St. Charles, Illinois, January 9th, 2026
The house had settled into its evening bearing, Midwestern suburban affluence that suggested achievement rather than respite. The heat was steady from the floor vents, the floors clean in that once-over way, and the windows reflected the interior back onto itself: warm white light, orderly modern furniture, a few framed wedding photos, honeymoon photos in Hawaii, and dozens of baby photos wherever they could go. Outside, the cold and frost whispered against the glass, the Fox River was black and sparkling with moonlight, and the town was filled with folks going out for Friday night.
Fae sat at her vanity upstairs, a long slab of pale-green wood facing a mirror. She wore a pink robe open at the front, smooth-shaven legs moisturized and gleaming, luminous.
Dylan lingered in the doorway behind her, not entering, not leaving, as if waiting for permission to be part of the scene or absolved from it.
“You don’t have to hover,” she said softly, catching his reflection before he apprehended she could see him.
“I’m not hovering,” he excused himself.
She smiled, not turning around. “You’re a helicopter, babe. Why don’t you land it?” She gestured behind her for him to take a seat on their chaise.
“I just wanted to, ” he walked to the chaise but didn’t sit, “I wanted to see if you needed anything.”
“I’ve got it,” she said. “But thank you.”
She reached for a large brown-yellow glass bottle and shook a few drops into her palm, warming them between her hands before pressing them into her cheeks.
Dylan shifted his weight. “You look… good already.”
She glanced at him then, through the mirror, and raised an eyebrow, dark and thin. “Already?”
“I mean, you look nice,” he said quickly. “I just meant, you don’t need to do all this. It’s extra, isn’t it?”
She capped the bottle and set it down. “Dylan. It’s my first night out in over a year.”
“I know,” he said guiltily.
“And it’s just a girls’ night out,” she said, with a hint of guilt also.
“I don’t like you calling it that. It implies things.” He folded his arms, flustered.
“It doesn’t imply anything but exactly what it is; some women getting some air.” She waited, letting the silence between them stretch.
“I just… I don’t know why it must be such a big item,” he said finally. “You’re acting like you’re, ”
“Like I’m what?” she asked, obtuse.
He swallowed. “Like you’re going somewhere important, or to see someone important.”
She winced. “It is important. My friends are important. I don’t want to be one of those parents who stop having friends, Dylan.”
She turned back to the mirror and reached for a hanger draped over the back of the chair. The dress on it was black, minimal, cut in a way that was responsibly sexy rather than excessive. She held it up against herself, assessing.
Dylan’s breath caught. He froze. “That’s… that’s pretty revealing,” he objected.
She looked at him again, this time fully, her amber eyes meeting his through the glass. And then, unexpectedly, she blushed.
“Really?” she confirmed in a low tone. “It is revealing.”
“I mean,” he said, his voice already apologetic, “I’m not saying you can’t wear it. I just, if you wanted to wear something a little less… I don’t know. Less, ”
She joke-lectured him. “You’re doing man thing number five-hundred-three: telling a woman what she can wear. Less what?”
He hesitated. “Less skin.”
She nodded slowly, as though absorbing a reasonable critique. “Okay. I guess.”
She hung the dress back on the chair and reached for another hanger. This one held something even more minimal, a mostly see-through red dress that outlined her more than covered her.
Dylan’s mouth opened like a ventriloquist’s dummy, “Serious?”
She glanced over her shoulder. “What? Serious what?”
“That one’s…” He stopped himself, flushed. “That one’s even worse. I mean, it shows almost everything.”
She tilted her head, considering. “Everything? No, it doesn’t.”
“Yes.” He held his open hand out at it, flicking his wrist with derision. “Look at it. It’s almost underwear.”
She smiled, and this time there was no mistaking it: resolve.
“Well,” she said loudly, “then that settles it.”
His stomach dropped. “Settles it? You’re going to wear that one?”
She slipped out of the robe and into the red dress so defiantly. The fabric fit into place like it had been created for her. She smoothed it down over her hips, adjusted a twisted strap, then turned 360 degrees to examine herself from all angles.
“How do I look?” she asked.
He tried not to stare, but she owned his eyes. The mirror made it worse, doubling her, presenting her from back and front at once. “You look…” He swallowed. “You look totally astonishing.”
“Thanks. And?”
“And… it’s kind of slutty,” he protested meekly.
She guffawed. “Huh? It’s not slutty. This is nothing.”
“It’s more than a little slutty.” He adjusted his jeans at his groin as his meat swelled and wedged up in his briefs.
She turned to face him fully now, leaning back against the vanity. “Dylan. I’m a grown-up woman. I’ve had a baby. I’ve been cleaning diaper ass and applesauce and exercising to regain my shape daily for an eternity without any breaks. I think I’m allowed to feel so-called slutty for one night.”
“Don’t say that. And I’m not saying you’re not allowed,” he said hurriedly. “I just, ”
“You were the one who said slutty first. You’re just worried,” she said, filling it in for him. “I get it.”
He thought she might see it his way. “You do? What do you think I’m worried about?”
“Babe, I do.” She walked toward him, heels clicking softly against the tile floor as she stepped into them one by one. “You’re regulating your feelings. We both are.”
She crouched to fasten a strap. As she knelt, Dylan could see down her cleavage so much that her nipples were visible against the inside-fabric. His heart thundered. When she stood again, she was breast to sternum with him.
“You’ve been supportive,” she continued. “So patient. But support doesn’t mean you get to completely control me.”
“I’m not trying to control you, honey,” he welped, his arms at his side, almost pleading.
“No. No,” she said. “But you are trying to manipulate the situation so that I won’t go out tonight.”
He nodded, unsure what he was agreeing to. “I wish you wouldn’t.”
She returned to the vanity and began applying makeup. “Then am I never supposed to go out again, Dylan?” Foundation, concealer, a careful sweep of darker blue on her upper eyelids.
“Which bar did you say you were going to?” Dylan asked, too casually.
She didn’t look up. “One of the riverfront ones.”
“Which one?” He knew them all by name, and knew inside that made it less likely she’d say.
She paused, mascara wand wagging. “Why?”
“So I know where you are in an emergency.” It sounded sensible to him.
“You don’t need to know where I am,” she shut him down, stern-voiced.
“I just, why can’t you say that much?” He wondered if he had it in him to just snap, yank her mascara crap from her hand, and throw it across the room. But he didn’t.
She met his eyes in the mirror. “Something is always happening, Dylan. I’m going to fucking cry if I can’t get out of these four walls. Do you want me kept in a cage?”
“That’s not what I meant.” His stomach knotted as his eyes studied the part down her back and her dimples of Venus. Her delicate shoulder blades articulated under her smooth, gorgeous skin as she applied and retouched cosmetics to her face.
“I need you to trust me,” she said. She sounded so reasonable on paper.
He nodded again. “I trust you, honey.”
Her phone buzzed on the vanity, startling him. She glanced at it and smiled, a private smile, then turned the screen face down.
“Was that Arwa?” he asked, referring to her insanely hot realtor friend.
She nodded. “Yes. She picked up Mia and Olivia already. She’s on her way here.”
Mia and Olivia are also smoking sizzlers and naughty. He hesitated. “You know… I wish Mia wasn’t going.”
Her hand stilled. She turned slowly. “What do you mean by that?”
He flushed. “Come on, Fae. It’s Mia.”
“And? Because she cheated once?” she shrugged.
“Yes! And I just worry she might encourage things.” Dylan thought he sounded realistic.
She sighed. “Dylan. Mia and Eric worked things out. They forgave each other, and they’re moving on now. That’s in the past; you can’t judge her for that.”
“That was only eight or nine months ago, though. And what did she forgive him for? Eric didn’t cheat, right?” The world of women didn’t make sense to Dylan.
“And this,” she said, gesturing to herself, “isn’t about them. This is about me remembering who I am outside of being a mom.”
“I never said you shouldn’t have a life, all right.” He calibrated himself.
“But you’re implying that if I spend time with Mia, I’ll go suck a dick or something.”
His gut sank that she could put words to it so easily. “I’m not implying that. I’m saying she can blur the lines.”
“You’re the person blurring the lines, Dylan.” She turned it on him.
He nodded again, his shoulders sagging. “I would feel better if you kept better company, Fae.”
She finished her makeup, lips last, with a shade of dark red. She stood and evaluated the final effect, then asked again, “How do I look?”
He took a breath. “You look… like you’re going to have a blast.”
She smiled. “Is that okay with you?”
He hesitated. “I guess,” he said. “What if some asshole hits on you?”
She shrugged, gathering bits and pieces into her purse. “Guys hit on me.”
“Yeah? But what do you do?” He stood, arms crossed like a coach.
“But what? Stop. Stop. Stop. I have to hurry.” She was done playing along.
“But what if a guy talks you up and he’s especially attractive?” He felt so dweebish to hear the words come out of his mouth, following her as she went to the closet to find a long coat, not wanting anything too heavy.
“How attractive?” she grinned.
“You know what I mean.” He felt relieved that her coat would cover her at least until she took it off, wherever she was going.
“What if,” she said slowly, “some stud muffin who looks like Pete Bear buys me a drink?”
Pete Bear, her long-time ultimate celebrity crush, was a 6’3” country ballad singer who could melt any woman with his silvery eyes and smooth, smoky, backwoods voice. Obviously hypothetical; regardless, his stomach tightened. “Fae…”
“What if he’s like Pete Bear’s even sexier brother?” she continued. “What if he has a classic Italian sports car and Mia drags me by my hair to jump in?”
Dylan felt dizzy, and his dick made itself a visible mass along his thigh. “Stop.”
“Because you’re going to be imagining it anyway, whatever I say,” she said gently, but oh so mean. “I’ll be honest. You asked. So listen.”
“Honest about what?” Dylan sat back on their bed and dropped his forehead into his palms.
Following him, she stroked his throbbing bulge through his pants. “I’ll make you a deal.”
A lifesaver! “What kind of deal?”
“If I make you cum before my girlfriends pull up in our driveway, then you have to let it be. You have to let me go tonight, no more pleading. And you can’t text or call me a single time until I come back in through the front door.” She tapped his bulge with her fingertip like a hotel bell.
He looked down her cleavage as she knelt between his legs and undid his zipper, tugging his jeans down his legs to his ankles. “And what would you do if I don’t cum before those whorish bitches get here?”
He could smell her perfume now as she offered terms. “If you don’t spout while they’re en route, I’ll tell my bitchy whores to fuck off without me tonight. Alright?”
“OK.” What more could he do? This was his only shot at making her stay home.
Dylan lay back, and Fae began working his standing dick in her hands, then into her mouth. Dylan wouldn’t cum that fast, but it was already very good. He wondered how far her friends could possibly be, if they would arrive sooner, later, or too much later. Fae’s tongue pressed into his dick hole, rolled around his glans, and her lips formed a tight, wet seal while she gave his length a firm up-and-down with her right hand. She raised up to look at him, bangs hanging over fiery golden eyes, and while deftly pounding his pubic pad with a one-two-three rhythm, she stroked the underside of his head with her thumb.
“I could cheat on you. But would that be the end of the world, Dylan?” she said in a voice almost possessed.
Dylan couldn’t process such a big question as she pleasured him so well. He focused on not cumming. “Babe, ah… ah…”
She kissed his sack as she continued her hand job, the rhythm becoming more powerful. She moaned into his lap. “And if you never knew, why would it matter if I did?”
How scary that was. He was so aroused that he had to close his eyes tight not to cum. “Fae, it would matter.”
She raised up, now using two hands, one to cup his balls and the other to jack his cock with fervor, a fervor that proved she wanted to go out tonight and fretted her friends would arrive at any second. With a breathy, raspy voice: “Dylan, I can fuck a man tonight and never tell you. My girls would cover for me. I can do it if I want to, and you can’t stop me. Cum for your wife, babe. Cum for me.”
Dylan dared not say anything, or he would blow. His abdominals tensed, his teeth gritted. He tried his best to hold it in. He didn’t want to give up and let her go out and get fucked by some jacked, handsome stranger. No. No. No.
As she pounded his cock in her grip, she ran her free hand under his shirt, lightly scratching his chest and stomach, petting him. “Cum for me, babe. I want to have fun tonight. Cum for me. Cum for me. Cum for me.” She begged in the most horny, evil little voice.
It was too much. He felt his pelvic floor muscles spasm, his knees and toes lock, and out the top of his dick flew gob after gob of warm, wet mess, running down his dorsal vein and over her fingers. He had lost, and it felt so good.
Fae went to the bathroom, where he heard her run the sink and rinse her hands, and then she reappeared with a smile and a handful of tissues for him. “They’re not here yet.”
He swallowed hard, taking the tissues and wiping himself wherever he could see his product. “Can you just… can you promise you’ll come home by midnight?”
She tilted her head. “Midnight?”
“Yes.” He needed something.
“That’s arbitrary. And no.” She stood so straight and strict.
“It would help me sleep.” Couldn’t she just give him something?
She considered, then shook her head. “I don’t want to put a curfew on myself, and you don’t work tomorrow.”
“So no promises?” he clasped his hands together in prayer.
She smiled sympathetically. “I don’t want to lie to you.”
His chest tightened at the sight of her fantastic ass in her dress. “That’s not…”
“Dylan,” she said, placing a hand on his arm. “Look at me.”
He did. He really did, and couldn’t believe she had said those things. Was it just dirty talk?
“We’ve had a loving, sometimes tense, but loving marriage,” she said. “Remember how we met each other’s families. Remember how we chose each other. We’ve built a life as a union. One night can’t undo that, whatever happens.”
Still feeling the miserable ecstasy of his after-orgasm, “If you didn’t say it like that, ‘whatever happens’, that’d be better. ‘Whatever happens’ means if you fuck somebody?”
“Those are your words.” Her phone buzzed again before she could complete her thought. She read it. She needn’t say it was her friends outside. She picked up her purse. “I need you to do something for me,” she said.
“What?” He wondered if she would make this even harder.
“Keep your promise. Tonight, I don’t want you to call or text me,” she said with such authority.
Harder, indeed. He blinked and stuttered. “B-But you can text me, right?”
Shaking her head no, her hair whipped her cheeks. “I want to be present, like this is my moment. Not checking my phone, not reassuring you every half hour. Just… me being wild with my girlfriends.”
He exhaled big. “I hate Mia.”
Ignoring that, she smiled. “This means trust. Don’t text or call.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.”
She leaned in, her eyes meeting his. “Thank you.” And she kissed him once on the lips.
She turned toward their bedroom door, then paused. “Oh, and our pookie miss, make sure you warm the bottle. Do not microwave it. And if she wakes up around one, she likes being in her chair first. No cartoons or she’ll stay up.”
Dylan thought bitterly how she purposefully said ‘one’ to assert she wouldn’t be home by then. “I know,” he said.
“You do,” she replied, and kissed him again, softly on the lips.
He followed her down their stairs, his steps slower. At the door, he reached out and caught her wrist.
“Please,” he said.
She looked at him, something like sympathy on her lips. She leaned in, kissed him one last time, then gently removed his hand from her wrist.
“I love you,” she said.
Then she was gone, the door closing with a wispy clunk behind her, with a cool gust entering, leaving Dylan alone in the warm, quiet house, uncertain and worried if she might fall into another’s arms, and if she did, whether he would ever know a thing.
He watched from their foyer windows as Arwa backed out of their driveway in her mini-SUV, full of excited, probably horny women, adjusted her headlights, and drove away with his wife. He waved. Had she seen him standing there looking out?
