His

You looked at your wife, her expensive lingerie, her hair, her nails. You tried to remember a time before, when you first dated. She was almost plain then, preferring yoga pants to dresses, plain bras and panties to fancy lingerie.

You were satisfied, knowing she was beautiful, even if she didn't show it off, knowing she was naturally shy about such things.

But he wasn't satisfied. He paid to renovate the master bedroom. He paid for weekly hair and nail treatments. He paid for sexy, revealing clothes, lingerie.

She was his kept woman.

"Hey there you are," she said as you came softly into the room. "You like?"

"I...wow," you mumbled.

She smiled. "That's what I hope he thinks," she said. 

"I...I though you were going out?" you asked.

"Oh, we are," she said. "You know how he is, no reason to wear more than I need to, you know he likes to see my body."

"He just likes to rub it in," you said.

"Rub what in?" she asked.

"That...that your his," you said.

"I'm your too," she said.

"You know what I mean," you said, feeling your pants tighten.

She shrugged. "Baby," she said, "you get me when he's not here, you know that. I just...when he's around, then I'm his."