good care of you for so long and you loved him. But now, everything had changed. Patrick had entered your life and turned your world upside down. The passion, the excitement, the way he made you feel, things you had never experienced with your husband, had left you utterly confused. The lines between love and lust blurred, and you found yourself falling for Patrick in a way you never anticipated. Of course, you still loved your husband more than you loved Patrick, but you loved who you were when you were with Patrick.

●

As he searched for a lighter, cigarette dangling from his lips, he opened the drawer of the bedside table. Unable to resist your curiosity about Patrick's nighttime essentials, you peered into the drawer, intrigued by what he considered indispensable for his bedtime routine. Your gaze fell upon something unexpected. Well, not totally unexpected since it was Patrick, but something curious. Crawling over him, you reached into the drawer and pulled out the object, examining it closely. It was a fleshlight and it looked well-used. "What’s this?" You asked, holding the item up in front of his face. He simply stared back at you, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Come on, don’t play dumb." He replied nonchalantly as he lit his cigarette. To be honest, you only had a vague idea of what it was, you had heard about those but had never seen one in person, with your own two eyes.

"Show me how you use it?" You asked, extending the toy toward him. "Really?" He raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised, but you nodded firmly in response. You had always enjoyed watching Patrick jerk off, though typically you watched from beneath him as he fucked his fist close to your face, coating it with his slimy release. This was an opportunity to watch him from a different angle. "So I guess tennis is not the reason your arm is so big?" He shot a death glare at you and you stole the cigarette from his lips, taking a long drag of it. He grabbed the lube from the drawer and coated his length with it. "Will you be able to keep your hands away from me?" He joked and you rolled your eyes, blowing the smoke in his face, placing the cigarette back between his lips.

He slid the silicone sleeve over his length, the fake pussy spreading wide against the base of his shaft. You gasped at the sight, aroused by the image of another pussy, even if artificial, spread open for him. It was undeniably hot, but deep down, you doubted you could ever enjoy watching a real pussy receive Patrick in the same way. Patrick's eyes were locked on the fleshlight, his wrist moving frantically, and his mouth hung open in a silent expression. Seeing the cigarette balanced between his lips, you quickly snatched it away and extinguished it in the ashtray, preventing it from falling onto his chest and burning him. You watched closely as Patrick's length thrust rhythmically into the toy, the slick movements captivating your gaze. "Touch yourself." He commanded, his voice heavy with lust. You looked up at him, biting the inside of your cheek, your eyes reflecting both hesitation and excitement. Slowly, you reached for the aching spot between your legs, your fingers beginning to stroke your folds with agonizing slowness, a deliberate tease meant to drive him wild. "Fuck, that’s hot." He murmured, his eyes glued to your hand as it disappeared between your crossed legs. "Spread your legs. I want to see." He demanded, his voice low and urgent. You spread your legs, allowing him a clear view of your wet cunt and the fingers dancing over it. As you slid your middle finger inside yourself, your eyes locked onto his cock.

"Baby…" He groaned, his free hand reaching down to squeeze his balls. You added a second digit, riding your hand the way you did when no one else was watching. Despite your efforts, you couldn’t be as vocal as you were when Patrick fucked you. Touching yourself had always been a secret act, performed silently under the blanket to avoid waking your husband up. Still, you panted heavily, the pleasure building with every stroke. After a few minutes of you both pleasuring yourselves on either side of the bed, Patrick lifted his hips, his thighs twitching. He came with a low grunt into the plastic toy, his body shuddering with release. You continued to rub your clit, your fingers moving in desperate, needy circles. It only took a few more strokes of your swollen bud before you reached your climax, your eyes locked with his as you moaned his name, the scent of both your orgasms filling the room.

You glanced at him through half-lidded eyes, your chest rising and falling with each breath. He was grinning from ear to ear, a look of triumph in his eyes. Reaching for your hand, which was resting between your legs, he lifted it to his face and examined it. "Why did you remove it?" He asked, his voice a low murmur, as he sucked on your fingers, licking them clean. It? Oh, your ring. "Felt weird wearing it when my hand's always on your dick." You explained, watching him lavish attention on your slick fingers, covered with your juices. You couldn’t help but bite your lower lip at the sight of him. "That was the fun part of it." He replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes. You frowned, studying his face. The fun part of it? Was the thought of fucking a married woman more exciting than fucking you? "Wait, is this turning you on?" You asked, your voice rising with shock.

Now that you thought about it, there was something deeply perverse about the way he always ensured you went home with his cum dripping from your cunt and pooling in your panties. Or how he'd make you swallow his load and then ask you to ‘give your husband a kiss’ for him. He was actually enjoying this situation.

"Duh. Obviously." He said with a smirk. "You're a freak." You muttered, pushing his face with your hand, interrupting his intense sucking. "And you're a cheating whore. We all have our crosses to bear." He retorted, his tone carrying a hint of cynicism. You opened your mouth in shock. "Little shit." You said, slapping his shoulder. Patrick just chuckled, the sound resonating through the walls. You stared at him, a mixture of annoyance and amusement swirling within you. It was moments like this that confused you. Sometimes, in Patrick’s embrace, you felt so alive that you questioned your life choices. You wondered if sacrificing your womanhood for a comfortable life was worth it. Yet, leaving your husband for Patrick would be a foolish decision. While your heart fluttered in his presence, you understood that you were just something exciting for him to play with, just a new toy he had stolen from someone else.

●

But whenever you began to question your feelings, he had a way of reminding you just how much better he was for you than your husband, with his hands on your throat and his tongue all over your chest.

"Such a needy whore." He groaned, feeling you clench around his cock with desperation. "Please…" You pleaded, your voice trembling as you begged him to move inside you, but he remained still, toying with you. You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, pulling him closer to your core, yearning for more. "Always begging for my dick, huh?" He said, his grip on your neck tightening just enough to make you feel lightheaded. Finally, he gave in and began to pound into you, the sharp sound of his full balls smacking against your ass filling the room. You tried to moan in pure bliss, your mouth open in a silent scream as your hands roamed down his back. "Does he…" He asked, his voice husky as you gazed at him in awe. "f-f… fuck you like that?" While missionary was your husband’s favorite position, and yours as well, since it allowed you to kiss him, he had never gripped your neck so harshly or treated you as if you were just a hole to be filled. "N-no…" You gasped, struggling to produce any sound. "Only you…" You breathed out, your face flushed a bright red as you fought to catch your breath. Each thrust brought you closer to the edge, and before you realized it, you climaxed in a wave of silent pleasure, your eyes closed and mouth agape. Your juices spilled over his lower stomach and sack. You were barely aware of when Patrick followed, lost in near-unconsciousness beneath him. When you finally regained your senses, you could feel his thick warmth filling you deep inside.

You appreciated the aftercare with Patrick, especially when he felt he had gone a bit too far. Although he was turned on by pushing your limits, he felt guilty about making you nearly pass out. Now, both of you stood in his cramped shower, lathering each other with soap and enjoying the warm, calming water together. His tongue playfully brushed your earlobe as he whispered praises, his hands caressing your asscheeks. He told you how hot you were and how special it felt that you had abandoned yourself to him, allowing him to indulge in all sorts of twisted things. Yet, it wasn’t enough, he always wanted more. "I want to fuck your ass." He murmured, trying to gently ease the words into your brain and convince you. "I kinda noticed." You chuckled, feeling his warm breath tickle your skin. "I’ve never done it before." You confessed, though the knowing look in his eyes had already revealed your inexperience. He smirked, a hint of satisfaction in his gaze. "Ah, a virgin." He said, as he spread your cheeks apart, letting the warm water from the shower cascade down your crack. "What if it hurts?" You asked, your eyes searching his for reassurance. It’s not like he was exactly small. "I can prepare you so it won’t." He promised, his tone soothing. "But what’s the point if it doesn’t feel good?" You questioned, your voice trembling slightly. It wasn’t that the idea of anal sex was unpleasant, it just went against everything you had been taught about intimacy between a man and a woman. You weren't totally against the idea, to be fair, you were just scared of the discomfort. Also, it felt almost wrong to let another man be the first to explore that part of you, despite your husband’s lack of interest in it. "I can make you feel really good." He said, his breath warm against your neck as he trailed soft kisses from your ear to your collarbone. You shivered at the sensation, a mix of desire and hesitation in your voice. "You already make me feel really good." You refused yourself to him. Tonight wouldn’t be the night.

After drying off and dressing, you shared a lingering kiss. There was an unspoken understanding between you. This couldn’t last forever, but for now, it was enough. You slipped your ring back on, feeling the weight of it, both physically and mentally.

As you prepared to leave, Patrick walked you to the door. "Take care, and don’t forget to leave his ass." He said softly, wrapping your scarf around your neck with a tenderness that made your heart ache. "Sure." You replied, forcing a smile before stepping out into the cold night.

Patrick no longer bothered to mask the depth of his hatred for your husband. His remarks were frequent and biting, urging you to divorce. Yet, you knew his words were hollow, born from a contempt rather than a genuine desire to build a future with you. He would often stress how your happiness was the most important thing and that your husband no longer provided it, thus there was no point in staying. But he never said the words you desperately wanted to hear. You longed for him to tell you to divorce because he wanted you to be his. Only his.

●

While you wanted him to be fully yours as well, there were still many things you ignored about Patrick. As close as you wanted to be to him, he always maintained a distance, dismissing your questions or reminding you of your husband. You craved to know everything about him : What happened with his family? What happened with Art? How was his career doing? What were his dreams and hopes? Was he dating anyone? All these questions lingered in your mind, but you didn’t feel legitimate enough to ask those as his fuck buddy. Yet, you needed these answers to sneak your way into his heart and maybe become more than just a warm hole to him.

You knew the best way to pull information out of him was to ask at his most vulnerable moment : right after he came. "Are you seeing other girls?" You asked softly, brushing his hair back. His head was resting on your chest, your breasts glazed with his saliva and sweat. "Are you really asking me that when you have a whole ass husband waiting for you at home?" He stared at you, amused. "You're fucking me without condoms, I have every right to know!" You retorted, but the truth was you wanted to know if there was any competition for Patrick’s affection. You wanted to be the only one for him. "Don't worry, I'm being extra careful with other people." So there were other girls. Your stomach turned. You had no right to be jealous, but you were. Your mind raced in all directions. What did they look like? What was his type? Did they look anything like you? Were they also married women? Did he do to them the things he did to you? "But to be fair, you’re taking a lot of my time, so I don’t really meet new people lately." If keeping him busy was keeping him from other girls, you surely could find time to pay him more visits, at any time of the day. You were sure you could manage to make him stay home with you, no matter if he had practice or not, plans with friends or dates or whatever. You had a skilled tongue he couldn’t resist. "But no one is as good as you." He mumbled against your breast before circling one of your nipples with his tongue. His words hit you like a wave, flooding you with happiness and leaving you breathless. No one is as good as you. You wanted to scream with joy, your heart nearly bursting. In that instant, whether his dick was speaking for himself or not, he made you feel like you were the only one in the world that mattered.

●

Seeing Patrick was no longer just about the sex, even if he thought otherwise. While he was fucking you like a whore, you were quietly sneaking into his life. It had become your personal mission to form an emotional bond with him, to make yourself indispensable. It started with the meals you shared. You had bragged about your cooking, promising to let him taste your creations, and soon his kitchen had become your workshop. You were filling his stomach with your love, and in exchange, he filled your cunt with his own.

You also spent evenings watching movies and cuddling for hours on his worn-out couch on nights when your husband wasn’t home. You would always pretend to fall asleep, hoping this time Patrick would allow you to stay over. But he would always wake you at the end of the movie and drive you home.

But you would be back by morning, letting yourself in with the key under the doormat that had become unofficially your key and cooking him breakfast. Maybe you were intrusive, but he didn’t seem to mind when you would wake him up with your tongue on his balls.

And every time he welcomed you a bit more into his life, you would push it farther. You wanted to know more, to dig deeper. "Patrick?" You asked one evening, nervous about whether your questions would be dismissed like all the other ones you had asked before. "Yes, babe?" He answered, his eyes closed, face buried into the pillow. "What really happened with your family?" Silence. He opened his eyes and turned to face you, a shadow of wariness crossing his features. "Why do you want to know?" He responded quickly. "It’s just, I knew your parents, and I’m surprised they would allow their precious boy to… struggle." You hesitated on that last word. While Patrick’s lifestyle seemed like chaos to you, he appeared content enough with it. Patrick sighed, rolling onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. "They didn’t allow it. I chose it." He finally said, his voice low and guarded. You shifted closer, resting your head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath your ear. "Why?" You pressed gently. He hesitated, his fingers idly playing with your hair. "Because I didn’t want to be their perfect little son. I wanted to live my own life, make my own mistakes. I don’t care about their fucking board, I’m a tennis player."

"Yes, you are." You murmured, fingers playfully tangling in his chest hair. It had been so long since you'd seen him play a real match, but you knew he was a gifted kid. "I remember how everyone raved about your talent when we were kids. Your parents always said you were going to be the biggest tennis star." He glanced away, nervously nibbling his lower lip. "Well, they don’t really think so anymore." His voice was tinged with hurt, a vulnerability he rarely showed. "And it wasn’t the only thing." He added, his tone darker. "It wasn’t?" You asked, curiosity piqued. What else could have happened? Did he get a girl pregnant or something? "They didn’t really accept me coming out." He revealed quietly. "Coming out? Wait, you’re into boys?" You sat up, shocked by his revelation. He nodded, his nervousness palpable, as if he feared your reaction. "Don’t you want to be our third?" You joked, trying to lighten the mood with a giggle. "I’m not fucking the disgusting geriatric asshole you’re married to." He whined, pinching your waist. You grabbed his hand, stopping him from pinching you further. "He’s a handsome man!" You tried to defend your husband, though Patrick’s grossed out face made it clear he wasn’t convinced by your words. "He’s like a hundred years old!" Patrick exclaimed, typical in his exaggeration. "He’s 49!" You responded. "And you’re 27. He’s a fucking creep." Patrick said, his face twisted in disgust.

You frowned at his words. You had never thought of it that way. Sure, he was older, and you had met him when you were young, but it wasn’t as if he had preyed on you. Your father had introduced you to one of his business partners, and you had simply fallen in love. Right?

"If you’re into boys…" You began, tracing delicate patterns on his chest. "Can I fuck you then?" You asked with a teasing smirk. You were usually the submissive type, you loved it, but a part of you had always been curious about what it would feel like to top someone. You imagined yourself putting on a strap and taking control of someone’s body, and not just anyone, but Patrick’s. You fantasized about how he would look, all hot and flustered, under you, his face flushed and his body trembling with anticipation. The thought of seeing him all vulnerable and overwhelmed by your plastic cock deep inside him made your heart beat faster. "Do you think I’m just going to let anyone have my ass? Do you think I’m a whore or something?" He shot back, abruptly shutting down any fantasies you had. His refusal stung. Anyone? You weren’t just anyone.

●

As days passed, Patrick’s words replayed in your mind like a broken record. The more you thought about it, the more it felt off. The age gap that seemed romantic and reassuring once now felt predatory. You were 21 when you married your husband, but he was well into his 40s. He had courted you when you had barely graduated, still fresh from the confines of your parents’ home. You didn’t have much experience with love or even boys so you felt flattered. He became your first boyfriend. Apart from your first kiss, which had been stolen by some random guy at the country club, he had been your first everything. He, on the other hand, had been married before and had dated numerous women. What was in it for him to date you? Your innocence? Now, the fact that he had waited for you to turn the specific age of 21 before marrying you, despite the fact that you had been living together for a while, seemed calculated and unsettling.

It was as if you were looking at your husband through a different lens, a perspective vastly different from the adoration you once held for him. You didn’t think so highly of him anymore. All the red flags you had so mindlessly ignored before were now glaringly obvious.

Was the fact that you were growing older the reason he was now so distant lately? You had noticed the subtle changes over the years, from the way he looked at your body to the way he touched you. At first, he just couldn’t keep his hands away from you and now he simply petted you, like a dog. You had always thought that it was how couples evolved with time : passion at first and then comfort. But the gossips at the country club painted a different picture. The women there often complained about feigning migraines to escape their marital obligations. Your situation was the opposite, the man who had been so eager to introduce you to sex now seemed to avoid it altogether. This didn't feel like a natural progression. And you were sure of it when you thought about Patrick and how you could hardly imagine growing tired of making him come.

So why wasn’t he attracted to you anymore? Your body had not changed that drastically. Was he receiving attention from other women? Younger women? You needed to know for sure.

As soon as he left to take a shower, you seized his phone and began scrolling through his messages. You didn’t recognize yourself, the normal you would never had invaded his privacy. You had been raised to believe that a wife should stay in her place and respect her husband’s boundaries, but at that point, you didn’t give a fuck. It didn’t take much searching to discover an interesting conversation with another woman. They were exchanging flirtatious texts and pictures. As you read through the messages, you realized it wasn't just flirting, there were feelings involved. Your husband was feeding her sweet words, just as he had once done with you in the past. The proof was there : he was cheating on you. And even worse, he was in a relationship with her.

Who had been the first one to stray? Did it even matter? Yes, for your own guilt. You needed to erase the doubt that you had betrayed him first. You scrolled back to your birthday, that fateful day that had changed everything. There, you found him telling her he would be home soon. So your husband had indeed been with another woman while you were alone and crying. The guilt that had been eating you was gone. He had only gotten what he deserved. But now, you were consumed by anger and disgust.

You stared at the picture of the woman who had now taken your place. She looked young, way too young. Her skin was smooth, her cheeks full and her eyes bright with the innocence of youth. She could be your little sister. She could be his daughter. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut. A wave of hatred for her took over you, but beneath it was an unexpected urge to protect her. How could you see how wrong it was so clearly when it involved someone else, yet remain blind when it came to yourself?

The woman in the photo seemed fragile, her smile unaware of the storm she was caught in. You could imagine her excitement, the thrill of attention from an older, experienced man. It was a cruel irony that the very things that had once drawn you to him were now being used to entrap someone else. You thought of your younger self, so eager to please, so willing to overlook the small red flags. You wondered if she knew about you. She had to. She had to wonder why your husband was leaving her every night. What did he tell her about you? Was he telling her you were the problem?

Patrick had been right all along, your husband was a creep.

●

Your chest felt tight, as if an invisible weight was pressing down, making it hard to breathe. Your heart pounded erratically, its rapid thumping loud in your ears, drowning out all other sounds. Your vision blurred with unshed tears, and your hands started to tremble uncontrollably. The room spun, making it hard to focus on anything. You clutched your chest, trying to steady the dizzy feeling inside. A cold sweat broke out across your skin, chilling you despite the warmth of the room. With shaky hands, you grabbed your phone and dialed Patrick's number. You needed to get out of the house, whether your husband noticed your absence or not. "Baby, can you pick me up, please?"

After fifteen minutes, he texted that he was at the corner of the street. You walked to his car, the short distance feeling like an eternity. You tried to dry your tears before meeting him, not wanting to spoil the mood with your problems, but your red, puffy eyes betrayed you. Spotting the car, you quickly opened the door and stepped in, planting a soft kiss on his lips. "So, what did he do?" He asked against your lips. He knew you way too well. His question caused your lips to tremble, and tears to well up in your eyes. As he drove off to his place, you told him the whole story between sobs. He rolled his eyes as if it were expected news, sighing at each new detail. "What does it change? You were almost sure of it already." He glanced at you. Unable to answer, you also wondered why it hurt so much. Maybe the fact that he had a second home. Fucking another girl was one thing, creating a home with her was another. "Let me tell you, if you weren't such a fucking coward, you'd leave his ass." You stared at him, your eyes widening with disbelief. He had never talked to you that way. His words were as harsh and sharp as a knife. You opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off. "But I know you. You're so greedy, you would never give up your designer bags, your nice clothes, and your big fucking house." Speechless, you wondered if he truly thought so lowly of you. Did he believe you had married your husband solely for the money? Yes, living comfortably was pleasant, but you had fallen in love with that man. He was your family. "Are you always going to call me when you're fucking miserable and expect me to just watch you ruin your life and fuck you?" His words hit you like a slap. You gasped, too stunned to immediately respond. "You're a piece of shit, Patrick." You mumbled between clenched teeth, barely able to contain your anger. He stopped at a red light and turned to you, his face inches from yours. "I may be shit, but you like to roll in it, you cunt." He spat out. Before he could say more, you slapped him across the face, desperate to silence him. Words like that had only ever been thrilling when said in passionate moments, when they didn’t cut to the bone but made you wet and beg for more. Now, they shattered your heart into a million pieces. Without a word, you opened the door and stepped out of the vehicle. You couldn’t bear to stay near him. You believed that Patrick would always be there to comfort you, but now you saw the truth. He was just as hurtful, if not more, than your husband. In that moment, you realized how truly alone you were in your misery.

"Get in the damn car!" He shouted through the open window, his voice slicing through the night as he drove slowly alongside you on the sidewalk. "No!" You shot back, your teeth sinking into your lower lip until you tasted blood. The urge to cry was almost overwhelming, but you couldn't allow yourself to break down. Not in front of Patrick fucking Zweig. Not in front of that fucking loser. Maybe you were a gold digger, but at least you weren't a broke motherfucker with shattered dreams and no future. You wanted to throw that in his face, to lash out with the truth, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it. You couldn't hurt him. Even though he hurt you. Deep down you knew from the start that it was meant to happen, that he would inevitably disappoint you. He always did. He let everyone down, yet you clung to the hope that things might have been different with you. You didn't want to believe otherwise but here you were. "It's dangerous." Oh, so he cared about you now? Sure, it was nighttime, but the streets were empty. You felt safer outside than in that car or even in your own house. "Go fuck yourself." You finally yelled back. He sighed, pulling over and parking the car right in front of you, forcing you to stop. You crossed your arms without a word, determined to wait him out. Let him get bored of the silence and leave you alone. He opened the passenger door, waiting for you to climb in. You had no intention of doing so. After a few minutes, Patrick stepped out of the car and stood in front of you. "Babe, I'm sorry..."

He pulled you into an embrace, and you remained still, unwilling to give in until you felt his lips brush against your neck. "I shouldn't have said that." He mumbled against your jaw. Despite yourself, you smiled at the warmth of his lips on your skin. Something must be wrong with you. He had insulted you moments ago, wounding you in ways he never had before, yet here you were, back in his arms, ready to follow him like a lovesick puppy and forget every hurtful word. You wrapped your arms around his neck, tilting your head to give him room to explore your neck. His hands found their way to your butt, gently squeezing. You were in public, being intimate with another man besides your husband. Anyone driving by could see you cheating, but it didn’t matter. You pressed your body as close to his as possible, merging with him. You felt his hard length pressing against your lower abdomen. "Wait, are you hard?" You asked, your voice rising in surprise. "You were so hot being all mad and stuff." He revealed, his lips inching closer to yours. "I slap you and you get hard? You’re really deranged." You whispered against his lips, amused. You felt his tongue trying to breach the barrier of your lips. Did he really think it would be that easy? True, you were already melting under his touch, but he couldn’t just keep getting away with everything. He couldn’t treat you like shit and expect you to let him take you right here on the sidewalk. "I just can't go on watching you waste your life with him. You deserve better." He murmured between soft pecks on your lips. His words made your heart skip a beat, it was the closest he would get to saying how much he cared about you. And was the 'better' you deserved, him? After all, he wasn't running away from you to protect you, he was trying to get into your pants, which surely meant he thought himself worthy of you. With Patrick, it was always what he didn't say that left you hoping. As your tongue found its way to his lips, you were now the one devouring his mouth. Okay, he was forgiven. You would totally let him fuck you right there on the sidewalk.

You let your hands roam down his back, finding their way to his ass, groping it in a similar way he was grabbing yours. You pulled away from the kiss and looked into his eyes, noticing his smirk. Did he think he had won? "If you're really sorry, let me fuck you." You blurted out, your fingers sneaking between his cheeks, the fabric of his shorts the only obstacle. "What?" He asked, eyes squinting in confusion. "Let me fuck you." You repeated, pinching your lips together to hide your grin. "No way." He chuckled, probably thinking you were joking. But you were as serious as a heart attack. "I want to own you like you own me." You wanted Patrick to commit to your relationship as much as you had. You had let him take control of your body, marking his territory on every part of you. Well, almost every part. "You won’t let me fuck your ass and you think I’ll let you fuck mine?" He questioned, and you sighed in response. In reality, if Patrick had really wanted to, he could have had his way with you a long time ago. But so far, he had always stopped at the slightest hint of resistance from you, which in theory was a good thing. Still, you wanted him to beg for it. Which he didn’t. But now that you had made your objective clear, perhaps you would let him have his way with you, just to get your way with him later on.

Your phone kept buzzing in your pocket. Reluctantly, you pulled away from his embrace and fished it out of your pants. Your husband’s name flashed on the screen. You sighed, seeing that he had already tried to call you seven times. Patrick's eyes fixed on the screen, his face twisted in a grimace. "Drive me back home then." You commanded, disentangling yourself from him. You stepped into the car, settling into the passenger seat. Patrick quickly joined you, taking his place behind the wheel. "Are you still mad at me?" He asked, nervously chewing the inside of his cheek as he drove back to your place. "Maybe." You replied. The anger was actually long gone, you had forgiven him the moment his lips touched your skin. But you weren't against letting him stew in a bit of guilt, even if it meant sacrificing your own pleasure for the night.

After a few minutes of Patrick's attempts to win your complete forgiveness by being extra affectionate, stroking your thigh and smiling sweetly, you found yourself back on your street. You had tried your hardest not to show any sign of giving in, but his puppy eyes made it difficult not to jump his bones. "I'm home alone this weekend." You announced, placing your hand on top of his. "Wanna come over?" You proposed, a smile spreading across your face. You didn't care anymore about respecting your husband’s space. If he didn’t respect you, there was no way you were going to respect him either. "Really? Your house?" He asked, surprised that you were now inviting him into the one place that had always been off-limits to him. You nodded eagerly, your eyes burning with a desire for revenge.

●

After an intense make-out session interrupted by a couple of whispered apologies, Patrick finally let you go despite the raging boner in his pants. As you walked back into your house, you found your husband waiting at the door, his hands resting on his hips. He looked worried sick. What was with the men in your life acting out of character tonight? When he saw you, his expression shifted from relief to anger. "Where the hell have you been?" He demanded, his voice thundering through the hallway. The tone made you jump. Your husband could be scary sometimes, and tonight was one of those times. You calmly explained that you had to help one of your girlfriends with an emergency. He took a step closer, his gaze piercing. "And you couldn't call?" You shrugged, feeling the weight of his glare. "I-..I didn't have the time." He opened his mouth to ask more questions, but you cut him off with a half-hearted apology. "I'm sorry, lovey, okay? I'm exhausted. I just need to go to bed." You rushed up the stairs, your heart pounding, eager to escape the questions you couldn’t answer.

"Seriously, where the hell have you been?" His voice erupted from behind you as you stood at the vanity, removing the last traces of makeup from your face. You caught his reflection in the mirror, and the anger in his eyes was unmistakable. His expression was taut with frustration, and it was clear he was nowhere near ready to let this go. He had displayed jealousy in the early years of your marriage, but it had been so long that you had almost forgotten the depths of his paranoia. "With a friend." You repeated, sticking to your fabricated story. "Call her. I want to speak with her." He demanded, his voice icy and insistent. His insistence took you by surprise, and for a moment, you wondered if he doubted your faithfulness. Did he also find out about your little affair? "You’re being ridiculous." You said with a chuckle, trying to diffuse the tension. "Call her." He said again, his teeth clenched with frustration. "I don’t want my friends to see my husband acting irrationally. What will they think?" You replied, hoping to use his reputation as leverage. You knew that using his concern for how others perceived him was likely your best chance. It always seemed to come down to how others viewed him. "They will think you have a caring husband. Call her." He insisted, stepping closer until his presence loomed over you. You clutched your phone tightly, keeping it away from his reach. Turning to face him, you felt so small in front of him. "Okay, but what if we call your friend first?" You suggested, trying to sound as confident as possible. However, your voice faltered as you stressed the word ‘friend’. You locked eyes with him, the silence settling between you. The moment his gaze shifted away from yours, you knew he understood. He sighed heavily and turned his back on you, his frustration palpable. "Whatever. Who’s the irrational one now?" He muttered, his tone dripping with resentment as he walked away.

Later that night, you felt his untoned body pressed against your back. The sensation sent shivers across your skin, not from excitement as it did with Patrick, but from dread. He had remained silent until then, and now he was whispering in your ear how much he craved you, his fingers toying with the waistband of your pajama shorts. He had waited for the lights to go out before slipping into bed, placing his nasty eager hands all over you. "Not tonight..." You whispered, placing your hand over his in an attempt to stop him. Ignoring your plea, he slid your shorts down your ankles. You felt the tip of his length against your entrance, and he penetrated you, pulling your hips back with a sudden, unwelcome force. He took you without any warning, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, repeatedly reminding you how much he loved you and how you were the only one for him. Tears welled in your eyes as you forced yourself to fulfill your duty as a wife. You pushed your ass back against him, desperate to make him finish quickly and bring an end to this. When it was over, the urge to throw up overwhelmed you.

●

Patrick had followed your instructions not to ring the doorbell and trigger the recording of the camera, so he texted you upon his arrival. You opened the door and quickly pulled him inside, gripping his shirt. "Where did you park your car?" You asked, your arms wrapping around his neck as you kissed him hungrily. "Down the street." He replied between breaths. After a few minutes of showing him how glad you were that he was here, you offered to give him a tour. "Damn, he’s making big money." Patrick exclaimed as you led him through yet another room. The Zweigs’ home seemed modest in comparison to yours, and yet, when you were growing up, they owned the largest house you had ever seen. Patrick paused in the corridor, his gaze fixed on the large wedding portrait hanging on the wall. In the photo, your husband stood behind you as you sat in front of him, your voluminous, puffy dress filling the frame. "How cute." Patrick said with a smirk. "You took a father-daughter picture on your wedding day." You playfully slapped his arm. You knew he only wanted to tease you but there was some truth to his words. The age difference, so obvious in that image, had only become clear to you now, thanks to Patrick’s perspective. You locked eyes with your younger self in the photograph, remembering how innocent and full of life she once was. She was so happy and in love. You missed her.

"You know your parents were actually there that day." You said, recalling how your parents had insisted on inviting the Zweigs out of old friendship, despite the distance that had grown between you and them over the years. You were genuinely glad to see them, and they had been remarkably generous with their wedding gift. You were fairly certain Patrick had been invited as well, but he never showed up. "They would probably be very disappointed in you for letting yourself be corrupted by their failure of a son." He murmured, his gaze still fixed intently on the picture. "Or very pleased." You countered. Patrick glanced at you, puzzled. "You can’t imagine how hard our moms tried to set us up." Patrick snorted at the comment, disbelief evident in his eyes. "No way!" You nodded insistently. "Don’t you remember how they always forced us to hang out?" A smile played on your lips. Did he really think you were willingly following him around everywhere back then? "I was a kid, and my mom tried to convince me you’d make a good husband!" The memory of your mother’s persistent hints came flooding back. "Really? You didn’t notice anything?" You asked, astonished. He shrugged, genuinely confused. "Damn, you really never consider me as a woman!" You blurted out, chuckling. It stung a bit that Patrick had never even glanced your way despite your mothers’ scheming, but it was all in the past. You knew the effect you had on him now. "I was too focused on tennis!" He tried to explain. "Liar!" You teased. "You always had a new girlfriend. Like that girl…" You began, your voice trailing off as you tried to recall the name of the first one who had lingered long enough to be introduced to his parents. You recalled meeting her too, and thinking she was the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen. Back then, you couldn’t understand why she’d settled for someone like Patrick. But that was before you knew how much of a good fuck he was. Now it made sense. "Ah, yes, Tashi Duncan!" At the mention of her name, his smile faded, and the mood in the room changed. There was history there. Sensing the need to divert the conversation, you quickly continued. "But it’s alright. I can deal with the fact that I didn’t make you hard when you were a teenager." You shrugged nonchalantly. "I can make you hard quite alright now." With a playful tug on the waistband of his pants, you drew him closer and pressed your lips firmly against his.

Patrick had one mission that day : to claim every room in your house as his own by fucking you there. It began in the living room with a quickie on the couch. "Did he fuck you there?" He asked then, gesturing toward the kitchen counter. You nodded, though the truth was that your husband had never touched you in that space. The house was new, and your sex life had long since declined. Yet, Patrick seemed intent on marking his territory in your husband's home. He took you on the kitchen counter, and later, on the desk in your husband's office. By the time you reached the bedroom, you were already sore and overstimulated. "Now you’ll think about me every time you’re fucking him in this bed." Patrick babbled as he bounced you on top of him. You clawed at his chest, whimpering in pain as your pussy burned from the relentless penetration. Despite the discomfort, you couldn’t stop. If you could erase every memory of your husband in that bed and only keep thoughts of Patrick, you would take it gladly.

"I’m sure this is the first time you’ve come in that bed." He mumbled as you got off him and laid beside him, panting heavily from your orgasm. You chuckled, finding his bitterness amusing. "Don’t be ridiculous." You teased, calling him out. "I’ve masturbated there before." You burst into laughter, and his chuckle soon joined yours.

Though it was still early, you felt utterly drained. All you wished for was to close your eyes and wake up a week later. It was the first time you were sharing a bed with Patrick solely for the purpose of sleeping, rather than for sex. Even though he had fucked you in your marital bed, you had moved to the guest room for the night. You nestled close to him, your face pressed against his neck, fully immersed in his comforting scent. With your eyes closed, you drifted into sleep almost immediately and so did he.

Waking up next to Patrick felt even better than falling asleep beside him. As he pulled you closer, his eyes still closed, your heart pounded out of your chest. Was this what it felt like to be Patrick’s girlfriend? You enjoyed the domesticity of the moment, the simplicity and comfort of sharing a bed. The fact that, even half asleep, he sought your presence warmed your heart deeply. Feeling his morning wood pressing against the back of your thigh only added to your delight. It was these small, tender moments that made you crave more than just a fling, that made you yearn for a life that was intertwined with his in every way.

After a few moments of cuddling in bed, you slipped out quietly to give Patrick time to wake up properly. Embracing the role of his wife for the day, you busied yourself in the kitchen, preparing a healthy breakfast with the best ingredients from your fridge. You arranged a plate with fruits, eggs, and bacon, ensuring it offered everything his body needed. When he finally emerged from the bedroom, you served him the meal and then headed to the shower. Of course, it wasn't long before Patrick joined you. "Already done?" You asked, surprised that he had finished his plate so quickly. He nodded and wrapped his arms around you, his embrace growing warm under the stream of hot water. "Can I have my breakfast now?" You asked with a playful smirk, lowering yourself to your knees. Holding his length close to your lips, you glanced up to ensure he was watching as you took him fully into your mouth.

You were barely dressed when he began demanding more. He pinned you against the living room window, the curtains barely hiding the view of you with a man who wasn’t your husband. He yanked your panties down to your ankles and lifted your skirt as he penetrated you. "Now anyone who walks by can see that you’re a whore." He murmured, his voice low, filled with possessiveness. Your face was pressed against the glass, giving you a full view of your neighbor’s front yard. Anyone passing by could, indeed, see you if they looked up, but you didn’t care. In fact, part of you wanted them to see who you truly belonged to.

●

As the months went by, Patrick became your priority. You weren’t buying so many designer bags anymore, instead, you found yourself financing Patrick's career. He had no remorse about taking your husband's money, and you were more than willing to provide. You wanted him to have the best tennis equipment, the nicest furniture, and the softest bed sheets. You hoped that every time he used his racket or laid in bed, he would think of you, knowing that every element of his life had your touch.

There was something in you that made you want to take care of Patrick like he was an innocent baby lamb. You just wanted to make this boy’s life easier, ease all the pain he had to go through in his life. Once, you even suggested selling some pieces from your collection to help him secure a decent place to stay. That was where he drew the line, refusing to let your loss be his gain.

"Thanks for the bag!" He exclaimed, the strap of the brand new tennis backpack hanging off his shoulder. He stood in front of the mirror in his underwear, admiring the bag from every angle. You gazed lovingly at him while lying on his bed on your stomach, chin resting on your hands. Patrick had always been good-looking, but lately, he seemed even more handsome. Perhaps it was the feelings you had developed, making you see him in a new light. Just the sight of his biceps made you a little weak. You had always thought you weren't the type to swoon over athletes and their muscles, but you had been wrong. Patrick’s body was a masterpiece. You could never get tired of looking at him. Your eyes traced the lines of his chiseled jawline, lingering on the reddish hairs covering his chin. From there, your gaze moved to his broad shoulders, strong and imposing, a testament to the years he had spent perfecting his serve. You drifted over his strong, veiny arms that always held you so effortlessly, and settled his small, pink nipples stood out against the firmness of his chest. Your stare lingered on his sculpted stomach, captivated by the defined muscles, before following the strip of dark hair that trailed down his lower abdomen. "You're welcome, baby." You mumbled, eyes fixed on the curve of his ass. You had to bite your lip to stifle a moan as you drifted to the hem of his boxers and his fuzzy thighs. It was impossible to look away when Patrick was in a room. For a second, you wondered if his fans were as captivated as you when they watched him on a tennis court.

"I want to see you play someday." You said with a sigh of frustration, watching him model the new bag. It was a line you had always been careful not to cross. You already occupied most of his free time, intruding on his professional life felt like overstepping. You weren’t his devoted girlfriend or his tennis wife, just the woman he fucked from time to time. He turned to face you, setting the bag down on the floor. "Then come watch the tournament next Friday?" He suggested, a proud smile spreading across his face. The tournament? You recalled him mentioning he was training for a state-level challenger, one that could be a pivotal moment in his career. It might be the very thing that lifted him out of the slump he’d been in. "Wait, you qualified?" You asked, your voice rising with excitement. He nodded enthusiastically. "Why didn’t you tell me?" You exclaimed, leaping into his arms and wrapping your limbs around him. He lifted you effortlessly, his hands gripping your thighs firmly as you showered his face with kisses.

●

Friday couldn’t come fast enough. You were thrilled to finally watch Patrick play after all these years. Back in your teenage days, you usually avoided his matches, uninterested in tennis and reluctant to spend hours watching boys hit a ball. But now, you were so eager that you arrived an hour early. Sitting in the bleachers, you hid behind a hat and sunglasses, hoping to avoid running into anyone you knew. Tennis was quite popular in your community, so you wouldn't be surprised if someone from the country club showed up and saw you getting all cozy with a tennis player.

A few minutes after you sent Patrick one final good luck text, he stepped onto the court. He scanned the audience with a focused gaze, as if searching for something, or someone. Was he looking for you? Did he anticipate your presence as much as you had longed to be there? You hesitated for a moment before raising your hand and giving a small wave, not wanting to embarrass yourself if he happened to acknowledge someone else. When his eyes finally found you, his face lit up with a grin that left you breathless, and he nodded in your direction.

The match began with each player standing on their side of the net. Patrick wasn’t the server for this set. When his opponent served the first ball, it flew across the court and met Patrick’s racket. A succession of strokes followed, the sound of sneakers grating on the cement echoing with every quick move as the ball zipped back and forth. Patrick scored the first point by powerfully slamming the ball over the net, where it hit the ground. His opponent was skilled, but Patrick played with a level of determination you had never witnessed before. If he had been bringing as little as half the same energy in bed when fucking you, you were certain you’d be dead by now. When his opponent scored the first point, Patrick’s confident expression slipped, replaced by a grimace. Despite this, he didn’t allow the other player to score again, ultimately winning the first set by five points.

As the match went on, you found yourself on the edge of your seat, your heart racing with the set’s rhythm. For a moment, your attention drifted from the ball to Patrick’s muscular arms, glistening with a thin layer of sweat. From the way his arm flexed with every motion, veins on his forearms bulging, to the way his fingers gripped the racket tightly, reminding you of how he fisted his cock to milk himself all over your face. You couldn’t help but be turned on by the sight of him, everything reminded you of him fucking you. Realizing another point was added to the score during your daydream, you tried to shake off the inappropriate thoughts and focus on the match. After a few minutes, your eyes wandered to his ridiculously short shorts, barely concealing how big he was underneath. His bulge bounced with each leap and sprint, and you craved to have it, hot and salty, in your mouth. Damn. Fuck the game, you couldn’t keep your eyes off him. There was something about the way his shirt clung to his torso, drenched with sweat, accentuating the contours of his sculpted stomach that made you almost bark like a dog. And you didn’t even want to mention the way his thick, fuzzy thighs jiggled with every step, making you salivate, or how his firm ass filled out those shorts so perfectly.

You felt a stir of guilt, feeling like a perv, as you watched him play. What had begun as a desire to connect with him, to know more about his passion, had turned into a fixation that overshadowed the game itself. You sighed deeply, crossing your legs to prevent the dampness in your underwear from showing. You shifted your gaze to his opponent, realizing that watching that ugly loser was probably the best way to regain your focus and follow the match.

As the final ball of the second set landed on the opposite side of the court, you clapped with excitement a broad smile spreading across your face. That’s when you noticed two girls in the audience, cheering louder than anyone else, screaming his name at the top of their lungs. You couldn’t help but glare at them. They were young and cute, with tiny skirts showing just enough thighs, their hairs flowing in the wind, their firm asses and perky tits. It was obvious that Patrick was an attractive man, but it had never truly hit you that he could have anyone he wanted. Maybe he even already had them. And just like that, with one wild thought, another competition started on the court. You needed to outscream them. You were going to yell his name louder than anyone had before. You no longer cared if someone recognized you, you just wanted to make those little bitches shut the fuck up.

When the last point of the third set was won, the crowd erupted in applause. Patrick stood victorious, his face glistening with sweat, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Pride radiated from his expression. He looked up at you once more, and this time, you didn't shy away. You stood and cheered as loud as possible, your heart swelling with adoration. You had seen a new side of him, and you didn't think it was possible to fall even harder for him.

In just two hours, you felt transformed, a whole new woman, as if you had undergone a grueling religious experience. Watching Patrick being so passionate on the court almost made you resent his racket and ball. You yearned for him to feel that way about you, to be his priority, the one thing that consumed his thoughts. You wanted him to love you.

After the match, you were determined not to give his two fans the chance to monopolize his attention, so you waited for him, despite knowing your husband was probably waiting for you at home. Truth be told, you didn't even want to let them congratulate him. You watched as every single member of the audience left the court, your eyes narrowing on the two girls who skipped down the bleachers to join Patrick as he put his racket away in his bag. "Fucking cunts." You muttered under your breath, fuming as they interacted with your man. Patrick was all smiles, engaged in an animated conversation with them. Was he trying to piss you off on purpose? You sighed and leaned back in your seat, arms crossed, glaring at them with such hate that it felt like you were burning holes into the backs of their heads.

When the court was finally empty, you made your way to his car and waited for him there. When he arrived, his new tennis bag slung over his shoulder, you were leaning against his car. "You’re alone? You didn’t bring one of your fangirls?" You asked, unable to hide the jealousy in your voice. "I knew I already had one waiting for me." He replied smoothly, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips as he opened the trunk and began placing his tennis equipment inside.

Once his arms were free, he pulled you into a tight hug, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. You wore the perfume he loved on purpose, knowing it drove him wild. His hair, still damp from the shower, left a wet spot on your shirt, but you didn't care. He gently slid your sunglasses off, his eyes locking onto yours for a moment before he leaned in for a deep, passionate kiss. You wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him as close as you could, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. The kiss was intense, his tongue eagerly exploring your mouth. After a few moments, you tried to break away to congratulate him, but he was having none of it. Eventually, you managed to pull back, your lips tingling. "Congrats!" You said, breathless, placing a soft peck on his lips. "You were so hot." Your hands slid down to his butt, squeezing it firmly. Patrick let out a deep throaty sound, and began peppering your face with kisses, his arousal evident from the hardness against your stomach.

"So hot that I want to fuck you..." Standing on your tiptoes, you whispered into his ear, your fingers sliding provocatively between his asscheeks. You pressed your index finger against the fabric covering his asshole. "Nuh uh." He shook his head firmly. "You don’t know what you’re doing." It was true, you didn’t know anything about pleasuring a man this way, but you were willing to learn. You could watch instructional videos, order the best lube, and even get the perfect strap. You just wanted to claim him completely. "Then show me how to do it." You said, your voice filled with determination. "Really, should I show you how?" He raised his eyebrows, a smirk dancing on his lips. You nodded eagerly, ready to absorb everything he had to teach. He quickly slid your sunglasses into his pocket and placed his hands on your ass, mirroring your earlier action. He rubbed your crack through your pants with the side of his hand. "You know that’s not what I meant." You kissed his lips as he slid his hands back over your cheeks with a sigh. This had become a game for you, seeing how long you could tease and deny him until he finally took charge. But that idiot didn’t seem to catch on. He just gave up as soon as you said no.

"I really thought you were going home with those two girls." You confessed, a pout forming on your lips as you looked up at him. "What two girls?" He asked, genuinely puzzled. "The cute ones, the girl in white with her hair braided and the other one in pink-" You began to explain before he cut you off. "My cousins?" He exclaimed, his eyes widening in realization. His cousins? Now that you thought about it, they did look familiar but the last time you had seen them they were kids. So, you had been unfairly resenting two innocent girls for hours? "Gross!" He added with a look of disgust. "Get in the car before you start accusing me of banging my dad." You burst out laughing as he opened the passenger door for you. "Wouldn’t blame you, your dad’s kinda cute." You admitted with a playful grin as you jumped into the car. Patrick resembled Mr. Zweig quite a bit, same hair, same freckles, same nose. He was undeniably a handsome man, but you much preferred the son. Patrick slid into the driver’s seat, his brow furrowing at your comment. "Of course, you love fossils." He retorted. You playfully slapped his arm as he started the car and drove away. You glanced at the clock. It was late, too late to head back to his place. Surely, you would find a spot to park for a few minutes on the way back, just enough time for you to blow Patrick before you had to return home to far less enjoyable obligations.

●

You hadn't shared the news with Patrick yet, but after weighing up the pros and cons, you were now certain you wanted to leave your husband. The decision had come after another sleepless night, lying beside a man you no longer felt connected to, your mind wandering to thoughts of Patrick's face, his touch, the way he made you feel alive. You were now certain that whatever you had with your husband, it wasn’t love. Perhaps it had never been. Patrick was the one who occupied your every thought now. Months had passed before you came to understand that there was no point in staying married when every trait you once admired in your husband now repelled you. The comfort he offered no longer outweighed the ache you felt inside. You weren’t afraid of disappointing your family with the decision to end things anymore, nor were you scared by the prospect of being single. You had Patrick, and though you were certain he would never claim you as his girlfriend, you believed you could remain in his life after the divorce, as long as you allowed him his freedom. He would continue to be with others, and you would maintain the pretense that it didn’t fucking kill you. The only change would be the absence of guilt, the relief from constant deception and self-loathing. You envisioned a life where Patrick's presence, however brief and elusive, would be enough to make you the happiest of women. The thought of living without the shadows of betrayal hanging over you felt liberating.

Now, all that remained was to find a place of your own and save up enough money. You had begun parting with some of your treasured bags, a significant step for you. With no personal bank account, you had to open one just to deposit the funds. Though the account was gradually filling, it still fell short of what you needed to live independently. Mentally, you were at your breaking point, the idea of staying in your marriage any longer was unbearable. You needed the divorce to happen now. Though you were certain Patrick would offer you a place to stay for a few days, you couldn’t bear the thought of overstaying your welcome. The only option left was to hope that your husband would allow you to remain in the house until you found a place of your own.

The only thing left was to break the news. You wanted to wait for a moment that felt right to announce a divorce, if such a moment did exist. You were clueless, having never imagined yourself as one of those divorcees. When you first married, you were convinced it would be forever, yet here you were, anxiously flipping bacon in a pan, rehearsing the impending conversation in your head. You decided that telling him in the morning, before he left for work, would give him a few hours to process the news and offer you some space away from any potential outburst. Though your husband was not a violent man, you knew he would react with anger and accusations, blaming you for ruining his life, like his previous wife did. Telling him in the morning would not only give him time to come to terms with the situation but also allow you to use the day to pack your bags.

You placed a plate of eggs and bacon before him, its presentation less neat than usual, and settled into the chair across from him as he began to eat. "I’m not happy…" You said, your eyes focused on your hands, nervously picking at your cuticles to avoid meeting his gaze. He paused, setting his fork and knife down with a resigned sigh. "I can tell." He replied, his voice carrying a hint of resignation. Gathering your courage, you took a deep breath, ready to deliver the news in one swift motion. "I want-..." You were startled by the sudden sound of his deep voice. "I know what you want…" Did he? Was he about to make things easier for you? Had he noticed the growing distance between you two? Your mind raced as he continued, "I’ve thought about it, and I think I’m ready for us to have a baby." The words hit you like a punch to the gut. A baby? Was he serious? After all those years of rejecting the idea, he chose this moment, as you were on the brink of leaving, to bring it up?

You stared at him in stunned silence, the weight of his words sinking in. The only sounds that penetrated the stillness were the hum of the refrigerator and the rapid beating of your heart. He knew that this was the one thing you had always yearned for, a dream you had long since abandoned, believing it would never come true. You had grieved motherhood when you married a man who had no interest in having children, and you had buried the hope even deeper when you planned to leave him for another man who was equally unwilling to grant you that wish. But now, here was an opportunity, one you could not bring yourself to refuse. The meticulously crafted plans for escape now seemed like a distant, fading dream. Finally, you managed to talk. "Let’s do it." The words slipped out before you could fully comprehend their meaning. The prospect of a baby had momentarily overshadowed all other thoughts. His eyes brightened with a blend of relief and joy. The rest of breakfast passed in a blur of forced smiles and muted conversation. As you cleared the table, the reality of what you had just agreed to began to settle in. A baby meant Patrick had to go.

You needed to talk this through with Patrick. Despite not being his wife, you felt he deserved as much input into this decision as you did. A pregnancy would inevitably affect your relationship. You waited until your husband had left the house before calling an Uber to Patrick’s place. When Patrick opened the door, his eyes widened with concern at the sight of your distressed expression. "What’s wrong?" He asked, guiding you inside. You sank onto the couch with a sigh. "He wants a baby." You admitted. The room fell into a heavy silence. Patrick settled beside you, his gaze unwavering as you struggled to meet his eyes. "Do you want one?" He asked softly. You nodded, your desire unmistakable. It had been your dream for so long, and you couldn’t lie to him, even if it meant that dream might drive you apart. "Then I think you’d make a great mom." He said, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. Was it all? Did he not grasp what it meant? Did he not care that it meant you had to break things off with him?

●

Weeks passed, and you hadn't brought up the subject again with Patrick. You thought your husband might change his mind about having a baby, so there seemed no reason to discuss it further. However, he was more than serious. He had booked an appointment with the gynecologist and accompanied you to the clinic. He was even present when the doctor removed your IUD, explaining that fertility could return immediately after its removal. That very night, your husband insisted that you start trying. The whole ordeal had lasted a bit longer than ten minutes, most of which had been spent with you jerking him off. Before Patrick, you had always wondered if something was wrong with you because your husband had always preferred your hand over your cunt. But now you knew you weren’t bad at sex, so what was the issue? Was it the same for him as it was for you? Was he so in love with his mistress that it felt wrong fucking his own wife? When he had felt the orgasm nearing, he had spread your legs and penetrated you. After a few lazy thrusts, he had came, filling you up with his load. If baby making was anything like this, it was cold, unloving and unenjoyable.

Not as pleasant as what was happening at the moment. Patrick was fondling your breasts as you cooked him dinner. His warm breath tickled your neck as he placed dozens of sweet kisses against your nape. You could feel his hard cock against your ass and feel yourself getting lost in the feeling of his fingers against your nipples. But you couldn’t just let him have his way, there were consequences to your actions now. "Pat, stop. I just got my IUD removed..." You explained as you flipped the omelet in the pan. He sighed and pulled his hands away from under your shirt, his face showing clear disappointment. "So, no more fucking?" He asked, a pout on his face. "Pull out?" You suggested. "Oh because that worked so well the first time." He said with a hint of sarcasm. You remembered the whole STD scare that had happened on the very first day together. After a pause, he offered. "I could fuck you in the ass." You shook your head without even glancing in his direction. Sure, you could do that once or twice, but more than that? Hell no. You needed to feel him stretch your pussy. "Condoms." You suggested, offering what seemed like the only initiative. "Or anal." He insisted, his tone unwavering. You turned to face him, your arms crossing tightly over your chest, your eyes narrowing in frustration. "So you plan on fucking me in the ass for the rest of my life?" You asked, your voice edged with disbelief. You had given alternatives, yet he was still adamant about ignoring your poor needy little cunt. His attitude shifted dramatically. The usual playful Patrick had vanished, replaced by someone way more resentful. "I wouldn’t have to if you hadn’t been a coward and left him when I told you to." He snapped. So it was all out of spite. You had never seen such anger in his eyes, and you couldn’t tell whether it came from you denying him the right to unload in your cunt or from the fact that your desire for a baby was getting more concrete. "So should I just leave him?" You asked, turning off the gas burner with a click. His response came sharply. "Duh, he’s a piece of shit." Patrick’s words offered no comfort. He was unaware of your earlier plans to divorce and how you had abandoned them at the mere mention of a child. He had no idea how deeply you longed to be a mother, or how lonely you had been until he came into your life. This had never been a topic of discussion between you. Despite what he seemed to believe, you hadn’t taken the easy way out. You remained married to a neglectful husband who neither loved you nor you loved, but you had chosen a life that provided what Patrick couldn’t : belongingness. He was unaware that even the slightest hint of a promise of being his girlfriend, or any other status, would have made you leave your husband right away. Sure, you longed for marriage and babies, but you were ready to give up on those dreams if Patrick promised to be by your side for the rest of his life.

"Do you think I have a choice, Patrick? What else can I do except be a wife?" His mouth opened as if to respond, but you cut him off, not giving him the chance to speak. "If I leave him, where do I go? I belong nowhere." The realization had only struck you during your plans to divorce him : your husband had made you so dependent on him while giving you the illusion of independence. You believed you were free to spend your days as you wished and buy whatever you wanted without justification. But in reality, you lived to please your husband, organizing your schedule around his own and the money you spent was his money : nothing was truly yours. Not even your free time. The only thing that was truly yours was your relationship with Patrick. "What should I do for a living? Sell my ass?" Your voice rose with the last question, an attempt to mask the cry threatening to escape. "Don’t be ridiculous." He responded, his tone soft trying to soothe you. "You’re going to take care of me then?" You asked, looking at him straight in the eyes. He remained silent. "And you know what? It’s not even about him anymore." The words spilled out. You were ready to leave your husband, but you weren’t ready to give up on the dream of a child now that it seemed almost within your grasp. "If I leave him, are you going to be the one giving me a baby? Or should I just fuck some random guy, hoping he gives me what I want?" All you wanted was to hear him say that you could leave your husband, he would provide for you, help you find a career and make you a mother, but he couldn’t promise you that, he didn’t want that. "I’m sorry." He whispered as he wrapped his arms tightly around you. While his arms offered comfort, they couldn’t soothe the pain within you caused from his lack of words.

●

Despite the argument, you had let Patrick get what he wanted. You were unable to say no to him. He now took you from behind on a regular basis. Despite your fear of pain, your first experience with anal sex had been unexpectedly very pleasurable. Patrick had been meticulous in his preparation, first using his tongue, then his fingers, and plenty of lube to ensure you were thoroughly ready. You appreciated the burn of stretching as he eased into your tightness. Still, you missed the deep, relentless pounding that had once bruised your cervix and left you dazed. Yet, you had come to realize that having anal sex with Patrick Zweig was better than not having sex at all. Although on some lucky nights, he would begin fucking your pussy like he always did and finish in your ass. Those were your favorite kinds of nights. Tonight was one of them.

You were bent over the couch, your hips raised in the air, while he stood behind you, thrusting into you with force. "I-I.. should just put a… baby in you." He groaned, his voice heavy with desire as the sound of his fat sack smacking against you filled the room. His words sent a shiver through you, leaving you breathless and trembling. Your legs began to shake, nearly giving out under the surge of pleasure. "Please, do it!" You pleaded, your eyes shutting tightly with ecstasy. His words sent a jolt of electricity straight to your clit. Patrick being your baby daddy? That was all you wanted now. "That’s all that asshole deserves... raising my bastard child..." He mumbled, fucking you like a maniac. His words weren’t the only things filled with resentment, you could feel how much he despised your husband in the way he pounded into you. For a fleeting second, you thought maybe you should piss him off more often. "Please, Patrick." You moaned, pushing your hips back against him, craving every thrust. "He doesn’t deserve to soil your body." Patrick growled through clenched teeth, his voice thick with anger. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, forcing you to tilt your head back as his teeth sank into your neck. He was usually careful not to leave marks, but this time, you felt his teeth dig a bit too hard into your skin. "I want your baby, Pat…" You begged, clenching hard around his length, your desperation palpable. "Don’t be stupid." He snapped, his tone harsh. "You would hate me for it." Hate him for it? If only he knew how many times you had imagined yourself carrying his child. Without warning, he switched holes, slamming himself into your ass. You let out a pained whine, your body tensing at the sudden intrusion. This time, he hadn't prepared you in the slightest, only using your juices as lube, and the sharp discomfort interrupted the orgasm that had been building up. You quickly reached between your legs, fingers finding your already throbbing clit as he forced himself into your ass. The mere thought of him breeding you reignited the tension, building the pressure toward another climax. "So tight... I can't even pull away." He whispered against your neck, his hand joining yours between your legs, guiding the rhythm of your touches. After minutes of relentless rutting, you both climaxed together, Patrick's release buried deeply within your guts.

The thought of all this cum going to waste filled you with a surge of frustration. Once he pulled out, you could only think if only you could push back hard enough to let it drip onto your cunt, maybe, with a bit of luck, you could become Patrick Zweig’s baby mama. Before you could even attempt it, however, Patrick’s tongue was already working its way to your asshole, eagerly lapping up every last drop of his semen.

"So, are you two really trying for a baby?" He asked, his voice tinged with curiosity as you both lay sprawled naked in bed. You nodded, a hint of determination in your eyes. "He’s actually fucking you?" He pressed, his tone incredulous. You nodded once more, feeling the weight of his questions. He grimaced, a look of disgust crossing his face. "Don’t you know how babies are made?" You joked lightly, reaching over to pinch his nipple playfully. "Does he make you come?" He asked suddenly, his gaze intense. You had never seen him so serious, gone was the casual tone of before. You shook your head. Of course, he did not. In comparison to the rush you felt with Patrick, having sex with your husband truly felt like a chore. It wasn’t unpleasant most of the time but nothing truly enjoyable. "I’m the only one who knows how your body really works." He said. You nodded eagerly in agreement. You couldn’t even make yourself come as hard as you did with him.

He started by letting his mouth wander down your neck, his lips brushing softly against the curves of your chest. "My tits." He murmured, adding a playful bite to his kisses as he grazed your skin, each nip sending shivers down to your stomach. His lips traced a heated path across your body, leaving a lingering warmth. As his attention drifted lower, he took hold of your ass with a possessive yet gentle grip. "My ass." He declared, his hands exploring your curves with a blend of desire and affection. Then, he devoted his full attention to the most intimate part of you. "My tight little cunt." He whispered, his voice low as he began to feast upon your core. You grasped his hair tightly, pulling on the soft curls as he used his tongue with fervor.

"Mine, mine, mine." He repeated like a mantra. You wanted to believe him. Yet, despite his claims of possession, you knew deep down that he didn’t truly desire to own you. If he did, he wouldn’t let you return to your husband at the end of each night.

●

Your period had started, and you felt like dying. The cramps were bearable, but the emotional pain was killing you. You had spent the morning with a dull ache in your lower stomach, a sign that something was definitely wrong. Although you recognized the pain, you clung to a small hope that it might be a good sign. You didn’t know much about pregnancy, after all. Perhaps there was still a chance. But it was the sight of the bloodstain on your panties that made you break down in sobs. It was concrete proof you weren’t pregnant. All those times you forced yourself to smile while your husband snuck his hands under your clothes had been for nothing? Unprepared and caught off guard, you had nothing to take care of it. You had to stuff your underwear with toilet paper and order pads through a delivery service. After they arrived, you took a long hot shower to wash away the blood from your inner thighs. Then, instinctively, you made your way to Patrick’s place despite knowing he couldn’t fuck you. You weren’t sure why you were there. Maybe you were seeking some comfort.

When he opened the door, you wrapped your arms tightly around him without saying a word. Patrick just let you in and kissed you gently. You were surprised he didn’t immediately jump your bones like he usually did the second you passed through the door. You wanted to believe he could sense you weren’t feeling right, that he knew you better than anyone. But the truth was, he was most likely oblivious to your issue. Instead, he held you close, his embrace warm and comforting, as you laid on his couch, watching TV with him. You lay beneath him, gently stroking his hair as his head rested on your chest. His breath was warm against your skin, and you felt a surprising sense of peace despite the chaos within you. After more than an hour of cuddling, he shifted, lifting your shirt and slipping his head underneath it. His lips left a trail of burning kisses across your stomach, each one sending a shiver through you. "I need to fuck you." Patrick whispered against your bare skin. You sighed inwardly. Of course, you couldn’t just hang out with Patrick without sex being involved. Not that you usually complained, but right now, you couldn’t and didn’t need to add frustration to the swirling mix of emotions you felt. "I'm on my period." You interrupted him. He quickly removed his head from under your shirt and looked at you with a wide smile on his face. "Really?" He asked, looking quite happy for a man you were rejecting. Was he glad you were bleeding? Was it some kind of kink of his? Or was he just glad you weren’t pregnant? "Do you think I care about a little bit of blood?" He questioned, and you frowned in disgust. He truly had no limits. "At least, I will be able to fill your cunt this time." Oh, so that was the reason? That was enough to make you consider it.

You resisted at first, holding back until the intensity of his grinding against your core left you begging for it. You felt uneasy about letting him inside you while you were bleeding heavily, but he insisted it didn't bother him in the slightest. He pulled down your sweats and underwear, revealing the blood-soaked pad. You braced yourself for his reaction, expecting it to turn him off, but instead, he remained unfazed. "Do you have cramps?" He asked, his voice steady as he tapped his thighs, signaling you to straddle him. On his couch? He didn’t seem to know how messy things could get . You positioned yourself on his lap, facing him, and wrapped your arms around his neck. "A bit." You admitted. "Apparently, it helps." He pulled his length free from his shorts as you lifted your hips. You reached for him, guiding his shaft to your core before you sat down onto it. As he began thrusting upward, you were already moving wildly against him, driven by an insatiable craving for his touch. Your period made you extra horny and sensitive, amplifying every touch and sensation. He gripped your buttcheeks firmly, pulling you down onto his length with deliberate, slow strokes. Your eyes rolled back in your head. “Ah...” You moaned, glancing down to ensure you weren’t fucking in a pool of blood. All you could see was a pinkish blend of cream and blood covering the base of his cock. Reassured that you weren’t bleeding to death in your lover’s arms, you started bouncing on him with renewed fervor. A grunt escaped his lips when you planted a passionate kiss on them.

“Patrick…” You sighed in bliss. “I’m coming…” He dug his fingernails into your ass cheeks as you clenched around his length, feeling the climax build. A few extra well-angled thrusts pushed you over the edge. “Fuck!” You cried out. You hid your face in the crook of his neck, eyes closed, a smile spreading across your face as you came, feeling both overwhelmed and dizzy. You pressed your lips against his neck, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat against your mouth.

When he finally followed you into climax and you felt his warmth spreading deep inside you, a sensation you had been missing for weeks, you couldn’t help but admit that maybe he was right. Period sex, despite your initial reservations, was actually quite alright.

You both ended up in the shower, trying to clean up the mess you had made. "Are you disappointed you're on your period?" He asked, his voice echoing softly against the tiled walls while he rubbed soap over his body. Disappointed was an understatement. "A bit… I knew it could take some time to get pregnant, but I kinda hoped it would be quick." You admitted, feeling already exhausted of the baby-making process. "You should be prepared that it might take a while. The sperm is like centuries old. Fucking expired." Patrick replied, mocking your husband once more. "Patrick." You glared at him. The truth was, you didn’t care that he was making fun of the man you shared your life with. It didn’t matter. What irked you was the unsettling possibility that he might be right and that getting pregnant wouldn’t be as easy as you hoped.

●

Taking pregnancy tests each day had become an obsessive routine. Each morning, you felt the urge to pee on the stick as soon as you woke up. Your desire to become a mother was only matched by your eagerness to escape the never-ending cycle of trying. Your attraction to your husband had faded, so you had to mentally prepare yourself each time, struggling to even become slightly wet. It was painful most of the time, and his lack of attention to your pleasure made the whole experience a struggle. You were convinced that if he were more attentive with foreplay, things might have been better. For now, lube was your best friend, and you blamed your dryness on nervousness. After all, making a baby was a pretty big deal. During the act, you had to do some of your best acting, pretending to be overwhelmed with pleasure the second he was inside you just to boost his ego and make him jizz quicker. And once he came, you felt disgusting, but you had to keep it together and raise your legs above your head.

But today, the test looked different. Two lines appeared, with the second line so faint it was almost invisible. You took another test, and then another, each one revealed the same faint line. As you gazed at the positive pregnancy tests lined up next to the sink, a wave of mixed emotions washed over you. Part of you was filled with happiness, knowing your dream was finally about to become a reality. Yet, another part of you was torn, for this also meant the end of things with Patrick. For a brief, tempting moment, you wondered if you could keep it a secret from him a bit longer, until you started showing, just to keep seeing him a few more months. But deep down, you knew you couldn't lie to him. You couldn’t betray him, not like you did with your husband.

Patrick was the first person you wanted to tell, even before your husband. When you arrived at his place, you realized you had no idea on how to break the news. You kissed him lightly on the lips as he opened the door and let you in, but you remained silent. You wished you had rehearsed what to say before rushing over. "What’s wrong?" He asked, sensing your discomfort as you barely responded to his caresses and kisses against your neck. "I think I’m pregnant..." You blurted out. You felt his hands instinctively pull away from your ass, and the smile vanished from his face. "Oh." His gaze dropped to your stomach. "Wow." He murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Congrats?" Patrick had never been good at lying, and his half-hearted congratulations made that evident. He looked at you, chewing on the inside of his cheek, struggling to mask his emotions. You knew how delicate the situation was, but you had hoped he would show a bit more happiness for you. Yet, deep down, you were also relieved that he didn’t. It meant he wasn’t ready to let go of you.

You had never broached the subject of what would happen between the two of you once you became pregnant. Truthfully, you had avoided thinking about it completely. It had always seemed clear to you that it would mark the end of your affair and you hated it. But apparently, that wasn’t as obvious for Patrick. "Do you want to stop seeing each other?" He suddenly asked, his voice trembling with uncertainty. Was it even a real question? You shook your head in denial. Giving the opposite answer would have been the right thing to do for your family but you had no desire to end things. "Thank god." He murmured with palpable relief, drawing you into a passionate kiss. You were stunned by his reaction. What kind of guy would continue a casual relationship with someone who was pregnant with someone else’s child? It seemed so morally wrong. Yet, nothing felt more intensely right than the sensation of Patrick’s fingers wandering beneath your panties.

●

The first two months of your pregnancy felt like the beginning of your relationship all over again. Patrick was back to fucking you at least four times a week, taking full advantage of the freedom to fill you with his cum without any worries. And you never brought the subject up again, not even once. You knew life was growing inside you, but you pretended to ignore it and be your old self. You were as present for Patrick as you could be. Despite your husband being a bit more attentive since you gave him the news, you made time, making sure to be at Patrick’s place as soon as your husband left for work. As much as you wanted things to remain that way, you noticed Patrick had become a bit more cautious around you. No more throwing you against every piece of furniture, no more strangling your neck with his strong hands or sitting on your chest, pinning you down while he made you gag on his cock. He still treated you like a cock-hungry whore, calling you all sorts of names and covering you with his cum, but he was more gentle about it. You hated it. You hated how he pretended everything was unchanged, while you found yourself begging for even the slightest hint of roughness. He had even stopped smoking in your presence, and you nearly had to put a cigarette between his lips for him to feel relaxed enough to light it up. You had spent months yearning for him to show some consideration, and now, when he did, you craved the uncaring treatment you once had. What was wrong with you?

And then, just when you thought nothing could burst your bubble, he had to leave for a tour. You were thrilled for him, celebrating his success and impressive rankings, but you also felt resentment. He always seemed to choose tennis over you. You found it unsettling when you realized that you actually preferred it when he was miserable and struggling with his career because it meant he needed you more. How twisted was that?

While he was away, he made a point to check in on you, sending you a daily picture of his cock. You were grateful for it, especially since the hormones had you unbearably horny, making you hump your pillow several times a day. You were also thankful for FaceTime, allowing you to watch his face as he came, your name on his lips and his hand gripping his cock.

When he finally returned, defeated and unvictorious, you rushed to his apartment like an addict craving her fix. You had missed him so much, it almost felt like dying. Now that he was back, you were determined not to let him go. As he opened the door and you saw him standing there, you could swear he looked even more handsome than you remembered. He greeted you with a grin, though his eyes quickly flickered to your stomach. You had spent countless hours on your knees, desperately praying that you wouldn't start showing, wishing to remain physically the same woman you had always been. But despite your efforts, your body had grown larger and fuller, and loose clothing could no longer cover it. "Come in, fatty." He teased as he let you inside. It was probably the last thing you wanted to hear as an emotional, pregnant woman who yearned to stay slim and hot for her athletic lover. Yet, the playful smack on your ass as you walked in reassured you and made you smile. Maybe you were a bit of a "fatty", but you were a "fatty" he wanted to fuck. Once inside, you grasped him by the collar and drew him close, savoring the warmth of his body against yours. You had missed his touch, his scent, his smile. The moment you were reunited, you pressed your lips to his with an urgent, desperate kiss. "I’m so horny…" You murmured breathlessly against his tongue. "When aren’t you?" He replied with a playful smirk, effortlessly lifting you off the ground and gripping your thighs with a firm, possessive hold. "I swear the hormones are driving me crazy." You whispered into his ear, your breath hot and heavy as you nibbled on his earlobe. "Show me then." He urged, biting his lower lip at the sensation of your tongue against his sensitive ear. You spent the rest of the day in bed, riding him into oblivion. Being on top allowed you to grind against him, the friction offering sweet relief to your aching, swollen clit. Even when his body could no longer keep up, you continued, desperately humping his thigh like a starved animal.

After a couple of months, your growing belly made it difficult to have sex in most positions. So now, he mostly fucked you from behind, either spooning you or in doggy style. To be fair, if you really wanted to, you would still ride him, but you suspected that the sight of your pregnant body turned him off. It was either that or Patrick Zweig, the most sexual being you knew, had somehow turned into a saint.

He no longer initiated sex, it was always you who made the first move. While he obliged and fucked you, it was clear he wasn't doing it for his own pleasure. Sure, he would come but he wasn’t using you like he used to. He barely spoke during the act, no more crude talk, he was only asking if you liked it from time to time. Of course, it was still enjoyable, Patrick Zweig would always be a good fuck, whether he put in the effort or not, but the passion was gone. You missed the wild intensity of the past. There were no more forceful poundings. He was delicate now, his strokes long and gentle, his hands tenderly cradling your hips. Throat fucking had become a thing of the past too, he wouldn’t even finish in your mouth anymore. Anal sex, once one of his biggest turn-ons, was suddenly off the table. He had even stopped going down on you. He had tried once, but after a few minutes of his view being blocked by your growing belly, he gave up, leaving you unsatisfied and longing for more.

You didn’t want to admit that your relationship with Patrick had lost part of its thrill. Yet, it became painfully clear when, during a particularly intimate moment, you accidentally called him by your husband’s pet name. "L-lovey…" The forbidden term slipped out while he was spooning you, his cock deeply buried inside. The slow, languid thrusts were so reminiscent of your husband’s lazy fucking and the position so familiar that the mix-up was almost inevitable.

You wanted to ask Patrick what was wrong, whether your changing body was troubling him. Why wasn’t he fucking you like the whore you were anymore? But bringing it up would mean confronting the reality of your pregnancy, something you weren’t ready to face. You still needed him in your life, whether he fucked you or not. You were convinced that keeping him at a distance from your baby was for the best. You had intentionally shielded him from that part of your world. So you never mentioned the countless doctor visits or the preparatory classes you attended. You kept your aches and symptoms to yourself, and he remained oblivious to the fact that you already knew the baby’s gender, and how happy you were about it. It was a girl, just as you had hoped.

●

"Your friend Patricia says she really needs to see you." Your husband said, handing you your phone as it buzzed with a new message. Patricia? Why on earth would Patrick contact you on the weekend? He knew your husband was home. "Ah yes, she’s going through a hard time." Knowing Patrick, probably a really, really, really hard time. "I should probably go, she needs me." You said, making your way to the door. Your husband let out a sigh that made you freeze. It was a sigh that hinted at trouble. "Does Patricia know you’re pregnant?" He asked, his voice carrying an edge. You squinted at him, trying to understand the motive behind his question. Was he still questioning your faithfulness? You knew he had doubts, but you had no way of knowing what he knew or didn’t know. With the lack of honest communication between you, you only knew deception and secrecy, making it unlikely he would confront you directly. He was as much of a coward as you were. For a brief moment, you wondered if his question came from concerns that you might be pregnant with another man’s child. "Yes, it’s not like I can hide it." You answered, trying to sound casual and unconcerned. "She must be happy for you." He said, clearly pressing for more information. "Sure. Like any friend would be." You replied, trying to clear up his doubts. You wanted to reassure him that despite the mess in your relationship, you still respected him enough to be honest about such an important matter. You gave him a quick peck on the cheek, grabbed your jacket, and headed for the door before he could say anything more. As you left the house, you texted Patrick back.

← [To : Patricia - 2:22pm] Don’t text me when he’s home! My husband saw your message! → [From : Patricia - 2:22am] Oh really? Did he see this too? [video attached]

Attached was a video of his cock sliding out of you as he fucked you from behind, one hand pressed against the small of your back while the other held his phone. You had no idea he had even recorded such a video. You’d never seen him use his phone to film before. Judging by your size in the video, it was clearly recent. You found yourself wondering why he had felt the need to capture that moment.

← [To : Patricia - 2:24pm] Is that blackmail material? → [From : Patricia - 2:25pm] More like jerk off material. → [From : Patricia - 2:26pm] You know I would never blackmail you. I want you to be safe and living a comfortable life.

You kept re-reading his words. A comfortable life? What about happiness?

← [To : Patricia - 2:31pm] I’m on my way.

●

Before you knew it, you were back to your monotonous housewife routine. Your husband had returned to his business trips, and the attention he had showered on you after the pregnancy announcement had died down. Once again, you were reduced to just being a part of the house he lived in.

You were now free to invite Patrick over as often as you wished during the week, eager for his company. While sex was mostly why you met him, what you truly craved was his presence. So, he came over to watch movies, play video games, or simply chat. The guest bedroom had essentially become his, and by extension, yours as well. Patrick grew increasingly comfortable in your home, moving through the hallways with the ease of someone who belonged there. You were confident that if you asked him for anything, he would locate it in no time.

You were in the bathtub, savoring a rare moment of intimacy as the warm water enveloped both of you. Patrick's cramped shower barely allowed for such comfortable closeness, but tonight, your spacious bathtub had made it possible. One of his hands rested on your breast while the other lay absentmindedly on your stomach. It was the first time Patrick had ever touched you there. He usually made a conscious effort to avoid this part of your body. Was it because he didn’t want to hurt your baby? Out of respect for your husband? Or was he simply grossed out? The last theory seemed the most probable. For weeks, you had prayed that your child wouldn’t show any sign of life in Patrick’s presence, but it had happened more than once. You always made sure to dismiss it, no matter how hard it kicked, masking any sign of discomfort or awareness. Even though your life was on the brink of a monumental change, you were determined to remain the same old you for Patrick.

You placed your hand on top of his, intertwining your fingers, allowing yourself to imagine, just for a second, that you were living this life with Patrick. That he was your cherished husband with a successful career, and you were carrying his child, a child you both eagerly awaited. When he realized where his hand was, he quickly pulled it away, resting it on your thigh. "Don't you want one of your own someday?" You asked, breaking the silence. "Hell no." He replied, his voice tinged with disgust. "You keep calling me deranged. Do you think it’s a wise decision to pass down those genes?" Sure, he was deranged, but he was also caring, attentive, and sweet. "I think you’d make the best daddy." You said, a warmth in your voice. Silence followed your words, and you could tell they had some kind of impact on him. You doubted anyone had ever thought so highly of him or simply believed he was capable of any kind of responsibility. "Aren’t I already?" He teased, sneaking his hand between your legs, his fingers finding your clit with slow, intense rubs. You bit your lip, knowing he was trying to divert your attention from the seriousness of your words. "I’m serious, Patrick!" You insisted, your voice trembling. "One day, you’re going to make a woman the happiest, and I’m so pissed that it’s not me." There. You said it. You couldn’t pretend anymore that this was a normal, casual relationship. You would have traded the world to be the one Patrick would settle for.

Patrick sighed deeply. And here you were, crying again, your emotions a chaotic mix fueled by hormones. His fingers were still on your cunt, and you were sobbing. "I don’t want to be the reason you’re crying." He murmured, his voice full of regret and tenderness. He placed a soft kiss on your head and wrapped his arms as tightly as he could around your torso. But he was the reason for your tears. If he wanted you to stop crying, he only had to say one word and make you the happiest woman on earth. But he would never. Patrick Zweig would remain a selfish and immature man, unable to commit. Not unable. Unwilling. The future you longed for with Patrick was a fantasy, one that couldn’t coexist with the life you already had, and it had to stop. The bathwater grew colder as your tears continued to fall down your cheeks.

●

You were madly in love with Patrick, it was a fact you could no longer deny, no matter how hard you tried for the sake of your marriage. It was becoming impossible for you to conceal the depth of your distress. It was when you started resenting your baby for straining your relationship that you knew it was time to stop seeing Patrick. You had been so eager to be a mom, but Patrick had made it difficult to look forward to it, and you didn’t want him to ruin your relationship with your unborn child. Ending this relationship would, without a doubt, be the hardest thing you would ever do, but it was necessary. The weight of guilt had become unbearable. It wasn’t your husband you felt sorry for, it was your child. Your rendez-vous with Patrick had lost all its enjoyment. You were fairly certain he could sense how much you loved him and it was starting to scare him. You couldn’t help but constantly message him and tell him how much you missed him. You had to know where he was and with who, acting like his jealous wife. You knew he was fucking other people, you could smell on him and you had no right to say a thing about it. Each time you met, you ended up in tears on his couch, overwhelmed by the betrayal that wasn't even a betrayal. You knew he was grossed out by your swollen body and your unpredictable mood swings. He wasn’t even fucking your brains out anymore, he mostly just held you, cuddled you, and offered reassurances, as a friend might. And those meetings were happening less and less often as he always had a great excuse to cancel on you. His career was doing better than ever and he had to be away from home. You suspected that for him, the end of the relationship had come long before it had for you, and that realization was breaking your heart. Without him, you faced a future alone, and the thought of it frightened you. Breaking up with him felt like a huge mistake, but you couldn’t back down. Your daughter deserved to have parents who respected each other and loved her unconditionally.

"I think we should stop seeing each other." You were lying in bed, spooning when you finally said it, your voice trembling with apprehension. The words you had dreaded to utter hung heavily in the air. "I really need to focus on my child and husband." You attempted to explain, though it felt out of place, considering the months you had spent neglecting both. "I get it." He replied softly, as if he had been expecting this for some time. Wasn’t he going to fight for you? You longed for him to beg, to declare he couldn’t live without you. But instead, he remained silent, simply holding you, his arms wrapped around your chest. Tears began to fall down your cheeks, but you tried to stay quiet, unwilling to show weakness. If he didn’t care about you leaving, why should you care? Fuck it. You were not strong enough to maintain the facade. You wanted him to understand how much he meant to you, how grateful you were for the way he had helped you discover yourself. Because of him, you had learned what love was truly meant to be, and now you had to say goodbye to it. "I will miss you so much." You whispered, a lump forming painfully in your throat. You recognized that you were being unfair by forcing your feelings upon him. Although not answering would make him seem like an asshole, you needed to hear his response. "I know." He replied, but his words offered little comfort. Of course, he wouldn’t answer. "Me too." He finally added, his voice barely a whisper. The words sent you into a fit of loud, uncontrollable crying. Patrick did his best to soothe you, pressing gentle kisses along your neck. For a brief moment, it felt like his face was as wet as yours, though you suspected that was just wishful thinking.

You both stood in front of the door to his apartment, tightly wrapped in an embrace, his chin resting gently on the top of your head as he stroked your back. It had been months since he had held you so closely. It seemed that your enormous belly that used to be an issue for him wasn’t anymore. The hug didn’t help the tears streaming down your face. "I better see you on TV as the best fucking tennis player on earth." You sniffled against his chest. You only wished for the best for him, knowing he had the potential to achieve it. "Don’t worry, I’ll make myself impossible to avoid." He teased, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "And you’d better be the happiest woman on earth. You and the little one." You nodded, though you had doubts about ever finding happiness without him. At the very least, you hoped your child would.

You had decided it was best for the two of you to call a driver to pick you up, avoiding the extended goodbye that would come if Patrick drove you home. Patrick’s car was also weirdly sentimental for you. It was where everything had started, where you had become a new woman, where he had fucked you so good that you had forgotten your miserable life. You didn’t want it to be where it ended. You knew the moment you saw him behind that wheel, your knees would get weak, and you would beg him to take you back. So here you were, sobbing in the backseat of a stranger’s car. You didn’t miss the driver’s quick glances in the rear-view mirror but you didn’t give a fuck. You needed to release the sadness before you reached your house. Once near your home, you asked the driver to stop at the exact spot where Patrick always parked when he picked you up. There, you cried until you couldn’t anymore. After a few minutes of loud cries, your eyes had simply stopped shedding tears and had become bloodshot and very dry. All there was left was a lump in your throat and a headache. When you finally exited the car to return to the emptiness of your house, you made sure to tip the driver extra money for the inconvenience. You were also very grateful he didn’t ask any question.

When your husband walked through the door that evening, he was unprepared for the request you were about to make. "I need you to focus entirely on me and our daughter from now on." You said, your voice a low but firm whisper. Your gaze met his with an intensity that left no room for misunderstanding. Your eyes were still swollen and red from the tears. "No one else." You added as he looked at you curiously at the unspoken implication of the other woman. He could feign ignorance all he wanted, but you were about to make it very clear to him. "I don’t want this family to fall apart." You said, your hand resting gently on your stomach. You had sacrificed your own happiness for your child, and you wanted him to share in that sacrifice, to be as miserable as you were. He let out a deep sigh, his shoulders slumping as he nodded in agreement. "Only you two." He replied, trying to reassure you. You wanted to believe him, but deep down you knew you would need to check his phone for proof in the coming days. You knew better than anyone how challenging it could be to end things.

●

A week later, your daughter was born. The postpartum depression hit you hard, a dark cloud that you couldn’t shake off. You found yourself unable to form a bond with your child, hating her for being the reason Patrick was no longer in your life. Each day felt like a struggle, and the baby in your arms was a constant reminder of what you had lost. And Patrick didn't make it any easier for you.

→ [From : Patricia - 9:29pm] I heard about the baby. Congratulations. I hope you’re taking care of yourself.

You almost dropped your phone at the sight of the message. You had no friends in common, so how could he possibly know? You hadn't posted anything about your kid. There was no way he should be aware of it, unless he had been stalking your husband’s account. Your husband, who proudly posted hundreds of pictures of his daughter. A daughter who looked so much like him, you resented both him and her for it. You knew the chances were slim, but you had hoped that somehow, someway, it would be Patrick’s twin that came out of you, that you would see his ears and his nose in her face. So meeting your daughter and her annoyingly tiny ears had been nothing but a disappointment.

← [To : Patricia - 9:30pm] I miss you so much…

You felt weak, already yearning to be back in his arms after only a few days. But to your disappointment, he left the message on read. Deep down, you knew he had done this for your own good.

●

As your daughter grew, you had hoped that having a child would ease your loneliness. In some ways, it did, but the misery lingered. You were still lonely, just too busy to dwell on it. Your husband remained a devoted father, yet he no longer fulfilled the role of a husband. He had replaced you, his affection solely devoted to your daughter. The little attention he used to give you now went entirely to the baby, and you couldn't voice your resentment without looking like a heartless mother.

For years, you had dreamed of being a mother, but now you regretted it. You had hoped the bond would come with time, but you found yourself unable to grow attached to your own child. And she demanded your constant attention, clinging to your breast like a leech. She was draining the life out of you. Day after day, you felt your own beauty slip away as she grew prettier. Your face appeared dull and blotchy, your body still swollen from the pregnancy, and your skin loose from the drastic changes. Breastfeeding had left you with empty, sagging boobs. You couldn't even bring yourself to think about what childbirth had done to your once perfect, tight little pussy. You knew that pelvic floor exercises would eventually help but you feared nothing could restore it to its former glory. And the stretch marks… They were a constant reminder of how ugly you felt. But that didn’t matter, it wasn't as if anyone was interested in fucking you anymore.

Your affair with Patrick had remained a secret, and now he was just a shadow in your life. He was the one you imagined to make yourself come, the one who lingered in your thoughts whenever you smelled a cigarette or heard about tennis. He was the one you had in mind every time you told your husband you loved him. Though Patrick wasn't entirely gone from your life. For your birthday, a chocolate cake arrived, unsigned but unmistakably from the bakery where it had all begun. It was a thoughtful gesture from him, ensuring that your special day was not forgotten. Knowing you crossed his mind even once was the only thing keeping you alive at the moment.

●

At two and a half years old, your daughter had begun to be a bit more independant, making things somewhat easier for you to manage. She no longer depended on you for her survival, allowing you to leave her with the nanny while you retreated to the garage to cry. The guilt had returned and was slowly killing you, as you watched her from afar, feeling sorry that you, unlike her father, or other mothers did with their kids, struggled to give her the unconditional love she deserved. You had some sort of fondness for her, but it fell short of the love you wished you could offer. Deep down, you feared that your emotional unavailability was already creating traumas she could never overcome as an adult. And despite your efforts to force yourself into a more loving role, each embrace and kiss felt like an exhausting obligation.

Your therapist was your only confidant on that matter. You didn't have many friends to begin with, and you were too ashamed of yourself to open up to anyone else. You knew you would face judgment for being a cheater and a terrible mother. So she knew everything about you, even about the affair. She had discussed your upbringing as a factor in your overall unhappiness, noting the family's pressure to marry and become a wife without allowing you to experience passions and interests or love and relationships. She believed this was why you couldn't move on once you had found thrill in Patrick's arms.

Despite the many issues you had, Patrick was the center every session. It always circled back to him. She no longer mentioned him by name because you would burst into tears every time you talked about him. For her, you had fooled yourself into believing he was your true partner, and being happy with your husband and your daughter meant you were cheating on him. You just couldn’t do that. And your daughter was a constant reminder of who you truly belonged to, and until you accepted the reality of your situation, forming a bond with her would remain impossible. So you tried to remind yourself that Patrick wasn’t the one. All you had to do was to dull the feelings and the pills she prescribed helped with that.

While you were grappling with your struggles with your daughter, your husband was constantly talking about having a second child. The thought of bringing another kid into the world, only to potentially ruin their life as well by being their mother, was unbearable. At first, you told your husband you were too tired to take care of another child, but he persisted. He had even hired a nanny to help with your daughter, easing some of the pressure on you. You then tried to convince him that your body couldn’t handle another pregnancy, that it would be ruined, but he promised to pay for liposuction and any other procedure you needed. You mentioned that your daughter might be jealous of a sibling, but he was confident she would end up loving it. No matter what argument you brought up, he always found a solution, unwavering in his determination. But when you discovered he had returned to his mistress, his phone constantly beeping with her name flashing on the screen, you wanted to make him pay. So you made the drastic decision to get your tubes tied without his knowledge, ending any chance of continuing your lineage. Now, all you had to endure was his gross body on top of yours, moaning into your ear, filling you up, while you pretended to struggle with fertility issues.

●

That day, you were out grocery shopping, your little girl perched in the shopping cart. As you navigated the aisles, you sighed when you saw her stretching out, trying to grab something from the shelf. "Don’t touch anything." You said, your tone dry. The endless choice of snacks blurred before your eyes, and you could never quite remember which brand was her favorite. You were studying the list of ingredients closely when you felt a sharp pinch on your waist, making you jump. The last thing you had energy for was dealing with some inappropriate stranger. Ready to unleash your anger, you turned around and froze. It was Patrick. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. "Hey you." He said, his lips curling into a familiar smile. He stood there, his hair a mess of dark curls, face unshaven, wearing ridiculously tiny gym shorts. Earphones dangled from his ears, and a cigarette perched precariously atop one. He clutched a bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand. He looked like a mess, a beautiful, breathtaking mess nonetheless. You couldn’t help but smile back, your grin so wide it felt like your jaw might dislocate. Despite the heartache from the end of your relationship, seeing him filled you with unparalleled joy. It had been so long since you felt anything, and with just a word, he had awakened something in you. It took all your strength not to jump into his arms and run away with him, leaving your child and everything else behind. "H-hi." You stammered, your voice betraying the flood of emotions surging within you.

You both remained silent for a moment, staring into each other's eyes. Patrick's gaze briefly shifted to your daughter, who remained oblivious to the stranger standing beside her. She had not even noticed him. If the bond between a mother and child was supposed to be so strong, how could she not recognize the man who had been there almost every single day while she grew in your womb? You didn't know what you really expected from her. Perhaps to recognize his voice and accidentally call him ‘daddy’? That was stupid. All you knew was that you felt irritated that Patrick's presence didn't affect her in the slightest while it was turning your world upside down.

He licked his lower lip, a small gesture that used to send you over the edge, before locking eyes with you once more. You tried to start a conversation, asking him how he was doing, how tennis was going, or if he missed you as much as you missed him. But all that came out were a few random, babbled syllables. A chuckle escaped his lips, a sound that felt like a slap in the face. Without another word, he turned and staggered away, clearly intoxicated. Wait. That was it? You stood there, paralyzed by the abruptness of his departure, your mind racing. You wanted to run after him, to grab his arm and beg him to take you back. But before you could find the courage to move, his figure had already disappeared into the distance. What was that about? Did the sight of you disgust him so much that he couldn't even bring himself to say goodbye properly? His indifference cut deeper than a knife, leaving you standing there, hurt and abandoned.

Finishing grocery shopping felt like the hardest task on earth. Your mind was consumed by thoughts of Patrick, and each step you took felt like it might be your last. Your legs trembled under the weight of the encounter, threatening to give out at any moment. Once back home, you handed your daughter over to your husband, muttering an excuse about needing the bathroom. The moment the door closed behind you, you collapsed in tears.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror. The face looking back at you was a stranger : aging lines carved deep and dark circles shadowing your eyes. Your hair, with its roots showing and a few rebellious white strands, only added to the sense of unfamiliarity. You used to visit the plastic surgeon’s office and the hairdresser more often than you visited your own family. If it were truly you staring back at yourself in the mirror, you would never have allowed yourself to become like this. You were thin, but not in a way that spoke of health or tone. Instead, you looked sickly, your skin stretched over a frame that had once been strong and full of life. Your breasts had lost their firmness, now small, empty, and sagging.

No wonder Patrick had laughed. How could he gaze upon you and perceive anything other than the mere shadow of the person you once were? His laughter was a painful reminder of how far you had fallen from the days when you were the woman he desired the most. The urge to end it all welled up inside you, dark and overpowering. The thought of continuing to exist in a world where Patrick Zweig thought you were laughable seemed unbearable. No one would miss you anyway. Your daughter had your husband and your husband had his younger mistress. But how would you do it? You didn’t want to burden your family. You didn’t want them to discover your body and endure the pain of funerals, you just wanted to vanish without a trace.

Sinking to the floor, you sobbed uncontrollably for what felt like an eternity. As you contemplated every possible way to exit this life, you eventually rose to your feet, still trembling. Splashing cold water on your face, you washed away the tears and evidence of your breakdown

●

Later that night, after hours of your daughter's never-ending screaming, she finally drifted off to sleep. You had left your husband to tend to her, feeling unable to function ever since locking eyes with Patrick again. You believed her father was the safer choice anyway. You sensed yourself slipping from reality and feared that you might end up hurting her as well as yourself.

You laid beside your husband in bed, observing him engrossed in his book. You envied how peaceful he looked. He seemed so unaware of the despair that was slowly gnawing at your insides. You wondered if he could even think for a second that you wanted everything to end at this instant, to fade away knowing your final memory would be of another man.

The buzzing of your phone pulled you out of your dark thoughts. An incoming message. Seeing the name of the sender, you stole a quick glance at your husband to ensure he remained absorbed in his reading before cautiously unlocking your phone, your fingers trembling with fear.

→ [From : Patricia - 11:18pm] Damn, mama! I forgot how hot you looked. Had to leave before I did something stupid, didn’t want you to see me that way…

And you were paralyzed. Your limbs felt numb, as if disconnected from your head, yet your eyes welled up with tears. A tightening sensation gripped your throat, making each breath a struggle, while your heart pounded furiously in your chest. Was this it? All this planning to end it all just to die of a heart attack?

→ [From : Patricia - 11:19pm] Fuck… I lied, I didn’t forget. → [From : Patricia - 11:19pm] I really miss my tight little cunt.

He didn’t miss your tight little cunt, he missed his tight little cunt.

And just like that, you fell back into the whirlwind : the constant texting, the secret rendez-vous, the passionate fucking in the back of his car and once again, you found yourself falling madly in love with a man who wasn’t your husband. Except this time, it was different, he loved you too and you possessed him in ways you never had before.

♠♣♥♦

a/n : This was an anon request to begin with and I'm so thankful because the idea was so good. It was going to be a headcanon but I quickly turned this into a fic because I had not been so inspired in SO LONG. I'm so sorry it took forever (a month a half!!!!) to write it but life got in the way and I changed stuff so many times. Also sorry for the smut fans, I tried to be elusive a lot of time, did a lot of fade to black because they do fuck a lot and i didn't feel like writing 10k of sucking dick and cock (time and place, and you did it at my birthday dinner).

#patrick zweig #patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig x reader #challengers #challengers fanfic #challengers fic #challengers fanfiction #challengers fiction #challengers 🎾#challengers smut #challengers 2024

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