What's Left Unsaid - Chapter 10

Daisy’s Day

How could I have been so stupid?

Probably because I grew up in a majority of time where everything getting backed up to ‘the cloud’ wasn’t a reality. But now everything is synced. Saving to servers in some unknown place. Trusting corporations and executives to stick to their ‘promises’ that they will keep my data safe. But in order to even do that, I first have to opt in. I have to encrypt. Password protect.

Conner had been the one to set my phone up when we first got them. Going through all the motions of entering our emails and names and passwords and probably even blood type. Of course, my wonderful husband, working in cybersecurity, would want my phone to be backed up in case of an accident. It was sensible and almost as easy as a simple button click.

I hadn’t even thought about it until I was sitting in the locker room after having a shower. My shift was over, but it had been particularly busy, and I was much grimier than usual. I didn’t want to go home to Conner smelling as bad as I did, so I rinsed off quickly, wrapped myself in a towel and sat down at my locker, pulling out my phone to let Conner know I was gonna head home.

I had a text from Ash asking about the new harnesses we’d gotten in and where they’d been stored in the back. My response was quick and to the point, just like all of my messages had been to him in the past month. It was really surprising how civil Ash was being. Like we hadn’t slept together at all. I didn’t know if I should be happy or offended. But then again, I asked him, told him that I was ending things, and he accepted. So what should I have expected?

I’m sure if this were some sort of smutty novel, Ash would have continued to corner me. To pressure me. Telling me I wanted his dick. Needed it. Like I was a thoughtless fleshlight. The twisted societal paradox that women were just cock hungry whores if the cock was big enough and the man was a cocky enough asshole.

But Ash was as good as his word, and he kept things professional. Friendly even. Just like before. Though before he’d still been a flirt. It seemed like he might have even been taking an extra step and shutting down anything that might be deemed inappropriate.

Maybe Ash was human after all.

It was that thought process that reminded me of all the texts we’d shared over the past weeks. The videos. Photos. Oh, dear God… the multimedia of my infidelity! In a daze, sitting in a towel still dripping from my shower, I scrolled back through my texts and came upon file after file after file of my adultery. Obscene photos of my pussy stretched around Ash. Videos of him pounding into my cunt, making me scream. Fucking my asshole as I rubbed my clit. Sucking him, eyes wide and mouth full. Cum on my face. Dripping from my pussy and ass. All over my tits.

We had done so much. Dear god we had done practically everything, and he’d videos and photographed enough to easily classify me as an amateur pornstar.

The realization hit me like a train and made my stomach clench and felt like my heart was in a vice. God… I was such a slut. I scrolled back and back and back. Days and days of debauchery. Remembering my desperation not just for sex, which was always this constant nagging in the back of my brain, but for connection. The physical touch and filling my body longed for. But it wasn’t like I wanted just anyone. I wanted Conner. I wanted my husband.

But over the last year… nearly losing him. Sitting in the hospital day after day. Drinking bad coffee in sterile waiting rooms while he underwent surgery. Wondering if something else would go wrong. Would he die? What if he became paralyzed? He’d seemed so empty and scared and lost most days, lying in bed still bruised and battered.

Somehow he’d come out of it. Healed. Gotten out of bed and walked home with me. But he still had scars, physical and mental and emotional. And though his body may have healed most of the way, there were still things that had been broken that weren’t going to be so easy to fix.

Those first months had been easy to ignore my longing itch for intimacy. For penetration. If the urge came, I took care of myself while Conner rested. It was enough to take off the edge, but never enough to completely fulfill the nagging, longing, poking and prodding portion of my twisted hypersexual brain. Before the accident, time with Conner was enough. I didn’t need it every day, but Conner was always ready to go when I became amorous. Now, all that had changed. And there was no new normal. Sometimes change can be easy, even when it’s thrust upon you. But more often than not, it’s hard, and finding that new normal or equilibrium was drastically difficult.

My slip up had come when stress was high, grief was deep, depression oppressive, and my arousal so strained that I was a cord ready to snap. Ash was there. The situation was ripe and sharp and things just… fell apart.

But my choices were my own. There was no one to blame but myself. I was the one who was unfaithful, and no amount of excuses about hypersexuality, depression, or grief could change the fact that I’d not only slipped up once, but over and over and over. I made the choice.

The fact that I’d forgotten about this scandalous proof of my affair was just another testament to my lapse in judgement. How far I’d gone down the slut slide. So, I started to delete them. That’s when I got the notification.

“This will delete the file from your device. Would you like to delete from the cloud?”

I stared at that message for a solid minute trying to understand what I was reading. Then, in a haze, I tapped over to the cloud drive where I found all my photos, videos… and texts. They’d all been backed up. My hands were shaking when I clicked on the folder and saw the ‘recently viewed’ date.

Just a couple weeks ago. Someone had accessed the folder and looked at its contents.

There were only two people on this account. Me and Conner. So if I didn’t look at it…

I was shaking.

“Oh God.” I gasped softly and nearly dropped my phone.

Had Conner looked at my texts? Had he seen the photos? Pictures? Did he know? And if he did… How long? How long had he known? Was the first time just a couple of weeks ago, or had he found the messages earlier? Maybe he hadn’t seen anything. He could have just been checking the account, glanced at my most recent texts and moved on.

Surely he would have said something…

I understand.

Something in me shifted. I felt like my bones were trying to leap out of my body. Like I wanted to melt into a puddle.

I understand.

I’d understand… if you need to take care of yourself.

I folded in on myself. Crumbling over as if I were having the most painful period cramps of my life. Oh god. Did he know? Did he know even then and… and he was telling me it was okay? That he understood… he understood why I was cheating with Ash?

The images of my husband, the man I loved more than anything, stumbling upon my texts, revealing my horrible infidelity. Pornographic videos and images. I just thank God I didn’t sext him. We didn’t have that sort of interaction. Sexting seemed intimate in comparison to the simple, raw sex Ash and I had been involved in. Ash was not someone you got ‘intimate’ with. He was a walking dildo filled with cum. At least to me. But what would that matter? Intimacy or not, my husband would see images of me betraying him.

How humiliating. How was he still functioning? How could he even look at me, let alone let me touch him? We’d been doing all sorts of things over the last month, and there wasn’t any sign of him knowing that I’d been unfaithful.

Why hadn’t he said anything?

Because he’s a good man. He loves you. His whole world has crashed and changed, and he’s struggling to get back to some sort of stable footing. But he’s not self-centered. He’s seen beyond himself and noticed your own struggles.

Maybe he thinks he’s not enough? That he’s lacking because of his condition? Having sex lately with the penis sheath had been good. Great even. At least for me. Conner hadn’t complained, but… oh, you stupid, stupid bitch! How fucking selfish of you! He’s fucking you with a piece of plastic. What the hell is he gonna get out of that? It doesn’t matter if you lick and kiss and suck and fondle him until he ejaculates. You know just as well as he does that there’s nothing like the feeling of sliding in or getting penetrated.

I was sobbing now. Sobbing because I was so stupid. So blind. Selfish. I was a stupid bimbo slut. Stepping out on my husband, who’s hurt and struggling. Afraid to tell me because all that stupid ego and toxic masculinity he grew up with has poisoned the part of him that would allow him to open up. To confess his struggles and fears.

I was so focused on myself. Trying to fix things the way I thought they should be fixed. What else had I missed? How badly was Conner hurting? Was he in danger? People who harmed themselves rarely looked like they were going to do it before it inevitably happened. What if his smile was fake. His words were hollow. And inside he was dark and empty and lost?

I wasn’t even fully dry as I started throwing on my clothes, grabbed my bag and was practically sprinting out of the gym to my car.

I had to go and see Conner. Calling him, texting him, wasn’t enough. We needed to talk face to face. I had to confess. To clear the air. We had to open this wound before it was too infected for us to heal.

My car wouldn’t start. I turned the key aggressively, almost hard enough to bend it. “Fuck!” I shouted, stepping out of the car, and kicking the tires. “Fucking piece of shit!” I was almost in tears.

“Whoa there!” Ash came jogging up. Great. Just what I needed. The man I’d had an affair with coming up to me when I felt like my marriage was crumbling to the ground.

“Fuck off, Ash!” I turned, snarling.

He stopped, eyes wide and hands up as if trying to placate a rabid animal. “Hey. Chill. What’s the problem, D?”

I stood there staring daggers at him, fists clenched at my sides trying to calm the storm that was raging inside me. Holding back the tears. The anger. “Car won’t start.” I finally muttered through gritted teeth.

Ash nodded. “Okay. Let me take a look under the hood.”

Over the next few minutes, Ash looked over my engine before slamming the hood shut. “Well… I wish it was just the battery, but I think your alternator is shot.”

“Fuck!” I screamed. A couple of people who were walking into the gym turned and stared wide-eyed at me for a minute before hurrying inside, probably afraid I was about to freak out.

Ash stared at me with concern. “Listen. Let me give you a ride. You can call a tow truck, and they’ll take it to your mechanic.”

I couldn’t go and see Conner riding in Ash’s car. If he knew about the affair, had seen all the videos and photos of me and Ash, the last thing I should do was show up at Conner’s job with him. That would just reinforce the cuckolding humiliation he was no doubt feeling.

I understand.

What do you understand, Conner? Do you understand why I jumped into bed with an asshole like Ash? Because I don’t. Is my sex drive so out of control that I can’t push it aside enough when my husband needs me to be strong? Am I just a weak, cock hungry whore?

Tears were brimming in my eyes.

“Daisy. Come on. Let’s get you home.” Ash stepped forward but didn’t touch me. He just motioned to his car and, with no other choice, at least none that I could think of, I walked with him and slipped into the passenger seat.

…

What happened next was just another reinforcement of my depravity.

Ash took me home and walked me inside. There was no tension or pressure between us. But I was so upset. So angry at myself. Spiralling as I thought about how I’d ruined everything. Thrown away my husband’s trust when he needed me the most, all for some dick. A dick that was right there.

In a haze of anger and sexual destruction, I pulled Ash into a kiss hard and violent. At first… to Ash’s credit, he actually tried to stop me. He could see I was upset and didn’t want to take advantage. But when I pulled him back, grabbed his hand and put it on my ass and bit his lip and sucked it, his resistance collapsed faster than tissue paper in a downpour.

We stumbled to my room. God, how depraved was I? And shed our clothes. I sucked him hard and messy, making him groan, grabbing my hair and thrusting my face down on him as if we were impervious to pain. I nearly threw up from how hard and deep he thrust into my throat.

Pushing him onto the bed, I mounted him. Fucked him. Rode and rammed. We exhausted ourselves quickly and slowed down for a minute. The feeling of his raw cock inside was a reminder of what I was missing. Sex with Conner and that fake phallus was good, but nothing beat something raw and real.

Everything was in a haze of thoughts and pleasure and pain. Ash was his same talkative, cocky self, and then… he said something about Conner. It wasn’t demeaning exactly, more like a question… but it lit my heart and brain on fire.

I was cheating. I was fucking around in my marrital bed. What I was doing to my husband was unforgivable. Disrespectful. But what little bit of dignity and loyalty I still had, the small scrap I was clinging to, wouldn’t let Conner be shit-talked about by the likes of anyone, especially Ash.

My verbal rebuke hit Ash like a boxer's fist to the face, the gut, the groin. And I could see in his eyes that he understood and Conner’s name would never pass his lips again.

With the tension even higher, he fucked me. Fucked me relentlessly. I came over and over. Almost as much as that first night when Conner had practically ruined me when we were first trying the sheath. I’d been prepared to act that night, but not a single moan or scream or orgasm was false. And none after either. Even though there were things wrong with using that false penis, Conner was a beast and would fuck me like he was trying to make me raise a white flag in surrender.

Was it because he knew about my affair? Was he angry and trying to take me back? To prove himself? God, was he comparing himself to Ash?

My thoughts stalled when Ash cried out, shooting his cum inside me, and my own orgasm took me again. I screamed out, and my head was shaking back and forth… and then I saw him.

His eyes.

Sweat and hair obscured my vision as I stopped moving, staring at the door. There was no one there. The small sliver of space showed an empty hallway.

Had I really seen him?

Was it my imagination?

My subconscious projecting my husband standing out in the hall, pushing out of his own bedroom, watching another man shoot his semen inside my pussy? A false image because of what I’d been thinking once I realized my texts had been accessible to my husband? Maybe it was a phantom. My brain conjuring an image of my husband watching me like he’d watched the digital evidence.

Ash was panting, his cock twitching and slowly deflating inside me.

“Get off.” I muttered. And then more forcefully. “Get off me and get out, Ash. Get out!” I was almost shouting now.

Ash stumbled off of me and grabbed his clothes. He ‌dressed quickly, eyes darting to me as I lay on the bed looking panicked.

“D… are you sure you’re okay?”

“Please, Ash.” I sobbed softly. “Please… I’m sorry, just… just go, please.”

He hesitated. Say what you want about Ash, he was a walking dick, but he still had feelings. Maybe it was shallow empathy. But it was still empathy. “I… are you sure? Should I call someone?”

I shook my head and sat up, not caring that I was naked and had cum leaking from me like a busted ice cream machine. “Go, Ash. I’ll be okay.”

He nodded, not completely convinced, but left without another word.

I pulled up my knees, resting my chin on them as I wrapped my arms around my legs. The house was quiet. The photos of my wedding, vacations, family, stared back at me in righteous judgement. I was so worthless. Conner deserved better.

Had he seen? Had he really been in the hall? He wasn’t supposed to be home until later. If he did see… then what was I going to do? Would he leave me? He probably should. I wouldn’t blame him.

I started to laugh. I’d understand.

I started to cry, hiccup, laugh, falling over on the bed, and soon began to wail in despair. I’d ruined everything. And I didn’t know how to fix it.