by Jaime Thorne
I moved on him, my thighs shuddering and shaking and trembling as I rose and fell on him. I felt Bruce's hands on my body and I stared down at him, at his hard muscularity beneath me.
“You're so fucking sexy,” I told him, “So strong and defined. I don't think I could get enough of this.”
Bruce ran his hands up and grasped my breasts, squeezing them lightly in his palms and then letting them go to slide down and grab my waist. He gripped me with a familiarity, lifting me up slightly and then pinning me there above him.
He had me maybe three-quarters of the way up his cock, balancing on him with the head of his shaft inside of me. It was with that length securely in me that he began to thrust, pushing up into me with strokes that were slow and intentional and deliberate until he locked eyes with me and then and only then did he start to increase.
“Fuck me,” I asked of him, “Please fuck me, Bruce.”
He pushed up into me, pressing on me with increasing speed and force.
“Oh god fuck me,” I begged him, my voice higher and verging on desperation, “Oh pleasure Bruce fuck me right. Fuck me hard. Fuck me fast. Fuck me like I need.”
His hips moved faster, the sound of them slapping against me rapping out sharply in the room.
“OH YES FUCK ME!” I shouted, “FUCK ME BRUCE AND MAKE ME FUCKING CUM!”
With a roar, he lifted me off of him and practically threw me when he spun me around. I found myself teetering on my uncertain feet and then Bruce was behind me and in me and fucking me hard.
Right there in the middle room, balanced on my tiptoes as he slammed into me from behind. One hand was wrapped around my middle and the other was on my shoulder. He pounded into me and I stared into the middle distance and as the world came back into focus I declared to it in a low and breathy voice, “I'm gonna cum!”
If it wasn't for his firm grip on me I would have tumbled to the ground. I would have bent in half and slipped and fallen. I would have doubled over with pleasure and tremblingly fallen to my knees.
But Bruce wasn't done with me, his hips were still a blur as they pounded into me and I felt his hands shift down to my waist to grasp me and hold me and lift me the last of the way off my feet.
I was balanced in his arms now, hovering in them as he fucked me forward across the room and pinned me against the wall.
“Fuck yes!” I cried out, his grip mashing me into the hard surface, “Keep fucking me, Bruce! Keep fucking me baby I wanna feel your cum! I want it all over my face! I want you to coat me in it!”
His grunts were coming from behind me, barely in control of himself. I could feel him snap as he drew closer to his end, the animal in him coming out to take the reins and steer his body.
And in the instant before he finished my eyes fell on Jeremy, sitting there staring up at me with rapt adoration and intense glee. Staring up at me with eyes that I'd seen in him countless times before but only in him. Only ever from him.
They weren't eyes that saw me as an object to be desired. They weren't eyes that saw me with sexual hunger and need. They didn't reduce me to a nice body and nothing more.
They were the eyes he gave me on our wedding day. The eyes I saw when he proposed. The eyes that he gave to me each time that he kissed me.
They were love, and I didn't know it until it was too late.
Bruce pulled back from me and spun me around. He dragged me to my knees and I came face to face with his cock. With his hand working and stroking him I watched his cock explode, erupting with string after string of semen that hit my face and splattered me. He coated me, the heat and saltiness of it bringing me back and making me tremble and moan and play the part that I needed to play without any thought as to why.
And when his stroking stopped, when he stumbled back spent and was out of view of Jeremy I saw him looking down at me as well. Bruce staring down at the woman he'd just fucked, the woman that was married to the other man in the room, the woman that was cheating on him.
And the look in his eyes was the same as had been in my husbands.
I'd fucked up. I'd fucked up hard and I didn't know how to move past this.
And I didn't know what I could do about any of that.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
JEREMY
After it was done we all went our separate ways for a while. There were so many damn bathrooms in this house we could each have one to ourselves and that was necessary after tonight.
And standing there beneath the running water I analyzed and thought about everything that I'd been through. I ran through it all in my mind and tried to see how I felt about it. To see whether it had been enough for me.
To say that it was satisfying was to do a disservice to it. It was more than satisfying, more than I could have ever imagined or asked for.
Far more than I deserved.
I was pushing the boundaries of what was acceptable, I know that. I was pushing things to the absolute limit and I knew that the strain could only last so long before it snapped beneath the pressure of it.
But what the hell else was I supposed to do? I couldn't forget about my fantasy or ignore it. I couldn't move past the desires that had driven me for so long. I couldn't give this up now that I'd had a taste of it.
I would always crave this.
Avril was growing increasingly weary of my appetites.
I could see it in her eyes, in the moments that passed between Bruce and herself. I could see the way that she looked at him and the way that she acted around him that she despised him and she despised herself for enjoying her time with him. She did love being with him, but she didn't love the fact that she loved it.
And with good reason too, Bruce was an asshole. He was cocky and arrogant and young and brash. He was a braggart and a womanizer and anything but the type of people that Avril normally surrounded herself with. Bruce was not the sort of person she would ever want to spend time with.
Not when she had such sophisticated tastes. When she was on the boards of art galleries and symphonies. When she made friends with musicians and artists and restauranteurs and various other eclectic and cultured individuals. She would much rather be spending time with that friend that she'd been going out to galleries and shows with than she would spending time between the sheets with Bruce.
So I knew that all of this was a concession to me. Not so much that she didn't enjoy her time with him but more that she would choose other things instead of spending time with him if she was given the choice.
I wanted to give her that ability. I wanted to hold off and I wanted to hold out on things for as long as I could. But I didn't know how long that would have been.
Switching off the shower I stepped out and dried myself with a towel. I looked at my soft and slightly pudgy body in the mirror and sighed a bit as flashes of Bruce's hard torso played behind my eyes.
I would never be the sort of man that Bruce was. I would never be that hard and dominant person, I just didn't have it in me. It was lucky for me that Avril wasn't interested in those things in a man. Lucky for me that she viewed them all as superficial and unnecessary.
As I dressed I considered what my plan had been inviting him here and what my plan was going forward. I think on some level I figured another dip into the well with a full appreciation of what was happening would afford me the sort of clarity necessary to separate myself from my fantasy. It told me that I hadn't quite gotten it perfect that first time, so a second go-around would give me all the fuel I needed to get over this once and for all.
But that part of me was lying to me. It was telling me that I was being an idiot and being willfully ignorant if I actually believed that I was ever going to be done with this. It was telling me that there was no way I could turn my back on this, and no way that I would ever find perfection from these encounters.
Perfection was an illusion, an impossibility. I could always try something new, could push the boundaries a little bit farther. I could always try again and secure and cement the fantasy in my
mind and I knew that I would always continue to do that.
Until the time I pushed too far and I pushed her away.
That was coming now. Somewhere on the horizon was the day that Avril would say that it was enough and she would end things. Not just with my fantasy but with me.
She would put a stop to all of this.
I opened the door and stepped out into the house. Avril had taken up the master bathroom and I had set up Bruce in the guest bathroom on the second floor. I was in the middle, trying to decide which of the two of them to go to.
In the end, I went with the easier of the two and headed downstairs.
Bruce was just stepping out of the shower as I rounded the corner. He had a towel up drying his hair and had his suit pants on but was still bare-chested. Once more I looked at him and saw only the contrast that I stood to him. I looked at him and saw only my own inadequacies.
And I saw no reason at all for Avril to find the pleasure with him that she did. I had no hesitations about her motivations or physical interest. I could understand completely why she felt like that.
On the surface level, Bruce was exactly what any heterosexual woman would want. He was handsome and muscular and his body spoke of primal desires and primal needs. There was no way that any reasonable woman would not be interested in him. No way that any reasonable woman wouldn't want to find her pleasure with him.
He noticed me immediately, stepping out into the guest room and letting his towel drop to the ground he slipped his shirt up and over his shoulders with a shrug and buttoned it up while I stood there in silence watching.
What the hell was I supposed to say to him? Thanks for fucking my wife. Thanks for fulfilling my fantasy. Thanks for doing me a favor and now please get the hell out of my house.
I hated him a bit in that moment, hated the bulk of his body and the cocksure swagger he had in his approach to life. I hated the way that he didn't give a second thought or a single damn towards what he was doing to the two of us.
Bruce would always say yes to this, to coming over here. He would always agree to be our third because for him it was a simple equation. It was about getting his dick wet and nothing more.
And I hated him for that.
“Thank you for coming over,” I found myself saying, trying to speak without gritting my teeth.
What the fuck came next? Hope you had a good time?
“My pleasure,” he said, his voice flat and emotionless as he pulled on his suit jacket, “Listen I've got plans so I should really get going.”
“Of course,” I told him, stepping aside to let him step out of the guest bedroom, “Let me walk you out.”
I haven't had an abundance of one-night stands in my life, but the few times I've had that passing awkwardness after a sexual encounter have been almost exactly like this. There is a sense of tension between both parties, not of regret necessarily but certainly a discomfort of a sort. It's a gradual thing that builds and the longer you wait the larger it gets until it's looming between the two of you like a massive beast you cannot ignore.
You want more than anything to say something to dispell it, but with each passing second it grows and it grows until it would be so much more trying to move past it than it would to just see it through. To live with it until the other party walks away becomes more reasonable than continuing to search your mind for some words to speak.
So we didn't say a word as we walked down to the front door and when we arrived we stood there for a passing moment in awkward silence before I opened the door and he stepped out. I watched him jog down the steps and flag a cab down, and I closed the door before I could see him speed away.
In the silence of the entryway, I took the first real breath I'd taken in hours. I felt my body unclench and relax and I realized the amount of stress and tension I'd been keeping in myself. I let it all go and I practically fell to the ground with the relief washing over me.
Something was happening here, something that I couldn't begin to understand or analyze. Something that frankly was starting to scare me.
Because I had the feeling that this story was nowhere close to its end.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
AVRIL
When I stepped out of the shower and wrapped myself up in the robe I was feeling good. The water had washed away the sweat and physical evidence of my latest encounter and all that was left was that residual sort of feel on my body.
There is a soreness that comes from use. A soreness that hovers on the edge of pain but speaks instead of satisfaction. That indicates the thoroughness of lovemaking that can come from a really good session. That speaks of the memories of what we had done together.
It lingers on the body, in the deep tissue of your muscle. The feel of him throbbing inside of me. The touch of his hands on my skin. His fingers gripping me. The palms of my hands flattened against his muscular form.
God it feels amazing, even the merest remembrance of it is enough to make me swell with renewed desire and need.
And perhaps the best part of all of this is that the memory of the physical sensations don't have to bring with it the memories of my other senses. I can close my eyes and it could be anyone. Anyone gripping and pulling me. Anyone holding me tight. Anyone filling me up and thrusting in me and exploding with white-hot heat throughout me.
Anyone could fill that place for me.
I don't have to remember Jeremy sitting in his chair, pants around his ankles as he fulfilled his own fantasies with his fingers and palms. I don't have to imagine the way that he looked at me, eyes full of desire and satisfaction without any hint of knowledge that I was betraying him.
Jeremy deserved better.
He did so much for me, providing so much for my life and working so hard to give me things that I could have done without but frankly enjoyed having around me. Jeremy put so much effort into life and I went and did this behind his back.
In truth, it's not that he was doing what he was doing. It's not the long hours and the hard work building a life for us that justifies it. The man could be working in the crappiest job imaginable. We could be scraping by with barely anything to our name and still, he wouldn't deserve what I was doing to him.
Because he was a good man. Because he cared for me. Because I had made a vow. Because he would never do the same to me.
Jeremy was a better person than I was, and I didn't deserve to have a man like him in my life and as soon as that came to mind I lost all sense of good feeling that had remained in me. The moment I had that thought the chill of the water still sticking to my skin made me shiver and the bathroom felt so much smaller. So small that I needed to get out of it.
I gripped the door handle and twisted and pulled with enough force to make Jeremy jump from the other side of the room. He turned and looked at me with eyes wide open, and I immediately felt like an idiot.
“Sorry,” I said quietly and meekly, “Don't know my own strength apparently.”
I stepped into the room and he watched me for a moment before continuing to dress in his pajamas. I watched him until he noticed me, then looked away and quickly walked over to my vanity to find anything to do that wasn't focused on him.
“I saw Bruce out,” Jeremy said haltingly, “He said he had things to do tonight. He told me he had to go so I walked him out.”
His voice sort of trailed off at the end as he realized that he was repeating himself, and then he fell silent and I heard him shuffling over to the bed and slipping beneath the covers. Silently I pushed up from my seat and padded across the room to the light switch, flicking it off and shutting the room into a blissful darkness.
I could breath easier now because it was far easier to share a space with him if I didn't have to look at him.
I hated feeling like this about my husband. I hated feeling like I was hiding something from him because I hated that I was hiding something from him. I hated the fact that what Bruce did to me tonight felt good and I hated that it happened when Jeremy was there becaus
e while it was happening all I could think of was all the other times we'd been there without Jeremy.
And Jeremy, poor sweet Jeremy.
Having him in the room made it better in a way, better than it ever could have been with just Bruce and me alone. And I wish more than anything I could say that it was because Jeremy being there meant that I wasn't lying to him, or that it meant that he was agreeing to what was happening, or that there was open honesty in our relationship once more.
But that would all be a lie.
The truth was that I loved having Jeremy there because I loved the juxtaposition between the two of them. I loved having Jeremy there specifically because I knew that he was no match for Bruce physically or imposingly. Because having Jeremy there added a depth of shame to all of it that couldn't be there without him.
Without the shame, it was like a meal without seasoning. All of the ingredients were there and it was undeniably filling and satisfying but something was missing. It just wasn't enough.
That scared me more than anything else. The knowledge that both sets of experiences just made me want to seek out more. It made me crave more from the experience than I could have felt before. It made me want to push for a greater high.
“I-” said Jeremy, his voice sleepy and his words halting, “I don't know how to say thank you without it sounding bad but thank you.”
I felt a hollow inside of me. His voice was sincere and his voice was the truth. It was honesty and it was nearly more than I could take. His words hung in the air and I clenched the sheets between my fingers, trying to keep from crying and confessing everything to him in that moment.
“I know this is hard for you,” he said, putting into words possibly the underestimate of the century, “And I know that it isn't really what you want to be doing but I want you to know that I appreciate you doing this for me. I appreciate... Well I appreciate all of it.”
I fought against the tremble in my body, trying to keep from letting the shaking rock me to my core. I fought against it and found a moments stillness and in that stillness I leaned over the increasingly sleepy form of my husband and I kissed him on the cheek.
