Betrayal
As the weeks passed, Kyle and Tracy seemed to grow more and more distant. He was often late, sometimes by as much as two hours. He volunteered that he had a heavy patient load now, and had to make 'good' as the junior doctor on staff.
Until recently, his long hours away from her would have upset Tracy, though she wouldn't have protested. Before discovering 'the Palace' she had basically lived from moment to moment that Kyle was around. She didn't attend the bank 'happy hours' on Fridays, preferring to rush home to her husband. She didn't have many friends, and Kyle discouraged her from spending too much time with those she had.
"We're all we need," he liked to tell her, as he caught her in a big bear hug. She was delighted with this, thinking it spoke to his total love and adoration of her. She patiently explained to girlfriends that she couldn't go with them to the movies or shopping, because Kyle needed her to be there. She felt secretly superior to them, because she and Kyle had 'real love.'
Now, she was almost relieved when he didn't come home. She still didn't spend time with girlfriends, or attend bank functions after hours. Oh no. She was rushing home to her new secret life online. She was rushing home to Sir Stephen, though she wasn't at the point to admit that yet. She still 'talked' to others on the site, and actually did check out some cooking and parenting sites, but in her heart of hearts, it was Sir Stephen she looked for, hoped to see, when she waited for her internet connection.
Sir Stephen was charming, easygoing and never pressed her. He seemed to find her witty and educated. There was no Kyle to compare her with, and she realized that she loved it. She found an old photo and sent it to the bulletin board, which scanned it for her and posted it in the 'picture library.' To her utter delight, Sir Stephen wrote her an email extolling her beauties, and actually made her blush as she read it – which she did, about fifty times.
"I love the shape of your face," he wrote. "Your round cheeks tapering into that cute pointy little chin. Are you sure you're 28? You look more like 19. And those eyes! Tracy, those eyes could kill a man, so blue, like a perfect autumn sky. And your dark, lovely hair, curling against that white and pink skin. You're like some lovely peach I could just eat!
"I'll have to unearth some photo for you. I'm afraid I'm nothing special at all. I'll probably scare you away. Perhaps I should let your fantasy of me live on, whatever it is. What is the point, after all, since we're unlikely to ever meet."
That made Tracy inexplicably sad. She realized with a jolt that he was probably right; why would they meet? After all, she was a married woman. She thought back to when she had confessed this to him.
"Sir Stephen, you should know something about me." Her heart pounded, as she realized this might be the end of their 'relationship' such as it was. He was, after all, looking for a 'real life lover.'
"Yes?"
"Well, I'm married."
"I knew that, Tracy." He always called her by her 'real' name. And though he'd told her his name was Paul, she persisted in using his 'handle'. Somehow that made it more of a game; less real, and thus less dangerous.
She felt chagrined, then relieved, and curiously, disappointed. He knew? He knew there was no chance of their being lovers? Inanely she typed back, "You knew?"
"Well, I was pretty sure. Married or living with someone. Why else would you 'have to go' so suddenly sometimes? And you've always avoided answering, or changed the subject, when I've tried to maybe bring up the chance of us meeting sometime. I figured you had to be involved. My God, someone as sexy and lovely as you, unattached? Not likely."
Tracy sighed. She loved the beautiful things he typed to her. But she was surprised too, and said so. "So why do you stick around? I mean, what's the point? There's no future for us."
"I guess the point, as you say, is that I like you! I love talking to you. I love your fresh approach to things, and your willingness to honestly explore your feelings. If I'm to be totally honest, a secret part of me says, if she's always online, talking to me, things can't be that great at home. Who knows what might happen?"
That was too much for Tracy. It was one thing for her to question her own life and motives, but for Sir Stephen to do it was just too much. She typed quickly that she was very much in love with her husband and they would never, ever meet. This was just fantasy.
There was a long pause before Sir Stephen responded, and Tracy worried for a moment that she had gone and done just what she'd feared, and scared him off. She realized during that long pause that she was lying, and it was way more than just a fantasy. She had feelings, real ones, for this man she had never seen. But the die was cast, and she sat on tenterhooks, waiting for his response.
Finally, a reply scrolled across the screen. "Tracy, I believe you believe that right now, or want to believe it. I'll take whatever I can have with you. If we're just to be online friends forever, I'll take that too. For you, I'll wait a thousand years."
Something changed after that. Now that she had told him she was married and in love with her husband, it paradoxically freed her up to behave just the opposite. When he suggested that they begin to really explore her submissive feelings together, she didn't protest, but was eager to do so. Their talks became markedly more explicit, with what it was really like to be tied up, to be whipped, to be controlled in every aspect of a sexual relationship. Tracy inhaled the conversations as if they were air. She needed them to breathe.
He had gotten his picture loaded for her, and she was delighted with it. He was much older looking than Kyle, who was just her age of 28. Where Kyle was tall and thin, with thick sandy colored hair, Paul was shorter, but more heavily, solidly built. He looked strong, as if he worked out. His hair was dark and pulled back from his face. His eyes were a rich dark brown and his face was tanned. Deep lines etched on either side of his nose, which was long and regal looking, reminding Tracy of a hawk. He looked so different from Kyle, which pleased her on some level – kept them totally separate in her psyche – the tall fair Kyle, whose face was still unmarked by life's experience, and the strong, dark Paul. He looked vibrant and alive, his sensuous mouth curved in just a hint of a smile.
"Tracy, I know I'm just your 'fantasy Master' but I think we can find something real together, without compromising your relationship with your husband. I want you to begin a series of exercises to explore your true feelings; to see if what you think you want and what you're willing to do coincide."
She didn't know exactly what he was getting at, but sat still, heart in her throat, waiting for the words to scroll. What he typed next surprised her. "I want to speak with you on the telephone, Tracy. I want to talk to you, and explain what I want you to do. Are you willing, or able to do this? I have an 800 number at work, so you could call me anytime. Will you call me?"
Her heart pounding, Tracy said she would. They agreed on the next morning; Kyle left for work a good thirty minutes before she did. Nervously, Tracy punched in the number he had given her and waited, trying to catch her breath and remain calm. It rang once, twice and a third time. Shit, he wasn't there.
"Paul Wilson," a deep voice answered, somewhat breathless, as if he'd rushed to the phone.
A pause and then, shyly, "Hi."
"Tracy?" He sounded so hopeful and eager, that she couldn't help smiling as she admitted it was she.
"I'm so glad you called, Tracy. I was afraid you might change your mind."
"Well, I called." She felt tongue-tied, ridiculous, like a teenager. But his voice… It was so sexy – so deep and melodic. She loved the sound of it instantly. Paul Wilson. What a lovely name. Paul.
"Do you have time?"
"I have a little time till I have to leave for work, about fifteen minutes, I guess."
"Good. Sit down, Tracy."
Tracy sat, savoring his use of her name. One of her pet peeves with Kyle was that he never used her name. He called her 'hon' or 'babe', but for some reason he wouldn't say 'Tracy'. It confused and upset her, and she didn't understand it. Somehow it kept her at a distance, as if an imaginary hand was being held out, keeping her from him. She complained about it, but he laughed it off, or shrugged. He didn't seem to understand it himself, and she had, as with most things, let it go.
"Tracy," Paul said, "I think you're ready for a new step in your exploration of your submissive tendencies. Do you agree?"
"Yes," Tracy whispered, not sure what she was agreeing to, but very excited.
"Today you are going to test your submission to me. Now, on the phone. You are going to pull down your pantyhose and your panties, and spread your legs for me, and touch your cunt."
Tracy had heard him clearly, but couldn't believe what he was saying. All their talks up till now had been academic, hypothetical. Nothing like this, although they had discussed in detail what it meant 'to submit', and how the submissive's body 'belonged' to her owner, if she chose to give it to him.
Online, on the screen, she claimed to 'belong' to him, at least for the few moments a day when they typed to each other. But now, this flesh and blood man was talking to her across the phone lines, and his beautiful stern voice was telling her to pull down her panties.
"Tracy? Are you there? I know we don't have much time. I'm not asking much from you, just this token display. Do it. Now. For me."
Slowly, as if she were in a trance, Tracy stood and wriggled out of her confining pantyhose. She slipped her underwear down to her ankles and sat again, perched on the edge of the chair, spreading her legs as Paul had instructed her to do.
"Have you obeyed me, Tracy?" His voice was calm, deep and almost hypnotic. Tracy found that she was deeply aroused, yet curiously calm.
"Yes," she whispered, imagining the picture that she must present, stockings and panties around her ankles, bared pussy peeking between lewdly spread legs.
"Now touch it. Touch your lovely little pussy for me. Put in a finger. And tell me, is it wet? Are you wet for me, Tracy?"
Oh god. She flushed, feeling the heat flame into her neck and cheeks as she dropped her hand down to her own sex, and pressed a finger into the hot, tight opening. She wasn't wet; she was sopping. He was arousing her as Kyle had never done. He understood her in a way Kyle never could have.
"Touch yourself, Tracy, my little slut. Touch yourself." She did. She began to rub and tease her already swollen labia and clit. Her breathing became labored and audible to the man on the other end of the phone line.
He let her continue for about two minutes, listening as her breathing deepened, then ordered, "Stop."
Tracy continued for a few seconds more and Paul again said, "Stop. Take your fingers away, pull up your panties and stockings and sit back down on the chair." Tracy whimpered slightly and Paul said, "Tracy, do what I say. Remember who you belong to."
Tracy pulled her hand away, fingers slick with her own arousal, and reluctantly obeyed him. She was literally throbbing with need now, desperate to come, and also slightly amazed at her own brazen behavior. Why was he stopping her? She knew men loved to hear a woman come over the phone. At least they'd asked her enough times online, though she'd always refused, feeling slightly affronted.
Then Paul, he was 'Paul' now, she realized suddenly, had ordered her to drop her panties and touch herself and like a total slut she did what he said, andshe was the one who wanted it to continue. What was going on?
"Tracy, that was your first lesson. A very small lesson in submission, and control. The lesson is this: Your master controls your orgasm. Not you. I know we've discussed this before, but this was a real 'lesson.' You got to actually feel what it is to obey another. How do you feel, Tracy?"
"Hot," she whispered, not wanting to talk, still wanting to come.
"Good. Stay that way. All day. When you get home tonight, you can come. Even if you orgasm with Kyle, I want you to think of me. Think of me, then in your head, ask for my permission. Say, 'Paul, can I come?' Imagine that I am saying yes, and remember that you belong to me, then come like the slut I know you are, hidden under that proper little banker facade."
"Paul," she said, still unable to express the longing he had created in her.
He heard it in her voice, and he knew. "Tracy. Hang up now and go to work. And remember me tonight." With a click, he was gone.
She should have pulled up her panties and pantyhose, as her 'master' had ordered. She was his 'slave' now, wasn't she? She started to, but her hand brushed her swollen pussy, and she sat down again, ignoring his order to delay her pleasure. Feverishly, she rubbed and finger fucked herself, and Paul, not Kyle, was in her mind's eye as she came.
***
That day at work Tracy was in something of a daze. It was Friday, at least, and this evening she would make a nice dinner for Kyle. Guilt over the phone call this morning was certainly a motivating factor, as she promised herself to try and pay more attention to her husband.
As five o'clock rolled around, Tracy called Kyle, who had told her earlier at lunchtime that he wouldn't be home till around 7:00, due to a staff meeting. She was going to find out just what he wanted for supper and pick up whatever she needed on the way home to make him a delicious meal. She'd make his favorite dessert. She'd get candles too, and some wine.
When he didn't answer his office phone, she called the main line and asked for Dr. Becker, not identifying herself as his wife. Tracy very rarely called Kyle at work. He was usually with patients and didn't like to be disturbed.
After a moment and a rustle of paper, a nasal female voice informed her, "Dr. Becker left at 3:00. Unless it's an emergency, you should leave a message for him, and he'll return your call on Monday."
"But what about the staff meeting?" she asked, confused.
"Excuse me, ma'am?" the bored voice responded.
"Doesn't he have a staff meeting tonight?"
"Dr. Becker has left for the day; I already told you. The doctors' staff meeting is on Wednesdays at 4:00. Who is this?" The voice became sharper, no doubt assuming Tracy was just another crazy patient trying to track down her shrink.
"Oh, nobody," Tracy mumbled, hanging up, her heart beginning a slow drill against her ribs. Gone at 3:00. No staff meeting. Where the fuck was he?
Tracy sat staring down at the piles of unattended paperwork on her desk, when a male voice startled her. "Hi there, Tracy." It was Guy Gray, the new loan officer the bank hired earlier in the week. Looking down at her, his smile flirted with insolence. His eyes were a pale blue, and he wore round, wire-framed glasses. His voice was mild, deep and flat, and he had a slow drawl.
A bit overweight, and balding, Tracy hadn't been impressed at first, but Guy went out of his way to let her know he appreciated how important the head teller was in keeping things running smoothly. Tracy knew he was probably full of crap, and just schmoozing her, she had liked the attention just the same.
"Say, Tracy. It's happy hour, tonight, my first one. I hope you're coming? First drink's on me. We're going to that little Mexican joint down the road. We don't even have to drive."
"Yes, Tracy, do come, just this once!" Theresa, her best teller, was packing her rolled coins into their heavy metal boxes to be put away in the vault. You never come with us. Please?" The younger employees of the bank, all in their 20s and 30s, regularly went out on Friday night to 'get the weekend started properly' as Theresa said. Tracy never joined them.
Tonight, she looked at both of them, smiling eagerly at her, and thought, why not? Kyle wasn't coming home till 7:00 – and he could get his own fucking dinner, or let whoever he's with get it for him! She nodded at them and said, "Let's go."
Guy was true to his word, bringing Tracy a frozen peach marguerita and a Coors for himself. There were about 10 of them, ties loosened, high collars unbuttoned, leaning back. Most of them drank beer from frosted mugs, and munched on the chips and salsa placed in large brightly glazed bowls along the center of the long wooden table. Guy sat next to Tracy, who was still in her own world, thinking about Kyle, and the fact that he had lied to her, and was off somewhere unknown.
Distractedly she took the drink Guy offered, thanking him, and took a sip. It was delicious, and she sipped it again, enjoying the frozen sweetness of peach and the underlying tang of tequila. The pragmatist in her had to admit that whatever Kyle might be doing, wasn't she just as bad? Only this morning, she had pulled down her panties and touched herself for another man. Perhaps Kyle had sensed her emotional withdrawal, and was seeking his own solace.
Guy was speaking and she realized he must have asked her something because he said, "Wow, you're off in some other world, aren't you, Tracy?"
"What? Oh, I'm sorry, I guess I am."
She tried to tune in to the conversation and heard Theresa say, "Yeah, we rented this really wild movie the other day, called Nine and a Half Weeks? Ya'll ever see it? He, like, spanks her and stuff, and makes her eat strawberries and whipped cream blindfolded. It's wild!"
Tracy perked up to this conversation. She was familiar with the movie; Paul had asked her if she'd seen it, and had recommended it. She knew what it was about, and was surprised it was considered an acceptable happy hour conversation.
Guy turned toward her and said, "You ever seen that one, Tracy? Anything with whips and chains does it for me." He was grinning, his tone light, but his eyes focused directly on hers.
She felt herself flushing slightly and hid behind a big gulp of her drink.
"Let me get you another," he said, rising, and was gone before she could protest. He returned with a fresh drink, the slice of peach perched jauntily on the rim of the glass, and handed it to her with a flourish. As she ate the slice of peach, a little juice spilled down her chin. Embarrassed, she swiped at it with her napkin, aware of Guy's eyes still keenly on her.
"So, you didn't answer my question. Ever see that movie?"
The others in the group were engaged in various conversations, fueled by beer and joy in the impending weekend. They were loudly discussing the merits and detractions of feeding food to your lover.
Whips and chains do it for me. Guy had just said that, hadn't he? Was the whole world into this BDSM thing, and she was only just coming round? What did he mean by that remark? And why was he staring at her so intently? Wasn't he married too? She decided to call his bluff.
"No, I've never seen it, but I know what it's about. Whips and chains do it for me too." She'd started out trying to be cool, but her ears burned and she realized the tequila must be getting to her quicker than she thought. How could she have just said that?
Guy nodded, smiling. "Then we have something in common, I see," he said quietly. He moved closer to her, letting his large meaty thigh touch her own slender one. She didn't move away, but kept sipping her drink, her mind momentarily on pause.
Guy turned away from her, joining in the conversations around him, seeming completely at ease. His thigh still touched hers, and almost against her will, Tracy felt herself responding to him. What was going on with her? When he brought her a third drink, she didn't even bother to question herself any longer. He suddenly seemed witty and urbane, and she threw back her head as she laughed at his jokes. She was drunk and happy, her face flushed with alcohol and her eyes bright with possibility.
By 6:30 the party was pretty much over. It was drizzling outside, and the idea of waiting for the bus in the rain held no appeal to Tracy. When Guy offered to give her a ride home, she accepted, not letting herself think past just getting to the car.
On the ride home Tracy became suddenly shy. She was still drunk, but now more aware of herself, and the fact that they were alone in the car together. Not that he would try anything, surely. They worked together, after all. Guy didn't say anything, but focused on the road; she knew he'd put away a few himself.
"We should have lunch sometime," he said casually. "Discuss our, um, shared interests." He didn't look at her as he spoke, eyes still on the road, fingers clenching the steering wheel, and she realized he was as nervous as she was. That assured her somehow, and she felt a little calmer, smiling at him.
"We should."
***
When Kyle got home thirty minutes after Tracy, she didn't ask him where he'd been. He had takeout Chinese with him, which would have ruined her plans if she'd actually made him the nice dinner she'd been thinking of earlier, but she hadn't made him a thing. He didn't notice, acting pleased with himself that he had provided the sustenance for the evening. He set it out, opening each little carton and announcing the contents within.
"Rough day?" Tracy remarked with elaborate casualness.
Kyle loosened his tie and sighed a loud histrionic sigh. "Man, that staff meeting took forever. Those guys just love their meetings. Through the whole thing, I was thinking about you and getting home."
She didn't call him on it; didn't say a thing. Her usual response to such a statement would have been to throw her arms around him, and feel grateful that he had missed her – but he was lying, and she knew it. How many other times had he lied to her these past few months? Maybe it was this, not the online forays, that finally decreased his sex drive. He was 'getting it' elsewhere.
The odd thing was, instead of feeling devastated, a part of her was quietly relieved. She was angry, she had to admit, and felt betrayed, but also relieved. Because wasn't she, in fact, just as guilty? She may not have actually fucked anyone, but her thoughts and behaviors were just as damning as his actions. Not that she even knew for sure what he was doing.
Maybe he just needed time alone. Becoming a doctor was a big deal. Maybe he was feeling the responsibility too keenly. Maybe he spent those afternoons in a park somewhere, weighing his responsibilities.
Yeah, right. She knew that was crap, but she didn't want to know the truth right now; not specifically. Knowledge might be power, but for now, she chose to remain in the dark, though the ignorance felt less than blissful.
Tracy didn't get online that evening, and neither did Kyle. They watched TV for a while, then read their books, listening to Kyle's music. "Your tastes are just too 'teenager bubble gum' for me," he'd explained to her years ago, and her records and CDs had gradually been moved aside to make place for his more important works of Mendelssohn and Beethoven. Tonight, Mahler's Sixth was regaling them from Kyle's expensive stereo system, and as it ended, Tracy thought the three hammer blows in the final movement of the "Tragic" seemed fitting.
They went to bed early, and Tracy was surprised when Kyle wanted to have sex. In her mind, he'd been fucking some little nurse from the hospital all afternoon and would be too spent to want Tracy as well. Kyle was hard as ever, as he pressed his large erection against her back, arms encircling her, grabbing at her round breasts.
Tracy stiffened, angry with him for the lies, angry with herself for her own, and for her inability to talk to Kyle about it. They really didn't communicate at all. Had they ever? Kyle pressed between her buttocks, trying to force her legs apart so he could stick his cock in her and come.
No kisses, no nuzzles to her neck. No loving words or whispers in the dark. How long had it been like this? They were connected only at the groin, and where his fingers roughly twisted her nipples to attention.
He removed a hand from her breast for a moment, and she heard him spitting on it, to lubricate his cock. The gesture sickened her and she pulled away from him murmuring, "I'm really tired, Kyle."
"That's ok, babe. You don't have to do a thing. Just spread those legs of yours and relax." He slipped his now wet fingers between her legs, his erection still pressed against her back, and briefly massaged her clit before moving down to her opening. She felt dry as a bone, but he didn't seem to notice or mind. A moment later, his cock was at her entrance, and he pressed it against her, entering her from behind.
"Kyle, I don't want to."
"Shh," he stopped her words with a hand on her mouth, and Tracy stilled. She knew it was useless to argue; he would get what he wanted; he always did. His hand on her mouth aroused her, against her will. It fit neatly into her fantasy of being raped. As usual, she would get through this one by fantasizing about being 'taken'. Wasn't that what he did, really? Take her against her will, over and over again? But somehow it wasn't sexy – because it wasn't fantasy. What he did, was plain rutting. And she was his come bucket.
Yeech. The image repulsed her and the tentative mood she tried to create was lost. She felt the pain of ripping flesh as he pushed his thick hard cock into her unwilling orifice. She cried out a little, which he confused for desire. "Yes, baby, yes. You know you want it." He pushed harder, and she moved a little to try to better accommodate him. His hand had dropped from her mouth, and she wished he would put it back. She dared to whisper it.
"Cover my mouth again."
No response, as he writhed against her, his long thin body heating rapidly against her. "Kyle, cover my mouth again. That was sexy."
"What? What are you talking about? What's sexy about that?" She didn't respond, and he didn't pursue it, getting lost again in his own gyrations inside her. Then she remembered Paul's words this morning.
"When you get home tonight, you can come. And even if you orgasm with Kyle, I want you to think of me. Think of me, and in your head, ask for my permission. Say, 'Paul, can I come?' And imagine that I am saying yes. Rremember that you belong to me, and then come like the slut I know you are."
She saw Paul's image in her mind, the dark eyes, the enigmatic expression, and something in her softened. Kyle's cock thrusting in her didn't hurt so much now, and she barely heard his grunting in her ear.
Licking her own fingers, she shifted so she could touch her pussy, and began to rub herself in time with Kyle's thrusts. Confused images of herself this morning, panties down, legs spread, of Paul's photograph, of Guy's large thigh pressed against hers, and her usual fantasies of a faceless man holding her down and raping her, filled Tracy's mind and body, loosening her to the point of orgasm.
She barely noticed as Kyle came inside her, moaning a primal grunt as he shot his seed into her. Her own hand was busy as she finger fucked herself to orgasm, unaware that Kyle had slipped out of her and rolled away from her, leaving her back covered with his sweat and her pussy gooey with his come.
Paul, she thought, Paul, can I come? She didn't hear his answer in her head, as she exploded into a lovely orgasm, and fell asleep next to the man she'd vowed to love till death did them part.