Pawn

"You're gawking," my wife said, covering her breasts with her hands. "Eyes down, you know better."

Her words were a rebuke even if her tone was soft, understanding. "S...sorry," I said, lowering my eyes to the floor. I swallowed hard. "Please...please don't tell him," I said, knowing her lover's rules.

She was silent; I was afraid to look up, afraid to gawk again at her bare breasts. I knew she was testing me, even baiting me; I knew she liked to play us off against one another, enjoyed it. "You're asking me to lie to him?" she said. 

I sensed her hands move away from her breasts. "N...no," I said, struggling to keep my eyes lowered, failing, again looking at her breasts.

"Are you serious?" she asked, covering herself again. "You ask me to lie to him and two seconds later gawk at me again?"

I knew she was doing this on purpose. She knew I knew, knew the game, enjoyed it. "M...Monica," I groaned. This was the third month in a row she'd done this, the third month in a row she baited me, knowing the consequences, knowing he'd keep me caged another month every time I gawked at her.

"Twice," she said, "you know his rules. And I assume he'll tack on a month for asking me to lie."

I took a deep breath, afraid to make it worse, afraid three more months would turn into six or nine, afraid I'd find myself caged for a year. "I...I know," I finally said.

"Bring me my bra," she said, "help me into it."

"Monica, please, that...that's not fair." If I so much as grazed her breasts with my fingers, he'd add three months.

"Behave, then," she said, "or don't do it; I'll do it myself."

She knew I'd jump at the chance to help her dress for her date just as she knew I'd be weak and touch her. But his was her game and I was just a pawn in it.