The Wife

Chapter 1

“I’ve Been Waiting for You, Wife.”

Lara Anderssen, real estate queen and all-around rich, domineering bitch, was once again on the floor of her office with a bottle of whisky threatening to spill beside her.

It was a good thing she had a mural on her ceiling. Nothing fancy. Some flowers with intricate vines weaving in and out, creating a cacophony of demure colors that caught her eye whenever she lay on this floor, half-drunk and on the verge of making the same grievous mistake she always almost made.

I’m divorcing that asshole.

She thought it once a week at this point. Sometimes multiple times a week. Lara took a swig of her drink and tried not to breathe into the carpet. Difficult to do when her body kept trying to roll against it.

“Chloe!” she called, drawing her foot out of its stiletto heel and letting her toes curl against the carpet. “Chlooeee!”

The maid, a young woman with big eyes and thin hair, appeared in the office doorway with shock on her face. “Yes, ma’am?” she asked tentatively. Chloe approached Lara’s supine body and looked down into a pair of groggy eyes. “Are you all right, ma’am?”

“I need… I need my phone. It’s on my desk.”

Chloe looked between her employer and the desk a few feet away. “One second, ma’am.”

The maid stepped around Lara’s body and gingerly picked up the large smartphone glowing on the desk.

Blue lights flashed, signaling that many messages waited.

One of them was doubtlessly from Kennedy Anderssen, Lara’s spouse of nearly ten years.

She was at their downtown office that day.

Lara was supposedly working at home. If being half drunk on the office floor counted as work. In some countries, it does.

Her phone dropped into her hand. Chloe stood above Lara, clasping her hands and looking as if she were about to roll her eyes at this weekly spectacle. “Anything else, ma’am?”

“No. Leave me.” Before Chloe could disappear out the door, Lara flung a hand into the air and said, “Wait. If my ass of a partner comes home, tell her I’m having a conference call and can’t be bothered.”

Chloe said nothing. Soon enough, she was gone, the office door closing behind her. She’ll tell her. She would if she valued her job. And she should. The Anderssens paid a good salary with hefty benefits and bonuses.

It meant dealing with her, of course, but there was a snag to every job.

Just like hiring a younger, pretty girl like Chloe probably meant Lara’s spouse was sleeping with her.

“Lara,” said a terse voice on the phone. She had slammed one of the first numbers in her contact list. “What can I do for you this week?”

“Get me a divorce, Horace,” she told her lawyer.

“What is it this time? I told you, she only violates that iron-clad prenup if she cheats on you. And given you two’s proclivities… that would be very hard to determine.”

“Shut up, Horace.”

“So, I take it you don’t have any evidence of her cheating?”

Am I sure she’s cheating? Either way, Horace was right.

The only way Kennedy could violate the prenup they signed ten years ago was if she fucked some little nugget behind her wife’s back.

But Horace was also right in saying that their kinky love life made cheating hard to prove.

For years, Lara and Kennedy had been swinging, group sexing, everything between here and there.

They were regulars at the local BDSM club with first-name knowledge of half the people there.

Carnal knowledge, too. While they didn’t have an open marriage in that they could have casual sex or long-term relationships with other people, some came into their bedroom and left very…

happy. No judge would believe that Lara didn’t know about Kennedy’s dalliances.

All she had to do was tell said judge that Lara gave her permission.

So many people at the club would probably back her up.

Lara groaned into her phone. “I don’t know if she’s cheating.

She’d be a stupid bitch to try it.” Especially with Lara’s pussy still readily available whenever Kennedy wanted it.

Since when do people think with their brains, though?

“There’s gotta be something we can do. I’m gonna murder the woman at this point. ”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. And at any rate, I’m still not sure why you call me every week asking me to get you a divorce. Stop drinking and get your shit together, Lara.”

Boy, he was lucky that he was her cousin! And good at his job. If anyone else talked to Lara like that, she would be hacking off their balls and hanging up their entrails from the flagpole in the front yard. “You’re a dick, Horace. See you at Easter.”

That was her sign-off every week. And every week Horace replied, “See you at Easter.”

Lara hung up. She didn’t need his shit.

She didn’t know what she needed. She barely understood what was happening to her marriage.

They met twelve years ago, at a regional real estate conference.

Kennedy was an established manager of one of the biggest real estate groups in the area, and Lara was an up-and-coming bigshot who had sold more properties than anyone else in the state that year.

It was natural that they met each other, introduced via a mutual acquaintance who was interested in getting a head-hunter’s fee for bringing Lara into Kennedy’s fold.

Lara had ambition. Kennedy had a need for a charming agent who could sell high-ticket properties.

What neither of them planned on was Lara charming Kennedy into drinks at the bar that night.

And charming her into bed. Or the other way around. Lara could never remember since more than two drinks were involved that night.

Few people could say that a one-night stand turned into a business opportunity.

Then a relationship. Then, marriage within two years.

When they announced their impending nuptials to the media, other real estate moguls quaked in their loafers.

Between these two shrewd minds, it was only a matter of time before the Anderssens, as they were collectively called, started beheading the competition.

Then we beheaded each other in the bedroom.

The furor they whipped up in their everyday lives tended to translate to their private life.

Lara lived for the high she got from a big sale, and she lived for the celebration of taking Kennedy between her legs.

Whether she climbed on top of Lara or Lara was on top…

who gave a shit. Their life meant taking names in public, taking each other’s bodies in private.

And Kennedy had a scrumptious body, Lara had to admit. That hadn’t changed in ten years. Makes me feel like I’ve got to keep up. Diets. Workouts. Vitamins and trips to the Botox clinic. But not too much. Lara would die before becoming one of those women.

The kink came quickly. Kennedy had dabbled in the switch lifestyle, and Lara was more than curious about both calling her partner a slut and being defiled when they were alone.

Everyone in the local kink scene rolled their eyes when they patrolled the streets of their elite world, looking for new playmates and people to fuck with, mentally and physically.

Lara’s thirst for exhibitionism led to them performing many times on stage.

I’ve been screwed in front of a total of a thousand different people by now.

She felt no shame. Especially with someone like Kennedy, who treated sex like eating and gender like a chess game to overturn on the table.

She had no shame. Before Lara, Kennedy had dated the entire spectrum of male, female, and non-binary, constructing a new identity from each until men included her in their scotch-drinking folds and women asked her for makeup tips.

Pronouns were a formality with Kennedy, who was the only person Lara knew who truly did not care what anyone called her, if a good time was assured.

I call her “she” because it was what I first knew her by.

Some people called Kennedy they, afraid of offending if they get it wrong.

But what they didn’t understand was that Kennedy was neither non-binary nor married to the binary.

She had been raised in such privilege, rich enough to thrive in a patriarchal world with enough God-given confidence that she didn’t fret about what it means to be a woman, unlike a certain wife of hers.

Usually, the thought aroused Lara.

So what happened? For several years, Lara lived for the thrills her partner gave her – and for the thrills they picked up from other people.

They were a team. Nobody could think of Lara without thinking of Kennedy, and vice versa.

Sure, they had independent friends and hobbies, but when it came to sex – of which there was a lot – they were a monolith.

Now Lara often stood in their mansion in the hills, wondering what was missing.

She was a woman who was used to moving on quickly when things dried up elsewhere.

She went to three different universities, all before getting her Bachelor’s.

Don’t get me started on how many grad programs I went through.

Before Kennedy, girlfriends and boyfriends alike were like tissues.

Disposable. Kennedy was the first person to really make her feel in love and lust, let alone for so long.

I’ve told her because she’s the best of all genders.

Kennedy’s chameleon qualities, both in public and private, turned Lara on.

Most of the time. You take a self-professed omnisexual who people can’t tell is male or female, and it’s always a party.

Lara needed that constant stimulation. She needed others, especially women, to be jealous of her.

And Kennedy was a catch, even without her family’s money.

So when Lara got the feeling she was falling out of love, her first inclination was to sever ties and go her own way. Screw Kennedy.

No, but…