Done For Love

AUTHOR'S NOTE/CONTENT WARNING: Contains cheating, cuckold, NTR, etc. -- turn back if that bothers you!

If it hasn't so far, thanks for reading all the way to chapter 4! There is more to come...

===

Tired.

For the whole drive home, that was all Irina felt. Sheer, crushing exhaustion.

It was the only relief life provided her. Any tiredness she'd felt throughout the past week had been fake, infected with other, more nefarious things. Idle horny thoughts and urges filled the empty space it left and played over and over in her dreams, not letting her truly sleep. Now that they were gone, she didn't need to cover herself with the veil of emptiness anymore. She could simply sit, zone out behind the wheel, and relax.

Of course, that didn't mean all was well. Everything had gone to shit. Her panties were ruined, and she'd squirted all over everything -- her seat, her fingers, the dashboard. After her orgasm, she finally took in the fact that she'd have to be back with Tray again next week. Her mind had been so clouded, she'd even forgotten to demand the building's camera footage from him again. She was in no better of a position than she was before -- no, it was worse. She knew that.

But she could at least be normally worried for once without anything else getting in the way. Right now, that meant getting to her home and bed as fast as possible so she could figure it out tomorrow.

The car bumped against a pothole as she turned out of the highway exit, rustling and rattling the grocery bags in the back seat. It was a good thing her mind had cleared up after her meetup with Tray -- back then, when her arousal hit its final breaking point, she'd been so disoriented that along with the camera footage, she even forgot all about the store, the alibi she'd set up for Flin in the first place.

Even with her newfound clarity, she hadn't wanted to stop by it at all. On top of just wanting to go to bed, a distinct shame pervaded her beneath all the exhaustion. She smelled fresh from sweat and pussy juice, and one look in the mirror was all it took to see her hair was disheveled beyond repair. She felt the few eyes that remained in the store all on her, and not in the usual way. They saw through her. They judged.

She was so tired, though, that she pushed through the shame without flinching. That was yet another thing to be handled later.

It took all of twenty minutes for her to make it back home from KF Designs -- an hour total since she left. She silently thanked god that the store was close to that crummy building, or else this easy excuse wouldn't have been possible. Taking all the grocery bags in hand, she ignored the flaming soreness in her arms -- her left one especially -- and made her way to the front door like it was the ribbon at the end of a hundred mile marathon.

Inside, the sight of the living room and kitchen behind it welcomed her back with the scent of minty incense, still shining and unbroken. Her dream world, still intact.

The beautiful moment ended before she could sigh. She caught another whiff of herself over the incense, and she rushed to put the food away -- and only the perishables, too. She didn't even touch the bags of spices and the like before heading straight for the shower.

It was a miracle Flin was in bed already just like last time. This time of night, it tended to go either way.

As the hot water ran over her body, the grime and filth of her debauchery slid from her like mud. The streams hissed against the ceramic, running down between her toes and rising again in a steady cloud of steam. It filled her nose, and soon the last remnants of Tray's smell, breathed in while she bent over next to his semen, left her nostrils at last.

And yet, even after scrubbing down her entire body with soap and sponge, she just stood there in the shower, curtains closed, staring up at the ceiling.

She'd neverreallybe clean again.

She felt it, deep down. She'd enjoyed this evening too much. The parasite in her head had influenced her, coaxed her actions with feelings she didn't have any mental barriers for. She was weak.

She turned the nozzle, and the water cut off, stray droplets spilling from the shower head for a few more seconds until they remembered to stop, too. Her lips cracked into a slight, sad smile as she looked at her hand. Just last week, she'd been traumatized to the core by simply feeling Tray's bulge, and that hadn't even been her fault. She'd washed her hands again and again just to erase the feeling. Now, she'd gone so far as to give him pleasure with them, to get him off, and she didn't feel a thing after a single shower. The dirtiness had penetrated them so deep she couldn't tell the difference.

In the bedroom, Flin was turned over in bed away from the door, fast asleep. At least, that's what he wanted her to think. He'd done the same thing last time she came home from his workplace and showered, and the worst thing was not knowing why. There was no way he could've known what had transpired. Seeing him like this, however, she began to doubt herself. Her actions suddenly seemed so stupid and obvious, cracking under the slightest consideration.

Too tired to think about it, she tried to forget it. He'd been utterly trusting of her until now, after all, and he hadn't shown any signs of suspicion. He didn't know. Still, even this thought only deepened the guilt.

She'd hurt him today, and he didn't even know it. Next week, she'd have to do it all over again.

She snuggled under the covers, still slightly damp in her pajamas, and Flin turned around to spoon her. She couldn't help but croon back at him. Both of them knew the other was awake, but neither said a thing, accepting the presence of their soul mate and awaiting sleep together.

At least she could savor his touch again -- truly savor it without her mind snapping right to sex and the unstoppable urge to cum. The last wholesome moment they had like this seemed a lifetime ago, so much so that this one was already pulling at her eyelids.

Yes. At last, the parasite was asleep.

She took the chance with a smile and slept along with it.

===

The tears had come in the night when Irina wasn't watching.

She only noticed because the morning air came cold and wet against her face, which never usually happened in the summer. Only half conscious, she reached a hand up and felt the two dry trails drawn from her eyes to her chin, traces of the shame even sleep wouldn't let her escape.

The snot below was less subtle. It smeared lopsided past her mouth and into the pillow, stubbornly refusing to dry. It stuck her to the bed, thick and wet, like living glue trying to keep her from sitting up.

This soon after waking, the next batch of guilt had come out fresh, straight from her revitalized conscience.

Before she could even try to wipe her face off and reckon with it, she flinched at the feeling of a hand wrapping around her lower belly. Flin pressed up against her from behind, and his hard cock, tented under his underwear, poked between her ass cheeks over and over as his hips gyrated back and forth, ready and waiting for her approval.

Her breathing deepened. "It's Wednesday... Don't you have to work?"

"I took off today."

"Hmm..."

Last week, that statement would've infuriated her -- even if he said it in that sexy morning voice. In the present, however, she could only manage a content hum, comforted by the fact that he wouldn't be leaving her. She couldn't show him her messy face -- she didn't want to make up an explanation as to why she was crying now of all times, so she pressed it further into the pillow as he kissed the back of her head -- but she wanted his company nonetheless.

For minutes, the two squirmed against each other in waking passion, their movements growing faster, harder, more intense. Flin's hand lowered and slipped into her pajamas, resting just above Irina's sex, and his humps became solid, needy thrusts as he hardened all the way between her thighs. Irina felt his face tighten against the back of her head, nose scrunching and mouth drawing firm, charged by a lust that grew more ravenous by the second.

But as she lay in front of him trying to enjoy the sensual foreplay, her face twisted into something else entirely.

Confusion.

For an entire week, sex had been there at the forefront of her psyche, a constant thorn in her side. It had been her sole, primary thought, courtesy of a parasite that wouldn't shut the fuck up.

But now, she had an entirely different problem.

She wasn't horny at all.

She loved what her husband was doing. Her body moved reflexively with his,

trying to reciprocate as usual.

Her pussy wasn't reacting to him in the slightest.

She backed her ass up hard against his groin, grinding her hips to get an even better feel of his dick. He chuckled proudly at this, probably thinking it was because he'd successfully turned on his wife, but it was just the opposite. She kept pressing into him harder and harder, and her bemusement boiled over into anger.

It felt good. Really good.

But she wasn't going crazy from his touches as she always did. Far from it.

Once again, though, she didn't get to sort the feeling out. Flin suddenly unwrapped his arm from her and pulled her pants down to her upper thighs, exposing her ass beneath the sheets. As his hand buried deep into one of her impressive cheeks, his other, inactive until now, grabbed the comforter and slowly began pulling it down.

She didn't mind him fondling her. Even in the absence of her horniness, it was a strangely relaxing feeling. However, one thought was enough to cut that comfort short. A realization. A memory.

Tray had slapped her ass yesterday evening.Hard.

Quickly, all her frustration turned to panic as the only thing hiding the evidence slid inch by inch from her body. Her brain almost overheated, ending the emergency in the only way it knew how.

"Hey, babe?" she spoke out -- a little too loudly. Flin stopped in motion, and she sighed, composing herself. "Could we wait until tonight? I'm still a bit tired."

She cringed as she hit the kill switch, feeling his disappointment immediately even though she couldn't see his expression. With no other choice, he reluctantly let go of her ass and the comforter, settling back into their original spooning position with one arm draped over her. It took many painful minutes for the feeling of his hardon pressing against her to disappear, and only then did he grumble out a few words. "Well... If you can bear it, alright."

Her heart clenched.God,this felt horrible, plain and simple. It wasn't like she wanted him to stop. Even so, the fact that she wasn't horny remained, and more than anything, shewould nothave him seeing her butt right now. Not before inspecting it herself.

She waited wordlessly for him to get up and head to the bathroom as usual. The moment he was out, she snapped upright and bolted straight for the vanity across from the bed, wiping her face with some tissues before turning and dropping her pajamas in front of the mirror.

It was bad.

Looking over her shoulder at her reflection, her bare ass was the same as always -- outrageously fat and milky white, ballooning out from a thin waist like puberty had forgotten the blueprint for her own proportions -- save for one thing. On one cheek, a handprint showed through in bright, sore red. Its shape was clear, undeniable -- fingers, a palm, even the empty spaces between where skin and skin just barely hadn't met. A brand left by Tray, proof of the moment her once pristine butt, desired by so many, including her husband, was defiled forever.

Unable to look away, she noticed in horror how truly big his hand was. The impressions of his fingers spread impossibly wide, with his pinky at the end of the cheek and his thumb stopping just a lewd hair before her ass crack, pointed ominously toward her sex. Somehow, his handprint spanned half of the stupidly huge curves she'd fought with for the better part of her life. She grazed it incredulously with her own finger, and the red skin buzzed -- not a sting anymore, but a tingle of remembrance.

A gulp rippled down her throat unconsciously. It was a good thing she'd stopped Flin earlier. There would be absolutelynoexplanation for this.

She covered up the harrowing sight with the loosest jeans she could find, and for the most part, the rest of the day went great. With her horniness nowhere to be found, she was actually able to enjoy Flin's time off with him. She cooked his favorite egg sandwiches for breakfast, and they were actually able to talk about how good they were at the table. He joined her for yoga, and she laughed at his clumsy body falling to the floor mat while trying to tree pose. After hanging out in each other's arms on the couch, she prepped the first real date night they'd had in months, candles and carbonara and all, and didn't even break a sweat.

It was magical. Everything was moving so smoothly, it was hard for her to believe this had been her life before Tray butted into it.

Even so, all the guilt she'd built up over the weeks lurked in her mind like crocodile eyes above water, whispering self disdain. No matter how genuinely she smiled or laughed, she could feel the corners of her lips sag in the end. Sometimes, when Flin wasn't looking, she let them fall into a frown as a biting question blared in her soul.

Did she have to do any of that to have this again? Flin was healing just fine. If she'd just waited patiently instead of...

The thought never lasted long. She wouldn't let it.

Dinnertime came to a close, and inevitably, it came time for the finale she'd promised her husband earlier. Once again, though, she found as he passionately kissed and carried her into their bedroom that she was stuck in the same state of complete non-arousal. In spite of how fun it had been, the day hadn't warmed her up to this moment at all.

Still, she had to do something about that handprint. And she had a plan.

"Slap my ass, baby!" she shouted as Flin took her from behind in the dark bedroom. She'd triple checked the blackout curtains earlier to make sure not even a granule of light would get through.

"What?"

"Slap my ass!"

Of course he was confused. He was well aware how averse she'd been to the idea since they first talked about sex, and he'd clearly noticed something was off when he had trouble entering her just moments earlier. However, in the heat of the moment, he obeyed anyway.

She chirped as his open hand landed a blow, limp and unsure.

That wouldn't do.

"Fuck! Harder, baby!" she urged, encouraging him with more exaggerated moans as he thrust into her. "Ohhh my god, I love it! Don't stop!"

She didn't have time to feel bad about it before another slap came down on her, much harder this time per her request. Then another. Flin grew bolder and bolder, testing the waters as the smacks echoing through the room crescendoed. Soon, he was slapping her ass almost every other second, alternating between her two cheeks as if he couldn't get enough at once.

With each burst of pain, she let out a yelp and gripped the sheets harder. Her sounds were indistinguishable now from a woman in sexual rapture, but underneath them, this perverted experience was far from enjoyable. Her pussy didn't care at all for the fucking it was receiving, and her yelps were more from the fact the slaps hurt than anything else.

This had to be done if her cover was to last, though. She squeezed her eyes shut and held on for dear life.

With one last spank, Flin grunted and came inside her, then fell over onto the mattress as he always did. Needless to say, she hadn't even been close to finishing. She had to recover anyway, though, since her butt stung like mad from the beating he'd given her. She stayed bent over with her ass up in the air, listening to Flin's exhausted, heavy breaths.

In this position, her mind wandered back to last night, regretfully recalling Tray's slap. It had been casual and sudden, done like it was nothing. Still, even at his hardest, none of Flin's strikes had been as hard. They didn't crack through the air like Tray's had, nor did their pain resonate sharply in the same way. Even their aftermath was different. Already, the sting was subsiding into an idle throb, warm and apologetic. As enticing as the idea was to him, Irina realized that Flin just couldn't bring himself to fully hit her.

It made her heart ache.

The next morning, he confronted her outright about it as they both stared dumbfoundedly at her bare, bruised ass in the mirror.

"What was that about last night? I thought you hated spanking more than anything."

"I don't know," she lied. "People change, and I know you've always wanted to do it. I just got a bit curious to see if it was that bad."

"Ah. So you were just treating me. Rina, you know you don't have to force yourself to do that."

"Babe, it's okay." She took his hand just as his head sank in regret. "It's true I don't like it that much. But honestly...after last night, I can't say I dislike it, either. Really."

The couple shared a hearty laugh, and that was where the topic ended.

Shortly after, when Flin had once again left for the bathroom to get ready for work, Irina's smile faded as she looked on at the mirror.

The plan had been a success.

For better or worse, her entire ass was now red and raw, her delicate white skin long gone. Flin had left it riddled with so many handprints that no single one was even recognizable -- like those ancient paintings on cave walls. Naturally, that also meant that Tray's had been buried completely, assimilated into the constant, sore redness along with all the others.

Even so, she frowned at the mirror. The shadow of a thumb, much larger than the smattering of fingerprints, peeked through the bottom of the crowd, ever encroaching toward her pussy. It was such a minor detail, Flin hadn't even been able to see it was there, let alone tell what it was.

She still knew.

===

It was when Flin started leaving for work again that the meager normalcy she'd managed to uphold for one day fell apart.

Every time, she sat back down on the couch out of habit after she was left alone. Every time, she remembered the days she had spent here fingering herself like mad, trying to get the stubborn arousal out to no avail. Every time, she leaned back on the cushions and stared at the rambling, incoherent TV, wondering why none of those thoughts were turning her on anymore.

She tried convincing herself that thiswasnormal at first -- that her sexual equilibrium had been thrown so out of wack, she was experiencing a weird sort of withdrawal.

Yes, Irina,her conscience would say.It's perfectly normal to not be horny all the time. It's even more normal to not constantly be obsessing over your husband's boss's cock.

And she listened. She forced herself off that couch and did yoga, went on walks, bleached her filthy car out -- anything in the hopes she'd recover from the unhealthy routine her body had unintentionally gotten accustomed to. To her credit, she did actually feel better when she was doing something. She could cook, clean, and exercise without issue now, almost with a higher degree of focus than before. When she realized this, she began to fill her days with as much stuff as humanly possible, bustling about like a madwoman.

Still, every day, without exception, she'd find herself back on the couch. It was impossible to fill every second with activity. Inevitably, there would always be moments of reprise when nothing was going on save for her own thoughts. Then, and only then, did the strange feeling make its move.

She was empty. Not in the numb sort of way that the veil provided -- this was an imposed vacancy. Her mind had gone back to business as usual, but her body had done a complete 180. She used to get horny from time to time -- no longer. Something had severed her control of that instinct.