Smut Showcases the Soul!

Taking Pleasure in Making You Pay -

Part One

Given enough time and trust, people always remind you who they truly are.

And he is a fucking piece of shit!

A garbage person. Trash that belongs on the curb.

“Baby, I can explain!” Your husband rushes after you, like the heel he is, stumbling with his pants still caught around his knees.

You scoff, the sound hard and harsh as it puffs between gritted teeth like smoke from a dragon. You’d love to see him try. So, go ahead, give yourself permission to turn around. Face him. “Explain.” It’s not a question. Not a request. It’s a goddamned dare.

Watch while he swallows roughly, his eyes darting nervously as if desperately searching for a lie to tell you.

See? Rotten, cheating piece of shit!

“It just happened.” The lines sound rehearsed from his lips, like he’s practiced them for days to get them just right. “A mistake. I didn’t mean it.”

You let out a snort. “A mistake?” An accident. As if it wouldn’t take a million deliberate choices, a million different, intentional acts, to get him to this place and this time and this mess right now. “Things like this don’t just happen.”

Be careful. Be on alert. Or you might miss it, out of the corner of your eye.

Her.

With her pretty hair disheveled and her clothes clutched in a tangled ball in her hands, you barely recognize her. But you do.

“And where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

She freezes. Mid-step. It’s almost comical.

If it wasn’t so sad.

Your best friend. Caught in the worst cliché.

How could you? you wonder, shaking your head in disappointment at both of them.

“I think I should leave.” She shoves her feet more firmly into her shoes. Stilettos. Sex-signal red. You were there when she bought them a week ago. For a hot date, she said. The naughty excitement in her tone when she said those words sound so different as they echo in your head now.

You almost laugh.

“So you just stopped in real quick to fuck my husband?” To muck up a marriage and leave everyone else to clean it up? Scowling, you shake your head; you thought she was better than that. 

But, c’mon now, be fair. “No. I’m sorry; that was rude.” Where are your manners? Let’s try that again, in a tone that will sound like a saccharine slice, a sugared slap to her adulterous face. She is your best friend, after all. “Please, by all means, stay.”

Flinching, she looks at him, then at you, then back to him. You don’t know why. It’s not as if that spineless sack of crap could save her now. He’s not in charge. This is, will always be, your show. Put your hands on your hips. “Sit.”

You watch as she skulks back to the sofa, before glaring at your faithful husband. “You too.” Disgusted, you take them both in. Half-dressed and smelling of sex. 

Turn and grab the damp dishrag sitting on the counter; throw it in his face. “Clean yourself up. I can’t even look at you.”

The rag smacks him in the cheek wetly. “Yes, baby.” You see his face flush as the clinging cloth slides down his skin, leaving a wet sheen in its wake.

He pouts. “It’s cold.”

Good. Your eyes narrow on his half-hard cock, still glistening with her slickness. The better to cool himself off with. With smugger satisfaction than is warranted, you watch him stroke the cold, rough rag over his dick, wiping her from him. Good.

“As for you.” You turn to your friend. Whenever life throws you for a loop, without fail, it always comes from the least likely places. You’ve known each other for years. Since you were kids. You’ve shared everything together. Toys. Clothes. Makeup.

And now men.

You hate that you can feel hot tears burn in your eyes as betrayal twists in your gut. “How long has this been going on?”

The answer comes too quickly. Too readily. “Just this once, baby.”
Slap him across the face. The thrilling rush of watching him wince, while your hand’s mark rises red on his cheek, fuels your fury, pounding inside you like the beat of vengeance’s wings. “Don’t lie to me.”

“He’s not lying.”

When you step closer to her, she flinches away, but you see truth shine bright and scared in her eyes before she turns.

Fine.

“Was it worth it?” You have to know. Need to hear it—whatever her answer—from her lips. “Was he good?” Good enough to throw away a lifetime of friendship. To destroy your marriage. To burn down all your lives. Was he?

She bites her lip, stupid enough to get caught but smart enough to stay quiet.

Which only makes you madder...

Read Part Two Here