Respect 3



I stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, wiping the fog away so
that small beads of water ran down my reflection. I touched myself,
moving my hands lightly over my stomach, turning slightly to profile. I
was large now, and round, swollen with the life inside me. I could feel
my skin tight and smooth and firm, almost hard, and it was difficult to
remember when my tummy had been flat and taut and impossibly soft by
comparison.

My breasts were different too, now that I was eight months pregnant
almost to the day. They seemed swollen and heavy, still firm enough but
pulled down slightly so that my puffy brown nipples appeared to point
upward even more than they had before. They ached sometimes, my
nipples, and grew hard for no reason at all with small drops of clear
liquid appearing occasionally. My milk was starting already, my body
getting ready to nurse the restless child within my womb.

I didn't know what I had, a boy or a girl, and it didn't matter
anyway. I wasn't keeping it. I'd really had three choices, none of
which were fair, or designed to please me in any way. But they were
mine alone, my husband Jack had made that clear enough. I'd been the
one cheating on him, for no real reason at all except that I'd been
foolish, and so it was up to me to make things right.

I could have left him. He wouldn't have tried to stop me. Or, I could
have gotten an abortion, which was what he wanted I think, although
Jack had done nothing more than suggest the possibility. He'd given
me no real opinion on the subject and neither of us were particularly
religious, or morally bound against it, so it had been a thought
already in my head anyway. Or finally, I could carry the child to term
and give it up. I couldn't keep it and him both; my husband had made
that plain to me several times over.

He didn't blame the child. Jack bore it no particular grudge other
than the fact that it wasn't his and was sleeping in his wife's
belly, changing the woman he'd married irrevocably, and in not always
predictable ways. My husband blamed me, quite simply, and it was right
and proper that he should. And that he should punish me for what I'd
done, and for what I'd tried to do. I was lucky to have him, I
thought, because I was quite sure that many men in his position would
have simply sent me away with little more than a suitcase and
dissolution of marriage to keep me and my unborn child warm.

He'd largely ignored me in the beginning, since that night when I'd
told Jack about my infidelity. If he was surprised when I told him I
was pregnant with another man's baby, he gave no indication of it. I
could understand his reaction, and I even appreciated it to some
extent. Of everything he might have said or done with me, I thought his
distant silence to be almost kind. At least I could see him; I could
still care for him and try to demonstrate my love. Perhaps earn
forgiveness eventually.

The only thing I was truly surprised at, and the aspect of our new
relationship I found most disturbing, was my husband's increased sex
drive. Prior to cheating on him, my husband had very little interest in
sex and I'd been left frustrated and insecure perhaps, feeling that
there was some failing in him. That was what had driven me into Dr.
Prescott's arms, indirectly, and so it was with no small sense of
irony that I found myself yielding to my husband's newfound sexual
desires very nearly every night.

I'd even learned to enjoy it, which surprised me more than a little.
My husband's pleasure was only taken from my anus, or occasionally my
mouth, neither of which I'd ever done before. It had been painful at
first, physically and emotionally. Humiliating and degrading,
especially since there was no love in the acts we performed. He
wouldn't speak to me, except in the most vulgar terms, calling me a
slut, or a whore, or worse. I would never reply, never try to defend
myself from his accusations, or refuse his attentions. He was merely
using me for masturbation, I knew, or trying to punish me, but it was
the only part of him that I had left.

I didn't know how I felt about my baby, and that was a term that had
taken me some time to become accustomed to. My baby. For the first
month I'd hated it, the reason it was inside me was still too fresh
then. And fresh still, really; every time I saw myself, or touched
myself, or felt that fetus move I was reminded of my betrayal. But
I'd been changing. It was my baby inside me. It was a part of me,
half mine and half someone else's; a stranger's child. I tried not
to think about that. It was inside me, growing and sharing my blood. It
had made me ill with morning sickness and the emotional equivalent,
feeling sad and happy and a thousand different emotions in between, and
sometimes all at once.

I'd craved strange things as well, like applesauce with pepper on it.
Just black pepper, but a lot of it. I could eat a whole jar of
applesauce and use half the shaker of pepper on it. Part of me enjoyed
that, enjoyed all of it, but only secretly, only when my husband was at
work. We didn't sleep together then of course, he'd left me with
the master bedroom and taken one of the spares, the one we'd once
thought of turning into a nursery. But that had been so long ago,
almost a year before when we'd bought the house. Anything was
possible for us then and a nursery...

Now it was late though. I was a month away from giving birth. Maybe
less than that even, or longer, I had no way of knowing. I had back
pains if I spent too much time on my feet, and it was difficult to
sleep, and I needed a bathroom every 5 minutes it seemed. But those
were little things, minor details that mattered not at all in the
larger scheme of life. My husband had suffered worse, I think, at least
in the third and fourth months, when I'd finally begun to show a
little and we couldn't keep my pregnancy a secret any longer.

The time for abortion had passed, not physically, not quite yet, but
for all practical purposes, once people knew I was pregnant there
really was no going back. I thought I might have stayed home then, or
at least avoided going out in public as much as possible. Jack
wouldn't let me, however. We'd become somewhat close once more, or
at least civil, despite my swelling stomach. It had taken three months,
but now he was talking to me at least, even smiling on occasion, and it
filled me with hope for our future.

Our coming out, if you wanted to call it that, was at the party of a
friend of ours. It was a large barbecue with a lot of people we knew.
Jack's friends and coworkers, normal average people who knew nothing
about how I'd wanted to cut off my husband's balls and cuckold him
with another, more ardent lover. They could only see us as the
successful and happy young couple we were, beautiful people living the
American dream, and now almost obviously pregnant. Just showing enough
so that people would wonder and closer friends would ask, quietly in
case they were wrong. That would have been embarrassment that no one
needed. Thankfully for them I wasn't fat, although I silently wished
I were.

"Congratulations!" I could hear one of my husband's friends
saying, and the group of men around them echoed the sentiment. They
smiled and nodded and patted Jack on the back for a baby that wasn't
even his. I felt my cheeks flushing, but I blushed all the time for no
good account, and people assumed it was just part of my healthy
motherly glow.

"It isn't mine." Jack shrugged and he turned his head just
slightly to look at me. There was silence for a second, and then
laughter, of the nervous sort, when people hear a joke they don't
really understand. "She was fucking around, I don't know whose it
is. I'm not even sure if Lisa knows."

I stood there feeling all eyes drawn to me, staring and judging me. It
made me an instant imposter, a fraud and a fake. I'd been accepting
my own congratulations and smiles and hugs and kisses on the cheek. All
my friends, old and new, were so happy for us. For my husband and I,
and I'd smiled and thanked them for it, pretending that we were
blessed and happy with our good fortune. I had nothing I could say,
nothing I could do but stand there as tears filled my eyes, and then my
instincts kicked in...fight or flight, and I was running.

We left shortly after that. I'd been waiting in the car, crying and
hitting my stomach occasionally with weak and frustrated fists. I hated
myself, the thing inside me, my husband for being so cruel, my friends
and neighbors for their concern. I forgot what love was for those long
minutes I was alone. It ceased to exist.

"Maybe you should have gotten the abortion." My husband shrugged,
as if he didn't really care one way or the other. We were driving
home and I just stared out the window.

At least I knew now that I was totally alone in this. My husband
wasn't going to lie for me; he wasn't part of my infidelity and
wouldn't be in a conspiracy to cover it up. He wasn't my
accomplice, Dr. Prescott was, but I couldn't bear the thought of even
speaking to him, let alone seeing him again. I was alone with my child
and I'd set myself on a path. I'd decided to cheat, I'd
confessed, I'd stayed with Jack, and I'd decided to carry the child
to term. It was all one long road and I hoped it was the right one.

As soon as we were in the house Jack was turning me around, kissing me
hard. He hadn't kissed me in 12 weeks, not once in three months, but
he kissed me now. He'd just told the world that his wife was a
cheating slut and pregnant with a stranger's baby. I felt his tongue
pushing into my mouth, finding mine and wriggling against it. I was
moaning, clutching at him as I began crying again. I felt hot and
confused and desperate that he never let me go.

Jack's hands were under my skirt, moving up my thighs and I felt his
thumbs hooking my panties, pulling them down. He went lower with them,
kissing my neck, and breast through my blouse. I cradled his head,
breathing hard and lifting my legs as my panties fell down around my
ankles. I wanted to speak to him, to tell my husband how much I loved
him, how sorry I truly was. I wanted to beg him to make love to me,
real love for the first time since my confession.

My sex was on fire, quivering inside and I was radiating heat and
desire. I could feel my juices starting, the butterflies in my stomach.
He was going to do it, finally he'd forgiven me. He'd given me one
last punishment, telling everyone about the bastard in my belly, but
that was enough. He could forgive me now and I loved him for it. I
would have confessed myself, told everyone a thousand times if this
were the result. I couldn't bear any longer the awful separation from
my husband's love.

"Turn around...here...give me your ass..." My husband breathed,
standing behind me, pushing me so I was bent over the back of the sofa.

He wasn't going to make love to me. He was going to fuck me again,
that was all, and my heart sank and I felt a distant chill overcome the
fire inside. He hadn't forgiven me at all, I thought, this was just
another form of punishment. He'd kissed me like we were lovers once
more and I'd returned it with all of my heart, promising him anything
in return. He rejected it, or so it seemed to me at that moment,
pressing his penis against my anus and driving inside me easily.

I was well used to it, as he fucked me regularly there now. Where
before, when we'd been happily married, he would make love to my
vagina perhaps twice a month, three times if I was lucky, now we did it
in my ass everyday. Sometimes twice a day. But always in my ass,
although once in awhile he'd start or finish in my mouth. I groaned
as I felt my ass warming up, my muscles stretching and taking his
thickness easily. I fucked myself back against him, because it did feel
good for me. In the beginning it had hurt terribly and disgusted me,
and I'd found no pleasure in it, but as time went by I'd begun to
accept it and enjoy it as I said.

"Everybody knows..." Jack was telling me, grunting to punctuate his
words. "Everyone knows you're a slut...and a whore..."

"I'm sorry...Please..." I said the same things I always said,
reaching down to rub my clit. I hated his words, but I loved his touch.
Even like that, fucking my ass and saying the worst things I could
imagine, I loved him for it. I was going to cum and we both knew it. He
didn't care, or maybe he even liked that part of it now, I didn't
know. But he wouldn't stop me, he'd let me get off while he
punished me.

"You bitch...fuck me...harder...push it, Lisa...fuck me like you
fucked him, you cunt..." He slapped my ass hard, spanking me and that
was something new, only recently added to the experience and I found
myself enjoying that as well.

I rubbed myself furiously, feeling the blood rushing to my head as I
was pushed further over the soft cushioned back of the couch. My feet
came off the floor and I could feel the pressure on my stomach, on my
baby, but I didn't care. I was so close so quickly, his cock was
rubbing my pussy through the thin wall that separated them. His balls
slapped my sex and I was cumming, my body going rigid and my legs
coming up. I pressed my thighs together and tried to pull at him
awkwardly with my legs, bending my knees. I was lost to it when my
husband's cock began to spasm in my rectum, spilling his hot seed
into my ass.

We kissed often after that, at least during our sex. It was another
small step towards reconciliation, another proof of life that love
still existed for him. I longed for the day when he'd make love to me
face to face, kissing me as he entered my vagina. I should have gotten
the abortion, I knew, it would have changed everything, I thought. It
was just another mistake, and I'd made so many. I apologized to him
every time he fucked me, but he never said anything about it, never
accepted them or offered words of forgiveness. But he would, someday, I
was certain.

A few weeks after the party, my husband brought a friend home. A man he
worked with apparently and we'd been introduced at the party, but I
remembered little of that except my husband telling everyone I was
pregnant with another man's baby. I'd spent my time since then
avoiding my friends, although it wasn't entirely possible and our
chance meetings at the supermarket or the mall, or wherever, were
always awkward and humiliating for us. They were avoiding me as well,
and that helped.

We'd had dinner, my husband, his friend and I, and it had been
largely a solemn affair. My husband and I rarely spoke anyway, and then
only about the most practical things. His friend, Gary, spent much of
the meal looking at me, and I was red faced, looking down and wishing I
could make some excuse to leave the table. I was uncomfortable and
surprised that my husband would bring someone home like that. He had
friends, of course, but since I'd cheated on him, they had rarely
came around the house.

"Leave the dishes." My husband said after we'd finished eating.

"What? Why?" I stood there, clearing the table, holding plates in
my hands.

"I think Gary wants to fuck you now." My husband said
matter-of-factly, glancing at his friend who was smiling at me.

I almost dropped the dishes I was holding. My mouth opened and I stared
at my husband. He couldn't be serious. I must have heard him wrong,
or something. But I hadn't.

"Go on, take him upstairs. Might as well do it in our bed, right?"
My husband chuckled and I couldn't move.

"W-Why?" I asked him quietly, barely managing to get even that one
simple word out.

"Why what?" Jack narrowed his eyes. "You should know why, Lisa.
You of all people. It isn't like you haven't fucked a stranger
before, is it? So you tell me why, and then we'll both know."

"Uh, we drew straws." Gary said, looking a little apologetic
actually, and I sensed that this wasn't what he'd expected at all.

"What?" I stared at the man and my husband laughed.

"She probably didn't need to know that, buddy." But my husband
didn't seem to mind either; I just wish I knew exactly what Gary had
meant. I thought I had a pretty good idea though.

"Oh, uh...well. Maybe I should get going." Gary got up. "That was
a good dinner, Lisa." He was embarrassed and I was humiliated as
well, frightened and angry and utterly confused.

"Last chance, Lisa." My husband tilted his head. "Don't let him
get away, you know you want it."

Gary was leaving and my husband didn't bother showing him out. He
just sat there looking at me.

"Why would you do that?" I asked plaintively, my eyes wet with
tears and my bottom lip trembling. "Why?" I dropped the dishes,
letting them break on the hard kitchen floor and ran from the room, up
the stairs and into our bedroom. I fell into the bed sobbing, not
wanting to believe my husband could be that cruel, or that callous. He
didn't love me, not at all. He hated me. He'd offered me to his
friends and they'd drawn straws to see who would fuck me.

I was worthless to him.

My husband was in the room a few minutes later, grabbing me, pushing me
flat on my stomach and I didn't resist him. If he wanted to fuck me,
he could. I wasn't going to stop him, I never did. I even helped him
in fact, lifting my hips as he pulled my new maternity pants down my
legs and my panties with them. He'd hurt me bad, as bad as I'd hurt
him maybe, or perhaps not. I didn't know anymore what was fair and
what wasn't. I didn't know what I deserved for what I'd done. How
much was enough, I wondered, at what point did the scales of justice
balance? I had no idea and so I'd given that decision over to my
husband, for better or worse.

"Give me your hands...Give them to me!" Jack was pulling my wrists
and it took me a second to realize he was tying my hands together
behind my back.

"J-Jack...Wha...?"

"Shut-up. You don't wanna fuck, okay. How about this then?"
He'd tied my wrists tightly and now he was tying my ankles to the
foot of the bed, using curtain cord like he had on my wrists. I spread
my legs, not resisting him at all, but just exploring the new sensation
of having my hands bound together.

It was a little exciting, I admit, frightening too. I was still angry,
with both if us. Me for the same reasons as always, and with Jack for
not forgiving me, for tormenting me with that ludicrous scene in the
kitchen. It was juvenile, I thought, and unworthy of him. But it had
been a good punishment, a small voice reminded me. Another step closer
to redemption and maybe I should have...But I couldn't think like
that. It had been a test, nothing more. My husband testing me, trying
to see if I'd cheat on him maybe, or something else. I didn't know.

"I don't know about this BDSM stuff, Lisa." Jack had finished
with my legs and the cords were tight and biting into my flesh. I tried
pulling with my legs, but it was useless. Like my wrists, he'd tied
them well and I was not going to free myself, no matter how much I
struggled.

"I trust you." I said, turning my head to look at him and that
stopped him. I hadn't meant to say that, really. I don't know where
the words had come from, but as soon as I said them I knew they were
true. I did trust him, and even though he'd been cruel downstairs and
I was still angry with him for it, I was still in love with him as
well.

Jack didn't know what to say to me, so he said nothing at all. He
used a belt, one of his old ones, all brown leather and supple. I'd
never experienced anything like it before, not as a child or any other
time in my life. Jack whipped my bare ass with that belt hard, bringing
it down over his head with a faint whoosh that filled me with panic the
first time I heard it. And then the explosion of pain on my sensitive
skin. I screamed at that first touch of Jack's belt, and again at the
second, weaker with the third and then by the fifth or sixth lash I was
out of breath, only gasping sharply with every stroke.

It seemed my body was on fire and my skin felt wet somehow, so that I
was sure I was bleeding, but then that sensation would go away and I
felt something more like needles for a moment...The pain was changing
and I couldn't get a handle on it. I was writhing, twisting my body
as if I might avoid it somehow, but I couldn't. My legs were bound
tightly and my shoulders strained uselessly against the cords around my
wrists.

Jack gave me perhaps 2 dozen strokes, although I think we both lost
count very quickly after he started. I was bathed with pain and my
heart was pounding in my chest. I was breathing fire and when I felt my
husband's hand on my skin I yelped sharply, my body jerking against
the sensation. I had my eyes shut and they were wet, my nose was
running and my mouth was open. I felt weak and tired and I worried
briefly at the pressure on my tummy, but there was nothing to be done
for it.

"You liked it, huh?" Jack pressed his hand between my widespread
thighs, and I shuddered as we both realized I was soaked down there. My
pussy was excited, as much as it had ever been in my life. Jack slipped
a finger inside my sex and immediately my soft vaginal walls were
clasping him like a tender mouth, giving little spasms of pleasure at
his intrusion and begging for more.

"Ohhhh..." I moaned and lifted my pelvis, wishing he'd find my
clit as well. It was hard and throbbing. I'd never experienced
anything like what we'd just done and I was surprised when I realized
I'd never asked him to stop. Not once, I'd never even thought of
it. I'd enjoyed it, just as I was enjoying the way my ass burned now.
I could imagine the welts rising and I wished I could see them, or at
least feel them. I arched my back, twisting my head and then trying to
reach down further with my arms, but I got neither the view nor the
touch I desired.

"I like it too." Jack whispered and I hadn't noticed that he'd
undressed.

He brought his stiff cock to my ass again, like always, ignoring my
desperate longing to feel his penis in my cunt. He wasn't prepared to
give me that yet, but it was still good. Especially the way his body
felt against my tortured flesh. I must have had blisters at least,
perhaps I really had been cut somehow, I didn't know. I had no idea
what twenty-some lashes with a leather belt could do to my body. All I
knew was that I was cumming like crazy while he fucked me, riding my
burning ass slow and deep while he kissed my neck and cheeks and
shoulders.

It was very much like making love and I came for the first time in my
life without someone or something touching my pussy. There was a slight
bit of contact with the bed, but that was all, and not nearly enough to
bring me off by itself. My orgasm was coming from the pain of my
whipping, the feeling of my husband's cock moving gently in my ass,
and the sensation of his lips against my skin. He lasted a good long
time and by the end of it I felt closer to him then I'd ever felt
before. It made no sense to me; none whatsoever and I fell asleep with
him still inside me, refusing to go soft even after filling my ass with
his sperm. He was still there, covering me like a blanket, and moving
his hips so slowly it was like rocking me to sleep.

That was the first night we slept together since before I'd cheated
on him and it took me a moment to wake up to that knowledge. He'd
untied me at some point, and woken me up in the dark to fuck my ass
again; I remembered that like it was a dream. And now, waking up in the
soft morning light, I could feel him against my back, his morning
erection pressed between the tops of my thighs as we spooned. The tip,
the head of his cock was so close to my pussy. I moved slightly and
even reached down, wanting to put him inside me.

But I stopped. I couldn't do that. His cock wasn't mine to have,
not until he was ready to give it back to me. It was both frustrating
and thrilling to come to that decision. I knew it could be a long time,
perhaps not until after the baby was born, or even longer, before
he'd make real love to me again. But that was something I had to
accept, and my decision was the only one I could make if I truly
respected him.