Page 18 of Payback
“May I go clean up before we leave?” I asked, ignoring his previous comment.
“No,” he replied, delivering another smack to my behind, eliciting a groan.
“It’s dripping down my thighs!”
“Perfect,” he declared before rising.
Supporting myself on my elbows, I yelled after him as he exited the bedroom, “Why not use a condom?”
“Why? You despise it even more when I finish inside you.”
“Ever heard of STDs?”
“Married, aren’t you? Unless there are other lovers I failed to uncover,” he teased, his arms crossed and an infuriating smirk in place.
“Both of us are aware my husband hasn’t been the most faithful, and I am not the only one who can carry.”
“A matter resolved two years ago, and I’ve monitored your medical history. You’ve undergone frequent testing, and I’m clean.”
“I had sex with my husband last night!”
“Yes, but I’ve been keeping tabs on him too,” he informed me. “And his affairs lessened after you exposed him for raping that young woman. He’s a clever cheat, using protection and regular testing to avoid bringing anything home.”
Exasperated, I struck the bed, lifting myself higher and feeling the cum still trickling out of me.
“He didn’t rape her!” I retorted.
“Of course, I’ll believe you without question,” he taunted.
“He put an end to the affairs.”
“No, they diminished. If you truly believed him, you wouldn’t undergo testing every four months,” he pointed out, making me glance away in fear. “What is it, Alison? Did your idyllic family vision crumble? Did reality fall short of your expectations? Or is it more convenient to look away, get tested at the doctor’s office, and pretend all is well?”
I bit my lip, averting meeting his eyes, determined to conceal how close to the mark his words had struck. He possessed an unsettling depth of knowledge about me. Jared had observed my life from close quarters, witnessing things that weren’t intended for his eyes. He sought out vulnerabilities and found them. However, I acknowledged that it was my fault. I had permitted weaknesses to infiltrate my life. A lesson imparted by my intoxicated mother was to never allow anyone close enough to exploit such vulnerabilities. I hadn’t even allowed myself to be emotionally exposed enough for weaknesses to develop. I aimed to be like steel, and therefore, the responsibility was mine. The formation of weaknesses was my doing, which provided Jared with something to exploit. If I had cleaned up my mess properly or, even better, avoided involvement altogether, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be standing there freshly fucked and cum dripping from me. I recognized my error, but that didn’t mean I would allow him to emerge victorious.
“What else should I pack?” I asked, deliberately sidestepping his questions.
He offered a dark smile, noticing my evasion. Jared momentarily disappeared and returned with a sizable overnight bag. He picked up the perfume from the bed and proceeded to gather essentials such as a toothbrush and hairbrush. I sensed a peculiar powerlessness in watching someone else rummage through my belongings while I was rendered unable to intervene. Perhaps that’s why he insisted on doing it himself. I observed as everything was placed into the white Gucci bag, realizing that it contained only necessities and no clothing. Was I truly expected to be naked and available at his whim? He must get tired at some point, right? However, deep down, I suspected I was deluding myself. Jared had waited years for this moment. Now that he was finally exacting his plan, I knew he would savor each moment. Yet, when he unclasped the demeaning collar from my neck, he would be faced by my fury. Once the contract became insignificant and I regained my freedom, he would discover the force he had unleashed.
As I stood there in thought, I noticed something peculiar he had placed in the bag. But before I could inquire, he had already sealed it shut.
“Okay, all set,” he declared, grabbing the bag and seizing my arm. He led me forcefully, his tight grip conveying a clear warning against resistance.
“Why did you put my wedding photo in the bag?” I queried as we descended the stairs.
“Because I want to fuck you while you’re forced to witness your picture-perfect life going up in smoke.”
“You’re planning to fuck me while I stare at the photo? Just so you know, I could easily picture my husband behind me,” I retorted, attempting to convey my reluctance at being taken while looking at the photo. However, he was correct—the visual would evoke the sensation of everything disintegrating. I had no desire to be coerced into a situation where I had to gaze at my husband while another man was having his way with me.
“Yes, of course. And then it will be particularly painful when you dry up like sand,” he jeered.
I pulled back, interrupting his attempt to pull me along, although not with enough force for him to release his grip.
“Are you defying me?” he questioned.
“No, I’m simply asking if you think my husband doesn’t fulfill my needs,” I countered.
“I didn’t realize cheaters turned you on,” he shot back.
