No Squeaks

It was driving me crazy. I was losing unknown but not-insignificant amounts of sleep. Our bed had developed this awful squeak that sounded off with every nightly adjustment. Katie didn't seem to notice it, or at least wasn't bothered by it, never appearing to wake even a little. But not me. One of us would adjust an arm or throw out a knee, and the bed would sing, and my eyes would peel open no matter how hard I tried to keep myself under. I don't even want to mention the gang-of-mice-fighting kind of chirping that would result if one of us rolled over. I'd had enough.

After one particularly horrible, squeaky night, and once Katie had risen and vacated the vicinity, I launched a feverish interrogation on our bed. I hauled the mattress off and laid it out on the living room floor, testing every inch of it with my bodyweight. Katie watched me with her fingers wrapped around her morning coffee, black as always, and said it looked like I was trying to resuscitate the mattress, which I thought was kind of true, if you think about it. No squeaks, though. My wallet sighed a sigh of relief.

I turned my attention to the box spring next. Nice and light, much easier to test. A few presses and shakes, and again, no squeaks. It had to be the frame.

Back in the bedroom, I jostled the bed frame and found that it was indeed responsible for my new torturous sleep schedule. I worked my way around the steel perimeter, isolating the screechy culprit, and there it was. The central post supporting mainly Katie's side of the bed. There was a rivet that fastened the post to the rest of the frame that had apparently bent or stretched, it was hard to tell, but it squeaked like hell.

I looked back at Katie, leaning in the doorway with her steaming cup, and shook the post in a hard and over-exaggerated manner, eliciting highly noxious squeaks from the frame, and a frowning grimace from my wonderful wife.

I hit it with some WD40, which helped but was really just a band-aid, temporarily addressing the symptom without fixing the cause. I had to think a bit on how to fix a wonked rivet. I figured I'd probably have to remove it and replace it, but I'd never like, riveted something before. I knew my way around a screw, or a nut and bolt, but rivets were outside my wheelhouse. I settled for whacking it with a hammer a few times in an attempt to tighten it up, but in the end the squeak went right on squeaking, though its timbre might have maybe changed.

I put back the box spring and mattress with much grunting and shuffling, defeated for now. Once the sheets and bedspread were back in place, I sat a moment to catch my breath, having worked up a bit of a sweat at this point. Katie commented on my perspiration as I wiped it from my forehead.

"That reminds me, I have to go to the gym today," she frowned falsely.

"I'm sure you're just devastated," I huffed as I slumped back onto the bed with an inevitable mind-killing squeak.

"Maybe. Maybe not," Katie smirked. She placed her coffee on the dresser near the door and sauntered over to the edge of the bed. "It depends."

I rolled my eyes and smiled back at her. "What ever could youmean?"

Katie shrugged and climbed onto the bed, one knee at a time on either side of my hips.Squeak, squeak.She scooted forward until she'd straddled my hips, her hands side to side on my chest, arms locked, pressing her breasts together.

"I guess it just depends on what kind of workout I'll get today." She bit her lower lip and ground herself onto me.

"From me?" I asked, playing dumb.

Katie shrugged again.

"No? Maybe you mean that trainer of yours... what was his name again?"

Another shrug, this time with a bashful smile.

"Kaaaate... what's his name?" I asked, turning the tables on her. Her initial playful attitude began to diminish. Her eyes left mine and examined the sheets with an intense interest. Her chest rose and fell slowly, with deep, full breaths. The corners of her mouth remained bent up in a slight smirk.

"Kate..." I whispered, my own excitement building at my words. I hardened beneath her. I ran my hands from her knees up her thighs until my hands firmly wrapped her hips, pressing her down onto me. "Say his name."

Katie ground on my stiffening shaft through our clothes. We'd been getting a lot of mileage out of this fantasy over the last few months. She'd joined a class at her gym and had remarked one day about how fit the classes' trainer was, like how she didn't know humans could do some of the stuff he could do. I knew that she was just genuinely surprised and impressed, like when watching a circus performer or something, but being the sheister I am I gave her a lot of shit for it, about how attracted she was to this guy, how chiseled and manly he must be, how badly she must have wanted him right there in the gym. How she'd witnessed a god.

After telling me to shut up for maybe the hundredth time, she finally got so fed up that she turned it onto me, agreeing with every little thing I said, and adding some of her own logs onto the fire. She started saying stuff like, yes, she wanted himsobad, she wanted her big bad gym trainer to take her into the bathroom and rail her over the sinks. That she didn't care who heard. She bet me that he was hung like a horse, and that she could already attest to his stamina. Stuff like that.

Unknown to both of us at the time, this sort of talking turned out to get us both super revved up. The contentious nature of it, the pseudo-fighting, the taboo line of infidelity, the overtly sexually explicit language outside of the bedroom, it all culminated in us basically attacking each other and having some of the best sex of our lives. Hot and heavy is the cliche, I think. As close to wrestling as sex can get. We'd been playing up this same scenario basically every time we'd had sex -- fucked, really -- since.

I thrust up at Katie, keeping her still with my hands, letting the length of my clothed shaft rub back and forth between her legs. We were full-on grinding on each other, like teenagers, just the sort of youthful energy this fantasy had resurrected in us.

"Do you want it, baby?" I asked, continuing my slow thrusts.

Katie nodded silently, looking straight down, unable to meet my eyes. She ground down into me along with my movements, rolling her hips desperately.

"Whodo you want, baby?" I grunted with one hard thrust, scraping her along my bulge.

My wife let out restrained, shuddering sigh. She leaned back and reached down between her legs, scrambling with my jeans' button and zipper. I caught her wrists and yanked them out to my sides so that she fell forward, eye to eye with me.

"You didn't answer me," I said.

Katie's eyes darted down to my chest once more. She tended to struggle with this part at first, torn between the cheating-adjacent feelings and the lust I think, but she always gave in, eventually. I loved how hard she'd let me fuck her once she'd given up, almost like she wanted me to punish her. Her usual shyness and sweetness would vanish, replaced with this sort of animalistic fervor, and she'd literallybegme. That got me off more than anything, the pure desire. Something about a womanwantingto be fucked, and like really wanting it. An almost frustrated desire, like please tear these clothes off immediately and smush me into the couch type desire. Heat. This gave me a bit of a dastardly idea.

I lifted myself up onto my elbows and kissed her. An 'I love you' kiss, not an 'I'm going to destroy you' kiss. Then it was my turn to shrug.

"Oh well," I said nonchalantly as my elbows met my ears, "Guess we'll never know who."

I popped her up and off of me, dropping her onto the bed over to my left, and hoisted myself up to standing. Katie's eyes burned with lust and confusion and desperation and fear all at once. She somehow scowled and cowered simultaneously.

"I have to head to the hardware store to figure out this rivet thing. Need anything while I'm out?" I asked, feigning like I'd moved on entirely, knowing she would break soon.

"No? Okay, love you, babe." I turned toward the door and took a single step before she finally spoke up.

"I want..." she sputtered, sitting in a crumpled mess of longing.

"Yes, my dear?" I turned my head back to look at her.

"...Matt," she whispered. There it was. Her trainer's name. Broken.

"You want Matt?" I asked, turning completely to face her now.

"...Yes," she breathed.

"Just to be clear, you want Matt toooooo...?" I stepped toward her.

"...Fuck meeee..." she whimpered again, both from lust and genuine desperation, like she'd answered the question but was also pleading with me.

"Good girl," I purred, reaching the bed. I leaned down and pressed my tongue into her mouth, gladly accepted, swirling her own tongue around mine, sitting up to re-engage with me. I broke off to continue my plan.

"What do you want, baby?" I asked again.

"Matt, baby, I want Matt." She answered quickly now. Loosening up.

"Tell me."

"I want him to fuck me, baby! I want him inside me! I want to feel his body... his big cock..." she was up on her knees now, fumbling with my pants again.

I grabbed her wrists once more and leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"Have fun at the gym, sweetheart."

I kissed her one more time and broke away again, this time for real. I wanted to fuck her right there and then, but I also knew it would drive her crazy if I made her wait. I knew she'd be thinking about it all day, and that the sex would end up insane. Aggressive. Breathy and sweaty and hot, in the literal sense. Carnal. This was to be an exercise in the ultimate delayed gratification.

"Babe!" Katie gasped in utter shock, "You're not actually leaving me here like this, are you?!"

"I have to get to the hardware store, seriously!" I called back as I left the room, "Might run some other errands as well, if I have time," I added, heaping on the potential delay in her mind.

"There's no way you're serious," Katie responded, stomping after me.

I made of show of checking each of my pockets for the necessities, grabbed my keys off the kitchen counter, and headed for the front door.

"I'm going to be mad at you if you leave right now. I mean it," she stated matter-of-factly, total business.

"We'll see later tonight. Try not to think about meallday," I smirked. I pecked her on the cheek and opened the front door.

"I really mean it, Daniel."

I stepped out and pretended to remember to say, "Oh, and tell Matt I said hi," with a wink, then closed the door on Katie's grim visage. This was, admittedly, a bit of a gamble, but I was fairly confident. I figured she'd be so worked up by the evening that, angry or not, she'd need me to screw her brains out the second I got home. In fact, it might even be better if she was mad. She'd forgive and forget as soon as I'd slipped between her legs, was my thinking.

I really did go to the hardware store to solve my rivet problem. Turns out there's whole riveting kits just ready to go, and on the cheap, it's really not that complicated. The drive to the store had taken somewhere around 30 minutes, and within just 5 minutes inside I'd solved the issue. I'd planned on being gone for a couple hours to let Katie hit the gym and stew in her unaddressed horniness. Matt, the subject of our fantasies, being there with her would certainly have her thinking about it, and the exercise would help her work off any residual anger she might be feeling.

My phone buzzed against my left thigh just as I got back to the car. The notification said "Katie sent an image". I'll admit it made my heart jump. I had no idea what she might have sent, I'd never done anything like this before so her reactions were totally uncharted territory for me. Nervous but also excited. I opened the driver's door and stooped in, stretching my right arm across the armrest to drop the rivet kit onto the passenger seat. I closed the door and tapped the notification.

She'd sent a picture of her, taken in the bright LED-lit mirror of some public restroom somewhere, wearing short booty-shorts and one very taut and low cut sports bra. Her toned stomach was on full display, along with most of the rest of her. Her breasts tested the bra to the point that it really seemed more like a formality than anything, and the bottoms of her ass cheeks peeked out of the shorts. She looked fucking amazing, obviously, and this was so unlike her that I had to smile. My plan was working. She was fired up and teasing me. I texted back.

'Wow, looking great babe.'

'Used your card for some new gym clothes. The least you could do.'

'Definitely. And worth every penny. Wowza. You should take my card more often.'

'I'm glad you like them. Matt does too.'

'Does he now? Got proof for that bold claim?'

Another picture, this one from the gym. Katie stretching her hamstrings, folded over at the hips and hugging her own straightened legs, her ass all but falling out of her new shorts. She took up most of the frame, but sent a follow-up cropped and blurry screenshot of her trainer, Matt, feasting his eyes on her near-nakedness from the bottom corner of that very same photo. The way he was ogling her... he clearly thought she couldn't see him, and must not have noticed her phone snapping the picture. His eyes all over my wife's bare skin had me hard as a rock in seconds.

'Lucky man.' I texted, still trying to figure out my reaction.

'He's in rare form today.'

'What does that mean?'

'I don't know, he's working us harder than usual. Lots of new movements... positions. Wonder what's gotten into him...'

I couldn't stop staring at the picture of Katie showing herself off. She was really acting out, and it was working. My heart was pounding all the blood down to my cock.

'Maybe you should ask him.'

'Maybe I will.'

'Let me know how it goes.'

'He might try something.'

'Fingers crossed.'

'Very funny...'

What was I doing? Not sure. My vision felt cloudly, and I couldn't form coherent thoughts. I was concious and sober, but I felt under some dark influence, like I wasn't really the one driving. I just sat there in the parking lot, staring at another man staring at my wife, slowly rubbing myself through my pants. I was wishing that the picture was a video, and that Matt would approach her on the screen, to get a closer look, to touch her. I wanted him to walk right up behind her bent over like that... to tear her tiny shorts down and bury his no doubt enormous manhood in her down to the hilt. What the fuck, right? Did I really want some random from the gym to touch my wife? Fuck her? How could I? I found myself zooming on the blurry cropped picture of him, trying to determine if he really did have a massive dick. Actively looking for another man's penis in an inscrutable cluster of pixels, and wondering -- hoping -- that it's large. That's what finally snapped me out of it.

'Gonna run some errands. Try not to have too much fun.' I finally texted, hoping that if I shook my head enough, the very new and sort of spooky thoughts might fall out of my ears or something.

'No promises.'

The power had shifted again, now firmly back in Katie land. My head was reeling, conjuring myriad images of her wearing almost nothing, in all manner of revealing poses and states of exertion in front of this stranger to me, but also trying to take my mind off of all that to just focus on whatever errands I could come up with to distract me. And Katie's hard to read vibe was driving me crazy. This was my bright idea, and here I was the one going nuts.

'I love you.' The last text I sent for a while. This had strayed too close to real for my own comfort. I needed to get away from the phone, and that picture, even for a little. I powered the phone off, then cracked open the rivet kit and tossed the device inside, worried that if I left it in the glovebox or center console instead that I'd definitely forget it there. Can't forget a whole rivet kit sitting in the passenger seat.

Then I went about my business, resisting the temptation to sit for hours staring at the pixelated man and Katie's ass, which I surely would have done if I went home right away. I ran into the general store, picking up whatever I could think to pick up, any tiny need that might exist. Katie bent over in front of Matt. A shaking of the head. Groceries, paper towel, toilet paper, tooth paste, face-wash, dish-soap, the usuals suspects, but then also a new bath mat, because why not? Matt's vascular hand squeezing my wife's supple ass. Head shake. Maybe a nice lamp with some warm, low-lumen bulbs? I grabbed new throw pillows for the couch, and some small-engine oil for the lawn mower even though I was pretty sure I still had some left. His head rolled back in pleasure, her lips parted by his thick shaft. Head. Shake. I got a bunch of junk food and then decided against it and put it all back.

I probably burned an hour, maybe two, but I just couldn't take it anymore. I abandoned my heaping cart and B-lined it for the car. I considered jerking off into a napkin or something right there in the lot, but thought better of it. I had to get home to deal with this. Either Katie was already back from the gym and I could unload into her then apologize for being a jerk, or I'd just pop the cork into the nearest trash can, and apologize to Katie for being a jerk whenever she did get back. The drive home was torture, the car a short term prison cell, housing a madman begging for release, maybe the closest analog to hard time there is.

Taking certain liberties with traffic lights and less-than-recommended maneuvering, I managed to shave the 30 minutes back home down to a solid 20. Mercifully, Katie's car was there in the driveway. I pulled up and sat a moment, attempting to compose myself. I couldn't just maul her the second I walked through the door, I'd have to see if she was still upset first. This was going to take tact. Breathe. In-through-the-nose, out-through-the-mouth. Breathe.

I exited the car only to double back due to nearly forgetting the unforgettable rivet kit from the passenger seat. With kit secure, I bounced up the front steps and prepped myself for whatever version of Katie might be waiting for me inside. One last deep breath. Composure.

As calm as I could manage to be, I opened the front door and entered the house. No Katie to greet me, not a good sign in the potentially-still-mad-at-me department. I dropped the kit and my keys and the rest of my pockets' contents onto the kitchen counter, then made my way cautiously toward the living room, bracing for a cold waiting scowl from the couch. Again, no Katie. The washing machine was going, so she must have just changed out of her sweaty gym clothes. I figured she was probably in the bathroom, maybe about to shower or something.

In no rush to get into a fight, I plopped down onto my usual cushion to wait for her, waiting to hear a flush or the shower to start, but instead my ears faintly caught something I hadn't been expecting over the din of the washing machine. Something I wasn't used to hearing at this time of day. The same noise that'd been keeping me up all damn night these days. That awful squeaking.

Except that now, unlike the usual squeaks of adjustment or rolling over, these had rhythm.

Squeak ~ Squeak ~ Squeak ~ Squeak, Squeak ~ Squeak ~ Squeak, squeak, squeak ~ Squeakand so on.

They came muffled and distant, trickling down the hallway. I think, if I was honest with myself, I knew immediately what was going on, but in that moment my brain tossed up every mental hurdle it could. The washing machine could have developed a squeak of its own. The sounds weren't very clear, and knowing Katie, she could easily be jumping on the bed to mess with me as payback for messing with her. No other cars in the driveway, or on the street. There's no way she'd do something... not without communicating, even if she was really angry. Communicating -- fuck. My phone.