Hubby Comes Home

By the time your husband returned home, it was nearly midnight.

He had finished work at five thirty but Tammy, one of the women who worked on the same floor as him, had come into his office with tears in her eyes. She had been pouring her heart out to him about her own cheating husband for weeks. Every time it was the same routine, she would cry and explain the most recent crime he had committed and then your husband would offer to take her for a drink to steady her nerves and before long they would be in some cheap Motel and he would be fucking her senseless.

Usually, it was a quick thing, Tammy would go from begging him to fuck her like her husband never could to crying and telling him to leave in the length of a single orgasm. It was like as soon as she came she was overwhelmed with a sense of self-loathing. It wasn’t like he cared either way, she was usually good for at least a couple orgasms before then. Yet tonight she had to go and throw a spanner in the works by telling him she was late for her period. A worrying thought by itself that was only made worse for her by the fact that her husband hadn’t touched her in over two months.

He had taken her to a nice hotel and listened to her as she poured her heart out, telling him about how she thought she might love him. How she knew he wasn’t happy and how they could finally leave their spouses and be together, as a family, and he had told her that he did love her, that he would leave you, that they could be together. Then he laid her down and fucked her for hours.

For her, it was lovemaking, the confirmation of a deeper bond of two souls trapped in loveless marriages who had finally been brought together by fate.

For him, it was one last taste of her cunt before he pulled some strings and had her shipped to the office on the other side of the country.

He left her in the hotel bed, thinking that if she hadn’t been knocked up before then she surely was now. He didn’t bother to shower, even though he stank of sex, the smell so strong it was almost overpowering as he sat in the car. He wanted you to smell it, seeing the little twinge in your face as you hid your feelings was about the only way he got any excitement out of you any more. Not that you had excited him much to start with, you had always just been a cover for him. Part of a front of respectability that he put up for the wider world.

Yet he had to admit that something about how passive you always were got to him, riled him up in a way he didn’t expect. Before you got married he had cheated but it had been somewhat rare, some dully dressed business type on work trips who bought him a drink and wanted to feel alive for a few hours or a hooker if none of those could be found. Then, when you found out about one of the affairs he had expected you to blow up, to throw him out or scream at him.

Instead, you had done...nothing.

You had gone on with life as if you hadn’t found the cum stained dress under the front seat of the car and that had gotten to him. After that, he had started to cheat more and more and becoming more brazen with every passing affair. From just not bothering to hide the smell of another woman on him to staying out all night to taking pictures or even bringing them into the house and fucking them right in the bed and leaving you to clean up the stained sheets. Yet none of it had gotten a rise out of you.

He began to wonder if parading Tammy in front of you could do it. Taunting you with the thing he had refused to ever give you, a child.

Those dark thoughts came to a screeching halt however as he went to put his key in the front door and felt it swing open. The house beyond was dark but even in the light from the street that cast the living room in an orange glow, he could see that something had happened.

“Hello?” He called out as he stepped inside, a heavy scent he couldn’t quite place hanging in the air.

The living room looked like a whirlwind had torn through it, the furniture either overturned or else having had all its cushions pulled off and dumped on the floor. About the only point of normality was the coffee table, atop which sat a camera with a note attached to it that simply said.

“Watch Me.”