"Is this what you want?"
His text message to me was accompanied by an image file. As I waited for it to load, I looked up from my phone to check if anyone nearby could see my phone's screen.
I was underground, riding the subway in a city where my work had sent me for business. I'd been away from home for only less than a full day, but Julien apparently had already taken the opportunity to fill my absence with something...or someone.
Having confirmed that nobody was looking, I glanced back down at my phone as it buzzed again. The picture Julien sent me still wasn't done loading, but he had written me another message.
"This is what you wanted, right?"
I cursed the shoddy underground cellular reception as I mulled over his words. What is it that I like?
After what happened over the holidays, this work trip (for which I volunteered) was almost a reprieve for me, a mandated getaway from the emotional turmoil engendered by the fallout with my husband.
Pixel by pixel, his picture slowly pieced itself together. I closed my eyes, willing it to load faster. What was he showing me? He knew I was on my way to a meeting.
It had been a long conversation, lasting hours, on and off and on again as we berated each other, blamed each other. I accused him of infidelity; he faulted me for it.
"It's just sex," he argued.
It's just sex...with someone, anyone, other than me.
As his picture came into focus, I could make out his silhouette. It seemed to be him, a self shot taken of his reflection in the mirror, wearing nothing save for the white bath towel hanging around his waist. Almost in spite of myself, I smiled; for as good as he looked, I still found him to be irresistibly handsome.
My smile froze as the rest of the picture finished loading.
It was indeed his reflection in the full-length mirror that stood in our bedroom, but I thought I saw something behind him.
I zoomed in on the image and confirmed: on the floor, between him and our bed, was another person.
"We've already talked about opening up our relationship," he'd said.
I faltered. "It was just a fantasy..."
He approached me, then, his gaze locked onto mine. "Look me in the eye and tell me honestly that what you saw wasn't hot as fuck."
I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out.
I haven't stopped thinking about that night.
Well, in all honesty, there was more than just that one night, but my thoughts most often returned to the night of that Christmas party. Although it wasn't the first time that I caught him with someone else, it was the one for which I couldn't shake some sense of responsibility.
I had known about his proclivities, had guessed at his extramarital activities--I had some idea of what could--would--happen if I gave him the chance.
And, still, I did.
I knew what he would do, and I didn't stop myself. Instead, I set up every circumstance to fall perfectly into place, and I stepped back to watch as they did.
I wasn't surprised when I saw him fucking someone else. I was surprised that he knew I was watching.
I hesitated.
Ever one to capitalize on my inaction, he'd drawn closer--and reached down to grab at my groin.
"You're getting hard."
I didn't say anything. I thought I wanted to, but I didn't. After all, I couldn't. On the one hand, I wanted him all to myself, I didn't want to have to share; on the other, I wanted him to be fulfilled, I wanted him to have everything that he needed, because isn't that what partners do for each other?
So, here I was, surrounded by strangers, while Julien was more than likely hooking up with someone else.
Like I knew he would.
My phone vibrated again--another message from him.
This time, it came with a video attached.
I almost groaned, out of frustration, of course, because video files take forever to load while underground.
Doubtlessly, he'd probably sent me a video of him toying with some boy, or of him getting sucked off, or of him blowing his load. Every possible scenario ran through my head.
I just wanted to know.
"This is for you. I know you want this."
He was right, of course. He always is.
I rapidly stiffened as he fondled me, as he coaxed me into standing at full mast.
"You're as hard as a rock from just thinking about what you saw," he said.
It wasn't a question.
He undid my zipper and released my erection from being trapped against my briefs, where a sticky spot had begun to form.
I didn't stop him.
Hopefully, nobody noticed the outline of my hard-on through my pants.
It was agonizing, the speed at which the video loaded, but load it did. Ignoring everyone else around me, I pressed play and watched my husband from hundreds of miles away.
He ran his hand along the full length of my erection, gripping here, squeezing there. His strokes were languid, and the pre-cum he teased out of me lubricated his hold on me.
"You purposefully left the house that evening."
I did.
He sped up his hand, generating more friction. The need for release was beginning to well up within me, and I bucked my hips against the machinations of his hand.
"You wanted me to watch me fuck someone else."
His voice was merely a whisper, spoken directly into my ear.
It wasn't a very long video, just under four minutes in length, but watching the actual content play out felt as long as an hour.
It was a recording taken from Julien's point of view as he was mid-fuck.
From the camera's angle, I could see the full backside of whoever was bottoming. I could see his shoulders tense as he braced himself; I could see his back muscles flex as his body was being used; I could see the dimples just above the curvature of his beautifully rounded ass; I could see the pink of his hole nestled between his cheeks.
I could see Julien's cock as it plunged, condomless, into this boy's hole.
Julien moved his mouth from my ear to my neck, kissing gently. He jerked me off as I stood there, powerless against his advances. I belonged to him.
I've always belonged to him.
My earbuds were flooded with the sound of the bottom's moans, which were unintelligible save for his begging for deeper, for harder. For more.
Julien's own grunts could also be heard and became more primal as his thrusts picked up in speed.
He was going to cum.
I was going to cum.
From tender kisses to tongue lacerations, he worked his mouth against the most tender spots on my neck.
His hand, its motions relentless as he stroked me, was going to send me over the edge.
"Tell me this is what you want."
Enthralled, I watched my husband take his pleasure from someone else's body. As his pumping became more desperate, the camerawork became less precise--in that moment, filming was not his priority.
My own erection strained against the seams of my pants, threatening to burst. I wanted so badly to relieve myself right then and there.
I didn't have a choice. I didn't want him to stop.
He knew me, knew all of my secrets, knew exactly what I've been afraid to admit. I've never been able to hide anything from him.
The truth had come out: I had created the circumstances that allowed him to cheat--could that even be considered cheating?--but he had only done so at my behest. In this way, we negotiated. I didn't want to be without him; he knew that I couldn't.
By verbalizing my darkest thoughts, he forced me to confront them. He forced me to confront desire.
He had all the leverage. It was always going to be exactly as he wanted. It always has been.
I loved him, still.
Suddenly, the video came to a stop.
I checked it to confirm--sure enough, it ended right there.
I didn't have any other messages from Julien; he'd decided to leave me with that. I wasn't going to be able to see what happened next.
I looked up just in time to realize that I had reached my destination. I tried to stuff my hard-on away so that it wouldn't be obtrusive as I hurried off to work, my thoughts occupied by Julien, what he had sent me, and what he had said.
Is this what I want?