Whatever It Takes Pt. 01: Trust - Sex Stories

Whatever It Takes Pt. 01: Trust

... Sometimes, after, she'd stretch against the white sheets toying with her pussy, pushing her fingers deep, stretching spunk drool between her fingers before lapping at it with the pink of her tongue. Something that Sarah would never do. Something that I would never even think to ask.

We fucked weekly, then twice weekly, and then escalated to every other Saturday. If Sarah noticed, she didn't say a word. Then I added the Friday through into the Saturday, not caring that the lies were stretching paper thin. Sometimes I'd lay beside Kayla, or lay beside Sarah, wondering what each might be thinking and whether either considered the other. And, in that moment, I wondered if perhaps part of me might want to be caught. But then the moment would pass and turn and I'd be fucking Kayla missionary, then fucking Kayla doggy, then fucking Kayla's face while she gagged and spluttered, and then fucking Kayla's tight ass while she wailed like a banshee.

Kayla, just 21, the world fat and ripe and ready for her. And I, 36, married, mortgage, BMW, and the title, 'Director,' earned across a fifteen year career. All of it culminating in a single moment fractured, Sarah, my phone in her hand and then against the hard slate floor. Sarah, green eyes now red and overflowing. Sarah, undone, and sobbing, 'What the fuck, Tom. What the fuck, Tom. What the fuck.'

It didn't even occur to me to lie. It didn't occur to me to argue. It didn't occur to me to explain.

Instead, I returned to the ...

... Marriott for a couple of nights. I tried calling Kayla that second night, fucking loser that I am. But she wouldn't take the call, she wouldn't return the texts, she wouldn't acknowledge the voicemail, even when I begged. Whether Sarah had gotten to her, or whether she'd heard by some other means, she did not return to the office the following day or the next. A week later, she transferred into the city.

On the third night, I moved out to the Travelodge. I waited a week and then another. Ian from HR, a fucking tosser in a cream suit, interviewed me alongside some lawyer, an attempt to bluff me into spilling it all. But it was clear that whatever they guessed, Kayla had said nothing. I met with them a second time, they hit bottom, and then they were done.

I tried Sarah through that first week, only she refused to take my calls. The second week I tried again and then she did.

'I could blow it all up,' she said, 'End everything, but still walk away with it all.' This was a different Sarah, a harder Sarah, a better Sarah.

I told her that I wanted to fix things, that I would do what it takes. But this new Sarah wanted to see me beg.

Later, in our kitchen, the lighting cold, stark, cruel.

'I want to see you beg,' she said.

'I'm begging you, Sarah.'

'Why are you still sitting down then?'

I understood, I wanted to fix things, and this was how. I slumped to my knees.

'Lower,' she said, slipping her foot out from her sandal and holding it to my face, pressing ...