“Was she on the couch?“ I wondered. I plodded on. The house seemed empty. She wasn’t on the couch.Opening the French doors to let Ginger out, I said loudly, “Marissa?” to an apparently empty house. Was she still at the neighbors? Ginger looked at me questioningly as she crouched over the lawn to pee. “I guess your mistress isn’t here,” I told her.After the dog came back in, I found my phone and noticed right away that there were no messages before dialing my wife’s number. It immediately went to voicemail. “Shit!” I exclaimed; she’d obviously spent the night at Tony’s. “Well, fuck her,” I muttered, pissed. I wasn’t about to crawl over there to get her.Noon came and no Marissa. But instead of getting angrier, I was starting to get worried. Finally, at two in the afternoon I swallowed my pride and drove back over to Tony’s.He answered the door wearing an untied black terrycloth robe with nothing underneath. “Hey neighbor how’s it going?” Just like nothing was wrong.“Is my wife here?” I. Looking over her shoulder she saw the light was flashing down the other end of the ward. She began to shuffle toward the far end of the ward, making sure her knickers would not drop to the floor. The butt plug was making it very awkward. She had a deep aching in the pit of her stomach. Although it was contrary to all she stood for, all she knew, she was very wet. Extremely wet.Once again she had to endure the lewd comments and whistles from the male patients.It seemed like an age before she got to the far end of the room.The patient was a much younger man. Late twenties. Extremely athletic looking.“Nice tits,” He said casually reaching up and giving each tit a squeeze. “So, err… where are my tablets?” Patricia glanced over her shoulder. There. At the far end of the ward sat they tray with all the medication. She knew in an instant what she had to do.But first she had to let the patient finish fondling her breast.Two more trips, the comments from the patients, the staring, and that.
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