Interrupting My Wife
When I walk in to find my wife with another man, I attempt subtle sabotage.
When I walked in the door, my wife was on her knees sucking a stranger's cock. He had both hands on her head and was letting her do most of the work while he stood perfectly still with his eyes closed.
I made myself a martini.
If the noise of the ice bothered them, they didn't show it. And if the sound of my vigorous stirring slowed them down, I didn't notice. Even when I took off my shoes and sat down on the couch, they didn't so much as look at me.
So, I slurped my drink.
Now slurping a martini is not a beginner move. It's nothing like slurping a thick milkshake or even a bubbly glass of Coke. It takes practice and skill, especially if you intend for it to be increasingly annoying, which was absolutely my goal. By the time I got to the olive, I had their attention, and when I swirled it around in my mouth (tempted to spit it at them), my wife finally stopped and looked at me with a grin.
"I got bored," she said, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.
"She offered," he said with a sheepish smile, his cock still hard and slick with her saliva.
"I'm sure she did," I said. "I'd stop you, but it feels rude at this point."
She winked at me and returned to him while I pulled out my phone. It wasn't that I didn't enjoy watching her suck cock, but his expression was irritating, and I had been too busy at work to check my text messages.
While she did her best impression of revenge slurping, I found a lovely note from a dear friend. I wrote her back, explaining the situation, and when she suggested I make another martini, I couldn't have agreed more. Music added to the scene, and this time everything slowed down. The couch was soft, the view was pretty, and the drink was fucking cold.
And of course, my old friend demanded I send a picture.
They were blurry in the background; portrait mode does such a good job. But it was expressly not a picture of them. She gave me a thumbs up on it and told me to take another one. A bit closer this time, the photo was demonstrably more graphic, although still artistic. To one degree or another.
It was met with far greater approval.
"Would you mind taking her dress off?" I asked my wife's new friend. He paused in confusion for only a moment––a true credit to his sex––before standing her up and stripping her down to the way God made her. I took another picture, this time with his arms around her and two fingers inside her as he kissed her neck from behind.
Less artistic, but still appealing.
"She wants to know if you're going to fuck," I said, taking a slow sip of my drink. The answer felt obvious to me, but it was rude not to ask.
"That has to be Colette," my wife said before turning her back to me and kissing her friend rather forcefully on the mouth. As she helped him out of his clothes, I wrote back that I think she said yes, although it was still slightly unclear.
I sent another picture of the now naked couple on the couch, her straddling his lap as she looked over her shoulder, giving me a most irritated glare. Colette asked for a close-up, which felt rude but possibly not as rude as sucking someone else's cock before I got home from work.
So, with phone in one hand and a martini in the other, I leaned in while my wife rubbed her friend's cock against herself and began to tell him how desperate she was to have him inside her. Her performance grew more believable by the second, and by the time I returned to my comfortable seat on the couch, they were fucking like teenagers in love.
I had less than half a martini left and a hard dick, both of which annoyed me ever so slightly. The drink I could rectify. The second was a bit more of a challenge.
Fucking your wife's mouth while she's making love to another man has some appeal. As does attempting the ever-so-popular pornographic acrobatics known as double penetration.
Jerking off on her face, less so, and sitting on the couch watching like a pervert, does nothing.
So, I politely sent a short video to my old friend, put down my phone, finished my drink, and stood up. As our new friend found himself on his back, my wife riding him joyfully, I climbed on behind and took his place the first time he slipped out.
"Is someone a little jealous?" she asked, pushing back onto me despite her question. I gripped her hips and began to fuck her harder as she generously stroked the man beneath her until I returned her to him.
"Never," I lied as I took a handful of hair in my fist. "How could I be jealous of something as beautiful as this?"
She moaned aggressively as her new lover thrust up into her while biting her neck and grabbing her ass. They fucked harder and faster, and by the time it was my turn again, he told her he was close to coming.
"And besides," I said, taking her at just the right angle to perfect my pleasure, "I have no right to complain. I mean, you're almost as tight as Colette! And nearly as insatiable too."
My triumph was complete as the words left my mouth, and I leaned over my wife, kissed the nape of her neck, and came inside her until I could no longer hold myself up. As I collapsed backward (no point in being rude now), I saw his glorious pause that made everything worthwhile.
He whispered something I couldn't hear; she nodded comfortingly and took him in hand. He shook his head, she kissed him gently, and then after what felt like long minutes, he finally let her guide him back inside her.
They made love slowly now.
When she touched his face, it was with encouragement, and his fingers no longer turned white as they gripped her ass. When eventually she turned to her back and wrapped her legs around him, I wondered if they would ever finish.
Back in my corner, a fresh martini in hand and my clothes in order, I watched the concentration on his face like it was the Godfather at midnight. She pet his hair, held him to her, and offered a slight tremble and moan before arching her back, squeezing her legs, and then collapsing.
Awkwardness hung in the air as he got dressed.
My wife, who remained naked, stole my martini and ate the olive before returning the nearly empty glass. He adjusted his clothes, kissed her on the cheek, and then found the door.
"You are an asshole," she said, climbing onto my lap the instant he left.
"I thought we were all having a good time!"
"No, you thought it would be fun to undermine my evening with your little game."
I kissed her as she nestled in against me, and she smelled like gin and sex and love. She ran her fingers through my hair and shook her head.
"In my defense…."
"You have no defense. You were a petty, jealous, little bitch, and you don't deserve me."
"Say it again," I moaned as I felt myself twitch between her legs.
"A petty. Jealous. Bitch," she said before springing me from my suit pants. "And for that, I think you deserve four days. No, let's make it a whole week without coming."
"That's a bit excessive," I said as she rubbed against me. I was desperate to be inside her, but I knew her too well to expect it. Instead, she teased and she teased, finally touching herself as I ached beneath her until she came like the green flash at sunset.
She tapped the tip of my cock before rubbing her finger against my lips. I licked them dutifully before she rolled to one side and covered herself with a blanket. Regretfully, I put myself back together as she snuggled up on the couch.
"Tonight, I think I'll start with a daiquiri––there are fresh limes in the pantry––and then why don't you make the shrimp the way I like it. I'm hungry, and you do it so well."
"Yes, dear," I said, standing up and kissing her gently. "Whatever you say."
I sighed, took a deep breath, and began working on her drink in the kitchen. Shivers ran through my body each time I brushed against the inside of my pants, and I pictured her on the couch and the floor so vividly I could barely concentrate.
As the pan heated up, I served her drink, and she looked up at me with adoration.
"I love you," she said. "You're such a good boy."
I smiled and told her I loved her too before returning to the kitchen.
If there was such a thing as luck or destiny, then clearly, we had found both.
I like the tone of this one, particularly in the first half.