After the Bull Leaves
I wake up with a start. The room is dark and silent. The silence is broken by noise coming from the master bedroom. What sounds like passionate, whimpering cries amid yearning groans. There is the headboard slamming into the wall, rattling the bed in the guest room upon which I was sleeping. The noise keeps me from slipping back to sleep. In the background I hear my wife’s frantic moans, pleading louder for her lover to fuck her harder.
It is still dark outside my window. The time on my watch says 4:23. Usually I’m up by 6 am. I pull the bedcover over my head and follow it with a pillow. They aren’t enough to drown out the noise of sex coming from beyond the wall. This is the sort of punishment I suffer whenever Gina — my wife and Mistress — invites one of her lovers over to spend the night. Her pleasure is often my pain; my humiliation her happiness. I crave to be in the room with them, to watch them fuck. Not to participate though, just to watch and masturbate to their action. My Mistress doesn’t always allow that; she is too sensitive to let me have my own pleasure under her hands. Who am I to argue with her?
The headboard is banging hard against the wall. Besides my Mistress’s wailing cries I can hear her lover, Jerome, grunting in rhythm with her. I can picture him right now, on top of her, holding her legs apart and pounding her silly. The way she hollers his name, I know he’s hitting the right spot.
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