Author’s Note: The author, Kalimaxos wrote the open-ended story “JUST ONCE… IF YOU DON’T MIND?” in April 2021 about an unfaithful wife, giving herself a hall-pass for a six-week fling. She expected her long-time husband to understand and be there for her when she returned, saying she would meet him in a hotel two hours after her flight landed. The author invited others to write their versions of a sequel or ending.
After several of my own discussions with other authors a few months later about women’s attitudes and their “agency” to make their own sexual choices (apparently some believe without consequences), I was recently inspired by another sequel for Kalimaxos’ story for my own sequel.
I don’t usually like “Reconcile At All Costs” or “Burn The Bitch” stories. But this time, I decided to write “all of the above”. So, this story has five endings for you to choose the one you prefer.
This is just my version of a husband’s reaction, and I recommend you first read the original story “JUST ONCE… IF YOU DON’T MIND?” (link provided), as the letter in this sequel parallels the one written by the wife in that first story.
***
Prologue (from the original story)
My wife, Marcy left for her six-week deployment with the hospital team just a few days earlier, without even saying goodbye to me. After she ignored several of my text messages for the first days away, I finally tracked her down. It took me talking to her friend, Penny Washington in her same hotel and threatening to call Penny’s husband, Josh about the male voice I heard in the background before Penny finally transferred my call to Marcy’s lover’s room. That was just a few minutes ago for a brief conversation with my wife over the phone. She was already in a hotel room with her doctor-boyfriend!
I finished reading the lengthy letter from her which our neighbor, the cute, flirty, much younger wife, Leslie just handed to me:
‘… I have reserved a room for us at the Ambassador Hotel near the airport. If you still want me, meet me there two hours after my flight is due back. I plan on going there alone after my arrival. Please don’t come to the airport when my flight lands. Please don’t make a scene. Either take me back or walk away.’
‘I plan on seeing you at the hotel. I’ll be waiting for you in the lobby.’
When I finished reading my wife’s letter, I noticed Leslie was at the kitchen island filling her wine glass again.
“Are you OK?” she asked over her shoulder.
“I will be,” I replied.
She nodded and came back with the bottle and her glass. Sitting next to me this time, she refilled my glass and turned to look at me with those doe-like eyes.
“So, Rick? What do we do?”
***************
Reacting
“You really didn’t know she was planning to cheat on me, when she asked you to deliver this letter?” I asked.
Leslie shifted in her seat a little uncomfortably, now seeming to recognize her place in an awkward situation.
“I… didn’t think about it,” she said quietly. “I just thought you were attractive, and I wanted to spend time with you.” She paused, nervously taking a sip of her wine, then continued, “When Vinnie and I are playing with other swingers or he lets me go off with another guy, I just enjoy the moment. We don’t really think about the others involved. It’s just sex and fun.”
“You’re assuming those others are all players, too, just looking for sex,” I pointed out.
“I assume… You’re right, of course,” she admitted a little self-consciously. “I thought Marcy at least talked to you, and that you both decided to be swingers. I suspected she was sending me to you as a quid pro quo for something she did or planned. I just assumed her letter was something like an ‘Enjoy’ or ‘Have fun’ type of flirty letter, with you already in on it. I didn’t know she was ambushing you like this.”
“Well, she didn’t talk to me ahead of time,” I said tersely. “I had some suspicions, and tracked her down on the phone, finding her in her boyfriend’s hotel room. I learned about all of this on the phone with her, all within the last half-hour just before you knocked on the door! Now?… I think I need some time alone to process this.”
Leslie took a big swig of wine, then set the half empty glass down on the coffee table. “I understand,” she said softly. “This is all sort of a mood-killer, and I was hoping it would just be fun. I’ll leave you to think about it. But don’t dwell on it too much alone. Call me if you want some company,” and she stood and walked to the door.
I set my glass down, then stood to join her at the front door. “Sorry your evening didn’t go as planned and I disappointed you,” I said. “I just need some time to work things out in my own mind.”
“I know,” she replied with a quiet melancholy tone to her voice. “But I’m serious when I say, ‘call me anytime, if you want some company.’ I’d be happy to fuck your brains out when you’re ready. And my husband, Vinnie won’t mind.”
“I might take you up on that,” I said with just a hint of the depression settling in to blanket the numbness. “But just not tonight.”
She nodded and turned, walking out the door and down our front walk, as I stood admiring her ass swaying in the sundress. That gorgeous ass was a bright spark in my otherwise clouded mind, stirring a cauldron of conflicting feelings.
After closing the front door, I returned to my seat and picked up my glass, taking a gulp of the Red Moschato wine. ‘So, what now?’ I thought, and my mind calmly went into military planning mode, logically analyzing the situation: What were the indicators? And what are the next available options for the main plan with the appropriate contingencies as fallback?
As a retired Army Colonel, I had experience with situations like this with other soldiers in my commands. The husband- or wife-soldier returns from a deployment to find their spouse cheated. There were plenty of domestic disputes over the years, which were usually dealt with by the Company First Sergeants, sometimes after having to bail out a soldier from jail. And I had my share of dealing with some of the young officers when they got into similar situations. But those were things which always happened to others.
Marcy and I had our own tense moments over the years. First, when I was on the one-year assignment to Korea, and I suspected Marcy of cheating. Then there was Diedre’s blowjob after our narrow escape from the roadside ambush in Iraq. So, I think the instigator for our current problem was our “Don’t ask, don’t tell” attitude to bury it all in the past. We would be back together after every deployment. And after some tense days or even weeks of getting reacquainted, we fell back into our routines as a married couple. But over the years, that “Don’t ask, don’t tell” policy didn’t bury the past, it accumulated our suspicions of each other.
But THIS is different! THIS is not a suspicion, this IS infidelity!…’Stop and THINK! Don’t go off on tangents. Analyze!’
Is it now any different? Why? What made this infidelity any different from any other? Should I believe her when Marcy says in her letter; she was faithful, when I had witnesses saying she was showing up VERY early for work all those times while I was deployed? WAS this any different? Or am I just out of the loop and feeling depressed?
Then it sank in. THIS didn’t come after some months of a separation causing stress and tensions to build to a breaking point in the spouse at home. THIS didn’t just happen in a spur-of-the-moment response when you’ve survived a near-death experience.
THIS was my wife, spending time to plan and calculate what she wanted to do before she deployed with the hospital team! My anger was building.
THIS was my wife secretly scheming to get what she wanted: sex with another guy!
THIS was MY WIFE at this very moment thousands of miles away, probably with her boyfriend’s cock in her mouth! I was seething with anger now.
THIS was my wife seeking out another slut to throw at me to shut me up, while she takes her six weeks away to fuck her boyfriend!
‘NO’, I suddenly and firmly thought, hitting the breaks, and finally calming to regain some control… That’s not fair to Leslie.
I spent a minute emptying my mind, and I tried to relax to compose myself.
I don’t think Leslie’s a slut. This wasn’t her fault. She’s a cute and much younger girl. She does have that “innocent girl-next-door” look. And she and her husband have their own agreements between them. Theirs might not be a traditional monogamous marriage. But I’m not going to be so judgmental as to call her a slut for it. She and Vincent know of their extra-marital activities, and they seem to agree together to continue with it.
But I WILL check with Vincent to ensure Leslie’s not offering to fuck me behind his back. And as long as he’s cool with it,… I just might take Leslie up on her offer to fuck my brains out.
My mind started accelerating again. But none of those issues with Leslie and Vincent or whether I fuck her or not changes what Marcy did to me… to US!
My wife coldly and calculatingly spent weeks planning her fuck-fest away with her boyfriend. She quietly snuck out of the house that morning to go board her plane without even saying goodbye to me! She didn’t let on to me during our last week’s together that she was dissatisfied or that she fantasized about fucking another guy. She ignored my texts trying to communicate with her. Then she sent Leslie with this letter, expecting me to jump on Leslie and fuck her like a panting, horny dog! And in her letter, she even suggested I could charge Vincent for allowing him to watch me fuck his wife! The anger was building again. I wonder how much my pimp-wife thought I should charge!
THIS wife of mine was not the woman I married!
I noticed the bottle of wine was empty, and realized I needed to again try to relax.
The analysis seemed complete, and I believed I had a firm grasp of the situation. My wife secretly conspired to arrange six-weeks away for a fuckfest with her boyfriend, while scheming to entice me into infidelity, too. She didn’t give me any choice in this six-week break in our marriage vows. She treated me like a mindless animal, herded into the mating pen with no choice.
Picking up the empty wine glass, I looked longingly at the emptiness of it. That emptiness looked almost cold, like Marcy’s plan. And my mind grew equally cold, and darker. I sat calmly staring at that empty wine glass for a minute.
Then,… as if a Phoenix reborn from the ashes, I rose to a new cheerful light with a goal in mind.
Now, it’s time to plan. Time to break out the scotch and think about what’s next.
I remembered an old James Cagney movie my parents liked when I was young: “One, Two, Three.” He played a Coca Cola executive in West Berlin in the late 1950’s or very early 60’s, just before the rise of the Berlin Wall. But Cagney’s decisive character was what struck me. It didn’t seem to matter what happened or how bad things looked, he would just start throwing out orders in the form “One, you do this. Two, you over there do that. Three,…”, with Cagney always trying to set things in motion to stay one step ahead of the social dynamics of his boss’s daughter and her East German boyfriend.
With my own ideas, the steps started coming into focus: One, change the bank accounts to separate our finances. I know, there are some who think it’s time to ‘burn the bitch’ and take all the money, probably thinking I should do it to her before she does it to me. But she did raise our kids, and she did say she wants us to stay together. I might not need to grab all the money first. But better safe than sorry, so I’ll at least protect my half.
Two, contact a divorce lawyer to start drafting a fair and even split in all our assets. I’m a retired Army Colonel and now a defense contractor. Marcy’s a well-paid nurse. And with no kids at home, I won’t be stuck paying child support. I know I’ll be required by law to give her half of my military pension, as she deserves for the decades as a military wife. But otherwise, with everything she wrote in her letter to me, I doubt any honest judge will order me to pay additional spousal support.
Three, talk to the kids to find out what they know and judge their reactions. If they don’t know she’s fucking around on me, I’m not going to poison them against her. She’s still their mother and she will always be their mother. I’ll just leave it as the two of us going through a rocky time and needing a break from each other. I’ll request they give us some privacy until we work through this.
When I reached for my glass of scotch, the second one, I noticed it was almost empty. I’ll not return to that empty darkness again. There’s no need, and it would not further my resolve. I guess it’s time to head to bed. I could wallow in depression and continue drinking all night. But that wouldn’t get me any closer to completing my mission. And that’s what this was turning into: A mission! Take your time! Plan! The mission is to regain control of my own destiny and my own situation!
I’ll take a sleep aid to help me relax and clear my mind. I’ll call into work tomorrow morning and take a few personal days off to get everything in order. Then it should just be a matter of a few trips to some stores for the supplies and waiting for five more weeks for her return.
I thought of one more item to add to the plan. Four, I’ll talk to Vincent tomorrow about borrowing his wife, Leslie. I think with a glass of wine or two she might better understand what Marcy really thought of her, herding her into the mating pen.
***
After waking the next morning with a slightly dry mouth from the wine and scotch (note to self, again, sweet wines and hard liquor do NOT go well together), I downed a large glass of orange juice and some water before my usual coffee. That cleared my head quickly, and I took a seat at my home office desk.
One quick phone call to my secretary, and I was set for the next few days to focus on the tasks at hand.
The next call was to our lawyer to set an appointment for the next day, the same lawyer who prepared our wills last year. But he handles all types of personal matters, including divorce. He already had a detailed list of our assets, so he’d be the best choice to quickly write the first draft of the divorce settlement.
Pulling out a plain brown envelope, I wrote just one word on the front: “Marcy”.
Sliding my computer keyboard into place in front of me, I began typing the letter.
***
Five weeks later
The Ambassador Hotel near the airport had a large elaborate lobby. He walked through the front doors and glanced around to see if she was early. Walking over to the couches well away from the check-in counter, the guy took a seat. Glancing at his watch, he thought ‘Almost two hours. She should be here any minute,’ and he fumbled with the envelope in his hand.
A few minutes later, at exactly the two-hour mark from her plane landing, she walked out of one of the lobby elevators, as if in total control. She looked around, noticed him, and walked over. “Vinnie? This is a strange coincidence running into you here.”
“He asked me to meet you here,” Vincent said with a nervous but deadpan expression, “and give you this.” He handed her the plain brown envelope.
Her facial expression noticeably fell, as she recognized it, just like the envelope she had given Leslie to deliver to her husband six weeks ago. She took it and saw the single word on the front; “Marcy.” Simple, and to be hand-delivered, just like hers.
“Is Leslie here with you?” she asked.
“No,” Vincent replied. “He just asked me to do this as a favor for him. Leslie told me about your letter. But I haven’t read this one.”
“Is Leslie with him now?” she asked, trying to anticipate where this was going.
“I don’t know,” Vincent replied. “I think you’re just supposed to read the letter now, in front of me. He said that’s what you did, having him read yours in front of Leslie.”
Marcy nervously opened the letter and began reading, as Vincent pulled out his cell phone and began typing a text message.
***
“Dear Marcy,
By the time you read this, you will know that I am not meeting you in that hotel lobby. Your plan to reconcile after you returned was not a plan made with me in mind. But before you pass judgment on me, think about what has happened to us.
Over the years while I was “off playing soldier” as you described it, tensions between us during my service deployments could have stressed you to break your wedding vows and take a lover. I might relate to being a single parent with the stress and responsibilities of raising our kids, as if shouldering the responsibilities of command, sometimes with life and death decisions. And if you were there for me after any infidelities when I returned, I hope I would have forgiven you under those unusual and stressful circumstances.
I don’t know what Diedre told you about what happened in Iraq. What did happen occurred only once in a moment of weakness, when we both realized just how close we came to dying together. It was inexcusable of me, and I wish you had confronted me about it, because I’ve been feeling embarrassed that I could have been so weak. But Diedre confronting you during her “saner and calmer” moments after returning shows me I can never trust her again. I won’t go into details other than that, unless you specifically ask for them, just as I don’t expect you to begin blurting out details of your exploits with your doctor-boyfriend.
I’m no longer off playing soldier, and this should have been our time to enjoy the well-deserved empty-nest years… together.
But six weeks ago, you took off without even saying goodbye. You ignored my text messages. I had to track you down via others you worked with. And you planned it all for weeks in advance, without saying a word to me about it! Yours was not a spontaneous “heat of the moment” decision, or the result of pressures building over days and weeks. It was a coldly calculated plan.
I appreciate you sending Leslie to me. But in doing so, you treated both Leslie and me as a couple of horny, barnyard animals, with no real thought of us. How did you expect me to react to her after reading your letter and first learning about your planned six weeks of fucking your boyfriend, while I stood there in front of her? She was merely a convenience you found for your own thoughtless use.
So, here is the gist of this situation we are in. You went on your trip, and during your absence, you were not my wife, and I was not your husband, as you described. You wrote both of us a six-week hall pass without giving me any choice in the matter.
I can envision how you went to bed every night with your lover for those past six weeks, me being unsure of what was happening and only imagining what you were doing. I imagined how you two woke together, probably almost every day. An occasional fuck with Leslie would not even come close to making up for the daily humiliation one-man experiences, knowing the other man is silently laughing at him by fucking his wife for six weeks! Someone pays for that unsolicited humiliation I have felt every day for six weeks. Someone pays for your boyfriend’s choice to cheat every day with a married woman for six weeks. And someone pays for the indifferent way you’ve treated your wedding vows for six weeks with your cold plan.
As things stand right now, you and your boyfriend blissfully return with no consequences, while I bear the burden of continuing to pay in full for your decisions, with you deciding for me that I should forgive and forget. But I choose not!
I asked Vincent to give you this letter and offer to drive you to our house. You could go immediately with him, collecting anything left at the hotel later. When you enter our house, you will find a collar just inside the front door. You might put it on and snap the lock in place, which might remain locked for just the next six weeks. You could remove all of your clothes and remain standing there in the foyer awaiting further instructions, which you should follow without question! This might be your station for the next six-weeks every time you enter our house, which should be every day after you return from your nursing job at the hospital, immediately at the end of every shift! And you might even choose to say the safe word “divorce” to stop this at any time.
Or… you may even now choose to go to the hotel room you’ve book,… but without me.
The way I see it, if you and I still love one another, we might get past this…
IF I see you as suggested immediately after your return,
IF “he” remains no more than just a memory to you,
AND after six more weeks!
If we don’t get past this, it will hurt, and I will mourn what you and I had and lost. But I can’t see us being married and not doing what we now need to get past this, together.
You made your plans and your choices. The choice of who now fully pays for it is also up to you. You have some instructions listed above if you choose to be the one to accept consequences for your choices, and I would be there with you every day.
If you choose to NOT pay for your decision to sleep and wake each day for the past six-weeks in your lover’s arms as he chose to silently laugh at me, you would then be making the alternative choice for me (and probably your lover) to pay for it without you. What I do with him after you divorce me… well, that won’t be your choice then, will it?
Vincent gave you this letter and he should have texted me when you opened it. He should text again with your next choice ten minutes later. And I know how long it will take him to drive you to our house!
Know this, Marcy Weston. You have been and still are the love of my life. Even after you inflicted this six-weeks of torment, I still love you. It has been a privilege being your husband and father of your children. But after all these years, we obviously need a new “us.”
I’ll leave you with one thought, Marcy:
“I loved you and set you free to become a “new you”. Now, do you really want to return to this version of the new me you chose to create?”
Love you always and forever,
Rick
P.S. Please don’t come immediately to the house with no intention of following my instructions. Please don’t make a scene or try calling to negotiate. Either take me back as I am or walk away.
Make your choice quickly, because lacking the next text message means I won’t be here when you arrive. As you departed six weeks ago without a word, so will I remain packed for six weeks and ready to make a similar choice.
***
I set the collar with its lock on the table beside the front door, then walked up the stairs to the master bedroom, that room we sometimes lovingly shared over the years. The new tethers fastened to the sides of the bed frame were positioned right where I would need them in the future. The cuffs, paddles, and other toys were neatly lined up on the dresser.
Looking at the closet, the large suitcase stood packed at the ready as the contingency plan. There was a clipboard with the final draft of the divorce settlement lying on top of the suitcase.
Then I turned, walking back out the door, pulling a small chain across the door and hooking it on the screw eye in the other side of the door frame, the sign saying, “Off Limits — for now”.
Descending the two flights of stairs into the basement, I looked at the Saint Andrew’s cross leaning against the far wall, with its cuffs dangling from the ends. The padded leather bench in the center of the room stood firmly about waist high. And another assortment of sex toys, including a ball-gag and cat o’ nine tails were placed at the ready on a side table.
It may be interesting to hear the kids’ reactions if they find all of this, if within the next few minutes, I need to just collect my suitcase and leave.
Glancing at my cell phone, I looked at the text message; “She opened it.”
That was sent five minutes ago, and she’s not a slow reader. So, the ball’s in her court. Another five minutes and she’ll make another choice…
***
Epilogue 1: Disciplined (a sick ending for those of you with a disturbed mind)
Just over one year later, I walked in the front door of our home after work. Entering the kitchen, I found my gorgeous wife standing at the counter, naked as always, but wearing an apron as she fixed dinner. Besides the apron, she wore the collar, the long chain attached to a bolt in the floor between the counter and the nearby powder room.
That first night when Vincent dropped her off at our house began our journey of rebuilding trust… in our marriage and in each other. At one point, Marcy did use the safe word; “Divorce” when I got carried away hearing some of her details of her tryst. But when staring at the papers I handed her, the tears came, she dropped the papers, and put the collar back on.
After the next peak of my anger, I learned I no longer need to be so angry with her. She willingly crawled back into her cage on her own.
I had already planned a particularly painful lesson for her doctor-boyfriend after organizing the right resources via the Dark Web. Let’s just say he and any future wife no longer need family planning or birth control.
I walked up behind my gorgeous, naked wife at the counter, saying softly in a loving voice, “Assume the position.” Now, if I could only get her to start talking to me again.
Ending 1
***
Epilogue 2: Cucked (Alternate Ending, a simple type some of you predict and might relate)
Just over one year later, I again held the large envelope from the lawyer I received a few months ago, a constant reminder of the past. Pulling out the approximately 20-page document, I felt the raised seal on the back page, the notary stamp on the final court decree.
Not one to take responsibilities for her own choices, Marcy ignored Vincent’s offered ride to our house. Thus, I didn’t receive that second text. She went to her room to collect her luggage and caught an Uber to the house. Vincent called me fifteen minutes after the first text to say Marcy declined his ride and would find her own way home. She wasn’t in the mood to listen to his warning that might not work out as well.
It was only five minutes later when I placed the clipboard with the divorce settlement draft on the bed and walked out with my suitcase. By the time Marcy walked into the house, she was living there alone.
Marcy made her next decision to accept the divorce, and she married her doctor boyfriend. She moved him into the house we shared before this all happened, after she bought me out of my half. It was a fair deal and an even split of everything we had together.
After I called Leslie over and we shared a bottle of wine, I explained to her how we were both used by Marcy as animals. Leslie wanted nothing else to do with me after that, and she stormed out of the house that evening. She said she just couldn’t envision herself now with me, seeing me as some kind of dog.
I called Diedre to try getting together with her, but she wasn’t as accommodating when she found out what I’ve been through. She felt I dissed her in Iraq by ignoring her advances. She even said on the phone in a very insulting tone, “How’s my poor little cuckhold feeling now? Does he feel like sucking shit out of my ass? Or does he want to be pegged by my new boyfriend?”
I met up with Marcy’s doctor-boyfriend at a bar shortly before they married. After a few drinks and listening to him brag about banging my wife to his bachelor party friends, I lost it and swung a beer bottle at his head. How was I to know he was a martial arts instructor? The police said he acted in self-defense. But my stiches are healing. I just lost my security clearance over it, and now I’m looking for an apartment I can afford with just my half of my military retirement. I cash my unemployment checks at the local liquor store, at least while they last.
I think of that line from ‘Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’: “The best laid plans of mice!”
Ending 2
***
Epilogue 3: Irreconcilable Differences (another Alternate Ending, merely growing apart)
Just over one year later, I opened the large envelope from the lawyer. Pulling out the approximately 20-page document, I felt the raised seal on the back page, the notary stamp on the final court decree.
Marcy declined the ride to our house and I left the divorce papers on the bed when I left. She found them a few days later when she finally returned to the empty house.
It was an amicable divorce, with all of our assets divided and we went our separate ways. We don’t see each other anymore, with the kids carefully scheduling their contacts with either of us to avoid any potential contacts. Sometimes I might get an invitation from one of the kids to spend Thanksgiving with them and other years it might be a birthday or Christmas. But not always, and Marcy’s never there if I’m visiting one of them.
It’s a strange situation. But it works for us.
A common End 3.
***
Epilogue 4: BTB (another simple Ending many of you probably like)
Just over one year later, I opened the large envelope from the lawyer. Pulling out the approximately 20-page document, I felt the raised seal on the back page, the notary stamp on the final court decree.
Not one to take responsibilities for her own choices, Marcy ignored Vincent’s offered ride to our house. Thus, I didn’t receive that second text. She went to her room to collect her luggage and caught an Uber to the house. Vincent called me fifteen minutes after the first text to say Marcy declined his ride and would find her own way home. She wasn’t in the mood to listen to his warning that might not work out as well.
It was only five minutes later when I placed the clipboard with the divorce settlement draft on the bed and walked out with my suitcase. By the time Marcy walked into the house, she was living there alone.
Marcy made her next bad decision in fighting the divorce and getting her attorney to insist on a court hearing. She wanted to retain the “family home” and thought she was entitled to the difference between my higher salary and hers. My lawyer questioned me during that family court hearing about how I found her in her lover’s room. That outed her friend and co-worker Penny Washington’s affair to her husband. The ripple effect among other doctors and nurses on that trip made Marcy an outcast in the nursing community. Of course, she had to sell the house, both because it was part of the divorce settlement and due to the neighbors ostracizing her, wanting to keep her away from their husbands. The neighbor directly behind the house, Leslie, now understood what Marcy thought of her, so even the swingers were no longer friendly. And our kids heard Marcy’s letter to me read to the court when it was entered as evidence. They seemed to understand how my mind could go into such a dark place as to build the dungeon.
For some odd reason, her doctor-boyfriend got into a bar fight and suffered a few injuries, one of which was a broken hand. I randomly encountered him after that when he smugly mentioned how he fucked my wife for those six weeks. I said “I notice your hand is bandaged. Too bad I was in Barbados when it happened. I would have liked to see what you can buy on the Dark Web.” It seems doctors don’t learn the variety of lessons those of us in the Intelligence Community find.
I do miss my gorgeous wife. And I lament how things might have been different if she had been more honest and communicated her needs with me, instead of secretly conspiring to cheat. We might have enjoyed a swinging lifestyle together.
Now I’m open to contentedly exploring new options with new female friends, and not constantly wondering what schemes they’re hatching… or at least I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt. But my new relationship motto is, “Trust, but verify!”
It’s just tough finding a woman at this age who is willing to give me access to her cellphone.
Ending 4
***
Epilogue 5: RAAC (one more Alternate Ending, my favorite)
Just over one year later, I walked in the front door of our home after work. Entering the kitchen, I found my gorgeous wife standing at the counter, already naked after work, but wearing an apron as she fixed dinner. Besides the apron, she wore a neckless, one of her now favored close-neck, choker-style types she started collecting over the past year.
That first night when Vincent dropped her off at our house began our journey of rebuilding trust… in our marriage and in each other. I took my turn wearing a collar during those next six weeks, and Marcy vented her years of pent-up frustrations on me. At one point, Marcy did use the safe word; “Divorce” when I got carried away hearing some of her details of her tryst. But when staring at the papers I handed her, the tears came, she dropped the papers, and put the collar back on. Since that peak of my anger, I’ve learned I’ll never again be so angry with her.
I had already planned a particularly painful lesson for her doctor-boyfriend after organizing the right resources via the Dark Web. But when she put that collar back on the second time, I realized he’s not worth the risk. Besides, it wasn’t long after they returned the hospital fired him over other sexual harassment complaints. So, he was gone from our area and Marcy’s life by the time my lesson was about to start.
I walked up behind her, wrapping my arms around her to pull her close and kissed her neck.
“Mmmm,” she cooed as she leaned her head back into my shoulder giving me better access. “Vinnie and Leslie will be here for dinner in another half hour. He asked if he can be on the cross later.”
“We could just have a nice dinner and send them home,” I said. “Make it an evening for just the two of us. And you know you don’t need to be naked or wear a collar.”
“I like not having to wear clothes,” she replied cheerfully. “The clothes bore me, and I’m proud of ME! And it’s more comfortable now that it’s my choice. The neckless… I see this as a sign of trusting you…. Vinnie said that Leslie wants you to fuck her mouth as he’s tied to the cross to watch, while I play with her. I enjoy exploring her young body and think that will be kind of hot! So, if you’re up for it… Go take a shower!”
The End.
Written by permission of Kalimaxos.
*****
Author’s Postscript: Some of you might think this story should be posted in the BDSM category. But there is no description of actual BDSM taking place in this story… just hints of it. This is the type of BTB or RAAC story I’ve come to believe the majority of you want to read in Loving Wives. So, choose the best ending and rate the story accordingly by clicking the appropriate rating Star 1 thru 5 for your preferred ending.
If you comment, let me know which ending you preferred.