Up to Eleven
by Pan
Ten.
Eric paced back and forth in his hotel room.
It was fine. Everything was fine.
Of course it was fine.
It had taken Jamie a lot of effort to convince him to go. “I’m a grown woman,” she’d assured him. “I’m pretty sure I can survive without my husband for a week. I’ve done so dozens of times—why would this be any different?”
Eric had even emailed his boss, asking if there was any alternative.
Nope.
His job was well-paid enough to support both him and his wife. He got to work from home on projects that engaged him, he set his own hours, and he had one of the best health insurance plans out of anyone he knew.
But the job had certain requirements, and regular face-to-face time with clients was one of them.
So the choice was simple: go on the trip, leaving Jamie alone for a week…or quit his job.
Eric had to admit—the latter was extremely tempting. He’d found heaven. Why risk that for a paycheck?
But in all his years of marriage, Eric had never lied to his wife about anything of importance, and the line of questioning that suddenly quitting his job would open up meant that he’d either have to come clean about the app, or lie directly to her face.
In the few days left before his trip, Eric had more sex with his wife than they would have had in a full month before the app. Even when his dick ran out of oomph and refused to participate, he went down on her, or used his fingers, or used one of her various toys.
He was one part delighted, two parts horrified to discover that his wife was practically insatiable. Even after cumming again and again, she never turned him down. He managed to sneak the occasional look at the app between Jamie’s orgasms, and couldn’t believe it; even if her number dipped for a moment, playing with her (or even just telling her that he was going to) was enough to get it back up again almost instantaneously.
The hope had been that he could wear her out, ensure that while he was gone, her number remained at a manageable level…but it seemed he was suddenly destined to have the opposite problem to that which he’d encountered during most of their marriage.
No matter what he did, his wife wanted more.
As his wife had driven him to the airport, he’d thumbed the phone in his pocket. He could manually set her back to a One, just while he was away…when he returned, maybe setting her back to a Three would exactly recreate the loop they were currently in.
But, of course, maybe it wouldn’t.
The app was so unpredictable—it hadn’t yet done exactly what he’d expected, and everything was so perfect right now; he didn’t want to risk it. He couldn’t.
Worst of all, there was always the chance she’d return to a zero. The sight of his wife’s dead eyes had been the single most horrific sight Eric had ever witnessed—he couldn’t have that happen again.
It wasn’t worth the risk. Nothing was.
So he’d made the decision not to touch the app, to avoid doing anything that could irrevocably change things in either direction. He didn’t want to lose what they had…and he’d do anything to avoid putting his wife back into a depression.
Instead, they’d made plans. They would Skype every day. Twice a day, if possible. Since Eric knew his wife’s satisfaction came from satisfaction itself, not sex, perhaps getting off with him on camera would be enough to scratch her itch.
He could only hope.
For the first few days of his trip, everything had gone exactly as planned; at least twice a day, he’d found time to go back to his hotel room, lower his pants, and jump on Skype. Jamie, of course, had no idea that his phone was open beside the laptop as they video chatted (and did so much more than chat), and Eric was fascinated to watch the numbers shift in real time.
She was basically always at a Six or higher when the call started, and at the sight of his cock, she’d almost immediately jump to a Seven. Eight.
He’d talk sexy to her, silently praying that the people in the next room couldn’t hear his dirty words through the wall. For the first time, he could see exactly what got her excited—she’d never before told him, but his wife apparently found being called a “dirty little girl” quite the turn-on, almost as much as when calling him “daddy”.
When she came, she’d spike to a Nine. No wonder she’d been struggling to talk when he’d missed their midday fuck.
To his delight, she’d hit a Nine when he came as well. Perhaps both of them cumming together would be what was needed to push her to the assumed upper limit of her arousal: a Ten.
Eric could only hope.
Then, the weekend arrived.
Eric’s client, to celebrate the success of the big project they’d closed together, had organized a tour of Orlando. He’d procured VIP tickets to Universal Studios, then followed it up with a booking at the city’s glitziest restaurant. At the start of the day, Eric had tried to keep in touch with his wife via text, but was too nervous to open the flurry of photos she responded with. What if someone saw?
He’d finally broken away from the group at lunch, and at the sight of the raunchiest nudes he’d ever seen outside of a porn site, had been extremely glad that he hadn’t opened them while anyone was around.
It had been hours before he got another chance to pull his phone out; this time, as well as another collection of sexy images, she’d sent more than a dozen videos.
“Sorry boys,” he’d said with a guilty grin. “Got to phone the wife.”
Hurriedly marching away from the good-natured jeers, Eric had called Jamie…
…and she hadn’t picked up.
He double-checked the stream of messages he’d received just a few hours earlier—she hadn’t said anything about being unavailable, just detailed worked up she was. She’d definitely been at home—apparently she’d landed on a fashion show as the best way to sate her needs, dressing up in lingerie, her French maid outfit, a schoolgirl skirt and blouse…and finally, one of her old clubbing outfits.
Squinting at the screen, Eric had realized she wasn’t just wearing the short dress that had driven him so wild when they’d first met. She was also wearing heels, stockings…
Make-up.
Afraid of what he was going to see, Eric had closed the conversation and opened the app.
Ten.
Ten.
Ten.
At a Nine, his wife had all but lost the power of speech, not able to do anything but non-verbally beg her husband to fuck her.
What the hell did a TEN look like??
Realizing that he couldn’t spend any more time in the bathroom without looking like he had a drug or bowel problem, Eric power off his phone and returned to dinner.
Whenever he thought he could get away with it, he sneaked it out of his pocket and glanced at it.
No messages. No calls. No response to his urgent inquiries.
And whenever he checked the app, it just presented him with the same three awful letters.
T.
e.
n.
The evening finally wrapped up, and Eric returned to his hotel room. He called and texted and texted and called, but wherever Jamie was, she either hadn’t brought her phone, or hadn’t thought to look at it.
He paced back and forth until 3am, trying desperately to convince himself that it was fine, that nothing had happened, that his wife had probably just passed out in a masturbatory stupor. Everything was okay.
And then, to his great horror, he saw it.
Nine.
Eight.
Seven.
Six.
Five. Five! Without feeling him inside her, Jamie hadn’t been as low as a Five in months. Until she got fucked, she never went any lower than a Six.
Four.
Three. In less than a minute, Jamie had gone all the way from a Ten—a new record—to a Three.
And then, just as it looked like it was about to tick down to a Two, the app disappeared, replaced by a request for a video call from Jamie.
As soon as he answered, Eric realized two things.
Firstly, his wife wasn’t at home. The wallpaper behind her wasn’t one he’d ever seen before.
And secondly, judging by the mascara running down her face, everything was not okay.
“E-Eric?” she said with a sob. “Honey? Oh, god…I’m so sorry.
“I’m so, so sorry.”