Chapter 197: Bruce’s depression
The Bali compound felt hollow. Two weeks. Fourteen days of Bruce’s absence leaching the warmth from the sprawling villa. The infinity pool shimmered under the relentless sun, but no laughter echoed off its tiles. The dining pavilion, usually alive with chatter and clinking plates, was just a space filled with untouched food and heavy silence. He existed only in glimpses: the closing door of his study, a shadow vanishing down a corridor towards Lena’s sunroom, the distant, solitary figure on the cliffs at night, bottle glinting in the moonlight.
The wives gathered in the cool, shaded living room, the vast windows framing the lush jungle vista like a painting nobody was looking at. Lena sat carefully on a deep sofa, her sundress riding up slightly to reveal the edge of bandages still wrapped around her midsection. Her usually vibrant eyes were clouded with worry. Camille paced, her bare feet silent on the polished teak, her expression tight. Ketut perched on the arm of a chair, her gaze distant, seeing colors only she could interpret. Jasmine sprawled defiantly on a rug, picking at her nails. Mystique stood like a sentinel by the window, arms crossed, watching the path Bruce usually took. Sophia fidgeted, Priya observed clinically, Elara looked thoughtful, and Erika sat rigidly in a corner armchair, her pale face impassive, staring at a point on the floor.
"He came to me this morning," Lena said, her voice soft but cutting through the stillness. "Sat beside me. Held my ankle. Said nothing." She traced the edge of her bandage. "I told him about Sophia’s new routine for me… gentle stretches…" She swallowed. "He just stared at my stomach. Like he was seeing the crash again. The blood. Then…" She gestured helplessly. "He kissed my forehead. Said ‘Later’. Left." The word hung in the air, heavy with finality.
Camille stopped pacing. "He picks at dinner if I bring it to his study. Doesn’t taste it. Just… pushes it around. Answers questions about business, security… monosyllables. Like talking to a ghost wearing his skin."
Jasmine slammed her fist lightly on the rug. "Fuck this! We tried everything! Mystique and I fucked him raw in the gym! Thought that would blast the grey shit right outta his eyes!" She glared around the room. "He came hard, filled us both up good, screamed our names… then poof. Back to fuckin’ shadows the second his dick softened!"
Mystique nodded grimly, not turning from the window. "The grey came back faster than ever. Deeper. That cold indigo Ketut sees? It’s like ice in his soul now."
Ketut spoke quietly. "It’s… consuming him. The grey eats the gold, the blue… swallows everything but that cold, dark pit. It’s the fear. The shame. The feeling of being… monstrous. Unwanted." Her dark eyes flickered towards Erika, then away.
Sophia leaned forward, her sculpted arms resting on her knees. "We’ve tried talking, loving, fucking… Lena, you pulled him back before, after… after what happened."
Lena shook her head, frustration etching lines around her eyes. "That was different. He was hurting. Now? He’s… gone. Locked away. He doesn’t respond to me anymore. Doesn’t hear what I’m saying half the time. He looks through me." She took a shaky breath, her fierce loyalty warring with helplessness. Her gaze lifted, sharp and direct, landing on Erika like a spear. "I think it has to be her."
All eyes snapped to Erika. She didn’t flinch, but her knuckles whitened where they gripped the armrests. Her startling blue eyes remained fixed on the floor.
"If you don’t want to bring him back, Erika," Lena continued, her voice hardening, losing its usual playful warmth, "if that cold knot of fear Priya felt, that Bruce knows is there… if that’s stronger than whatever the fuck you feel for him…" Lena paused, letting the accusation hang thick in the humid air. "Then maybe you should take the goddamn door he offered and get the fuck out."
Silence crashed down, heavier than the tropical heat. Erika’s head jerked up. Her glacial eyes met Lena’s fiery ones. A tremor ran through her, visible only in the slight tightening of her jaw. She didn’t speak. Didn’t deny it. Just held Lena’s gaze, a fortress of ice against the accusation.
Camille stepped between them, physically breaking the line of sight. "Lena! That’s not—"
"Isn’t it?" Lena shot back, her voice rising. "He offered her an out! He felt her fear, her rejection! After everything! After he bled for us, killed for us! And she walks out? Leaves him hanging in that fucking pavilion? And now he’s drowning in it!" Tears of frustration welled in Lena’s eyes. "Look at him! He thinks he is the monster because she looks at him like one!"
Erika stood abruptly. Her chair scraped harshly on the floor. Her face was pale marble, her eyes chips of Arctic ice. She looked at Lena, then swept her gaze over the other women – Camille’s pained concern, Jasmine’s furious glare, Ketut’s quiet sorrow, Mystique’s assessing stare, Sophia’s confusion, Priya’s clinical observation, Elara’s thoughtful frown. Without a word, she turned and walked out of the room, her long legs carrying her swiftly towards the gardens, a trail of frigid silence left in her wake.
The tension didn’t dissipate; it solidified. Jasmine swore violently under her breath. Camille sank onto the sofa beside Lena, rubbing her temples. "That… didn’t help, Lena."
"What fucking does?" Lena retorted, wiping angrily at her eyes. "He’s vanishing! Night by night, bottle by bottle, cliff by cliff! What happens when ‘later’ never comes?"
Ketut’s voice was a whisper. "The indigo is winning. It’s… heavy. Like drowning."
Later that evening, desperation took a different form. Camille found Ketut in the dimly lit hallway outside Bruce’s study. The heavy door was closed. The scent of expensive bourbon seeped faintly from beneath it, mingling with the night-blooming jasmine drifting through open windows. Camille’s eyes were shadowed, her usual confidence frayed. She reached out, her fingers brushing Ketut’s arm.
"Come," Camille murmured, her voice thick. "I can’t… I can’t breathe."
She led Ketut not to her own suite, but towards the secluded guest pavilion overlooking the koi pond. It was empty, cool, lit only by moonlight filtering through the bamboo screens. The air hummed with the sound of frogs and distant insects. The need wasn’t for Bruce right now; it was for connection, for affirmation, for feeling something besides the gnawing dread of his absence. They needed to remind themselves, and each other, of the fierce, consuming passion Bruce embodied – the passion they feared was being extinguished.
Camille turned to Ketut as the door clicked shut behind them. No words were needed. The shared desperation, the shared love for the man slipping away, ignited a different fire. Camille’s hands, usually so graceful, were urgent as they pulled at the straps of Ketut’s silk camisole. Ketut responded with equal fervor, her fingers fumbling with the buttons of Camille’s linen shirt. Fabric whispered against skin as it fell away, pooling on the cool tile floor.
Moonlight painted their bodies in shades of silver and shadow. Camille’s curves, her thick ass and thighs, her small, perky breasts tipped with dark nipples already hardening. Ketut’s sculpted form, honed by Sophia’s relentless training – toned legs, perky ass, firm breasts. They came together not with tenderness, but with a frantic hunger, mouths crashing, tongues tangling in a desperate mimicry of the raw passion Bruce ignited. Camille’s hands gripped Ketut’s ass, pulling her close, grinding their hips together. Ketut moaned into Camille’s mouth, her hands sliding up Camille’s back, fingers digging into the soft flesh.
"Fuck, Ketut," Camille gasped, breaking the kiss, her lips trailing down Ketut’s neck. "Need to feel… need to burn…" Her hand slid between them, fingers finding Ketut’s wetness through the thin silk of her shorts. Ketut cried out, arching into the touch.
"Yes! Camille! Please!" Ketut’s voice was ragged. She pushed Camille back towards the low, wide daybed. Camille stumbled onto it, pulling Ketut down on top of her. Ketut straddled Camille’s hips, her own hands frantically pulling down Camille’s shorts and panties, then her own. Naked now, skin slick with sweat under the humid night air, they moved with frantic urgency.
Camille’s fingers plunged into Ketut’s dripping pussy, curling, finding that sweet spot. Ketut gasped, her head falling back, her hips bucking against Camille’s hand. "Oh GOD! Fuck me! Fuck me like he does!" The plea was raw, a desperate invocation.
Camille understood. She withdrew her fingers, slick and glistening. She gripped Ketut’s hips, guiding her backwards. "Ride my face, baby," Camille commanded, her voice husky with need. "Grind that sweet cunt on my tongue. Pretend it’s his."
Ketut didn’t hesitate. She scrambled backwards, positioning her dripping pussy over Camille’s waiting mouth. Camille’s tongue lashed out, broad and flat, swiping up through Ketut’s soaked folds. Ketut screamed, her hands bracing on the wall behind the daybed. Camille buried her face, her tongue spearing deep, then flicking rapidly over Ketut’s swollen clit. She sucked hard, her nose pressed against Ketut’s mound, her fingers digging into the firm flesh of Ketut’s ass, pulling her down harder.
"YES! FUCK! CAMILLE! LICK MY PUSSY! MAKE ME COME!" Ketut shrieked, her thighs trembling, her back arching. She ground down onto Camille’s mouth, seeking the friction, the release, the temporary oblivion. Camille devoured her, her tongue a relentless piston, her suction fierce. She imagined Bruce watching, imagined the blue fire in his eyes, and poured that desperate longing into every lick, every suck.
Ketut’s orgasm hit like a tsunami. Her body locked, a strangled cry tearing from her throat as she convulsed violently over Camille’s face, drenching her chin and neck. Wave after wave crashed through her, leaving her gasping, trembling, collapsing forward onto Camille’s chest.
Camille held her, breathing heavily, tasting Ketut’s essence on her lips. But the fire wasn’t banked; it roared higher. She flipped Ketut onto her back with surprising strength. Ketut’s eyes were wide, dazed, but burning with renewed need. Camille grabbed a pillow, shoved it under Ketut’s hips, lifting her ass. She positioned herself between Ketut’s thighs.
"Need you inside me," Camille panted. "Now. Fuck me with your fingers. Hard. Make me feel him."
Ketut nodded, her breath coming in short gasps. She reached down, two fingers sliding easily into Camille’s slick, waiting pussy. Camille moaned, low and deep, as Ketut’s fingers curled, finding her G-spot. "Fuck yes! Deeper! More!" Camille demanded, rocking her hips onto Ketut’s hand.
Ketut added a third finger, stretching Camille wide. She thrust hard, mimicking the powerful pistoning of Bruce’s cock. Camille cried out, her hands gripping the sheets, her back arching off the bed. "YES! FUCK ME! FUCK YOUR FIST IN MY CUNT!" She reached down, her own fingers finding her clit, rubbing furious circles. "Imagine him watching, Ketut! Imagine him seeing you wreck my pussy!"
Ketut’s thrusts became harder, faster, her knuckles pounding against Camille’s ass. The wet, slapping sounds filled the pavilion. Camille’s moans escalated into screams. "OH GOD! KETUT! I'M GONNA COME! MAKE ME COME FOR HIM! FOR BRUCE!" Her body bowed, every muscle straining as a massive orgasm ripped through her. Her pussy clenched viscously around Ketut’s thrusting fingers, milking them as she shuddered uncontrollably, a guttural cry tearing from her throat.
They collapsed together, limbs tangled, sweat-slicked skin sticking, breathing ragged in the aftermath. The scent of sex and desperation hung thick in the air. Camille buried her face in Ketut’s neck, a sob escaping her. "It’s not enough," she whispered, her voice breaking. "It’s not him."
Ketut held her tighter, stroking her hair. "I know," she murmured, her own eyes stinging. The frantic coupling had been a temporary flare, a desperate attempt to conjure Bruce’s presence through shared sensation. But the void remained. The grey and indigo still swirled unseen in the distant study, on the lonely cliffs. The connection they craved, the anchor of his fierce, encompassing love, was still slipping away, leaving them adrift in a sea of fear and longing. The raw, explicit act had been visceral, consuming, but ultimately, it was just an echo in the vast, Bruce-shaped silence of the villa.
The raw, explicit act had been visceral, consuming, but ultimately, it was just an echo in the vast, Bruce-shaped silence of the villa. Camille clung to Ketut, their sweat cooling, the frantic energy dissipating into the humid night air, leaving only a hollow ache where Bruce’s presence should have been. Down the hall, behind the heavy study door, the faint clink of glass on wood signaled another pour of bourbon, another step deeper into the grey.
Three nights later, desperation wore a different face. Jasmine cornered Mystique near the moonlit infinity pool, its surface reflecting the stars like scattered diamonds. "He ain't comin' out," Jasmine hissed, her green eyes flashing in the dim light. "Not for Lena's gentle touch, not for Camille's worried sighs, not even for my fuckin' legendary ass wigglin' past his study door." She spat into the water. "We gotta drag him outta that pit. Force-feed him reality."
Mystique’s gaze was sharp, assessing. She saw Jasmine’s fury masking fear, saw the tremor in her hand gripping the pool’s edge. "Force how, Jazz? We tried claiming him raw. He came hard, then vanished deeper."
"Then we do it harder," Jasmine growled, her voice low and dangerous. "Where he can't hide. Where the grey can't fuckin' breathe." She jerked her chin towards the private gymnasium, its glass doors dark. "He's in there now. Broodin'. Probably liftin' shit 'til his muscles scream." A predatory smile touched her lips. "Let's make 'em scream somethin' else."
They found him exactly as Jasmine predicted. Bruce stood bathed in the harsh fluorescent lights, facing a mirrored wall, his massive frame coiled with tension. He gripped a heavy barbell, veins snaking up his forearms, shoulders bunching as he executed a slow, punishing deadlift. Sweat slicked his bare back, tracing the valleys between sculpted muscle. His reflection showed eyes devoid of their usual fire, just that flat, leaden grey Ketut dreaded. The air smelled of iron, rubber mats, and bourbon fumes clinging to his skin.
He didn't acknowledge them as they entered. The heavy plates clanked as he lowered the bar. Jasmine stalked forward, her bare feet silent on the mat. Mystique moved like smoke, circling to flank him. Jasmine stopped inches behind him, her breath hot on his sweat-drenched skin. "Put the fuckin' weight down, Bruce," she commanded, her voice slicing through the grunt-filled silence.
Bruce froze mid-lift, the bar hovering just above the floor. His knuckles whitened. He slowly lowered the weight the rest of the way, the clang echoing sharply. He straightened, turning slowly. His gaze swept over Jasmine, then Mystique, registering their presence but showing no spark, no blue, no gold. Just weary grey. "What?" His voice was gravel.
"This," Jasmine snarled. She didn't wait. She launched herself at him, her hands grabbing his sweatpants and shoving them down his hips in one violent motion. His monstrous cock, thick and heavy even flaccid, sprang free. Jasmine dropped to her knees instantly, her mouth engulfing the thick shaft before he could react. She sucked hard, deep, her tongue swirling around the head, her cheeks hollowing obscenely. "Mmmph! Fuck yeah, taste that sweat, big dick!" she moaned around him, her hands gripping his ass cheeks, pulling him deeper into her throat.
Bruce gasped, his body jolting. The grey flickered, startled gold flashing briefly. Mystique was already moving. She pressed her naked body against his back – she’d shed her clothes silently while Jasmine attacked. Her cool hands slid over his pecs, pinching his nipples hard. Her teeth scraped his shoulder. "Feel her mouth, Bruce," Mystique breathed hotly in his ear, her voice a low thrum of command. "Feel her claim you. Feel us." Her hand snaked down his stomach, fingers wrapping around the base of his cock, just above Jasmine’s working lips, squeezing possessively. "This is ours. You are ours. Stop hiding."
Bruce groaned, a deep, involuntary sound ripped from his chest. His cock surged to life under Jasmine’s relentless suction, thickening, lengthening impossibly, veins bulging against the slick skin. Jasmine pulled back, dragging her lips slowly up his shaft with a wet, filthy pop. A thick strand of saliva connected her swollen lips to his glistening purple head. "Look at this fuckin' monster!" she rasped, pumping him roughly with her fist. "All fuckin' mine!" She spun, presenting her incredible ass, bending forward sharply, hands braced on her knees. Her glistening pussy lips glistened, parted and dripping. "Fuck me! Right fuckin' now! Slam that fuckin' log into my cunt! Make me scream!"
The sight, the demand, the raw need radiating from her – it shattered Bruce’s fragile control. The grey vanished, consumed by a roaring inferno of pure blue lust. A guttural roar tore from his throat. He grabbed Jasmine’s hips, fingers digging deep into the resilient flesh of her legendary ass. He positioned the massive, blunt head against her dripping slit. No finesse. No easing. Pure, brutal possession. He surged forward, driving his hips with savage force.
Jasmine screamed – a raw, ecstatic shriek – as he buried himself to the hilt in one devastating thrust. Her inner walls stretched obscenely wide around his colossal girth before clamping down in a vice-like spasm. "OH FUCKING CHRIST! BRUCE! YES! SPLIT ME OPEN! FUCK!" Her cry fractured as he pulled back almost completely, the drag of her stretched flesh along his slick shaft agonizingly intense, then slammed forward again, harder, his balls cracking against her clit. The wet slap of flesh on flesh echoed like gunshots in the sterile gym. He set a relentless, pounding rhythm, each thrust a piston stroke driving deep, grinding his pubic bone against her ass. Jasmine met him thrust for thrust, pushing back violently, her screams escalating into incoherent, filthy chants. "BREED ME! RUIN THIS PUSSY! YOUR COCK IS GOD! FUCK! YES! DEEPER! TEAR IT! FUCK!"
Mystique watched, her own arousal a palpable heat radiating from her naked body. Her hand slid down her flat stomach, fingers plunging into her own wetness, rubbing furious circles on her clit as she witnessed Jasmine’s brutal claiming. "Harder!" Mystique commanded, her voice thick with lust. "Make her take every inch! Show her who owns that cunt!"
Bruce roared, lost in the primal rhythm. Jasmine’s screams dissolved into guttural, animalistic grunts, her body slamming back to meet his relentless drives. Her inner muscles fluttered wildly, signaling her climax building under the relentless assault. "OH FUCK! OH FUCK, BRUCE! I'M GONNA... CUMMING! FUCK! BREED ME NOW!" Her plea was a ragged shriek.
The raw demand triggered Bruce’s own eruption. He buried himself to the root, grinding his pelvis hard against her ass as thick, scalding jets of cum erupted deep inside her clenching channel. "TAKE IT! TAKE MY FUCKING SEED, JAZZ! FLOOD YOUR CUNT!" he bellowed, his hips jerking uncontrollably, pumping load after heavy load into her depths. Jasmine shrieked, her body convulsing wildly around the flood, her legs buckling as she rode the overwhelming crest of her orgasm, spurred by the hot gush filling her.
The moment his last pulse faded, Mystique shoved Jasmine roughly aside. Jasmine stumbled away, gasping, thick streams of Bruce's cum already leaking down her inner thighs, dripping onto the mat. Mystique didn't hesitate. She gripped Bruce’s slick hips and spun him towards her. His cock, still impossibly thick and glistening with their mixed fluids, throbbed obscenely. "My turn," she breathed, eyes blazing. She leapt, wrapping her powerful legs around his waist, arms locking around his neck. She guided the slick head to her waiting entrance. "Fuck me. Here. Now."
Bruce’s hands clamped onto her phenomenal ass, lifting her easily. With a guttural groan of pure need, he slammed her down onto his rigid shaft. Mystique’s head snapped back, a choked cry escaping her as her tight channel stretched brutally around his girth. "YES! GOD! FILL ME!" she gasped, her inner muscles immediately clenching, sucking him deeper. Bruce hammered upwards, driving into her with short, savage thrusts, his grip on her ass iron-tight. Mystique met each upward surge, grinding down violently, taking every inch, her pussy lips stretched obscenely wide around the base of his cock. Her moans were sharp, desperate gasps. "HARDER! FUCK! RUIN ME! MAKE ME FORGET EVERYTHING BUT YOUR COCK!"
He obliged, pistoning into her dripping cunt with brutal force. Mystique’s breath hitched, her eyes rolling back. "I'M... CUMMING! FUCK! BRUCE!" Her climax hit hard and fast, her pussy convulsing in fierce, rapid pulses around his pounding cock, milking him violently. The intense grip, the primal scream tearing from her throat, pulled his own second release. He slammed her down one final time, roaring as another torrent of hot cum jetted deep into her spasming depths. Mystique shuddered violently against him, her teeth sinking into his shoulder as wave after wave of ecstasy ripped through her.
He held her there, impaled, both trembling, breathing ragged, coated in sweat and sex. Jasmine, leaning against the mirrored wall, one hand pressed to her leaking pussy, watched them, a lazy, satisfied smirk on her swollen lips. "Damn," she breathed, her voice hoarse.
Bruce slowly lowered Mystique, her legs unsteady. Cum leaked freely down her inner thighs. He stepped back, his massive cock slick and glistening, already softening. The roaring blue fire in his eyes flickered, then died. The grey flooded back instantly, deeper, colder than before, mixed with that suffocating indigo Ketut feared. He swiped a hand down his face, smearing sweat and Jasmine’s saliva. "Security sweep," he muttered, his voice flat, devoid of the passion that had just ripped through him. He avoided their searching gazes, bent stiffly to scoop up his sweatpants. He pulled them on over his sticky cock, didn't bother with underwear. Shirt forgotten on the floor, he strode towards the door, movements tight, closed-off. The raw claiming felt hollow, meaningless. The connection snapped.
Jasmine pushed off the wall, frowning. "Bruce? Wait—"
He didn't pause. Didn't look back. The gym door hissed shut behind him. Jasmine stared after him, then at Mystique, who was wiping herself clean, her expression grim. "The fuck?" Jasmine whispered, the triumph draining from her face.
"Grey," Mystique stated flatly. "Deeper grey. The indigo swallowed the blue whole. Faster than before." She pulled her discarded top back on. "Erika's silence... it's killing him."
Unseen, Erika stood frozen in the shadowed corridor outside the gym door. She’d heard the screams, the slapping flesh, the raw commands, Bruce’s roars. She’d watched through the narrow window in the door as he fucked Jasmine with brutal intensity, then Mystique with savage possession. She’d seen his eyes blaze blue fire. And she’d seen the exact moment the grey and indigo drowned it, leaving him empty. Her own icy facade cracked. A single tear traced a path down her pale cheek as Bruce strode past her shadowed alcove without seeing her, heading back towards the cliffs, the bourbon, the vast, echoing silence where he felt safest. Alone. The door he’d offered her swung wide open in the desolate landscape of his eyes.