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F E A T U R E D F I C O F T H E M O M E N T
INDEX
BRE'S ARCHIVE
AUTHOR'S ARCHIVE
INTERACTIVE
AUTHOR
SITE
 R E P U T A T I O N S O F T H E W I C K E D S E R I E S B Y B R E P A R T O N E A Buffy woke up the next morning to her husband kissing her shoulder. Soft, open-mouthed kisses that would have once excited her, but now just reminded her of her drab life. Forcing a smile and ignoring the fact that she was dead tired from the night she had spent with other men, Buffy rolled over and allowed him to remove her panties before he climbed on top of her. Buffy winced when his heavy bulk rested on her slightly bruised hips as he kissed her passionately. He thrust into her softly and Buffy felt chills climb her spine. She could feel the intense soreness coming from between her legs as he thrust into her. Closing her eyes against the pain, Buffy arched into his touch, desperate for something he could never give her. She knew that there was affection between them, especially coming from him. But she needed more. She needed the type of security she couldn’t find in his arms and she knew that it was slowly killing her emotionally. It was killing everything she thought was true about love. It was the only reason why she gave herself to others. The only reason that she constantly found herself in bars, flirting with anonymous men in hopes that they would take her home and make her feel. Feel something other than physical pleasure. But she never found them. She never could. They always managed to escape her grasp by not wanting to go that far and not being the man she desired. She always felt cheated, but knew that she was addicted to it... to the hope that one night, she would find what she desperately needed. The morning ritual of rolling over and letting her husband have sex with her, always the same position, same rhythm, was something she couldn’t escape. She couldn’t find pleasure in the act... physical, yes, most of the time, but not mentally. She didn’t feel relaxed afterward, but rather felt wound up tighter, as she did after every night she spent with faceless men. And it was slowly killing her. She felt her pleasure building as he angled his hips towards his clit and Buffy moaned, closing her eyes tighter as the pain increased. Shaking her head, Buffy opened her eyes to see her husband’s face hovering over hers, his eyes shut tightly as he concentrated, his hips moving faster. Buffy merely laid beneath him, letting him work at his own pace. She knew that he didn’t see her. Knew that he couldn’t tell whether or not she came or not. He didn’t know his body nor hers well enough to have that luxury. Sometimes she was disappointed. Other times she was grateful because she felt too tired or sore to allow herself to find pleasure with him. Buffy let out a sharp cry as his hips jerked into hers as he spilled his warm seed into her body. Buffy whimpered as he collapsed onto her. Feeling pain blossom from her pelvic bone and from her sore bottom, Buffy merely laid there and let him pant on her shoulder before he once again rolled over, off of her. Buffy offered him a smile. He returned it. “Good morning,” he said simply, smacking a chaste kiss on her lips before rolling out of bed, once more fully clothed in his boxers and white t-shirt. Buffy returned the favor before herself rolling out of her side of the bed, out of the warm white sheets she found herself constantly washing, whether from the fact that they were actually dirty or because she herself felt dirty she didn’t know. Pulling on the white silk robe she laid at the foot of the bed to cover her naked bottom half, Buffy tied it tightly and watched as her husband disappeared into the bathroom that was adjoined to their bedroom. He didn’t even glance at her or ask how she slept. Pursing her lips, Buffy wondered why she even noticed anymore. It was always the same. Sighing deeply, Buffy moved out of the bedroom and went downstairs to start a small pot of coffee for her to sip on before her turn in the shower and for him to take to work.
It took him exactly forty-five minutes to get out of the shower, dress in his suit and tie, eat his bowl of cereal and take his mug of coffee that said ‘#1 husband’ from his smiling wife and leave in his simple white Ford truck. Buffy sighed as she watched his truck leave the driveway to their two-story yellow house and down the street to his job. Buffy cocked her head to the side as she watched three other men on her street leave their front doors and get into their cars before driving away to their office jobs. She frowned when she watched the wives come out and either check the mail or put the trash out or something generic as that. She wondered if they, just like her, spent their nights out with strangers to help give them some meaning to their lives other than the boring ones they lead in the sunlight. Shrugging her shoulders and not enjoying where her thinking was leading her, Buffy moved away from the window and went upstairs. Opening the curtains that covered the picture windows in the master bedroom, Buffy ignored the bright sunlight and quickly discarded her robe, opening the walk-in closet she shared with her husband and hanging it on the large hook on the other side of the door. Discarding the black tank in the laundry basket, she noticed that her husband had left her a note telling her that one of his suits needed to be dry cleaned before the day was out. For some meeting or something. Nodding her head, Buffy mentally made a checklist to keep that in mind. Dry cleaning. Got it. Running her fingers through her hair, she walked into the bathroom, grabbed a towel from the towel rack in the corner. Walking back to the shower, Buffy turned on the shower as hot as she dared and stepped in. Standing under the water, Buffy felt her body rejuvenating as she cleaned away the night and morning’s affairs. Twenty minutes later, Buffy stared at herself in the mirror. She looked like herself on the outside, but she could feel the emotional tangle in her heart. Staring into her hazel eyes, Buffy wondered if she would ever find what she sought. She knew she wouldn’t in her husband. She couldn’t. Not in a man like that. Never. And she would never dare tell him what she really wanted when she woke up in the morning to her lover. Most of the time she wanted it rough and wild... something that she could remember and get wet from whenever she instantly thought about it. And then it was a blue moon when she wanted soft love making. She would never tell her husband that. He wouldn’t understand. And to be honest, she really didn’t either. Buffy shook her head. How she talked herself into circles. Refusing to once more look at herself in the mirror, Buffy went about her normal schedule. She dressed, cleaned up a bit, ran a few errands before coming home. She used her regular excuse for her husband when he called from work at exactly 7:34 pm. She was going to go have a drink with her friends that night. It took her an hour before she deemed herself ready to go out on the town. Buffy took in her appearance before leaving, never noting the fact that her eyes seemed to lie limp with emptiness.
l be kind, rewind l back to top l
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