Chapter Eight
How does one describe all the hours that crawl by that early January first? Hung up by the elbows as I am the strain on my bowed shoulders and back grows into an agony even worse than the persistent flaming of my wounds. Yet this physical torment pales in comparison to my wretchedness at personally witnessing my wife cheating on me. Excluded from the kind of orgy I’ve often listened to distantly (or been blind right in the middle of), denied the exciting distraction of my usual s****l service, I’m consumed by exactly the kind of madly degraded jealously Amelia no doubt intends for me.
It’s hard to say which hurts more. Is it Mistress grinning up at me as I watch her get f****d, relishing the emotional exchange between us? Or is it worse when she’s too maddened with passion
