My Cheating Wife

by Jaime Thorne

  But the intention was different.

  There was something missing, like I was still reaching for that last little bit to push me over the edge. There was something more that I needed, more than what I could grasp with my hands.

  But it was good, it was so fucking good to watch her lose herself to the passion and pleasure. To watch as he practically tore her bra from her body and bared her fully. To watch as his hands touched and grabbed and squeezed and felt her, possessively taking her as his cock pounded away inside of her with relentless force.

  And to hear them together, past words into guttural grunts and moans, the sound of their bodies coming together ricocheting across the walls and rebounding around the room as it built to a crescendo.

  Bruce pulled her up off her elbows, pulling her up and into him so that his arms were wrapped around her body. He lifted her bodily off the bed and stumbled up and backward into a chair, keeping himself inside of her the whole time.

  Until she was straddling him, his cock spearing her as she gripped the arms of the chair and bounced her ass on him. Facing away from him and grinding herself onto him as they built to a bigger and bigger climax.

  She was the first to cum, losing control and losing her rhythm, bearing down on him and screaming with pleasure as her whole body shuddered and shook with the waves of her pleasure. I watched in rapt adoration, seeing the pleasure written onto the distended features of her face, her eyes clenched shut and her mouth open into a wide O that screamed out loud enough to wake the whole damn hotel.

  Bruce wasn't nearly done yet, and he pulled her up off of him and spun her around in the air. In an instant he was inside of her again, pinning her between his body and a wooden armoire in the room he pounded into her as his grip tightened on her body and she thrashed beyond the point of sense.

  “Tell me that you like it,” he grunted.

  “Oh I love it,” she confessed.

  “Tell me why you love it,” he demanded.

  “So big. So thick. So powerful. So much.”

  Bruce reached one of his hands up, running it into her hair and tugging at it, pulling her sight so that it connected with the wall behind him. So that she could see everything.

  That wall had a mirror on it, a mirror that let her see her face and her body as he pounded into her. That made it so that she couldn't ignore it.

  “Look at the mirror,” he grunted, “Look at me in the mirror. Look at yourself in the mirror. Look at what you're doing, taking another mans cock. Look at you, unable to resist it.”

  Avril couldn't form words as a response, her only response was a heady moan and I watched a ripple run through her body that showed the truth she couldn't put into words clear as day.

  Avril loved everything about this.

  “I'm going to cum,” Bruce grunted, his hips continuing to pound her.

  “Not in me,” she replied in a panic, “Oh god not in me.”

  He released his grip on her hair and grabbed her ass, pulling back and pulling out of her before pressing his cock up between their bodies. I heard him roar with passion and pleasure, saw her tremble and shake with the reminders of what they'd done as she felt him spill himself all over her belly.

  And then he let her down, letting her feet find the floor and stepping back from her. I stared at his body slick with sweat and I saw hers, coated with the remains of his pleasure. The stark whiteness of his cum stood out against her skin, like drops of paint on the canvas of her body.

  I witnessed it all, wide-eyed and breathless. I witnessed every last moment of it as she stood tall and proud. My eyes took in the whole of her, settling on her eyes which were turned on me.

  And in them was a look that asked me if I was satisfied, a question that I couldn't begin to know the answer to.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  AVRIL

  I could feel their eyes on me as I walked out of the room. The way they watched my hips swaying, the way that they drank in the sight of me.

  Neither of them could get enough.

  I don't know that I'd ever experienced anything quite like that before in my life and for a myriad of reasons I knew that it would take me an awfully long time to work through my thoughts and feelings about that particular encounter.

  There was no question in my mind, going into all of this, that tonight would be far from normal. I'd agreed to all of this primarily to satisfy Jeremy, and his needs were foremost in my mind when I made the decision and in the whole of the lead up to everything that happened. I had figured that it would be mostly the same once we were in the midst of it all, but somewhere along the way, things had gotten muddled.

  Keeping that sultry look on my face and keeping my head high I passed through the door and closed it behind me. It was only when I clicked the lock shut that I allowed my visage to break, that I allowed myself to be something other than the stoic figure I was presenting.

  I made sure the bathroom fan was on and the water in the shower was running before I made a sound, only then allowing the ragged breaths to come out of me as I gripped the edge of the counter and stared at the woman in the mirror.

  Who the hell was that woman? Because she certainly wasn't me.

  I think it started in the bar, in the words he spoke to me about art and perception. That and the conversation that followed changed my measure of this man.

  He'd spoken with authority, talking about the subtleties of art and artistic expression in a way that told me that he had given real thought to it. He didn't just parrot the opinions and statements of others, he had a voice to add to the conversation. He had ideas of his own.

  B had been an idea in my mind. Jeremy had shown me the pictures and the conversations with him and I had built up a two-dimensional portrait of an individual. One who was young and brash and cocky. One who was more than a little vain and one who was more than a little blunt.

  B was a tool, an instrument to be plucked. He was there for the night and gone without a trace, and he'd never leave an impression on me because there was nothing there for him to leave.

  When Jeremy and I scoured the ads on that site looking for a likely candidate I had gently steered his hand in a direction, searching for someone that I could view with a less than human gaze. Someone who is multi-dimensional and multi-faceted is phenomenal if you're looking for a long term relationship, but I already had a long term relationship so I didn't need that.

  I needed a man who would meet the physical requirements. I needed a man who could take charge of what was happening and lead us. I needed a man who could focus and get this done and over with because the deal that I had made with Jeremy was for a one-night affair.

  B was undoubtedly all of these things. I could see it from the way that he looked and the way that he entered a room. I could see the strength and cocksure way he moved every situation to his advantage. He was Jeremy's perfect fantasy and that meant he was good for me.

  But what I never expected was how good he was for me.

  From inside of the bathroom I could hear the chatter coming from the other room. I knew that Jeremy and Bruce were talking, and I found myself wondering what that conversation would be like.

  In the bar, Jeremy had quailed under the intimidating gaze of Bruce, had been nearly unable to keep eye contact let alone a conversation. This was intentional, it was the affectation that Bruce had put up to show Jeremy that Bruce was the man that he wanted him to be, that he needed him to be.

  That all had been necessary to get to this point, but now that this point was reached I had to wonder whether he would drop the facade. Whether he would be a different sort of man.

  I had to wonder what sort of man Bruce truly was.

  The man I met at the bar started as B, but when he showed a deeper side to himself he became something more. He became Bruce rather than B, and I can't honestly say which of the two was preferable.

  The water was still chilled when I stepped in under it. I needed it warmer, needed the shock of heat to comfort me at this mo
ment, to wrap myself in it and feel the thundering roar of the water pounding against my skin. I needed to wash this uncertainty away because I couldn't spend the whole of my life in this room, I would need to leave at some point and I didn't want this insecure woman to be the one that stepped out the door.

  Our conversation in the restaurant took nearly thirty minutes and in all of that time there wasn't a mention of what we were bound to do or where we were inevitably heading. It was, for all intents and purposes, a first date. Getting to know each other and learning things that I had never meant to learn.

  Bruce and I had a shocking amount in common, enough in common that I could have counted him as a friend. Not the false friends that I had in society life, but a true friend that I could find myself spending a day with.

  When we spoke we spoke of art and music. We spoke of his travels and the life that he lived and he told me things that I could never have imagined with such startling clarity in his language that I could close my eyes and picture it. Tastes and sounds and sight and feel rushing through my mind and leaving me wanting to know more about him.

  More about this man who was commanding my attention and commanding the room. Who had rebuffed my attempt to put him off guard and so thoroughly taken the situation in hand that I couldn't help but blush when he told me that we should be heading upstairs now.

  And then the room and all that had happened. The feel of his hands on my body and the thrust of him inside of me. The gasping and blinding sensation of having him stretch me out, having me feel him fill me up fuller than I'd ever been before.

  Jeremy was not my first. My list isn't long but I'd been with other men before him.

  But none of those men were anything like Bruce.

  Bruce was dominant and in control. He had a confidence and a demeanor that made me gasp just thinking about it.

  That made it damn near impossible to think about anything else.

  Thank god the door was locked. Thank god neither Jeremy or Bruce could walk in here and see what it was that I was about to do.

  Eyes closed and leaning against the wall of the shower. One hand slipping between my thighs to feel my sex that was throbbing and aching for more in spite of everything that it had just received. My other hand playing up my flat stomach to tease at the bottoms of my breasts, to slip over them and cup and pinch and squeeze them as I tried to maintain my composure.

  I was blushing, I knew that I was but I didn't give a damn. I was blushing as my fingers dipped into me and dove between the lips of my sex, giving me some measure of satisfaction but paling in comparison to the thickness that I had inside of me just before.

  And with my eyes closed I pictured all of it. The sight of his muscular body, the quiver and shake in his muscles as he thrust into me, the look in his eyes as he gazed down on me with open admiration, the panting need in his and desire that made him come to me. That made him choose me as much as I chose him. That made him want me.

  Oh it felt so good to be wanted.

  I felt lightness in me that lit a fire my veins, the heat of the shower water burning on my skin as I rushed towards my inevitable end. The hand that had been on my breasts clamped over my mouth to keep my secret safe, to keep those men out there from knowing how I had been affected by all of this.

  And I exploded, nearly doubling over and nearly slipping in the shower. I exploded and felt the waves of pleasure rush over me that were intense and amazing and expansive.

  But wrong, so very wrong.

  Because in that moment of pleasure. In the immediacy of when my climax struck me and swept me away with it I had one image in my mind and that image was Jeremy.

  Sitting in the corner watching us, eyes transfixed but face burning with shame at everything that was happening. A simmering discomfort beneath the surface of him, with maybe just a momentary regret at the event that he had put into play.

  That look on his face stuck with me as I slid to the floor of the shower. As I curled into a ball beneath the falling water, willing it to wash away my shame but knowing that no matter how much I willed it to be so the shame would never leave.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  BRUCE

  It had been three days since that night that I'd spent with Avril and Jeremy, and since that night I hadn't thought even once about what it was that we did.

  Not once did I think about the way that Avril looked when I was thrusting inside of her. Not once did I think about the delicate line of her collarbone. Not once did I think about the way that her eyes glimmered with delight and confusion as our bodies came together, those moments of pure pleasure and excitement that would last only an instant before the memory came back to her that this was not right.

  I was not her husband. She was not my wife. I was a stranger to her. She was breaking her marriage vow.

  Because when it comes down to it technicalities don't really count. Avril was nothing if not a woman who understood intention, and while technically Jeremy had given her permission to sleep with me he had never given her permission to feel the way that she did.

  I am not an uneducated man, I know many things and one of those things is the way that people look when they feel certain ways about you. I know how to read people, a handy attribute in business and in the bedroom. A way to see the true intentions of any partner that you intend to engage with in any way.

  Avril was not in love with me. She was not a woman who gave her heart quite so willingly. She was a guarded sort, the type of person who would present one image of herself that could easily be taken at face value, but who had intentions that ran beneath the surface that would control all of her actions.

  Avril liked to be in control. Not necessarily in an obvious way and maybe not even in a conscious way but she liked to be in control nonetheless. She liked to know that she had people wrapped around her finger, or at least to know that when she ceded control of a situation to someone else that it was done with intention and purpose.

  She was afraid of me. Afraid of the way that I made her lose control. Afraid of the fact that she had been unable to keep herself to herself. Afraid of the person that she had become for me.

  I think in a way that was because she was afraid of what Jeremy would think of her.

  It was obvious to me that their marriage was a good one, that the two of them loved each other very much and that in most things in their marriage communication worked flawlessly. Neither Jeremy nor Avril willfully held things back from one another, or at least that was what they thought.

  But the truth was that neither Jeremy nor Avril were really truthful to each other beneath the surface. They didn't know it but they didn't have the slightest understanding of who their partner was or what they wanted out of life. They couldn't begin to comprehend the complexity of their partner's thoughts, because they hadn't even started to understand their own selves enough to speak of it.

  When Avril agreed to this night she didn't know what Jeremy wanted out of it. I don't know precisely what she thought he wanted, but she didn't understand one key component of it: he craved the shame.

  I could see it in the way that she looked at him and in the way that she held back from expressing herself. The way that she still clung to the idea that he wanted his wife to be that pretty and demure and faithful woman that he held so dear to him.

  She didn't understand that he wanted her to lose control.

  And so it was only at the end when we reached the climax of our time together that she lost control. It was only then that she started to confess a sliver of the magnitude of what she was feeling.

  But that was enough to make her run from herself.

  She played it off well enough, strutting out of the room like she did. She looked sexy and she looked powerful and she played unconsciously into the image of what her husband wanted, but she didn't really know why.

  Such a shame, because it all could have been so much more.

  Some things are fated to be temporary. Some things are destined to be fleeting and my t
ravels around the world had given me the wisdom to see that.

  After she had stepped into the bathroom I had cleaned myself and dressed myself and left. My conversation with Jeremy was stilted and awkward, and it was clear to me that we weren't friends and never would be.

  The man couldn't look at me. So consumed he was by the shame of what he had enjoyed that he couldn't even bring himself to acknowledge it. He couldn't even accept that he had wanted this to happen, and he certainly couldn't bring himself to look me in the eye.

  There was potential there. Potential with Avril and potential with Jeremy too. With the two of them together and me in the mix as well.

  But the world is full of almosts that almost never come to pass. This was no different.

  So I put it in the past. I made a conscious decision to move forward like I always did and forget about what had happened that night. It was another in a long list of experiences on my way to trying them all, a checkmark in a book and nothing more.

  Everything else that happened was a coincidence. It was a coincidence that I'd canceled my flight out of this town, chalked up to the fact that I had been traveling for so long that it would be nice to spend a few nights in the same place. I canceled my next appointments, justifying it by saying that the experiences would always be waiting for me and that if I rushed to the end of it all I'd fall into that same sensation that I'd felt before, the impending end of experience.

  And spending my days in this gallery time and again and again, well that was just coincidence. In my travels I had often spent multiple days in the same gallery in order to truly grasp the fullness of the pieces.

  It had nothing to do with the artists that I knew frequently showcased their work in this space.

  R.A. Sallow was a painter and a personal friend. His work has been displayed across the globe, and while not a major figure he is well-known among circles of people who are in the know about art.