Despite their material comfort, Auguste was obsessed with expanding the sales both of cloth he brought in from the port cities and the clothing he made with it. Cecile’s actions were hardly his main concern. As long as she was not obvious, he would not notice, although recently she had begun to wonder if his ignorance was deliberate.
She had married him in part for stability. She came from a family of little means and knew that by marrying Auguste, she would ensure some security for her future children. Nevertheless, she did find him handsome, and while he was still pursuing her, he was downright charming. He would surprise her with flowers or poems. His body was stout then as it was now, but back then it was muscular too, and she loved feeling his biceps when he embraced her. These days, if she thought hard about it, she believed that all those endeavors were means to an end, tasks Auguste felt he had to complete to secure her hand in marriage. Once she was wed to him, he did little to express his love. He was concerned with the family’s wealth and their son’s health, but seemed to think little about their happiness.
By this point, Cecile had adopted a similar attitude towards him. She he would not fulfill, so she sought fulfillment elsewhere. Her first reaction to his inattention was to begin raising chickens and selling their eggs at the Saturday market in the next town to the east. Aside from raising her son, this kept her occupied and helped her feel she contributed something to the family income. There was an itch this activity could not scratch though. When she sold the eggs at the market, she found herself gazing at the young men who attended.
She was a demure woman and would reply to any advances by stating she was married, but later she would stare off and daydream. She imagined a man ripping his shirt off before pulling her body against his, tearing her clothing off as hungrily as he had his own, running his calloused hands over her breasts.
There was one man in particular. His name was Jean. He was barely taller than Cecile, but his torso was broad, and his shock of brown hair looked thick yet soft. His eyes were a striking blue. Cecile imagined them staring up at her while his mouth covered her vulva, the heat of his breath radiating over her. His tongue would lap slowly at first, from bottom to top, caressing her pussy with his mouth while his hands caressed her hips and her thighs. She imagined how she would lose herself in the gentle rhythm of his touches. She would find herself sitting at the market, floating in her fantasies, excited by how wet she was getting in such a public space.
When business was slow, she would let her daydreams envelope her further. She stared off and thought about the pressure of his face against her pussy. His hand would reach under her and hold her ass firmly while his stubble tickled the inside of her thighs. He would start by pushing his tongue hard against her in broad strokes, then home in on her clit, touching it gently with the tip of his tongue at until she grabbed him by the hair and forced him against it harder. He would moan into her, and the vibrations turned into shocked waves and ripped through her as her juices coated his chin.
Sometimes she imagined a second man as well, one who looked similar to Jean, who would kneel next to her head while Jean lavished her with his tongue. He would pet her hair then caress her cheek as he slid his pants down and freed his half-swollen member. She imagined herself reaching over and rolling back his foreskin before pulling it into her mouth and feeling it harden fully, both men’s hands now attending her body, filling their hands with her flesh as she lost herself in their touch. She was the center of their attention, the object of their focus. She was the source of their pleasure and the one to whom their licks and gropes and kisses paid tribute.
These fantasies left her walking home horny from the market on Saturdays, knowing that Auguste would do nothing to sate her when she arrived. This is what led her Saturday about a year ago to follow the marks carved on one tree at the edge of the woods next to her path home. She had heard gossip of what went on where the marks led, and she was surprised that it was Cesar, whom she had grown up with, who was waiting in the clearing on the day she felt desperate enough to venture down that path. He was just one man, but the way he made her feel surpassed the intensity of her fantasy of two.
Now a year later, her meetings with him made her feel more alive than anything else in her life. As she stood over the basin in her house and splashed cold water over her face and on her chest, goosebumps formed on her smooth skin. She could still feel his touch on her. Some animal part of her brain relished the fact that she would not wash off all of his scent, that she would wear it proudly in her home and under her dress. Her reputation would be tarnished irreparably if her affair was ever made public, but when she walked through the market and caught a man’s eye she loved to imagine that he saw her legs and knew that between them was the fruit that Cesar knelt to eat, that her ass was the one that he rode like a horse, and that her back was the one he laid over exhausted when he finished.
Auguste startled her when he entered the room.
“It was a long day for you, eh?”
She fixed her dress quickly and turned to face him. The shock was still visible on her face as she searched for a response.
“Um yes. A good one though. I sold it. I sold all the eggs that I brought I mean.” She felt his eyes glance over her clothes. In the past he had expressed displeasure at how dirty her closed seemed to get when she went to the market, how it reflected poorly on him given his profession.
Hastily she took him by the hand and kissed his cheek, hoping to distract him from any signs of why her return had been so delayed. “And how are you my dear?”
He seemed puzzled by her sudden affection. “I’m fine. Business is slower than usual.”
“Well things should turn around with some patience and good fortune, right?” Cecile responded quickly, but Auguste again paused and eyed her, taking his time to respond.
“I suppose. Regardless of fortune, I need to try something different.”
“Oh, that’s a good idea.” Cecile was not particularly interested in her husband’s business affairs. It was his favorite, if not his only, topic of conversation, and the years of listening had left her tired of hearing of it. Still, she was happy to have him occupied with this and not suspicious of the faint smell of sex or the marks leftover from Cesar’s affections that remained on her body.
“Next Saturday I’m going attend the market with you and see if that would be a good place to expand.”
Cecile was awash in trepidation. She tried not to let her face betray it. Auguste was nearly expressionless. For a moment she thought she detected a smirk, but it could’ve been in her head. Her mind raced. Was he getting wise to her and now toying with her or was this a genuine business decision?
She tried to smile instead of wincing. “The Saturday market? Auguste what could you want there? Surely it is below you.”
“I think it’s worth looking into. You seem to do alright there, and I could even give you a hand”
“Yes, but I just make some extra money and stay busy. You are a true craftsman. Going there would be a waste of your time. Besides I need no help.”
“You must think I’m a fool. Even if you sell out, you take so long. No, I go for my own interests, but with me there to supervise, you will be home an hour sooner, if not more.”
Cecile heard no contempt in what he said. “Maybe his wish to go is genuine”, she thought, though her heart still pounded at the thought that this was part of some ploy to expose her affair. It was true that Auguste had been aloof in their marriage, but if he found out she was making a fool of him behind his back, he would be furious.
Their son Guy walked into the house and shouted about wanting dinner. Normally Cecile would reprimand his poor manners, but she was happy for the interruption.
“I’ll have it ready soon,” she called back. Then she turned to her husband and said sweetly, “Well, I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself at the market. I usually do” before walking off into the kitchen.
In the week that followed, Cecile tried to scour her husband’s face for any sign that he suspected her. When she was alone, she found herself parsing his tone, his words, even small gestures he had made earlier, for any indication that he intended to sniff around and find out about Cesar. Other than his eagerness to attend the market, he left few clues. Upon bringing up the subject for the fourth time during the week he raised his eyebrow at her.
“You have such concerns about my attendance?” he asked.
She chalked it up to mere curiosity and then did not bring it up again until Saturday out of fear of arousing suspicion where before there may have been none.
Regardless, she would not be visiting Cesar again for at least a week. Despite this, her desire had only grown. The thought her husband may know of her affair, that even to him, she was marked, filled her simultaneously with stress and lust. Her muscles would tighten, and she found herself daydreaming about how Cesar’s touch could relieve that tension, only to catch herself fantasizing.