Bedtime Rituals and Revelations

That night, Ruth prepared herself for bed with the same quiet desperation she felt every night. Standing in her bathroom, looking at herself in front of the mirror, she took stock of herself, not for the first time. Brushing her hair, she looked at her own naked body, short, padded nicely, round full breasts still firm, nipples two stiff red nubs, her belly flat enough to be pretty, the round swell of her ass nice enough to look at. Her pussy was shaved, just a small wisp of brown curls just above her slit, her nether lips puffy and, if she was being honest, eternally damp from arousal. Because, if she WAS being honest, she hadn't had a good fuck in almost six years. She'd been a young legal secretary when she met Donald, awed by his smooth and strong personality. And at first, when they were sneaking sex in hotel rooms and on the desks in his office, hiding from Donald's first wife, Kara, it had been pretty hot. But then, after his divorce, he'd started in on her. First, he wanted her to "take a break" from her job so she could care for the two kids he shared with his first wife. And, although raising Billy and May had been rewarding, and although she loved the kids like they were her own, since they were already teenagers, there hadn't really been much raising to do. Then he got rid of the car, because she "didn't need it" if she was staying home all day anyway. Next had been the slow disappearance of their sex life, and the long nights at the office "working on cases." She'd caught one of the affairs thanks to Kara, who seemed to be pretty friendly and supportive even for an ex-wife. It was Kara who had confronted him for her, and she didn't know exactly what they said to each other, but the cheating had stopped. But so did the sex. Most nights, she would prepare for bed, and he would stay up late in his home office, doing God knows what on his computer. She'd lay there, lonely and frustrated, her pussy aching for something to scratch the unbearable itch. He'd finally slide into bed early in the morning, smelling of beer and his own sperm, and when she would roll over and touch him, he would pat her on the arm and plead fatigue and an early workday the next day.

She'd tried masturbation, but playing with herself just didn't cut it. She'd considered going to a sex store, but she was too shy to even walk in, fearing someone would see her. And even if she wanted an affair, it would be impossible; who was she going to meet when she only left the house once a week. So she had settled down into a numb acceptance that this was her life. And, some nights, when the loneliness and desire were too much to handle, she would frig herself furiously, shuddering through orgasms that only left her wanting more, and then the tears would come. She knew he had loved her once, enough to throw away a good marriage for her. But now? Now there was nothing.

Tonight was no different. Same late night arrival, the wheaty smell of Donald's masturbation mixed with the salty musk of her pussy on her fingertips, Donald's sigh and excuse about early work, his rolling one way, her rolling the other. The tears, silent and stifled by her pillow, so she wouldn't wake her husband up and have to have the same fight they'd had a dozen times.

In the morning, he was gone before she even woke up fully. She stumbled through her morning chores, not even bothering to put on clothes, wandering the large empty house in her panties and nightgown. It was while she was walking down the hallway toward the kitchen that she saw her husband's office door was slightly ajar. If Donald was fussy about things (and he was), the top of the list was the privacy and sanctity of his office. Whenever he was out, the door was locked; he didn't even let her go in to clean unless he was there to watch. He swore it was because of the sensitive information on his cases which he kept in filing cabinets by his work desk. But she had suspected for quite some time there was more going on in there than he was admitting.

She reached out to pull the door the rest of the way closed, then paused. A little tickle of fear, mixed with the thrill of knowing she was about to do something naughty, played thru her belly. After a few seconds, she pushed it open, then stepped inside. Her first glances didn't seem to hit anything too unexpected. There were beer cans in the trash can by the desk, and a box of tissue and some hand lotion. She'd already known he was beating off in here, so the crumpled tissues by the trashcan were just confirmation of what she already knew. But then she froze, her blood running ice cold as she saw the blinking screen of Donald's computer. He had forgotten to lock it, and the internet browser was still open, the page a legal scholarship program. Ruth knew May idolized her father, and had been talking for years about trying to get into a law program. Almost innocently, Ruth leaned forward over the desk, intending to lock the computer for Donald, when she realized this was a prime opportunity to find out something more about her husband's secret activities. Her hand hovered over the mouse, Ruth arguing with herself, knowing some things couldn't be taken back. And then...