The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Bill contemplated his wife over the top of his newspaper. He loved her dearly, but he was getting tired of her antics. Sometimes he wondered if her mind had ever really made it out of high school. “Meredith,” he called, “what are you doing?”

His wife, who had been bent over to peer through the venetian blinds, stood abruptly and faced him. Her whole body was animated with excitement. “There’s a moving van next door! Ooh, I hope these are more interesting neighbors than that old busybody, Gretchen, who used to live there.” She turned back to her spying, making small noises in the back of her throat to demonstrate her disapproval of the garrulous former neighbor. Bill just sighed and returned his attention to the Wall Street Journal.

“Oh my,” Meredith reported, “they seem to be doing all right for themselves. Just look at the size of that TV! You’ll have to get yourself invited over for all the football games.” She chuckled, but Bill resolutely ignored her. She kept up her steady prattle anyway, “These must be the new neighbors now. They are a cute couple.” Bill joined her at the window. He did want to get a good look at the neighbors so that he didn’t embarrass himself by failing to recognize them later.

Cute was not the way he would have described them. The man had a statuesque build that would have put Apollo to shame. His wife was built to match, with silky brown tresses and a curvy, exquisite body that seemed melded to her brief summer dress.

“Tut, tut,” Meredith commented, “A dress like that is a little too risqué for these parts if you ask me. I wouldn’t be caught dead in that.”

Bill refrained from comment. As a young woman Meredith had been strikingly pretty, but after ten years of marriage and two children she carried a few extra pounds and her face was deeply lined around the eyes. She wouldn’t be the only one to raise a protest if she made an appearance in such a daring garment. Bill often thought, but never remarked, that if she made the effort to drop the extra weight and take care of her skin she could regain a passable semblance of her former glory. Of course, Bill reflected, to get rid of those lines she’d have to stop spending so much time squinting out the window. He returned to his chair and his paper.

“You’re late,” snapped Meredith as Tommy slid into his seat half-way through dinner.

“Sorry,” he said automatically, “I was over at the new neighbors’ house. They have a boy my age and he has the coolest video game system. You have to see this thing; it must be worth a hundred dollars.” Tommy was ten years old and subsisted on no formal income. A hundred dollars was about the biggest sum of money he could conceive of.

Meredith’s scowl vanished and she began grilling Tommy on what the neighbors were like and whether or not they seemed to be better off than she was. They had been living there for a whole week, but Meredith had managed to glean so little information about them that she was beside herself with curiosity. Tommy, of course, had only had eyes for the video games and had little of interest to report. Meredith was starting to pull her hair out in frustration when he casually mentioned that the new neighbors had graciously invited the whole family over for dinner the following evening.

Meredith spent the night and the next day in a tizzy, worrying about what she should take and what she should wear and if wine would be appropriate or if they were perhaps teetotalers. Thankfully Bill was busy at work for most of the day and avoided the brunt of the activity. He purposefully stayed late so that when he got home he had just enough time to take a shower and get dressed, leaving his wife to thrash about in the kitchen preparing a salad and hollering at the kids to change their clothes.

In the end they appeared on the doorstep only a few minutes late. They heard the pounding of feet and then the door was thrown wide for them by a small, dark-haired boy. He turned his head and bellowed, “Mom! The guests are here!”

“Now, now, what did I tell you about yelling in the house?” admonished a gentle voice, which was promptly followed by the smiling face of the lovely neighbor they had glimpsed the week before. She was clad once again in a simple cotton dress that clung to every delicious curve, displaying just a hint of cleavage and stopping shy of the knees, but only barely. “Welcome,” she lilted, “please, come in. Don’t mind the mess. We haven’t had time to unpack all the boxes yet.” She laughed, putting on a show of being embarrassed.

Her Adonis of a husband appeared at her side and extended his hand to Bill. “Hi, I’m John. John Jones. And this is my wife, Jane.”

Bill blinked. What oddly bland names for such extraordinary looking people, he thought. He clasped hands with the man, introducing himself and his wife in turn, then the children, Tommy and Jenny.

As the women were introduced Meredith darted forward for an awkward hug. “Oh this is so exciting,” she bubbled, “I was hoping a nice woman would move in next door. It gets so lonely sometimes while Bill’s at work and… Oh my, what is that intoxicating perfume?”

“Hmm? Oh, this old stuff?” Jane laughed and waved the compliment aside, “It’s nothing. Just some bottle I inherited from a crazy aunt. I figured it would be better to use it up than to toss it out. Waste not want not, you know.”

Meredith laughed too, stepping back with a strange starry-eyed expression on her face. When the hosts moved to draw the little party on in to the dining room Bill had to nudge her to get her moving. She was strangely quiet for the first few minutes of the meal also, and Bill was beginning to begrudge her the duty of holding up their end of the conversation. She soon perked up, however, and blathered endlessly about all the goings on in their small town, indexing for Jane’s benefit who was lazy and who was scandalous and who was snobby. Bill was not surprised that essentially everyone in the neighborhood fell into at least one of those categories in Meredith’s estimation.

Still, he was grateful for his respite from the conversation and turned to his meal with great zest. The Joneses exclaimed appropriately over Meredith’s garden salad, but Bill knew, and knew that Meredith knew, that the chicken cordon bleu and associated accouterments that Jane had prepared were far better than anything Meredith had cooked in her life. The whole meal, in fact, he would be forced to describe as superb. It was marred only by Tommy pouring his milk, which he later asserted had been sour, in the bread basket. The event was complicated by nobody noticing until John reached for a roll. After the whole affair was brought to the light everyone agreed that it was highly amusing, and that there wasn’t much you could do to reform old dogs or small boys.

After dinner the children played in the yard, the men sat on the back porch and drank beer, and the women did the dishes. It was an archetypical small-town summer evening. The men talked about their jobs, the state of the economy, and the upcoming election. Meredith asked for Jane’s recipes and pressed for details about the move and planned décor schemes for the house. Tommy pelted his sister with dirt clods and bits of worm that he had spent twenty minutes carefully gathering and preparing.

Jenny’s wailing and tracking filth into the house cut the visit short. Bill and Meredith made hasty apologies and ushered their children home.

Meredith was white-faced with fury. “I have never been so embarrassed,” she declared, “you had better have a word with that… that delinquent of yours.” She gestured at her son and stomped into the house to help Jenny wash.

Bill gave Tommy a stern lecture about being kind to his sister and about appropriate and inappropriate places to put milk. In the end, however, he couldn’t help but give Tommy a roguish wink and a fatherly pat.

Tommy scampered off, looking only mildly abashed. Meredith, on the other hand, was inconsolable.

“Oh Bill,” she sobbed, “I’m so embarrassed. Our kids trashed the whole evening. Everyone hated my salad. And, I looked so… so dumpy next to Jane.”

“Now, that’s not true and you know it,” Bill assured her, pulling her close and holding her tightly.

Bill had never seen her like that before. Normally after visiting someone she would come home eager to point out all the flaws in the housekeeping and unload all the juicy new bits of gossip she had picked up. Bill had expected her to make fun of the packed boxes still in the living room and declare that Jane’s dress wasn’t appropriate for polite society. They had been good people, it seemed, but certainly not beyond nit-picking. He was at a loss for words.

“Well,” Meredith seemed to collect herself, “there’s no help for it I suppose.” She rubbed her eyes and took a compulsive wipe at the immaculate kitchen counter with a dish towel. “By the way dear,” she asked in a practiced, casual tone, “have you talked to your boss lately about your salary?”

Bill tried to keep pace with the abrupt change in attitude. “Not recently, no,” he replied after a moment, “I got an above-average raise at the end of the last fiscal year, what do I have to complain about?”

“Nothing,” admitted Meredith, “it’s just that, well, John has a starting managerial position and makes half-again what you do, in a very similar field.”

Bill sighed. “Just because he transferred here doesn’t mean he’s coming in at an entry level. He has a lot of experience. Besides, he’s in insurance sales. I’m an actuary. We can’t meaningfully compare our jobs. What’s gotten into you? This isn’t a competition.”

“You’re right,” conceded Meredith, but then continued doggedly, “I’m just saying that you ought to talk to your boss about a raise. If we’re going to put up a respectable front to the Joneses we’re going to have to get some nicer things! Did you see the silverware they had?” Before the dumbfounded Bill could respond, Meredith kissed him lightly on the cheek and disappeared up the stairs, calling “Goodnight dear!” down at him.

Shaking his head in wonder Bill slowly followed her. It’s always best to let her think she makes some kind of sense, he told himself.

“Good morning!” Meredith sang as Bill came down for breakfast the next day. Bacon, eggs, and pancakes met his astonished eyes. His wife, dressed in shorts and a tank top, set a heavy plate of food in front of him.

Bill, who had not had anything beyond cold cereal for breakfast in months sat slowly. “What’s the occasion?” he ventured, starting to eat.

“Oh, no occasion,” Meredith assured him, “it’s just that I heard Jane mention yesterday that she always makes a point to get up and prepare breakfast in the morning so her husband can get a good start to his day. I thought, you know, there’s no reason I couldn’t do that.” She leaned down to steal a kiss.

Perhaps these Joneses will be a good influence after all, Bill mused to himself, tucking into his meal with gusto.

“Just set your dishes in the sink when you’re done, I’m off to the gym. I’ll see you when you get home from work,” Meredith called, heading for the door.

At least that explained the unusual outfit, Bill thought. “Since when do you go to the gym?” he inquired, “I thought you gave it up when you were so busy taking care of Jenny.”

“Oh, well, she’s six now, so I can go while she’s at school. Besides, Jane Jones says she manages to make it to the gym four days a week , and she must be super busy taking care of little Damien on top of moving and everything. If she can do four I ought to be able to do at least five. Anyway, I want to beat the morning rush. See you tonight!” Meredith disappeared out the door. She reappeared a moment later, before Bill could stop gaping, “Oh, and don’t forget to ask your boss about a raise.” She disappeared again.

Bill wondered if he was going to spend the rest of his married life in a state of constant surprise.

In spite of his wife’s urging Bill did not confront his boss about his pay that day, and to his relief his wife seemed to forget about the issue. Life returned to some semblance of normality, but Bill couldn’t help but notice that Meredith spent a lot of time peering through the window, watching the Joneses.

She seemed to be caught in some kind of female competition. One which, Bill guessed, Jane was completely oblivious to. Whenever the Joneses watered their lawn Meredith sent Bill out to water theirs for longer, and fertilize it to boot. When Damien got his hair cut Meredith had Tommy’s hair cut even shorter. The household silverware and china vanished, only to be replaced by a set that looked suspiciously like the Joneses. Meredith’s extra weight slowly disappeared and she looked younger and younger, taking on a healthy glow. Her wardrobe seemed to be morphing slowly into brief, fashionable dresses that bore a striking resemblance to Jane’s, although perhaps cut just a tad lower on top and a shade higher at the bottom. Meredith was not going to be outdone.

Bill knew his wife’s behavior was unhealthy, but he couldn’t bring himself to complain. Money was a little tighter with all her purchases, but they could afford it. He felt that his gains in other areas were commensurate with his pecuniary losses. His newly young and beautiful wife had seemed to find extraordinary reserves of energy, which she threw whole-heartedly into cooking masterful feasts for every meal and mind-blowing sex most nights of the week, and some mornings.

Late September came, and the few deciduous trees around began to drop their leaves like scarlet and golden tears. Aside from morning frost, most days were still pleasant, as if the world were clinging to the last vestiges of summer warmth like Cassandra to the altar of Athena. Squirrels dashed about on desperate missions as crickets composed melancholy sonnets of farewell to better days. Bill would long remember the conversation he had on one of those rare September nights, as the harvest moon hung full and low and orange in the sky.

Meredith, her wide eyes eerily reflecting the orange of the moon as she lay in bed, told her husband her latest bits of gossip. “I went out with the girls for a drink last night. Jill, Margaret, Sue, Emily, and Jane. The usual crowd. We had a little too much and started talking the way we sometimes do, about our, ah, home lives, you know?”

Bill didn’t know, but he suspected that if this story was typical for Meredith he wouldn’t care anyway.

“So it comes out,” Meredith goes on, “that Jane and John Jones make love ten to twelve times a week! Can you imagine? I don’t think you could you could even get it up that often.”

Bill grinned. “I could try,” he offered. If past history was any indicator Meredith was going to take this as a personal challenge. This one, at least, Bill felt he could get behind. He put a hand on her hip, stroking up to her rib cage and down to her buttock, briefly cupping it before returning upward.

Meredith didn’t respond. She just kept looking at him with those big orange eyes. “Twelve times! That’s as much as any three of us other girls put together.”

Bill didn’t say anything. He just continued his subtle foreplay, hoping she would shut up and reciprocate. At the same time he was wondering at her last comment. Twelve was a big number, but he and Meredith weren’t too far shy of that lately; the results of her gym trips seemed to excite them both. Those other women – and more importantly, their poor husbands – must be pretty bad off, he thought.

Later he would become fond of quoting Bob Seger, although only to himself: “I wish I didn’t know now what I didn’t know then.”

“Well,” said Meredith, “I’m just going to have to step things up, that’s for sure.” With that she rolled over, facing away from him.

Bill retracted his hand. Utterly confused, he lay there and watched her until she had obviously fallen asleep.

As the man says, it was a lonesome October. Bill and Meredith’s healthy sex life had vanished overnight. His advances were either ignored or rebuffed with prepackaged excuses. He tried less and less frequently, resorting instead to other methods of relief.

“If this is the gas station of love, I’m stuck using the self-service pumps,” he would often reflect, paraphrasing another musical great. He chose to keep that one to himself also.

He tried to force the issue, just once, and Meredith had obligingly played the role of the eager and pliant wife, kissing him hard and stroking his shaft and ass. After a long, steamy session of heavy petting and necking his fingers at last meandered between her legs. He stopped cold and pulled back: she was bone-dry.

“Is something the matter?” he asked, suddenly concerned that in his selfish frustration about not getting off over the last few weeks he had been ignoring symptoms of what could very well be serious illness.

“No, everything’s fine; it’s just not doing it for me tonight. I’m sorry, honey.” Her hand encircled his cock again, pumping steadily. “I’d be happy to do something else for you,” she purred, moving her face down to chase her hand.

Bill stopped her. “No babe, that’s ok. You don’t have to.” It just didn’t feel right to have his wife serving him like that without being able to give back to her.

She pretended to pout, trying to make it up to him, “But I want to.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” Bill wrapped his arms around her and hugged her, his balls aching.

She snuggled into his chest. “I love you,” she whispered.

Bill, his chin resting on the top of her head, stared at the blank wall. “I love you too,” he said finally.

At long last that dark Prince, sleep, made his rounds and put troubled minds at ease. And behind him pranced his mad brother, that miscreant Duke of Dreams, to put easy minds to trouble, to make them thrash and turn and twist until their mother, that wise Queen, kisses them with the peace of a still-born dawn, and their ancient father paints wakefulness upon closed eyes and parted lips.

Bill was feeling groggy and out of sorts the next morning. He ate the omelet his wife had generously prepared, washing it down with freshly-squeezed orange juice and complementing it with toast spread with grape marmalade. Meredith’s cooking had gotten a little more exotic, which Bill mostly appreciated, but he couldn’t get used to that foul preserve. When she wasn’t looking he slipped his toast to the family terrier, which lurked under the table during meals. It was a generally good arrangement for both the dog and the children, although its fare was getting skimpier as Meredith’s cooking skills improved.

He kissed his wife goodbye. She was clad in spandex pants, a tight sweater, and calf-high boots. It was one of Jane Jones’ favorite autumn outfits, with perhaps a slightly thinner sweater. She smiled and headed out the door, carrying her gym bag.

Meredith, the woman who had never stayed on a diet for two consecutive meals and who often failed to clip all her fingernails in one sitting, had assiduously stuck to her gym habit for over five months. Every morning, five days a week, she worked out for at least an hour. She often went for long runs on the weekends now too, after she had learned that Jane Jones had been known to take an occasional jog. Bill still didn’t know what to make of it.

In spite of having only a few bites of the toast, the taste stayed with him all the way to work. Brushing his teeth had done nothing to drive it out. He stopped at a convenience store and purchased a pack of mint gum, but it mingled with the flavor rather than driving it out. The effect was unpleasant and he had to spit it out almost immediately.

Throughout the day the disagreeable flavor seemed to grow stronger. Soon it was accompanied by a headache and occasional cold sweats. The file he was reading swam before his eyes. He knew he should go home, but he frankly didn’t feel well enough to get out of his chair. He sat there for a long time, his head in his hands, breathing deeply, but it was no good. He was at last forced to stagger to the bathroom, where he stood fighting nausea and dizziness until the remains of his omelet came back up.

When his stomach finally stopped heaving Bill rinsed his mouth and made his way to his boss’s office to give a hasty explanation. He hurried to his car. He knew from experience that puking would give him a brief reprieve from feeling ill, but if he didn’t make it home within that short window of time he would regret it.

Bill flipped his cell phone open as he drove, hitting the speed dial button for home. He ought to warn Meredith, he figured. Nobody answered, and Bill closed his phone rather than leaving a message. That was odd, he reflected, Meredith must be out shopping; she always answered the phone when she was home.

When he pulled into the driveway, however, his wife’s car was there. Bill was too groggy to worry about it. All he wanted to do was make a nest in bed and watch mindless television. He went in through the front door, which surprised him by being unlocked, and trudged up the stairs, eyes fixed on his feet. Each step was an enormous effort. He had to pause on the landing to rest. As he looked up to count the number of steps he had left he heard a sound that made his blood run cold.

Meredith was so proud of herself that she couldn’t help but grin. She lay on her back with her legs pointing at the ceiling, her next-door neighbor sweating between them. John hadn’t even said anything this time. He had just walked in the house and led her up the stairs. He let her pull her pants off as he lost his own, and then pushed her onto the bed. He yanked her panties off of her, slathered his cock with lubricant, and thrust roughly into her.

Meredith had helped as much as she could, and was finally starting to produce some lubricant of her own. She could tell by his breathing that John was pretty close, so she stepped up her moaning and met his thrusts with more enthusiasm. She pushed against the bed with her shoulders, forcing her breasts into John’s clawing hands, knowing that it wouldn’t be long now.

“Oh John!” she cried. He grunted in response. Just a little more, she told herself. She threw her head back, just in time to see the bedroom door swing open. The moan died on her lips.

On top of her she felt John freeze in mid-thrust. He gaped at the door. Almost comically, she felt his cock begin to spend itself inside her, as if he’d gotten the cum startled out of him.

Bill stood in the doorway. Immeasurable sorrow and weariness were carved upon his face in lines so deep that they could have been scars. His father’s shotgun rested loosely in his hands. He looked like the angels of sadness, tribulation, and righteous vengeance, all rolled together and painted by Norman Rockwell.

Nobody spoke. John lowered his head, honest shame clear in his eyes. There was no other movement for a long moment. John’s penis, by virtue of rapid shrinking, slipped out of Meredith’s pussy. Tendrils of slime hung from it. Meredith and John both flinched. Bill’s face twitched. At last Bill stepped to the side, clearing the doorway. He gestured at it with a slow swing of his head. John gathered his pants and disappeared. He didn’t look at Bill as he slipped past.

There was another long moment in which nobody in the bedroom moved.

“Have I been bad to you?” Bill’s voice broke.

Meredith burst into tears. “No. Never, Bill. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s all me. Oh, I’m so sorry.” She moved to cover herself with the bedclothes.

Bill carefully set the unloaded gun in the corner of the room. He sat on the corner of the bed and put his head in his hands. “But why? Couldn’t I satisfy you? Was I so bad that I drove you to another man’s bed?” Except that it wasn’t even John’s bed that was soiled, Bill reminded himself bitterly.

“No,” sobbed Meredith, “he was awful. He just cared about getting himself off. I never came once with him, I swear. And I’ve never faked it with you.”

The last statement rang false, but Bill wasn’t concerned about that at the moment. He waited patiently.

“It’s just that Jane, she always seems so perfect, and I felt this compulsion to try to match or beat her in everything,” Meredith went on, “I wanted to be a better cook, a better gardener, a better lover. The only thing is, I had to prove I was a better lover to John Jones because that was who she was making love to. Don’t you see?”

Bill did not see, but he couldn’t deny that her impulse to best Jane Jones in other areas had been apparent enough. Fearing that his voice would crack, he ventured a question. “So this has been going on ever since you found out they had sex twelve times a week?”

Meredith shook her head slowly. “No… That’s when I knew I had to increase my efforts. We had been… fooling around most days during his lunch break ever since they moved in. He didn’t resist me at all. He said that he used to try, but he’d been threatened at gunpoint, even kidnapped by women who wanted to show his wife up. He just capitulated to the inevitable after a while. He always makes it quick because he has to hit the other women on the block too.” She was babbling, wanting to bury the issue in a torrent of words.

Bill felt as if his heart had been encased in ice. All those months his wife had been fucking the next door neighbor. Twelve times a week with Jane, and all the other women on the block once a day as well? It wasn’t possible, no matter how much Viagra you took. Bill staggered to the bathroom and vomited. Meredith just sobbed.

After such an event a man is supposed to go drink until he pukes, Bill thought to himself. It’s always good to be able to skip a step. His stomach turned again and he retched. He barely had the energy to stagger downstairs and collapse on the couch.

He awoke once, feeling much better, and found something to eat in the refrigerator. He didn’t see or hear any more of his wife. The children were wise enough to tread quietly around him, and he didn’t wake up again until late that night.

He awoke to the sound of gentle knocking on the front door. Pawing at his rheumy eyes, he stumbled over and unlatched it. Jane Jones stood there, hunched in a heavy coat and looking miserable. Bill squinted at her; his eyes were not yet adjusted to the light.

“Hi,” she whispered, “can I come in?”

Bill shrugged noncommittally, but stood aside. Jane thanked him and stepped in. Bill politely took her coat, still unsure if he should think of her as a fellow victim or a conspirator against him.

“Can we talk?” she asked timidly.

Bill turned from putting her coat away and got a good look at her. She was wearing an opaque, silky white nightgown with spaghetti straps. It stopped at mid-thigh. It was a daring thing to wear to a neighbor’s house at midnight, but not outside the bounds of modern decency. Bill forced himself to keep his eyes on hers. He nodded once.

They went into the living room and sat on opposite ends of the couch. Bill waited.

“John told me what happened. I’m so sorry for you; we never mean to hurt anyone… it just happens.” Jane’s eyes glistened.

Bill tried to swallow the knot in his throat. “But, why does it happen?”

Jane just shook her head. “That’s not important right now,” she said, “what’s important is that there’s nothing that can be done to fix it.”

“So, my marriage, my life is over?” Bill supported his weight with a hand on his forehead. A single tear trickled along the edge of his nose.

“Ah, well, that depends on what you’re willing to put up with.”

Bill stared at her. He unconsciously noted that one strap of her negligee had started to slip down her shoulder.

“There is a solution,” she went on, “just not a cure, per se.”

“What is it?” Bill croaked.

“You have to put up with your wife sleeping with John,” she cut across his protest, “and you have to sleep with me.” The shoulder strap slipped lower.

Bill was speechless.

“Once she hears that I’m sleeping with you a couple of times a week, she’ll be begging to fuck you again.” Jane leaned forward, her strap so low now that the top of her left areola was visible.

A powerful, unidentifiable perfume wafted to Bill’s nostrils. He felt all the blood in his brain rush south. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to adjust so that his sudden throbbing erection was both discrete and painless. “Couldn’t we spread the rumor without actually doing anything?” he asked, desperate to find a better solution. He still wasn’t sure that he wasn’t going to wake up soon to a normal, orderly universe rather than this mad one where the Duke seemed to reign.

Jane laughed gently. Her whole left breast was exposed. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, Bill,” she reached a languid hand out to help him with his surreptitious adjustment.

Bill slapped her hand away and leapt to his feet, hunching slightly in deference to matters of physiology going on below. “No!” he cried, then lowered his voice to a fierce whisper, “Now see here, Mrs. Jones, I’m a simple man. I don’t know much about much. I do know, however, that I love my wife, and I promised to be true to her, and that her mistakes don’t free me from my own commitments. If that means I have to keep living like this, then so be it, but I’m going to remain an honest man.” He stomped from the room and returned with her coat held stiffly in clenched fists.

Jane tugged the strap of her nightgown back up. Her eyes were glistening again as she accepted her coat. “Oh Bill,” she murmured, “you’re a good man. I’m so sorry to have brought this upon you.” She stood on her toes and brushed her lips against his cheek. Her perfume assaulted him again, but he opened the door and held it firmly.

“Goodnight, Mrs. Jones,” was all he said.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night,” she breathed. She even had the nerve to wink at him.

“What the hell does that mean?” Bill asked the door, after Jane was gone.

Jane had left, but the other visitor she had induced remained. Bill went to the bathroom and tried jacking off, holding the image of Jane’s perfect breast peeking from her nightie in his mind. It was all to no avail, however; he couldn’t seem to be able to get off. At last, defeated, he returned to the couch. He waited a long time before sleep called again.

Morning came disguised as a small boy with straw-colored hair, who insisted on shaking him and calling him “daddy.”

“Go ‘way,” mumbled Bill.

“Daddy,” devious Morning insisted, “Mom wants to know if you feel well enough to go to work or if she should call in for you.”

Bill pried one eye open. It turned out that it was Tommy, and not Morning after all. In spite of everything going on Meredith was still looking out for him. Bill felt a grudging rush of affection. He thought for a minute and determined that he felt fine. “Tell her I’m too sick still,” he said. Physically well or not, he wasn’t emotionally prepared to return to work yet. He drifted back to sleep.

When Bill came to wakefulness again it was almost noon. He found his way to the kitchen and gorged himself on old spaghetti and spice cake. He remained completely and unapologetically erect, in spite of another attempt to jack off.

He was returning to the kitchen, seeking another slice of cake, when he ran into Meredith coming in through the front door. There was an awkward pause. Both of them looked at their feet.

“Look Meredith,” Bill began at last, “we need to come to some kind of terms with this. I want you to know that I still love you, and I think we can work past this trouble and go back to how we used to be.”

Meredith’s eyes found the huge bulge in Bill’s pants. Embarrassed suddenly, even though his wife had seen it countless times, he shoved a fist into his pocket in an effort to create a new tent that would hide the other.

“Let me put my purse down,” Meredith blurted, moving for the stairs.

“Are you limping?” Bill asked sharply.

“No,” Meredith lied. She’d never been very good at that.

“What’s wrong?” Bill pressed, concern for his wife edging out his other problems.

Meredith turned, sobbing with all her might. “Oh Bill, I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

I seem to be hearing that a lot these days, Bill thought, bracing himself for more bad news.

“I heard a rumor that Jane Jones had slept with Henry, Jill’s wife, and I couldn’t help myself Bill, I just threw myself at him.” Meredith was crying almost too hard to talk now, “and he, sniff, didn’t really want me. The only way I could get him to screw me was to let him stick it in my ass.”

Bill sympathy was limited. “Well,” he said brutally, “now you’ve dumped John and moved on to bigger and better things, eh?”

Bill would not have believed it possible, but Meredith keened even more loudly, fitting words in between sobs. “I managed to wait until Henry was done before I went to give John his daily dose. I can’t help myself! What’s wrong with me?” She seized fistfuls of her hair and sat on the lowest step, sobbing uncontrollably.

Dazed, Bill went for a walk, leaving the front door wide open and his wife pouring her eyes out. He couldn’t think what else to do. It was all too much for him. He didn’t know what he had done to deserve this. He couldn’t think what his wife had done to deserve all this. He wasn’t even sure what “this” really was. He just knew that something was wrong and he didn’t know how to fix it.

His meanderings took him to his favorite place to be alone, an abandoned rail bridge that spanned the Columbia River at one of its narrow points. It hadn’t been used in more than a decade, not since a fire had burned out the timber and weakened the supporting steel. He walked carefully on the metal I-beams until he got to the centermost vertical support. It protruded from a high point in the river, where jagged rocks peeked out from the turbulent water. It was at least a fifty foot drop.

Bill regarded the rocks longingly and whispered to himself, “Now I know what Nietzsche meant.”

Der Gedanke an den Selbstmord ist ein starkes Trostmittel: mit ihm kommt man gut über manche böse Nacht hinweg. (The thought of suicide is a powerful solace: by means of it one gets through many a bad night.)

He sighed, recalling another quote by someone perhaps less well-known, but much wiser than that crazy Prussian. “In spite of the high cost of living, it remains popular.” He carefully made his way back to the edge of the bridge and began the long walk back to town.

Bill was a gentle man. He did well by people and usually he felt that they were good to him in return. He paid his taxes on time every year and was generally considered to be a pillar of the community. He had lived his life peacefully and honestly, but as he walked home, his persistent boner rubbing against his jeans, he began to get angry. In his estimation he determined that he had been ill-used.

He was walking faster now, muttering to himself as he recalled all that had recently been heaped on him. He worked himself into a rage, causing other pedestrians to give him a wide berth. Fortunately nobody he knew saw him pacing down the street sporting a full-fledged erection, waving his arms and talking to himself.

By the time he had made it to his block he was blind with fury and self-pity. He strode without hesitation to the Jones’ door and pounded with all his might. It swung open after only a moment’s wait. Jane Jones welcomed him in.

Bill stepped into the foyer, his finger raised and a rant on his lips. He took a deep breath, and paused. He was standing in a dark, warm house. All the light came from scented candles which flickered here and there in adjoining rooms. The scent that washed over him was like Jane’s perfume, except that where hers had been light and airy this was thick and cloying. Bill’s head spun. He slowly lowered his finger.

“I’ve been expecting you,” purred Jane, “I sent Damien to a friend’s house and banished my husband to next door. It’s just you and me.”

Bill was so intoxicated by the fumes that he almost missed it. “Next door?” he choked, “You mean you sent him over to fuck my wife.” His rage returned, but it was now accompanied by an undeniable lust. His wife was over servicing this woman’s husband, who could blame him for what he was about to do?

No more words were exchanged. Bill seized Jane’s sweater by the collar and tore it from top to bottom. Jane just held her arms out so that the remains would fall off easily. She was wearing a thin white undershirt that was also soon in shreds. Her magnificent breasts were barely contained by a lacy black demi bra. She kicked off her shoes and peeled her tight pants down her legs.

Bill in turn began shedding his own clothes as fast as he could. Naked then, he paused to take a good look at Jane. She posed for him, giving him a side view. She cocked one leg, pointing her toes, and teased up her luxurious hair with her hands. Her breasts practically spilled from her bra and her round, smooth ass peeked out from underneath her boy-cut panties. She was a cornucopia of color. Her healthy, tanned skin accentuated with bits of black lace, effulgent red lips guarding alabaster teeth, and shimmering mahogany hair that caught the candlelight such that it seemed to glow all combined to chase the last ghost of rationality from his head.

Bill gave a low, animalistic growl and moved forward. Jane turned to face him fully, unhooking and tossing aside her bra in a quick, fluid gesture. And then Bill was upon her. He hoisted her in a classical fireman’s carry, with her torso draped over his shoulders; one of his arms held one of hers, his other was between her legs gripping her by the panties. Her breasts pressed warmly into his back. He carried her into the living room and gently put her down on a thick sheepskin throw rug that lay in front of the lifeless fireplace.

He kissed her hard. She kissed back without hesitation. Tongues flicked lightly against one another. Bill’s hands explored the contours of her soft, firm breasts. One of her delicate, wandering hands found his erection, which was still as hard and proud as it had been when she had caused it the night before. Bill moaned and slid his hands down to her panties. Jane raised her hips so that he could slide them off.

She had trimmed her pubic hair to a neat little landing strip, which Bill brushed briefly with his hands as he brought them back up, running them along her sides as he kissed her at the confluence of her neck and shoulder. He brought one leg up between hers, pushing it firmly against her sex and rubbing it back and forth ever so slightly. He curled his back so his lips could find her left nipple. His tongue danced around it before he drew back and gently blew cold air over it. His right hand traced an ever shrinking spiral around her other nipple, eventually striking it. He rolled the little nub between his fingers and bit the other one ever so slightly.

Jane gasped and sat up, shoving him onto his back. Rage forgotten in his haze of desire, Bill let himself be pushed. She straddled him, leaning down to kiss his neck in turn. Bill reached up and continued his exploration of her breasts. Jane straightened again, and then raised herself just enough to get into position over his penis. She cocked one eyebrow coyly, as if asking if he were ready. Bill nodded.

Jane smiled and guided herself onto him, slowly lowering herself until she was impaled on the full length of his shaft. She gave an involuntary moan as she rode him. She increased the pace rapidly, each stroke sending a shockwave through her tits. Bill knew he couldn’t take much of that. He tried thrusting up when she tried to pull back and to draw away when she came down, but his breathing became increasingly ragged and he approached the point of no return.

Shortly before he lost it, however, Jane paused, sinking down all the way as she adjusted her position. She stopped just long enough that Bill’s orgasm began to retreat, and then she started a slow, rolling motion with her hips that seemed to bank the fires that were lit in his loins, turning them into a slow burn that neither advanced nor regressed. Bill bit his lower lip to keep from gasping.

He looked up at her, but her eyes were closed. She had thrown her head back and slightly parted her ruby lips. He reached out, trying to track the moving target, and slipped his hand into the fray, finding and rubbing along her clit with the pad of his thumb. Jane’s eyes flew open and she let out a moan.

A minute later she reverted to hard thrusts, crying out in pleasure. This time Bill matched her strokes with all the force he could muster, still rubbing her clitoris. He closed his eyes desperately and tried counting in prime numbers. He only made it to thirty-seven when he heard Jane’s loud breathing catch and felt her pussy clench around his buried cock. He opened his eyes and watched her heaving breasts as he felt his own release welling up.

Their sweating, heaving bodies jerked in orgasmic spasms almost in unison. Jane gave a quiet wail and Bill grunted in satisfaction. After a month of sexual frustration and a full day of constant erection it felt to him as if the Aswan dam had been breached and the rushing waters had all been diverted through his dick.

It was a long time before he relaxed again. When at last he was again cognizant of his surroundings he found Jane lying on his broad chest, her pussy still stuffed with his manhood. She traced amorphous designs on his shoulder with her right index finger. He just lay still.

At last Jane pecked him on the cheek and propped herself up. She gave him an impish smile. “About once a week is probably about all you’ll be able to manage,” she informed him. She pulled herself up, cupping her vagina with both hands in an effort to catch all the mess, but inevitably still dribbling a bit on Bill.

What does that mean? Bill wondered to himself as Jane scampered to the bathroom. He thought that he could stand a lot more of that, if he had to. He made his way to the kitchen and wiped himself off with a paper towel, then set about getting dressed again.

As he was lacing up his shoes, John came home. Their eyes met for only a moment before John directed his gaze elsewhere.

“Look,” John said, “I know this doesn’t make us even. Not by a long shot. But I hope that someday you understand and can forgive me.” He glanced at Bill again, the candles casting odd shadows across his face. He turned and left the room.

Bill finished dressing and prepared to leave. At the sound of the opening door Jane appeared at his side, still stark naked. A gust of chilly autumn air caused her nipples to harden again.

“Be easy on Meredith,” Jane implored, “you must realize by now that it’s not her fault.” She moved closer, placing one delicate hand on his forearm. “Let me give you something to take home to her. Two things, actually.” From nowhere she produced red lipstick and an antique atomizer. She applied a generous coating of fresh ruby to her lips and gave a quick spritz of perfume to her chest.

Farding complete, she banished the cosmetics to whence they came and crushed her lips against his cheek. Bill stepped back, uncertain. The powerful aroma of the freshly applied perfume assaulted his nose and he immediately felt his cock working to return to full attention. Jane winked at him and disappeared around the corner. Bill went home, still digesting all that had just occurred.

He knew he should feel guilty for cheating on his wife. He knew he ought to be angry still about her being unfaithful to him. All he could feel was tired, dazed, and horny. The long walk, the strange recent events, and the perfume-induced erection edged out any other concerns.

Meredith was in the shower when he came in. Not a surprise, he figured, knowing what sordid activities she had just been indulging in. He made himself a sandwich, grateful that the children were not around.

Meredith showed up in the kitchen before he was finished eating, wearing a white terrycloth robe. She clearly wanted to talk to him, but the resolve on her face fled the moment she saw him.

“Honey,” she said, “what’s that on your cheek?”

There was a funny note in her voice that Bill couldn’t identify. He reached his hand up to his face and rubbed. His fingers came away smeared with red lipstick. Jane’s first gift. Bill still didn’t understand everything, but he wasn’t an idiot. He recognized that this might be his last chance to preserve his marriage in some form. He told her, in brief, about what he and Jane had just done, although he still had the decency to look abashed.

He looked at his hands as he spoke. When he looked up he found that Meredith had untied her bathrobe, letting it fall open.

“Well,” she purred, “I certainly can’t let Mrs. Jones get ahead of me with my own husband.”

Bill grinned and followed her up the stairs, Jane’s second gift rubbing against his pants.

Bill awoke to the gentle patter of rain against the window. It was Saturday; no work to concern himself with today. He rolled over and kissed his still-sleeping wife on the cheek. They had come to an unspoken acceptance of the strange new life that had been thrust upon them. Each forgave the other, knowing that no fault rested there. Their lives would continue much the same. In some ways it promised to be an improvement, Bill reflected, remembering his glorious session with Jane Jones and her promise of more to come.

He started to lie back down when he heard a knock on the door. Wondering who it could possibly be, he slipped his bathrobe on and padded down the stairs. The knocking sound came again. It was definitely his front door. He swung it open.

Jill Davis and Emily Brown, two of Meredith’s best friends on the block, stood there. Jill was dressed in knee-high tan boots, a tan fedora pulled low over her eyes, and a tan trench coat. She was holding her coat closed with one hand. Emily was wearing a strapless red cocktail dress that barely made it to mid-thigh and matching heels. Both of them had joined the gym craze in recent months and were, as Bill’s father might have said, “not too hard on the eyes.” His father had been known for a penchant for understatement.

They looked nervous. Emily giggled. Jill took a deep breath and said, “Hi Bill, we hear that you and Jane Jones, uh, had a good time the other night.” She let go of her trench coat. She was wearing nothing underneath.