Chapter 9 #2
It helped a little—but not really. It couldn’t block out the sounds, but it made it hurt a little less.
Until finally, a couple of hours after I’d returned, it finally went silent.
The last thing I heard being Thomas’s deep voice taking control.
“Boys, she needs a rest! You young bucks, you’ve fucked her to a standstill…
fucked her half to death… let her freshen up and have a breather…
don’t worry, I’m sure she ain’t going anywhere…
let her shower and get her breath back…”
I heard the patio door slide open. I couldn’t see, but I could imagine the picture.
Sasha first through the door… happy, sexually satisfied but in need of a break… heading upstairs to use the big walk-in shower in Todd and Jill’s master bedroom.
Thomas having to stop his young charges from pursuing her up the stairs so they could continue to worship and use my wife’s sexy white body.
I bet they were all sitting around on the big horseshoe arrangement of Todd and Jill’s three leather sofas, still wet from the pool, their eyes glued to the bottom of the stairs, awaiting Sasha’s return.
Each of them no doubt keyed up to be at the front of the queue, first to reclaim Sasha when she’d rested enough to be receptive to their attentions again.
While the sounds of the sexual free-for-all had been wafting through my window, I’d told myself that when the Sasha-centered orgy came to a halt, I’d go back round and sort things out.
So—as Sasha showered and recharged—I knew my moment of truth had arrived. If I didn’t intervene now, then when?
I gathered myself. Gathered my emotional strength and resolve. Convinced myself that—however upset, lonely and letdown I was feeling—I was going to go round and act in a controlled and reasonable way.
I still had a throbbing headache and hangover from the night before—not exactly the best preparation for the talk I needed to have and the scene I was about to confront—but I hardly had a choice!
Not unless I was going to leave Sasha to the mercies of these six young African athletes for the whole weekend!
So I made a final bathroom trip to splash water on my face, gave myself a pep talk as I looked at myself in the mirror, and headed next door to handle things in the way I’d decided thing would go down.
“Hey babe,” I beamed, a painted-on smile masking my true feelings.
Ignoring the presence of the six naked young black teenagers, slouched on the sofas, watching some NFL re-hash.
Ignoring them, pretending I’d not noticed them, and certainly not giving Thomas the pleasure of seeing just how antsy and emotional I was really feeling.
“Jase!” she beamed back. Good start.
“Boys, this is Jason, my hubby… boys, say hi to Jason… honey, this is Sipho, Rambo, Sal, Zain, Masho… and, last but not least, Khuts… they all fucked me really good… but Khuts was the one who fucked me best… got the top marks!”
That deliberately provocative statement caused hoots of derision and laughter… four cocky young athletes all shouting out that they were way better than Khuts… Khuts just sitting there grinning… and only the hulking figure of Rambo-Shrek lacking the confidence to fight his corner.
I made nice, smiling and waving at all of them as I let the hubbub die down—not that I exactly had a choice—then I pitched in with the words I’d been planning for the last hour or so.
“Hun, last night you said you’d just be gone for a few minutes… and that was twelve hours ago… I fly out Monday… so I was thinking that now you’ve ‘said hello’ to Thomas’s young friends… I was thinking you and I could get some time together…”
My request was greeted with as many hoots of derision as Sasha’s words about Khuts being best… my cheeks coloring up as I wondered how Sasha was going to react. Because, no matter how much noise the six youngsters made, it was only her views that mattered.
Even before their shouts and boos died down, Sasha was across the room with her arms thrown round my neck.
I could smell the booze on her breath—there were three empty bourbon bottles next to Thomas—and as she gave me a sloppy, drunk kiss and pushed her boobs hard against my chest, I sensed things were about to spiral.
“Oh, Jase… don’t be such a party popper… counting how long I’ve been away… keeping score like that, that’s so like you! That’s why mama needs her Kool-Aid, her elixir of youth… youth and black cock…”
Everyone was laughing again. Sasha was smiling, pleased with herself at her own verbal cleverness. Me, I just felt small and the odd man out.
“You were counting the minutes… when I was busy defending you when the guys wondered what kind of husband would let his wife do stuff like this…”
That was the moment that broke me. When my anger finally burst through the dam.
“Defending me! Defending me! How the fuck do you reckon that?
“When they called me a ‘sad sack’, what did you say? You just said it wasn’t my fault I had a ‘tiny white dick’ and ‘didn’t know to fuck’ like they do!”
Sasha had pulled back. How much was booze and how much was her whole ‘dealing with aging, becoming a mom’ thing, I had no idea. But what I did know was that her eyes were blazing at me, and that things were about to blow up.
“Well, it’s true, isn’t it! I do have a husband with a tiny white dick… a husband who prefers to watch me being fucked by strong, masculine black men than being the strong, masculine man himself… that is, as if he were ever capable of being like that…”
“You bitch! How dare you? How fucking dare you! I give you so much freedom… I’m so patient and understanding… and this is how you repay me! You fucking bitch!”
“Oh, fuck off! Don’t pretend this is all some selfless sacrifice for you, Jason… what a pile of shit,” she snorted.
“From day one, this has all been about what you wanted… about your uncontrollable desire to see me fuck hunky, masculine black guys with big cocks…
“Am I wrong? Did I say one word that wasn’t true?”
I’m totally ashamed at what happened next.
I didn’t stay and fight my corner. Or give Sasha an ultimate or try and drag her home.
No, instead I just stormed out of the house, slammed the door behind me and sat rocking back and forth—cushion clutched to my chest—in our living room.
Part of me rebelling against and hating what Sasha had said.
Part of me—a part I wasn’t yet ready to look at—knowing deep-down what she said was true.
I’d been the one who’d uploaded that very first advert.
I’d been the one who—whenever she’d cooled or tried to row back—had been front and center gently suggesting we should carry on…
And now we’d come to this. My semi-drunk wife shouting out home truths—not just to me, but in front of Thomas and six South African teenagers.
And now I just sat there rocking back-and-forth with that cushion clutched to my chest.
Was it really just a week ago that Sasha and I had been all loved up on our romantic trip to Mackinac Island? Since we’d spent the whole weekend reminiscing about the happiest of our past memories and the happy, family-based memories we were about to make.
Rocking back and forth, a different, far more painful memory came back to me.
From Friday night. From Friday night when I’d been watching Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dee fucking Sasha with their twin oak-tree cocks.
When Thomas had sidled up to me and told me his own version of home truths…
‘this is who she is now… four years with all those big black cocks… look how she loves it… look how she can’t get enough… ’
That memory, his words… what I’d just heard my drunken wife say in front of the whole world…
they all reinforced each other… made me really fearful…
the pain almost unbearable… as the hopeful optimist in me told myself that Sasha would realize the pain she’d caused and would be back through the front door in the next few minutes…