by Ben Boswell
“I’m… I’m not the boss of you,” I replied awkwardly, finally.
She chuckled. “No. You’re not.”
I nodded, as if something had been settled. And maybe it had.
A surge of sound drew my attention to the TV. I watched the replay of the goal I’d missed, a crazy cross from the sideline, arcing, slicing, the striker making a mad dash through three defenders, a desperately outstretched leg, the ball redirected off an exposed shin, a diving keeper, fingertips on the ball, but not enough to keep it from slicing into the corner of the goal. A beautiful, graceful, athletic play.
“I’m going on break.”
It was Brian, standing beside us now, tall, and buff, and full of confidence.
“Want to join me?” he asked my wife, his hand extended.
She didn’t answer right away. Her twinkling eyes were fixed on mine. She was dragging it out. My mind raced. Terri naked on her hands and knees. Brian looming her rear, his muscular, tattooed arm reaching out to seize a handful of her thick hair, as he pounded her from behind. Then on her back, legs up and spread in an inviting V, Brian’s powerful ass clenching as he fucked her hard. Standing up now, her leg wrapped around his waist, arms clenching at his thick neck, moaning with sloppy, deep kisses.
No. No. No! I screamed inside my head.
A sly smile spread across her face, mouth curling just at the corners, lowering her chin to gaze at me through a loose strand of blond hair. How did she do that? Get just a small strand of her locks to slide across her face. Just the right amount to flick away or peer through sexily as the mood struck her. She was a master of those small, feminine gestures that are, oddly, sometimes even sexier than anything big and showy.
She knew she had me hooked. Her lips parted slightly, a small flash of pink as she ran her tongue across teeth. Instinctively it made me think of her other set of lips, pink, damp with excitement. I wanted to grab her and yank her toward me, kiss her wetly, drag her from the bar and, frankly, fuck her brains out.
But I didn’t move. Not a muscle. My inaction was an invitation to Brian, encouragement to Terri.
He curled his fingertips slightly, an almost imperceptible gesture. But she responded. I watched in slow motion as my wife reached out and placed her left hand in his palm, and I watched as his fist closed over her hand, covering her engagement and wedding rings. He wore a thumb ring that called attention to his thick fingers. It was unambiguously phallic, and that was probably the point.
Had Terri noticed it too? Of course. She’d been thinking of screwing the muscular asshole and his big prick from the moment he came over to take our order. I felt a surge of rage at him. At men like him and Chucky who could cast a spell on women, on my wife.
And then we were back in real time as she hopped off the barstool. He turned and I watched as he led my wife away from me. She trailed behind him for a moment, eyes still locked on mine, her grin widening until he pulled her to his side and wrapped his powerful arm possessively around her waist. She look away from me and toward him. I saw him speak, heard her throaty laugh, and then they were gone.
I reached behind me and closed my hand on my drink. Without looking, I brought it to my lips and gulped. My throat burned, my head spun, my stomach rumbled, and I found myself gripping the bar for support. I slammed the glass down on the bar, and when the other bartender looked over, I nodded and he wordlessly came over to refill it.
I couldn’t look in his eyes. He knew. Of course he did. I could hear Brian’s deep voice in my head.
Hey buddy, cover me for a few. I need to fuck this hot blonde at the bar.
I watched the TV without seeing it. It was just a random flash of movement and colors. All I could think about was my wife. Well, no, that’s not quite right. I wasn’t thinking. There were no organized thoughts. Just a jumble of images and emotions.
Terri kissing Brian’s throat. His hands cupping her ass. Her painted fingernails running across his muscular chest. His fingers winding into her thick hair. Biting her lip. Lifting up her dress, his strong hand sliding into her thin panties. Her tongue teasing the underside of his hard cock. Could I hear her moaning? Was that just my imagination? Fucking slut. I wished I could stop her. And then I remembered that I could. I just had to say the word. But either I couldn’t, or didn’t want to.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I didn’t want her to be with another man, but I loved that she was the kind of woman who would… just… follow her appetites like that. A woman who was confident enough to throw convention, and our wedding vows, to the wind.
I should hate her for it, but I didn’t. Instead, all I could think of was the look on her face as he first entered her. Fucking a young, handsome stranger while her husband waited at the bar. A smirk turning into a satisfied grin. But as good as it felt, I knew she was thinking about me just as I was of her. Maybe not as obsessively. She had a pressing distraction, after all. A fat cock pounding up inside her, driving her wild. But even still, I knew she was thinking of me. Not doing it for me, per se, but in a weird way because of me. Because of how it would inflame me. No, I wasn’t naïve enough to think that it was all about my pleasure. She’d told me too often how good it made her feel. But I knew she was thinking of me. And in a weird way, that’s what made it alright, knowing that I was in her mind even as another man was inside her.
***
The strangest thing about all of this was how normal – heck, bland – we’d been before. Before Chucky: Vanilla. In a decade together, we’d had shower sex twice, both times on vacation. Once, very early on in our relationship, watching a movie on TV had turned into a passionate make-out session, and then awkward, clothes-half-on sex on the sofa.
The closest thing to crazy had been after a New Year’s Eve party. A night of drinking and dancing. We’d walked home unsteadily. God, she’d been so sexy, in spiky heels, with her long, blond hair in loose spiral curls. I remember thinking that she looked so hot that night, the sexiest chick at the party, and that other men had noticed. Knowing she was mine had definitely gotten me charged up. And I remember being jealous. It had made me more, I don’t know, aggressive maybe? Possessive at least. Holding her tight. Kissing her openly. Showing off a little.
We were living in an apartment at the time, and I’ll always remember the elevator ride. The powerful sexual energy of it. We couldn’t quite look each other in the eye. I just wanted to tear off her clothes and fuck her like an animal. But we didn’t do that. That was not our thing. But it felt different that night. I can’t explain it. I realized I was breathing hard. As crude as it sounds, it was as if I could smell her excitement.
The elevator door opened and she hurried out. I followed behind her, my eyes glued to her swiveling ass. She was walking so rapidly that I wondered for a second whether she was trying to get away from me, but then I realized she was just desperate to get behind a locked door. I closed the distance in a heartbeat and pressed against her just as she flung the door open. We stumbled inside. I kicked the door shut.
When I thought about it after, I couldn’t shake the image of an atomic explosion. Our two bodies came together and we were suddenly at critical mass. She sucked on my neck until I grunted in pain, but it didn’t slow me from tearing at her blouse to get at her tits. I mashed them hard, pushing up her bra. Instead of objecting, she gave as good as she got, jerking my hard cock roughly through my pants. She jammed her tongue down my throat. I ran my hand up her inner thigh, hot and moist to my touch.
Then suddenly she shoved me away. Hard. I slammed into the wall. But before I could take offense or even process it, she reached up under her skirt and yanked down her panties, stepping out of them gracefully despite her high-heels. She turned and faced the wall and raised her skirt. Her perfect little ass gyrated seductively. I stepped in close.
I don’t even remember dropping my pants. What I do remember is plunging inside her from behind. Hearing her sultry moan. Seeing her palms slide up the wall to steady herself. She was so wet and so hot and so exc
ited. She fucked me as hard as I fucked her. Feral, desperate, wild.
She threw her head back and moaned. I sucked on her neck as I came inside her.
And then the fever broke. Instantly, it felt awkward. I couldn’t find the words to tell her how amazing it had been. In the face of my stunned silence, she fled to the bathroom to get cleaned up and changed into her flannels.
It had been amazing and yet wrong. I’m not sure why. Was that a fork in a road that we might have taken that night? I don’t know.
As it turned out, it was a fork. I spent a couple of weeks convincing myself that I wanted to talk about it. And then another couple working up the courage to broach the topic. But then the night I had planned for the talk, she beat me to the punch with her own revelation.
You can never be sure about these things, but when we did the math later, it seemed likely that we’d conceived Braden that night.
CHAPTER TWO
If it was rough seeing my wife walk away with another man, it was infinitely worse seeing them walk back, hand-in-hand, a big goofy smile on her face. She was glowing, a little flush, a couple of strands of hair sticking to her forehead. And that fucker Brian was grinning like the fucking Cheshire cat, the fucking fucker.
He saw me and smiled even wider.
I just fucked the living shit out of your wife.
This was the part I’d never been able to deal with. Chucky had thrown it in my face once, but for the most part I’d dealt with my wife’s infidelity through her, through her excited recollections. But I also knew she filtered it for me. Calibrated her disclosures to maximize my excitement and minimize my suffering.
As they approached, I braced myself. He was a buff, handsome guy, and I was a… a pathetic, weak cuckold. He’d taken my wife. Picked her up right in front of me. Led her away and fucked her. And I’d done nothing to stop it.
His and my eyes met. I tried to steel myself, even though I felt fragile. It was a bluff, and happily he didn’t call it. He gave me a quick nod. I watched as he leaned in and kissed Terri on the cheek. A word in her ear. She smiled. His hand lingered on her arm, their eyes met, a moment passed between them, and then he was back behind the bar as if nothing had happened.
Terri hopped up onto her barstool. She took her glass and took a slow sip of her still-chilled champagne.
“Did you have fun?” I asked.
My voice was tight. Jealous. Snippy.
She took another sip before answering.
“Would it be better if I hadn’t?”
I thought about it.
“No,” I replied resignedly.
Fuck me, but I didn’t want that. I wanted her to enjoy it. Fuck me.
She read my turmoil. She put her hand on my arm reassuringly, but then smiled at me teasingly.
“Well, good. Because I did.”
“Good,” I grumbled.
She giggled. “You don’t seem convinced. Are you sure you’re happy,” she leaned in close, her voice a sultry whisper, “that he made… me… come… so… hard?”
I stared at her speechless.
She twisted the knife. “Because I did…. Soooo….. hard.”
“Terri,” I moaned.
“Bill?” she grinned. “Are you okay? You look a little… peaked.”
I threw three twenties on the bar. “Let’s go.”
***
Outside, I yanked at her arm. She turned toward me, still with that fucking, infuriating, sexy, confident, lewd, self-satisfied grin.
“Home or dinner?” I groaned.
“Neither,” she replied, grinning more widely.
In response to my quizzical expression, she replied, “Car.”
Wordlessly I dragged her toward the lot in which I’d parked. I unlocked the door and she released my hand and slipped into the passenger seat. I dropped heavily behind the steering wheel.
She didn’t hesitate. She dropped her head into my lap and wrestled my zipper open. I heard voices from outside. I peered through the rearview mirror to see a group of people walking behind our car, talking, laughing, on their way to dinner themselves. She swallowed my cock whole. I let out a loud, gasping moan. She slurped me wetly.
“You like that?” she asked.
“God yes.”
“So did Brian.”
I groaned as it hit me that she’d had another man’s cock in her mouth less than fifteen minutes earlier. She smiled and again lowered herself on my prick, her tongue swirling my shaft as she’d so recently teased his.
She reached around and began reclining my seat. Oh God, was she really thinking of doing it right here? I couldn’t see in the rearview mirror, but out the side mirror I saw a car driving behind us. Still, I knew in her mood she wouldn’t be gainsaid, and anyway, I knew I wanted her too.
As my seat reached its limit, she threw herself over me, her lithe body writhing on me. She kissed me hard. I could taste saltiness on her tongue. Mine? Or his? It didn’t matter. Her hand was between us, stroking my cock, and then suddenly I was inside her hot, tight snatch.
“Oh God, you’re so wet,” I moaned.
“Hmmm,” she replied, pumping her hips. “I thought he’d left a big load in there.”
She rose up slightly so I could see her face, and more importantly so she could see mine. I could see her scanning me for signs of disapproval or anger. What I think she saw was shock, and lust. Lots of lust.
“Really?”
She leaned forward again and began grinding against me. Her face was buried in the crook of my neck. I could feel her hot breath. Her whispered teases.
“I was going to swallow it. But it felt too good. So hard. And so big….”
“Big?”
“Uh huh, baby. Biggest I’ve ever had. I couldn’t resist. I had to let him come inside me.”
“You’re such a slut, Terri.”
“Mmm-hmm, I am. And you love it.”
She wasn’t taunting me maliciously. I could hear the smile in her voice. And anyway, she was right, so right. I squeezed her hard ass, thrust upward into her soaking wet pussy, gushing from both her excitement and another man’s come. I could feel her large breasts squished against my chest. I longed to play with them, to suck her prominent nipples into my mouth, but we were too tightly packed into the driver’s seat. I wondered….
“Did he play with your tits?”
“No, baby, we didn’t have the time. After I sucked him hard, he just sat me up on a stack of boxes, spread my legs, and shoved his big, fat cock inside me.”
“And you liked that? No foreplay, nothing.”
“Foreplay was letting him pick me up right in front of you. By the time we got back there, I was dripping wet and ready for anything.”
Ready for anything. Just like with Chucky. Like flipping a switch and this other side of my sweet wife would come out. I knew it was more complicated than that, that she was saying what she knew I wanted to hear as well, but it didn’t matter. All of it. Her lewdness, her words, her gasping breaths against my neck, but most of all the sensation of her hot, sloppy pussy bouncing on my cock.
“Oh God, I’m close,” I warned.
“Good. I want another load of come inside me.”
Bam. That was it. I exploded, gasping and grunting. She continued grinding against me, harder, knowing she was now on the clock. I could feel myself begin to soften, but with a gasp, I felt her pussy clenching against my slimy prick.
She laughed softly. “We’re a mess, you know that?”
I knew she meant more than the fluids dripping onto my car seat. But she was wrong. We were just right.
“What now?” I asked.
“Dinner, of course,” she replied. “Fucking two men has made me hungry.” She paused to let that sink in. “Can we still make our reservation?”
I looked at my watch. I’d missed the end of the match. She’d fucked another man. But yes, we still had time to make our reservation.
***
You want to know what is weird? Weird is ha
ving dinner with your wife in a swanky restaurant knowing that her pussy is leaking another man’s come. That is weird. And disturbing. Somehow, knowing my own was mixed in there was not a great source of satisfaction.
She giggled at my sour expression. “You don’t look like a man who just had sex.”
“No,” I grumbled, “I’m a man whose wife has just made love to another man.”
“Oh Bill, that is so not true,” she cooed. “There was no making love.” She paused and milked it, which was surprisingly effective even though I knew what was coming. “We just fucked.”
I groaned despite myself. She grinned.
“Yeah, I’m a sucker,” I admitted.
“No, I’m the sucker.” I imagined her red lips around a fat cock.
“Terri…”
She laughed. “Too much?”
“Just a little.”
She took a sip of her wine.
I thought about Brian’s fat prick. “There was nothing little about it,” I said suddenly.
She almost choked on her Chardonnay, and then chuckled at me.
“Feeding me lines, now?”
Puns swirled in my head. You’ve been fed plenty already. Well, we know you’re good at swallowing things.
She seemed to read my mind and grinned at me.
“This is crazy,” I said.
She shrugged. “Just having a little fun, aren’t we?”
“Why do I enjoy it?” I asked.
“Why do you think?”
“You’re not allowed to answer a question with a question. That’s the rule.”
“I like to break the rules,” she noted.
Our waiter came over. He was a tall and slender, dark-haired and handsome, dark scruff on his face as befitting a waiter at a place aiming for trendy over conventional.
“Good evening. May I tell you our specials?”
“You can tell me anything,” my wife cooed.
He shifted uncomfortably. I felt my cock twitch in my pants. Jesus, was she going to go for three cocks in one night? She winked at me.