Author's Note: This is the fourth part of a longer story. I've done my best to make this and each of its sister stories stand alone.
They were written in this order: Conquest, Contempt, Constant, and now Contrition.
Anne Marie was the receptionist at my work. She had long, dark hair that bounced against the small of her back when she walked. Sometimes she wore glasses over her eyes --maybe to disguise the fact that one was blue and the other was green. She dressed smartly and was known to all as the office slut. She'd had everyone in the office. Me included. I had been a faithful husband until that afternoon in the motel room.
I don't know if she'd threatened to blackmail everyone with pictorial evidence.
I didn't even know there were pictures until my daughter mentioned them.
The night my daughter told me about the pictures, we'd fucked. I'd played right into her hands and she'd given me the greatest, most mind blowing sex of my life. She'd also explained to me that I could go on fucking her --so long as I obeyed her rules. I was to always respect her, always defend her, and never deny her. With her three rules intact, she imposed her first order: I was to not have sex with anybody but her --not even my wife, her mother.
I had kept up my end of the arrangement.
And she had kept up hers.
I was never in a position to tell Yvette not to have sex with other people. I'd watched her on a handful of occasions. I saw her fuck a guy with a bigger cock than mine, though my own dick is considered much bigger than average. I'd watched her break a preacher --the guy had denounced his own religion in favor of hers.
Her religion was pretty simple: worship Yvette and be rewarded.
And I was her high priest, so to speak.
Which is why, I guess, Anne Marie was standing on my doorstep with all of my incriminating photos. She pulled them out for me to see. There, printed on the page, I saw her skinny ass. Her little boy-tits had pointed at the ceiling. My teeth clenched as my knob touched to her asshole.
The shots were distant --maybe through the window.
She dropped them all into a yellow envelope with a disk.
"Why are you giving me this?"
"You know why." Anne Marie pursed her lips.
It was because Yvette had ordered her to.
"Is this all of them? No copies? No backups?" I asked and took them from her.
"Everything. Like I was told to."
"What were you going to do with this?" I raised my chin.
"I dunno. Money. Laughs."
"Thanks." I said and closed the door.
Anne Marie stuck her hand into the doorjamb to stop the door. "Wait."
"You want to see Yvette?"
"Yeah."
"She didn't say you could." I said and closed the door.
She protested, but the sound of the door lock was louder.
"Who was that?" A voice came from the couch.
I turned toward my wife. Angela was curled up on the couch, her eyes closed.
"Girl from work. Dropping something off."
I walked toward the stairs.
Lately, Angela had been getting very depressed. Her attempts to discipline Yvette had stopped. She knew I would always defend the girl --though she didn't know why. I hadn't stuck an erection in her for days, maybe a week. She had taken to using muscle relaxers with vodka to cope.
"Stay with me?" She asked with her eyes closed.
Part of me felt like I was married and that I should help her. But the dominant side could only serve one woman.
"Go back to sleep," I grumbled.
I went up the stairs with the pictures under my arm.
Yvette was in her room. She had left her door wide open. On my approach, I glimpsed her naked ass and the tattoo above it. I gazed up at her beautiful blond hair. She was shimmying into a tight white dress. I put my hand on the fabric and pulled it down to help. I felt the material glide between my fingers and her skin. The skirt was short.
I lifted my fingers touch the spot between her asshole and her pussy.
She took a step away. Her attention was on the mirror. She was putting her lipstick on --copiously.
"You're looking very dressed up," I offered. I knew that if she was going out to meet a guy, or two guys, or on her way to an orgy --I couldn't say anything about it. She was the only one allowed to be jealous. And that's why my cock was actually her cock.
The white dress clung to every curve and fold of her body. Her bountiful, D-cup breasts were barely covered by its intensely low scoop. I could make out the shape of each piercing, just below her flat nipples. Thin golden rings pinned down by satin.
"Gotta go to church tonight," she said flatly.
I set the pictures down on her vanity. My hands went right to her hips.
"Not Carl?" I mocked, putting my chin near her neck.
Carl was the preacher man who wanted to fuck Yvette. My daughter had refused him. He had to prove himself worthy. He had to have sex with a married woman in his Church --then he could have her. That was Yvette's condition. The woman was a Russian named Nadia. Carl wanted Yvette, but I didn't think he had the balls to actually rape a woman.
Yvette obviously thought differently, because she only lit a cigarette to respond to my question.
"Do you like the pictures?" Yvette blew smoke, her voice was a smolder.
"Yeah. Thank you."
