Copyright © Vivienne Harris-Scott. 2014
“Where the fuck do you think you're going?” I asked coolly.
I had been waiting for her in the dark for the past ten minutes.
I knew she had come home and gone upstairs to get her gateway bag.
I knew she intended to leave me tonight.
I knew she was pregnant.
I simply could not let her go.
It's all about winning isn't it? Who cared about a little collateral damage?
I had lost my way a long time ago and she was the first one to point it out. But what was I supposed to do?
Vic knew me, sometimes better than I knew myself, and I felt horrible knowing she was now terrified of me, but again: what was I supposed to do?
When I asked her to marry me, I truly thought she would be the perfect politician's wife. She was beautiful, intelligent, multi lingual, a real cosmopolitan woman and a lawyer. I felt truly lucky to be the man she loved. I wanted to show her off everywhere we went.
One couldn't have created a more perfect candidate for the role. Every time I looked at her I felt my heart twinge, and my loins react, I couldn't wait for her to be officially mine. I simply couldn’t take a chance of having any other man whisk her away from me. She was mine.
We made a striking couple, her mocha skin and ambery green eyes contrasting with my blond locks and blue eyes, we were in love, had amazing sexual chemistry and with my political ambition, I was certain nothing could stop us on our way to the top.
Now 3 years later, as I was waiting for her to come down, I wondered when it all had started to crumble.
When we had become strangers to each other.
When I had become the monster, I now was....
When it would all end...
I wanted to be the Premier. At all costs.
First, the state; then, the country.
Nothing and no one would stand in my way without suffering the consequences.
My true love wasn't my wife. It was politics and winning.
Well, at least my priorities were in that order, once...
For better or worse. She had accepted my proposal and within seven weeks, we were married.
Our first year of marriage had gone seemingly smoothly, we adjusted to married life quite easily; we were still madly in love with each other and moved into a new house. The only wrench was Vic not being able to practice law in Sydney because no one would hire her. I discovered with stupor that my own country was anchored in prejudice and my wife was a first hand victim.
It made me furious, but she had refused my help every time I had offered it, she wanted a job on her merits not because of whom she was married to, so I gave up, and tried to distract her with the best Sydney social scene had to offer. I made sure she would receive invitations for all cocktail parties, charities' events, and any gathering worth going to; she had memberships in all the best clubs and the likes, so she would keep occupied and not be too distressed at not finding a job. I was home every day, cherishing her, making love to her, reassuring her; I still and would always want her, no matter what. Fuck the job, she didn’t need to work, money would never be an issue for us. I really was afraid, almost terrified, she would pack her bags and leave me then, if she couldn't practice.
It didn't happen.
Even after she found out, I had indeed made a call to get her hired at a top tier firm; she didn’t leave me, as I feared she would. She had simply said, “you did this for me, not to me, it makes me love you more. Just don’t do it ever again.”
She just resigned, and her practicing in Sydney was never mentioned again.
We celebrated our first anniversary in Bali. I chose Bali because a few months back upon offering her a new house as a 6 months wedding anniversary gift, she had chosen a Balinese theme for our home. She made a couple of trips to the island to hand select furniture and said she truly felt at peace every time she was there even if only for a few days. The house was a reflection of this and the countless hours she had spent decorating it was a testament to her love of the place. I thought it would be perfect to have a bit of peace before the year of the election started as I knew upon our return, the craziness would be overwhelming us, and my marriage would have to take a back seat, we stayed 8 days being absorbed only by each other. She was still my everything, and I was hers.
Things were good between us. Still.
Soon they would change...
I would become Premier in 12 months from now no matter what. That was my vow.
Within 3 weeks of being back, I hired Anna Blaton as my campaign manager; she was a former creative director, and had successfully transitioned into the art of selling politicians 3 years prior. Her credentials were impressive, and the woman had the appearance of a model, which didn't hurt one bit.
She was smart which was a given for her job, but she was also truly ruthless which made her a kindred spirit for me. When my wife called me "corrupted" as I would tell her of my strategies to crush my opponents, Anna called me 'brilliant’.
Anna understood the game. And before I realized, we were sleeping together.
Ok, that's a lie. I knew what I was doing: affairs don't just happen.
Ask any man who's cheating on his wife, they'd tell you there's always a deciding moment when they make the conscious decision to sleep with someone else. Even when they are drunk as skunk, there is this millisecond before one succumbs...
For me, it had happened on a late evening August 2002; about six months after starting to work closely with Anna and five months before Election Day. I was writing a speech I would be giving at the North Sydney Club the following weekend, and Anna had asked me if Vic would be present. I had said no, and maybe the tiredness or irritation at my wife's refusal to attend any public event in my company, made me add, "Sometimes, I wonder if I made a mistake marrying her." I regretted the words the minute they passed my lips, truthfully, but it was too late.
I knew full well, the toll the campaign had taken on my wife, who eschewed politics, so really I had no excuses, yet I let the words slip, probably as a justification as to what was about to happen.
Anna looked at me, said nothing, went around my desk and my chair, and started to massage my shoulders. I closed my eyes as the tension left my body, and she finally said softly, "Ethan, maybe you did make a mistake. You need someone who will support you no matter what, and sadly Vic doesn't understand the compromises you have to make in the name of the game..."
That's how it started, a few soothing words, one touch, one kiss after this statement, and my will faltered. I was having sex with my campaign manager on my oak desk.
I rationalized by telling myself Vic would never know, and what she didn't know could not and would not hurt her, I was still hers, not matter what. She still had my heart and my soul. Who cared if I took care of my carnal needs on the side? I didn’t. I was a man with needs, and while I still loved my wife very much, our sex life had gone from 100 to nil lately due to our constant disagreements over the tactics I chose to use to get ahead of my opponents. Vic was slowly closing herself to me, and I couldn’t force her to have sex with me when she regarded me with loath in her eyes.
She is the only woman, no, person, I know whom with one look can pin me down and make me feel all kinds of shame; a feat, even my mother never managed. It’s a tremendous amount of power to have over someone, and she had it over me. Whether it was my political or personal choices, she still can with that one look, make my heart constrict in my chest, and create that lump in my throat…
When we would have sex, it was as intense as ever, I’ll admit. No other woman has ever been able to take me where Vic has, there is this fierceness between our bodies, this silent understanding about our boundaries, or lack thereof, my never ending need to please her, so she stays mine…but these occurrences were getting rarer and rarer. Anna was just there to pick up the extra slack.
Of course, the affair was to remain secret. No one would ever know or be suspicious; after all, Anna was my campaign manager, it was normal we would spend so much time together.
But Anna had other ambitions, and as we had been regularly sleeping together for 4 months, as Election Day was approaching, she told me she wanted more, and asked me if I would leave my wife anytime soon. I told her this would not happen, ever, and broke it off with her on the spot. While she didn't resign from her position- as she said she didn't quit her clients until they were elected - she did make a public remark with a bantering tone to a journalist at the last press conference to the local news outlets before the E-day, which could lead to a disturbing interpretation if my wife ever heard about it.
Unfortunately, Vic had caught it and confronted me on the eve of the election.
I was stressed, pissed off and on edge. The day had been exhausting to say the least with the last minute rounds of constituents to remind them to vote, foreign press interviews and other candidate sparring, speech preparation for the next day's results, etc, etc.
When I got home that night, I just wanted to collapse into bed and sleep till next year.
Vic had other plans: she was waiting for me, a very rare occurrence. She had been chain smoking as I could see the remands in the kitchen ashtray, and greeted me home with this: "So tell me E, how long have you been sleeping with Anna? " when I entered our kitchen to get water from the fridge.
She had this smile, almost challenging me to contradict her. I could tell, she was furious.
"I'm not sleeping with Anna." I replied calmly, already wanting to leave the room as I could feel my own anger flare up, and did not want to have an argument with my wife that specific night. I simply did not know if I could keep myself in check.
Vic was determined. She pursued, in a dangerously calm voice, "E, don't lie to me. The woman practically declared to the press she was your de facto wife! No woman would be stupid enough to make such a declaration, in public no less, if there weren't some truth in it! So, don't insult me! It's bad enough you are humiliating me by sleeping with her!"
"I am NOT sleeping with Anna. This is the last time I'm saying this, so please, let it go." I yelled walking out of the kitchen. This seemed to infuriate her more. She followed me to our bedroom where I had gone, and was already beginning to undress...
She continued, “E. Do you even know how this look? Not only for me but also for you?! I mean, clearly you don’t seem to care the woman is humiliating your wife, but how about you? Your fucking career, E? Surely you care enough about it…” Our eyes crossed in the mirror, both sets ablaze.
I stepped out of the bathroom where I had removed my tie and shirt and trying to control my breathing, said as calmly as I could, “Vic, Stop it. Of course, I care! About you and my career! Do you think I would even allow anyone to humiliate my wife?!”
"E, I'm not one those bloody idiots who believe anything that comes out of your mouth! I know you. Remember? This is me… and you are lying to me! Please look at me while I'm taking to you…" she said her voice still trembling with anger, while grabbing my elbow to force me to turn around.
All I can say is: I didn't mean it.
I saw myself shove her out, so she would let me go, but my hand somehow ended back slapping her cheek with some force, causing her to lose balance and stumble onto the corner of our bed, hitting her back on one of the posters.
There was a moment of sheer stupor between us, then her eyes filled with tears.
The look she gave me signalled the finality of our marriage.
I knew right then and there my wife would leave me. It was inevitable. Anna or no Anna.
My party won the election the next day.
I had apologized the following evening. I hadn't seen Vic in the morning. She had slept in a guestroom and when I had tried to enter it before leaving that morning, the door had been locked which, to be honest, didn't surprise me at all.
I knew she had been shocked the previous night. She had immediately left our bedroom before I could formulate a proper apology. In truth, I was a bit shocked too. I mean, Vic and I have an intense relationship, always have, but physical violence had never been part of it. Domination, control and surrender yes, violence never. It’s always been purely cerebral between us. I had never stricken a woman before, but I had been so tired, I went to bed straight away, and I'm ashamed to admit, I fell asleep within 5 minutes of hitting the sheets without a thought for my wife's distress.
Now, the election was won, I would be sworn in later in the month and our second wedding anniversary would be in three days; and I was pretty certain my wife would present me with divorce papers as a gift if I didn't do something to convince her to forgive me for last night's events.
I had no choice. If the word got out that I was a wife beater, my career would be all but over. No PR genius would be able to save me from not only public embarrassment and humiliation, but peer condemnation would be the clincher.
Moreover, I simply couldn’t picture my life without her in it. I know, it sounds convoluted, considering the year we had, but I truly loved my wife.
That very night, at home, in our living room, on my knees, my arms encircling her waist, my eyes boring straight into hers, I begged her not to leave me and promised I would do whatever it took to make her happy again. I reiterated my wedding vows as she looked at me intensely, trying to see the truth in my words.
I told her, it was about the ring, and it was about the vows. The promises we made to each other.
And I meant it.
That very day, with the fear of her impending departure in mind, while receiving countless congratulations, I had been crumbling internally. I had suddenly realized that I had been neglecting her due to the campaign, and she had been alone for most of the past year. It was actually nothing short of a miracle she hadn’t walked out on me yet.
I told her so, and promised she’ll never feel alone ever again; I added, I was not sleeping with Anna - not at that time anyway -. I still loved her and believed, I could and would be a better husband if she accepted to stay, and of course would never ever lay a hand on her again.
She was my everything, my baby, and I was an insensitive bastard to have forgotten it.
We had magic once, wasn't it worth fighting for?
I guess she believed me. She stayed.
Vic was my wife.
She knew where the bodies were buried.
That's the problem you have when you marry someone smart with an extraordinary memory for details.
I mean, she may not have approved of my tactics - ok, so I know she didn't, we had argued enough in the past year – And may have had suspicions about my affair with Anna - well, I didn't lie when I said I wasn't sleeping with Anna: I wasn't when I said it! Give me a break! - But in truth, the main problem with Vic leaving me would be what she knew. Never mind that her leaving would break my heart, and I wasn’t sure I could or would ever be the same without her being there. Her leaving could affect my career, and not for the better.
I had always been truthful to her in that regards, and told her exactly what I had been doing to win that election, in spite of knowing, she disapproved; but I figured she needed to know exactly who she was married to.
Not only my honesty would cost me my wife, but also I would lose my self-respect and become a real criminal in the process.
Vic knew a lot of things and she remembered them all.
I had a first hand experience when about a week after the election, as we were talking about one of my cabinet member, she asked me innocently if the man wasn't the same one whose son had been arrested in Byron Bay for drug offences which I had made disappear by personally calling the Commissioner.
I replied indeed he was, but was already thinking about the rest of the things she knew.
Thank God, I had convinced her to give me another chance at being a decent husband, but from now on, I simply would keep talking about my political 'activities' to a bare minimum. She would be happier, and I wouldn't have cold sweats thinking about the damage that could be done if she ever decided to go public.
For the first few months after becoming Premier, things had actually been dramatically improving between us. I could tell she was regaining her true self, her PhD was coming around extensively, and the time we spent together was actually good, very good. We laughed more, talked more, and started to enjoy each other company again. I took time away from my functions just for us, and it was drastically improving our relationship and our life in general. Real tenderness and banter was back in our household. I was slowly back in sync with my wife, and felt free to ask her advice when something bothered me or when I needed input in seeing the bigger picture. Vic is an intelligent woman, and it is something that I have always admired. I knew she still had some doubts about our marriage, and the incident that had happened on the eve of the election was still fresh in her mind, but I was truly doing my best to get my wife back. I missed, her. I missed us. My focus was still politics, but it started to dawn on me, that my marriage necessitated as much commitment. She was still sleeping in the guest room and I had yet to make love to her ever since, but it was apparent she had decided to give her all to this reconciliation, and I was trying my damnest not to let her down.
I know, it sound ridiculous now, considering where we are at - with her upstairs packing and trying to leave.... –
But I sincerely loved Vic and I still do. She knows me, all of me. She had loved me enough to marry me. I couldn’t let that go. It is about the vows.
Things started to unravel for me at about the 7 months mark, around august 2003 when Anna whom I had kept on as chief of staff walked into my office and announced we were through.
We had resumed our affair from may, 4 months after I took office, on the premise that she understood and accepted I would never leave my wife, as, as a matter of fact we were trying to make our marriage work more than ever and I wouldn’t tolerate interference. I would only be available to her for the purpose of sex and work. If she could be content with these parameters, with no emotional strings, then things would be splendid.
I said it before, I am a man, and I have needs. My wife would not fulfil them -I admit, I was responsible for her pulling away- but nonetheless, I had needs, and Anna was just ready and happy to spread her legs for me when I went to her after 4 months of total abstinence. It wasn’t about intimacy, or getting her to know me or love me, it was just about relieving stress. Crass, I know, but it’s true, and she was fine with it.
Well, until august 2003 anyway, when she told me she had met someone and wanted to give it a real shot, so there would be nothing but a work relationship between us from then on.
I accepted her decision fairly easily because things between Vic and I were good, and I had high hopes to bed my wife within the next few weeks making any sexual need for Anna completely redundant.
A few weeks turned into, 1,2,3 months .We were in November and I was still nowhere near my wife's bed.
She had let me kiss her more deeply over the past few months, eliciting the same fire she did since we first met, and even allowed me to touch her breasts, but that was it. Oral sex and intercourse was still missing in our relationship. On one occasion as we passionately kissed on the sofa, late in the evening, she had actually granted me a few minutes of suckling and biting her glorious breasts and I had almost begged her to let me make love to her as I could feel she was getting flushed.
Oh God, I loved sucking these nipples, they were my personal Cadbury fetish, I missed them so much! I'm actually getting hard just thinking about it now.
But when one of my hand had wandered gliding on her crotch and cupping her womanhood, it had been like a bucket of iced water was dropped; she had gotten up abruptly saying, "I'm sorry E, I can't, I'm not ready..." I had replied, almost yelling in frustration, "Baby, you were moaning! I want you, I need you, it's been too long, please let me..."
She had walked upstairs to her bedroom, and as I was left literally hanging in our lounge, I had felt cold anger course through my entire body. I had almost gone after her that night.
No matter how angry or distant I got with her, she could make me beg. Still.
The thing is, Vic and I had always had a very intense sexual life. From the first night, I touched her, she awakened needs in me, I didn’t know I had before meeting her.
Touching her, possessing her became ma raison d’'être while I was in Europe. I was in London when she was in Geneva, but I became a regular on Swiss air and the Eurostar, seizing every spare moment I had to meet her, to touch her. I always wanted more. She had no boundaries, her sexuality totally unleashed, as if our first night had opened unknown gates. She was carefree and liberated with me; always pushing me to new heights, I didn’t even know existed.
I’m not saying she created a monster, but sometimes, as I think about my sexual needs, I wonder.
He shakes his head.
I simply didn’t know I had the need to truly possess someone until I met her. It was strange; the intensity of our first night took us both by surprise. We’ve discussed it actually on our 2nd night together. Her, because she realized she needed to be possessed, dominated and accepted in her entirety, me because I truly needed to possess her. No other woman has ever had this effect on me. I’ve slept with plenty, but not once, ever, experienced the possessiveness my wife elicits in me.
It’s messing with my head. Fuck.
I don’t know. I dominate her more often than not, but she is in complete control of our sex life, because she surrenders, she lets me do whatever I want, only because she wants it. Sometimes, I would get high just by wrapping her hand in mine, whispering in her ear, “Say it”, watching her respond to my words, fuelling my own need. Her body would tense up as if becoming electrically wired, her breasts would swell and distend whatever piece of garment she would be wearing, her legs would slight part as well as her lips, regardless of where we would be, her eyes become glassy with raw need and she would look at me with what became ‘the look’ between us. The look that said, “I’m yours. Always. Always. Now, please take me”. I wouldn’t touch her until she said the words, but in truth, I was the one surrendering to her commands. Because, once I touched her, I was hers, and I can’t count how many times she brought me to the brink of losing my sanity. How many times, I have been the one, giving her ‘the look’, the one saying the words, until she finally touched me, or allowed me touch her.
The first time we had sex in public cemented my need of her, I knew from then on, no one else would ever accept me in my entirety, in my complexities like she did.
It was on our 3rd ‘date’, three weeks after our first night. I had flown to Geneva, and had gone to the UN headquarters to pick her up on a Friday night and as the elevator was descending, with people around us, I pressed my body against her back, slowly caressing her wrist, whispering to her ear how much I wanted her and was looking forward to make her mine. She had surprised me, by saying out loud to no one in particular, “Can you please press L4?” all the while, her hand reached her back, slid down my zipper and she had started to fondle my manhood. I had been almost paralysed. As most people got off on the ground floor and then the first parking levels, she hadn’t turned, nor stopped. When the door opened on the final level of the parking garage and we were the only ones left, she had pulled my zipper back up and exited the cabin without a single glance back. She had marched on to the corner of the garage where she had removed her stiletto heels, climbed on the hood of a parked car, and broke the lighting bulb with her heel. Finally, sliding her business pencil skirt up, so her white panties were visible, her garter belt and stockings showcasing her treasured triangle, she had slightly parted her legs, her eyes never leaving mine, and had said one single word, “Yours.”
The message was clear. She was mine. I could take her, anytime, anywhere. As she was standing there, her eyes sparkling, challenging me, I simply forgot where we were, my all-consuming need of her took over, and I ripped the panties off, eager to quench my thirst for her. As I placed her legs on top of my shoulders, held her waist and started to feverish drink from her, all I could think was I would never, ever, get my fill of this woman.
I still haven’t, in spite of our current circumstances. She can still drive me crazy with want.
Later, as I guided my aching cock into her wet core, her body bent over the hood of the very same car, I was on fire and at every stroke, asked her, “who’s fucking you? “ and I would torture her by holding still until she panted my name, “who’s pussy am I fucking?” I kept on, “Yours” she chanted, “Who do you belong to “ I asked, as I began bucking like a wild animal, fucking her with an uncontrollable lust and passion I had never felt for anyone, “You” she had cried. “Mine” our voices had said at the same time, as I emptied my seed in her, finally collapsing against her back, in the public garage.
As we had walked out of the parking lot and the attendant gave us a knowing grin, she had returned his gaze, unapologetic.
I told her I loved her for the first time that night. I was staying at the Richemond, overlooking the lake, and as we were having dinner on the terrace, I looked at her and undoubtedly knew, she was The One. I made love to her slowly and languorously, embedding in my mind every pore of her. We only had known each other for 3 weeks and been on 3 ‘dates’, but I knew with certainty, I could not and would not spend the rest of my life without her. I would be relentless until she was officially mine. In truth, no other woman had me feel the way she does. Even now.
She completes me as much as I complete her. I still don’t how she can be so assertive and dominant and at the same time so submissive. I guess the same question could be asked about me. Privately, she used to call me her special alpha male, the only one she chose to submit to, I guess, she is my alpha female.
This situation is fucking with my head, he thinks.
His mind is drifting to the way she feels, the way she looks, the way she taste and the sounds coming from her mouth.
The woman is simply driving me crazy, he says to himself.
Sex was an essential and complex part of our relationship and I won’t lie, I missed it. Terribly.
Making love to her isn't just about the pleasure, and it is very pleasurable, but it is one of those few moments when we are still totally connected, body, soul and mind.
It is an incredible turn on yes, but it is also a release. It is communication, our secret code. I am hers and she is mine.
She is the only woman who has made me cry during sex, and I don’t mean sobs, but tears of pure pleasure and joy, as I take her to her climax or she takes me to mine. She is the only woman who has seen my dark side, embraced and craved for it. The only one for whom I accept to relinquish power to, to please her. The only one I can show my true self to.
She is my yang. Still
She is mine as much as I am hers, and that’s why this situation was slowly but surely becoming unbearable.
I was growing increasingly frustrated. I couldn't and didn’t want to start another affair. I was the Premier, I wouldn't take the chance; and I refused to use high-class prostitutes as some of my colleagues did.
I wanted my wife.
I couldn't have her.
I started drinking more than usual to relieve the stress.
December came and went. Yet another month without being able to have her.
Our 3rd anniversary was around the corner, a few weeks away.
I was her husband.
I was the Premier.
I had waited over a year. It was time.
The week leading to the night that changed our relationship forever was filled with both anticipation and anger.
I hadn't forgotten our anniversary. I had a 5 kilos box of Hediard chocolates sitting on my desk just for her and would be taking it with me tonight. A necklace and earrings set from Chopard would be delivered to the house in the morning as we would be having breakfast and starting out another year as a married couple. I had it all planned out.
I knew Vic had cleared my schedule with my assistant for our diner rendez vous at Centrepoint that night. I was looking forward to it, but I was also scared she would deny me once more, chocolates notwithstanding, and I knew I simply would not take it. Not anymore. I had become angry with her in the past few weeks wondering how much more I was supposed to play eunuch for her.
I started to drink at the American Club at 6 pm that evening; I knew I was supposed to meet her at 8 at the restaurant as she had requested, and I figured, I had time to loosen up a bit. I was eager to see her but also apprehensive.
I continued to drink as acquaintances would stop by to chat, and before I realized, I was quite intoxicated and the clock showed 8.30 pm. I knew she probably had tried to ring me, but I had turned my mobile phone off upon leaving the office with the box of chocolate in hand, ordering my staff not to disturb me under any circumstances that evening.
9.30 pm came, and still at my chair, I knew she would be furious. Probably furious and worried sick. I simply could not force myself to move, even though the Centrepoint building was only a 5 minutes walk away. I was in a buzz.
By midnight, I had polished ¾ of a bottle of Glenfiddish 30 years-old reserve that the waiter had left in front of me as I had instructed him to bring it over after the 6th drink.
I was drunk, and I was horny.
I decided to go and look for my wife.
I was yearning for her, she was mine, and I would no longer be denied.
I don't know what time it was when I finally made it home.
I went straight to her bedroom where I knew she would have fallen asleep.
I opened the door, and the dim bedside lamp on the nightstand was still on, allowing me to look at her.
She was breathing softly, he head resting on the pillow, her face surrounded by her lovely curls.
She was beautiful.
She had on a soft pink and black silk gown that I'd never seen before and her body was turned towards the beside table giving me and uninterrupted view of her plunging neckline and mounds that were stretching, squeezed against the fabric, her chest gently heaving up and down...
Her left nipple was actually almost out of the gown, inviting...
Barely held in position by her arm against it...
Begging to be licked and sucked...
I couldn't resit.
As I approached the bed and fell onto my knees only inches away from her body, still watching her, I knew what I was about to do was wrong.
My last thought was, ‘I'm going to hell for this.’ as I placed a few kisses on her neckline, and finally my mouth latched on the tender flesh of her nipple.
A better man would have stopped right there. Hell, a better man wouldn’t have been in that room!
Her nipple became hard in my mouth, my hand cupping her breast and rubbing it while I was sucking and chewing, my balls started to hurt, and her body tensed up.
I felt her protest, felt her trying to pull away, but I didn't let her. Instead pulling her warmth closer to me, I draped my powerful legs over her own so she couldn't get away, and slid my other arm to her throat before ripping the gown off her body.
Better man be damned…I couldn’t— wouldn’t stop.
I needed her skin exposed. I had craved her warmth and her touch, but most of all I had craved her. My manhood was hardening to the edge of painfulness as I felt her nipple harden more against my tongue and the closeness of her body turned me on beyond reason.
My hand slid down her body, my leg pulling back and forcing her to open her own, so my hand could glide between her legs, my finger trailing down her slit until I found her moist opening. Her clit was swelling and I told her so, as she was crying and trying to fight me off.
I could feel her hips twisting, as she was trying to pull away, but it had the effect to make me rock hard, and aroused me more.
I kissed her. She bit me.
I licked her neck as I could taste the blood, and pushed my member inside her.
I wanted her, needed her.
I no longer cared.
I was acting like a mad man.
I was a mad man.
Taking my own wife against her will.
I couldn't think clearly anymore. A deep groan came out of my throat as I could feel her muscles clenching around my pulsating member.
That's all that mattered to me, as I pounded her more forceful, more needily, until I finally felt the familiar tingling and knew I would come within seconds.
I cried out when it happened, looking into her eyes, before collapsing.
I lay there trying to catch my breath unable to utter a single word.
I could see and hear her cry.
I knew what I had done.
There would be no turning back from this.
I saw her get up, semen leaking from her body.
I closed my eyes, the image, unbearable.
The next morning, the rays of sun through the blinds of her bedroom awakened me.
I was still on her bed, and within minutes, the recollection on how I had ended up here came back to me. I felt bile rising in my throat, rushed to the bathroom only to realize the door was locked.
She was still in it.
I went to our bedroom, used our bathroom, cleaned myself up, called my assistant to cancel all appointments of the day, and went downstairs to wait for her.
I didn't know what I would say to her, but I knew no apology would ever be enough.
When she came down, she saw me from the stairs, and as I got up to walk towards her, she ran back up and locked herself in her room.
I spent the entire day waiting for her in the living groom.
She didn't come back.
I spoke to Marina that evening explaining that Vic was ill and on bed rest and would require all her meals brought to her until she was better.
I was worried sick, and wanted to speak to her but she stayed in her room for 10 days straight while I had been working from home as much as I could in the hope of seeing her. It didn’t happen.
I had to go to New Zealand for 2 days and couldn't cancel the trip. I was terrified she would leave in my absence, so I asked one of my bodyguard to actually watch the house from afar, and follow her if she ever came out during that period of time. I wanted to know every detail of any activity while I was gone, and he had me on speed dial.
The first call came the same day, when the guard informed him she had gone to the doctor's office.
I figured she was still feeling some pain, and hoped with medication, she would heal. At least on that front, anyway.
The second call came the next day, and was much more alarming, when the guard told me, she had driven to the police station and had stayed in over an hour.
I took that detail in, and rang my personal long time friend and political ally, the Commissioner of police asking him to find exactly what had transpired at that precinct, and call me back immediately.
These were longest 39 minutes of my life. He informed me of my wife allegations, and reassured me that the report had been taken care of, and I was not to worry. He advised me to keep the Mrs in check, though, because he could not guarantee his help if she persisted. I exhaled, took an hour break from my activities to think about a plan.
Once I had it, I made the call.
I rang Vic with the intent to put the fear of God into her. I hated doing it but I had no choice. Call it plain fear or survival instinct; I informed her that I knew what had happened at the police station and that I was going to punish her upon my return. I could hear her voice tremble as she had tried to deny it, but when I told her, I had her followed, she remained silent, and I knew I had won.
I had no intention to harm her. Not ever again.
I just needed her to believe I would.
And because my wife was already afraid of me, - or so, I thought- I didn't have to push very strongly to convince her.
I couldn't have the reality of what I had done to her hit the Sydney rumor mill, or worse the newspapers. Never mind, criminal charges.
When I arrived home that very late evening, she had been there waiting for me completely submissive, dismissive even.
I really believed, my plan had been working. That I had gotten myself some time to find a way to fix things between us. And for the next 3 weeks she had been nothing but amenable when not aloof, never referencing to that fateful night. She held her hand up every time I had tried to talk about it. And try, I did. Not because I was looking to excuse myself –Let’s be honest, an apology would be a bit short, wouldn’t it? – But, because I knew what I had done would have long-term consequences for her, for us, and to be candid, I was afraid. I raised the subject of helping her get though the ordeal by involving third parties to support her: a doctor, her friends, her bother even; and she stunned me with a calm response, declaring, ”It was a one time shocking incident E. Nothing more, nothing less. I don’t need help. I need to move on and so do you.” She had looked at me with empty eyes and stated we needed return to normal and dwelling on it wasn’t the right path to achieve that goal. I imputed her strange reaction to inner strength or intense denial. Either way, I was glad she hadn’t packed her bags, so, I let it go because truth is I was afraid voicing it aloud would remind her she was sharing the house of the monster who did this to her. I was a coward and followed her lead; because it was the easy way out to sustaining being in the same room together. We shared our meals together when I was home, and she didn't even wince when I bid her goodnight before retiring into our bedroom while she still stayed in her guestroom.
She had even accepted to attend a public event with me the Inauguration ball that would happen like every year on March 17, over a week away.
I should have known better...
The call came on March 9 at 7.40 in the morning as I was running late and almost at the door, about to leave for my office.
Dr Glaser's secretary was calling to confirm my wife appointment for this very afternoon, and had tried her cell phone, which was on voicemail, but wanted to make sure she got the message, as this appointment had been rescheduled twice already apparently.
I told her I would make sure my wife got the correct time and not to bother her again, and as I was going to hang up, she congratulated me, babbling that I must have been feeling ecstatic since it was our first baby…
The call ended, and I remained in our foyer, stunned.
Vic was pregnant.
My wife is pregnant, with my child.
And she hadn't told me anything.
Which could only mean one thing: she didn't plan to. She planned to leave.
So, I didn't say anything to her, but left a note for Marina to remind her about her appointment, and left for the office.
It took me almost the entire day to get my bearings back.
I was going to be a father, and our baby had been conceived under the most horrific circumstances.
I needed to find a way to prevent my wife from leaving me.
I was going to be a father.
I watched her like a hawk the remainder of that week, noticing the whispered talks while the shower was running, the looks of hatred she would give me when she thought I had my back to her, and I knew in my guts she would try to run on the night of the ball.
The truth is, it’s one thing to know something is coming, but quite another to actually control your reactions when what you fear the most happens.
I had spoken to the same bodyguard who watched her for me a couple of weeks back and asked him to follow her even to the ladies room that night and call me if she stepped a foot out of the ballroom.
He had rung while following the taxi that apparently from the route taken was going to drop her off at home.
He assured me he would stay in front of our gate until I arrived.
I was home within 10 minutes, and entered the house through the terrace’s door, without flicking any light, while she was still upstairs.
I poured a glass of Glenfiddish to settle my nerves, to do what I was about to do, without flinching.
I couldn't let her leave.
And here I was, waiting for her.
I was her husband.
I was her rapist.
I had no choice.
I couldn't let her go.
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