What was Ashley’s reaction to being chosen? Had she thought, this is crazy, my husband’s right outside? Had she hesitated? Or had her expression given him the green light?
I pictured Ashley standing up, getting out of the tub, and Jim Murta watching as she took off her miniskirt and thong. I imagined his moment of triumph when he first slid his cock inside her. He had his cock inside little Ashley Martens. What a coup it must’ve seemed. Within a half hour or so, he was going all the way with my wife. He was hitting pay dirt. The seemingly conservative and unattainable married girl—the hot, polished, director from work—and with her own freaking husband right outside, no less.
What must Ashley have thought, having crossed such an insane threshold? She had another man’s penis inside her, knowing I was right outside. Was she humping back on it? Was she moaning? Was she saying things back to him?
“Oh God, Ashley,” I whispered, staring at her in that revealing bikini.
And suddenly I came, really hard. I wasn’t prepared for that.
****
“Get a mother-fucking-grip,” I said to myself, as I ran for a tissue. It’s one thing to jerk off, but it’s another thing to jerk off thinking about Ashley being fucked by another guy.
I pulled out some supplies from the kitchen, cranked music, and began cleaning the bathroom. I reminded myself of the fun, normal time we’d had yesterday, the way she had leaned into me in the cab the other night, the way nothing seemed to have changed.
But after I was done, with our bathroom now pristine, I sat on top of the sink.
The motherfucker fucked my wife in a ratty little bathroom, with people—including her own husband—right outside.
God, what a dumb-luck gift he’d been given.
A married co-worker sitting in a bathtub with her big tits displayed in front of him. Had Ashley made eye contact or had her eyes been fixated on his cock as he stroked it? Good God, she knew I was at the party—what had stopped her from putting her top back on and leaving?
Instead Jim tells her he wants to fuck her and she’s OK with that? Are you serious Ashley—just like that—you’re gonna take his cock inside you?
What a dirty, slutty little scene that must have been. I imagined Ashley’s black miniskirt and thong tossed in the corner of that dirty bathroom floor, strewn like afterthoughts.
Suddenly I had my pants down and my bare ass on the porcelain sink. I imagined Ashley’s bare ass on a similar sink, my wife’s pussy exposed to Jim Murta’s eyes. As soon as he had his condom around his hard cock, he knew he’d be fucking my wife. The won-the-lottery satisfaction Jim must have felt as he slid his cock inside her.
They all would have known I had knocked on the door. I pictured Ashley crying “Oh God” and Jim French-kissing her, as his cock went all the way inside. And from that point on, Jim Murta was now fucking my wife. I thought of Ashley’s tits bouncing with each pump and thrust from his cock.
I thought of Tamara looking on, encouragingly.
Ashley was getting full-throttle fucked with her clueless husband right outside. I thought of people talking about it afterwards.
Jim Murta balled Ashley Martens …
He dicked Dave’s wife …
In a bathroom at the party …
He nailed her …
He banged her …
Jim boned Ashley …
With her own husband right outside …
Goddammit Jim Murta …
You fucked my wife …
You fucked my Ashley …
And then I came, splashing the tiled floor below. It was like coming out of a trance, sitting bare-assed on the bathroom sink.
****
Good God, I thought, if anyone knew I’d just masturbated thinking about this ....
But I reminded myself of the stress of the past week. Being alone had left me idle, restless, stir crazy, whatever. It had simply been a weird day with weird thoughts.
“I’ve been through a lot,” I reminded myself. “Don’t beat yourself up, just put it behind you.”
I went out and picked up groceries and then watched some of the Yankee game.
But that rumor kept creeping back. I thought about how Craig had said he’d done Ashley over the sink.
Jim Murta had taken my wife doggy. Fucking doggy?
Ashley and I had tried that a few times, but on a bed. How would that even work standing up?
I went into the bathroom and leaned over the sink.
Jim Murta was a strapping 6’3’’ guy. I wondered if Ashley had to stand on something or on her tiptoes. What a slutty position to fuck in, something she’d never done with me. That must have been his idea He was asserting his dominance by fucking her that way. She might rank higher at work, but in the confines of this little bathroom, he seemed determined to give Mrs. Ashley Martens an authoritative fucking from behind. I imagined him slapping her toned ass, saying something like, “C’mon Ashley tilt up higher, I want to see that pussy pop out from behind.”
He must have marveled at how easily it all happened as they got synced into rhythm. Less than an hour earlier, he’d been drinking beer with some work buddies, shaking their hands—with me, even.
And now he was having Ashley look at herself in the bathroom mirror, and he could watch Ashley’s fuck-face expressions, as my wife took his cock.
I shook my head. Good God, another erection. But I figured, I’d already done it twice, what was one last time? Ashley wouldn’t be home for a while. And I’d get a grip, return to normal tomorrow.
I grabbed another bikini photo from a vacation album, lay it on the living room sofa and pulled my dick out. I wondered what they’d been doing when I knocked on that bathroom door. Had they already been in the middle of fucking, only pausing while Tamara sent me upstairs?
Had they all known it was me—Ashley’s husband at the door—before Jim had gone on to fuck my wife?
The power-rush he must have felt, getting my wife to submit to his doggy fuck as her husband bumbled away, oblivious, upstairs. Had Jim pointed that out? “You’re getting fucked, Ashley” he might have said, “with your husband right outside.”
“I know, it’s crazy,” she might have said back, as he pumped inside my soul-mate.
Repeat it back to me,” Jim Murta would have said as he bent my wife over the sink like his personal fuck doll, “What are you doing Ashley, tell me?”
“I’m getting fucked, Jim.”
“With your husband right outside.”
“With my husband right outside.”
“Look at yourself, watch yourself in the mirror as you get fucked, and tell me that again.”
“I’m getting fucked … with my husband … right … outside.”
“Again.”
“I’m getting fucked … with my … Oh god… my husband … right … out … side.”
I came hard again.
Then I came back down to earth, big-time.
What the fuck?
Some strange, foreign thoughts had barged through my mind’s front door today. And now I wanted to lock box them all up and throw them off a bridge. But I didn’t want to dwell on or rationalize what I was doing. It had been a crazed, stressful week.
It had happened, and it wouldn’t again. Move on and forget it.
****
Ashley startled me an hour later as I came out of the shower. I hadn’t expected her home so soon.
“I know the kitchen’s a mess,” I said, giving her a hug, “I was just about to clean up.”
“It’s OK, how was your day?”
“Pretty good,” I replied. “I got some groceries, did some work stuff, watched the Yankee game. How’s Leah, how was your day?”
“She’s good, we had fun, we ended up back here. We had some time before meeting her mom for dinner, so we took a walk through the Park. We ended up by the zoo and were like, ‘Let’s check out the animals.’ ”
“Cool. How was the zoo?”
“Well right before that, we stum
bled upon a fight between a clown and a magician.”
“A fight?” I asked.
“It was like a turf war fight. I think the magician had set up shop right by the clown’s usual spot. It was the place where two pathways intersect before you enter the zoo. That’s prime real estate right?”
“Yeah,” I said, just following along.
“Well, the clown was pissed. I mean fuming. ’Cause the magician had a crowd of kids around him and the clown had lost his audience to the magician. So the clown started swearing ‘This is my fucking spot.’ The magician hollered back, ‘Stop scaring the children.’ He’d go back to doing his magic, but with the clown yelling ‘Fuck you,’ the parents got their kids on out of there, so they were both SOL.”
“Wow,” I said.
“Yeah, it was interesting. So then we were like, we’re right here, let’s see the zoo.”
“Sure.”
“Well, the main zoo was OK. We’ve been there. Central Park ain’t no Bronx Zoo.”
“No, it’s small—a twenty minute zoo.”
“Yeah, so we checked out the Children’s zoo. I don’t know why we’ve never gone.”
“How was it?”
“It was fun, actually. You just need to make sure to bring quarters.”
“Why?”
“Leah had some on her, so we were OK. What makes it fun is feeding the farm animals. An animal gumball machine spits out these pellets. I guess sheep and goats just love them pellets, ’cause they run up to you and eat them right out of your hand.”
“Sounds fun,” I said, “and how was dinner?”
“One last thing,” she said.
“Yeah sorry, what’s that?”
“The last animal was this weird platypus-looking thing. The only animal by himself. He was shy and wouldn’t come out with all the kids by the fence. But when the kids left, he came right up to me. And his tongue was sandpaper rough, an interesting texture. I fed him all the pellets I had. And then he looked me in the eyes with this forlorn expression that said, ‘Please don’t go.’ ”
“Please don’t go?”
“Yeah, and I felt bad leaving, because his eyes would follow me. So I went back to pet him again, like to tell him he’d be OK. And he looked up at me like ‘I know I’m ugly looking, and all the other animals make fun of me, but I’ve got a heart of gold and you’re the only being besides my mother who really understands me. Please take me home with you.’
“I swear to God, Dave,” Ashley continued, “I felt so bad having to say goodbye to his sad little face.”
I just smiled.
“What do you say,” she added, “late tonight—you and me—we’ll sneak in there and rescue that little guy?”
“What, your Platypus friend? Steal him from the zoo?”
“He doesn’t want to be there. “
“And then what, as we have this thing in our cab?”
“We take him here. He would love this place. That room would work for him. We clear it out, throw down some hay, and give him a little basket for sleeping.”
Suddenly she looked at me inquisitively and asked, “Are you OK?”
“What? Yeah.”
“You seem really quiet … distracted.”
“Oh yeah, maybe I am—you know with work tomorrow—but I’m fine.”
She stood up, leaned over me, and began rubbing my shoulders. “You seem really tense, honey.”
“It’s just thinking about work.”
Then she came back to the sofa and started kissing me. Under normal circumstances, this would lead me to getting her clothes off and having sex. But I was nervous, self-conscious, awkward.
CHAPTER FIVE
Monday was a new day.
And while I dread the weekly managers’ meeting that starts my workweek, I was anxious to get things started, thinking, bring it on.
I called Ashley right afterwards and suggested we go out to dinner, to a quiet little Italian place we discovered a few months back.
“I’ll reserve that corner nook we like.”
“Perfect.”
By six o’clock, I was high-tailing it down the elevator. Fifteen minutes later, I was buying wine, flowers and picking out a card.
Ashley met me there. We relaxed amidst the dim lighting and chill, background music. I felt vaguely nostalgic. The last time we’d eaten there was before the rumor, when everything had seemed so blue-sky certain.
But listening to her talk so animatedly, like nothing had changed, was soothing.
When we arrived home, I surprised her with the flowers. “They’re beautiful” she said, “I love them.”
Then I gave her the card as I poured her some wine.
“Happy Anniversary?” she asked puzzled, reading the card.
“Nineteen months today,” I said.
She looked at me oddly before reading my note aloud:
Nineteen months ago, you were walking down the aisle, the prettiest bride any man’s ever laid eyes on. You make me so happy and I look forward to every month of our lifetime together.
“Awww,” she said, “that’s so sweet, thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything. I feel like a heel.”
“I’ll get you back on our twentieth, OK?” she added, smiling, before giving me a kiss.
“I’m not setting some monthly precedent,” I replied, “I just thought of it this morning, when I was getting ready for work. How it was nineteen months ago today. I figured since I chickened out on the late-night kidnapping of the platypus, this might be a small gesture to make it up to you.”
“You’re not going to help me steal him?” she said, “Actually, it’s not stealing. It would be a rescue mission. If we left now, we could have him roaming around here in an hour.”
****
After our first glass of wine, we began making out on the couch.
I was putting the weirdness of Sunday behind me. I was trying to be thoughtful and demonstrative. I had wanted to make love to my wife all day. I was determined to make that happen now.
We quickly moved to the bedroom. I had her breasts in my hands, cupping them both, my tongue going from one nipple to the other. I was kissing her neck, massaging her back, sliding my hands on her ass, under her thong. When I felt Ashley getting wet, I held her hand and went down on her with gusto. My tongue was going slowly but enthusiastically up and down, licking her exquisite pussy, and she began to really moan. When she said “I want to feel you inside me,” I felt rock hard and more than ready.
Ashley’s been on the pill since right before we got married. I don’t even have condoms in my drawer anymore.
She put her hand on my dick and slid it inside her. “Yes,” she said as I drove it all the way in. Then I pulled back and drove it right back in again. On my third stroke, she cried out, “Oh God.”
Suddenly I thought of Jim Murta. Fucking her knowing I was outside. I felt as if I were in Jim Murta’s shoes, inside Ashley’s pussy. And that’s when Mayday warnings went off. I tried to pull out to get a grip, but there was no stopping it.
I suddenly came. Within a half-minute, before we had barely even started.
“Did you just—?”
“Yeah, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
“I think it’s ’cause you’re looking so sexy, and it’s been like a week, I couldn’t control myself.”
“It’s OK, honey,” she said, “it’s fine.”
“I love you, Ashley,” I said.
“I love you, too.”
In the bathroom, alone afterwards, I was unsteady. I was embarrassed by how quickly I’d cum. But I knew what thoughts had triggered it. They had crept back from yesterday and pulled that fire alarm.
I had just prematurely ejaculated inside Ashley. She hadn’t even come close to orgasm. Here I’d set this up as a night of significance, and when the penultimate moment finally arrived, I was three quick pumps and done.
We didn’t bring it up afterwards.
I just knew I c
ouldn’t let that happen again.
****
Reluctant Cuckold Page 5