Done For Love

AUTHOR'S NOTE/CONTENT WARNING: Contains themes of cheating, cuckold, NTR, etc.

Finally out to the public! While the last chapter served as the thematic climax to the story, this epilogue wraps up Irina's journey once and for all. Thank you to those who've stuck around for the whole thing -- and, of course, for reading!

===

It was a night sky you could see through the light pollution if you really, really tried. The moon waned against the oppressive, clawing halo of the city skyline, its glow just weak enough to leave room in the darkness above for stars. They shone down on the land none the wiser, each simmering in the vast sea, joined in constellations so immovable they'd overseen a trillion loves and just as many heartbreaks.

Irina didn't know why she thought they'd somehow be different. Alas, here she was again, zoning out at the same exact sight for what must've been the fourth moonrise in a row, or maybe the fifth. It was a dangerous habit that popped up from time to time, seemingly random yet always irresistible. She didn't know if it caused her reflective melancholy or was caused by it; in any case, when the urge to do so hit, she crawled out of bed and stood out on the balcony of her highrise apartment, letting the cool wind lap at her nightgown as she leaned over the railing. The sounds of the city far below were so distant, and the sky so enthralling, that she could lose herself in thought.

It had been six years. Six long, impossible, gone years, like the miles left behind in a marathon.

She was quite aware of how unhealthy it was to think about -- at least, that was what Sue always told her in their sessions. She'd have done well to listen. Sue was nice to talk to. The woman knew what to talk about. She was a professional, after all. Even so, she couldn't help but slip back into this state when the conditions were just right, when the past nipped at her brain hard enough in bed that she just had to get up and find something aside from sleep to distract herself with.

Ripping her eyes away from the stars, she checked the time on her phone -- Ten-thirty. The wind swept away her small sigh, and she turned reluctantly back toward the glass door, night sky glowing back at her in the reflection, beckoning. With a pull of the handle, it was gone, replaced by the dimly lit living room. She made her way past the adornments shrouded in shadow, the pictures on the wall she didn't dare uncover. Instead of heading up the stairs, she passed quietly beneath the skywalk into a little hallway and, as usual, stopped by the door dotted in animal stickers. She let out a shaky breath as her hand curled over the handle. She should let him sleep, she thought -- she should sleep, too -- but the instinct to check was too strong.

She'd become a master at silently opening doors. Inside, the scent of her child hit her at full force, making her pause as it always did. No one ever told her about it -- how, once you gave birth, your body twisted even its own smell to recognize your offspring's presence. It had grown more subtle than when he was a baby, and it would grow subtler still as he grew up, but if what other mothers said was true, her nose would always pick up the scent. Lavender, smoke, a vanilla yankee candle -- indescribable yet undeniable, someone new with hints of his father mixed in.

Oliver smelled ever so faintly like betrayal.

Irina laid her hand on his head in the darkness, starry nightlight illuminating his blonde hair twining through her fingers. He stirred in bed but did not wake. Hard as it was to tear herself away from him, she decided to let him sleep and return to her room, but not before planting a soft kiss on his brow. In moments like this, the vile way he'd come into the world slipped from her mind, and for once, she felt like a normal mother.

But only in those moments. Outside his door, the contemplative glow of the balcony beckoned her again, and she only barely ignored it for the stairs. In her own room, she threw off her nightgown and practically collapsed in her bed, slipping under the covers with no regard for the one already sleeping soundly.

Jack grumbled as he woke, turning and draping an arm over her bare stomach. She cooed lightly at his touch, feeling a twinge of heat yet not acting on it. It was a school night.

"Everything alright?" he whispered.

"Mmm," she muttered weakly, neither a denial nor affirmation. She was already nodding off. "Couldn't sleep."

===

"You have everything with you, sweetie? Bookbag? Lunch box?"

"Uh huh. Do I really have to go?"

"Oh, sweetie..."

Irina got lost in Oliver's big, pleading blue eyes as he begged to stay behind. She had been going through the same routine with him since he started Pre-K, and though she knew it was unhealthy to keep egging it on, her son was a master at making her heart bleed. He had always been a momma's boy.

"You do," she relented in the end, "but I promise I'll be back before you know it. School will go by in a heartbeat, okay?"

"Okay..."

She smiled warmly as she ushered him toward the school. Once he was finally past the door, she sighed as she got back in the car. Sometimes, it was hard to believe he was his father's son.

But he was. She was no surer than anything in her whole life.

"He's a strong boy," Tray had said to her in the hospital. Despite having so many children, he looked at his youngest that day like he was a treasure on his own. Naturally, the tender, wholesome moment didn't last long before his gaze checked between the legs. She still remembered that smug, cheeky grin. "A lot like his father, I'd say."

Once, she would've been furious at such a remark. Back then, however, she was still so exhausted from labor and happy to see her child born that she laughed along with him.

It was true that he took more after Tray than her when it came to his outward appearance. He had the same hair and flawlessly symmetrical face, not to mention his size. He'd been a big baby -- he came out at 13 pounds, much to her terror -- and even at five years old, he stood taller than other boys his age. The only signs of Irina's lineage in him, meanwhile, were the things you only noticed if you got a better look at him -- his blue eyes and slightly rounded head shape.

When it came to personality, though, she already saw herself in him. He was as timid as she'd been as a child, devoid of that boisterous, overbearing charisma Tray had ensnared her with so long ago. Had the man seen his son now, she couldn't imagine them getting along.

She turned the music volume all the way up on the drive to the store. She didn't care that it was a shitty country song. If anything, it helped distract her from dwelling on what could've been again as she had the night before. It being daytime made reflecting even more dangerous. Still, as she parked messily in the front of the lot, her eyes drifted to what had once been Rockings cafe. The spot was closed now, but the sign was still there, wearing duller with every passing day. She had to remind herself that in a sense, this was where Oliver was conceived -- months and months of manipulation all leading up to one stupid idea and an even stupider decision.

Sue was right. That had always been what her relationship with his father was: manipulation. So, perhaps it was for the best that Oliver never truly met him.

===

Since it was an off day, Irina did what she always did when she got back from her morning rounds: lay on the couch, reveling in the sheer luxury of her own free time. Not long into her lounging, Jack finally came down the stairs, already done up in his suit for work. He looked nice.

"Oliver make it to school safe?"

"Mhm," she responded with little more than a glance. "You heading to work?"

"Yup. I'll be back in time for dinner, hopefully. You know how Mondays are for me."

She hummed an acknowledgement again, not even following it up with proper words this time. Despite how disinterested she sounded, however, she didn't stop him from approaching and kissing her forehead before he left. She turned her face up to his as he pulled away, catching his lips for just a second or two. "Bye. Call me when you arrive."

"Sure thing."

Just like that, he was gone.

Jack was a simple man. Average height, if a little taller than her, and decently handsome with a thin, clean-shaven face and cloudy emeralds for eyes. He was quite a bit younger than her at 27, but no one would know it at a glance. He already had a steady financial advisor gig, and he had it more together in the head than most who were twice his age. He certainly had it more together than Irina, that was for sure. On top of that, he'd been kind since they met at the restaurant she worked at, never too rude yet forward enough when the mutual attraction became clear. Already, after just a year of living together, he'd become a part of Oliver's life.

Irina liked Jack. She was lucky to have him considering all she'd done.

He didn't know the full extent of her past. She'd never told him, and she never would. Just as she knew that infidelity was a part of his, he'd gleaned that Oliver was born out of an affair from their many back-and-forth dinner dates, but nothing more. She was grateful enough that he bothered giving her a chance in spite of it. Not many men, if any, would've. It amused her to be with him considering he was the age she'd been when she'd effectively ruined her life, but she was hardly in any position to be so picky anymore.

Still, if she was forced to define what she had with Jack, "like" was as far as it went. She was not in love. She hadn't felt such a thing in six years now. Not since her marriage. Not since-

She curled in on herself on the couch, covering her mouth with a hand as a wave of nausea erupted at the thought. She squeezed her eyes shut as she tried pushing it back down by sheer force of will.

No. Don't think of him. Anything, anyone but him.

She was used to such fits, and as usual, this one passed her by without issue, leaving her limp on the cushions. She'd gotten better at handling them or even avoiding their triggers outright, but sometimes her mind still wandered to those forbidden places, to the admissions she wasn't fully ready to face even after six years. It was especially bad when it happened during the day when she was fully conscious, like a torrent of wind crashing against a mud house after rain when the foundation was weak.

At times like that, she turned to her curse.

Now properly alone, she pulled down her leggings and spread her legs wide. A hitched moan echoed through the living room as her fingers made contact with her already wet sex. It was shameless, but to her, it was more a habit than anything at this point -- the shadow of the idle, illicit arousal she'd been burdened with all those years ago. That was what she called her curse, and it was easier to handle here. After all, the couch, too, was used to it.

That was yet another thing she'd never told Jack: the couch was the only thing she'd taken from that old house, that old life. This one piece of silky furniture had seen every single step of her depravity, but somehow, she hadn't been able to rid herself of it. When she and her ex-husband separated, she kept it in the house. When she moved to Tray's, she had him move it to his mansion. When even he had gone, she bought this highrise and brought it here, too. It was her companion through thick and thin, even more than the people she had in her life.

Plus, it was comfy.

She kept rubbing herself on the old couch, pace growing mad until she screamed out into the cool apartment air.Here we go,she thought, feeling the horny daydreams coming on. She didn't stop them. Before long, that image materialized in her mind: impossibly long, thick near the end like a bat, capped by a fat bell end that leaked potent precum like it had gallons to spare. Guilty as it made her feel while dating another, she still felt the imprint of Tray's cock deep within her -- the source of the curse she lived with. The scar she could never get rid of.

Right now, though, it hardly felt like one. She gasped, remembering its throbbing shape and the deep grunts that always used to come with it. Her eyes shot wide open, not quite seeing, as her fingers dug into her inner folds, envisioning that beastly form slamming into her over and over. He sped up, smug grin faltering into an uneasy grimace, until roaring as he slammed his hard dick all the way to the base, shaft rippling and head flaring...

"Aaaanh!"

Irina squealed at the memory of Tray cumming inside her, legs shaking as she squirted all over the cushions. The annoyed thought that she'd have to clean them again only briefly crossed her mind. As she tried to catch her breath, she closed her eyes and refused to move, still taking a moment to bathe in the old sensations although they could never again be real.

She didn't remember any of the night that came after the moment Tray had inseminated her. The orgasm she'd gone through back then shook her so hard her entire existence went slack, changing her forever. According to the man responsible, she had actually been a screaming mess for hours. The euphoria she'd experienced was just so divine it had stricken itself from her memory like a dream that was too good to be true.

But the aftermath was undoubtedly real. She woke up unbearably sore, and the warmth she'd felt in her belly was indescribable. Tray was already up beside her, rough hand sprawling over it as he spooned her naked.

A million thoughts rushed through her head back then. The morning sun peeked through the curtains, and she was still in her husband's bed with his boss, husband nowhere to be seen. Her affair partner's breath washed over her ear, making her shiver as she felt his flaccid length pulse and grow between her asscheeks. She was worried and horny and content with life all at once, unable to tell which emotion was right.

Before she could even begin to parse them, her focus was taken entirely by Tray's hand rubbing a circular motion on her newly warm stomach, tenderly restrained. Despite being rock hard behind her -- despite the fact she wouldn't have resisted at all -- he didn't pursue sex first thing that morning. Instead, his husky, self-satisfied voice filled her entire being before they went back to cuddling, forgetting all they'd done wrong.

"If it's a boy, name him Oliver."

===

How could she even begin to recount the year after that?

She stayed in the house at first. Though it was filled with memories that should've been painful, she didn't really register them. She was so smitten with her new reality that she was numb to the old. It also helped that she never saw her husband again after the day of the Christmas party. His divorce lawyer did show up eventually with his ring alongside the papers, but never with him. He might as well have fallen off the face of the Earth. In the end, she signed everything she needed to without question, not truly thinking of any of it, and the divorce went quietly and smoothly. At the time, she rationalized that it was for the best.

She was pregnant, after all. Nothing was more important than that.

She was surprised to learn Tray thought the same when she came to him about it. He had always seemed the type to conquer a woman and not look back, but he actually accommodated her new situation immediately. This was only to draw her further into his grasp, of course, but she hardly cared anymore -- now financially dependent on him, he presided over every corner of her life. He was her god. Everything he did seemed perfect in one way or another. When he renamed her husband's old company to Palmer, it felt absolutely natural. The place had effectively been his for months anyway, and KF Designs was such a tacky title. When he took her to work as a trophy, she no longer cared about the uncomfortable glances from those who recognized her. She sucked his dick obediently beneath the desk, pleasing him wherever and whenever he wished.

He deserved it. He had given her the greatest gift a woman could ask for, after all.

Needless to say, she kept letting him back into the house, too, and their rough, passionate fucking only ever got rougher and more passionate. Genuinely, she was convinced it was true love at one point. She gave herself over to him wholly, absolutely, like a doll to be played with and cherished. And cherish her he did. After every breeding session, he gave her the soft, loving embrace she craved without fail.

Of course, he never stopped sleeping around with other women once throughout the ordeal. She was long past the point of having any issue with it. A man like Tray required as much relief as he could get, and frankly, she now understood Maddie on a spiritual level -- every woman deserved this kind of happiness in their life. It was a shame she had to let go of her previous relationship for it, but in the end, it had been a small price. Tray gave her so much pleasure each month that they felt like days. Before she knew it, the bump in her belly had grown to a distinct swell, and her chest finally fattened from pregnancy, filling out the last of her womanly beauty.

The best of it came when Maddie noticed. Even if the girl had suspected, neither Irina nor Tray told her she'd been successfully bred, and Irina always hid the bump as best as she could when it was small enough. Once it became undeniable, Maddie practically exploded.

"Oh...my...god! Honey, I'm so happy for you!" She wrapped her arms around her and jumped for joy in Irina's living room as Tray watched proudly. Back then, she swore she'd felt nothing better -- the three of them together and happy, awaiting yet another member in the family. It took no time at all for their arousal to boil over. Unable to stop making out, Irina and Maddie sank to their knees and pleasured Tray to their hearts' content. Their lips and tongues became one over his velvety shaft, coaxing moan after moan out of him until he could no longer take it and gave them both a generous helping of his seed.

Maddie became a permanent fixture in their meetings after that. She kept coming to Irina's house, and in the room she'd once exclusively shared with her husband, the trio fucked each other senseless. Shame became a distant memory. Time became an afterthought. Each orgasm, spurred by the hormones of pregnancy, reeled her into a salacious cycle she never wanted to end.

Once she was far along enough, however, much to her disappointment, the sex ground to a halt. Tray was so big and stretched her out so far, it simply wasn't safe to let him lose control in the way she always liked. She still swallowed his loads, of course, and he was more than capable in eating her out, but the real thing, for the first time in months, was painfully out of reach.

Perhaps that was what brought back the unease. Sustained by nothing but physical pleasure for eight months, the sudden lack hit like a sucker punch, leaving her at the mercy of mood swings. She finally started to see her surroundings again -- the place she'd once called home, now a hollowed out corpse, her husband's belongings left behind like a life frozen mid-motion. Clothes hanging in the closet and on the coatrack. A newspaper, almost a year old, still open on the dinner table. The old notepads he used to draw on in his free time, strewn about his old office desk.

And the nursery. That was still next to their thoroughly ruined bedroom, too, covered in more dust than ever despite the baby she carried in her belly.

The cracks were finally showing through, but in a fit of panic-induced denial, she chose not to care. All she had to do was go where they weren't. Without a second thought, she auctioned off the house and moved in with Tray for good, withstanding the final month of her pregnancy at his side, in his domain.