Jeremy Sterling: Compromised

“ Why?”

“ You're the detective. You figure it out.” She stepped on her tiptoes and kissed him on the lips.

Eric was surprised, but responded. He was blushing when he broke contact. “This is kind of a delicate area, Dr. Cross.”

“ Call me Megan.”

“ It looks bad if we seem to be using our position to make time with domestic assault victims.”

“ My sister was the victim, not me, detective.”

“ Good point. In which case, you had better call me Eric.”

That Saturday, after dinner, they had kissed on the couch for ten minutes until Carmen had interrupted them when she came home early from a night out with friends.

The next Friday, Carmen had gone to sleep early, and Megan led Eric into her bedroom.

Megan had let him remove her pants. He had stroked her thighs delicately until she finally parted them, and then he lubricated his index finger with her fluids and gently teased her labia and clit. He had started with small, light circles, growing larger and more firm as she began to respond. Within a couple minutes, she had been bucking her hips in the air and screaming her pleasure.

“ Megan?” Eric's voice broke her out of her reverie. “What are you doing?”

Megan suddenly noticed that her hands were up her skirt as she sat on the stool. One hand was pulling her panties to the side, and the other was circling her clit, just as she remembered Eric once doing. She felt embarrassed, and almost pulled her hands out from under her skirt, but she stopped herself.

Hadn't Eric said he fantasized about watching her pleasure herself? The idea had previously struck her as shameful, but now that Eric was actually watching her do it, she felt a flush of arousal. Her circling fingers found their passage eased by an increasing wetness in her panties.

“ Megan?” Eric repeated.

She answered by way of smiling as she lifted up her skirt to give him a better view. She kicked herself again. She had worn sex panties yesterday when she thought they were going to make love, but since they had fought last night, she had opted for a more practical pair. Disgusted, she pulled them down and kicked them off her feet, then raised her skirt above her hips and sat back down.

Eric had stopped scrubbing, watching her with a mix of surprise and lust. She didn't want him to stop.

“ No, Eric, keep washing the dishes. I like to watch your hands move, and imagine it's you touching me.”

She saw Eric swallow and continue cleaning the dishes, but he watched her most of the time, only spot checking his work to see if more scrubbing was needed.

Each time he washed another dish, Megan felt another wave of pleasure shoot through her. Her vagina got wetter (you aren't a doctor right now — call it your pussy, an inner voice told her), and she moved her hands faster, getting closer to direct contact with her clit.

Megan lifted her feet up to rest them on the counter. It not only presented her with a better angle, but also gave Eric a better view, and she wanted him to see. She wanted him to watch her finger herself while she thought of him.

She inserted the fingers of her left hand into her pussy, while her right hand now applied direct attention to her clit. Oh, God!

Eric finished up the last dish and he turned to focus all of his attention on her. That sent her libido up another notch, and she knew she was almost there. “Eric, watch me come. I am… going… to…” Her moans cut off her speech. She was frigging herself as hard as she could and felt the wave of her orgasm crest and wash over her body. She closed her eyes tight enough to see stars.

Her husband's voice penetrated the post-orgasmic fog. “Megan, that is the sexiest thing I have ever seen.”

She opened her eyes again and the full realization of what she had just done crashed down on her. She was mortified. “Oh my God.” Megan pulled her feet down from the counter, and — refusing to meet Eric's gaze — she turned and ran into the master bathroom. She locked the door behind her.

What had she just done? Why had she done it?

“ Megan, what's wrong?” Eric was outside the door.

“ I don't feel good. Can you leave me alone for a bit?”

She heard him curse under his breath. He had been asking her to do this for years, and when she finally performed for him, he couldn't follow up by fucking her. Instead, he was locked out of the bathroom. She was pretty sure she knew how he felt, and a sense of guilt rose within her. But her fear and shame, of the way her own mind and body had betrayed her, overwhelmed her guilt. She couldn't face him right now.

She heard the bedroom door close, and a few minutes later, she heard the TV turn on. Eric was taking his frustrations out on the Chicago Bulls.

This was the second time in as many days she had experienced a sexual response to Eric doing housework. Had Dr. Esmer done something to her? Had he turned her into some sort of freak?

Megan couldn't tell Eric. She knew him. If he even suspected, there was a good chance Esmer would be arrested, and the whole affair would be on the front page of the paper. She couldn't bear that, and she wasn't positive it had anything to do with Esmer or Eric's housework.

Maybe it was a coincidence? Eric had said at their session with Esmer that he wished she would do things like lap dances, and masturbate in front of him. She has explicitly said that both were on the table. Maybe her subconscious was just living up to the implied promise?

Tomorrow, she wouldn't let Eric do any housework, and that would be test, and give her more time to think.

Megan unlocked the bathroom and climbed into bed, re-playing today's events over in her mind. She felt more shame when she realized she found the memory erotic rather than disgusting. What was she turning into?

When Eric checked on her, she pretended to be asleep.

–

Saturday

It was proving easy to prevent Eric from doing housework. She cleaned the breakfast dishes for him before he had a chance to do so, and preemptively did a load of his laundry.

Eric tried to ask her about her behavior yesterday, but she sidestepped. “I wasn't feeling well. I don't want to talk about it.” He didn't like that answer, but he didn't press the point.

At lunch, Eric planted himself in front of the TV to watch college basketball. Megan knew she would be safe for the afternoon, and read a novel on her Kindle. She was trying to finish Stieg Larsson's trilogy, having liked the movie version of The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo when they had rented it.

She wasn't liking the second book as much as the first, and was easily distracted when she heard Eric yell “fuck!” from the living room. She figured Purdue must be losing, and went back to reading.

In the back of her mind, she registered the sound of a vacuum cleaner starting up, but ignored it, determined to see how Lisbeth Salander was going to wreck revenge this time. She found herself licking her lips in anticipation.

No, it wasn't the book that made her lick her lips, she realized. Oh hell, Eric is vacuuming! She rose and hurried to the living room, and saw the forensic remains of a Doritos spill. Most of the contents of the bag seemed to have emptied on the floor. Eric had picked up the big pieces and placed them in a large bowl, but the white carpet was covered with orange Doritos debris, which he was now sucking up with their Hoover.

Panic crossed her face as she realized her mouth was watering, and it wasn't for the chips.

Eric noticed her watching him, and shut off the vacuum cleaner. “Sorry, the Boilers made this great defensive play, and I stood up too quick. I'll get it.”

“ No, please, let me!” She knew where her salivation was leading, and she hoped she could cut it off with an early intervention.