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9

G olden light pours in from the bedroom windows. The curtains are half drawn, concealing my naked body as I lay sprawled across the bed, vibrator in hand. It’s around 2:00 p.m. when I set aside time to be with myself. There’s something so freeing, so euphoric, about being able to explore yourself. And the help of toys, old and new, are always a great addition. Like I always joke with Brooke, an orgasm a day keeps the doctor away.

This alone time is more important now than ever to maintain my sanity.

Miles has been more distant than normal. His already long hours at work are turning into almost twenty-hour shifts. Sometimes he comes home at 6:00 p.m. Other times, I don’t hear him falling into bed until 3:00 a.m. I’m worried that he’s purposely staying up later so that he’s so exhausted when he’s home, not having to wake up during one of my sleepwalking episodes.

On the nights when he’s home at a decent hour, I can’t connect with him. He avoids me whenever possible, purposely not kissing me when he returns home and spending more time taking showers. The only time I get a semblance of the old Miles is when he brings me my nightly ritual cup of tea. But the tea does nothing to calm my nerves, which is why I’m here in the middle of the day, trying to find an orgasm to calm my anxiety.

Scrolling my usual site for porn on my laptop, a notification comes across the top of the screen. I click it to open to full screen.

Pretty Bitch of the West

Don’t ask me where I found this…

A link pops up below the text to a well-known porn site that deals in shady productions. Another set of texts ping in before I have a chance to examine the thumbnail.

Petty Bitch of the West

This explains the bruises.

I’m so sorry, MJ.

That gets my attention. Going back to the thumbnail, I examine it carefully, worried that clicking it might give my computer a nasty scammer virus.

The thumbnail is grainy, showcasing a large group of half-naked men. In the middle is a blonde female bent over a red, leather sawhorse, ass bared to the entire room to see. But the thing that catches my attention is a colorful bat tattoo on the woman’s upper arm. A colorful bat tattoo that says hang in there in black, gothic font curving around the animal. A tattoo that looks oddly similar to one I had done with Brooke our senior year of high school, against Miles and my parents’ wishes. It was the one rebellious thing I had done back then, knowing the tattoo was more than just ink on skin. It was a connection to my best friend, along with a reminder to myself that it’s okay when life gets hard.

I run my hand down my forearm where the bat rests, unable to catch my breath as I click the thumbnail to open the video.

After the site’s title screen, the video opens to a large room filled with men of various ages. I count at least eight in range of the camera. There are no identifying objects on the walls behind them. No identifying furniture around the men. The only thing sitting in the middle of the frame is the red sawhorse and the blonde. Standing next to her, caressing her as if she’s some sort of animal, is…Miles.

There’s a masquerade mask covering the upper half of his face, but I’d recognize that facial structure anywhere.

I suck in a breath, unable to create any other noise than that. I can feel my chest constrict as betrayal surges through me.

Miles, dressed in an all-black suit, stands next to the woman tied to the contraption. If the devil had a day job, it would look like Miles in this video. If I wasn’t so sure it was him in the video, I know the minute he starts talking to the men as he continues caressing the woman’s ass like it’s second nature.

“Gentleman. Our little whore here has been begging me to be stuffed, and since Thanksgiving is right around the corner, I think it’s time to get into the holiday spirit.”

Miles walks around and picks up the woman’s head so that she can look at him.

A cry escapes me.

Familiar chocolate brown eyes stare through the screen. But they’re not actually staring at anything directly.

The woman’s eyes—my eyes—are unfocused. My pupils don’t respond to the camera light being shined directly into my face.

My jaw is slack, a lazy grin painted across my face.

“Baby,” Miles says.

In the video I hum, not answering him.

“Can you confirm with these fine gentlemen that you agree to this gathering tonight?”

I giggle in response. “Whatever you want, babe.”

Miles grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s sinister and the sight of it makes my stomach twist. Sourness rises in my throat as a lump forms.

“You want to get stuffed like a good turkey, don’t you?” he asks.

I nod and wiggle my body against the object I’m strapped to. Like a damned cat in heat.

I think I’m going to be sick, but I can’t look away.

“Good girl,” he purrs, dropping my head like a ragdoll.

A small uft can be heard, but none of the men respond to it.

Miles walks off screen again and begins directing the men into the scene.

The first man walks forward, stripped naked aside from the golden jewelry on his hands. It’s the strange man I had met at the club with Brooke the other night. He stands behind me, fisting his erection as his other hand slides over my bare skin. After a few more pumps, he lines up his dick with my backside and shoves into my limp body without any lube, preparation, or protection.

I go rigid on the table, but no one says a word. The only sound coming from the speakers is the sticky slap of skin on skin and the man’s gravely moans.

I slam the laptop shut, nearly cracking the screen with the force.

Goosebumps erupt over me as I imagine that vile human touching me without my consent. My body crawls with disgust. I want to wash myself clean with a wire brush until my skin bleeds. I can’t catch my breath. I gasp for air like a fish out of water. My throat burns as I hold back the scream building within.

My vision is hazy. I can’t focus on anything as tears threaten to spill over the emotional dam I’ve built up over the years.

This can’t be happening.

There’s no way this happened.

Miles would never do that to me.

He loves me.

This can’t be why he’s been distant recently.

No. No. No, I don’t believe that.

Frantically, I yank the laptop back open. The video remains on the screen, playing through my living nightmare.

The bottom of the page shows a link to the profile who posted the video.

Mr. Kowalski’s Poppet.

That was the name the man called me at the club.

Clicking the name, a new page appears. At the top of the page is a banner proudly displaying the name Mr. Kowalski’s Poppet with the tagline, Let Mr. K direct your wildest puppet fantasies.

Below the banner is an extensive list of videos. I scroll through each one, noting the dates on each one.

Each thumbnail is similar. A group of men surrounding my drugged up, naked body, center screen. Miles is never shown in the thumbnail. And why would he? That’s just one more way to protect himself. If anyone ever points to him, he can play dumb, claiming it’s coincidence he looks like someone in a porno.

I scroll for an eternity, determined to get to the bottom of the page. After a few minutes, the cursor finally stops. The oldest video in the series is dated five years ago.

Five.

Years.

Ago.

Miles and I started dating seven years ago and we got married less than six.

He’s been doing this for basically the entirety of our relationship.

Below the list of videos is a bright red box that reads request a video .

I click the button, dread filling me. A pop-up screen appears with a menu of video options ranging from $500 to $5,000, depending on the type and length of video. Below the price sheet is a list of limits that are not allowed during the videos.

Limits: none

So, that’s how much my life is worth to him? I’m nothing more than $5,000 and an unconscious body to control like a living puppet?

Our entire relationship is a pit of lies. Lies that he disguised as well-mannered concern over my safety. He looked me in the eyes, day in and day out, while I felt like I was going crazy from these nightmares I’ve been having, and they turned out to be true? Everything I’ve experienced, all the recent pain and emotions, were because of him. Because of this wicked game he had been playing with my own body, without my consent.

Without.

My.

Consent.

And it’s in this pit of the greatest betrayal I’ve ever known that I make a new vow for myself. A vow to never allow myself to be taken advantage of by the dealings of a man. To never be the puppet in their sick games.

I’ve spent the entirety of my adult life serving Miles as a faithful wife. I stood by him when he needed me, sacrificing my career, social life, and identity as a result. It was my life by his choice.

It’s time Miles finds out what it feels like when it’s his body, my choice.