Advertising Game

Advertising Game,” part one

by c.w. cobblestone

The room swayed to and fro like a ship in a storm, and the walls morphed

dizzily in and out of proportion like a fun-house mirror. The floor caught

fire, and the ensuing billows of  smoke began to take on a familiar shape. It

was Angie.

 

Her smile was pure evil; her eyes glowed like a window into the eternal

inferno. Angie threw back her long hair and laughed, her depraved giggles

echoing eerily off the walls.

 

Her hair began taking on a life of its own, the soft, brown locks thrashing

wildly back and forth as her scalp gave birth to a hundred hissing serpents.

Then, suddenly, the sun came crashing through the ceiling, and the fire was

everywhere...

 

*   *   *

 

Stu sat bolt upright in his bed and tried to catch his breath. Even sleep

wouldn’t allow him to escape.

 

He rubbed his eyes and shook the Dali-like images from his hair, but the pain

was still there.

 

Reality wasn’t much better than the nightmares.

 

The clock-radio on the nightstand said four in the morning. That fucking bitch

wasn’t even going to try to hide what she was doing, was she?

 

“How could she do this to me?” he kept asking himself over and over as he

rolled around in his empty king-sized bed. There was no answer.

 

Stu grabbed one of Angie’s cold pillows and held it close to his busom. For a

brief moment, the pillow was Angie...and she had a lot of love to give...

 

Stu rubbed his wife’s soft hair, and she breathed hotly onto his neck. “I love

you, Stu,” Angie moaned as Stu reached down and touched her pussy...”

 

Her pussy. Just the thought of his wife’s forbidden vagina was enough to snap

Stu out of his pathetic little fantasy. Right now, Stu reflected sadly, Pete

surely was enjoying what Stu hadn’t had in months. Stu imagined his pretty

young wife, her legs wantonly splayed, while Pete plunged into her body

relentlessly. As the night wore on, the image drifted in and out of his

consciousness like a cruel apparition.

 

Stu stared at the ceiling and played out the evening’s events over and over in

his mind: Every smug smile Pete gave him; every dismissive tone his wife took

whenever Stu tried to put his two cents’ worth into the conversation; the fight

outside the bar; and, of course, that look Angie and Pete gave him in the

coffee shop, when Angie informed Stu that she’d be riding home with Pete. It

was a look of pure superiority; they were laughing in his face, rubbing his

nose in dogshit, and daring him to do something about it.

 

Of course, Pete didn’t do anything about it. The demoralized cuckold quietly

went home and spent his evening running away from the nightmares.

 

A divorce? The thought occurred to Stu more than once as the long evening

dragged on. But each time, he quickly drove the idea from his head. Divorce

simply wasn’t an option - Stu’s father had abandoned him when he was three, and

early on Stu promised himself that, if he ever got the chance to start a family

of his own, he’d stick around, no matter what.

 

By the time the birds began singing their morning melody, Stu’s heart could

take no more sorrow, and the poor, sad shell of a man managed to cry himself

back to sleep.

 

*   *   *

 

“Wake up, honey! I’ve got a surprise for you!”

 

Stu shot out of bed at the sound of his wife’s voice.

 

“H-honey! You’re home!” Stu blurted out.

 

Angie smiled wryly at her husband. “Very observant, Sherlock!” she said, her

left hand placed impudently on her hip. Her right hand was tucked behind her

back. She was hiding something.

 

“Look, I have a surprise,” she repeated as she produced a manila folder. “This

is some work Pete wants you to have done by Monday, Stu. It’s the Braxton

account. He said it’s important. He said you’d be surprised, because you

weren’t allowed to work on the Braxton account. But Pete said he feels you’re

up to the task now.”

 

Angie threw the folder onto the nightstand and began undressing.

 

Stu swallowed hard. He didn’t care about the contents of the folder, or the

Braxton account, which he’d been drooling over for months. He didn’t even care

that his beautiful wife was taking her clothes off in front of him.

 

Only one thing was burning in Stu’s mind.

 

He didn’t want to ask the question, but he knew he had to:

 

“W-W-Where did you go last night, Angie?” Stu couldn’t meet his wife’s gaze.

 

“Oh, come on, Stu,” Angie admonished. “Don’t tell me you’re that stupid!”

 

Stu couldn’t move a muscle. He knew the game she was playing - she was going to

make him say it.

 

“Angie...w-what is it you’re telling me?” Stu asked, his voice trembling.

“D-Did you....and Pete...make love?”

 

Angie bared her teeth and laughed banefully. “No, asshole, we didn’t ‘make

love’ - we fucked! There’s a difference. But you wouldn’t know about that,

would you, Stu?”

 

The tears started running down Stu’s face, dripping from his chin onto his

pajama top. To Angie, the sight of Stu’s tears was like the scent of blood to a

hungry shark.

 

“Go on - cry, you fucking wimp!” Angie screamed. “You’ve never been man enough

to stand up and make me feel like a woman, and I’m supposed to feel sorry for

you? Fuck you!”

 

Angie stormed over to the closet. She threw open the door and angrily pulled

Stu’s cardboard box out from behind a tall stack of sweaters.

 

Stu felt his blood run cold. As Angie opened the box and began sifting through

its contents, Stu knew his goose was cooked.

 

Angie produced a magazine and waved it. “What the hell is this shit?” she

screamed, ceasing her manic waving long enough to glance at the cover of the

publication. “Dominant Mystique??!!?” she shrieked. “What’s up with this

bullshit, Stu? I found your little collection last week when I was looking for

my brown boots. Are you into this freaky shit?”

 

Stu didn’t know what to say - and even if he could think of a way to answer his

wife, there simply was no way he could get his lips to move.

 

Angie opened the tabloid. To Stu’s horror, as Angie flipped through the

magazine, some of the pages stuck together.

 

“This must be one of your favorite stories!” Angie observed dryly as she peeled

the pages apart. “Let’s see what we have here...”

 

Stu hung his head. She was actually going to read one of his secret stories!

 

Angie took a schoolteacher’s tone as she began reading aloud:

 

        “Dear Sandy,

        I am a 42-year-old male who is completely dominated by his wife and her lover.

They both treat me like a slave, and it is he, not I, who shares her bed at

night.

 

        My wife, Sue, has cheated on me from the very beginning of our marriage. But

I’m too much of a wimp to do anything about it.

 

        She says my little 4” cock isn’t nearly enough to satisfy her...”

 

Angie stopped reading long enough to comment: “Hmm...sounds like you, Stu!” She

chuckled to herself, then continued:

 

        “...so she says she needs a man like Tom in her life.

       

        Although Sue never lets me fuck her, I still have to do all the work around

the house. Sometimes, Tom will come over while I’m cleaning, and I have to

endure the humiliation of scrubbing the kitchen floor on my hands and knees

while another man is in my bedroom loudly fucking my wife.

 

        When they’re finished in the bedroom, I’m usually called in to perform

clean-up duties. First, I lick all Tom’s semen from my wife’s vagina. Then I

suck his dick clean.”

 

Angie looked up from the magazine. “This is some sick shit, Stu!” she said.

“You’re a goddamned faggot! Now, do you see why I didn’t come home last night?”

 

She threw the magazine down and sneered. “Just so you know, asshole: Pete

wasn’t the first one,” she said, watching her husband closely to gauge his

reaction. “In fact, I’m like the girl in your story - I’ve been cheating on you

from the very beginning!”

 

As Angie’s words sank in, Stu’s blood began to feel like maple syrup. He closed

his eyes and prayed for the earth to open up and swallow him whole.

 

As Stu sat there trembling, Angie continued undressing. She took off her skirt,

which was wrinkled terribly by now, and tossed it casually across the room.

Then she removed her shirt and discarded it in the same general direction.

 

Stu finally worked up the courage to look his wife in the eye as she stood

before him, clad only in a bra and panties.

 

“Honey, we can work through this,” he said bravely. “I forgive you for what you

did last night.”

 

“Forgive me!??!” Angie nearly fell down laughing. “You forgive me?!!? Oh, my

God, that’s rich! Wait’ll I tell Pete that one!”

 

Angie’s laughter subsided and her eyes narrowed. “Listen, asshole, if anyone

should feel sorry for anything around here, it’s you,” she said. “You’ve got no

balls, Stu. I need a man who’ll stand up for me.”

 

She didn’t even pause to catch her breath. “What the hell happened last night,

huh?” she asked accusingly. “With those guys? What the hell was that? If Pete

hadn’t been there with us, those men could’ve raped me, and you’d probably have

just stood around with your hands in your pockets, watching!”

 

New tears began to flow as Stu tried to find his voice. “Honey, I’m sorry,” he

said gently. “We can get through this,” he repeated, holding his hands out as

if in prayer. “Honey, I beg you, don’t let this marriage be over.”

 

Angie’s face wore an ugly grin. She’d always had the upper hand in their

marriage, but this feeling was something new altogether. Power, Angie realized

at that precise moment, was a puissant aphrodisiac.

 

“Oh, I don’t want to get a divorce,” Angie said archly. “Now that I’ve found

your filthy little magazines, I know what you’re really all about, Stu. You

don’t have an ounce of backbone in your body, and I think I’ve figured out a

way to use this situation to my advantage.”

 

Angie green eyes peered straight into Stu’s soul.

 

“You want to be a fucking slave?” she asked, her voice dripping with venom.

“You want to be treated like shit, like the guys in your stories??

 

“Well, okay, Stu.” Angie smiled at a secret thought. “You are most definitely

going to get your wish.”

 

 

TO BE CONTINUED

 

 

 

“The Advertising Game,” part 2

by c.w. cobblestone

Stu followed behind Angie and Pete as they furtively escaped out the front door

and made their way toward the parking lot.

 

“See, Stu?” Pete asked once they were all safely out of sight of Twichell’s

condo. “We slipped out of there easy as pie, and the old man didn’t even

notice.”

 

“Thank God!” Stu said. “If Twitchell had caught us trying to sneak out...”

 

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about Twitchell,” Pete said confidently. “He’s

all bark and no bite - besides, like I said, he’s drunk off his ass!”

 

“Okay, so we got out alive,” Angie said. “So what bar are we going to, Pete?

I’m ready to par-tay!”

 

It infuriated Stu that his wife hadn’t even consulted him about going to the

bar in the first place - and now, it was obvious, he would have no say-so as to

where they were going, either. She was asking Pete which bar they were headed

to - not Stu.

 

“I know a cool place on the east side,” Pete said, oblivious to Stu’s

melancholy silence. “Do you like to dance?”

 

Stu shook his head. “No, actually, I hate dancing,” he said.

 

Angie grimaced. “I don’t think he was talking to you, Stu,” she said dryly.

 

“She’s right,” Pete said, chuckling. “Besides, Stu, I don’t think you’d make a

very good dance partner, anyway - you’d probably step on my toes!”

 

Angie giggled. “You must’ve seen my husband dance before!” she said

sarcastically.

 

Stu felt he was losing control of the situation - Pete was toying with

him...mocking him...and he was doing it right in front of Angie! And, worse

yet, Angie seemed to be playing along!

 

Stu felt he had to say something...but what? Pete hadn’t actually done anything

yet; the put-downs were all quite subtle, and if Stu knew if he tried to say

something, it would backfire, and he’d end up looking like the jerk.

 

But Stu was getting desperate. He had to try something to put a stop to the

evening.

 

“Listen, honey, I really don’t feel like going to a bar tonight,” Stu told his

wife, trying his best to sound assertive. “Why don’t we just go on home?”

 

But Angie was ready with a devastating answer: “That’s fine, Stu. You can go

home if you want to,” she said indifferently. “But I feel like partying

tonight, and, damn it...I’m gonna party!”

 

There was no way Stu was about to let Angie go out alone with Pete, so he

quickly dropped the subject and opened the car door for his wife.

 

“Always the gentleman, eh, Stuart?” Pete smirked as Angie slipped into the

passenger seat. “That’s the way to take care of the little woman!”

 

“Like I said, Pete, I know how to take care of my wife just fine, thank you,”

Stu said testily. “I don’t need pointers.”

 

Pete had an amused look on his face. “Jeez, Stu, don’t bite my head off!” he

said. “I’m only joking around.”

 

Angie stared at her husband in disbelief. “You’re acting like an asshole, Stu!”

she said icily. “You need to apologize - Pete hasn’t done anything tonight,

other than being nice to us!”

 

Inside, Stu was seething. But, as usual, he gave in.

 

“Okay, look...I’m sorry, Pete,” he said. “I’ve been under a lot of pressure

lately. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

 

“Don’t worry about it, Stu,” Pete said jauntily. “I realize things haven’t been

going good for you lately. Why don’t we forget about it and go have a few

drinks? Follow me.”

 

Stu didn’t say anything to Angie as they followed Pete’s yellow Porshe through

the busy Friday night traffic. Angie turned on the radio and cranked it. Stu

knew it was futile to complain about the volume, so he focused on the road

while Angie bopped in her seat to the beat of the blaring music.

 

The Round Room was a classy-looking joint, with neon accents throughout. There

was a $10 cover charge, which Pete promptly paid. Stu tried to pay his share of

the cost, but Pete declined.

 

“I’m the boss now, remember?” Pete said. “The boss always treats!”

 

Another subtle jibe. But Stu kept his anger to himself this time.

 

The trio found a cozy table in the rear of the bar. Stu waited until Angie had

taken her seat before he sat down next to his wife. He was glad he was able to

grab that seat before Pete took it.

 

But it didn’t matter who sat where - Pete continued to dominate the

conversation. And Angie acted like a star-struck schoolgirl, hanging on Pete’s

every word.

 

Pete had an anecdote for everything, it seemed, and Stu realized he was clearly

outclassed as a conversationalist. Every time Stu tried to jump into the

discussion, Pete and Angie would stop talking and patiently listen to whatever

Stu was saying. Then, as soon as the last word was out of Stu’s mouth, they’d

enthusiastically continue their own private discourse.

 

After awhile, Stu stopped trying to butt in and simply sat mute, sadly

listening to his cocky new supervisor impress his beautiful young wife.

 

Pete was telling Angie about his recent trip to Africa.

 

“You’ve never seen anything so beautiful as the Pyramids, Angie,” he said.

“I’ve seen them on TV a million times - but nothing beats standing right there!

They’re so huge!”

 

“Well, I wanted to take a trip last summer, but you-know-who was too scared to

go!” Angie said, glancing derisively at her husband.

 

Pete addressed Stu for the first time since they’d sat down. “Stu, why in the

world were you afraid to take your lovely wife on a trip?” he asked.

 

“Well...” Stu stammered, “it’s just that there are all those terrorists you

read about, and I didn’t want to do any traveling overseas while all those

hijackings were going on.”

 

Angie shook her head and threw up her hands. “See, what did I tell you?” she

asked Pete. “What a wimp!”

 

Pete threw back his head and laughed, and Stu felt about two inches tall.

 

Angie suddenly grabbed Pete by the arm and stood up.

 

“I’m tired of sitting around,” she said. “I came here to dance, damn it.

C’mon!”

 

Pete looked at Stu. “You don’t mind if I dance with your wife, do you, Stu?” he

asked, even as Angie was impatiently tugging him out of his seat.

 

Stu’s mouth felt like the Sahara Desert, but he managed to get the words out:

“No, Pete...I-I don’t mind.”

 

Angie literally skipped as she grabbed Pete’s hand and led him to the dance

floor. She rarely got the chance to dance - Stu was cursed with two left feet,

and he never took her dancing - so she was clearly cherishing the opportunity

to let her hair down.

Stu had lead in his veins as he sat there and watched his wife and his

supervisor cavorting on the dance floor. Of course, Mr. Perfect was also a good

dancer, Stu observed despondently. He expertly guided Angie through three fast

dances.

 

Then the DJ switched to the slow stuff.

 

Stu was hoping they’d return to the table once the slow songs started, but no

such luck. Pete held Angie close all the way through “Truly,” “Always and

Forever,” and the ubiquitous “Unchained Melody.”

 

Finally, they returned to the table. Stu tried to swallow his depression as

Pete and Angie took their seats. They both were wet with perspiration.

 

“Man!” Angie said, mopping her brow. “I haven’t danced that much in years!”

 

“That’s terrible, Ang,” Pete said. “Someone who dances as well as you ought to

do it more often.”

 

“Well, I don’t usually get the opportunity - I’m married to Fred Flinstone,”

Angie quipped.

 

Stu didn’t even notice the insult - the fact that Pete had called his wife

“Ang” was still swirling around in his head.

 

Pet names already.

 

The gloomy minutes turned into dreary hours as Stu endured the faintly-veiled

dalliance that was fermenting right under his nose. The sparks between Pete and

Angie were obvious, and although neither of them came out and said anything

incriminating, they certainly didn’t try to hide what was happening, either.

Sexual insinuations were peppered throughout the conversation.

 

It wasn’t the first time Angie had flirted with a guy in front of Stu. But this

situation was different. Pete was Stu’s boss, for one thing! This wasn’t just

some stud at the beach - Stu would have to deal with Pete day after day!

 

But Stu had no fight left in him. By the time Pete suggested they all abandon

the bar and go grab a cup of coffee, Stu offered no resistance whatsoever.

 

Pete paid the check - again refusing Stu’s offer to help pick up the tab - and

the threesome made their way for the exit.

 

Outside, they passed three rough-looking men who were loitering near the door.

As they walked by, Stu’s blood ran cold as he heard one of the men whistle at

his wife.

 

“Damn, baby, looks like you’re in for a rough night, leavin’ with two guys!”

the long-haired ruffian said. “Can we join in?” His friends laughed.

 

Stu’s insides turned to ice. He looked at the men out of the corner of his eye,

then whispered, “keep walking, Angie.”

 

But Pete didn’t keep walking - he stopped in his tracks and turned toward the

three men.

 

“That was quite rude, asshole,” he said, striding menacingly toward the man

who’d made the lewd comment. “Now, I want you to apologize to the lady.”

 

The hooligan took a step forward and pulled a huge knife from a pouch inside

his coat. “Fuck you,” he said to Pete. “Now you’re gonna eat some steel!”

 

Like a bolt of lightning, Pete faked a punch, then delivered a quicksilver

reverse roundhouse kick to the hood’s jaw. The ruffian dropped to the cement

with an ugly thud.

 

The two other men took a few cautious steps backward as Pete crouched into a

karate stance.

 

“Who’s next?” Pete challenged the men. “C’mon - which one of you punks wants

some of this?!?”

 

The men looked at each other, then, as if on cue, they both simultaneously

turned and ran as fast as they could into the darkness. The other thug, still

reeling from the kick to the jaw, stumbled after his pals.

 

Both Angie and Stu were in shock. Neither of them said anything as Pete

returned.

 

“Just a couple loudmouths,” Pete said casually. “Nothing to worry about!”

 

Angie stared at Pete incredulously. “Oh, my God!” she said, astonished. “Did

that really just happen?!!?”

 

“I’m a third-degree black belt,” Pete answered the unasked question. “Tae Kwon

Do. I’ve been training since high school.”

 

“Well, it’s a good thing,” Angie spat, eyeing her husband spitefully. “At least

one of you has the balls to stand up for my honor.”

 

Stu felt the tears starting to form. “Look, I’m sorry, Angie!” he cried. “I’m

not a goddamned black belt!” With that, he stormed off toward the car.

 

His outburst caused Angie and Pete to chuckle. Then Pete started after Stu.

 

“Hey, Stu, come on,” he said, catching up with Stu and putting his hand on his

shoulder. “Don’t be like that. I just did what anybody would’ve done.”

 

Stu didn’t want to look at Pete. He felt absolutely impotent standing next to a

man who was so obviously his superior in every way - and who so obviously

wanted to fuck his wife.

 

Angie walked up and lifted Stu’s chin with her hand. Stu reluctantly looked up;

there were tears streaming down his cheeks.

 

“Oh, for Chrissakes, Stu, what are you crying for?” Angie demanded. “Don’t be

such a baby - nobody’s blaming you because you’re not a goddamned black belt.

Now get in the car.”

 

Stu silently slipped into his car and started the engine. Angie hopped in next

to him.

 

The husband and wife again said nothing to each other as they followed Pete to

the all-night coffee shop.

 

This time, Stu didn’t get the chance to sit next to Angie - as soon as they

entered the restaurant, Angie asked Stu to go back to the car to get her purse.

 

 

Stu knew she’d deliberately forgotten her purse so she could be alone with Pete

for a few seconds.

 

Sure enough, by the time Stu returned with Angie’s purse, Pete was sitting next

to her.

 

Angie gazed evenly at Stu as he took his seat across from them.

 

“Listen, Stu,” Angie said tentatively. “Why don’t you go on home - Pete said

he’d give me a ride.”

 

Stu looked up in disbelief, first at his wife, then at Stu. They both had “that

look” on their faces - they were coming clean without actually saying anything.

 

Stu could’ve sat there and argued, and demanded that his wife come home with

him.

 

Instead, he said nothing. He quietly slithered out of his seat and sadly walked

out of the coffee shop.

 

 

TO BE CONTINUED