Chapter 1

I knew I should have ordered a hot stone massage as soon as I had left the office. The second my supervisor is stressing me, my automatic will is to treat myself to a better rest of my night. It is evening time, roughly 5:30P.M. when I arrive home to a nearly silent house. The TV is shut off, despite the lights on. The only sound to be heard was the grandfather clock that was purchased at last year's charity auction; one of those events I don't know why Bob insisted on going to.

My husband is rather… asocial. Our weekend plans involved staying home to watch stock news, plan vacations I went on alone and visiting properties he had purchased with no intentions of making memories at. My stalemate often left me to make my own, which just included wine and nights ended in intense masturbation sessions and a good night's rest for the next morning I had to spend the rest of my day around pure underachievers like myself.

There is something about marrying wealthy men that implants one thought into every woman's head – the need to never strive in a workplace setting again. I know I am intelligent enough of a woman to go back to college and amount to something better than an administrative assistant. However, Bob insists I do what I can to live the least stressful life, and so I do. The cost it comes at, however, is knowing I was bought. The reality that you are no longer an independent woman but rather a piece of replaceable meat to your man does leave a hint of resentment inside of me. He is fifteen years older than I am and knows nothing of bringing me to a climax.

I walk on my tiptoes up the stairs, passing by Bob's empty office. He is finished for the day and awaiting my entry in the master bedroom, where I often find myself affirmed to my purple vibrator as he begins his deep sleep for his next day of selling those ridiculous private yachts people overpay for on a daily basis. The summer has just begun and he has told me twice that his boss, Danielle, has his scheduled to the very last hour they are open. Usually, his coworker, Frances takes over the sales but this year Bob has been competitive. Quite the turn on I had not neglected.

In deep thought, I stub my toe on the last step and mutter, the word fuck as I land on my hands and knees. Oh, how I wish he was there to plow me right there on the stairs. In my thirty years of being, I have simply not been to heaven and back with my husband. In fact, he called his mother for half of our honeymoon as she warned him several times to "quit trying to have an escapade with a young gold digger" between her church visits. This only turned me on as I gave him a footjob in the hot tub with his mother on the line, mouthing what a jealous freak she was. Bob in his prime of course laughed until he came buckets in the warm water. It was the only time I ever got to recall sitting on his face.

So I am deprived and on some sort of a prowl to get laid by my obviously tired husband. It has been weeks, I hate to admit. Though I am barely attracted to him on a physical level, his work ethic is a turn on. His faithfulness is a turn on. The fact that I can never imagine him actually scoring a date with someone to envy provides infinite security no other woman could want more of. That is, until I enter our bedroom.

Whatever suspicion flew over my head hit me like a butterfly on a windshield at the point I had been striding through lala land in my bare feet. In my bed, laying over top of a body, is my husband, Bob, going down on another woman. I don't scream. I watch for thirty seconds in pure shock and amusement. The sight of him eating her – the sight of her with his head in her hands, her cellulite-infested legs in the air and her loud deep moans identifying a woman who was beyond her prime – has me flustered for the first time in awhile. My anger builds beneath my arousal, an obvious paradox between extremely disgusted and turned on as though animal in heat taking ownership of their mate.

Only that I don't make a single move. I feel my face turn red as I watched her toes curl. His tongue traced her clitoral area before he began full-on flicking it at speeds I had never seen him capable of moving in. I waited longer to make my presence known once I see her legs begin to shudder and shake. Her abdomen rocks back and forth as she shoves her pelvis in towards his face.

I watch my husband induce her orgasm as she squeals in my bed, moaning loud and humping against his face so intensely I end up setting my jaw as I wait for their little show to be over. He continues to lick her soaking wet, now red, vulva before chuckling at her and giving it one last kiss. My blood is boiling at that point. The second he pulls back, I am spotted in the doorway. He freezes, his look of pure admiration for self disappearing off his face and quickly replaced with a startled stare.