Sapphic Seduction: A F/F Taboo Romance, page 1
Copyright © 2024 by R.J. Castille
COPYRIGHT © 2024
Cover Designer: Tiffany Lynne Publishing Services
Editor: Erica Bankston Stokes
Formatting: Tiffany Lynne Publishing Services
Plot Twist Consultant: Love Lee Jones
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, or other status is entirely coincidental.
eBooks are not transferrable. No part of this book may be used or reproduced without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations in articles and reviews. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever known, not known or hereafter invented, or stored in any storage or retrieval system, is forbidden and punishable by the fullest extent of the law without written permission of the author.
Trigger Warning:
Please review this list of trigger warnings and consider them before reading this book. Your mental health matters.
Psycho-emotional Abuse
Partner/Spousal Neglect
Verbal Abuse
Gaslighting
Narcissistic Personality Traits
Religious Indoctrination
Domestic Violence
Sexual Assault/Rape
Bigotry
Homophobia
Anxiety
Depression
For anyone who had to pretend to be someone else, to disregard who they really are and love, just to make others comfortable and accept them.
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Other Books by R.J. Castille
About R.J. Castille
A special thanks to Nicole for answering all of my extremely personal questions and indulging me as I learned what it is like to be you.
My husband was a complete asshole. Not one of those who was occasionally such a jerk that it made my life difficult. No, he was an all-around, dawn-to-dusk, relentless piece of shit. On any given day, I would be subjected to his sudden tyranny, a debilitating source of psychological abuse that kept me from moving ahead in my life. The rest of the time, he almost ignored my existence entirely. Rory Hammond kept me under his thumb at all times, in every way possible, and I often kicked myself for allowing it to happen.
Of course, it wasn’t always that way. The first two years of our marriage were blissful. We traveled, enjoyed each other’s company, and worked toward a brighter future. Something happened in the beginning of the third year. I could never quite put my finger on it, but it changed the course of things, diverting our relationship down a progressively darkening path.
I had big dreams for our future. A nice home, a steady paycheck and perhaps a child or two, and I would have been a happy camper. Unfortunately, Rory had other desires, goals that did not line up with my own. While I would have been content with the two of us, my husband was driven by something that proved to be all-consuming, the almighty dollar. Nothing seemed to matter to him more than racking up as much cash as he could get his hands on, and nothing was exempt from being pushed to the wayside in his pursuit.
Rory spent all his time working, chasing his dream, and ignoring everything else around him, including me. It was a source of discontent for me, considering I would have given it all just to be near him. His demeanor swiftly changed that year from what I thought was a loving husband and partner into a creature I no longer recognized. The distancing was not the first sign, but I was so preoccupied with trying to fix things, I missed it. While he was caught up banking fat stacks of cash, I was languishing on the sidelines, without even a thought as to how the whole thing made me feel.
Working long hours kept my husband away from home almost every night. And forget about weekends. Those days meant for rest were spent researching the next big money-making scheme or scouring the properties up for auction due to a recent foreclosure. Sometimes, I felt that Rory would only want me around if I were a crispy, new, one-hundred-dollar bill. By the way he behaved, I was not that far off.
After a big payout, stacks of cash lined our small dining room table. Rory did not believe in putting the money in the bank. He would often lament the idea out loud, stating proudly that no one on the planet would control his wealth if he was still breathing. Cold, hard cash was the end all, be all for Mr. Hammond, even when faced with the loss of everything near and dear to him.
Nevertheless, I remained faithful. Diligently plucking my way down a path with no redemption, desperately attempting to ignore the fact that my husband had no interest in the life I was trying to build. I was inclined to internalize issues and look for fault within instead of calling a spade a spade. I tried futilely to outshine something I could never defeat, yet I continued my hopeless endeavor. I took classes, read self-help books on how to save my marriage, kept my physique trim and what I thought would be attractive to him, and kept my mouth shut. Looking back, it was clearly the wrong way to handle Rory. Hindsight is definitely twenty-twenty.
For a brief time, I assumed that my husband had taken a mistress. The time away from home with little to no explanation, the refusal to acknowledge or relent to my sexual advances, even when I donned the sexiest outfit I could find at the local adult store, it all screamed that he was having an affair. I wasn’t wrong, but Rory Hammond’s mistress wasn’t a flesh and blood lover. The man desired money and nothing more, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
My mother and sister tried for years to get me to leave him. They would whisper in my ear, telling me that he was no good for me and that I did far too much for a man who proved time and again that he did not care for me the same way. I ignored them, pushing their negative remarks into the deep recesses of my mind where I held them captive, avoiding the inevitable and denying the obvious.
I did consider leaving him once or twice, however. Long nights alone in our home, the rain knocking on the windows in a rhythmic pattern, brought thoughts of dismay to my mind that had me doubting myself all over again. I cried alone, dragging myself to our king-sized bed where I would lay alone until whatever hour Rory decided to come traipsing through the door. When he finally did, I pretended to be asleep as I peered at him through partially closed eyes. He peeled off his clothes in the same order every night and crept into the bathroom for a quick shower before joining me in our bed. Even if I did wake up and confront him, there would be no answers to my inquiry. Rory would just laugh at me, dismissing my feelings as he always did before fluffing his pillow and laying his head back to welcome his slumber.
Another few years went by that way, my heart slivered with each dismissal as I retreated into the darkness of my own mind. I swore I would say something the next day; swore to myself I would stop putting up with such behavior and demand my rights as his wife and a fellow human being. Instead, I continued to bite my tongue, stuffing those feelings of torment deep down inside me where they could occasionally rear up but never escape. I was devoted, you see, and my vows meant something more to me than just a piece of paper that tied me legally to the man. Those were promises I had made to myself, the God I believed in for so long, and my husband, sealed for what I thought would be an eternity. If I have learned anything since then, sometimes things don’t always work out as planned.
“Our anniversary is coming up, isn’t it? Our fifteenth is next month, correct? You should plan something. I know you love to indulge in those kinds of things and hey, we are finally in a place where I am comfortable celebrating the two of us.” Rory gazed across the table at me expectantly. I was taken aback and had suddenly lost my voice. My husband had not suggested anything that did not involve the procurement of cash in so long, it took me completely off guard.
“Wow, Rory, I…” I stammered, searching my mind for a response, “I would love that. I had no idea you even remembered our special day! This makes me extremely happy, thank you.” I jumped up from my chair, nearly toppling it over in my excitement, ran around the table, and threw my arms around his neck. He looked up at me, a gleam in his eye that I was convinced was a sign that he was as over the moon as I was.
“Tanya, I want you to make this event your own, spare no expense, do you hear me?” My breath caught in my throat. At first, I could not believe my own ears, but the smile that stretched across my husband’s perfect front teeth told me otherwise. I squeezed him tighter, leaned in, and kissed his lips, my emotions colliding inside me. Rory Hammond was not known for thinking of anyone or anything other than money, everyone knew that, but I suddenly felt horrible for even thinking it.
Rory pulled me in close, his hands running down past my waist and around the curves of my ass. He leaned his head back and reached up, threaded his fingers into
Before I knew what was happening, Rory stood, pushed the dishes from the table onto the floor with one swipe of his arm, and pushed me down on its surface. As he looked down at me, his eyes burned with the lust I was equally consumed with. He fumbled with his shirt, pulling it quickly over his head, and tossed it onto the ground. Rory made quick work of his waistband, shoving his pants and underwear down in one motion, freeing his monster erection from its confines.
With one pull, Rory tore the front of my summer dress open. My panties received equal treatment. I watched as the fabric tore easily and my Victoria’s Secret joined his t-shirt on the floor. With his hard cock in his hand, Rory tugged down on my bra, exposing my breasts, my nipples hardening instantly. Stroking his shaft, he bent down and took one of my hardened nipples into his mouth. My pussy was already soaked, his forcefulness both surprising as well as extremely arousing. Although completely out of character, I was definitely enjoying myself.
Instead of pushing himself inside me, my husband teased me with slow strokes of his tongue along my flesh, nipping at my curves with his teeth as he dipped lower, coming to rest between my open thighs. I felt his hot breath as he trailed the tip of his tongue up my inner thigh and came to a stop directly over my heated center. His eyes met mine as he moved closer and took my swollen clit into his mouth, biting down slightly as he gently pulled back. My back arched involuntarily as he did it again, his finger finding its way inside me as I writhed where we had just eaten our breakfast.
Rory lapped at my folds. Licking and sucking my clit as I moaned loudly to the ceiling. I felt him stroking me from inside, his fingers curving around and pushing on the special deep place as he took me into his mouth and pleasured me until I fell over the edge. My orgasm consumed my body, every muscle tightening at once as I rode the wave, and my husband’s face to ecstasy.
My juices coated his face as he stood again. I smiled down at him, a little embarrassed for having been so loud. Rory smirked at me, lined his cock up with my slit and thrust inside me. I cried out again as he began to pound into me, hard and fast, grunting along with my cries of pleasure. His cock took possession of me, driving deep until my body began to quiver with another impending orgasm. As I thought it, Rory reached down and thumbed my clit as he continued to claim his prize.
I shattered around him just as he pushed deep, grunting loudly as he spilled his hot seed inside me. Collapsing onto my chest, breaths coming fast and shoulders heaving, Rory struggled to regain control of himself again. When he had calmed a little, he propped himself up onto his elbows and stared into my eyes. Floating on a cloud of post-orgasmic bliss, I barely noticed the look in his eye as he smiled and moved off me.
A quick shower later and my husband was gone, out the door. While he got dressed, I prepared his lunch, carefully folding the napkin together with the fork before dropping it into a zip-lock bag. Mr. Hammond liked his lunch packed in a certain way and it was on me to accommodate him. Sometimes it was annoying, a little quirky even, and other times downright strange, but I did whatever it took to keep harmony. Besides, he had just given me permission to spend whatever I wanted on a party for our anniversary and then proceeded to plow me into our dining room table. Little quirks be damned.
I watched him as he drove away, a shit-eating grin plastered across my face until I turned my head and met the stare of my nosy-ass neighbor, Suzy Clemmins. She smiled over at me, a knowing look mocking me from across the picket fence barrier, telling me with just a glance that she knew exactly what went on inside my home about an hour ago. I tore my gaze from hers and rushed inside, the blood rushing to my face as I fled.
My eyes fell on the dishes that had shattered when they hit the floor. I was a little annoyed since they were my favorite but was quickly reminded of why as I swept them up and discarded them in the trash. I practically skipped around my house as I did my daily tasks, humming to myself, the same smile fixed in place where I somehow knew it would be for hours to come.
I floated through my day, my thoughts far away and draped in the shroud of lustful fantasies. My husband had left his impression on me, a mere memory of what happened on the table we used to eat our daily meals was enough to have my imagination running wild again, flashes of the moment I climaxed reverberating through my mind. It was exhilarating and a much-needed change of pace.
After I squared away my household chores, I turned my attention to the celebration to come. The better half of my afternoon was spent pouring over websites, Pinterest ideas, and possible venues. Rory had said to do whatever I wanted, whatever my heart desired. Lofty visions of perfection floated through my mind as I worked, bookmarking the best ideas, and jotting down a potential guest list. Before I knew it, several hours had passed and the sun was dipping low in the sky.
My own preoccupations had delayed my final mandated task, making dinner. The clock mocked me as I rushed into the kitchen and lamented the fact that I had but an hour and a half before my beloved was expected home. Historically, I have only missed one meal in our entire marriage, with good reason. Rory lost his mind that evening, tossing dishes against the wall and making a scene loud enough to hear two blocks over. I am exaggerating of course, but it was one of the most frightening moments of our lives together. I can still hear the crash of ceramic as my grandmother’s China shattered a few inches from my head, splintering into pieces and falling into a pile of dust and slivers on the floor.
Shaking off the memory, I got to work. I was always prepared to make a meal in a hurry. Years ago, I got into the habit of buying a little bit more of the basics than the two of us needed and even a few ready-made dinners I kept hidden in the back of the freezer for just such an occasion. Rory hated frozen meals, but in a pinch and with a little bit of doctoring, they were not half bad, and he never knew the difference.
Rory pulled into the driveway just as I pulled the chicken parmesan out of the oven. Perfect timing, as always. My mind teased me as I worked diligently, tossing a salad together as the dish set up and cooled enough to serve. I jumped slightly when the door slammed open, the plate I was holding almost slipping from my grasp as I turned to greet my husband.
“Welcome home, my love,” I rushed to help him remove his coat and hang it neatly on the coat rack next to the door. He shrugged off the chill of the evening and dropped his keys onto the console table under the front window. Without a word, he turned and moved through the living room toward the guest bathroom on the other side of the kitchen. I sighed with relief as he took a moment to stop and test what I had prepared for dinner, nodded his approval, and ducked out of sight.
He was a hard man to get along with most of the time, but his antics earlier that day had me reeling still, floating high on a cloud and I was not about to let him rob me of that feeling. It happened so rarely, I wanted to bask in the warmth the memories gave me as long as possible. For I never knew when he was going to flip the script and go back to the way he usually was.
“I’m going to take a shower,” Rory announced, emerging from the bathroom after several minutes, “while that cools off.” He pointed toward the stove where the food was still bubbling. I nodded, acknowledging him without a word as he slid past me and disappeared down the hallway.
I busied myself with setting the table, carefully lining the silverware up with the napkin underneath and in the correct order: spoon; knife with the blade facing toward the plate; dinner fork; and finally, the salad fork. Everything was just so as my husband reappeared, his large frame illuminated by the hallway light as he looked on.
Smiling and looking down slightly, I stepped aside, presenting him with the meal I had prepared. Rory sat down heavily, his shoulders finally relaxing and the smell of his body wash wafting toward me. He leaned in, reaching for the pepper to douse his plate with and dug in. I joined him after he motioned for me to sit, lowering myself gingerly into the chair to his right. Picking up my napkin, I laid it across my lap and joined him in ingesting the tasty dish.
