Healing The Assassin's Heart

This Is My Life

Trigger warning. SA

Dominique

I closed my eyes, taking deep breaths. How has my life come to this? For eleven years my life was bliss. My husband was the epitome of the perfect man. He treated me with kindness, love, affection, and friendship. We built his career together. He has influence in our city and even the state. The only thing that I was disappointed in was his lack of wanting a family. He said I was his family and he was mine, and I believed him. I’ve hardly talked to my parents lately, which I knew hurt them. I used Malcolm’s career as why I couldn’t come home at all this year. We visited once last year, and it was so quick I felt like it didn’t happen.

But now, I won't see them at all because of the shame. It’s why I wouldn’t let Lyla visit in the last year and was glad we had both been busy, because I knew if I saw her, I’d break down and tell her what hell I’ve lived through recently.

It didn’t just happen all in one day it was a gradual and efficient breakdown of my self-esteem and confidence. It started with little nitpicks on my appearance, or suggestions about my mannerisms, that I would change to make him happy. Then it was my attitude and the people I associated with. He hated Lyla, but allowed her past visits because he knew I loved her, and I knew he knew, he couldn’t stop them from happening. But I couldn’t see her now. For her safety, no matter how bada*s I knew she was, I would not drag her into my hell.

Almost 6 months ago, after one of our crazy fights that all of a sudden started happening, he wrapped a hand around my neck and told me if I did not do as he said he’d kill everyone I ever cared about. Something happened. My loving husband had disappeared, and in his place was a manipulative, greedy monster. Then that monster turned into the devil.

Four months ago, he told me he was having some guys over to watch soccer. We had never hosted a soccer party before. We hosted elegant dinners. But this time, after telling me about the party, he also told me to change into something more sensual.

I blinked at him in confusion.

“The guys that are coming over are different. They’re old money and have some different tastes when it comes to someone serving them in a house. Don’t you have that old maids uniform you wore once to a Halloween party? Put that on with the black thigh highs you have and high heels. Do your hair pretty and your make-up more sl*tty. I want to impress these guys. And do whatever they want sweetheart. I really want their money for our company. You’ll help me, right?”

He was acting so nice, and running his fingers over my cheek, looking at me with love and affection that he hadn’t thrown my way in months. So, I nodded. He wanted me to make different flavors of wings, and homemade dips. I ordered brownies and chocolate pie from a bakery that delivered because I knew I wouldn’t have time to make anything sweet. I got a ton of different chips, and beer. I made sure we had ice and cups for them to use if they wanted. I asked how many men were coming over and he said ten. I also made some sides like corn on the cob and coleslaw along with a pasta salad.

A half an hour before they showed up, I had everything set up and ready to go. So, I went to the room to dress in the old Halloween outfit and did my hair in all curls, pinning up the sides and my make-up was sultry with a smokey eye, cat eyeliner, some fake eyelashes and bold red lips. I looked like a f*cking h*oker. Malcolm loved it.

The men showed up. The outfit was short, and Malcolm told me to wear a black thong underneath it. I went to protest, but a look in his eyes stopped me. He never laid a hand on me before the choking incident and I didn’t want it to happen again. My breasts were falling out of the top, my areolas almost visible.

Malcolm entertained like he’d known these guys all his life with inside jokes and innuendos. The men all eyed me with lust and when I handed one a beer as they all sat around the living room, his hand wrapped around one of my thighs and slid up to the seam of my thong. I gasped and looked at Malcolm. He just watched with a smirk on his lips. His eyes challenged me to say something. The man let go with a chuckle and I fled to the kitchen. Malcolm came in after me. He got close to my back and leaned down and whispered in my ear.

“You will make these men happy. You take what they are doing with dignity. I don’t want to see that look on your face again. You will not show shock or disgust. You will grin and let them touch you. Do you hear me?”

I didn’t answer fast enough, and he grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked, my head falling back and looking up to him. I couldn’t help the tears that were falling from my eyes.

“Go to the bathroom and fix yourself up, don’t embarrass me.”

I fled to our room and into our bathroom to fix my face and calm down. It was just touching. I can handle this. But when I left the bathroom there was the man that had touched me and our bedroom door was closed.

“You can’t be in here, please let’s go back to the living room, I said meekly.

“Sweetheart, I paid your husband a lot of money to have you serve me any way I want. He bragged so much about his beautiful wife that we all had to see for ourselves. When you ran in here, it was him that offered you up for a price. A pretty young thing like you, I bet feels f*cking good.”

I don’t know why, but I blurted out that I wasn’t young, that I was 34. He chuckled.

“That’s young honey. I’m 52, my wife is 50 and doesn’t put out anymore. I have needs, but I don’t want to support a mistress. In fact, every one of us guys are in the same boat out there. Horny as f*ck with dried up wives. Now, I want you to get your t**s out and drop to your knees. I want those red lips around my c*ck. I paid good money for this, and then I am going to sign a contract with your husband to handle my finances. You want to help your husband become richer, right?” I couldn’t stop the tears that flowed from my eyes. I couldn’t believe Malcolm would agree to this.

“I don’t believe you,” I sobbed.

“Really? Ask him, he’s right outside this door.”

The man opened the door and sure enough there stood Malcolm, glaring at me.

“I told you, you will do as they say, you will submit to their demands.”

“Malcolm, he wants me to give him a blow job,” I said in disbelief, knowing d*mn well, my husband wouldn’t stand for this. He used to lose his mind when another man looked at me.

“I know, Dominique. He paid good money for you. So did the rest of those men out there. Why do you think they’re here?”

“You said to watch soccer,” I whispered.

“You’re so d*mb if you actually thought that. When have I ever hosted a soccer party? That was just the excuse I gave you. Now do as you are told. He only paid for twenty minutes.” He then left, shutting the door behind him.

“Your tears only turn me on more sweetheart, now do as you are told.” And I did, and after him, another man came in, and he f*cked me. Then another and another. Until all of them were satisfied. I laid on our marital bed, covered in sweat and c*m. None of them wore protection. They just pulled out and came on me. After the last one left, my devil of a husband looked at me and grinned. He then undid his pants and pissed on me, then jerked off and came on me too.

“You just made me two hundred and fifty thousand of untraceable money, wife. All the cash that I am putting away for my future. I now have contracts with six of them to handle their financial portfolios, and three of them signed another contract for free use of your body whenever they need it. They will come here once a week and f*ck you, or get you on your knees for that delectable mouth I know you have. If you haven’t figured it out by now, I am done with you. You are now only good for what you can give me. Like the use of your body for other men. I have someone else that is more beautiful, younger and can bend in many different positions. And don’t think you can get away from me, or tell anyone about this. Who would believe you? I’ve been a doting husband for 11 years. I know how to play the long game. No one will help you either. My parents have the same arrangement. My mother is my father’s asset and cover for his relationships. He’s in to twenty-year-old men who let him f*ck them for a price. Who would have thought, my strong, virile, and stoic father liked d*ck and to f*ck young men in the ass?”

I was sobbing as he put himself away and talked to me. He stood there smiling the whole time as he explained how I was to be used by certain men that would pay for it and to make him more powerful in the financial world.

He took it upon himself to take me to the shower after his one-sided conversation. He washed me tenderly, then he made me suck him off. If he was done with me, how could he still want me to do intimate things with him? When we got out of the shower, he told me to change the bedsheets. I did. Thirty minutes later after I had dressed, changed the sheets and was told to take my things and move into the spare bedroom, a knock came to our door. I watched at the top of the stairs, Malcolm answered the door and his stunning red-headed assistant Clara walked in with an overnight bag.

I had met her only once, when I dropped off lunch to Malcolm a year ago. It was the last time I did that, because he told me I didn’t need to anymore. That his assistant would be handling his meals for now on. I was sad, but didn’t put up a fuss. I should have seen this coming.

“Clara will be staying the night tonight. She will be coming over every weekend to stay. You will cater to her every need while she’s here.”

I just stood frozen as they walked towards me and went into our bedroom. Malcolm stared at me with calculated glee in his eyes as he shut the door. Five minutes later, I heard their moans and groans. I walked into the spare bedroom and collapsed on the bed after shutting and locking the door. I cried myself asleep that night and every night since.

Now, I lay here in the spare bedroom bed where Mr. Allen just left, curled up in a ball. Mr. Allen came on Mondays. Mr. Walsh came on Wednesday and Mr. Grover came on Thursdays. The rest of the week, I’m left alone. Then on Friday night, Clara came over with her bag. I make her and Malcolm dinner, and then they go to the bedroom. On Saturday I make them breakfast, lunch and dinner. They sit on our couch like they are husband and wife and watch TV. They laugh, play cards, talk for hours and laugh some more. It was how my life used to be. I was now just the maid in my own home with no escape. I now knew why Malcolm’s mother looked so sad and worn out. While his father looked extremely happy and like age hardly touched him. He was aging like a fine wine.

They had come over to dinner on a Tuesday night a month after my ordeal began. When his mother set eyes on me, I saw the pity in them. His father just grinned and smacked his son on the shoulder, like he was congratulating him. He probably was.

I was starting to contemplate taking my own life. But Malcolm kept a constant eye on me. When he goes to work, a man named Eli shows up. He never talks to me, I was told to never talk to him. He was to be my shadow. I was never to leave the house anymore unless it was with Malcolm. When we attended events, if I didn’t act like the picture-perfect wife, Malcolm would punish me when we got home. Sometimes he would slap me around, that was a thing now, sometimes he would degrade and humiliate me. One time he made me watch him and Clara as they made love in our marital bed. He treated her so preciously.

When Lyla calls, I either send her straight to voicemail or to keep her from randomly showing up, I tell her how busy I am with a quick phone call or text. I was glad she had the distraction of her new man. It kept her from making spontaneous visits.

The bedroom door opened up and Malcolm sneered at me.

“We’ve been invited to the Mayor’s house for dinner. Get cleaned up and doll yourself up. You know what to do and how to act. Don’t disappoint me.”

I nodded and he left. I sighed. Time to put on a show.